#plot questions

[ennablue]

Leaving aside all the messy relationships we have in the series, let's focus on the juicy part of the darker plot of the series.

Little by little we begin to get into the backstory of our favorite brothers (not united by blood, but by circumstance).

First we witness Fadel's parents and their murder (with the traumatic part of the poor child witnessing the scene). Given this, I believe that Fadel goes to the support group for the loss due to the death of his parents and that it is not related to his ex.

His mother's last action in her last seconds of life is to hold his hand. Watching the sparkle in your mother's eyes fade as she dies is probably not a very pleasant experience… I mean, it would make a lot of sense that even as a grown man he would still be grieving and probably, the support group is the closest Fadel has come to much-needed therapy.

On the other hand, we have Bison and his parents. This one has not seen them die live, but then he has come across their dead bodies.

By the way, congrats to the actor who plays the young Bison, I just fell in love with the expressiveness of his eyes. You can see how broken he is and how little by little he is falling to pieces. He's trully talented!

Then, after seeing the photos of their deceased parents in the safes of the guy they are supposed to kill, they deduce that he is related to these events. Next, I would bet that these two will chase him and investigate, in order to get revenge and then, they will discover that the one behind those deeds is their current “mother”. Discovering that in a very fucked up way they have been helping a real villain, who has used the children of her own victims, making them believe she is their savior and not only that, she has also used them to try to erase the traces of the deaths of their own families (I'm sure that guy they need to assasinate is someone who is investigating that matter and Lilly has decided to stop him). What is something worthy of a true psycho. Your whole life, which could be quite normal, fucked up because of that bitch.

And to make matters worse, taking into account that his “mother” is involved in politics, she probably used them to get rid of the competition or those who were going to expose her dirty laundry. Which, seeing the appearance of Bison and Fadel's families, could also be the reason behin their murders.

That also raises questions for me about Keen's background. Is he also from another family killed by the “mother” or is he her real son? If so, it's pretty fucked up that she exposes him this type of situation and on top of that, that she has an obvious preference to her “ultimate weapons” (because obviously, she has raised our protagonists since childhood to be effective killing weapons).

Moreover, I would like to know how much the corrupt Captain Chris really knows. Does he want to wipe out the “mother” and plunge her into misery? Does he want revenge? Does he just want to blackmail her to make money (remember that people's dirty laundry in politics is sold expensively)?. Has he been hired by someone who wants to destroy her or he's just a douchebag that wants to evade his own dead/ his dirty friends' dead (it's a very mafia style movement to kill the competence)?

I look forward to seeing how this dark part of the plot progresses.

[atla-recluse]

Has it ever been discussed, what sort of things Zuko had to have been taught by who-even-knows, to be so throne-hungry at the age of just 16?

Was it Ozai teaching it to Zuko? Iroh teaching it to Zuko? Was it Ozai teaching it to Zuko through a young, impressionable Azula?

Or is Zuko just that naturally preoccupied with power and control, but able to hide behind his younger sister's far greater raw power and skill and her being preferred by the main bad, to get away from these accusations?

[uncleasad]

So…I had this idea for part of Lizzie’s backstory (not shown, but to be mentioned briefly at some point) in the fic…

In the source AU, the Lizzie character dates the divorced close friend of her father, and even though there’s the very obvious age difference, it’s a very serious relationship for both of them for some time (until the age difference finally shows them they’re at different points in their lives). In the source AU, it’s essentially the Lizzie character’s first true adult relationship.

Trying to think of Alaric’s close friends who are still alive:

Dorian just doesn’t feel right to me, because he would have been too close to the twins, as the Salvatore School librarian (and even though the school and whatnot don’t exist in this AU, it’s hard for me personally to shake that bit of canon baggage).

Matt has all the personality and chemistry of a wet paper towel IMHO, so he’s also out.

But…Damon, now that’s the kind of character we can work with! We don’t (I think…I didn’t see the later seasons of TVD save the finale) have much interaction with the twins, he’s their “uncle” not actually their uncle, and he’s Alaric’s all-time favorite drinking buddy. Would people totally hate me if I broke up Elena and Damon and had Damon and Lizzie date for this little piece of backstory?

(And @roservssell, as our resident recent/current TVD rewatcher, are there any other “canonically-alive good friends of Alaric” I’m missing and should consider?)

