#protag answers

[stuck-with-protag]

what do you think about rats..

🐀

< " I think their pretty cute. Im not scared of them like my coworker is.. "

[krazieka2]

I've played the Fire Emblem Husbando Dating Simulator Games

[ya-kiri]

THE SAME ANSWER STILL *WORKS!!* BUGS, A FAITHFUL GAL PAL FOREVER, NO MATTER THE CANON!!🥹🥰

[dameszsz]

rick fun hitting the greens last week

dump

[wyrdle]

pitiful tragedy

A semi-continuation to my previous Ikutsuki and Ryoji comic, because i'm really wanting to share my blorbo (Ikutsuki) brainrot lol. Ikutsuki... the tragic pitiful antagonist you could've been if anyone bothered/cared enough about you in meta and in narrative lol.

[ofmermaidstories]

ON MY HANDS AND KNEES. GRUNKLE STAN FIC. OLD PEOPLE ROMANCE. SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE??

i am in ur face anon. i am breathing in ur stale air. listen to me. we are gripping hands tightly with our fingers intwined and i am whispering this to you. i am pleading this against ur lips. do not do this to me.

[newtwithinternet]

TDP S7 ending really said "If the world faces a great crisis, the most important thing you have to care about is not resolving it, but keeping your hands nice and clean. no, we aren't saying that there IS a way to solve the crisis without dire methods, we are saying that someone else (who is conveniently stained already) will eventually show up to do the dirty work INSTEAD of you. and you'll be good for letting them do it."

[artifeast]

some more telesphore :3

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hi!

I was wondering if you could write more stories of the war captive prince. (Maybe the captive one gets hurt while saving the prince from death?)

By the way, I really love your writing.

Hope you have a nice day! (*ˊᵕˋ*)ﾉ

So this doesn't really fit into the narrative but if I had to, I'd place it between part 1 and 2.

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt.4

Being a prisoner wasn’t as bad as he had feared.

He had a room to himself. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t a cell where he would rot within days. Soldiers guarded his door outside day and night and maids seemed to be making his bed when he was working in the castle. Whatever the protagonist had expected, it wasn’t this, it wasn’t an almost decent life.

But then again, he supposed the prince wanted to keep an eye on him. After all, everyone was watching him. All the time.

Most of the time, he worked in the castle amongst the other servants and it was easy to forget that those people weren’t his acquaintances. The protagonist knew these people weren’t responsible for his pain and suffering but still, every time he talked to one of them or shared his food, deep down his heart broke a little.

He felt as if he was betraying his friend by showing others kindness.

One day, when the prince had felt particularly merciful (or cruel), he had brought him down to the dungeons. And there he had seen them. His friend, frail and hopeless. He didn’t know if they had even recognised him. They hadn’t talked, had barely looked at him.

Since then, he had tried to sneak away and get back down there again, but it was to no avail. Whenever he was sure he had distracted the guards, one of them showed up in front of him and barked at him to get back to work.

With that memory burnt into his brain, the protagonist avoided the prince at all cost. Because he was sure he would find a way to strangle him to death the next time they’d meet.

So, when he’d been instructed to go to the prince’s chambers today, he was full of energy. His heart was beating in his throat. Rage blinded him and he feared he would make a drastic decision he could regret later.

However, as soon as he set a foot into the prince’s room, he could tell something was off.

“You actually came, I’m impressed.” The prince sat on his bed, holding his stomach. At first, the protagonist didn’t want to understand. He saw the prince in a weak state and wondered how long it would take him to end this.

In his lifetime, the protagonist had killed a lot of people. Undoubtedly, there was dark and thick blood on his hands.

Maybe he would finally add the prince’s too.

“You’re bleeding,” the protagonist realised. His eyes dropped to the wound the prince tried to hide and the strange amount of linen drenched in blood.

His muscles tensed.

The protagonist wondered what it would feel like to push his fingers into his wound and curl them. What sounds the prince would make if the protagonist found something in this luxurious room to press deeper into the cut. What he would look like if the protagonist strangled him and watched him bleed out.

The protagonist got overwhelmed with ideas, with rage and with determination. He wondered when he had gotten this violent, but maybe war had changed him.

Or he had always been this way.

“Yes. That’s why I asked for you.” His breathing was quick and he hunched, holding his stomach as the blood dropped down his fingers. “You have military experience, don’t you? That includes sanitary practice.”

