#the puppeteer is a puppeteer! he can control any puppet!

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Skeleton is beginning to realize that his child is becoming just like him as they grow up. How would they feel about it?

Undertale Sans - That's a bit of an electroshock for Sans to actually start to care again about little things. He loves his child, but he doesn't want them to turn out like he did. So he puts some effort into becoming a better version of himself, so he doesn't feel bad that his kid chose him as a model. Well, it would work better if Papyrus didn't send Toriel to check on him every time he's cleaning something in the house because he's worried Sans is stressed about something and resigned to cleaning to think about something else, and so that must be something truly horrible.

Undertale Papyrus - He's flattered, and he doesn't see any problem with that. Papyrus asks Sans to make his kid a battle body so the two of them can match and save the day together. Every hero needs a sidekick after all and his child can perfectly be that for now. These two are going to be proud and loud and confident forever! Well... Papyrus is not ready for the day his teen kid will call him cringe and run away, hiding their face from him lol. Papyrus is going to be heartbroken.

Underswap Sans - He's walking in the street, holding his kid's hand. The kid is pulling him everywhere like a puppet and won't stop screaming, jumping, and running around him. Blue has a headache. Please, make it stop. This kid has way too much energy. Even his energy can't catch up to them. Is this what Honey had to suffer his entire life? Damn, no wonder why he never wants to go hiking with him.

Underswap Papyrus - Well, when Honey started to have suspicions his kid might be a hyperempath like him, he freaked out completely. But that's mainly because Blue never really understood it, and so Honey had to deal with that on his own during his childhood. Honey refuses his kid to go through the emotional tornadoes he went through as a kid, and so he starts training him really early about how to control it so it doesn't ruin his life. It's a great gift, but it's also a nightmare as he's absorbing everyone's feelings like a sponge, and sometimes, feelings can hurt. Honey hopes he can avoid some anxiety for his kid. He knows his anxiety is causing a bit of their anxiety, but he wants his child to be confident about who they are. Not like him.

Underfell Sans - Red is in denial and pretends he doesn't see how similar to him his kid is acting. First of all, because it's stupid, why the hell would his kid take him as a model when there's Uncle Edge or Taunt Undyne way cooler than him parading in front of them, and secondly, because he really doesn't want his child to turn out like him. Red made a hell lot of mistakes in his life that caused a lot of people to get hurt, including his own brother. He just doesn't understand what his kid sees in him, and that makes him uncomfortable.

Underfell Papyrus - Well, obviously, who else would they look up to? Edge made very clear from the second he held his baby for the first time that he would protect them and die for them, and so being grateful is the least that kid could be. At least until that tantrum in the shop where his kid refused to obey him and then screamed at him with all they had, absolutely not scared of any of his punishment threats, and then running away in the shop, cleverer than him and hiding in a place Edge can't reach. Edge is going to shriek in anger.

Horrortale Sans - That's probably bad. But that had to happen eventually, right? He's always with his kid and he won't stop showing them new things he likes to do, so it's quite normal they're taking after him. Ok, maybe teaching them to dig like a dog in the garden was not his best idea. Or throwing cow poops at people who are intruding the house. But, uh, eh, at least they have a really close bond, and he would not exchange it for anything in the world.

Horrortale Papyrus - Willow is big proud of his kid. They're responsible, they never hesitate to ask if he needs help with the chores, and they're just empathetic in general; that's all he could have asked for. But... When Willow caught them staring at themself worryingly in a mirror, he wished they didn't take so much after him after all. Willow feels guilty that he might have non-intentionally shared how uncomfortable he is in his body to his child, and that's really not what he wants. He keeps telling them they're beautiful, but it sounds weird when he's clearly not thinking that about himself.

Swapfell Sans - Well, there are good things and bad things with that. For the good things, the kid has a high esteem of themselves, which is what Nox wanted, and they're not letting anyone walk on their feet, so that's good. Nox was terrified he would have to protect yet another child, but turns out his training lessons worked well and that his kid inherited his natural talent at fighting, so he's not too worried about that. However... Nox can tell that each failure or mistake they made is making them so anxious they often break down or feel the need to hide to protect themselves. He knows it's his fault, because that's exactly how he reacts every time he can't reach the Queen's standards, and he knows that it's what led him to go depressed Underground. Nox tries to keep communication open with his child so they can talk to him when they're not alright, but deep down, he's terrified they're walking in his steps and might end up making a big mistake in the hope they please whoever they need to please.

Swapfell Papyrus - Rus doesn't see what the problem is with that. Everyone else does, though. Rus pretends he doesn't see his brother trying really hard to encourage his child to do chores and to take care of themselves better, because it's hurting a little that he's acting like that now, when he's the reason Rus turned so bad in the first place. Rus is not jealous of the attention he's giving to his child; he's just hurt because he deserved that attention too, and Nox preferred to give it to the Royal Guard instead. Things are a little tense between the brothers, but Rus feels like he can't really talk about it as the past is in the past and they're not comfortable talking about these things today. So yeah, maybe he's encouraging his kid to be messy and to prank people on purpose, because that doesn't seem fair that they get to have his brother's attention.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Well, he doesn't see why it's a bad thing that his child doesn't let anyone lack respect to them. They deserve all the respect in the world. That is until he talks to them passive-agressively and then the child orders him to apologize to them this instant and then the little shit dared to attack him because he refused! The audacity! Your own father! Wine feels more and more like he raised his own rival as they grow up, and he's not too sure he likes the idea anymore by the time they become an adult.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Uh oh. He swears he didn't ask anything to his kid anything and he didn't ask them to be anxious or anything. He has no idea how that even happened. Ok, maybe he has an idea, but it's not his fault that when he's scared, his first instinct is to teleport with his kid in his closet to hide from what's scary. What if the danger ate them? You think about that?

[mmrcr8tivity]

ECLIPSE RAMBLING!

Not sure if this would be considered a theory or headcanon or what, but-

Do you think Eclipse has problems with his identity? I mean like his actual identity, who he is.

From the very beginning Eclipse struggled with coming to terms with who he was now. In one of the earliest episodes (one where Sun was destroying the old pizzerias) Eclipse comes out at some point. During this time he shouted "I AM MOON!" Then had to correct himself realizing that he wasn't and he was supposed to be mimicking Sun. If I'm remembering correctly, this was before Eclipse revealed himself as Eclipse. Meaning he was still in the mentally that he was Moon.

We see something like this much later when Nexus, before he was Nexus, took him to Earth for therapy. He started rambling on and at some point said something along the lines of ". . And being the original m-" then cut himself off. You can hear that M sound before he stops implying he was about to say Moon. So even then he was still clinging to the idea of being his old self again.