[starlingfawn]

through starless sky to blackest ground

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm not going back to Gusu with you.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[pininghermit]

Source of Chaos

Request: Hi, I just saw that you had this Tropesvania dynamic and I wanted to try it. My request would be for the witch dynamic, I don't know if you're still taking requests but I wanted to try. It could be Alucard x female reader ^_^

AN: Thanks for requesting! I hope you enjoy this :)

Genre: fluff

Pairing(s): Alucard x Witch Reader

Summary: “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He shoots up from the chair, stepping back as if distance alone can save him from the nightmare unfolding before him. “You cannot mean that! Surely there’s another way!”

“Witch.”

“Dhampir.”

You both stare at each other. Or at least you try to.

Your eyes flit anywhere but his face, and Alucard resolutely looks away, his eyes darting to the far corner of the room. Both of you are steadfast in ignoring the very obvious elephant in the room.

Or rather, the bright red mane.

Alucard fidgets, his hand twitching as if to pull his hood back up, but he resists. He has to endure this shame if he wants to find a cure. Still, his fingers itch with every passing second, and the weight of your silence is becoming unbearable.

On the other hand, you can barely summon the strength to keep yourself from bursting into laughter. Habanero, your mind screams at you. No, that doesn’t quite fit. Tomatoes. He looks like a giant, sulking tomato.

“How did you...get hexed this badly?” you ask, turning your back to him under the guise of gathering ingredients from your shelves. In truth, you’re trying to compose yourself, furiously pressing your lips together to suppress the laughter bubbling inside you. The mental image of a soaking-wet, bright-red-haired Adrian is burned into your mind.

Behind you, Alucard narrows his eyes, watching your shoulders shake with barely concealed mirth. His jaw tightens, but cornered as he is, he reluctantly answers.

“I... may have pissed off a druid,” he admits, his voice clipped and forced. He folds his arms across his chest in an attempt to preserve the last shreds of his dignity. “Can you undo this?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and it’s a mistake. A catastrophic mistake. The stark contrast of his usually demeanor with his ridiculous hair is too much. Your lips twitch dangerously.

“A druid?” you repeat, trying and failing to keep your voice neutral. “What exactly did you do to make them this angry?”

“That,” he replies stiffly, “is irrelevant.”

“Oh, I think it’s very relevant,” you counter, turning back fully now, your grin barely held in check. You’re holding a sprig of rosemary and a jar of salt, you are dangerously close to losing the precious herbs to the fit of laughter knocking on your doorstep.

Alucard sighs heavily, running a hand through his absurdly red hair, the crimson strands glowing obnoxiously in the lamplight. “Trevor pissed on their grove and blamed it on me,” he huffs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And now I’m stuck with this monstrosity.”

You freeze. “Trevor… what?” you manage, your voice trembling.

“They assumed it was me!” Adrian snaps, pacing now, restless and agitated. “And apparently, this,” he gestures furiously at his hair, “is their idea of retribution.”

“Oh, dear,” you mutter, stepping closer to inspect the damage. You lean in, catching a faint whiff of something that makes you recoil instantly. “Oh, no. They even cursed the scent? Adrian, your hair smells like… rotting onions.”

Adrian stiffens, his scowl deepening as his cheeks color faintly, matching the cursed shade of his hair. “Do you intend to help me or mock me?” he bites out.

“Both,” you admit cheerfully, wiping at your eyes as tears of laughter threaten to spill. “But mostly help. Unfortunately, this magic is twisted into a riddle… and I’m pretty sure there’s only one way to undo it.”

Adrian slumps into a chair, fingers rubbing his temples. “And what is that?” he asks, his voice already laced with dread.

You hesitate, pursing your lips as you brace for his inevitable reaction. “To undo the spell,” you begin cautiously, “we’ll need the very thing that caused it in the first place.”

Adrian blinks at you, the confusion etched on his face almost endearing. But then the meaning of your words dawns on him, and his entire body goes rigid.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He shoots up from the chair, stepping back as if distance alone can save him from the nightmare unfolding before him. “You cannot mean that! Surely there’s another way!”

You shake your head in resignation, though the corners of your lips twitch despite yourself. “There’s not, Adrian. I’ve checked twice. We’re going to need…” You pause, biting back a laugh before finishing. “Trevor’s urine sample to brew the counter-spell.”

For a moment, the room is silent except for the howling wind outside your cottage. Adrian stares at you, wide-eyed, as if the very idea has physically wounded him. “You’re joking,” he says flatly, though the note of desperation in his voice betrays him.

