#that he only exists as he is now to kill them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

m1ckeyb3rry · 13 hours ago

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Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less.

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might.

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart.

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air.

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three.

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind.

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood.

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime.

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer.

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said.

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced.

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

#mydei x reader #mydei x y/n #mydei x you #mydei #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #reader insert #fantasy au #threefold #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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bradleysass · 3 days ago

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Breakup - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 490

Evan leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his tea as Barty paced in front of him, hands flailing dramatically. "We need to break up."

Evan barely blinked. "Alright."

Barty stopped mid-step. "Alright? Just like that?"

"You break up with me at least once a week. What’s different this time?" Evan took another sip, unbothered.

Barty crossed his arms, grinning like a lunatic. "This time, it’s for science."

Evan sighed. "Of course."

"I want to see how everyone reacts. Like, do they take your side? Do they take my side? Do they start plotting ways to kill me in my sleep? What if someone confesses their undying love for you? What if—"

"Fine," Evan interrupted, already regretting entertaining this nonsense. "But only because I’m bored."

Barty lit up. "Oh, you love me."

"Not right now, I don’t," Evan deadpanned.

—

They broke the news during a gathering at Dorcas’ flat. It was the perfect setting—close quarters, free alcohol, and plenty of people who had suffered through their relationship long enough to have very strong opinions about it.

Barty dramatically slumped onto the couch. "Well, now that I’m single, I guess I have to start dating again. Any takers?"

Silence.

Marlene looked up from her drink, unimpressed. "Literally no one wants that."

"I do," James said through a mouthful of chips. "Wait, what are we talking about?"

Regulus, sitting stiffly in the corner, looked back and forth between them before sighing. "I don’t believe you."

Barty scoffed. "Wow. Zero faith."

"Evan, say something," Mary prodded.

Evan, who had been staring blankly at his drink, blinked. "Barty’s an unbearable boyfriend. I finally had enough."

"Ah, so you finally came to your senses," Sirius said, nodding approvingly.

Dorcas frowned. "No, wait, this is weird. I always assumed Evan would be the one to murder Barty in cold blood before actually breaking up with him."

Peter chimed in. "I had my money on Barty getting arrested and Evan just moving on like nothing happened."

"You bet on our breakup?" Barty asked, a little too gleeful.

"We bet on everything," Remus corrected.

Lily narrowed her eyes. "Alright, what’s the truth?"

Barty looked offended. "You think we’d lie?"

"Yes," the room chorused.

Evan sighed, placing his glass down. "Fine, we’re still together."

Marlene groaned. "I knew it. You absolute menaces."

Regulus looked relieved, but only slightly. "I was prepared to tolerate Barty’s existence for your sake, Evan. I’d rather not have suffered for nothing."

Sirius huffed. "We should’ve let them keep the act up and watched them suffer."

"Oh, please," Barty snorted. "We’re unbreakable." He slung an arm around Evan, who did not react in the slightest. "Admit it, you all love us."

James threw a pretzel at his head. "Absolutely not."

And just like that, the party resumed, with Barty basking in the attention and Evan making a mental note to never let Barty drag him into one of his dumb plans again. (He absolutely would.)

#rosekillermicrofic #rosekiller microfic #rosekiller #marauders #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #literally everybody #microfic

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that-weird-thing-in-the-woods · 2 days ago

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~{ Heyyyy, So not much to say just felt like making this lol }~

•Soul Watcher•

Jason was getting real sick of dealing with cults.

Ok wait let’s back up a bit, So Jason and the bats don’t have to deal with cults in Gotham all to much like only a one or two a year and when they did happened someone else could find them before the cult could really do anything.

But unluckily right now he and the bats were fighting off cultists in a warehouse while trying to get to where some other cultist are in a circle chanting, the reason for them being this late and not stopping the cult earlier is because they somehow got the bat-computer to overlook any suspicious activity from them as well as bribed some cops to get what they want.

And after 14 or so minutes with all the cultists down Jason goes over to the main guy and start to tie him up (As he can’t kill him with Bruce literally 20 steps from him) but before he can finish the guy bangs his head into the concrete floor and as result starts to bleed from his nose and yells something out but what has Jason’s attention and the rest of the bats is the Lazarus green smoke coming out of the summing circle.

Jason of course try’s to jump back, key word try’s. The smoke makes a clawed hand and grabs his ankle and pulls him into the green smoke and than everything goes black..

Jason woke up to the sound of running water and…humming?

So Jason gets up and walks towards the sounds, as he walks he looks at the black marble for the pillars and floor and how there is no sky or land just space with stars and that when he notices that the humming and running water coming from behind a thin-semi transparent fabric going from the ceiling to the floor and somewhat overlapping on itself.

Jason walks up to the fabric as quietly as possible and pushes it back a bit just enough to see what was behind it and that’s when he sees it two streams

One had pure and clean water with white pearls with a blue tint, The other one had gray water with black pearls with a green tint. the two Streams circled around each other but never touching and in the middle was what the closest thing to a nest made out of blankets and pillows.

And that’s when Jason saw the person who was in the nest thing and they saw him…Why was this reminding Jason of a book he read.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W were so dumb.

They thought that just because ghost were “Non-sentient” and “Dangerous” they decided to fucking NUKE THE GHOST ZONE.

You know which held all of the afterlife’s and made sure everything that was alive….you know exist so if the G.I.W planed actually worked everything would kinda just fall apart and cease to exist.

And it wouldn’t be possible to make a nuke that would actually work but with Government money and the Fentons work, they somehow actually made it and sent it through a portal the Fentons remade in a different location.

But of course you can’t nuke the Ghost Zone so it threw it back to the G.I.W and there world and with how much power they put into that fucker it did what it was supposed to…but with WAY worse consequences for the G.I.W and Fentons, So that world is a lost cause.

Now let’s go over to what Danny was doing.

He was with Clockwork discussing how he’s holding with Dan. After rehabilitating Dan Vlad gave him a clone body so he can walk around without a mass panic over him but after a VERY close call with the G.I.W where they got a lucky shot the clone body started to melt so Danny followed his (Ghost) Instincts and grabbed Dan core and shoved it in his gut.

And like a normal (well as normal you can be as a half-ghost) person Danny starts losing his shit like “Why the Fuck did I just do that?!?” And “Did I just technically eat Dan???” So after a panic attack or two Danny books it to Clockworks tower and tells him what happened and to just…help????

Well Danny is currently starting on panic attack number three Clockwork just grabs his shoulders and make him sit down on some very soft chair and after a minute or two Danny chills out a bit Clockwork explains what this means and that Danny’s essentially pregnant with Dan [“No Danny you did not eat Dan”].

And they now meet every other day just to talk and for Clockwork to explain more about being a ghost so something like this doesn’t happen again while they are talking about things they suddenly feel like the whole Ghost Zone just did something so Clockwork goes to check it out with Danny not far behind him.

And as they try to see what could have gone down and that when Danny sees one of the time string that look like it exploded and points it out to clockwork, And Clockwork looks at the string with surprise and turns to Danny after a moment with knowledge of what’s going to happen and tells Danny that this string was Danny’s home-world. [Now for The Panic Attack: Part four the musical]

After a couple weeks Danny’s mostly okay (He is pregnant he’s emotional and ghost are already extremely emotional beings and he has to deal with everything he’s ever known and lived is dead so leave him alone) and Clockwork gives him the job of Watcher Of Souls with his usual cryptic bullshit.

And now we’re here!

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The Pearls in the stream are souls of all living things.

•I headcanon that The Ghost Zone is somewhat sentient but it doesn’t have thoughts, Just Vibes

•The old Watcher just stoped caring about it and that’s how so many people got brought back from the dead and how Danny become a halfa

•Vlad is NOT a halfa, he’s just possessing his own corpse that his core is keeping looking alive but he looks very uncanny valley to humans and is very gruesome and uncomfortable for Ghost, Its half the reason Danny hated him on sight the rest is his “Rich Asshole meter” going off

•Clockwork hates the Flash family so much, He would want the Fuckers dead but he doesn’t want them to cause MORE problems for him and Danny

•Danny hangs out with Lady Gotham a lot so he knows who the bats are

•The Bat-fam are freaking the fuck out

•Danny spends a lot of time by the streams and with Dusk he wants to be comfortable so he made a nest :)

•Danny lets Jason stay in his lair until someone comes to get him

•Jason feels like he’s in one of his romance novels and he LOVES IT

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny’s Appearance•

~{ And that’s it! Sorry if this is a bit scatter brained I had to do stuff while making this lol so sorry about that anyway hope you gremlins like it until next time byeeeee }~

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currentfandomkick · 2 days ago

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Have Danny hit his own emergency silent alarm tracker. You cannot convince me after a Phantom reveal they wouldn’t have one for him to send out a distress signal that loops until the Boo-merang and an ally to Team Phantom have located and secured Danny.

So for fun?

A pissed off Red Huntress storms Wayne Manor and demands they return the endangered species they kidnapped (referring to Danny) and when trying to deny, she asks why the fuck they stole a halfa from his preferred obsession during mandatory time, and that the boo-merang tracks his ass. It also clobbered into two batfam members (i say Cass doing stretches and Jason on his way to the library).

Bruce is stuck with a pissed off Small Town Hellmouth Maintaining Hero ready to rock his family’s shit for trafficking an endangered species of ecto-entity. One that was born human and made liminal via Government Sanctioned Experiments and is now a literal bridge between worlds.

A teen who wants to make coffee (current fixation, and a mild part of his ghostly obsession with cultures branched into drinks (food reanimation truama limits it to drinks) and helps Tim with R&D on engineering projects.

Damian is informed afterwards he broke a treaty between the UN and the Pathways of the Afterlife and varied planes of existence.

Danny just stays behind Val once it’s confirmed he is not going to be randomly dissected. Again.

Val escorts him back to his job before handing off the Legal Lecture to an Observant.

Said observant admits they’ve tried assassinating Danny countless times as “his species is a blight” but are now stuck legally explaining why you cannot capture a free roaming Halfa, or kill them before their determined expiration date.

Damian is mortified. Especially upon learning Danny can help liminal adjacent individuals (like Tim) become liminal and manage any prior curses on them (which the increasing ecto shots do).

Tim gets a new coffee and finds out his little brother is being lectured by a branch of the Undead Multiverse’s government for removing Danny from his preferred environment against his will.

Tim makes sure Danny is given a hefty raise for his trouble and bribes Danny to forgive Damian’s presumption of ‘this man is poisoning my brother’ by offering to have Danny help him piss off Luthor and Vlad in business meetings.

Largely by doing coffee drop offs, making drinks loudly in the background and even letting him interrupt a meeting with Vlad and revealing Danny as Tim’s “coffee assistant and engineering partner”.

Danny is Thriving Again. Tim is harassing billionaires, his favorite activity.

Damian is reminded to TELL people about presumed poisonings rather than kidnap the person.

Val now has Beef with Batfam and very obviously is loyal to Danny over them. Batman is not allowed to talk to her during joint JL and JLD missions.

She will just scream in ghostspeak on the comms and short non JLD ones if he tries as “nope. You taught you son to kidnap an endangered species of ecto and my favorite ex. Fuck off.”

The reminder Damian had kidnapped Red’s ex who she broke up to keep SAFE from her enemies only to have him be assaulted years later by an ally was…

It was not good.

Danny is glad to see Val more! Tim is plotting the two’s dating life and expects to be on Danny’s side at the wedding.

Tam has decided to ignore Tim’s decision to pre-plan Danny’s dating life and discusses the BS of having dated another hero with Val, the BS that is secret identities, and also how do you not get a headache from the suit with your hair?

Val is glad for another friend that Gets It on more levels they swap hair routines. She may go to Tam’s braider to see how she likes it.

Dcdp coffeshop

Tim pays danny and absurd salary to work in WE coffee place because he's the only one willing to make Tim's coffee because every time he does he faces reckless endangerment charges because of how strong the coffee is and no one else is willing to risk it.

Danny takes his coffee the same way but with a shot of ecto, which is fine until Tim sees Danny put the green!water into his coffee. Tim, being the most rational bat, doesn't freak out and kidnaps Danny for where he got Lazurus water and just asks his.

Danny explains that his parents are one scientists of the "only not a rouge on a technicality" variety and have been synthesizing this shit since before he was born, and that while it's the single best energy booster on the planet its also poison to humans, which Danny says he isn't quite sure he is anymore.

Tim's eyes light up at the "single best energy booster on the planet part" and asks for some, completely disregarding the poison aspect.

Danny says fuck it, but Tim is going to have to build up a tolerance over time, so a single small spirt of ecto once a day to start.

A few months to a year later Tim sends one of his siblings, preferably Damian, to get his coffee from Danny, and then proceeds to freak the fuck out when he watches Danny put Lazurus Water in Tim's drink.

Damien is not the most rational bat.

Tim never does get that coffee.

Danny is in a bat holding cell having a panic attack.

#dpxdc #danny fenton #timothy drake wayne #lazurus water isnt sewage or waste products #its pond water thats been left sitting for a ling ass time #Val is MVP #Damian tried but skipped procedures #tim decided he’s a matchmaker now #tam is along for the ride #val and tam solidarity #danny is here for coffee

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beomiracles · 2 days ago

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𝓞𝐅 𝓢𝐍𝓞𝐖 𝓐𝐍𝐃 𝓢𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝓔𝐑𝓔𝐃 𝓦𝓘𝐍𝐆𝐒

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ Foolish girl. You should know better than to wander up the snowy and cold mountains all by yourself. Yet you march onward, not caring for the biting frost as you draw your coat tighter around yourself. The tales told by your old grandfather had been enough to fuel your curiosity, to push the bounds of danger as you sought to see the dragons for yourself. — Perhaps you got more than you bargained for when you suddenly stumble across the one everyone thought to be extinct; the ice dragon. ⸝⸝

𝓹airing dragon!taehyun x human!reader (f) 𝔀arnings descriptions of injuries/blood, supernatural au, kissing, character death (not main), shitty and poor writing, lowkey rushed toward the end, kills myself.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 14.1k ་༘࿐

#serene adds ✎.. my contribution to The Veils Of Aethera which is kind of very shit and probably the worst piece I have ever written (I'm exaggerating, maybe..) no but theres a lot of plot holes, which I did not have time to fill out but could definitely explain if someone wants me to, because in my head I have all the answers and um yes. I haven't proofread this once and I'm not going to because im nic sick off my ass and also on the verge of just falling asleep hm, anyway I love u guys heh please don't be mad at me for posting something so below my usual level >-<

ONCE UPON A TIME… In a land far far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky, and the water sparkled under the glowing sun. Where mountains rose high and in which long, deep caves ran. Where the sea met shore in a collision of tall waves. Where the undead walked among the living. Where the winged flew above the finned. In a land where things beyond any reason and rhyme existed. And amongst those very beings, within the veils of Aethera, there was…

FIRE, burning hotter than the sun. Orange and yellow flames dancing before your very eyes, their warmth caressing your face, shunning the cold around and embracing you. Fire warm enough to kill, if they wanted to. — Turning forests into ash, melting even the firmest of steel armor, incinerating entire kingdoms with one mere breath.

The dragon’s powerful roar echoes over the mountain tops, loud enough for trees to shake. Even the wind gave way as they soared through the sky. Large wings slapping against the cool air as they danced through the clouds. Untamed beasts, that’s how most described them. Wild and fueled only by their desire and rage to destroy everything around them.

Few humans were fortunate enough to face one of these creatures and live to tell the tale. But the ones that did were graced with luck for many generations to come. These humans, those who sought not to fight but to learn about these beasts, were a different kind of people. Reckless in the eyes of other humans but courageous in the eyes of the dragon.

Together they conquered the skies, not as two but as one. Their souls connected with one another as they played a game of perfect synchronization. Moving swiftly in the dark, silently communicating with nothing but the twitch of a muscle. It was a different kind of understanding, a mutual one, a bond that ran far deeper than any other.

A raspy cough slices through the image of the dark fiery dragon gliding through the sky and your attention immediately shifts to the old man in front of you. — “Grandpa! Are you alright?” Quickly rising to your feet, you scurry toward the old man as you kneel before him. He gives a weak nod, dismissing you with the wave of his wrinkly hand.

“I’m fine, dearest..” He mutters, though the strain of his voice betrays his words. Still, you nod as your thumbs caress the back of his hand. “Now, where was I? — Ah yes, the dragons..” He shifts in his chair, the blanket slipping from his legs, and you rush to shove it back in place. Your old grandpa clears his throat as he prepares to continue.

“You see there were these formations they would do in the air and–” — “Alfred, that’s quite enough.” The brisk voice of your aunt, Fiona, pierces through the air. She sways by the doorway, her arms folded neatly across her chest as her dark gaze narrowed on your grandpa. With a small grumble he adjusts himself in his seat, muttering something about Fiona being “a persistent know-it-all.”

Your aunt doesn’t seem to care for his bitterness, for she did not enjoy hearing him talk about those “creatures” as she referred to them as. Instead she brushes past you, her arms wrapping around the old man as she helps him to his feet. “Enough about those lizards, come to bed.” — With a small glance over her shoulder, she addresses you in a most derogatory tone. “Make use of yourself out in the garden will you? Your grandpa needs to rest.”

The sun is warm against your face as you squint toward it. Your aunt had a lovely garden, situated just on the edge of the forest, by the very far end of the kingdom. Humming along to the soft tune of a slow melody, your hands busy themselves with hanging the damp garments on the clothesline that was tied between two posts.

A gentle breeze makes the wet fabric sway in the wind and you skip out of its way as you reach for one of the dresses. — “Thought I told you to let those things go.” The voice of your aunt slices through the relaxing atmosphere. She bends down to pick a pair of smaller pants from the basket, belonging to your younger cousin.

Even if her words remained vague and dismissing, there was no doubt that she was referring to the stories she’d walked in on your grandpa sharing, yet again. When your silence has gone on for a good minute she continues, “You know how he gets, going on and on about that nonsense..” Fiona huffs as she gives the pants a harsh shake before folding them across the string.

“But I should like to hear him out- His stories are beyond interesting, and he’s delighted to share them!” You chime in, a small, hopeful smile stretching across your lips. It was true, to reminisce about the tales of his youth seemed to be the only thing that brought your grandfather any sort of joy these days. It made the wrinkles around his eyes deepen when he smiled, a low breathy laugh rumbling within his chest.

Your aunt Fiona shoots you a pointed look, her attention then drifting back to the damp clothes. “That is all that they are, stories. But your old grandpa does not seem to know the difference between tales and truth anymore.” She heaves a sigh as she turns to you, “Lest us not make matters worse by encouraging these…fantasies.” Her tone was final, like a large wooden door being slammed shut in your face. You held your tongue, returning to your chores as the day continued on.

Dinner was chaotic, as it always was. With plates clattering against the small wooden table and glasses being tipped over. Your younger cousins bickered, their loud and whiny voices filling the cramped room. “Boys! Enough.” Fiona looks tired when placing the large pot of soup on the middle of the table, in the center of the whirlwind. The twins however, immediately quiet down though they continue to glower at one another.

“He started it!” William shouts as he points to his brother, Theodore, who merely shakes his head. “Did not!” — “Did too!” For each time their whining voices grew all the louder, soon overpowering any coherent thought you might have. A small tap to your side diverts your attention from the arguing taking place. Mira, your youngest cousin, points to the jug of water, silently requesting you give her some.

She was quiet, awfully so, in fact you don’t think you’d heard hear utter more than three words during meal time. You oblige by pouring her a glass, setting the jug back just in time for your aunt to give the twins a harsh tug to their ears, making them protest loudly. — “Give your mother a break will ya?” Her voice is harsh, leaving a thick silence behind as she lets go of her sons and takes a seat by the high end of the table.

Opposite your aunt Fiona, sits your grandfather. He seems lost in thought as his wrinkly fingers play with the spoon on his hand. Everyone is now turning his way, waiting patiently for him to begin eating. It was customary to let the oldest man of the house eat before anyone else, and usually your grandpa was not late to indulge… Today, he seems distracted.

“Father, are you not hungry?” Your aunt tries as she leans forward, gripping her own spoon tightly. You watch as his brows raise on his aged forehead, and your grandfather hums as his gaze drops to the bowl before him, as if he’d just realized its presence. — “Huh..” He huffs, readjusting his grip on the silverware as he stirs the warm soup. “Oh yes..” He murmurs, bringing a spoonful to his lips as he begins to eat.

Everyone sighs in relief, all following as they, too, begin to feast. For some reason you find yourself unable to. Your gaze lingers by your old grandpa, noting the slight tremble to his hand and the effort it took for him to swallow. Often did you worry for his health, for how long you had left with him. Regardless of his condition, there was little you could do for him. It pained you greatly.

Just like everynight, you tucked your grandpa in before bed. He’d gotten quite disoriented during later months and needed help getting from one place to another. With your arm around his weak frame, another one waiting to assist, you move him from his rocking chair and over to the soft mattress. — “There you go, pops. — Careful with your knees.”

Your grandfather scoffs as he waves a dismissing hand your way. “Enough dear, these legs used to conquer battlefields, they shan’t submit to a short walk..” Still, there was an undeniable tremble to him as he slowly lowered himself onto the bed. — Only once you’d drawn the thick blanket over him, did he finally seem at ease once more.