Once he gets to his new dimension in EAPS, he starts to talk about how he used to be a killcode. Not THE killcode because he knew that guy was dead and he couldn't be him. He also talked about how the Moon here was acting how he used to. However he would always say something like "back then" instead of "when I was still Moon", suggesting he's come to terms in a way that he never was Moon.

Now we have some of our more recent moments with other characters having the same name as him. Starting with Eklipse. The second the guy found out who Eclipse was he started to call him "the fake one" or "the imposter". Our original retaliated with calling the other "freak", but now he's stopped. If you hear him mention the broken down version he will call him Eklipse.

Leading into our next guy, Ruin. In one of the most recent episodes "Ruin Snaps", Monty calls Ruin by his original name. Eclipse responds with: "What?" Likely out of confusion because she was on Ruin's side. But then she responded with. "His name's Eclipse, not just Ruin." And after that Eclipse stays silent. I can't be the only one to think that had some sort of impact on the guy. Because then he says if anything goes wrong he's doing his plan and leaves.

A slight moment here, not really involving other people, is Eclipse's break down. When he starts to cry to Roxy about the problem at hand and how he's failing, he starts to question he purpose. Saying things like "If I can't fix this, what am I good for?" And "If I'm not the smart guy, who am I?" This shows that Eclipse puts more on what he can do than who he is as a person.

Getting a little obscure here, but I don't think it's too far out. Let's focus on Solar. We all know Eclipse and Solar don't like each other. Solar because Eclipse was, and still sort of is, a terrible guy. Eclipse hates Solar, not just because he hates everybody, but because he sees Solar as the preferred version. In one of his conversations with Puppet (Matt), she tries convincing Eclipse to stay because there are people who care about him, and that he could become a part of the family. Eclipse responds with saying something along the lines of "They have the one they want." I'd say Eclipse is kind of jealous of Solar, because he got to have everything that was taken from him since day 1. He got the life Moon had taken from him with the separation. And I'm sure Solar getting better and being a part of the family doesn't help because it shows that Eclipse had multiple chances to make that a reality, but didn't do it.

Finally I'll end with the Mimic. The Mimic showed that people really didn't like Eclipse's personality. He could go by any name and have any face, but if it's the real him in control then people will steer away. This is seen especially on the first day Mimic has control. They started to act a little bit nicer to everyone and immediately everybody said how much they prefered the "New Eclipse". The Mimic had also made multiple mistakes on Eclipse's behavior, but nobody seemed notice. The Mimic was making people happy even when he went back to being more mean like the real Eclipse. It took people a month to find out and by then the Mimic had basically revealed himself.

I feel like all of this is creating this identity crisis in himself. Because if he isn't Moon, Solar, KC, or Eclipse. Who is he? The smart one? No, because there are more people just as smart or smarter than him. Maybe if he was someone else? But that wouldn't work because he'd still be the same jerk everyone gets mad at.

Yes, Eclipse needs to work on his attitude in order to improve, but if we're going on the idea of "his true self", then he might feel like he's running out of options.

Anyway. Thanks for listening to my ramble. Have a nice day!

[dollopole]

I agree, and I’d like to add something too!

Another thing people in the fandom might fail to consider (not judging) is that Morgana is a noble.

Yes, a ward under the protection of Uther’s and with no family left (that we know of, until we find out how untrue that is) but still of a class way higher than Merlin. She is Uther’s favourite child, in a very toxic, unhealthy way. When Uther comes to know that Morgana helped a sorcerer escape, he just scolds her, and not even directly, which means she can get away with many things.

Merlin needed to protect himself.

I know we see Merlin as this big, powerful guy who is just invincible (true), but he can co-exist with a guy who is very young and scared and vulnerable, and who doesn’t know the true strength of his own powers (also true).

Because just like Merlin is close to Arthur, he is even less close to Morgana, and yes, he sees her as a friend of sorts, but he is still wary of her, given that she is not only Uther’s daughter but his ward, whom he could have lost too, which only made Morgana more the puppeteer.

She could say anything and Uther would fall for it like the oblivious man he is.

Morgana does not care about repealing the ban on magic, and we see it in the show, light as day. She cares about everyone equally because she is decent, true, especially in the first season, but I also see her caring in a more, “I need to do what is right, just to go against Uther/just to spite some nobles” way (in the later seasons).

The moment she learns she can have a shot at being queen, she takes it. And no matter how much Arthur loves her, how much Gwen or even Gaius love her, she does not care and tries to kill them multiple times just to take the throne.

And once she takes the throne, she is a tyrant just like Uther. She kills and dictates just because she wants the people to listen to her.

She cares about power, and whether that power can be given to her by magic or not, that’s not important to her.

Morgana just wants to rule.

Also, Merlin and Gaius know she is an High Priestess. Only because we have a parameter with Merlin, it does not mean that Morgana is not powerful. Morgana IS powerful, or else it wouldn’t have taken Merlin so much time to kill her (it can also be because deep down, Merlin doesn’t want to do it, but Morgana defeats him multiple times).

Even in the later seasons, just to know who Emrys is and to be able to kill Arthur and finally get the throne to rule over Camelot, Morgana kills people with magic too, and not just any people.

Peaceful people that had lived under a reign with magic for years!

What I dislike about the trope is that: a good Morgana is out of character. So it doesn’t make sense to make her good, and so whatever or not Merlin told her, it doesn’t change the trope designed for her in the show.

In my opinion, in fics, we can make a good Morgana, in a sort of fix-it, re-write way, (because let’s be honest, they fucked up her character pretty bad), but she still needs to be not-perfect. She needs to make mistakes, she needs to be brutal in her love, and she needs to go against everything she knows anyway.

And who said a Good!Morgana can’t kill Uther? Exactly! We also need to understand what we mean by “good” and “bad”, because for me, someone trying to kill Uther IS AN ANGEL AND A MIRACLE ON EARTH!

She was meant to be the villain. And she was a good one. What I personally don’t like is how we go from Good!Morgana to Villain!Morgana.

It could have happened differently, that’s for sure.

*drums rolls* And here it comes, BBC Merlin inconsistency to fill in plot holes!

Morgana was a puppet under Morgause’s control, and then changed drastically, not caring one bit about either Gwen or Arthur. At first, she cared about magic, and about treating everyone as an equal, and then she just didn’t give a flying fuck.

So that might be what bothers people too, (and what bothers me, personally) and why many in the fandom try to make her “good” (again, not judging, just something to think about. Everyone writes and reads whatever they prefer most!)