“I wish I were,” you reply, holding up the jar of salt like it’s somehow relevant to your case. “But magic like this is annoyingly stubborn. The spell was triggered by an offense, and we need to balance it out by using the, uh… offending source.”

Adrian groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I refuse. I refuse to beg that idiot for… for…” He can’t even finish the sentence, his shoulders slumping as the weight of his predicament settles fully on him.

“Well,” you say lightly, “If you’d prefer to keep the hair and the smell…”

“Enough!” Adrian snaps, his voice louder than intended, though the tips of his ears burn with humiliation. He takes a deep breath, visibly trying to compose himself. “Fine. But you’re the one asking him.”

“Of course,” you agree, smiling far too sweetly for his liking. “I’m sure he’s heard me ask for weirder things.”

Adrian arches a brow at that but says nothing, letting your words hang in the air.

“We’ll make this better,” you promise softly, cupping his cheeks and squishing them between your palms. “I promise, darling.”

You lean in slightly, but the pungent scent hits your nose with renewed vigor, and you scrunch your face, pulling back with a wince.

Adrian doesn’t let you escape so easily. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tugs you back into his embrace, holding you close in a tight grasp. “Why yes,” he murmurs, his deep voice practically dripping with mock sincerity. “I would love some affection after this long.”

Before you can react, he purposefully rubs his cursed red hair into your cheek.

“Adrian!” you yelp, flailing against him as the acrid scent of onions assaults your senses. You hold back a gag reflex, though it takes considerable effort.

“Revenge,” he states simply, his smirk widening as you push against his chest in protest.

“First of all,” you grumble, finally pulling back and holding him at arm’s length by his shoulders, “you smell awful. And second, I believe procuring ingredients is in order before I suffocate.”

Adrian chuckles softly, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Fine. But you’re still the one asking Trevor. I’ll wait, far away from him.”

“Gladly,” you shoot back, wrinkling your nose as you grab your bag of supplies. “But if you rub your head on me again, I’m letting you keep the hair.”

His laughter follows you as you stride toward the door. No wonder the druid cursed him.

[notherpuppet]

Hiii I've been a fan of your comics of radioapple and i don't know if someone already asked you this but i noticed that there's scene where Adam mentioned that he recognise Alastor from Al's radio show, and in another scene where Al said that he needed his job as a nanny to Charlie. What I'm asking is why would Alastor need his job as a nanny when he's already had a job as a radio host? Is it like something happened to his job?

I think I mentioned this but a million years ago. (Granted I'm pretty reckless with how I treat the AU stories lol. This could possibly have just been all in my head this whole time.) Alastor was a radio host in the city they're all living in now. They live in Downtown 🌆 and in a district that Lucifer used to represent in City Council. Lucifer lost his position in government after he invited dangerous criminals into the city. Uptown 🏙️ blames him for the dangers of the city. The City is really divided between Uptown and Downtown, with Uptown basically being an entire gated community. Lucifer was instrumental as an architect for the Downtown area, but he is disgraced as a former politician. The criminal underworld of Downtown still respect his status (he's connected to old money and very powerful people in the City), however the dynamics have really changed ever since his wife left him 7 years ago. Despite Lucifer's old money connections, it's not easy to ask his family for financial help, so he continues to work as an architect to support his daughter. Back to Alastor; for some reason, Alastor fled Downtown 7 years ago at the height of his radio host career. When he came back to town, his radio job was no longer a viable option (everyone's watching TV now ugh) So he needed a job where he could lay low, indulge in his other favorite hobby🩸, and that's how he became the nanny!

[crow-caller]

Getting a suspicion this book isn't very good

Lightlark3 is somehow. How do I put this. Worse. The prose is really, really bad, and Aster operates on a baseline of having 'pretty bad prose'

Gee, I wonder if writing and releasing skyshade, plus writing her new adult book, plus a new bonus lightlark book and the 4th due next year... might be resulting in even less editing?