He hums to a foreign melody as you fiddle with the oil lamp on his bedside table. — “Ah, did I tell you about that one time… The one where I met a sundragon head on?” Your grandpa stifles a cough against his palm before shaking his head lightly. Though his train of thought was cut short when you place a gentle hand on his chest.

“It’s getting late pops, you need to rest.” The smile you send him is far from convincing and you quickly avoid his piercing gaze as you adjust the lamp one final time. You never turned down one of his stories, even if you’d heard it a hundred times before. He was bound to catch onto it, and he did. The sounds of sheets rustling rings in your ears as he props himself up on a weak elbow.

“Did my daughter tell you to stop encouraging me?”

It wasn’t a question but a statement. Despite your reluctance, you slowly admit to it as you give a meek nod. Your gaze trains to your hands as they rest in your lap, seated on the edge of his bed. Your grandpa makes a small noise of disbelief as he thumps back against the mattress. “Just as stubborn as her mother..” He mutters as he gazes up at the ceiling.

For a moment, a still silence fills the small bedroom, nothing but the wind tearing through the trees outside to be heard. Then your old grandfather suddenly speaks again. “Your aunt has every reason to resent those creatures, given what happened to my father..” — Your ears perk up at the mention of your great grandfather. He was, according to your grandpa, a man like no else. One who not only faced the dragons but even soared through the sky alongside them.

Well, at least until… Your grandpa’s hoarse voice interrupts your scattered thoughts. “I do not blame her”, he murmurs, sounding almost melancholic. Yet you’re able to catch the undeniable glint in his eyes, the one that would shine whenever he spoke of his past. “Still…”, he coughs, a low and weasel sound, “I would like to see them one last time.”

“To see the dragons once more, that is my final wish.”

𓍼ོ

The very next morning is cold, a lot colder than a typical summer one in Aethera. You tug your coat tighter around yourself, even your gloved hands slowly succumbing to the biting frost. It’s early, much so that the sun itself has yet to rise over the horizon. — Quietly, you slip out of your aunt's small cottage, sealing the door shut behind you as you give a final glance over your shoulder.

Your footsteps crunch against the leaves and twigs as you make your way through the thick and dense forest. Nature around you was still asleep, at least, most of it. You did not dare stop to think about what kind of creatures roamed these woods, what kind of entities lingered in its shadows.. A shiver runs down your spine and you shudder before pushing those thoughts aside, marching forward with hasty steps.

And soon enough, the trees part, making way for the large mountains ahead. With newfound eagerness, you rush forward, more than ready to leave the dark forest behind as you emerge from the treeline. — You pause, finding yourself in complete awe as you stare up at large stones, crafted by nature itself, their tops covered in a bright blanket of white snow.

Here you were bound to find what you were looking for. Dragons. Determined to fulfill your grandfather’s dying wish, the least you could do was set out to bring back the one thing he sought to see the most. You knew a lot about dragons, well, as much as he’d let on to in his stories. Still, the thought of seeing one up close.. It made your stomach tingle.

But the mountain is a lot crueler than you’d anticipated. The hike to the top is unforgiving, tearing your limbs apart as your body aches. You’re panting, knee deep in thick snow as you battle against the harsh winds. In spite of it being late July, the harsh conditions of the Frosty Peaks seemed to know no bounds as it served you whiplash after whiplash.

Frantically your gaze searches for an entrance, for any way to access the mountain. Your grandpa had long ago told you about the dark caves dragons resided in. “They’re quite tricky to find, not something you would just stumble upon. — A dragon’s nest is its most treasured place.” That’s what he’d said.

You knew to look for small, almost unnoticeable anomalies. Something that any other bypasser would mistake for nature's misfortune. A twisted branch, a cracked stone.. The cold wind hurls against you, making an almost ear piercing screeching noise. You can no longer feel your face as you keep your gaze trained to the ground, intently looking for something, anything that would give way to an opening.

But you come up short. There was nothing here. It felt like you’d been climbing this mountain for forever. It was never ending, everywhere you turned there was just snow upon snow upon snow. Every rock and every tree looked the same, perhaps you’d been walking in circles. What if you couldn’t find your way home, what if you were to freeze to death upon this quiet mountain, all alone and shivering as you take your last breaths.

The lantern you had brought along had burned out, yet you clutched it tightly as you stumbled forward. With your head bowed and your desperate eyes seeking what you thought to be the impossible, you’re unable to foresee the snare that protrudes through the white snow, not until it’s too late. It catches around your wrist, causing you to yelp as you fall forward.

It’s cold, it’s so cold that it burns. The hard ground caresses your tired body, the soil beneath welcoming you. With shaky hands you brace yourself against the mountain, daring to lift your head only an inch, wincing at the pain that throbbed within. “Ow..” You whine, clutching your temple as you screw your eyes shut.

When you open them again is when you see it. At first you didn’t know whether to cry or to laugh. In disbelief your gaze flickers between the lily that was currently in full bloom, thriving in deep snow, and over to the opening presented before you. — Unbelievable.

Excitement coursed through your veins as you scramble to your feet, eager to escape the menacing wind. It’s without thinking twice that you dart for the cave’s opening, throwing yourself inside with a relieved sigh. Your soft pants leave small clouds of cold in their wake, and you lean against the wet stone walls as you catch your breath.

With wary eyes you survey your surroundings, taking in the endless pit of darkness that awaits you. The cave curved in a C-like shape, and the sounds of water quietly dropping from its ceiling fills the otherwise eerie silence. — It takes you a moment to re-light your lantern, but once you have, its warm glow manages to bring you at least some sense of comfort.

Your hesitant footsteps bounce off the wet cavern walls as you delve deeper into the mountain. With your lantern held high, it guides you through the passages, an unexplainable tug at your chest urging you forward. Perhaps you should turn back, perhaps this had been a bad idea. After all, you did not know anything about dragons apart from what your grandfather had told you.— Was this really such a good idea?

A turn to your left leads you onto an even darker path, and you feel a shiver crawl down your spine, sending a shockwave of nervosity through you. With a small gulp, you readjust your grip on the lantern, its light casting your face in yellow-ish hues. — So far there was not a single sign of any other living being, and you had been listening to nothing but your own shaky exhales for the past twenty minutes.

Just when you had begun to consider retreat, did the tip of your shoe crash against something hard. Not being able to catch yourself in time, you stumble forward a second time that day. But this time, there’s no snow to catch you, and you hit the hard and cold cave floor with a loud crash.

“Ow..” Your groan pierces the thick silence, and you wince as you grab ahold of your already pounding head. Not again you sigh. Everything hurt, your body felt sore and bruised, you could only imagine how you looked beneath all your layered clothes.

Upon turning around, you find that what you had tripped over had been not a stone, not an overly large branch or any other of nature’s call. No, this was something entirely different… With squinting eyes you peer down at what appeared to be scales covering something the size of a smaller tree trunk. Confused you glance around in search of your lantern, it had slipped from your grasp during your fall.

You find it a few feet away, gingerly shuffling over as you retrieve it. Thankfully the flames within were still alive and you cradled it close as you turned back to the strange scaled thing you had tripped over, only to find it gone. — Your heart catches in your throat, making your eyes widen and the lantern threatening to crash against the ground once more.

A cold and harsh puff of air hits your back, hard. You gulp, slowly and carefully turning around as you clutch the lamp in trembling hands. Immediately your gaze falls on the exact same scales you’d seen just moments prior. White and smooth, perfectly covering four large legs, your attention fixates on the long and sharp claws on its feet. Then over to the almost translucent and magnificent looking wings, neatly tucked against its sides.

Dread fills you when you realize that what you had tripped over had been its at least 10 ft long tail. With a gawking expression you watch as said tail curls around its body. In almost cinematic slow motion does your gaze shift toward its head, where sharp canines rested in its mouth. There was no doubt that this was exactly what you had come here looking for.

“A dragon..”

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. Your soft whisper of disbelief carrying out into the cold air. It looked stoic, yet far from the dragon's your grandfather had described. This was not the dark and fire-spitting beasts he’d told you about, this was… A wet droplet splashes against your cheek and you glance up to find icicles peering down at you from the ceiling, their pointy ends looking ready to pounce.

A low huff brings your attention back to the creature before you, just in time to watch as it cracks an eye open. Its ice blue irises a stark contrast to the narrow slits of its pupils. This dragon did not hold the gaze of warmth and fire. — It held one of ice cold death.

You stumble backward on trembling legs. The wet and hard cave wall feels like daggers against your back when you crash against it. Your breath comes out in jagged pants, your heart beating through your chest as you realize the dangers of your situation. The plan had been to watch them from afar, to silently slip away as if nothing had happened when you had gotten what you’d come here for. The plan did however, not include coming face to face with one of them. To become trapped within the cold and eerie darkness of these caves with the very beings that ruled them.

With fear in your eyes, you watch as the dragon rises to its feet. Cold blue eyes locked on your small figure as you stay pressed against the wall, cowering before it. The sounds of its heavy steps echo between the icicles hanging from the ceiling, it makes the floor shake and rocks move as it slowly makes its way closer.

You can feel its chilly breath all over you, freezing your already damp and shivering body tenfold. You screw your eyes shut as you turn your head away, preparing yourself for the fate inevitably to come. — Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. You should’ve listened to your aunt. You had been a fool to believe your old grandpa. You should have never come here and you should have never woken this beast.

But the sharp and soaring pain of its large canines never came. And when what feels like an eternity has passed, you finally dare crack an eye open. Your vision is clouded by blues and whites, its nose hovering inches from your face. You couldn’t understand why it hadn’t made another move to attack you, to snap your frail body in half and rid itself of your invading presence.

The dragon only watches you, the slow waves of cold air washing over you when it exhales. You swallow, gaze drifting down its long and majestic body as you wait for death to come. It is then you realize that something was wrong. There, tarnishing the translucent hue of its large wing is a large and ugly crack. Dark crimson spills from it in dramatic fashion as it taints the dragon’s shattered wing.

It was hurt.

A pang of sympathy washes over you at the sight. The frantic beating of your heart faltering for a short moment as you exhale the sigh you’d been holding in. The dragon seems to notice where your attention lays and immediately covers itself up by tucking its wing to its side. — A low, predatory sound builds in its chest, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise as you will down a gulp.

It pulls back, and for a second you think it might retreat. But instead it opens its terrifyingly large jaw, presenting you with rows upon rows of teeth sharp as swords. You want to scream, but the dragon beats you to it as it lets out an ear piercing roar. — It makes the icicles above you shatter, their splinters flying everywhere. Even the walls tremble under the powerful sound and you find yourself darting for the exit without a second thought.

The sound continues to plague you as you run through the murky and long cavern walls, fighting your way through the maze you had once entered with curiosity and hope. Now you claw onto the desperate feeling of life, with tears streaming down your cheeks and your heart in your throat.

It’s not until light presents itself and you catch the sun on your face that you breathe out. Your lungs burn, your legs ache and your head pounds. The snow feels warm and inviting, and your knees sink to the ground as you plummet toward it. — One glance behind your shoulder shows the entrance gone once more, and you sigh, whether it was in relief or not, you can’t tell.

But as you make your way home that day, you can’t help but think of the dragon up in the mountain, and the large wound on its side.

𓍼ོ

Your grandpa accompanies you as you prepare dinner that night. Your aunt Fiona was out gathering wild berries and fruits along with your younger cousins, and so the kitchen had become a peacefully quiet and inviting space. The air is warm, the steam coming from the hot stew cooking over the small fire, caressing your face.

Perched on his stool by the high end of the table, your grandfather watches as you prepare plates and spoons for the family. His expression is calm, serene even. He doesn’t look as exhausted today, and you’re glad. These quiet and tender moments with him were ones that you cherished, for you didn’t know how many you had left.

Yet you can’t help your mind from wandering toward the mountain on the other side of the forest. Your thoughts are plagued by the lonesome creature hidden within the stone. “Grandpa…” Your fingers drum against the rim of the glass you were wiping down, a small frown tugging across your brows.

The old man hums as he shifts his gaze over to where you’re standing, obviously waiting for you to continue. It’s just… You don’t know how to. With a small, almost inaudible sigh you set the glass down. “Did you ever.. I mean was there ever such a thing as… ice dragons?” — The question catches him off guard, sure your old man was used to your inquiries about both the dragons and his past life. But something like this had never been brought up.

“Ice dragons?” He echoes, and you think you catch a flicker of intrigue behind his otherwise pale eyes. “Where have you heard about those?” He then murmurs as he attempts to sit a little straighter. You immediately rush to his side as you place an arm around him, “Careful.” But your grandfather only swats your helping hands away as he stifles a cough.

You purse your lips, but keep a steady grip on his shoulder as you hand him a glass of water. “I’ve just… Been doing a bit of research, and I stumbled across the topic.” You bite the inside of your cheek before adding, “There was hardly anything documented, so I was hoping you knew more..”

Your grandpa hums, the sound long and drawn out as he takes a sip of his water. “Well of course there’s nothing documented, ice dragons have been extinct for centuries.” He says it so calmly, like it was the most casual thing in the world. But it wasn’t. You had just seen one, you were sure you had seen one.

Images of the dragon up in the mountains flash before you. The blue and white scales, its frosty breath, its icy and penetrating gaze. But that would be impossible then.. It shouldn’t exist if they were extinct. — “Are you sure?”

With a small scoff, your grandfather sets his glass down. “What kind of question is that?” He quirks a bushy brow, his expression gauging as he studies you closely. “If there was as much as a single ice dragon left, I would be sure to know of it”, he states with a huff. You did not want to argue over the matter any further, and thus kept your silence as you continued setting the table.

Perhaps it had been a flicker of your imagination. The cave had, after all, been dark. It was possible that what you thought was real could have been all but an illusion. — But the ice cold shiver that ran down your spine as you recall its cold breath on your skin was most real. You think of the blood, of the large wound slashed across its side. How defensive it had gotten when it caught your gaze lingering.

You pitied the being. What awful it must be to feel pain like that.

“Why do you want to know about ice dragons?” The hoarse voice of your grandfather pierces the warm air and you turn to him with a small almost helpless smile. “I don’t know… Curiosity I suppose. ” You mumble, choosing to not bring up the day’s events in front of your old man. Your grandpa nods, his face looks sunken as his eyes drop to his empty plate.

Outside, you can hear the faint noise of your aunt and younger cousins as they approach the small cottage. “Curiosity will get you far”, your grandpa agrees, though his voice sounds almost solemn now. — “But we should not let our thoughts linger in the past.”

𓍼ོ

You find yourself setting out early in the morning that follows as well. But this time, you’ve brought more than a small lantern. The bag you carry is heavy on your back, making each step up the steep and snowy mountain twice the labour. Yet you persist, stubbornly trudging through the thick snow that reaches all the way to your knees.

The cold and harsh winds make for a narrow view as you squint against them. Your nose has lost all its feeling, and you’re certain that you’re developing frostbite on parts of your body. Frantically you search for the tiny lily. You had tried your best to retrace yesterday’s steps, wantonly stumbling back and forth as you scour the ocean of bright white.

“Where is it… Where is it..” Your lips are numb, your tongue feels way too big for your mouth and your words come out slurred. Never in your life had you been this cold before, and only God knows how much longer you’ll be able to carry on forward.

But then you see it, its bright pink hues lighting up your world like fireworks in the night sky. And just a few feet away, the familiar entrance presents itself. — Despite your better judgement you had returned. Pity, that’s what you told yourself. Pity and empathy, that’s what you felt for the lonely dragon. It was why you had come here, with the intention of helping, as best as you could. It would’ve been what your grandfather would have wanted.

Guilt weighs you down. It weighs heavier than the large bag on your shoulders. This secret you kept, it was bound to kill you. But such a thought seems small in comparison to the large cave that awaits you. — One final harsh thrust of the wind wins you over as you hurry inside, desperate to get out of its claws, even if it means finding yourself in the grasp of another.

The maze-like system that was the dark and wet cave is strangely familiar, even though it shouldn’t be. Your feet move on their own, carrying you through the long and narrow labyrinth. For each step you take, your heart beats a little faster. Fear and anticipation courses through you. — Scared as you may be, but this time you had come prepared. This time you knew what waited around the corner, and as you made a final turn to the left, you exhaled.

It’s dark, but now you know to watch where you place your feet. You’re silent, moving carefully through the cold air. Your lantern casts the cave in a warm and yellow glow, a stark contrast to the murky greys surrounding you. The icicles are sending gentle droplets of water down your way, one by one they splash against your cheek, the soft noise filling the open space.

You had expected it to be there, you had tried to imagine it over and over for the past day. But the large dragon still catches you by surprise when your gaze falls upon it. Hurled up by one of the rocky and uneven walls, its large wings folded over what you presumed to be its wounded side. Its chest rises and falls with each slow breath it takes, the dragon appears to be in a calm slumber. Cold puffs of air shoots through its flared nostrils, the condensation vanishing in the darkness.

It takes but one misstep on your part, the sound of rocks being crushed beneath the sole of your shoe echoing out into the silence. The disturbance wakes the sleeping dragon, and you find your gaze glued to its icy eyes as they snap open. Naturally, you expect for it to come lunging at you, just like it had the day before.

But the dragon remains oddly still, slowly exhaling yet another wind off freezing air as it watches you with an almost expectant glint. It was impossible to read the creature, no matter how hard you tried. Your grandfather’s stories only did so much, and it was admittedly far different to come face to face with one on your own.

“Hi.”

The greeting comes without you even thinking twice, it’s quiet, soft and timid. You’re surprised by your own rush of calmness at its semblance of indifference. For some reason, you did not feel threatened by the dragon today.

With slow and gentle movements, you let the bag slip from your shoulders, placing it down on the hard stone surface beneath you as you begin rummaging through it. You had not known what to bring along, for anything involving medicine was far from your expertise. The moss you’d brought from just within the forest line was thick and wet, but you vividly remember your aunt dressing your scraped knees in such.

Gauze was sacred, you had to venture all the way to the kingdom in order to acquire some. It was why you had taken as little as you could from your aunt’s medicine cabinet, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t be able to tell. — It wasn’t much, but it was something.

You feel the dragon's intense gaze on you as your trembling hands undo the roll of gauze, you wondered if it’d be enough to even go around its large body once. It was worth the shot. — You stand up straight, clearing your throat as you draw in a short breath. “I uh, I’m here to help you..” You give the dragon an awkward smile. It was impossible to know if it could understand you or not, but judging by the way its gaze narrowed at your words, you would guess it did.

It’s okay, you tell yourself, gripping the supplies in your hands tighter. You take a hesitant step forward, gauging its reaction as you keep your eyes on its head. But the dragon remains unmoving. Alright. Three more steps. Still good. — It’s not until you reach its side, your outstretched fingers reaching for the shattered wing, that the dragon flinches.

A low, menacing growl builds in its chest. The sound makes you falter, your eyes widening as you swallow the shriek about to escape your lips. “I…” Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly as your heart hammers in your chest. Had you taken it too far? Your intentions were pure, sure, but could this beast see that?

“I mean no harm…” You say as you let the moss and gauze drop to the ground, presenting your now empty hands before the dragon. The creature watches you with pupils that are narrowed into slits, clearly untrusting of your ways, but makes no move to snap you in half. — It meant something, at least so you thought.

Your attention slowly returns to the pale wing pressing against its side. If only you could get a closer look. Your palm graces the smooth and cold scales, fascinated by the foreign texture. But the action is almost immediately met by a harsh snarl from the dragon as its large head jerks your way.

Its breath is just as freezing as you’d remembered it, coming out in harsh puffs against your already shivering body. You’re so close that if you leaned forward as much as an inch, your foreheads would meet. — Your gulp is painfully audible inside the dark gave and you fumble for words.

“Y-You’re hurt…” Your shaky finger points in the direction of its wing and the dragon follows your direction. You watch in slight bewilderment as it flexes the broken wing. The wound looked harsh and deep, you were sure it restricted most of its movements, not to mention causing it great pain.

The dragon makes a small noise that sounds almost like a human grunt. The sound catches you off guard and you turn back just in time to catch its head shifting forward again, its attention seemingly fixed on something far away. It looked almost… defeated. You wondered for how long it’d been isolated up here, how many sleepless and painful nights it would’ve had to endure.

When it doesn’t make a second attempt to snap you in half, you take it as your sign to move forward. A brief inspection of the long cut helps you determine that it would probably not need any stitches. Said discovery relieved you as you had little clue of how to work both needle and thread, especially on dragon scales.

You pick at the moss you’d previously discarded, bunching the wet plant up in your hands as you sought a suitable approach. It would’ve been easier had this dragon been slightly smaller, or you slightly bigger. — Nonetheless you give it your best shot. The dragon hisses when you press the cold moss against the crimson cut, but you try your hardest to ignore the way it tenses beneath your touch, praying and hoping that it would remain as still as it had up until now.

Once the thick layer of moss is in place, your foot blindly reaches for the gauze as you roll it over. With the help of your teeth, and a lot of effort as your arms fought to keep the earthy moss in place, you managed to throw the small roll over its wing, only to catch it as it came down on the other side.

The process was tedious, and due to the size of the wound, it required you to repeat your original move a multitude of times. You work quietly, biting your lip in concentration as sweat pooled on your forehead. To try and get your mind off of the situation and task at hand, you try to figure out just what could’ve caused an injury like this.