So, I've been reading this Merthur fic, and it nade me think about something that I think most people on the fandom would disagree on, but I would love to see if there are people who might agree with me.

Many people on the famdom think, that had Merlin told Morgana about his nagic when she confessed to hin about thinking that the fire that was in her room was caused by her doing magic, than it would've caused Morgana to stay good, and that Merlin owed it to her, to tell her about him having magic since birth.

Two things that I find wrong here: 1. I don't think that Merlin owed Morgana anything, especially telling her his most kept secret, one that could've ended up with him sentenced to death by the pyre. Merlin might've considered telling her, and yes, he was stopped by Gaius, but, still, Merlin was taught all his life that his magic should stay concealed, should not be revealed to anyone. Beacause if the wrong person found out, it could end in his death. That is a fear that could not go away fron a person. And yes, she might've been his friend at this point, but Merlin didn't want to tell anyone about his magic, beacause of fear for his life. And you can't blame him for not telling her about his magic. Heck, Merlin only told Arthur, his soulmate, at the end of the bloody series, and he cares more about Arthur's opinions on him, and hated lying to him more than lying to Morgana.

2. Remember the fact that Morgana almost killed Uther in season 1? She was starting to be less good at this point of the series, until she became the villan that we all know. What if Merlin would've told her, and then she could've decided to betray him when it fit her? If Morgana had this knowledge on season 3, even after the end of season 2, she would've made sure that Merlin woul've been sentenced to death by Uther. And I'n sorry, but I don't think that her knowing about his naguc, would've stopped her fron turning evil.

Would love to see if other people share my opinion, please comment.

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 5- Secrets Reveal

Alright buckle up folks this one is a wild ride. It’s a bit longer and not suuuuper well written but hey, I hope the action isn’t clunky 😭 action is HARD