[plagalkey]

son of zeus & son of nike (PJO AU)

[nataliescatorccio]

plotholes in season 4 i really don't understand now i've digested the season please feel free to explain or add your own:

- sparrow academy and especially sloane just being forgotten, luther just seeming to magically get over his wife disappearing and not fighting in any way shape or form to find her or get back to a timeline with her in it - especially as they show discovery of the phoenix academy you think five would mention that a timeline with sloane must exist out there - ben being teased on the subway train at the end of season 3 but just??? never showing up??? was that an alternative timeline? - allison doing everything last season motivated by the idea of being able to get to claire and ray only for ray to apparently leave her with zero elaboration as to why or what happened - making fatphobic jokes towards diego but actually he takes his shirt off and is still ripped as fuck? - upon regaining their powers luther getting his ape body back which??? literally had nothing to do with his marigold related powers it was because of an accident on a previous timeline? - lila getting laser beam eye powers seemingly from nowhere, but it's not as if this was ever addressed because she could still mimic powers (see: her using five's time travel ability) - very limited use of powers, there were a few cool moments in episode 2 but ultimately it felt like there was no need to even get them back as they rarely showcased them (with the exception of five's getting them stuck) - klaus throwing his marigold onto a passing man but this never getting any exploration - never explaining why jennifer was in a giant squid - never explaining why jennifer got locked up in a safe - ben apparently never discussing with klaus how he died??? - ben and jennifer not realising that the entire motel had blown up around them including murdering flocks of birds and staff when they checked out? - entire five/lila plotline but also five figuring out how to leave and not saying anything when he has always been the first to want to get back and protect his family - lila apparently hating bracelets despite the fact that diego making lila a bracelet and it keeping them linked was such a big plotpoint it was used as a teaser in previous seasons (and the bead bracelet just disappearing) - lila being so intent on saving her family and the kids by sending them to the subway and on an alternative timeline but only one 'true' timeline can survive anyway which would erase the subway - the kids existing when the parents that created them don't - the entire show being for nothing in that the umbrellas do not even exist anymore

[pedulum-chronometry]

So far I don’t think I’ve seen anyone talking about this…. But Niko is implied to be Sedna come onto land for a mortal life or maybe some sort of physical incarnation of her.

Like at first I thought it was just a narrative parallel, you know, both the young girls with recently dead fathers but that igloo scene at the very end just smashed me over the head. She isn’t like her; she is her.

I went back to rewatch some scenes for reasons and guess who is inexplicably afraid of the stormy weather? Guess who avoids the father murdering his daughter case after learning he likely chopped them to pieces? Guess who observes Mick the walrus looking for sea glass after easily finding the red glass needed to find the washerwoman? Guess who spend the entire series wearing fingerless fucking gloves?

Even the story of Sedna- told through monochrome!? like a certain other monochromatic character- shows a dark haired girl become a white haired goddess. I just….

And her mom also might be the 002 boss woman we see give the boys an exception at the end?? She has such a reaction to her name, she can’t NOT know Niko. And at the end we see the dandelion sprites in the igloo no longer needing a jar to contain them. We see FULL gloves on the monochromatically dressed igloo occupant holding the good luck charm that Niko dies with? Like if she isn’t Sedna then she sure as shit won her favor somehow

TLDR me RN:

[nighmoons]

interact if u are still team why the hell did rick kill jason

[inamindfarfaraway]

I would find Blondie Lockes very annoying in real life, but I love her in fiction. She's a genuinely good journalist in terms of both skill and ethical integrity, who only occasionally forgets to check the facts because she's fifteen and holds herself accountable when she does. She has incredibly high standards for everything and believes herself to be the ultimate authority on quality. She has magical lockpicking powers because her fairytale is about Goldilocks breaking into a house. She somehow completely ignores the story's moral that Goldilocks was wrong to break into the house, feels entitled to go wherever and help herself to whatever she's able to and cannot comprehend why people dislike this. She's been terrorizing an anthropomorphic bear family with her cheerful disrespect for privacy and is convinced that they love her. She has a non-anthropomorphic pet baby bear. Her motivation is dependence on external approval rooted in deeply internalized classism. She's desperate to be useful and important to those with higher social status and feels the need to lie that her family is technically royalty to fit in with her royal friends, even though they treat commoners like equals all the time. She positions herself as a conduit of true greatness; closer to it than the masses, but never the hero, always reporting on other people and evaluating what they've done. Because what she's done isn't enough to be worthwhile. What she is isn't enough. But this performative lifestyle makes her anxious about being judged as a fraud and an interloper, and ashamed of selfishly transgressing against social norms. Her microphone head looks like an adorable little bear head. That's one hex of a character alright.

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[gunsatthaphan]

they got their silly romcom 🥹