Had the dragon taken a fall? Gotten in a fight with another of its species, or even worse, a completely different creature? You were no fool, and you knew that dragons were far from the only spirits that roamed this forsaken island. There were beings far more dangerous than a pair of claws and a large jaw. The thought alone made you shiver.

A loud thud snaps your attention to your left, your heart leaping out of your chest. But the terror subsided just as it had surfaced when your gaze fell on the dragon's head, resting atop the cold and hard cave floor in an exhausted manner. It exhales, the condensated cold air blowing from its nostrils like smoke out of a chimney.

It was impossible not to pity the lonely creature, and you feel your stomach twisting as you watch its defeated expression. There was much you wanted to ask, things you longed to know. For now, you were content with not getting torn in half as you tended to the crack on its wing. It was enough, you tell yourself.

Once you're done, you take a step back to inspect your work. It looked… messy. The gauze was wrapped in uneven layers, with moss peeking through here and there. An amateur's job, that much was evident. But the dragon doesn’t seem to mind, for it spares no more than a quick glance toward the now dressed wound. Instead, its cold and harsh gaze lingers on your fidgety frame as you debate your next move.

Your eyes dart around the dark cave, lingering on its sharp and rough edges. You wondered how uncomfortable it must be to live like that. The lack of sunlight, the lack of warmth.. Not that this dragon seemed to need it. — But there was really nothing here. And as you fetch your lantern once more, throwing the now empty bag over your shoulder, you turn to meet the dragon’s icy gaze.

“I’ll be back”, you say, and though it did not reply, you caught the faint shimmer of its once tired eyes.

𓍼ོ

You return to that same dark and cold cave for many days to come. As time passed, you found yourself growing all the more comfortable in the dragon’s ever looming presence. You would bring fresh moss, making sure to check on the wound as best as you could. — And though your bag weighs half a ton, you still managed to bring some nutrients all the way up the mountain.

“Here”, you had said as you threw the bag on the stone floor. The dragon had given you a small glance, its expression appearing almost judgemental before its gaze had flickered to the fish you’d brought along. — “Why come on, you must be hungry.” You motioned toward the fresh meat, feeling rather proud of the accomplishment. The dragon had let out a huff, blowing a cold puff of air your way before begrudgingly indulging in the food.

Conversation was difficult to make. You often talked to yourself, thinking out loud as you rambled on about whatever topic came to mind. Sometimes you didn’t speak at all, instead choosing to let a comfortable silence envelop the two of you. You did not know if the dragon enjoyed your company, perhaps it only put up with you because it had too little strength to snap you in half.

Yet the creature continued to occupy your thoughts. Its almost translucent wings, the pale scales covering its body, the sharp pair of icy eyes. One day you’d brought a small notebook along. Using a piece of charcoal, you sat perched against the opposite wall as you drew the dragon to the best of your abilities. You found it to be a great excuse to watch it for long periods of time rather than stealing subtle glances.

Truth was that no matter how many times your eyes fell on the dragon, you still found it hard to believe just what you were seeing. Suddenly your grandfather’s stories all made sense. The suspense and thrill of the dragons. The dangers and the courage it took. You understood why he enjoyed talking about them so much, you could feel his passion as you sat in silence with something so sacred.

But for each day that passed, the large gash on its side lessened in both size and severity. You wondered how much time you had left before it eventually spread its wings and took off. The thought plagued you more than you’d like to admit…

The morning is crisp, the moist and warm summer air had yet to fall over the small cottage you resided in. Just like any other morning you’re up and about, quietly shuffling throughout the tiny space as you pack today’s essentials. You were thinking of bringing along a book, perhaps you would read out loud to the dragon, any form of entertainment would surely brighten its mood.

Your eyes roam the crowded bookshelves, stuffed with literature of all kinds. From herbal tea recipes to novels and history books. The pad of your finger stops atop one of the shorter pieces, something you’d easily be able to finish within the day or the next. But before you can as much as pull it from its spot, squeezed between two thick history books, the sound of a floorboard creaking startles you.

“It’s a little early to be up reading.” Your aunt Fiona sounds like she’s just caught a thief in the midst of its burglary. And when you turn to face her, you find a satisfied smirk stretched across her thin lips. — “I…” Your words fall short, your throat suddenly thick with a fear you couldn’t quite place. “Well I was just-”

“You know I’ve noticed you sneaking around lately.” Fiona takes a step forward, and you start to wonder if she’d perhaps gotten up early solely with the intention of catching you. Her eyes gleam with satisfaction when they land on the book you had been reaching for just moments ago. — “Gone all day without as much as a word, you worry you old grandpa.”

Your aunt would often use your grandfather as a pressure point, knowing that the mention of him would get you to crack. She takes another two steps forward, stopping a mere feet away. “Perhaps you’re trying to get out of your chores”, she nods toward the garden outside, even though it had been left unattended for a mere week.

You shake your head, immediately trying to deny the accusations she was pinning on you. “It’s not-” — “Then what?” Fiona cuts you short, her voice snappy as her face twists into a small grimace. “What could be keeping you from your frail and old grandpa?” She had a point, and the fact that she did was a bitter thought indeed. You should be spending more time with your grandfather, you should be helping your aunt around the house, there are a lot of things you should be doing.

The sound of your swallow is painstakingly loud, shattering through the brief silence. “I know…” You bow your head, shame trapping your will to go see the dragon up in the mountain. “I’m sorry.”

Fiona seems satisfied with your answer. She purses her lips, humming to herself as she eyes the bag flung over your shoulder. “Leave it here”, she points to the sofa on your right, “You won’t be needing it for now.” — Reluctantly you do as she says, letting it drop to the soft cushion before turning to your aunt with disappointment surely written across your face. If she catches it, she doesn’t bother to acknowledge it. Part of you is relieved that she seems to have little interest in prying further.

“The garden needs tending to”, she states before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs, likely with the intention of waking your cousins. But as she reaches the first step, she throws a glance over her shoulder, her sharp gaze landing on your still unmoving frame. Her eyes narrow, “And don’t even think about leaving the house until you’re finished.”

You could understand your aunt’s reasoning. Raising three children and taking care of her sick dad would surely take its toll on anyone. Fiona was strong, a lot stronger than most people seemed to think. Usually you did not mind helping her, for it made you feel useful. — But today your heart yearns to be elsewhere. You find yourself glancing toward the mountain, your thoughts occupied by the pale dragon, the image of its icy gaze burned into your mind.

Because of that you find yourself hurrying through your tasks. Your fingers pull carrots from the moist soil, they pick basil from the fresh plants and pluck ripe apples from the old apple tree that leans to the right. Sweat dribbles down your forehead, and you mindlessly wipe it with the back of your hand as you carry on forward.

The work felt tedious today, and you stole peeks at the kitchen window, trying to catch a glimpse of your aunt as she moved about the house. When finally, after what felt like decades, your basket is filled to the brim with fresh nutrients, and the plants had all been watered and tended to, you return inside.

Setting the heavy bag down on the kitchen table, you look for Fiona, but she’s nowhere to be found. Your eyes drift toward the living room, lingering on the book you’d reached for that morning. You had done your chores for the day, so there was technically no harm in sneaking away, if only for a few hours.

𓍼ོ

Your way up the steep mountain feels lighter that afternoon. Your steps have a slight skip to them as you bounce forward. Nothing seemed to weigh you down, not even the full on scolding that you might receive from your aunt upon your arrival back home.

By now you find the lily with ease, its familiar and bright pink hue standing out perfectly among the clear and white snow. You’re excited, giddy even. The thought of spending time with the grumpy dragon brought you a kind of joy that should definitely concern you, and had you been any wiser, you probably wouldn’t have entered the cave that afternoon.

It was even colder than last time, yet the air was still, not a single gush of air hurling your way. You creep forward, without getting lost, because you’d acquainted yourself with the layout of the maze-like mountain. Now every twist and turn felt like a familiar face, one you’d seen so many times before and would always remember with a nostalgic smile.

You enter the opening that leads into what you had begun to call ‘the dragon’s nest’. The name was quite silly, but you didn’t mind since you were the only one to use it. But a frown quickly finds its way to your face as you regard the empty space. — The dragon was nowhere to be seen. Confused, you take another couple of steps forward, instinctively calling out for it, “Hello?”

There was, of course, no answer. You didn’t know what you had expected to come out of the simple greeting anyway. Rocking back and forth on the sole of your shoes, your mind rakes with different possibilities of what could have happened. Had it taken off? Maybe someone had found it, even worse, killed it.

No, that couldn’t be right.

Then you spot it, light. That was new, for the cave had been nothing but a room of complete darkness, ever since you first stepped foot here. Eager, you approach the source, forgetting all about your lantern as you discard it on the floor. Due to your previous visits being spent in such dim light, you had never noticed that the cave curled in on itself, leading even deeper than you’d originally thought.

The squeeze to get through however, was tight. There was no way a dragon would be able to fit through here. Rough and cold stone scrapes against your chest and back as you push yourself between the rocks, determined to find your way to the other side, to the light. — With a heavy sigh you finally stumble free, bracing your hands on your knees as you allow yourself to catch your breath.

When you glance up you realize that what you had stepped into was an even bigger part of the cave. But this one was basked in the warm rays of the sun. You’re almost blinded by the bright light, and you shield your eyes with your arm. Half the cave opened up and out into the sky. From here, the snowy mountains looked absolutely breathtaking.

And as you regard the snow coated treetops, the way the sun reflected off the white surfaces, it suddenly hit that you had never actually stopped to admire your surroundings. Each day had been a battle to the top, never once had you taken a break to glance around, to appreciate nature in its truest and rawest form.

But your moment of serenity is quickly broken by the sound of what you assumed to be a rock rolling across the cavern floors, the noise ripping you from your trance. You spin around, eyes wide as you try to locate its source, all to no avail. This part of the cave seemed just as empty as the last and the frown on your face only grew.

The dragon was really gone.

Then, just as you’re about to turn back, all air was knocked out of your lungs. The first thing you feel is pain, sharp and flaring through your body when your back is slammed against the cave wall. Your scream never makes it past your lips. And suddenly, the light that had previously enveloped you whole, was gone, shielded by something – by someone.

Your jaw hangs slack, the same terror you had felt on your first encounter with the dragon returning. It takes a moment for your flimmering eyes to adjust, but when they do you finally see the man before you. His face is dark, clouded by rage. The almost pitch black hair on his head falls in front of his eyes but you can hardly focus on his complexion, much too aware of the large hand he had wrapped around your throat.

Your breath hitches, a faint and helpless gasp escaping your open mouth. Who was he? Why was he here… How did he know about this place? — But then your gaze falls on his naked chest, there, covered in gauze and moss, the very same gauze and moss you had so carefully wrapped around its once large wing.

Finally, you catch a glimpse of his eyes. They’re dark and gloomy, but they’re familiar. As they narrow on you, there’s an undeniable hint of blue, shining within their irises depths – an icy and cold blue.

You realize then that the man before you was the dragon himself.

“I…” Desperately your fingers claw at his hand, trying to pry him off of you. The urge to speak is strong, but his vice-like grip overpowers it. His chest heaves, his breaths coming in ragged and rough, his hand around your throat tightening with deadly force. — “Why did you come back?” It’s the first time he utters as much as a word. It sounds strained, as though he’d gone years in silence.

When he finally releases his hold on your neck you fall forward, clutching at your throat whilst gasping for air. He watches you soundlessly, his expression twisted into a scowl. “W-What..?” You finally manage to croak out, feeling as though your wobbly knees were about to give out any second now.

The man scoffs, his fist connects with the cave wall next to you and the stones crack under his knuckles. “You should not have come here”, he barks, fury radiating off of him. “You do not belong here, human.”

He says the term with such distaste, making it sound derogatory. Perhaps it was. Yet you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around it. This was the very same dragon you’d been tending to for almost a whole week now. The creature in which you’d poured your love and affection onto, carefully building what you thought to be a relationship based on trust.

But as he stands before you in his human form, you hardly recognize him.

The man takes a step back, leaving you to exhale in relief. He turns away from you, as if trying to disregard your presence completely. You watch as he approaches the edge of the cave, where the bright sky meets the dark mountain. — Even with his back turned, you could tell that he was beautiful, breathtaking.

“I don’t understand…” Your quiet whisper seems to echo, a sound that you should be used to by now. Still, you can’t help but cower at the intensity of your words. The drag- man, does not turn to look behind him, does not spare you as much as a single glance. “It is not for you to understand”, he firmly states, his tone holding a bitter and resentful edge.

You shake your head, “I helped you-” — “You humiliated me.” He’s looking at you now, his cold gaze reaching you from across the cave. Your stomach drops at the statement. Have you done something wrong? You thought you were helping… “You degraded me by putting your filthy human hands on me.” He spits the words out, his voice laced with a venom so poisonous that it sunk into your veins.

“You were hurt-”

“I would have been fine”, he snaps. You feel frozen under his stare, unable to move as you shrink against the cave wall. He glances toward the bandage around his chest, the traces of what you had thought to be a gesture of kindness and empathy was something he regarded with hatred. It hurt. His jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists by his side.

“You should leave.”

Your blood ran cold at that and your lips part, an objection ready on your tongue. But he’s quick to realize that you won’t budge. With a small grunt he turns his back on you a second time, as he does, you catch a glimpse of the many scars slashed across his skin. They were a bright white, appearing healed though it seemed not even time could make them fade completely.

Before you can get another word out, before you can reach for him – he leaps off the edge. A terrified scream leaves your lips, and you slap a hand across your open mouth in shock. For a second you thought that he might have actually taken his own life, right before your very eyes. Everything is silent at that moment, and you do not dare move.

The sound of wings, slapping against the cold air is what gives you new hope. You see him, the pale blues easily giving him away as he pierces through the clouds, riding out the hurling winds. Your heart aches at the sight, for reasons unbeknownst to you, reasons you don’t think you wanted to get to the bottom of.

Suppose you would miss him, the lonely dragon.

𓍼ོ

Days passed. Days that would soon turn into weeks. The reality of your otherwise mundane life slowly sunk in, like fog easing its way from the ground after a rainy day. Only there was no sun to greet you after such gloomy weather. Your life seemed bleak these days. You did not know if that had to do with the absence of the dragon, whose name you never got, or your grandfather, whose health was declining each day.

Your days had shifted, and you no longer spent as much time in the garden. Hours upon hours were passed in the presence of your grandpa. His hand in yours as your thumbs caress his old and wrinkled skin. — He would cough a lot, and you could tell that it his condition was starting to wear him out. Regardless of that, he continued to drag on his long stories about the dragons, only with slightly less action.

Because even his stoires had found new attention.

“You know, they were actually quite crafty too.” Your grandpa’s voice is hoarse, and sometimes you need to strain your ears in order to hear him. Nevertheless, you sit by his rockingchair as he inistied on not spending his entire days bedridden. A blanket is placed over his lap, for he easily got cold these days, despite it being late summer still.

“The dragons?” You ask, to which your grandfather nods. “Ineed, in their human form of course. - And they were quite talkative too”, he recalls with a smile on his lips. You wanted to disagree on the matter, for the ice dragon you met had been anything but friendly. You thought you could still remember the glare he’d sent you, one that had stung through flesh and bone.

Your grandpa is attacked by another fit of coughs, and you help as best as you can by gently patting his back. “They sound lovely”, you murmur when readjusting the blanket over his legs. He gives your hand a thankful squeeze, humming in agreement. — “They are. Oh how I wish you should have known the gentle ways of a dragon, I think you would like it.”

He remains silent for a brief moment, his tired eyes lingering on the open window. The soft and warm summer breeze occasionally brushed past, sending a refreshing wave of air your way. Outside your younger cousins play, their screams of both joy and youth bounce off the trees. “Even my daughter might come to terms with it, had she just given them a chance.”

Something in the warm summer air shifted then, a darker cloud pulling over the otherwise clear sky. For long you had avoided the subject, danced around it because you were afraid, not of asking, but for receiving an answer. Still, your curiosity could not be contained, and as you witness your grandfather in his final moments, you realize that there might not be another oppurtitny for you to ask.

You clear your throat, shifting on your own chair as your hands remained clasped around your grandpa’s. “Say… What happened with my great grandfather?” You present the questions calmly, yet you avoid his eyes, your attention fixed on your intertwined fingers. — With a wheeze-like inhale, your grandpa sighs.

“You have not asked about him before”, he states and you can feel the slight tremble to his hands as they rest in your own. “No”, you say, “I haven’t.” You knew that avoiding this could not go on for forever, he knew it too. Your grandfather nods, taking another deep breath that seemed to cost a lot of effort.

“My father was a fearless man..” He begins telling it like he would any other story, but there’s a definite melancholic edge to his tone. “He was the closest our family ever got to the dragons”, he pauses, eyes flickering to met yours for a brief second, “Some even speculate that he fell in love with one of them.”

Your jaw slacks at that, the surprise evident on your face. “In love?” You echo, to which your grandfather chuckles. “She was a most beautiful woman, a man would be stupid not to recognize such, and my father was far from stupid.” He leans back in his rocking hair, it makes a creaking noise beneath his weight as it shifts backward every so slightly.

“They did spend a great deal of time together, much so that it worried the others.” — “Days could pass without my father returning from the mountains once. It’s quite confusing for a young boy such as myself to be left with his absence. - But I knew then, that my father’s love for the dragons was something I should aspire for myself.”

He made it sound beautiful, a lot more than it should have been. This was no fairytale for its ending was most gruesome. You knew that without having to ask. And with a heavy sigh, one that made his chest puff out before it shrunk again, your grandpa seems to come to terms with how the story had ended.

“Despite their love she still carried the deadly traits of the dragon. - But his death was never her fault.” Your grandpa turns to you with a solemn smile, “That’s what he would have wanted me to say.”

He doesn’t continue, even though you thought that he might. No, for once, your grandpa seems content with a shorter story, one that spoke for itself. Strangely enough it made you think of the dragon up in the mountain, he was not the same yet he was everything a dragon represented. He confused you, you told yourself that it was the reason he lingered in your mind, even when he shouldn’t.

𓍼ོ

Ingredients for your grandfather’s medicine were of best produce if you harvested them yourself. Your aunt Fiona had therefore urged you out the house that morning, making you embark on a rather long walk as you searched for the plant she desired. It was of magical properties supposedly, and therefore it grew only under magical conditions.

Lunarspore, or something along those lines was what it was called. A small, purple mushroom that thrived best in the murky waters of warm lagoons. Such a place did indeed exist on the island of Aethera, and as all humans, you knew its dangers. — Mushrooms weren’t the only thing that fed off of the almost glowing water. Beneath the surface lurked creatures far beyond any will of good.

Your feet come to a halt by the edge of the lake, your eyes narrowed as they peered across the thicker layer of fog that coated the misty surface. An uneasy feeling bubbles within your stomach, but you don’t turn back around despite your gut instinct screaming for you to do just that. Instead, you crouch down by the water, gaze searching for the round and plump mushroom.

It takes a while, but soon enough you stumble across one. With a relieved exhale you reach for the small knife stashed in your belt, flicking it in your open palm before reaching out to snag tha plant. You’re disappointed by its size, you would have expected them to be bigger. “This thing would barely last us a week..” You mutter as you begin searching for another one straight away.

To your surprise you find a second mushroom almost immediately. But to your dismay it was further out in the lagoon. You hesitate, gaze flickering between the safety of land and the need for the mushroom ahead. These waters scared you, and you did not want to wade out further than absolutely necessary. — In the end your desire to help your sick grandfather wins you over. With one tug, you pull your dress above your knees as you begin your descent into the lagoon.

For each step you take forward the water seems to get warmer. A strange and almost calm feeling washes over you, it puts you at ease, even as your mind yells for you to turn back. You ignore the strange sensations and keep your eyes set on the target ahead. Finally, as you reach the mushroom, you reach for it, but before the blade of your knife can slice it from its roots, a quiet whisper pulls your attention to the left.

Nothing but still and purple water fills your vision, yet you can’t shake the feeling that you weren’t alone. Something, someone, was there with you, lurking and stalking where your weak human eyes couldn’t see. The whisper is soft, it sounds almost like a melody, a sweet and enticing tune. You know you shouldn’t listen, you should scream for its silence and beg for your life.

But you can’t help but fall under its trance.

The water moves, gentle waves brushing against your naked legs. Your dress falls from the now loose grasp of your fingers, the cotton immediately being soaked up by the lagoon. The mushroom is long forgotten and the knife threatens to slip from your hands.

You see it now, long and flowy hair reaching the surface, its arms outstretched as it approaches. But you do not feel fear, in fact your whole body is calm, frozen in place as you watch the siren approach. You knew what was coming yet you couldn’t find it in you to lift as much as a finger in order to stop it.

Its wet and long fingers lock around your wrist, slowly tugging you toward the murky water. Its song rings clear in your ears now, but you cannot make out as much as a single word. You allow yourself to be pulled, the water is warm and inviting, enveloping you whole. For a moment you forget about everything, nothing exists and time is not real.

But then, just as your head was about to submerge under the surface, something hard and sharp hits you across the stomach. You’re lunged backward, snatched from the siren’s gentle but firm grip and hurled into the sky. At first, you’re too dazed to even realize what had just happened, but when your vision finally clears, and you behold the ground so far beneath you, is when you scream.

Everything was moving at an alarming speed, the wind whistling in your ears, the sound followed by that of winds slapping against the air. You glance up only to be met by the very same dragon you thought you had seen for the last time. He’s looking straight ahead, clearly unbothered by your terror as you squirm in the gras of his long claws.