Warnings: blood, control, walking off a cliff, injury, idk it’s a dark one😭

~~~~

The ruins were a maze. There were some open areas with broken walls scattered about, but there were also labyrinths of walls that led into different rooms or to cliff sides that almost killed Leon. He and Linebeck tried desperately to find Rusl and Kass, but no matter how much they called or how much they searched the area, there was no sign of them. Leon was getting more and more worried for them, not knowing if they were being attacked now or if they were dead, but he prayed it wasn’t the latter. When they ran into yet another dead end, Leon groaned, smacking the brick with his hand in frustration.

“This is taking too long!” He turned to Linebeck. “Boost me up the wall, I need a better view.”

Linebeck nodded and put his hands together, kneeling to the ground so Leon could climb on. Leon was boosted up to the top of the broken wall, and he scrambled over it so he could stand on his feet. The walls were thick, so he didn’t have to balance too much, but the snow was slick, so he couldn’t be careless. He kneeled and planted his feet the best he could, reaching for Linebeck’s hand.

“Uh, I think I’ll just stay down here,” he muttered, not taking Leon’s hand.

“I’m not leaving you alone, now get up here!” Leon commanded, and Linebeck sighed, taking his hand and crawling up the wall. The man clearly did not like being on top of the tall walls, and his legs shook as he followed Leon along the wall. It was nice being able to see above the ruins, but he couldn’t catch sight of Rusl’s green scarf or Kass’s blue feathers. He treaded carefully, being sure to make sure the steps in front of him didn’t send him slipping off onto the ground, but he did try to move as quickly as he was able. Linebeck suddenly grabbed onto him, nearly causing him to lose balance.

“Linebeck!” He scolded, pulling away from the man.

“Sorry, I slipped and almost died,” he explained, his voice shaky.

“Well don’t grab onto me or else we’ll both fall!”

“I had to hang onto something!”

Leon rolled his eyes and continued. “You won’t die if you fall, it’s not that high up. Honestly you need to toughen up. It’ll be hard to fall anyw—“

Leon’s foot slipped underneath him, and he gasped as he fell on his back and toppled over onto the snowy ground. The landing wasn’t painful in the snow, but his back ached from where it hit the wall. He sat up, rubbing his spine to alleviate the pain while Linebeck stared at him. Leon looked up, giving him a threatening look.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” he warned, but Linebeck finally snorted, covering his mouth as he laughed at Leon.

“Oh, it’ll be hard to fall, huh?” He taunted, continuing to chuckle while Leon dusted snow out of his hair.

“Quiet before I knock you over!” Leon threatened, but as usual with his threats, they were empty. Leon stood and reached his hand up. “Help me.”

Linebeck sighed and kneeled carefully on the wall, reaching only for him to pull back to readjust his legs.

“Linebeck, what are you doing?” Leon exasperated.

“I’m just trying to make sure I don’t fall over when I help you up!” He defended, continuing to readjust himself. Leon groaned and looked behind him, where he was barely able to see a green scarf disappear behind a wall. He gasped and pulled away just as Linebeck reached out once again.

“Rusl!” He shouted, but the man didn’t respond. Leon turned to Linebeck and gestured for him to get on the ground. “Get down here, hurry!”

“O-ok,” Linebeck muttered, shakily and slowly crawling down the wall. Leon rolled his eyes and grabbed onto his coat, pulling him down so he’d fall onto the soft snow. Linebeck yelped as he fell, and he gave Leon a dirty look when he sat up, but the man ignored it and instead dragged the sailor to where he saw Rusl. He was afraid that Rusl didn’t hear him with his small ears, and that he would lose him in this labyrinth, but to his relief, he found Rusl in a yard area near a cliffside. Rusl was standing, staring at the view in front of him which was odd, but Rusl was an odd man, so Leon ignored the behavior out of his mind and jogged up to him.

“Thank the goddesses I found you,” Leon said, just a few feet behind him. “Where’s Kass?”

Rusl didn’t respond, he just kept staring. Leon squinted his eyes and gave Linebeck a look, stopping him from stepping closer.

“Rusl, what’s going on?” Leon pressed, stepping more cautiously towards him. He reached his hand out to rest on his shoulders, but as soon as he touched him, Rusl spun around, the blade of his sword missing him by a hair as Leon jumped back. A gasp was heard from Linebeck, and Leon drew his own sword, barely able to block Rusl’s attacks.

“Rusl! What the heck man!” Linebeck shouted, and Leon kicked his friend away, jumping in front of the sailor.

“This has to be the puppeteer’s work,” he said, holding his sword against Rusl who stared at him with a hostile look. It gave him chills, but he knew that it couldn’t be the real Rusl. The puppeteer always had puppets that he would use against them. Several times copies of his friends or others would attack him, but the puppets were always weak. One kick or stab and they would melt into the clay they were made out of. It really wasn’t a threat to them, but it didn’t make it any less disturbing seeing his kind-hearted friend look at him with hatred and bloodlust in his eyes. Leon glanced back at Linebeck, pushing him back further behind him.

“I’ll take care of this,” he explained, “stay back and stay safe.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Linebeck muttered, and rushed back behind a wall. Leon returned his attention to the puppet, who was pacing back and forth. He only hoped the real Rusl was somewhere safe.

As soon as Leon was ready to fight, puppet Rusl charged at him, once again swinging his sword at him. Leon dodged and swung his own sword, which was quickly blocked. The two clashed weapons together, sparks flying and ears ringing from the high pitched sound of metal scraping against each other. It was difficult to get the upper hand; puppet Rusl would swing his sword, Leon would block, and then he would try to land a hit, only for him to block it as well. Leon would try to get an opening large enough for him to throw a punch or kick, since puppets tend to fall apart from that type of force, but puppet Rusl would recover quickly enough to stop him from trying. While trying to land a hit with an opening, puppet Rusl almost lobbed off his head, and Leon growled as he swung his leg to trip puppet Rusl. He landed in the snow and Leon scrambled to his feet to finish him once and for all, but he once again recovered quickly, rolling out of Leon’s reach. Losing his patience, Leon ran up to him, kicking him as quickly as he could, which he was finally successful in doing. Puppet Rusl grunted against the impact, and while he was distracted, Leon swung his sword. The puppet dodged, but the tip of Leon’s sword grazed his cheek, and he toppled back from the hit.

Leon let out a satisfied huff, glancing at his sword. But where he was expecting the strange goop the puppets were made out of, he saw blood, dripping off the tip and landing in the snow, staining it red. Wait…

Dread clenched Leon’s throat as he stared in horror. Puppets weren’t supposed to bleed. He glanced up only to see Rusl grinning at him, blood pouring from the cut on his cheek.

“Why so surprised?” He asked in a mocking tone, stepping up and punching him hard in the face. Leon fell back, staring at his friend who now walked confidently. Confident to know that they weren’t fighting to the death anymore… or… at least Leon wasn’t. This wasn’t a puppet made to look like Rusl, it was Rusl who was the puppet.

“You—“ Leon snarled, anger towards the puppeteer stronger than ever. “How dare you use him like that!”

Rusl grinned, swinging his sword at Leon who dodged. It was like that for a while, with Rusl attacking while Leon dodged, terrified of raising his sword at his friend. He didn’t know what to do. How was he going to break the puppeteer’s grasp on Rusl? How was he going to keep himself from getting killed without hurting Rusl? When Rusl sliced his cheek, Leon ran back, taking cover where Linebeck sat anxiously.

“What the heck is happening?” Linebeck asked, and Leon let out a huff, trying to clear his head.

“The-the puppeteer is controlling him!” He explained, moving Linebeck as they ran from possessed Rusl.

“He can do that?”

“Yes… I… I don’t know what to do.”