“You’re delusional if you think I might help you.”

“I’ve heard that in your country you’re sewing wounds. It’s probably my last hope. My medics are panicking,” he said. His voice was raspy and the protagonist was sure he felt lightheaded. Losing a lot of blood was dangerous, even the prince should’ve been aware of that.

“Again, why would I help you?” he asked.

The prince made a noise between a groan and a sigh, mixed with pain and annoyance.

“Your friend, obviously. You can see them again tomorrow if you save me. If you don’t, they’ll be killed.” The protagonist cocked his head but what he was seeing seemed to be real. Tears were streaming down the prince’s face. Not a lot and barely noticeable but they sparkled in the dim light.

This was an easy choice, then.

“Good. Lay down.” The protagonist approached him quickly and pushed his enemy into the bed.

The prince’s face twisted and he looked as grey as ash. Even if the protagonist had to save him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t cause as much pain as he wanted.

“Put more pressure on the wound,” he said. He observed what the prince was doing, then shook his head. “No, like this.”

He pushed the clean linen the medics had given to the prince deep into the wound. They turned red immediately and the prince gasped.

“Oh gods-” He held onto the protagonist’s wrist, grabbed him harsh enough to leave bruises. He arched his back and whimpered like a dog and the protagonist stared at him, stared at the person who could be so cruel being exposed to cruelty.

Quickly, the protagonist realised, that they’d been this close in the throne room last. It was an eerie feeling.

But the pain the prince endured wasn’t satisfactory to the protagonist. He got distracted, looked a little too long at the tear stains.

“Needles? Threads?” The prince pointed at the drawer next to the bed and the protagonist found what he was searching for soon enough.

“What happened?” he asked as he took the bowl filled with water from the drawer. He put the thread through the needle’s head and drenched the needle in water.

“Assassination attempt,” the prince groaned. “I fought back but…clearly didn’t make a big difference.”

Quickly, the protagonist took the needle out of the water again.

“Shouldn’t the whole castle panic, then?”

“I managed to avoid that. Only a few people know that I’m injured,” he said. The protagonist looked at the wound. The bleeding wasn’t as serious anymore, so he pulled the linen out of the wound, much to the prince’s dismay.

His fingertips brushed against the protagonist’s.

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” the prince admitted. “Not with my own hands.”

“It’s much harder than it looks,” the protagonist said and the prince nodded. Before the prince answered, the protagonist pushed the needle through his skin.

The prince’s hand found his wrist again and he squeezed as the protagonist continued carefully.

Although the protagonist could sew, he was rather clumsy when it came to his own fingers. Every now and then, he stabbed into his fingertips until his own blood dropped onto the prince’s stomach, red and red mixing together.

“There was so much blood,” the prince said. The protagonist could feel his eyes on him. “I didn’t even notice I was wounded.”

The protagonist pulled a little too harsh on the thread and the prince flinched.

“Apologies,” he mumbled and for whatever reason, his hand landed on the prince’s forearm, trying to calm him. “I’m almost done.”

Again, the prince nodded and let him continue his work. When he was done, he looked at the result and found himself quite satisfied with it.

Maybe the protagonist was a fool for helping him. Maybe it was his own nature. Maybe war hadn’t hardened him, maybe it had exhausted him, had made him soft.

“Rest for the next few days. You also need a lot of food and water.” He stood up and turned around before he could put more thoughts into the situation, however, the prince grabbed his forearm before he could go.

“No word of this to anyone, please,” he said but the protagonist didn’t answer. What kind of power did he have here anyway? Trying to convince the people to overthrow their own prince? A revolution? Who would even listen to him? “…and thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” the protagonist said and he meant every word of it.

[yuseirra]

**persona 3 spoilers** I did one of these for yukari last time-

If Aigis got to speak with the protag in the answer

The answer's going to break me when it comes out(I'm scared)

reference to this scene in the episode aigis trailer

[shima-draws]

Kieran going :/ because his friend is danger/shenanigans for the 30th time this week (it’s Tuesday) because god itself seems to want you dead if you’re a protagonist

Kieran, digging through his bag for the fire mask specifically bc the protag pissed off the wrong grass type: Okay hold on I gotta,, shit where is it. Wait. HOLD ON I think I--no wait that's my rock mask. Aa. My bad. Okay HERE it is--nope that's my water mask. AHHH. Okay almost got it. Just hold on,

[stuck-with-protag]

(AESTHETICALLY STEALS UR BINDER)

< " .. you BITCH. "

< " that wasnt even aesthetically.. "

( shit post )

[ilovedthestars]

why are all the queer stories romance (unless they're about the 1 token ace person)

[shitpostingkats]

I've not watched Vrains but seeing you post about it makes my day every time. Every new Yusaku autism-core post I see I grin and say "yeeeeees"

Every time I think yugioh can't make a more autism protagonist, they delight in proving me wrong.