If he let go now, you would fall to your immediate death, reduced to nothing more but a pile of shattered limbs as you melt against the ground. The thought scared the living daylights out of you and you stop fighting and instead cling onto him with all your might.

You’re… confused. Why was he here? After your last encounter you’d been certain that you were to never cross paths again. Yet here he was, not only that… He’d saved you. You dare another glance down, beneath you your surroundings are changing quickly. From up here they all seemed small and insignificant, even the lagoon which you had almost fallen victim to.

Your eyes shift toward the dragon, watching as his now healed wings tore through the sky, carrying you to a destination still unknown. You swallow, feeling at loss for words. His hold on you was firm, but it didn’t hurt but you felt pathetically weak squeezed between his claws. — The questions of why and how continue to run through your jumble of thoughts, even when the snowy mountain comes into vision.

Up here, the mountain seems a lot smaller, lesser. Fog covers the bottom half of it, making it impossible to even get a peek of the ground itself. He aims for an opening, one so familiar that your stomach dropped all the way to your toes. You knew exactly where he was taking you now.

He slows down, large wings twisting in the air as he comes to an almost abrupt halt. You shriek when the claws around you loose, making you slip from their hold. But the wet and cold cave floor isn’t far, and you land on wobbly feet with a small thud. The dragon quickly joins you, but the sound of him landing is not the loud and powerful noise you’re expecting, and when you turn around, you find him in human form again.

He runs his fingers through his dark hair with a small shake off his head, it looked almost as though he was dusting himself off. Your eyes trail across his muscular frame, something you had barely allowed yourself to look at last time. Briefly you wonder why he always seemed to appear without a shirt or any garment to cover his chest, but when your gaze flickers over his toned stomach, you find that you did not mind.

Dark yet cold and almost icy eyes flit over to you, and they narrow as he catches you staring. You blink, pulling your invading gaze from him as it jumps across the cave, one you had been in before, both of you. It’s then that reality slowly washes over you, you were here, with him, and he’d just saved you from a fate worse than death. There was only one thing to say.

“Thank you.”

You smile, hoping that the sincerity and your gratitude would show. But the man only frowns, his stoic features twisting into confusion as he watches you from the other side of the cave, a far and safe distance from you. “What for?” He grunts, the disbelief in his voice clear as day.

With parted lips you find yourself mimicking his perplexed expression. “You saved me…” Because he did, right? But he only shakes his head, emitting a small scoff as his jaw clenches. “The siren, the lagoon, I was… I would be..” — “You would be dead”, he calmly states, the simplicity to his tone made you want to shiver.

“I paid my end of the bargain”, he then says and for a moment you could not wrap your head around what he meant by that. Then it all came together. He was making amends for his broken wing, the one you had so carefully tended to, even without his compliance or permission.. Still he was willing to do the same for you, even if only to pay back the debt that seemed to weigh him down.

“Now we no longer have any reason to see each other”, he states as a matter of factly. You can’t tell if he looks relieved or merely tired, or perhaps maybe just at peace. He turns from you, and you panic, worried that he was about to take off once more. You don’t think you could stand seeing him leave, not again. Truth was, you had grown quite attached to the dragon… Yet you knew so little about him.

“You have yet to tell me your name.” It was the first question that came to mind. You bite your tongue, but when his eyes only narrow you quickly add, “You know mine.” It was true, you had told him your own name on your third or fourth encounter, for it had felt rude not to introduce yourself when tending to his wounds.

He scoffs, averting his gaze as it roams the now pink sky, painted by the warm hues of the slowly setting sun. His cold skin looked raw under the orange rays, and you find yourself mesmerized by everything that is him. You had so many questions for him, so many answers you longed to hear. Was he really the last ice dragon? How did they all die, and why had he lived?

Everything is silent for a minute, much so that you swore you heard the song of birds in the far distance. Then he exhales, a long and low breath. Without looking at you he says, “Taehyun.”

“Taehyun is my name.”

You instantly smile, practically beaming toward him. “That’s a beautiful name”, you hum. Taehyun snorts, giving a small roll of his eyes as he turns away from you to peer out over the sky. “There’s hardly anything beautiful about a dragon.” He says it so quietly, almost a whisper. It was probably never intended for your ears, but you hear it.

Why did he loathe his own kind? How could he be ashamed of something so majestic as himself. It made no sense. — Your feet move on their own, slowly carrying you across the cave. You never stop to think, and Taehyun does not turn your way. Then, before you know it, you’re beside him.

His skin is cold against your lips when you press a hesitant kiss to his cheek. His jaw twitches, and you feel his heavy gaze on you once you pull back. His dark brows are furrowed into a confused frown, but he doesn’t look angry. “It’s how we say thank you.” You smile in a way you hadn’t in ages.

Taehyun watches you, his eyes studying your face intently, as if considering his next move carefully. “You humans are strange”, he mutters, but there’s an almost teasing edge to his tone, much different from his usual gloomy demeanor. “A good strange or a bad strange?” You ask as you nervously pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

He shakes his head, turning to face your way and you suck in a sharp breath when you realize just how close you were standing. His expression is still hardened, as if stuck in a permanent frown. Within his dark irises swirl strings of cold blue, and they seemed to shimmer under the setting sun.

You tense up when he suddenly moves even closer, his ice cold chest brushing against your flaring hot one. “Good”, he exhales, his cool breath slapping your across the face when he leans in to press his lips against yours. His kiss is not the same sweet and hesitant gesture you’d given, but it’s not rough either. It’s… him.

A single shiver runs down your spine when his hand snakes to the back of your neck. It was so very different from when he’d had his fingers wrapped around it, squeezing with all his might. He touched you like you were made of porcelain, one push too far would make you shatter in his palm, and he would be unable to piece you back together.

The kiss goes on for forever, time slows down until it ceases to exist. You want to watch him, drink in his almost serene expression. Yet your eyes flutter closed as you return the gesture. Never did you question why he did it, because that didn’t matter. He felt so perfect against you, as if he was made for you and you only. Perhaps in another universe he was, in a universe where you were just like him, and not a weak and frail human.

He pulls back, lips parting only an inch from your own, his forehead resting against yours. He’s breathing softly, the tension washed from his face as he regards your flustered one. “That’s how we say thank you”, he murmurs.

“Why are you thanking me?” You whisper, your wide eyes peering into his. Taehyun sighs, blinking slowly as he swallows. “I don’t know. Why are you thanking me?” — You smile, your shoulders slumping into a shrug. “I don’t know.”

You saved him, and he saved you. A favor for a favor. You were no longer bound to the other yet it somehow felt like your heart was going to break into a million pieces if you let go now. Taehyun inhales slowly, his nostrils flaring when he does. “Can I kiss you again?” He wonders, and the question makes you almost delirious.

“Yes.” You’re already pressing your lips against his, desperate to feel him on you once more. He smiles into the kiss, a gesture so warm and contrasting to the cold and freezing layer of ice covering him. — Your hands are on his naked chest, fingers splayed across the now healed scar. The soft groan he emits vibrates on your tongue, urging your bodies flush against one another.

“You’re so warm”, he murmurs against your skin as his kisses move to your cheek and down your jaw. Your head falls back, the sunset basking the two of you in color, the world outside silently watching. — “You’re cold..” You whisper, your fingers intertwining in his dark hair regardless.

Taehyun chuckles, a sound you’d never before heard him make, it made your heart flutter. “I am”, he hums, his own hands trailing down your sides, relishing in the way you shiver as you stubbornly cling to him. The cold could not deter you, it never had and it never would. For Taehyun’s heart held all the warmth you should ever need.

The kiss ends for a split second in order for you to catch your breaths. Soft sounds of heavy panting fill the large cave, echoing off its dark and wet walls. You swallow, taking the moment to find your bearings as you gaze into his shimmering eyes. You knew then that he was someone you could trust, with your life if need be. It made your next move all the more obvious.

As you brush a dark strand from his face, you exhale. “I… There’s someone I want you to meet.”

𓍼ོ

“Careful”, you murmur as you lead your grandfather through the high grass. He coughs and tries to swat your hands away but you insist on keeping a firm hold around his shoulders. “There, there, don’t wear yourself out.”

“Pfft-” Your grandpa scoffs, shaking his head as he trudges on forward. “I haven��t been out and about like this in weeks, I’ve saved plenty of energy for the occasion.” He assures you. But you could tell by his laboured breathing and trembling arms that he was tired. You would have felt bad bringing him out here, wasting his precious energy like that. — But today was different.

“Why are we even out here anyways? You can hardly expect me to help harvest any herbs..” He mutters as his tired eyes flicker across the open meadow. It was calm, the late summer air basking the two of you in a warm glow. “No grandpa”, you smile as you pat his shoulder, “That’s not why we’re here.”

Your old man hums, giving a small nod as you come to a stop in the middle of the opening. “I have seen grass before, dear.” He gives you a pointed look and you can’t help but giggle as you shake your head. “I know, you’ve seen what I’m about to show you before too… But I still think you’ll like it.”

Your grandfather raises a brow your way, his lips parting as if to say something, but before he gets the chance to, the trees ahead rustle. The sound snaps both of your attention that way, and you manage to catch a glimpse of your grandpa’s curious eyes just as Taehyun emerges from the forestline.

When you’d first asked him, the request felt pushy, perhaps a little too much, but to your greatest joy, he’d agreed. The white and blue scales on his skin shimmer in the sunlight, and his nearly translucent wings seem to sparkle when he moves closer. He looks magical, hauntingly beautiful. But you force your gaze away from him and over to your grandfather.

He was watching Taehyun with a slack jaw, his eyes wide as sausages and you’re glad that you’re holding on to him when his legs buckle. “That..” He begins, his mouth dried up and his voice hoarse. He turns to you, as if in disbelief before quickly glancing back toward the dragon before him. “Is he real?” He quietly whispers and you bite back a giggle.

“Of course”, you say as you take his hand in yours. “Do you want to get closer?” The question was hardly needed for your grandfather moves with both newfound strength and speed as he approaches Taehyun who’s standing a mere ten feet away. He stops only when the dragon’s cold breath caresses his old and wrinkly face, a smile unlike anything you’d seen before etching its way across his lips.

“He’s real”, your grandpa states, and you swore you could see the happiness blooming in his heart. His gaze wanders across Taehyun’s blue scales, a small frown tugging on his brows. “He’s…” — “An ice dragon”, you nod, “They’re not extinct.”

Taehyun makes a small sound that comes across as half a grunt, half a snort. Your grandfather doesn’t seem to mind, far too preoccupied with taking in the sight before him. “How?” He whispers as he reaches a trembling hand out to touch the very tip of Taehyun’s cold nose. The action is intimate, and it makes your heart swell.

You never give him an answer, you’re not sure what you could even say. All you knew was that you had made his final wish possible, nothing else could make you feel better. — He spends the entire day with Taehyun, and when he shifts into his human form the two converse for hours on end. You watch them, wordlessly admiring the two. From the way your grandpa’s face lit up whenever Taehyun spoke of his life, to the dragon himself when he listened to your grandfather’s stories.

As the sun set you practically had to drag your old man home, promising that Taehyun would visit as soon as he had the chance. — Even though such a time never came.

Your grandpa died that night, it was a peaceful death, one kind and gentle. You watched with tears in your eyes as he inhaled a last time, his chest rising as he did. And when he finally exhaled, everything stopped. Every story and every adventure of his were reduced to just that… tales. Something to remember and to cherish.

You cried until the sun rose on the naked sky, your tears drying just in time for fresh ones to spill. You cried until your chest hurt and your lips were bitten bloody. You grieved your grandfather with every fiber of your being, until there was nothing left but large and hollow holes in your body, filled with an eternal sadness.

Taehyun was there, he came when he heard your cries. Even though his embrace was cold and his arms freezing as they wrapped around you, there was never a moment where you felt yourself shiver. For there was warmth in his heart, enough for it to spread to your own. — Taehyun would help you live, just like you had helped him.

taglist ✎... @liaatiny @Izzyy-stuff @Saejinniestar @Hyunelixbun @lunesdesire @n0-thisispatrick @lickingan0rchid @tyunderella @fancypeacepersona @hyunj00 @hwang-choon @soohashits @xylatox @lilbrorufr @ezeert @blossommi @beestvng @minji-willstay @sunoolver @yeoningz @beombunni @zi-vian @usuallyunlikelyfox @brrytears @stormy1408 @dontwannacry04 @soobabby @nshmrarki @dawngyu

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orpheuslookingback · 2 days ago

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oof man I've been loving severance in general but I think that last episode is the first one I have like lots of Thoughts about that I feel like I can at least kind of string together lol. Like I was moderately worried about what direction the Dead Wife thing was going to go in. Because it would have been so easy (and kind of disappointing) for her to just ultimately be an object that exists as a goal/motivator for other characters and not a person (as is common with Dead Wife characters, both literal and not so literal); that's sort of what she's been so far, with just the tease that she could be more. And unless they drop the ball big time (which god I hope they don't), this episode already made it clear: she IS more. Like revealing her to be both physically AND mentally alive at this point in the story is such a good writing choice and feels SO crucial to escaping from some of the really cliché permutations that these kind of basic story arcs/character archetypes can fall into.

I know everyone's been doing the orpheus/eurydice comparisons and now I know people are talking about how mark and gemma are now both actually the orpheus to each other's eurydice, but it's also this: gemma has been split into who knows how many people. She's his eurydice. She's his orpheus. And she's her own orpheus, too. Because she gets herself out of the underworld and then, not remembering she has, she's sent right back down again. And she hesitates and turns around one more time. But she doesn't know. She doesn't even know what she's really looked back at. She doesn't know the world she's sent away. Not until she's back in the underworld, and she's eurydice again.

Also! To interplay him remembering her, give us a classic Dead Wife Sequence- complete even with some of the classic images! The beautiful woman smiling in nature, lying in bed, looking at you, the light warm for the very first time- with the cold, stark reminder that she isn't actually dead, and more than that is still conscious and trying to get out and find him- is SUCH a cool move. Like it totally flips the idea of the Dead Wife Sequence on its head. It's not just grief anymore. It's not just using a lost person as a prop that our hero fights on in memory of. It's the Dead Wife Sequence as horror.

Because she's still the Dead Wife and yet at the same time it dramatically shifts her role in the story, right? Because it turns out everything she is to Mark, he is to her. This unreachable person who you now know isn't dead but who you cannot get to and you cannot know the true present reality of you can only take the word of people you don't totally trust or know. And so, they are dead. But now you know it's only to you. Because we've seen them both now, and we know they're both not just alive, they're fighting.

("she's not dead, she's just not here")

She's not your Dead Wife but you can't help the fact that in your memory, in your mind, she is. So you're the one, in a way, that's killing her. And you're her Dead Husband. "He's moved on" and you know that's a lie but does it really matter until you see him? Until he's real again? Because until then, you're both choking on ghosts.

And the ghosts aren't even really there.

#i am rotating this show around in my brain im actually obsessed like ????#severance #severance apple tv #mark scout #gemma scout #ms casey #random thoughts

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kuurechr · 23 hours ago

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Sukuna lets you drag him on a double date - one where he meets the infamous sorcerer killer.

"Why did we agree to this?" Sukuna grumbled to you, looking around in the fancy diner that the two of you had just stepped into. He fidgeted with the promise ring he'd bought for the two of you, as part of his apology when he asked you to take him back after you broke up with him.

"Because Mayumi wanted me to meet her boyfriend," you muttered back earnestly, walking up to the front table. "And you promised me you'd be nice."

"Well," Sukuna said back. "We have different definitions of nice."

Sukuna tapped his fingers on the table impatiently as he talked to the man up front. "We're under the reservation, Ryomen."

Before the man could search for the name, you shook your head and interrupted. "Apparently Mayumi's boyfriend decided to book a special table, or something – it would actually be under Zen'in."

Sukuna's brows furrowed. Not because he felt like this new guy was superior or anything – but because that was a surname that he knew well. Zen'in. What was his luck that your friends' boyfriend would be a sorcerer? A sorcerer that would definitely recognize his name, too.

"Right, of course," the man who found your reservation nodded. From the sudden shift in his expression, Sukuna could tell that this Zen'in paid a lot. From what Sukuna had figured for himself in this era, there were only three clans from the Heian era that still existed. They were well established during the Heian period, and they were rich and still pillars of the jujutsu community today. "Someone will be over in a second to take you."

The man stepped away to call someone and you looked back to give Sukuna a look. "How rich is this guy?" Sukuna rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. You grinned at him, as coy as ever. "What? Are you jealous, Sukie?"

Sukuna glared at you, and you just giggled, unable to be intimidated. A waitress came over and asked you both to follow her. As she brought you to an elevator, you sent Sukuna a look, which he ignored, staring straight ahead. Once you reached a hallway, and heard loud laughter behind doors you passed by, you also sent him looks that he ignored.

Once the waitress finally reached the door to your private table, she moved to knock on the door, but you quickly whispered for her to stop. "It's fine! We're gonna surprise them! You can go."

She seemed slightly taken aback but nodded, letting you know to call if you needed anything and walking away. Once she was a few steps away, you pushed Sukuna to the side, away from the door. Sukuna let himself get pushed by you, but stood firm when he was sick of it – which was pretty quickly.

"What the hells' wrong with you, woman?" He whispered, harsh.

"What's wrong with you? Are you mad at me? 'Cause I said you were jealous?"

Sukuna sighed. "Obviously not." He was thinking about the fact that he was going to meet a Zenin, and he may not have caught your looks. He reached out a hand and squeezed your shoulder. "Of course not. This place is just... stuffy. I don't wanna be here already and then this guy pays for an even more obnoxious side of an already obnoxious place?"

"Good, get that stuff out on me, right now," you nodded, placing a hand over the hand that was on your shoulder. "So you don't shit on Mai's perfectly nice boyfriend."

"You've never met the guy either," Sukuna scoffed. "We don't know if he's perfectly nice. He might be a serial killer."

You sighed. "'Kuna–"

"No, no, hear me out," Sukuna insisted, sarcasm dripping from his words. "He might murder kids – you don't like people who kill kids, right?" Sukuna was a hypocrite. He's definitely killed kids.

"You're actually so stupid," you grumbled, backing up and going back to the door. "You're going to be good and I will treat you to the trashiest fast food in the world when we head back, yeah?"

Sukuna itched the back of his neck, and grumbled, but left it at that. It was always worth arguing with you, but nothing would come from arguing with you right outside the door of where your friend and the Zen'in waited. He could probably sense Sukuna's cursed energy at this rate.

You knocked on the door, and fairly quickly, it swung open. Mayumi threw her arms around you, and you reciprocated, hugging back tightly. "I haven't seen you in forever!" Mayumi whined.

"I know, right?" You giggled.

"Okay, head inside," Sukuna grumbled, wanting to get this over with. "You guys saw each like last week, and I'm hungry."

Mayumi chuckled and let you both come inside. There was a large table in the middle of the room, with a large television on one side, and a large couch on the opposite side. Everything inside was for people who lived large. "Dude," you whispered, looking around. "How rich is your boyfriend?"

Mayumi giggled and rolled her eyes. Sukuna crossed his burly arms, looking around. "Where is your boyfriend?" He eyed a door, one that probably led to the bathroom. He didn't sense any cursed energy.

"He's in the bathroom," Mayumi said, gesturing to the table. "But you guys take a seat!" You and Sukuna complied, sitting next to each other. She sat opposite to you, and glanced at the bathroom door warily before looking at you and Sukuna, lowering her voice. "Just a warning, my boyfriend is a little... antisocial, I guess."

"Really?" You raised a brow, surprised. You wondered how he was so rich – maybe it was family money. Sukuna was certain it was family money.

"He's gonna come off as rude... honestly, you might get the same impression I had when I met Ryomen –" She quickly turned to Sukuna. "No offense, dude."

"None taken," Sukuna shot back. "You're saying this guy is like me?" Mayumi nodded. "Is he bigger than me?"

You huffed, annoyed by him, but Mayumi just chuckled at your dynamic. "No, you're fine, Ryomen... but maybe don't show off too much, he's never met a man bigger than him, he might end up being sensitive," she joked, winking at him.

The bathroom door swung open and Mayumi quickly shot up, gesturing to you and Sukuna. "Guess who's here!"

The Zen'in rolled his eyes, closing the bathroom door behind him. "Finally."

"Toji," Mayumi said slowly, as a warning. Toji was a big man, you realized as you looked up at him. Sure you were sitting and he was standing, but he was still big. Of course, compared to your humongous boyfriend, he wasn't all that.

Despite being a big man, Mayumi clearly had an affect on him. He pressed his lips together and nodded at you and then to Sukuna. Sukuna nodded back, just as curtly. You gave your hand out. "It's nice to meet you Zen'in."

Toji grimaced at being called by his last name, as he sat down. "Never call me that."

"Oh..." You said, retracting your hand. Sukuna glared at Toji for making you feel small in any way, and was about to open his mouth to argue, but Mayumi spoke up for him quickly, sensing Sukuna's anger.

"Call him Toji," she said, sitting down next to him, and patting his shoulder. "His family isn't the... Well, they're not on the best terms."

"Really?" Sukuna asked raising his brows. "How could you afford all this then?"