A rock was thrown in their direction, and Leon ducked down with Linebeck following.

“We need to go after the puppeteer if he’s the one controlling him,” Linebeck suggested. Leon nodded, pulling the man behind a wall and grabbing both his arms to look him in the eyes.

“It’s the only way, but I want you to stay here out of sight. I’m going to try to lead him away from you and find the puppeteer—“

“You can’t go off on your own! What are you, stupid?” Linebeck protested, stepping away from the wall, but Leon held him back.

“I’m not risking you getting hurt, now stay right here and—“

Linebeck suddenly grabbed Leon and pulled both of them away as Rusl appeared behind him, swinging his sword at them. The metallic shriek of his sword hitting the brick wall rang out, and the two fell onto the snow. Leon scrambled to get on top of Linebeck, just in time to block the attacks raining onto them. As soon as Rusl left an opening, Leon lunged, latching onto the man in an attempt to tackle him to the ground, but Rusl was stubborn and remained on his feet. They wrestled for a moment before Rusl pulled his arm away, stabbing his sword at Leon. There was a slight, sharp pain in his side, but Leon ignored it as he grabbed Rusl’s sword arm and pulled him close. In one motion, he tilted his sword so his hilt was facing Rusl, and he slammed it into his abdomen. It was a trick that he learned that could knock out his opponent for several minutes, and he prayed that it would work on Rusl so he’d stop attacking.

Rusl stumbled back, his eyes blinking furiously and he stared dazed at the ground, but soon his body lurched towards Leon, continuing his attacks. It was clear that Rusl was unconscious from the move, but the puppeteer still had control of his body, with the attacks more vicious than before. Had Rusl been holding back the entire time? Did Leon just make things worse trying to knock out his friend? He gasped and cursed as he nearly had his head lobbed off again, trying to keep up with the flurry of attacks aimed at him. It was difficult to keep up with, and he let out a yell as his foot caught on a rock, sending him to the ground. He couldn’t react in time as he watched Rusl raise his sword, his eyes still dazed, and he flinched as it was swung down.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Leon looked up to see Linebeck grabbing hold of Rusl, stopping his attack and pulling him away. Rusl squirmed violently in his hold, his arms swinging around in an attempt to grab at Linebeck, but he remained firm and kept him off the ground. Leon scrambled to his feet just as Rusl elbowed Linebeck’s face, causing him to finally be dropped. He was about to stab Linebeck before Leon wrapped his arms around him, the two men trying to contain Rusl. Finally, he broke free, staggering back and panting heavily as he glared at Leon and Linebeck. Leon had his sword drawn, protecting himself and Linebeck.

“Get out of my friend’s head,” Leon said in a dark voice, stepping closer to him, which caused Rusl to step back. This time, Rusl ran with Leon following, and they found each other in an open area by a cliffside. Rusl continued to pant, his body clearly pushed past its limits. His eyes were empty, but a hint of defeat and anger rested in his expression as he watched Leon like a cornered animal. In one last attempt of victory, he charged at Leon, swinging his sword down on his head, which Leon blocked easily. He twisted his sword around and sent Rusl’s sword flying out of his hands, and he was finally unarmed. Linebeck ran to the discarded sword and picked it up, standing defensively. Rusl quickly backed up, looking around desperately, until he let out a defeated sigh.

“I can’t kill you with him as my weapon,” he muttered, standing up straight. Leon brought his sword up again, expecting another attack. “But I can kill him.”

He was too far for Leon to reach as he stepped backwards, letting himself fall off the edge of the cliffside.

“NO!” Leon screamed as he sprinted to catch him, but it was too late. He could only watch, his stomach plummeting as Rusl fell out of his view, falling to the snowy ground below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hallway Kass was walking through was drastically different from the rest of the ruins. The inside was perfectly intact with it leading to several different rooms, the torches were lit up giving out a soft orange glow, and it was generally clean. Kass looked in every room, but the puppeteer wasn’t anywhere, and he was beginning to question if he actually saw the man walk in here or not. But he heard a voice that spoke a few times that proved to Kass that he wasn’t alone, and he followed to where he heard it. Kass didn’t have the good hearing Hylians had, but the talking was able to lead him to a small closet under the stairs. Kass opened it as softly as he could, spotting the puppeteer who had his back turned to Kass, hunched over a blue light coming from his hands. He was breathing heavily, with a few grunts coming from him, and he didn’t seem to hear Kass walking carefully towards him. Kass picked up a rock, his heart pounding against his chest as he hesitated near the puppeteer. He could kill him here and now…. But….

Kass was always a pacifist. He wanted to play music, not to fight; he wanted to sing for his family, not to shoot a bow. But he couldn’t let the puppeteer go, he couldn’t let him continue torturing the men and the Links. Kass sucked in a breath and raised the rock, looking away as he swung it down on the puppeteer’s head. He let out a grunt as he tumbled to the ground, the light from his hands disappearing. Kass backed up from the puppeteer as he scrambled to his feet, rubbing his head painfully. His one-eyed mask glanced up at Kass, staring almost as if he were in shock from what he did to him.

“Y-you—where did—augh!” The puppeteer held his head where he was hit, pressing himself up against the wall. Kass glared at him and used his height to his advantage, trying to intimidate the man.

“You attacked us first!”

The puppeteer stared at him, clearly shocked, but he scrambled to his feet, standing in a defensive position despite clearly being disoriented.

“And what was your plan?” He asked cooly.

“Where are the Links?”

“Clearly not here.”

Kass glared, stepping closer. “Why did you attack me?”

The puppeteer cocked his head to the side.

“You’re just full of questions, aren’t you?”

Kass frowned, not knowing how to respond to such a strange comment. The puppeteer shook his head, sliding on the wall.

“I wasn’t expecting such a…violent action from you,” he started, before letting out a dark chuckle. “It was a valiant effort, but… you were too late.”

Kass’s eyes widened when the puppeteer suddenly lunged at him, a knife in his hand. He let out a yelp as he fell, and he brought his talons out and scratched at his face. His claws landed a hit on the puppeteer’s face, tearing his mask and chunks of skin off, causing the man to cry out in pain. The puppeteer fell off of him and quickly collected his mask before disappearing in a puff of smoke, leaving Kass alone. He scrambled to his talons and bolted out of the ruins, the puppeteer’s words echoing through his mind.

You were too late.

Too late? Too late for what? He took flight as soon as he went outside, ignoring the pain in his left wing. In the air, he searched the area, trying to find the others as quickly as he could, and to his dismay, he found them.

All of them at the base of a cliff side, with one laying on his back.

No.

Kass landed next to them, his breathing heavy as he stared at Leon hunched over Rusl. No, no no no…

“Wh-what happened?” He asked frantically, his voice already breaking. Leon barely acknowledged him, his face blank as he checked Rusl’s pulse, but Linebeck turned to the Rito, his face pale.

“Th-the puppeteer was controlling him and… he—he threw Rusl off the cliff and—“

Linebeck’s breath hitched, and Kass’s eyes widened. He was too late.

“He’s… is he…?”

“He’s not dead,” Leon said simply, checking over the rest of Rusl’s body. Kass let out a sigh of relief, noticing Rusl’s shallow breathing, though it hurt to hear him struggle to breath. “He’s terribly injured though. The snow cushioned his fall, but not enough.”

Leon rested back on his feet, not taking his eyes off his friend. It grew uncomfortably silent, the only sound being Rusl taking in rattling breaths. His ribs must’ve been broken.

“What do we do?” Linebeck asked, kneeling next to Leon, and he let out a breath.