I know technically Yusaku's obsession with calming himself down by listing things in threes is because of his backstory, but also. Come on. No neurotypical would talk like this while trying to call an ambulance. When he first did it, I started happy stimming so hard. A MAIN CHARACTER! WITH ARITHMOMANIA!!!

His facial animation is stunning. I was so impressed by how far 5Ds got with having a character with limited expressiveness, and VRAINS just keeps raising the bar for me. Animated characters who don't smile/emote very much but still have unique facial animation while still having a Resting B#$% Face my BELOVED

Look at him! I'm obsessed!

He canonically has insomnia related to his ptsd. His best friends drag him for having zero social skills. AI REFERS TO HIM AS HAVING "THE EMPATHY OF A MOLLUSK."

He will just nope out on conversations midway through and I will never stop cheering about it.

All the yugioh protagonists are extremely autism, but Yusaku is a canonically compulsive, unemotive, low-empathy, zero social skills autistic and STILL THE HEROIC MAIN CHARACTER and I am LIVING FOR IT.

[ask-studioinvestigrave-roomies]

QUICK, FAVORITE NUMBER AND COLORS

"Uuuuh orange and 8??"

> Auggie seems rather surprised with the question.

"I like... 2... and.... green.... wait no yellow. WAIT I ALSO LIKE RED IS THAT ALLOWED???--

> Rody lists, obviously unprepared.

"Blue. And I like 5. The even number of odd numbers."

> Protag exclaims. He holds up 5 fingers.

"I also like five!! And I like purple."

> Angelica responds politely, hands folded in front of her.

"I FUCKED UP CAN I CHANGE MY ANSWER TO SIX AND MAROON????"

[shining-gem34]

🌕 for rook.

Memory Lane || Accepting @cloudhymn

TW: Implied Character Death (Temporary)

Record XERRORERRORERROR: DEAD END

Whenever something happens, he always will strive to rise above it somehow.

Whenever a situation turns south, he always will survive one way or another.

Whenever death comes knocking at his door, he always find a way to live another day.

Rook knew his luck will run out one day. With it, he will finally pay the price of his hubris.

"It's just..." He struggles to raise his head before a series of coughing seizes his throat. His vision blurs looking away from the blood pooling on the ground (his blood is black as death).

At the horizon, space and time has splintered forming a crack in the skies. The air around it distorts sucking everything in within it's grasp. Beyond the cracks in space lies his goal, the beautiful blue jewel of his home world: Earth.

He can go home. They, he and Dr. Drake, can go home now.

Except what stands between them and the exit is an indomitable foe and their army.

This planet guardian whose body and mind became corrupted by the cancer (Stellaron). They siphon the lifeforce they're tasked to protect as fuel for their ever-burning body. A flame that burns as bright as the stars nearly blinding him with their light.

"It just had to be right at the finish line." Rook head throbs at the tantalizing whispers echoing in his head. The whispers of the Stellaron resonating with the fragments eroding his body.

Nearby, Dr. Drake stirs awake and shifts to lift her head. Her glasses lost amidst the chaos of the first wave of attacks. The pristine white coat dirtied with dust and blood.

"Hah. Rise and shine, sunshine. You got any bright ideas how to get us out of this and straight home?" Rook asks, standing up on shaky legs.

"If I could, then we wouldn't be in this mess already! Besides, isn't this your field of work, soldier?!" Dr. Drake snarks, but her face turns serious as she examines him. Her brows pinch in worry, "Hey, your body..."

The fragments he picked up long ago are finally picking up their dues. A dark-violet armor made from remnants of Destruction melds into his skin and turn it into hardened scales of armor. It doesn't stop there for it intends to consume him entirely. Already, the parasite is moving past his shoulder. The golden lines injected into his veins burns to the point he feels faint.