You took a sharp intake of breath, sending daggers Sukuna's way. He ignored it, and stared at Toji, who smirked. "I told my dad I'd add some money to his credit card. Old man refuses to understand how anything new works, and I played it to my benefit."

Sukuna's brow twitched at the phrase 'old man.' "Right."

This man had no cursed energy.

"So, Toji," Mayumi gestured to you and Sukuna. "This is Y/N and her boyfriend, Ryomen."

Toji narrowed his eyes on Sukuna. "Feels like I've heard your name somewhere."

"I'm a tall guy," Sukuna shot back. "People tend to talk about me."

"Right," Toji nodded.

"Hey, you don't seem interested enough in that," Mayumi frowned, bumping Toji's shoulder. "Ryomen is a literal giant! How tall are you again?"

"7'2," you answered for him. "Truly a giant."

Toji let out a low whistle. "How do you do anything with that typa height?"

Sukuna simply shrugged, leaning back. "So, what's the plan on the food? Don't these rich places give out bird food?"

Mayumi scoffed. "Come on, Ryomen. Look at you beefcakes–" She squeezed Toji's arm and you laughed. "Even regular portioned food isn't enough."

"We ordered ahead," Toji said. "And its' a lot of meat."

Mayumi looked over at you, pointedly. "I figured we should order separately, though."

You giggled, nodding.

#sukuna x reader #toji x mamaguro #sukuna ryomen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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quesocheeso · 1 day ago

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3 am au ask

"not so enemy activities" + "boom surprise baby"

So your telling me.. that only did this happen – it happened TWICE and the idiots STILL haven't worked through their problems??

I'm sure their babies were raised very lovingly but wow what a mess those two are lol. add that with teenage angst + generational trauma we got an angst powder keg waiting to blow ✨

i wonder if they know about macaque's death?

( NSFW implied )

Look hate sex exists ok what can I tell ya lmaoooo

These two are definitely bombayahing way more times than just the times they ended up with kids,,, the kids were def slip ups during their mating seasons type of vibe

Look they still think of each other as enemies/rivals and previously to starting to raise the kiddos were extremely hostile to each other because at one point they completely lost sight of who they were to each other.

They could only see the guy who abandoned him and hurt his friends and the guy who killed him, not exactly something people just talk out, so their bodies did

I do think that as they raise the kiddos they start seeing each other again past the hurt, like they are each other's true self when they raise their kids,,

Mac let's go of his cynical and violent self to raise the kids with love and kindness and consequently his bitterness starts to slowly go away.

Wukong finally returning back to the island, being able to finally rest and relax and now with a family of his own there is less want to go out and travel, his journey is over, now he can have the forever he promised with his family

Being able to see that neither of them are truly violent is a whiplash to the monkeys because of how long they've spent fighting each other, they start to remember how they used to be centuries ago.

They miss each other.

#lmk #3am au #shadowpeach #lmk wukong #lmk macaque

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pineconepie · 1 day ago

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what are each of their backstories/lore, anddoes it have anything to do with them being parental yanderes?

TW: Death, childhood abuse, trauma, parental yanderes

Octavian - as stated, his wife and two children died, but what I never included was how. They died from a home invasion by a vampire hunter, while Octavian was away getting blood to feed on.

Before this, Octavian was already protective, but he tried to hold his family back by giving them more space, wanting them to be able to live their life freely. Now he's learned the opposite has to be done.

He now believes he needs to hover over his beloved lil one, because if there isn't even safety in his own manor, then what could be worse beyond the gate? Nowhere is safe except right with papa.

Vincent - he had extremely bad parents as a kid. Since his father was the boss before him, Vincent grew up learning the trade, but at the same time, he didn't enjoy anything.

No birthdays or holidays celebrated, he had to prove himself through hard work, his dad often made him watch horrific torture, etc., his upbringing was messed up. He even killed his first person at 7 years old.

He's determined to be the dad his father could never be, but since he never really got the help he needed after his father died (Vincent maaaay have poisoned him), he's subconsciously picked up a lot of his self-centered and possessive behaviors without realizing.

Indigo - out of all of them, Indigo had the most normal upbringing. Just average merperson things.

Except, he was always super clingy to his mama and siblings. Whenever he found someone to date, they left due to him being too attached and how he brought up having children almost immediately. After being heartbroken too many times, Indigo hid away in the same cave.

His actions mostly stem from his instincts to have his own child to love and keep safe, as well as no longer be lonely.

Magnus - he's lived almost throughout the entirety of human civilization's existence, and therefore has seen all the atrocities people commit toward each other and to nature.

He's witnessed his own kind slowly go extinct due to humans hunting them down for greed and glory.

That is why he is so strict and distrustful. If his little one leaves the cave, Magnus is terrified they'll become like those awful humans, that they'll corrupt their own kindness with greed. Or, possibly, they could become hurt, or lost...it'd be safer for you to stay with Father forever.

Seradiel - he had no childhood, he was actually created to serve the purpose of being a guardian angel. He's always had a tendency to grow protective over whoever he's watching over, but never did he show his face to any of them... except you.

He was growing lonely since he only existed for one sole purpose, and many of the other angels aren't as adorable or needing of protection.

The rules around guardian angels revealing their identity to their human is very confusing, but the way Seradiel understands it, as long as he doesn't show his angelic form (biblically accurate angel), then he isn't technically breaking any rules.

Not that he'd care too much if he is, anyway. He'd break all the rules in heaven for you if he viewed it necessary and for his own selfishness

#answered ask #octavian oc #vincent oc #indigo oc #magnus oc #seradiel oc

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corpocyborg · 18 hours ago

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Regarding The Busts in Gortash's Office

So because I'm endlessly obsessive, I did what I said I would do & wrote down the names and descriptions of all of the people that Gortash has busts of in his office because they seem to be people he admires so I wanted to analyze them, as one does when one is endlessly obsessive. I also did additional research on the ones that I could find more information about. Here they are, and some of my own thoughts on why they might have been included (under a read more because it's long because, again, obsessive).

Baron Alec Bormul - First of the Bormul patriar family to start his own venture, Alec is the unscrupulous bastard who made their fortune in mines and vineyards.

Now, as far as I can find, this is the only information we have about this character. However, there are several other Bormul family members that exist in the game (including an NPC called Callem Bormul who is present at Gortash's ordaining ceremony). The one that stands out more to me though is Ilza Bormul, who is mentioned in the in-game book "Baldur's Gate and the Dialectics of Plunder" and stated to own "slave-labour mines in the mountains of Amn". Presumably therefore Alec is an "unscrupulous bastard" due to the use of slave labor. Not particularly surprising Gortash would approve of that since he is a known slaver himself. Interestingly, that same book also mentions Xeremiah Eltan, who is another of the busts in the office, as another example of the fact that Baldur's Gates patriar families are all founded by blood and immorality (which the author of the book says no one ever talks about). So I imagine both busts are also included as confirmation of his worldview that no one innocent ever gets far in life. I think it's also notable here that Gortash chose to commemorate the "first" of the family who "started his own venture". We know he loves a self-made man, no matter how brutal his path was. Commodore Morgan Redlocks - Baldur's Gate ship captain Morgan Redlocks wed a man thrice her age. After the wedding, the groom suffered a heart attack. Redlocks converted his merchant ships into a pirate fleet.

Unfortunately not a character that I can find any more information about, but how much do you want to bet that she killed her husband? I mean, come on. He has a heart attack so soon after the wedding that he's still being referred to as the "groom" and not the husband? Plus it wouldn't even remotely surprise me that Gortash would appreciate a subtle femme fatale assassin. Also, of fucking course he would admire a pirate. Magnate Carric Ilphescient - Carric started from nothing, built a financial empire, and founded the Counting House. He refused to mingle with the other patriars, saying, "They didn't want me when I was an urchin, and now they can't have me."

Another self-made man, and one who does not mince words about it. Easy to imagine that that quote reflected Gortash's own mentality. Only other reference I could find to him was in an in-game book in the Counting House called "Record of the Honoured" but all it tells us is that he did in fact found the Counting House. The Cockeyed Stranger - This is a bust of the god Bane as he first appeared to Gortash in dreams, and was then described to a Rivington sculptor.

Bane is obviously a far more established D&D character than anyone else here, so I could write a whole page just about Bane and how I imagine Gortash sees him. I swear I've seen a bit of loading screen flavor text in BG3 that states that when Bane was a mortal man, he was originally a battleslave of Mephistopheles, but it is possible that I'm wrong about that because I cannot find confirmation of this lore anywhere on the internet. (If anyone else has seen that loading screen flavor text, please confirm so I know I'm not hallucinating!) But if it is true, then it's immensely clear what Gortash sees in him. Gortash's whole thing is he absolutely loves the idea of someone who started from the bottom and rose to the top through sheer ruthlessness. He likes the idea of overthrowing his oppressors and taking their place. As a whole, Bane's doctrine also fits Gortash really well. The Forgotten Realms Wiki says that Bane "embodied the principles of ambition and control and believed that the strong had not only the right, but the duty, to rule over the weak." I can easily imagine Gortash having the same mentality. Bane is also known for being a lot more open to having alliances than is typical for an evil god, but he always makes sure he ends up on top. (I could write a whole other analysis about how the original plan hatched by Gortash, Durge, & Ketheric leaves Gortash in the best position. Ketheric gets to be a fearsome conquering general, Durge (later Orin) gets to spread chaos in the streets, but Gortash is the one who ends up being the hero who can actually not only have the benefit of his legitimate ruthlessness but also the benefit of it remaining hidden! By far the best position in the alliance. Orin actually is mad about this (she gives a little speech to Durge about how Gortash betrayed them because all her murders only drive the people of Baldur's Gate into the arms of his Steel Watch) but it is implied that Durge didn't think of it the same way since those were always the terms of the plan... something that always makes me wonder about what exactly it is that Durge & Gortash originally had planned in the long-term. Were they really just both always planning to betray the other eventually? Because I'm honestly not so sure about that. I think they're both too smart for that. But I digress.) Dame Amafrey Ephemial - Dame Amafrey, the Orphans' Friend, founded several orphanages in the Outer City, as the Lower City was no place for children (and the Upper City declined to sponsor an orphanage).

Okay, this is by far the black sheep in the set. A philanthropist? Seemingly without an ulterior motive? Why is she included here? I mean, on the one hand, I could almost believe that Gortash is sympathetic to the plights of children in a way he wouldn't be for adults (since he suffered so much as a child & since children don't have as many ways to help themselves and take responsibility as adults do), but on the other hand, it is so deeply inconsistent with his character too. But then again, maybe he's just a hypocrite. Maybe this really is some sort of secret soft side. Or perhaps it has more to do with the fact that she seemed to be bogged down by the corruption around her (the Upper City declined to sponsor an orphanage) so maybe he keeps her bust around as a reminder that good intentions don't get you far enough. I genuinely don't know with this one, and I was unable to find any more info about Dame Ephemial. Grand Duke Eltan - Founder of the Flaming Fist. Later history is kinder to him than accounts from his time, which portray him as a cruel and hard-handed mercenary commander.

According to the same in-game book mentioned previously (Baldur's Gate and the Dialectics of Plunder), he "founded the Flaming Fist as a ruthless mercenary company that slaughtered and burned for pay along the entire length of the Sword Coast". He is also a character in the first Baldur's Gate game and the expansion Baldur's Gate: Siege of Dragonspear. According to the Forgotten Realms Wiki, he was Lawful Neutral and he was known as "steadfast and principled" because of his "tactical genius" and "a sincere belief in maintaining the balance of power among the many small kingdoms of Faerûn". Also apparently he survived a whole lot of assassination attempts. Easy to see why Gortash would see this one as a role model, I think. He is described as a "tactical genius" himself. I also think it's interesting that it says that "later history is kinder to him than accounts from his time". I mean, we know Gortash is huge on propaganda and controlling the narrative. I would imagine he cares how he might be remembered.

#pls enjoy by unnecessarily deep analysis it took me forever lol #enver gortash #bg3 #durgetash #implied durgetash anyway... everything i say is implied durgetash

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frozenjokes · 15 hours ago

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just checking in: goodtimeswithscar is still the devil

ao3 link

There was a small branching bathroom off the master bedroom with a toilet and a small walk-in shower, but Mumbo hardly ever used it, and he’d really only been in here a handful of times. Even Grian didn’t shower in here, and Mumbo was discovering why; the tile was roughly cut and sharp against his feet, decidedly uncomfortable, but Mumbo was paying more attention to the blood running down his thin, knobby legs, disappearing through the grated drain.

He felt good. Was that terrible? Mumbo wasn’t certain if this feeling stemmed from the initial murder or what Scar had done to him; beyond that, he didn’t know which option should disturb him more.

Through the foggy glass, Mumbo glanced at Grian’s still form, curled up on the cool bathroom floor with a pillow and bundled up in a thick blanket from his bed. Even with his room being just outside, Mumbo hadn’t wanted him out of sight, and Grian didn’t argue, not that he would have if he’d had the strength. Grian didn’t even have the energy to deliver any sort of coherent explanation, not that Mumbo had demanded one. Not that Mumbo would demand one. Grian would explain on his own, of that Mumbo was sure, but right now they were both exhausted, and Grian was.. sick? Had Scar done that? Had Cub?

Mumbo did want answers. But more than that, he just wanted to make it through tonight unscathed. He’d gotten quite a few of his most pressing questions addressed already by Scar, in any case.

Mumbo wasn’t.. human. He literally wasn’t human, in all the most Actually Ways he could not be human, he fucking knew it, he knew this was more than mental illness or genetic abnormalities- there wasn’t anything wrong with him. Well. Besides all the things that were wrong with him. Semantics didn’t matter- everything just made so much more sense.

He couldn’t be human, because Scar definitely wasn’t human, and Scar said Mumbo was like him, which made a lot of sense if Mumbo didn’t think about it at all. He’d get back to that later. Knowing that intelligent human-looking people existed opened a host of others doors; for one, Cub was also not human and also like him, but just so happened to be allied with Scar. Working for Scar? Mumbo would’ve killed Scar if Cub hadn’t stopped him, clearly they were working together in some way. But then Grian had wanted Cub to stay, even after Scar (and assumedly Cub, right?) had tried to murder him.

Grian. What about Grian? What was Grian? Mumbo hadn’t needed the devil to crash his murder bath to know something was up with Grian, and Mumbo had kind of always known he wasn’t quite human to a point, but Grian created enough reasonable doubt that Mumbo could never be sure. Maybe symptoms of OCD included laying face down in the backyard for hours on end, demanding not to be interrupted under any circumstances. But NO ONE eats that many vegetables. They can’t be that good for you.

And no one bails random guys out of jail and invites them to live in their houses. Even children have more self preservation.

All these years, Mumbo had just thought Grian had gotten unlucky to randomly pick someone so repressedly violent. This really didn’t seem to be the case anymore.

Scar wanted him. Scar wanted- well, Mumbo couldn’t say it was entirely clear what Scar was after, but it certainly seemed like he was quite okay with murder, and would very much like to see Mumbo do a whole lot more of it.

What did Grian want? Grian knew, Grian must have always known, so why didn’t he say anything? Was he content just to let Mumbo fear him, constantly worried about being found out and kicked to the curb for the blood on his hands that was not his own? Did Grian even care about Mumbo’s constant inner turmoil, stuck in a world and body that was never going to suit him because he wasn’t actually human? Maybe Grian was a different kind of monster. One that benefitted from keeping him here, that fed on him in some way- now that the shackles of human wants and needs were destroyed, the only limit to what Grian could possibly want with him was Mumbo’s own imagination. Grian knew. Grian knew, he knew Mumbo was struggling, and he never said a word.

Mumbo did not want to think badly of him. He was scared, he was still scared on Grian’s behalf, and he did not want to think badly of him, but even in the best case scenario in which Grian’s intentions were totally pure, how could he have kept this secret?

When Mumbo had stood up and told him he wanted to be an assassin, Grian had only begged him to stay. That had never made any sense- was there not a line Mumbo couldn’t cross? Did Grian really think he could keep Mumbo here forever? All those little comments about Mumbo being allowed to take all the time he needed, urging him to stay, outright discouraging him from job searching in the beginning- it felt so sinister now.

These lines of thought were dizzying, and the longer Mumbo stayed under the steady stream of warm water, the more nauseated he felt.

Of course he’d stayed. He stayed because Grian asked him to, because Mumbo owed Grian everything. It had never occurred to Mumbo that Grian might be leveraging that power over him like this. He’d expected to be used, but everything he had looked for in the beginning had been explicit, obvious.

What did Grian think would happen if Mumbo knew? Would it be so bad for Mumbo to realize that whatever he was, his inner turmoil was normal, and he didn’t have to feel fucking crazy all the time. Grian could have told him. When Grian caught him in the backyard with those baby bunnies, dead in Mumbo’s hands, Grian could have told him, then or countless other times, that it was okay. That at the very least, Mumbo had nothing to be afraid of.

Everything hurt. The sting of cold air as Mumbo left the shower only accentuated the pain. He supposed he’d just have to wait and see what Grian had to say. In the meantime, Mumbo carried him to bed.

…

“Is Scar around?” Cub felt awkward in the common areas of the clownvent, he much preferred to keep to himself, but if he was going to run into anyone today, Scar’s roommates, Cleo and Bdubs, were his preferred choices. The two of them were playing cards at one end of the kitchen table, and it was difficult to tell who was losing when both of them looked so disgruntled, but the creases in their faces all but disappeared when they realized there was a ghost in the room with them.

“Oh yeah, he’s just resting up in our room,” Bdubs said, waving a lazy hand and rolling his head in a similar motion. Then his eyes narrowed, more conspiratorially, “He got jumped last night, did he tell you that? He’s allll sorts of messed up, I couldn’t honestly believe it! I mean, I would have believed it a couple years ago when we started to figure out he was all kinds of shady, but not a scratch after all this time? Have you been keeping him out of trouble ‘til now?”

“Oh, yeah I knew about that,” Cub rubbed the back of his neck, awkward. It felt so strange to be treated like a friend here when he did everything in his power to avoid talking to anyone ever. Except Scar. And Scar hadn’t come to see him at all today, so.. Cub processed Bdubs’ last question a little late, and shrugged sheepishly, “Not really..”

Cleo drew another card, looked displeased with it, then dropped her hand face down on the table like it didn’t matter at all. “Well if you’re worried about him, don’t be. He’s just as much of a rat bastard as ever; hardly missed a beat, even if he hasn’t been out of bed much today.”

“Scar’s as chipper as a beaver!” Bdubs added, to which Cleo threw him a baffled look.

“That’s not a real phrase. Beavers aren’t chipper.”

“Yes they are-!” Bdubs shot back with righteous insistence, lips curving into a smirk, “They go chipchipchipchipchip,” Bdubs imitated a beaver with his hands covering his mouth, as if chewing on a log, “Like a wood chipper.”

Cleo did not look any bit amused. “Guess there’s no arguing with that.”

“I’m going to go now,” Cub blurted, an old classic when he didn’t know how to exit a conversation he no longer wanted to be part of, “Goodbye.”

“Bye, Cub,” Cleo waved, sliding their cards back into their hand only to rediscover how poor they were, frowning once more. Bdubs said his own goodbye, but Cub was too busy hurrying away to acknowledge it.

“Cub!” Scar lit up as Cub poked his head into the room, a place similar to a college dorm, though large enough to comfortably accommodate the three adults that occupied it. Scar’s face was littered with dark purple bruises, and given what Cub had witnessed in Grian’s kitchen, he highly doubted those were the worst of his injuries “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here, see, I’m giving taking care of myself a try, and this sucks! How do you not get bored laying in bed all day, come sit, come sit!

Cub relaxed a little, his fear of Scar being angry with him somewhat eased, though not entirely. He was no stranger to Scar’s full-sized bed, often laying near the end and stealing all of Scar’s blankets. Today he just sat. Still took the blankets though.

“I was worried when I didn’t see you today,” he mumbled, feeling awkward, but Scar’s smile was kind, and it was easy to remember better days when Scar painted that picture.

“I’m sorry, Cub! You should have texted me, I really was just trying to take it easy today. I had a biiiiit of a rough night if you remember!”

Cub was silent. Scar’s smile grew a bit strained, though not unkind. Yet.

“I don’t like to get that way. I’m sorry if I scared you. I just wasn’t prepared to.. give myself away. I felt taken advantage of, truly. Buuuut, perhaps I misjudged. I won’t go rushing back in to right this, I can tell you that.” Scar leaned back into his pillow with a lofty sigh, “Those two certainly fought for that break, didn’t they. Fine. Let them have it. I can be patient. The finale will be all the better, trust me.”

Again, Cub did not know what to say. Scar inclined his head.

“Are you angry with me?”

“No.”

“Do you think I’m mad at you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Let’s put the thought to rest, then! I’m not.” Slowly, very slowly, Scar drew his sore arms up from under the sheets, gently placing his hands behind his head like a pillow. “Some scars don’t like their spawn to have this much free will for.. instances such as last night, but I am not ‘some scars!’ What’s life without a little surprise? Not one I want to live, no sir! Like- Walking into Grian’s miserable little house to see the both of you had conspired to kidnap someone?? For Mumbo to kill!? Incredible! I could never engineer a thrill like that, though I think I may have misinterpreted your intentions.. I can’t say I know. Do you pity him, Grian? Do you like him?”

Cub wrinkled his nose. “No.”

“It’s okay if you do.”