“We… I…” Leon frowned as he tried to think of something, but he took in a deep breath, then let it out, then sucked in another one, letting it free after a few seconds. He did that for a moment with Kass and Linebeck watching him, and he finally stopped, his eyes on Kass.

“We need to get him down to Talon, but it’s too risky to carry him in such a state,” he began to explain, “his neck could be broken, so… Kass… if I could make a stretcher that you could carry so you could fly him down the mountain—“

“Of course, I can do that,” Kass jumped in, ignoring his aching wing. It wasn’t broken, and he could easily glide down the mountain if it meant saving his friend. Leon nodded and hunched over Rusl again, whose eyes were fluttering open.

“You stay alive, you hear me?” He ordered, and Rusl blinked a few times before closing them, Kass assuming that it was a nod. Leon got up and gestured for Kass to help him, and with Linebeck keeping an eye on Rusl, the two searched the ruins for rope and planks. Fortunately it wasn’t too difficult to find, and Leon built a sturdy stretcher with rope attached to a branch that Kass could hang onto. With enough wiggling to make sure it wouldn’t fall apart, the two returned to Linebeck and Rusl. Linebeck was cradling his neck, the two shivering as the sun dropped behind the mountains.

“Help me put him on there,” Leon muttered, setting the stretcher down and grabbing Rusl’s legs. Kass helped lift him up while Linebeck continued to cradle his neck, but Rusl still hissed in pain. Leon took off his scarf and wrapped it around Rusl’s neck when he was set down, his eyes open again but looking glassy as he stared at the sky. The scarf was packed firmly to keep his neck from moving, and Leon took off his coat as well to tuck around the shivering man.

“Woah woah, Leon, what are you doing?” Linebeck cut in, but Leon ignored him as he began to wrap rope around Rusl to keep him secure to the stretcher. Linebeck put his hand on Leon to get his attention. “You’re gonna get hypothermia without your coat!”

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off of his work. Finally, he tied ropes around the stretcher so that it would be even when lifted off, and he grabbed the end for Kass to hang onto with his talons. “Be careful with him.”

Kass nodded as he grabbed the end, but frowned at the two. “What about you guys? I can't leave you stranded on the mountain.”

“We’ll be fine,” Leon reassured, “but Rusl needs help now. Please just… make sure he’s ok.”

Kass was hesitant, but he knew realistically that he couldn’t carry all of them with Rusl severely injured, even with a wing that didn’t hurt. He stood up, taking to the skies as gently as possible, with Leon and Linebeck helping him keep Rusl steady. Soon, he was high up in the sky, gliding carefully down the mountain, with Leon and Linebeck growing smaller and smaller until they were but little dark spots on the white snow.

[kagoutiss]

divine intoxication

[laugtherhyena]

Playlist listened to while writing; https://spotify.link/WzxvdTKBCJb

Holy shit dude, the ceo of rei angst wrote some rei angst what the HELL!! We have to kill her guys she cant keep getting away with this.

Anyways im gonna be writing about a lot of these nerds. I just love rei. This is really rushed and I am really sleepy so it is not my best writing.

Also i cannot write teruya so you will habe to ppppUT UP WITH IT.

Warnings for like. Violence and my attempt at writing a breakdown.

-

Rei held the rusty pipe like a baseball bat, swinging for a homerun as she smacked off the head of someone she once knew. Someone who had abandoned her long ago.

The rotting head of what used to be her mother rolled on the ground, sickly green skin squishing against the ground and stared up at her with lifeless eyes.

“I didn’t want to see you again like this,” Rei hissed as her chest heaved, “i wanted to see you staring with regret as you saw your daughter on top of the world. I didn’t want to kill you or see you dead.”

That had been the second time she had run into her zombified mother. The first, she had been a coward, unable to kill her and her father– the two people she hated most, the two people who had abandoned her and left her on the streets.

Where had all her rage gone that time. When had she become soft.

-

Midori clung to Ryutaro with all the strength in her frail body. “My brother,” she whispered, “i saw my brother’s corpse down there. Kakeru… he… they got Kakeru… they killed Kakeu…”

He didn’t say much in return, but he did pat her hand briefly– the only comforting action he could manage while carrying her.

“I see a store up ahead. Let’s stop by there for supplies.” Keisuke pointed out to the leader of the bunch.

Setsuka patted the clown on the back and gave him a smile. “Sounds good, lead the way. Maki, do you need me to carry Yamaguchi for a bit?”

Midori wrapped her arms and legs around Ryutaro a bit tighter at the suggestion, very much attached to the guy who had found her and saved her from zombies.

“I’ll be fine until we reach the stop.” The blonde nodded his acknowledgement to the bluenette, forcing a smile as he struggled to catch up.

The group walked in silence for a bit, the only sounds being the orchestra of distant zombie groans.

“Miss Yamaguchi,” Hikaru said after bit, his tone fatherly like usual, “may I check your pulse soon? And may I check if the swelling on your ankles has gone down?”

“Yeah, that… sounds good. Thank you, Uncle.”

-

Kanata removed the bandages from Ayame’s arm gradually.

“There isn’t any sign of infection, Hatano. Kinjo and Maki are still out, so… uhm… can I get you something to eat?” The surgeon spoke softly as she stared at the sprinter.

“I’m not hungry…” Ayame mumbled.

“Inori!” Tomori slammed the door open, her eyes sunken from lack of sleep, “i think i got bit. Check! Check, please!!”

Kanata bit back a sigh of exasperation and forced out her cheerful smile. “Of course. Where do you think you were bit this time?”

“My ankle. They went after my ankle so I couldn’t run! They’re going to eat me. I’m going to die, aren’t I? Oh, god, I’m going to die!” The cheerleader’s words were jumbled together and practically nonsensical. She grabbed onto Kanata’s shoulders as she spoke, her nails digging into the other’s lab coat and pressing her skin uncomfortably.

“Miss Tomori,” Kanata winced, “please let go of me. I will check your ankle, but I am sure you are fine.”

“I’m not fine!” Kizuna wailed before glaring accusatory daggers at Ayame. “If you… if you hadn't gotten yourself bitten! If you had just seen that bitch for what she is! We wouldnt be doomed! You’ve doomed us all!”

Ayame took the words without fighting back. What had been the point in fighting anymore? Kizuna was right. She had doomed them all.

“Miss Tomori, please… Taira had us all fooled… if Miss Hatano is to blame, then so are the rest of us…” the blonde murmured. “Please sit down so I can check your ankle…”

-

Mindless. Kinji was mindless. His faith had only been able to spare him for so long.

His teeth were decayed now. His skin was green and purple and yellow. His eyes were dull. His cheeks were sunken.

It was incredible that his mind stayed intact long enough for him to bury as many as he did. The only bodies he didn’t put 6 feet under, the only bodies he couldn’t handle burying, were those of the people he knew.

But what was the point?

-

Yuki held his stomach as he choked up and spat out the last meal he had, beans that had barelt even begun to digest.

“Urgh… gross…” he mumbled to himself.

Shinji was away at the moment, scouting out for the next safe place for them to go and likely trying to find his family in the process.

The lucky student fought back envious tears. At least they knew there was a chance that Shinji’s family was alive– they found his mother, Aiko, brutally murdered in the Maeda household. Her corpse was bloated and rotted when they found it.

The sight still haunted his dreams. He couldn’t even keep.meals down since he saw it.

-

Mikako peered into her brother’s lab. He hadn’t eaten in quite some time, nor had he slept.

“Yamato…” she whispered hesitantly.

He spun around with a dart ready in his hand. He only lowered it after he registered it was her.

“Mikako, I’ve told you to leave me alone. I need to find a cure, or no one will be safe.” The inventor turned back to his work and threw a crumpled up piece of paper to the side.

“I’m sure someone else is searching for a cure, Yamato. Why not try to make a vaccine? Some sort of immunity would help while someone else finds a cure.” The exorcist suggested.