Somehow, it's a miracle Rook is barely clinging onto his consciousness by sheer spite and willpower.

"You idiot! Didn't I tell you to let that thing go?!" Dr. Drake shrieks, clutching to her bleeding side as she rises up.

"Yeah. About that, I think it's too late for me now." Rook wheeze finding it difficult to breathe.

"Shut it. We can still fix this once we're back on Earth." The doctor snaps, but she cannot continue denying the inevitable by the gray parlor of Rook skin.

Rook strains a smile at her knowing they both know he's dying at this point. What did it matter if he transforms into a monster? It will no longer be 'Rook'- Just a violent monster following their instinct to kill.

"Chin up, Dr. Drake. There's still hope."

"Really? I don't see the probability of us getting out of this. Not with that alien and their army in the way." Dr. Drake said bluntly, gesturing to the said army encroaching upon them. But she realizes shortly what he was planning, "Wait, you're not...!"

"Chit-chat over, Doctor. Hold on tight and don't let go!"

Nimble hands transformed into claws plucks the doctor by her waist. He digs his heels into the ground before he starts a run. Ignoring the pain shooting up to his head, Rook dashes forward straight into the enemy army. His other hand gripping his sword-whip tightly.

With a battle cry, he leaps into the fray delivering a swift kick to one of the soldiers head. So brittle they break under his heels, but the numbers are nothing to scoff at. Not when the trickier ones are in hiding waiting to explode once they're close enough.

In his arm, Dr. Drake protests went silent and clings to him tightly. Her heart not ready for Rook suicidal mission, but it was too late now. Even as she witnesses her bodyguard transformation picking up rapidly. The erosion of his human flesh replaced by the cursed armor covering more than half of his body.

Rook doesn't stop. He grits his teeth and continues moving forward swinging his sword. The blade stretched in an arch and slicing the next wave of soldiers. Tearing apart his enemies standing in his way unable to feel the pain lancing throughout his body. The adrenaline pumping into his veins forcing him to move his legs.

"Clench your teeth and don't bite your tongue, Doctor!" Rook rasps, unable to recognize his own voice with how distorted it sounds.

"What the hell are you-?!"

A burst of quantum power explodes underneath his feet. Farther than ever before, Rook jumps through the air and high into the sky. Yet his human body has reached its limits and his power starts to dissipate.

Before its fully gone, he lifts Dr. Drake in his arms and throws her high into the air. The said doctor shrieks in surprise, but her eyes widen seeing Rook starting to fall below her. Her world shifts, swallowed up by the quantum power briefly and spat out even farther away from her bodyguard.

Instead of descending to her doom, Dr. Drake is being lifted higher. She lifts her head up to see she's under the rift to Earth. Turning back to Rook, the doctor reaches a hand out to him. A meaningless effort for how far away they are now.

"Rook...!" Dr. Drake calls out in frustration.

For Rook, who can relax knowing the doctor made it out safe and sound, lets himself fall. He finds it strange how he's feel at peace for once. Smiling, he sees Dr. Drake lithe figure passing through the rift as the cracks in the sky mend itself.

The golden lines reaching his face burns. His vision growing heavy, feeling the crunch of a helmet forming around his head. The visor finishes, burning away the remaining pieces of his humanity like the giant star- a flaming fist dives right for his meager flesh and armor.

As long as someone makes it home, that's enough for me.

A strangled scream rips out of his throat.

Rooks shoots up instantly on his bed. Cold sweat soaking his shirt and unruly hair. His eyes wide trying to process his surroundings. He takes deeps to calm the rapid beating of his heart. Almost choking a few times caused him to be nauseous leading for Rook to go straight to the bathroom to throw up.

After washing his face and hands, he sits on the tile floors trying to stop his hands from shaking.

“Shit me a ton of fucking bricks, what the fuck was up with that dream?” Rook mutters, resting his forehead on his hands.

Then a thought occurred to him and he lifted his head, “Wait. Was it the SoulGlad I had before bed that caused it? Lords, I hope it didn't expire. I didn't read the labels either and I drank a whole three bottles of that stuff. I heard that stuff has memoria in it.”

After tonight, Rook vowed to avoid drinking SoulGlad for a while and try to start having good sleeping habits in order to avoid another nightmare like that.

...

>🌕 ― a vivid memory.

>Inspiration Song