“I don’t. He’s a whiny pain in the ass.”

“He is whiny,” Scar rubbed his chin, only thoughtfully. “But you saved his life. I think you know that.”

“He had a bad night.”

“That all?”

“Really bad.”

“I believe you.”

“Stop fucking interrogating me about it then!”

Scar blinked, unmoved. “Will you be upset with me when I kill him?”

“No! For fuck’s sake, Scar, I don’t want anything to do with Grian, I don’t care about him, I don’t like him, I only care what happens to him because that changes what happens to Mumbo, and I don’t always like the way you treat me.” Cub huffed a hard breath, sharp in his throat, but after he stopped being able to take in enough air altogether, he couldn’t breathe, heart racing, fingers locked in the blankets like that was enough to keep him grounded, like anything could calm him down, make it easier.

When Scar touched his arm, he sobbed. He sobbed because Scar could make it better, Scar could always make it better, run his calloused hands over Cub’s anxiety and smooth it all away. Scar gave him everything, and Cub was so ungrateful.

“You’re alright.. You haven’t done anything wrong,” Scar soothed, and Cub let him, longed for him, threw himself into Scar’s bruised arms and silently begged him to take it all away. He could, couldn’t he? Cub could be a mindless slave, no thoughts, no emotions, no depression, he could be fixed, dead, and Cub would fucking thank Scar for it.

“I like you the way you are,” Scar spoke gently, responding directly to Cub’s spiral, “I like you just the way you are.” Scar paused, readjusting to pull Cub just a little closer, “And I’m not upset with you, either. I was only angry because I.. Well, of all the mistakes I could make, misjudging when to split myself is not a particularly.. good thing. Like losing a finger and being unable to sew it back on. Not the end of the world, but it’s still a little shocking to see it hanging there by a little thread of skin, then full on detach itself and punch you right in the face, like, ouch, no thanks, that didn’t feel good. Now, I’m used to chopping fingers off for all my dozens of spawn over the years, but most of them don’t leave gaping holes. Physical injuries are of little concern to me so long as my body can regenerate itself, but the.. not so physical. Those can be permanent. And I like having all my fingers. Not the mention the weakness, fuck, it’s been hundreds of years since something like this has happened to me, it’s like my life force has been sucked clean away. I hardly had the strength to pick up Mumbo’s kill, and god I would have hated to miss that.”

Scar sighed, long and wistful. “After I’m feeling better, I say we get away from here for a while- two weeks, maybe even a month! Just travel, do something fun, it’s been too long since I’ve taken a proper vacation. How does that sound?”

Right now, the only thing Cub cared about was staying buried in Scar’s warmth. As long as he could keep this, he’d be okay.

“Anything you want.”

…

Grian was not much better in the morning; in fact, he might’ve been worse. There was blood on his pillow.

“I think.. I need to spend the day outside. Alone. I need to recoup.” That stung, and Grian must have noticed, continuing quickly. “We’ll talk first. Just in case.. something happens to me.”

They talked for an hour and a half, every little reveal cutting like needles in Mumbo’s lungs. He felt like he’d never be satisfied, every word seeming to confirm all Mumbo’s deepest insecurities.

“So you were- killed. By one of the- the corruption,” at this point, Mumbo knew not to say Scar’s name; it was unclear if he’d arrive at Mumbo’s call since neither of them could remember if Scar had granted Mumbo that power, but much better safe than having him show up unwelcome. “And this is an act of revenge. I’m your revenge.” With each passing moment, Grian only looked more distressed.

“No, Mumbo it’s not- It’s not that simple, and it’s less about the corruption to me than it is about you, the lives it steals, the lives it wants you to steal in its name. I don’t remember who I was before this, but I know I had something taken from me. I feel- I just know my life was stolen, Mumbo, I know who- what is responsible, and I don’t want it to happen to anyone else.”

Mumbo could have cried. “That’s it, then. I’m just a product of an old evil, something to be stopped and caged. I know I was born wrong, Grian! I’ve always known, but I thought- I thought I meant more to you than that. You just wanted to keep me!”

Grian's expression twisted into something strained, but Mumbo just couldn’t see past this, himself, the things Grian had said to ensure Mumbo stayed under his control. “No- Of course not! I wake up every day, Mumbo, and I get to share my life with someone special, so much more than the circumstances of his birth. I see love. I see a world that’s better with you in it, and I can’t let that change. When I’m talking about stolen lives, I mean you too, especially you!”

“Is the world really so much better?” Mumbo’s head felt weighted, but he forced himself to raise his chin, look Grian in the eyes. “I take more than I could possibly give back. I killed someone last night.”

“You make me better. You make my life- better.” It was too honest. Nauseating, to be so loved and yet so- hurt.

“So you’re selfish.” The words left Mumbo’s throat numb.

Grian laughed, joyless, “Always.”

“And that’s why you kept me in the dark. You’re selfish. You thought I might leave. You let me just- live like that. Do you know how hopeless it feels? How lonely? Was it ever really about me, or was it just about you, preserving this- this charity case because you feel bad, because it makes you feel good, because you- you don’t care!” Mumbo slammed his fists against the kitchen table, he felt like a fucking child, but maybe after all these years he had earned the right for this one tantrum.

“Because you deserve a chance to live, Mumbo. Just like anyone else. That’s what I believe.”

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, all this honesty was too late, and maybe it was worse that Grian was so meek, so calm. Mumbo didn’t want to talk, he wanted to hurt, enough to match the sawing ache in his chest.

“And what if I wanted it? To drop everything, and go right to the corruption, right now.”

That shut him up. It shut Grian up for a long fucking time. Mumbo waited with bated breath, but still he was not ready for the hammer to drop.

“Then I’d kill you.” Grian’s expression was stony. For a long moment, Mumbo forgot how to breathe.

“That simple, huh?”

“No. Not simple at all.”

“Been ‘round this track before, then?” Mumbo just wanted to hurt him, but Grian would not waver.

“Twice.” Grian did not blink. Mumbo was choked to silence. “And you know how many times I told the spawn under my care what they were? The truth of their fathers, the monsters that haunted their dreams?” Grian held up two, shaky fingers. “So I tried something new. And I hurt you. I’m scared. I’m sorry.”

Mumbo had no words left to throw. “I hate you.”

“That’s okay. I know.. there are certain values- human life- that don’t come naturally to you. I know it’s frustrating. It’s not fair. I wish I could take it all away, but I’m.. doing the best I can with what I’ve got. You deserve a chance to live. That’s all I want.”

“I hate you!”

“I’m gonna.. go outside now,” Grian paused between each word, either considering them carefully, or simply needing the extra breath. “I hope you stay home.” Grian started to shift to his feet, wavering in every movement. Mumbo’s window of opportunity to cut deep, to see it on Grian’s face felt equally fleeting.

“I hope Scar finds you. I hope he kills you out there.”

The world stopped.

Mumbo had gotten what he wanted, replaced all-consumingly with a new desire to take it back. They both knew what he’d done. No one moved. No one spoke.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty.

Unsteady, Grian hobbled to the back door. Mumbo spoke a weak word of distress, and regretted that too. Grian wouldn’t stop for him anymore.

The first few minutes, Mumbo watched him through a window near the back, getting comfortable in the grass, laying down, nose to the dirt. He didn’t have to lay that way anymore. Grian had told Mumbo what he did out there when Mumbo had asked. Grian trusted him. Grian told him everything.

Grian killed for him. Mumbo wondered if he regretted that now.

When Grian’s body stilled to limpness, Mumbo crept outside, firmly along the wall of the house until he reached the little rocking chair across the deck. He sat.

As long as it took, he’d stay.

…

Cub had made it a daily habit to nap in the cat room; he was growing to like it in there, especially after going nose-blind to the smell. He liked to think the foster kittens liked him too, and right now they had the sweetest mama cat in care as well, who’d very quickly figured out that Cub was too large a wall for her relentless kittens to climb. Sometimes she laid in the crook of his legs, sometimes on his chest, and only for her, Cub felt bad when he wanted to readjust. Kittens knew no pain, tossing them off when he wanted to turn on his side meant nothing. This mom was too human-friendly to be born a stray.

Cub was lying face down when someone knocked on the door, several kittens starting to meow as it opened, and mama cat hopping off Cub’s back to see who was there, and if she’d be getting fed.

“There he is,” that was Pearl’s voice, sounding more amused than she ought to be. “Have at ‘im then, you two have fun. Don’t let the cats out.” Cub heard the door shut, and if he was a cat, his back and tail would’ve puffed all the way out when he turned to see Mumbo in the entryway. How long had it been, a week? What the fuck was he doing here!? Instead of saying that aloud, Cub made a stupid, garbled noise that amounted to nothing of substance.

Mumbo rubbed the back of his neck. “This is cute. The cats. Hi.”

“Why are you here.”

“You told me your address. Well. Where you lived at least. I looked up your address.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Mumbo huffed, more annoyed than he had any right to be barging into Cub’s- kind of Cub’s house- the clownvent. But Mumbo drew back, demeanor changing to something entirely more nervous. “Not.. anyone else. I didn’t want to come, but I didn’t know where else I could find you.” Like the boogeyman would appear if he stood in the doorway for another second, Mumbo scurried to the couch, practically forcing Cub to make space with how aggressively he sat down.

“Right.” Cub mumbled, unable to help the anxiety crawling up his spine. Every moment Mumbo spent here, the more likely Scar was to find him. Then again, Scar had been staying true to his commitment to bedrest.. Cub still didn’t want Mumbo here any longer than he had to be. “Get on with it then.”

Mumbo did not get on with it. At this point, the more adventurous kittens had grown curious about the newcomer, waking up from their naps and waddling over to investigate. Mumbo was stuck stiff as two sniffed his shoes, a third playing with the laces.

“What’s your fucking problem, man,” Cub spoke lamely, but Mumbo did not move.

“Make them stop?”

“They’re not doing anything.”

“Animals don’t like me. They make me nervous.”

“They’re literally babies.”

“I don’t like them!”

“Geez, man, okay, geez,” Cub leaned over to scoop up two in one hand, grabbing the third in the second go. Two more kittens took their place, like heads regrowing on a hydra. Cub put them in his lap as well, but more tiny ears were beginning to appear over the ledges of the numerous cat beds in the room, and Cub didn’t anticipate Mumbo was getting any peace today. At least for now, Mumbo relaxed.

“I’ve just been having a lot of trouble this past week, alright? I’m very- I’m very confused. This is all- It’s all old, but it’s also new, right, it’s very new, and I can’t- figure out what’s going on with me.”

Mumbo paused, seeming to be waiting for Cub’s input. Cub had nothing. They stared at each other for a little too long, but this was a matter of dominance now. Mumbo caved first, obviously.

“So I killed someone. Right. First time. Great? Yay? Been thinking about it all my life, finally did it, and it was kind of just as awesome as I thought it would be, right? But I also feel bad. I wasn’t expecting to feel bad. Maybe that’s healthy, like it’s probably a good thing, but I don’t understand how it’s possible to be so- conflicted.”

“Of course you feel bad. You killed someone.”

“This is unhelpful-“ Mumbo was cut off by kitten claws in his jeans, squeaking and flailing his hands like an idiot as the little one crawled up his leg. Its sister was close behind, chasing her sibling up Mumbo’s other leg and hopping up to his lap, lunging for her brother’s tail. The kitten squealed, but Mumbo squealed louder. Cub chuckled.

“Help me!”

“I don’t think I will.”

“I’m going to hurt them.”

“You wouldn’t hurt a baby, would you?”

“Yes I absolutely would do getthemthefuckoffme!”

Cub rolled his eyes, scooping the two kittens away and setting them down on the floor opposite Mumbo. “Freak.”

“You don’t want to hurt them?” Mumbo scoffed, disbelieving, but Cub only shrugged.

“Of course I do. I’m just normal about it. Not any different from people.”

“You think so?” Mumbo whipped to face him with wide, yearning eyes, and Cub couldn’t keep from wavering at the thick desperation in his voice, too familiar, even when the first time Cub had met others like him had been so long ago. That wasn’t what he’d meant, but..

“Sure,” he tried, suddenly far more awkward, “I mean. I don’t know. It’s different. Like, I know people aren’t the same as- I know it’s sacred-“ Cub huffed, giving up. He could never explain it. “Forget it.”

“The only real difference is I’m used to compartmentalizing for people. I take the violence and I just.. tuck it away. Because I can’t. I’m not allowed. Everything else has to be free game. How else can you survive?”

“I don’t know, man, I just kill people.”

“What did you do before?”

Cub pursed his lips into a hard frown. “Didn’t get out of bed. Forget the violence, I wasn’t having any single one of my needs met. Just another thing on the pile. Didn’t care.”

“Did the corruption make it better?” Cub stiffened. Mumbo sounded.. so sad.

“He made it different.”

“What does that mean?” Maybe Mumbo couldn’t help but be pushy, but Cub’s patience cracked all the same.

“It’s never better. It will never get better for me, it can only be different.”

Mumbo’s eyes were searching, but Cub could not continue. He could not give Mumbo what he was looking for. Neither of them had a future. Mumbo was quiet for a long time.

“I think the corruption did something terrible to me. I think I wanted him to. I think I still want him to. I feel like I should be angry, maybe even horrified, but I don’t even care- I might even want more. I don’t know why, and it scares me. Is he doing it? Influencing me?”

Cub’s heart shattered, or maybe his lungs collapsed, something broke in his chest, the whole of him sagging in on itself. It wasn’t fair to ask Cub questions he had never been able to answer for himself.”

Cub stared at his lap, only one kitten remaining after the other four had scattered. Gray and white spotted, small, but long haired, almost impossibly fluffy for something so little. It had tucked itself between Cub’s legs, dwarfed by his size. It trusted him. Unconditional. Could it even help itself? It could not fight Cub when he scooped it off the floor, could not stop itself from being drawn to figures bigger than it, seeking warmth and safety. If Cub decided to crush its skull under his hand, it would probably only mew. And then it would die. If Cub was the only one here, the only person who could care for the fosters, would the others even stray away? Would they crawl into his lap seeking that same comfort, knowing what might await them? Did they even care? Did they even know?

Did Mumbo know?

“All I can tell you is that he hasn’t been back since he took the corpse. He doesn’t know what you’ll do when you see him next, and you’ve shown him you’re a threat worth handling carefully. To actively influence your thoughts, he has to make contact. Passively.. who knows. Who knows if he even thinks he’s doing anything. I just can’t stop needing him. I don’t want to stop. And even if I didn’t owe him my life, my loyalty, even if he spit on me and treated me like the dirt beneath his shoe, I don’t know if that ‘needing’ would change. I hate him sometimes. More than sometimes. But I’ll never leave.”

Cub looked up when Mumbo was silent. There was a kitten in his lap, and Mumbo was staring at it like it could unhinge its jaw and swallow him whole. More likely, he just knew the power he had over the little creature, the trust it had in him all the same. Maybe Mumbo did understand.

Mumbo did not look up when he spoke. “I feel so helpless sometimes. Like I’ll never be in a place where I don’t owe someone else everything, no matter what I think of them. I love.. I want to be able to love someone without owing them my life.”

“You won’t get that here.”

“I know. I just.” Mumbo paused, uncertain. Gently, so gently, he laid two fingers over the back of the kitten in his lap. It purred, eyes closed. “I wish I could be angry at.. the corruption. Instead of Grian. With Grian, I just can’t seem to stop. It’s so easy. It’s like I want to be, like one of the little ways he’s done wrong by me will enter my head, and I just can’t stop focusing on it, going down all these dark paths, it feels as good as it does terrible, and I don’t even know if he’s done anything wrong.”

Cub couldn’t help the furrow of his brow. “What did he do?”

Mumbo shifted where he sat, jostling his kitten. If he heard its mew of displeasure, he did not acknowledge it. “I just- I spent all this time not-“

“Get over it.”

“What-“ Mumbo gaped, but Cub didn’t give him time to speak further.

“Grian gave you a fucking gift, you got a chance to- to be something, and you don’t have much time with him left before he’s gone and you end up here, so fucking get over it. Enjoy it. Maybe thank him.”

Mumbo grimaced, drawing away, “He said he’d rather kill me than let that happen.”

“No he fucking won’t. He’s weak.”

“He’s getting better.”

“He’s emotionally weak. He can’t kill you, even if that might be a kindness in itself.”

Mumbo sat up a little straighter, the kitten sensing his tension, standing up in order to hobble to a more comfortable bed. “He said he’s done it before, twice. He threatened me.”

“Well if Grian doesn’t do it, ‘tHe cOrRupTiOn’ will, so fucking get used to it. I doubt I have much longer than a year, so you two will have plenty of quality time for you to figure all this out by yourself.”

“Longer than a- what? Does he just put you down like an animal?”

“Might as well. This is a dog fighting ring, Mumbo, and you might have an alright time until you get hurt, and then you get hurt again, and then again until you’re so disabled you can’t go on any longer, but it’s all you know how to do, so you keep fighting, and then you die. And Scar will let you, happily. I’m at the end of my rope. I’m not going to recover from these concussions. I’ve broken so many bones that never healed quite right, I’ll never live painlessly again. And I know you still want it, I still want it, but maybe it’s kinder not to have the option at all.”

“I.. I don’t..”

“Get over it. And get out of here, before he sees you.”

“Fine.” Mumbo set his jaw, face stony. “Fine.”

…

It was a quiet month, quiet enough that Grian believed the rest of their lives might be quiet forever; beautiful, blissful quiet. It wasn’t perfect. No, it was far from perfect. But it was okay. He was okay. Mumbo was okay.

They still slept in the same bed, a new habit that had remained unaddressed by either of them, but Grian had a queen, and it was easy for them to stick to their separate sides. In truth, Grian didn’t want Mumbo to leave. He slept better knowing Mumbo was safe. He felt safer with Mumbo beside him. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe it was just another symptom of a quiet, uneventful month.

“Don’t wake up.”

Grian startled, eyes shooting open to a vast expanse of endless dark, lights like stars flickering in the distance. Scar, across from him, just a few meters away.

“Don’t wake up,” he said again, though the smirk Scar wore did nothing to comfort, “I’m here to negotiate. We won’t get a chance if your Eye finds out who’s paid a visit.”

Grian grit his teeth, choking down his own fear. He couldn’t face Scar this way. “I don’t think either of us have anything we’re willing to give up on.” Scar inclined his head as if considering him, but Grian could see it in those sly, green eyes, he was just pretending. Scar knew something.

“You might be right,” he conceded performatively, his smile never wavering, “But I have an offer you might be interested in.”

“Spit it out.”

Scar drew a hand to his heart in mock offense, but he did not dwell on the gesture, like he too wanted to get a move on. “You live a tortured existence, Grian. I know it to be true. You’re reborn of anger and stolen power, you don’t know what to do with yourself but get up, find a spawn to save, watch them kill themselves, die by your hand, or fall to a scar, over and over. You’ve encountered five in this lifetime, yes? Lost them, in one way or another. How many lifetimes have you lived, chasing this fruitless effort? Do you even know? Do you even want to keep going? I know you don’t have a choice. That anger doesn’t rest. No matter how much you lose, you have to push on. When Mumbo kills you, it’ll only start again. You can’t find peace, because you will never win.”

Grian breathed a hard sigh. “I don’t need to listen to you if you’re only going to prattle.”

“You should listen, because I know exactly what happened to you. I know who you used to be when you were alive, really alive. And I can make it stop. I can kill you, permanently. Or, if you so choose, I can let you live the rest of this life with Mumbo under my care, and then I can end it. Once you’ve had enough. Interested yet?”

Grian pursed his lips. Was the corruption a hive mind? Did it really know every name to the blood on its hands, could it remember that far back? Grian didn’t know how long he’d existed like this. He didn’t know how many times he’d reincarnated just to die. But he knew he was old. He was too.. practiced.. to be a novice.

“Get on with it.”

Scar’s face took on a pitying look. “We’re not all the same, you know. Not all of us are so cruel. Yours, though.. I can’t say to the extent you were mistreated, but for a spawn to take a scar’s gift to their grave, to be so vengeful as to maim the scar in the process, steal a chunk of its power.. Hate is not an apt enough word, friend. You were wronged, and you used your shared connection to mutilate your scar, permanently. Whatever was done to you.. I don’t even know if it’s possible for you to find peace. I’ve never met a reincarnated spawn who succeeded. Not that there’s very many of you around, even less that are vengeful enough to chase human forms. Most of you just stay slugs.” Scar shrugged, but he was not done.

“It shouldn’t surprise you that most of us don’t want our power to be destroyed. I’d argue most of us like our spawn, I certainly do! I’d set the world on fire for the spawn in my care, not that it would take much convincing..” Scar chuckled to himself. “I love them. Anything they want, I give them. I’m here to facilitate a fulfilling life, and I do everything in my power to keep them happy. It’s not a nice existence, Grian, being spawn. I think you know that, even if you don’t remember. Mumbo is being suffocated in your care. With me, you’d get to see him thrive- though if you don’t want to see him thriving, you can always enjoy the downtime. When he gets hurt, you can keep him company. I take care of the health of my spawn, y’know. I make sure they’re well off before they’re released back into the world. Out of all the scars where Mumbo could end up, I’m as good as they get! He’ll be happy. Actually happy.”

Grian wrinkled his nose at the thought, but Scar seemed to have said his peace, giving Grian a quiet moment to process what he’d said.