Her brother didn’t seem to have heard. That, or he was ignoring her.

“Ah… nevermind.” She straightened her back and spun on her heel to hunt down their other classmates.

For the newcomers, Satsuki was putting on a performance– juggling empty bottles and broken gadgets whilst telling jokes. That could not be safe, but Haruhiko seemed to have his eyes on her.

The bunker door heaved open, and Teruya’s team came in, carrying boxes full of food and other supplies.

“We’re back with dinner!” The merchant shouted.

Mikako rushed over to take the box from him.

“Thank you, Otori, this should be good for at least a week. You and your scavenger team did good.”

He grinned at her and handed his box over. “Thanks! We uh…” he hesitated, “We saw Taira and Maeda… err… Utsuro? On our flight back… they looked like they were heading somewhere… dunno where…”

She bit her tongue and nodded thankfully at him. “Thank you for telling me.”

-

Thats it. Im hungry good bye.

Aw yeah infection Au moment! I do remember you saying a while back that you wanted to write something about Rei in this Au and MAN her part has gotta be my favorite out of these little snippets.

I really like taking a look at how a bunch of the cast is doing, seeing the way you wrote them in those situations was pretty fun! It reminded me how much i like the idea of Setsuka's like group with the 6.5 cast and how Kanata probably wishes she has a degree in psychology to properly deal with Ayame and Kizuna (she may feel as if she's not doing enough for them seing as her kindness can only bring her so far when dealing with their turmoil)

[littlefang666]

Imagine being a fan of Littlefang666 on tunglr dogt com in the years of our lord and then she goes silent, except foor someone propping her corpse up to reblog a few times every once in a while, for like YEARS. and then suddenly i pop back on here like hi lol.

Like imagine following me and that happening and being like "unm, okay hi haha okay then"

[queeniewithabeanie]

Nightwing Can and Will Fist Fight Danny for Messing With his Brother

Dpxdc Prompt #71

Mind control is a bitch to go through and depending on how smart the person doing the controlling, not as easily detectable as you would think. If someone is mind controlling you, they may or may not have access to your memories, and therefore access to any codewords or protocols to follow while puppeteering.

Which is why the Bats have each other's micro expressions memorized and do everything they can to try and keep magic users out of Gotham.

It is also why, when Tim started acting strange on patrol, Dick noticed. And Dick has never been one to stand aside while his siblings are being taken advantage of.

Danny didn't mean to overshadow Red Robin, really! He was on the run from the GIW, their tech making his powers malfunction, when he ran into the masked vigilante.

Literally.

As his powers were on the fritz, he could not find a way to stop his possession of the man, and could only do his best to pretend that everything was alright.

He did not expect to be knocked out cold by Nightwing 5 minutes after meeting up with him, and to wake up blindfolded and tied up in an abandoned building who-knows-how-long later.

He was startled when the blindfold was ripped off of him and Nightwing commanded in a voice that resembled Batman's growl more than his own cheerful tone, "You are going to stop possessing my brother right this instant, or you will regret it more than you could know."

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi 👋, can I request a self aware Smilk & reader, where he’s the only one who knows of their existence, and the reader can sometimes take control of him which causes some confusion to other cookies.

(You can choose whether it’s a one-shot or headcanons)

Yess self awareness time

.......

After trying and trying again, you finally pulled Shadow Milk Cookie from the gacha, thrilled that he finally came home!

Now that you've understood all the hype surrounding him and how crazy powerful he can be after clearing his Beast Yeast episodes, you had all your star jellies, toppings, and a legendary beascuit saved just for him.

But ever since obtaining him, you've noticed some...oddities with him that made you assume it was part of his programming/AI.

When you see him walking around the kingdom or working at a station that's not the toy store, he's looking at you a lot.

Of course, some cookies may glance at you occasionally, with even fewer breaking the fourth wall (like Black Sapphire and Devil Cookie), but that's just what the devs added as a funny joke.

Shadow Milk...is different. He doesn't follow their script to a T.

The way he talks and waves at you, shows off during battles and making himself the last cookie standing in difficult arena fights, and doing his juggling trick when he knows you're looking at him.

Then he actually responded to you after you made a remark about where to put his statue...and at first you're startled, bc no way could that have been a coincidence...

In reality, he had an "awakening" of his own--in that his knowledge suddenly extended beyond CRK's borders.

Somehow, he can see and hear you, becoming 100% aware that he's in a video game.

But you assume his new antics are part of his programming...until one day the charade falls apart and he straight up tells you that he knows the truth. He even says your username, the device you're playing on, and the day you started CRK as proof in case you think he's lying.

You're stunned at first, but then you think it's actually pretty awesome....until he claims that he's the only one who knows and felt like it would've been better if he didn't.

Of course, the master of deceit would rather ignore the truth and live out a lie, like all the other cookies are....but he's stuck with this earthbread-shattering truth that's only his to bear.

In a way, being "trapped" in this game reminds him of the witches and the time he spent in the silver tree, believing he escaped one prison only to end up in another.

After you leave the game to tend to some real life matters, he tries sowing chaos in the kingdom by revealing this to other cookies, thinking they'd "wake up".

Yet none of them know wtf he's talking about. Not even the Beasts or Pure Vanilla, who thinks he's just trying to trick everybody again..although he admits that what Shadow Milk is saying sounds most outlandish.

Typically, he'd be able to conjure up some kind of "evidence" and manipulate wide masses into believing any word he says.

But you're untouchable, and he has no way of obtaining tangible proof of your existence to show the other cookies...and once he realizes this, he gets frustrated.

"Who do you think fulfills our wishes at the tree???? Who do you think indulges us with star jellies????? Keeps this kingdom from crumbling to pieces?!! We are ALL the puppets to an even bigger puppet master!"

Anyone who hears this yap from him just thinks 'is he alright? like genuinely?'

The next time you log in, Shadow Milk is gravely upset that he has to carry this burden and decides to take it out on you.

Suddenly there's lag spikes when his ability is on cooldown (so you can hardly use them in battle and lose your ranking in arena), he avoids you trying to pick him up in the kingdom (much to other cookies' confusion, as from their pov, he's fleeing something that's invisible)...and he even corrupted his own stats to make it seem like any promotions were gone and his level dropped back to 1.

You ask him why he's causing you all this trouble, and his next rant was more or less....a reasonable crashout.

"I was a god...or at least that's what I thought. But no. I've been lied to. A master of deceit...has been lied to again!! What cruel irony! This world...this life of mine....it's all been one big game from the start! And nobody knows but I!! HAHAHA!! Tell me, [username]..what's it like being the true god of this world? Do you enjoy toying with our lives? What makes you think you deserve my power?! Damn you....and damn this prison!! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN THOSE WITCHES!!!"

Other cookies just see him screaming at nobody in particular, although his rage forms rifts in the ground, from which the other-realm creeps out to attack anyone close to him.

You end up closing the game out of fear, leaving it alone for the next several hours.

While initially scared to reopen it, you did understand why Shadow Milk lashed out like that--he thought he was in control, and couldn't comprehend the idea of it being somebody else.