He had been spawn. That made perfect sense, didn’t it?

Grian’s anger ran deep, too deep not to be personal. He was not an offhand victim. This had been months, more likely years of abuse. Spawn were naturally drawn to the corruption of which they were born. How much mistreatment would it take for a spawn to not only reject their found scar, but maim them.

Did this baggage affect how he thought about the average scar? Was it really that bad for spawn to live under someone who could actually meet their needs? Grian blinked, remembering again what those ‘needs’ were. Scar had done a good job not saying it aloud, hadn’t he. Meeting him in a dream, too, where everything was a little.. foggy. Scar knew exactly what he was doing

“If you can kill me, get me out of the way permanently, then why not just do it? Why the monologue?” Grian huffed, but Scar did not seem to mind at all.

“Power like ours can’t be stolen, not unless under.. very specific circumstances, and even in your case, a connection was already established. You would have to give yourself to me, as I would to my spawn. I don’t doubt it would be vindicating for you to do so, as you’d get to rip me open however you pleased,” Scar narrowed his eyes, “Within reason. Though, since it is this power that fuels you, I don’t know if you would survive any sort of transfer. We would wait until you’re ready.”

“So that’s it.” Grian could have laughed, “For the price of everything I’ve worked for here, I get to die.”

“I think you’re underselling my offer here, Grian! You get to die either way, but one of those ways ends your eternal suffering! Is that really not so appealing? I mean, come on, Mumbo’s fate is all but sealed, here. I’ve already hooked him, and killing you is the easy part. If it’s any consolation, either way you go, it will be in style. I plan to exhaust myself for the show, it will be breathtaking.”

“So you know my answer, then.”

Scar’s preformative smirk dropped to a simple smile, “Well, I have a feeling. Hard to negotiate with a brick wall.”

“Your offer fucking sucks.”

“Don’t be mean.”

It was sudden when Grian felt himself more distinctly, felt himself breathe cool air. He opened his eyes, jolted upward, but the dark shape in the shadows of his room was already retreating. Fuck.

Grian forced himself to breathe. Relax.

He looked to Mumbo beside him, still sleeping soundly. Should.. Was it time? Was it over?

Grian should end it all, end it before Mumbo caught wind of Scar’s presence, before he grew suspicious of what Grian might do. Mumbo should get to die happy, clueless. If Grian acted now, Mumbo might be able to die without worrying about Scar at all. (Was Mumbo even worrying? Did he even care? It was hard sometimes, to know what was happening in the brain of a spawn. He doubted it made sense to them, either.)

Grian watched Mumbo sleep for a long time. He wanted to move, get out of bed, go for his gun. He should have done it. This had already gone too far, Grian had been seconds from death too many times- he’d never have allowed this in the past. But he’d never kept someone alive this long either, never put in this much effort, never liked them so much. Grian hated to be human sometimes. How horrible it was to be so attached.

He couldn’t do it. Not tonight. He just couldn’t fight the hope that maybe he’d done enough this time. For Mumbo to stay, even when he was furious. For Mumbo to stay, even when he knew what else was out there.

Maybe it was enough. Maybe everything would be okay.

#hermitcraft #gtws #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #cubfan135 #hermitshipping #I can’t remember if there’s shipping here but just in case lmao

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echoreadsbsdfics · 3 days ago

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I have decided that I am going to play a game with the characters from my latest fic which is in progress instead of continuing to write chapter two. This includes canon characters and Ocs. If you wanna know the actual hero/vilian outfits you'll have to wait. Jack is an oc made by @softmeetscreatureplz The game is below the cut bc of how long it is.

Dazai: What game are we playing? Me: Guess the identity of certain people, I give you all a hero or villain and you have to guess their identity, however if you get it wrong you get locked up until I make you play something again! Flame: And why should we play? Me: Because I can kill you off with a click of my fingers. Flame: … Me: Okay so, Nakaharas you gettttttt Void!! Chuuya: Why does it have to be that prick? Miyo: Vod? Ryuunosuke: Mama, let's just play, it doesn't matter if it's Void, it's a game. Gin: Nodding silently Q: Do we get a photo or…? Me: Of course. *Photo of a man who is 5'11 with fluffy brown hair and bandages all over him) Miyo: Dazie! Chuuya: Are you sure you wanna pick Dazai? Ryuunosuke, Q and Gin: *Silently watching* Miyo: Yes! Chuuya: We're going with Dazai Me: Are you sure you wanna go with what a five year old says? Chuuya, Gin, Q and Ryuunosuke: Nodding in time with each other Yes Me: Alright, congratulations one point for the nakaharas Miyo: Yay!! Me: Okay, Dazai and Ty, who is Sorrow? Dazai: Sorrow as in the most wanted villain in the country Sorrow? Me: Yes. Dazai: How are we meant to know? That veil he has has gems in it so it blocks our view of his face and reflects light so no camera can catch even a glimpse of his face. Ty: It's Chuuya. Dazai: No it's not! Ty: It is, his voice and his height and build is the same and Sorrow always smells like the coffee from Chuuyas cafe which is why you complain about fighting him since you can never get over to the stray dogs cafe before it closes due to our shift times. Dazai: … Dazai: Is he right? Me: Yep. Dazai: Screeching like a new born baby Me: Jackkkkkk? Jack: looks up and then looks back at his book Me: If you play I'll set up for you and Ty to have your own slow burn romance novel. Jack: Closes the book What's the game? Me: You guess the identity of the person I give you. Jack: Alright. Me: Your person is Torch. Jack: Ty. Me: … Me: How did you? Jack: You don't need to know. Me: I don't want to know. Me: Kunikida!!! Kunikida: What is it, Echo? Me: It's simple, you're playing this game. Kunikida: Who's my person? Me: Hellhound. Kunikida: Do I get a hint? Me: He already participated in one of the first two rounds. kunikida: Nakahara Ryuunosuke. He is the only teen that fits the physical definition of Hellhound. Me: I thought this was gonna be harder for all of you. Me: Wait if you knew why haven't you arrested them yet!? Heroes: Shrugs Me: Fucking dumbasses.

Flame: What about me? Me: Oh, right you exist. Flame: Hurry up. Me: Beast Flame: is it that kid with white hair that's hugging that kid with black hair? Points at Atsushi who is hugging Akutagawa Me: Yes...

Atsushi: Looks up, confused Huh? Me: Use protection Atsushi: HUH!? Ryuunosuke: Extremely flustered Yosano: Whos my one? Me: Ah, Golden. Yosano: As in my wife? Me: Yep. Me: Kouyou, your turn. Kouyou: If it's my wife I will win. Me: No, it's Mara. Kouyou: There's no villain or hero by that name? Me: Its something one of Sorrows know associates are called however they have never been on scene Chuuya: Coughing and trying not to panic Kouyou: Do I get a hint? Me: Yes. She's adorable and you know her. Kouyou: Adorable and I know her? Kouyou: Miyo...? Chuuya: Nodding silently while trying to hide his panic Dazai: Staring at them in shock Me: Okay everyone! Now that we're done, your memories are gonna be wiped so we don't mess up the plot. Dazai: You never said anything about that! Me: I didn't think I'd have to. Flame: Evil woman Me: Thank you <3 Flame: That wasn't a compliment. Me: I know. ^^

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #mioshitomioka au #bsd au #echo rambles #dazai x chuuya #nakahara miyo #bsd chuuya #bsd akutagawa #bsd gin #bsd kunikida #bsd ocs #bsd dazai #bsd yumeno #hero/villain #au

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raincoatpng · 21 hours ago

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nobody asked but here is my take on Yona because I need to get it out somehow.

This is a pro-Yona rant from a sidlink fan, addressed to people who enjoy media analysis. Because I don't think it's necessary to pretend a whole character doesn't exist in order to enjoy a ship, if you can learn to look deeper. I am not claiming to know the universal truth, this is just my opinion and my read on things.

I don't want to spend too much time on this first point, but a lot of people seem to be of the opinion that Yona's existence in Tears of the Kingdom was a ploy from Nintendo to bury sidlink. I personally don't think that's the case, firstly because I think it's overestimating the reach of sidlink to assume that Big Nintendo would care to go out of their way to sink the ship, and secondly, a lot of things just do not make sense if that indeed was their intention.

Now, I can't claim to know what every writer and game dev involved in TOTK was thinking, but from a purely logical standpoint, why would they include so many gay ass scenes if their intention was to destroy the ship? I'm thinking first and foremost about the scene where Sidon gets on one knee and gives Link a ring as "proof of his vow." There's just no way that not a single person in the writers room saw the implication there, let's be honest. Why on earth would they put this scene in there if they cared at all about killing off sidlink? It's like using oil to put out a fire. Like I said, it simply makes no sense.

Onto the topic of Yona herself, and the reason I'm posting this in the first place, I don't think I'm the only one who noticed the lack of chemistry between her and Sidon. We know the TOTK writers were capable of writing good chemistry because they did it with Rauru and Sonia, and through just a couple cutscenes at that. So I don't think it's a coincidence that Sidon and Yona don't have that between them.

If you've not read the new zora stone tablets written by Sidon scattered around Lanayru, there is one where Sidon describes how he had once seen Yona as a sister and how he admired her just as he did Mipha. Yes, granted, it is written in the past tense, but why on earth would they include this in the first place? why not say they were merely childhood friends, why precise that they viewed each other as siblings (or that Sidon did at least)? As for the part where he says his feelings have grown harder to describe with time, that is such a vague line it could literally be interpreted any way you like. I have no clue if this is unique to the english translation, so if anybody reads japanese and has read the tablets, please let me know if this was originally intended.

Regardless, Sidon also mentions that Dorephan informed him that Yona would be his bride, implying in no uncertain terms that this was an arranged marriage. The lack of agency in this relationship doesn't exactly scream romance, now, does it?

LASTLY!! the most significant on screen interaction between Sidon and Yona by far is the scene where Yona scolds him (rather sisterly behaviour I might add) for refusing to go to the Water Temple with Link and let her help with the sludge. She accuses him of projecting his grief over losing Mipha onto her and letting himself be paralysed with the fear of losing a loved one again. Similarly, the most significant interaction Yona has with Link is when she fixes his Zora armour up for him – the very armour that Mipha had made for him. I'm gonna say this straight up, it is odd how much the game directs our attention to the parallel between Sidon's supposed love interest and his sister. That is, unless, there is in fact no romance between him and Yona.

So. Rather than writing off Yona entirely as many people are quick to do, I invite you to think deeper on her role in the game. Yes she's very underdeveloped as Sidon's love interest, but ask yourself if that even is the most interesting way to view her. I know a lot of people don't care to think about sibling relationships, even less so chosen family, but for those of you who do, I'm asking you to try to revisit Yona and Sidon's relationship in that light.

Consider the tragedy of losing one sister to war and another to politics, of growing apart from someone you considered family and be robbed of the opportunity to rekindle that bond because you are now betrothed to them. Imagine suddenly being nobody's brother, nobody's sister.

Even if that interpretation isn't as compelling to you as it is to me, at the very least, I'm tired of seeing unwarranted hate for a character that is nothing but helpful and kind. You are perfectly allowed to like or dislike any character, you are entitled to your opinion, but you are not entitled to misogyny. If your only reason for hating a female character is that she "gets in the way" of a ship, you are being sexist. Full stop.

#yona totk #yona #yona loz #sidlink #sidon x link #rain yap sessions #totk #tears of the kingdom #princess mipha #mipha #prince sidon #sidon #tloz link #loz link #botw link #totk link

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sokkastyles · 1 day ago

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Somebody responded to my post about Iroh and Azula and tried to argue that Iroh is at fault for not stopping Zuko from attacking Azula in "The Avatar State," and that this is proof that Iroh neglected Azula.

But to believe this, you first have to believe that Zuko is wrong for attacking Azula. And this person did, and tried to argue that Zuko was the aggressor in that situation because he was "angry" at Azula for lying to him.

Which itself is faulty logic because someone being angry at being abused doesn't make them the aggressor. And this person did acknowledge that Azula abused Zuko, but then wanted to say that Zuko was an aggressor to Azula in "The Avatar State", specifically because he fought Azula out of anger.

And let me clear the air right now. The idea that someone who is abused can abuse their abuser is a myth. It's a myth and it exists because abusers want you to believe it's true, to justify their behavior. A lot of this is actually textually directed at Zuko because he is often angry. Ozai justifies abusing Zuko by saying he needs to learn "respect." Azula justifies hurting Zuko by saying that he's "a failure" and "dumb" and "dramatic" and etc etc etc.

Zuko is right to be angry at Azula after she deliberately played on his emotions, making him believe that he was wanted back home and that she would help him get there, when really she was trying to capture and imprison him. He's also right to fight her in a situation where she certainly would have fought against him to prevent him from escaping. Zuko was already surrounded by her soldiers when he went after her. This is not a fight that Zuko started. Azula also deliberately plays on Zuko's emotions to get him to fight her, because she is still trying to capture or kill him. And she almost succeeds. So not only did Zuko not start the fight, Azula has more power than him and almost succeeds in killing him. And that's without her soldiers interfering.

And the thing is, the idea that Zuko is at fault for being angry when Azula deliberately provoked his anger is a common argument abusers use to justify their actions. Azula was already in a position where she was about to capture Zuko when she provoked him into fighting her, and she did it purposefully because she knew she could win the fight, she knows that Zuko gets sloppy when he's emotional and she knows how to manipulate his emotions to her advantage.

As for Iroh, the idea that Iroh should have stopped Zuko from fighting Azula, or that he wants Zuko to fight Azula, is nonsense because first of all, Iroh is surrounded by Azula's soldiers who are trying to fight and capture him. Second, Iroh does tell Zuko that they need to leave, because his priority is getting Zuko to safety. He does not encourage Zuko to fight Azula. But he's not going to go out of his way to stop Zuko from fighting while Azula and her soldiers are still trying to fight them. It wouldn't be possible because Azula would not have stopped fighting while Iroh held Zuko back. And she's got a bunch of her soldiers at her disposal and an order to capture them. She's not going to stop just because Iroh stopped Zuko. The reason Iroh stopped Azula and not Zuko is because Azula is the main threat in that situation. Zuko is angry at Azula, but his main priority is survival. Azula's main priority is to capture them. Even if Iroh wanted to help Azula, which he is shown to want when Azula is no longer (as much of*) a threat in the comics, he could not have because Azula is the one attacking them. I can't believe this has to be spelled out but I see so much misinformation being spread about this so apparently it does need to be said. But it shouldn't need to be, because neither Iroh nor Zuko is in the position where we need to "prove" that they didn't do anything wrong to Azula, because she's always been the aggressor in that dynamic. Anybody who says otherwise is engaging in manipulative rhetoric.

(*while Azula is in a diminished capacity in the comics, she still is able to manipulate Zuko into allowing her freedom so that she can lie to him and try to kill him and their mother. Iroh comments that he agrees with Zuko's idea that she should be allowed to travel with them with freedom and dignity, and that he hopes it will be good for her. But even that trust and optimism proves to be misplaced and more than Azula deserves. So the idea that Iroh is just biased against Azula is wrong.)

#iroh #azula #zuko #abuse cw #the avatar state

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shiorihyugawrites · 1 day ago

Text

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Forty Four

Zeke sat in the dimly lit war room of the Marleyan capital, a glass of wine resting untouched on the table before him. The grand space was filled with military officials, maps, and whispered conversations about their upcoming full-scale invasion of Paradis. Smoke curled through the air from cigars and cigarettes, the weight of their plotting hanging thick over them all. But Zeke wasn’t listening to the hushed discussions of Marley’s elite strategists. His mind was elsewhere, his blue eyes dark with contemplation.

It had been weeks since he had executed his plan, weeks since he unleashed chaos upon Paradis. The image of the sky lighting up with the golden glow of transformation still played vividly in his mind. Thousands of Eldian refugees, whom Pieck and Reiner had so naively believed they were saving, had instead become weapons in his grand design. Zeke had watched from his airship as their bodies contorted, stretching grotesquely before erupting into the mindless, lumbering beasts of destruction he had carefully primed them to become. He could almost hear the distant screams of his former comrades as they were torn apart by those very same monsters.

It had been a necessary sacrifice.

Did he truly believe those titans would wipe Paradis off the map? No. That had never been the intention. But they had severely weakened it. With a third of the Jaegerists gone and many more Paradisians dead, their defenses were in shambles. Marley’s true assault, planned for the coming months, would be far easier now.

And yet, despite everything, there was an unsettling feeling gnawing at him. He had hoped that in the chaos, three key threats would be eliminated.

Eren.

Levi.

And most importantly… Aurora.

Zeke leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he thought of his half-brother. He knew Eren well enough to assume he had survived. The attack had hurt him, no doubt, but Eren Jaeger wasn’t the type to die easily. If anything, the loss of so many Jaegerists would only fuel his resolve, pushing him further down the path of destruction. Zeke had accepted long ago that his brother was beyond saving. Eren was consumed by his own radical ideology, convinced that the only way to protect Paradis was through the Rumbling.

A shame. Zeke had once hoped to guide him toward a better path, but now? Now, they were simply enemies.

Then there was Captain Levi. Zeke’s jaw clenched slightly at the thought of that damn Ackerman. He had fought many opponents over the years, but none had haunted him quite like Levi Ackerman. That man hated him. No, loathed him. Levi had dedicated himself to taking Zeke down, and it was only through sheer luck that Zeke had escaped him in the past. It was almost unfathomable that a single man could be such a threat.

Still, Zeke knew better than to assume Levi had died. No, Levi was like a cockroach—impossible to kill. If he had survived the onslaught, then he was undoubtedly plotting his revenge at this very moment.

Zeke exhaled slowly, setting his whiskey glass down.

And then… there was her.

Aurora Jaeger.

Zeke’s fingers curled into a fist as he thought about the woman who terrified him more than anyone else on Paradis. It wasn’t her physical strength—she was no warrior. She wasn’t a titan shifter, nor was she a soldier trained in battle. No, what made Aurora dangerous was something far worse.

Her connection to the Founder.

Zeke had never been afraid of many things in his life, but the unknown? That unsettled him. And Aurora Jaeger was an unknown variable. The first time he had switched consciousness with her, he had thought it was some kind of fluke, some bizarre anomaly that would never happen again. But then it had happened again. He had been thrown into her body at the worst possible moment, forced to see what she saw, to experience what she experienced. And that meant one thing.

Ymir Fritz was watching.

The Founder was helping Aurora, and Zeke didn’t know why. That was what terrified him the most. He had spent years studying titan biology, piecing together the mysteries of Eldian genetics, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

Why her?

Why not him? He had royal blood too and he was the Beast Titan. He was the one who had worked so hard to uncover the truth of their existence. And yet, the Founder had chosen Aurora. That meant she was important. That meant she was a threat.

And he had hoped—prayed—that she had died in the chaos. But deep down, he knew better.

She was protected.

By Eren. By Levi. By the entire island, for all he knew.

Zeke ran a hand through his unruly blond hair, exhaling slowly. If she had survived, then she had undoubtedly seen the carnage he had inflicted firsthand. He wondered what she thought of him now. Before, she had likely viewed him as nothing more than an enemy, another piece on the board in the grand game of war. But now? Now, she knew what he was capable of.

Good.

Let her fear him.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. General Magath entered, his sharp eyes assessing Zeke with mild impatience. "Enough drinking, Zeke. We have a war to finish."

Zeke straightened, his usual composed demeanor slipping back into place. "Of course, General. I trust the invasion plans are progressing as expected?"

Magath nodded, unfolding a map onto the table. "Our forces are preparing for a full-scale assault. The titans you sent were effective in thinning their numbers, but Paradis is still standing. That island breeds fighters. They won’t go down easily."

Zeke hummed in agreement, his golden eyes flicking over the map. "Eren is still alive. Levi too. And Aurora Jaeger… she’s out there."

Magath’s brow furrowed slightly. "Aurora Jaeger?" he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. "The woman who married Eren Jaeger? Why does she matter?"

Zeke hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. "Just a hunch. Nothing more."

He wasn’t about to reveal his fears to Magath. He wasn’t about to admit that a woman with no military experience was the one who haunted his thoughts the most.

No, for now, he would wait.

And when the time came, he would make sure Aurora Jaeger never interfered with his plans again.

…

Ymir watched.

She had been watching for a long time now, her hollow, unblinking eyes fixed on Aurora Jaeger. The Paths stretched endlessly around her, their glowing, branching threads weaving through time and memory, but she paid them little mind. Not when she was there.

Aurora.

A woman born of her own bloodline, yet so different from all the others.

Ymir had seen the way she carried herself, how she moved through the world with quiet strength, how she survived time and time again when others would have fallen. It was fascinating. No one had ever intrigued her like this before. The countless descendants of the Eldian race had long since blurred together into an indistinct sea of suffering, but Aurora… she stood out.

Why?

Ymir didn’t know.

But she wanted to find out.

So she watched.

She watched as Aurora sat in a small, candle-lit room, her delicate fingers resting on the curve of her belly. She was lost in thought, staring blankly ahead, her expression distant.

Ymir tilted her head.

Could she feel her?

It wasn’t impossible. Aurora had always been sensitive to the Founder’s presence, even before she realized what it was. But now, it was becoming more… in tune. A connection was forming, one that neither of them fully understood yet.

Ymir took a step forward in the Paths, reaching toward her, as if that would somehow bridge the gap between them. But then, something shifted. A voice cut through the silence of the real world.

“Aurora?”

Aurora flinched, jolted out of her trance.

Eren’s voice. Deep, rough, edged with concern.

Ymir stilled, watching as Aurora blinked, her ice-blue eyes refocusing as she turned her head toward him.

“I’ve been calling your name,” Eren said, his brows furrowed. He was sitting beside her, his large hands resting on his knees. “You okay?”

Aurora inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest. She felt… disoriented. Like she had been somewhere else entirely just moments ago. She shook her head slightly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Eren didn’t look convinced. His green eyes scanned her face, his fingers twitching slightly as if resisting the urge to reach out. “About what?”

Aurora hesitated. How could she even begin to explain? She could still feel the lingering weight of Ymir’s gaze, as if the Founder was still there, still watching.

But before she could respond, another voice interrupted.

“Aurora,” the doctor called, stepping into the room. “It’s time.”

Aurora exhaled, letting the strange moment slip away as she shifted in her seat. Eren was already on his feet, offering her his arm before she could even try to stand on her own. She gave him a look—one that said I can get up myself, but he ignored it, steadying her anyway.

She sighed but didn’t resist. At thirty weeks pregnant, she was too tired to argue.

The past three months had been a blur of exhaustion, grief, and relentless determination. After Zeke’s devastating attack, rebuilding had become their sole focus.

Paradis had been fractured, but it hadn’t fallen.

They were still standing.

Barely.

Aurora waddled toward the examination table, easing herself onto it as the doctor began preparing for the checkup. Eren remained close, his arms crossed, his watchful gaze never straying from her. It was almost amusing how tense he got every time she had an appointment, as if he expected something catastrophic to happen at any given moment.

She reached for his hand, squeezing it lightly. “Relax, Eren. We do this every two weeks.”

Eren grunted, but his fingers curled around hers all the same.

As the doctor began measuring her belly, listening to the baby’s heartbeat, Aurora’s mind drifted back to everything that had changed since that fateful day.

Pieck and Reiner had joined their ranks.

Eren still didn’t trust them. Probably never would. But they had been useful. Pieck’s sharp mind and strategic thinking had helped them organize what was left of their forces, and Reiner—well, Reiner had found his own place in all of this.

The Jaegerists had taken heavy losses. One-third of their forces were gone, including Floch.

Aurora still wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She knew many of the Jaegerists mourned him, saw him as a martyr for their cause. Some of them even resented her for his death, as if she hadn’t been the victim of his betrayal. She had caught the occasional cold stare, the whispers behind her back. But no one dared lay a hand on her. Not after what Eren had done.

No one wanted to end up like Floch.

And then there was Noah.

The little boy she had risked her life for.

He had become one of the orphans under Historia’s care, living on the farm with dozens of other war-torn children. But he was still attached to her, still clung to her every time she visited. And surprisingly… he had grown attached to Reiner too.

Aurora smiled faintly, thinking of how the former warrior had started visiting the farm a few times a week. At first, it had been out of obligation, but over time, something had changed. Reiner had begun to care. He had found something beyond war, beyond duty.

She had seen it in his eyes when he played with Noah, when he sat among the children, listening to their stories, letting them braid his hair in ridiculous styles.

It was healing him.

Maybe not completely. Maybe not all at once. But little by little, it was giving him a reason to keep going.

Aurora squeezed Eren’s hand again, bringing herself back to the present as the doctor finished her exam.

“Everything looks good,” the doctor said, offering a small smile. “Baby is measuring perfectly. Heartbeat is strong.”

Aurora let out a breath of relief, but Eren remained silent, his grip on her hand never loosening.

She turned to him, nudging him lightly. “See? Nothing to stress about.”

Eren exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. “I’ll stop stressing when you’re not carrying a damn time bomb in your stomach.”

Aurora rolled her eyes. “It’s a baby, Eren.”

“Same thing,” he muttered.

The doctor chuckled softly before stepping out, leaving them alone.

Aurora looked up at Eren, studying the tension in his face. Even after three months, he was still wound tight, still bracing himself for the next disaster.

She reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “Hey,” she said softly. “We’re okay.”

Eren leaned into her touch for a moment, closing his eyes before pressing his forehead against hers. “Not for long.”

Aurora’s smile faded. She knew what he meant.

The peace they had now? It wouldn’t last.

Marley was still out there. Zeke was still out there.

And the war wasn’t over yet.

But before Aurora or Eren could say another word, the muffled sound of a sharp, exasperated voice reached them through the door.

"Get up, you useless brats! This isn’t a damn field trip!" Levi’s voice rang out, sharp as a whip, carrying through the corridors with all the authority of a man who had spent his entire life leading soldiers into hell.

Aurora sighed, shaking her head as she pulled her coat around her shoulders. "Sounds like another batch of fresh recruits got on his bad side."

Eren exhaled through his nose, his expression somewhere between amusement and indifference. "They should count themselves lucky. He could be worse."

Aurora scoffed. "Worse? He’s working those poor teenagers like slaves."

Eren’s lips curled slightly. "Good. They need it."

Aurora shot him a look, but she didn’t argue. She knew he wasn’t wrong.

With the numbers they lost in Zeke’s attack, Paradis had been desperate to bolster their forces. The Jaegerists had recruited every capable young fighter they could find, but they weren’t the hardened warriors that Levi was used to training. Most of them were barely out of childhood, wide-eyed and eager but completely unprepared for the horrors they would soon face.

Levi wasn’t about to coddle them. He had seen too many of his comrades die, too many promising soldiers lost to inexperience and bad training. He was doing what he always did—shaping them into survivors.

But damn, Aurora still felt bad for them.

She heard the scuffle of boots outside, followed by a series of desperate, labored breaths as the recruits struggled to keep up with whatever hell Levi was putting them through. Then, another sharp bark.

"Did you not hear me? Faster! If you can’t run, you die. If you can’t fight, you die. If you’re too slow, you die." A pause, then a heavy, unimpressed sigh. "And right now, I’m looking at a lot of dead people."

Aurora glanced at Eren, expecting him to roll his eyes, but instead, he just stood there, listening, his face unreadable. She could tell his mind was elsewhere, thoughts churning behind his cold green eyes.

Before she could ask what he was thinking, another voice broke through the noise.

"Captain Levi, please! I—I just need a second—"

"Are you asking the titans for a second? Are you asking the enemy for a break? Because if you are, let me know how that works out for you," Levi snapped.

Aurora stifled a laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth. The poor kid. She could only imagine the look of absolute despair on his face.

Eren shook his head, muttering, "They’ll either shape up or quit."

"Not much of a choice," Aurora murmured.

She shifted, preparing to walk toward the door, but before she could take a step, another voice cut through the commotion.

"Aurora!" Levi’s voice, this time directed at her.

Aurora stiffened as Eren immediately turned toward the doorway, his muscles tensing. Levi’s boots echoed against the wooden floors as he approached, his figure appearing in the dim light of the hall. His expression was unreadable—typical—but his sharp eyes flicked over her, scanning her from head to toe with an assessing glare.

"You’re supposed to be taking it easy," he said flatly, crossing his arms. "Not waddling around doing whatever the hell you feel like."

Aurora exhaled, already knowing where this was going. "Captain—"

"You’re pushing yourself too much," he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. "I don’t care if you think you’re fine. I don’t care if Eren thinks you’re fine. You’re pregnant, and if you keep running around like you’re still a soldier, you’re gonna end up hurting yourself or that kid."

Aurora groaned, rubbing her temples. "I’m not running around."

Levi gave her a dry, unimpressed look. "You don’t sit still. Ever."

Aurora opened her mouth to argue, but Eren spoke first. "She’s fine."

Levi shot him a glare. "Yeah? And you’re a doctor now?"

Eren scowled, but didn’t reply. He knew better than to argue with Levi when he was in this mood.

Aurora sighed. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself."

Levi’s jaw tightened. "You’re reckless, and you make bad decisions."

Aurora frowned, crossing her arms. "I do not."

Levi arched a brow. "You ran straight into a battlefield to save a kid. You got trapped under debris. You almost got eaten."

Aurora hesitated. "Okay, that was—"

"And then," Levi continued, as if she hadn’t spoken, "instead of laying low like a normal pregnant woman, you’ve been running around this camp, sticking your nose in everything, stressing yourself out over things you can’t control."

Aurora huffed. "I’m not stressing myself out."

Levi’s stare was flat. "You never stop moving."

Aurora pursed her lips. She wasn’t about to admit it, but… maybe he had a point. She had been restless lately. Ever since the attack, ever since the loss of so many soldiers, ever since she realized just how much danger they were all in… sitting around felt impossible.

But she wasn’t going to tell Levi that.

Before she could come up with a response, Levi stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Look. I know you don’t like being coddled. I know you hate sitting still. But you’re no good to us if you push yourself too hard and something happens to you or the baby."

Aurora blinked.

That was… surprisingly gentle. At least, by Levi standards.

Eren stiffened beside her, clearly picking up on the shift in Levi’s tone. His gaze flickered between them, suspicion creeping into his features.

Aurora exhaled, finally relenting. "Alright. I’ll try to take it easy."

Levi huffed. "You better."

Then, before she could say anything else, Levi just walked past her without another word, heading back toward the recruits outside.

Eren turned to her, looking mildly disturbed. "What the hell is his problem?"

Aurora smoothed down her hair, still a bit dazed. "I… I think that was his way of showing affection?"

Eren’s expression twisted in disgust. "Tch. He should keep that to himself."

Aurora bit back a laugh, nudging him. "Jealous?"

Eren scoffed. "Of him? Please."

But as Aurora watched Levi disappear down the hall, she couldn’t help but smile.

For all his gruffness, for all his sharp words and dry sarcasm, he did care.

And in a world like this, that meant everything.

…

On another part of the island, the midday sun hung heavy in the sky, casting long golden rays over the recovering lands of Paradis. Though the island was still bruised from the devastation of Zeke’s attack, life had found a way to press forward. Civilians worked tirelessly to rebuild homes, reinforce their defenses, and gather supplies for the cold months ahead.

And at the center of it all was Historia Reiss.

The young queen had barely taken a moment to rest since the catastrophe three months prior. Her hands were always occupied with documents, her voice constantly in discussions with government officials, military leaders, and the common folk alike. She had once been a girl who doubted her own worth, but now, she had transformed into a steadfast ruler—one who shouldered the burdens of her people without hesitation.

But she wasn’t alone.

Wherever Historia went, Porco Galliard was never far behind.

Though he was an outsider, a former warrior of Marley, and a titan shifter who had once been their enemy, Porco had dedicated himself to protecting Historia. It had started as an unspoken duty, a way to atone for the horrors his country had inflicted upon Paradis. But somewhere along the way, it had become much more than that.

He had fallen for her. And to his surprise, she had fallen for him too.

Now, as Historia moved through the streets of the inner district, speaking with displaced families and ensuring aid reached those in need, Porco trailed beside her, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential threat. His stance was casual, hands in his pockets, but the way he positioned himself—always slightly in front of her, always between her and anyone unfamiliar—made it clear that he was taking no chances with her safety.

Reiner couldn’t help but watch them.

He stood a short distance away, arms crossed over his broad chest, his golden eyes flickering between Historia’s soft smiles and Porco’s ever-present smirk.

It stung.

Back when he had first infiltrated Paradis as a young cadet, Reiner had admired Historia from afar. She had been “Christa” then, a sweet, selfless girl who had gone out of her way to help others, no matter the cost to herself. She had been gentle, kind—everything that Reiner, in his mind, was not. In the darkest corners of his thoughts, he had imagined a future where he could have been someone else—someone worthy of her.

Of course, that dream had shattered along with every other illusion he once had. Historia had found her own strength, her own identity, and had become a queen. And now, to add insult to injury, of all people she could have chosen, she had ended up with Porco.

Reiner gritted his teeth as he caught Porco glancing his way.

Porco’s smirk widened ever so slightly, his expression practically oozing smug satisfaction. He knew Reiner had harbored feelings for Historia back then. He had seen glimpses of it through Ymir’s memories when he inherited the Jaw Titan. He had witnessed every stolen glance, every hesitant moment where Reiner had longed to say something but never did.

And now, every time Porco caught Reiner staring, he made sure to rub it in.

Reiner clenched his fists at his sides, forcing himself to look away. He wasn’t the type to hold grudges over something like this—he knew Porco was a decent guy, and Historia genuinely seemed happy with him—but damn it, did he have to look so pleased with himself about it?

As if sensing Reiner’s frustration, Porco decided to push it further.

He casually draped an arm around Historia’s shoulders as she finished speaking with an elderly villager, pulling her close just enough to make his point. She didn’t seem to mind, leaning into him slightly before gesturing toward one of the supply carts that needed to be redirected.

Reiner exhaled sharply through his nose. He was being ridiculous, he knew that. There were far bigger problems in the world than his bruised ego. But still… Porco?

His bitter musings were interrupted when Jean and Connie wandered over, both of them having finished their assigned patrols for the day.

Jean followed Reiner’s gaze, then rolled his eyes. “You’re still sulking over this?”

Connie, munching on a piece of dried bread, snorted. “Damn, Reiner. Thought you were the Armored Titan, not the Heartbroken Titan.”

Reiner scowled at them. “I’m not sulking.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And I’m not taller than Levi.”

Reiner’s jaw clenched. “It’s not a big deal.”

Connie smirked, nudging him with his elbow. “Tell that to your face.”

Reiner glared at him but said nothing.

Jean, ever the instigator, grinned. “Hey, maybe you should just go up to Historia and tell her how you really feel. Oh wait—too late.”

Connie cackled. “Yeah, Porco already beat you to it! Man, I bet Ymir’s rolling in her grave.”

Reiner groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can you two shut up?”

Jean smirked, clearly enjoying this too much. “What? We’re just saying—”

“I said shut up.”

The sharpness in Reiner’s voice made both Jean and Connie back off slightly, though they were still grinning like idiots.

Across the street, Porco must have caught sight of their conversation, because he sent Reiner another insufferable smirk before turning his attention back to Historia, listening attentively as she spoke.

Reiner sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I swear to God, I hate that guy.”

Jean chuckled. “Yeah? Well, you should’ve made a move when you had the chance.”

Connie nodded sagely. “Snooze you lose, my dude.”

Reiner resisted the urge to groan again.

Maybe if he was lucky, Marley would launch another attack soon and he’d die in battle before he had to suffer through any more of this humiliation.

Meanwhile, Historia—completely oblivious to the torment she was unintentionally putting Reiner through—continued her work, coordinating with the citizens and the military forces still aiding in rebuilding efforts.

Porco remained by her side, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the crowd as she spoke. Though he enjoyed teasing Reiner, his protective instincts always came first. He wasn’t just playing the role of Historia’s protector—he was her protector, and he took that responsibility seriously.

Still, he did enjoy seeing Reiner squirm.

As Historia finished giving instructions to one of the guards, Porco leaned down slightly, lowering his voice just for her.

“Reiner’s staring again.”

Historia blinked, then turned her head slightly, catching the way Reiner had immediately averted his gaze the second she looked his way.

She frowned. “Why does he do that?”

Porco grinned. “Because he had a thing for you back when you were a cadet. Didn’t you know?”

Historia’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, what?”

Porco chuckled, clearly pleased. “Oh yeah. Ymir knew. She saw it plain as day.”

Historia opened her mouth, then closed it, looking vaguely flustered. “I—I had no idea.”

Porco shrugged. “Well, doesn’t matter now, does it?”

He tugged her a little closer, just enough to make sure Reiner noticed.

Historia sighed, shaking her head. “You’re terrible.”

Porco smirked. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

And with that, he pressed a quick, playful kiss to her forehead before leading her to their next task, leaving Reiner to wallow in the background.

Jean and Connie howled with laughter.

Reiner considered throwing himself into the nearest pit.

…

The dim glow of lanterns flickered across the walls of Hange’s laboratory, casting long, shifting shadows that danced with each restless movement she made. Her workspace was in a complete state of chaos—papers scattered across the tables, half-melted candles dripping wax onto stained notebooks, and the acrid scent of burnt herbs lingering in the air. Glass vials filled with bubbling substances lined the shelves, while stacks of books sat open, their pages marked with frantic scribbles and annotations.

For weeks now, Hange had buried herself in Aurora’s worn herbalism notebook, pouring over every note, every observation, and every meticulously written formula. The sheer brilliance of it astounded her. She had known Aurora was intelligent—her ability to create elixirs to boost the stamina and endurance of the Jaegerists had already been impressive—but this? This was on another level entirely.

Aurora had discovered properties of Paradisian plants that no one had ever documented before. She had experimented with chemical reactions purely through instinct and logic, refining them without any formal training. Hange had spent her entire career dedicated to the pursuit of science, and yet she felt like she was looking at the notes of someone who could have been her equal—if not her superior—had Aurora ever been given the opportunity for proper medical or chemical training.

It was genius.

Hange’s fingers trembled slightly as she traced over the handwritten notes detailing the plant blend that had ignited upon contact with Historia’s rifle fire. That moment had been a breakthrough—Aurora had unintentionally created a flammable compound using natural ingredients, something Hange had been trying to accomplish for years.

And now, she had to find a way to use it.

Not just as an elixir, not just as a stimulant—but as a weapon.

Her mind raced with possibilities. Fire was one of the most effective ways to take down Titans, but their current methods relied too much on large-scale destruction like Thunder Spears. They needed something smaller, something that could be used quickly in combat, something that wouldn’t take time to set up. What if they could create small incendiary capsules? A mixture of Aurora’s plant blend combined with a volatile accelerant—one that could ignite upon impact or even on command?

Hange frantically flipped through the notebook, re-reading Aurora’s observations, trying to piece together the missing link. The plants she had used weren’t common, but Aurora had specifically noted their reaction to extreme heat. What if they enhanced that property? Strengthened it?

She turned to the table where a small glass container held dried fragments of the blend Aurora had given her. She carefully measured a portion into a separate vial, then reached for a flask containing a liquid she had been experimenting with—something with just enough potency to amplify the reaction without rendering it too unstable.

As she poured a single drop into the mixture, a small whoosh of flame erupted, flickering for just a brief second before settling into a smoldering glow. Hange’s eyes widened.

This could work.

This could really work.

She needed to test it. She needed to refine it. And most importantly, she needed Aurora.

Hange grabbed the notebook, tucked it under her arm, and all but sprinted out of the lab, her mind a whirlwind of ideas. She needed to show this to Eren. She needed Levi’s approval. But first—she needed Aurora to tell her everything she knew about this blend.

…

Aurora was in the main hall of their headquarters, her legs crossed as she absentmindedly skimmed through a book. The quiet hum of the base was a stark contrast to the bustling chaos outside, where the Jaegerists trained under Levi’s brutal command. At thirty weeks pregnant, she wasn’t allowed anywhere near the training grounds anymore—especially not with Levi constantly barking at her to “take it easy before she keels over.”

She smirked at the thought.

Levi would rather die than admit it, but he had grown more protective over her with each passing month. If she so much as looked like she was about to strain herself, he was there with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

Her peace was abruptly shattered when the doors to the hall slammed open, and in rushed Hange, looking like she had just been struck by a bolt of lightning.

Aurora barely had time to react before Hange barreled towards her, shoving the well-worn notebook in her face.

“Aurora! Tell me everything about the blend you used to set those Titans on fire!”

Aurora blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“The blend! The one you threw when Historia fired her rifle! I need to know every single thing about it—how you made it, how you refined it, how reactive it is in different conditions—everything!” Hange’s hands were practically vibrating with excitement.

Aurora stared at her, then glanced down at the notebook in Hange’s grasp. “I mean… it wasn’t anything special—”

“Not special?!” Hange nearly shrieked. “Do you have any idea what you did? You created an instant incendiary reaction using only natural compounds! Do you understand the implications of that? Do you know what we could do with that?!”

Aurora frowned. “You’re talking about using it for a weapon.”

“Exactly!” Hange nearly bounced in place. “This could change everything! If we refine the formula, we could develop small-scale incendiary devices that soldiers can carry on hand—something that doesn’t require bulky equipment like Thunder Spears! Imagine being able to ignite a Titan’s weak spot with nothing but a simple throw!”

Aurora hesitated. “Hange… I never intended for my blends to be used to kill.”

Hange’s excitement faltered just slightly, but she wasn’t deterred. “I know. I know that’s not what you made them for. But Aurora, we need this. You’ve seen what happened. We barely survived the last attack. We’re alone, surrounded by enemies, and we need every advantage we can get. This isn’t just about Titans anymore—Marley’s going to come back, and when they do, we need to be ready.”

Aurora chewed her lip, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the book in her lap. She had spent years studying the plants of Paradis, learning their properties, crafting remedies to heal people. But now, those same discoveries were being repurposed for war.

And yet… Hange wasn’t wrong.

Aurora sighed, finally meeting Hange’s eager gaze. “Alright. I’ll tell you everything.”

Hange’s face lit up.

“I knew you’d see reason! Alright, come on—we’re going back to the lab! We have so much to test!”

Aurora groaned, already regretting her decision. “Can I at least finish my tea first?”

Hange grabbed her arm, practically dragging her towards the exit. “Tea can wait! Science can’t!”

As Aurora let herself be pulled along, she couldn’t help but shake her head.

She had a feeling she had just created something far more dangerous than she ever intended.

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