You don't know why he, of all cookies, had to be cursed with this forbidden knowledge, but what could be done about it now?

Nothing.

So you returned to the game and found a plushie of him somewhere after looking around for a few minutes, and after clicking him, he turns back to normal and scowls.

"What? You've come back to toy with me more, stupid god? Or were you just worried that I did something to your precious kingdom?"

"No, and no." You say, explaining to him that while you'd never fully understand what he was feeling--and couldn't help him explain your existence to other cookies--you wanted him to see you as a friend, not a puppet master or a witch or some untouchable god like he accuses you of being.

To show him you're serious, you bought all of his decor and gave him his own little castle/spire-like area, where he can indulge in his hobbies or just retreat there whenever he wanted to.

For some time, Shadow Milk is silent as he inspects everything and for a moment...you thought he reverted back to his NPC programming...

Then he looks at you and grins a little. "Jeez, if only you put this much effort into the rest of the kingdom."

"Yeah, well...I'm working on it." You chuckled. "Black Sapphire and Candy Apple Cookie think it's "dull" and doesn't compare to your spire, but-"

"I'll deal with them later. This...is acceptable."

It's fair to say...he's content.

He seems to finally accept his new reality, as he doesn't corrupt his stats or sabotage your gameplay anymore, allowing you to use him as your strongest magic cookie again.

Now if you start shifting your focus towards pulling Awakened Pure Vanilla, however, he might stir up some trouble to make the process take even longer

[iluvangel]

⌌┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

┊ .˚ 🍥 ༘┊͙ Naruto guys kinks ; ‘🥛 „ ↴

⌎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ Canon/non ? NSFW

A-Z order

୨⎯ 🍥 ⎯୧

ASUMA

Strip go ! : like strip poker but go, because that’s the game he’s always playing, every time one of you lose, the loser has to strip

Burning : he would enjoy marking you with the tip of his hot cigarette and pouring hot wax on ur soft exposed skin

Blowing the smoke from his mouth into his partners

DEIDARA

Creampie : “it’s like an explosion into your body!” He wouldn’t enjoy hurting you so his normal explosions wouldn’t be a bedroom thing; so this would be the next best thing in his eyes

Loud sex : he himself is a very loud person so whether it’s you loudly moaning and screaming or him it would get him off everytime

GAARA

Graphiocrotica : you drawing on him would be the biggest turn on for him every time whether it’s you just running ur fingers on his skin making random shapes, or using a pen, marker, or even paint. Full on leaving each shape and word on his body

Praising : not extreme praising like complimenting him on how his body moves in you that would embarrass him but calling him a good boy or even your good boy would be a need for him

HIDAN

Blood play : blood is literally his thing it’s obvious it would be a kind of his

Knife play : another thing to draw blood from you, or even the fear in his eyes and wonder if he will cut you or if he’s just dragging the blade along your exposed skin

ITACHI

Praising : as the respectful person he is praising you and letting you know your doing a good job would be his favorite thing to do “don’t stop your making me feel so good” “your doing amazing” “good girl”

Being blindfolded : the thrill of feeling you touch his body not knowing where he’s going to feel you next

KAKASHI

Exhibitonism : having sex or playing with you in public places, not public to the point where he’s fucking you in the middle of the road but public like in alleys or in the forest during/after missions. Places that people could walk in on the two of you

Marking : he would love leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your body, small ones on your neck for people to see when their talking to you, and bigger ones where only the two of you can see “these are our little secrets”

KIBA

Acarophilia : scratching, him scratching you is his biggest turn on, but when it’s you scratching him it makes his soul leave his body

Marking : unlike Kakashi Kiba would be more open about where he leaves hickeys and bites on you, your neck would always have two big hickeys on each side of your neck accompanied by little ones that lead down to your collar bone, and bite marks everywhere and anywhere, he thinks would look pretty

NARUTO

Praising : he would love any and every praise you give him weather it’s telling how good he’s doing, complimenting how he moves or even simply telling him how amazing he is

Sleeping with it inside you : need I say more?

NEJI

Sexual arousal from intellectual conversations : you debating with him whether you win or lose the fact your smart enough to hold your own would turn him on or even just you talking about something you know a lot about

Bondage : having control over whether your body can move or not

OBITO

Being tied up : if he’s in his playful tobi mood it would bring him such thrill being tied and bound, whether it’s his arms and ankles or just cuffs on his wrists it would turn him on

Discipline : if he’s in his more serious mode he would get off on punishing you, spanking you or simply degrading you would be his favorite thing

SASORI

Toys : he loves to make things that’s just his thing, but seeing the way you move and wiggle when they’re inside you would be his favorite sight

Double penetration : him in one hole and his puppets or toys in the other with you sandwiched in the middle

SHIKAMARU

You telling him what to do and bossing him around

Degrading : he would love to tell you how pathetic you are and what a little slut you are for him (knowing damn well you have full control over him and his body)

YAHIKO (PAIN)

Edging/orgasm control : he wants to tell you when you can and can’t cum, he wants to hear your cry’s and whimpers as you beg him to not stop

Degrading : just like Shikimaru he would love to tell you what a pathetic little slut you are, and how you’re such a whore for him

୨⎯ 🍥 ⎯୧

[baeshijima]

— be still, my beating heart

the world has a rather cruel way of playing its jokes. it paid you no heed amid your desperation, watching passively as your wings were clipped before you could even take flight. and yet, when you began to accept such a fate, you were given new ones to soar and see the world you once dreamed of. the world may be cruel, but it gave you a new meaning and opportunity all the same.

(despite your newfound content, you almost wish you weren't given so many headaches to deal with.)

INCLUDES : king!mydei ; knight commander!phainon ; scholar!anaxa + knight!reader

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 13.5k wc (sobbing pls give this a chance... it's just a number... haha...), royalty!au, fluff (kinda), angst (if you squint), brief mentions of blood, some lore and character exploration fitted into the au (kinda), underlying darker themes (bc royalty aus are scary at times,,,) but still very much sfw !! i think... slight spoilers for their past/backstories (mainly anaxa's if you haven't played 3.2/read his first character story + some details of phainon's alose mentioned in 3.2) with some deviations

A/N : guess who is pushing their knight!reader agenda again !! for the third time :D once again royalty aus my beloved u will always be famous to me o(TヘTo) (also can u tell who is my favourite haha...)

various!hsr ver.

Becoming a full-fledged knight was never your intention, much less the personal knight of the king himself. If life had gone the way you’d planned all those years ago, you are sure you would have laughed in the face of whoever told you this would be your fate.

After all, you? A knight? For the then-crown-prince-now-king?

You?

Ha! As if you would let yourself become something like… like that. A tool, a pawn, a weapon easily disposed of when the cracks start to become too noticeable and the once sharpened edge too blunt to be of any use.

Honour? Integrity? Justice?

What use is there for such lofty ideals in a world where deceit and poison-laced saccharines and empty promises for something greater, something far beyond the scope of your isolated bubble was the only familiarity you had.

You’ve witnessed it countless times — the noble rise and the disgraceful fall of your kin. Having watched your siblings and cousins be subjected to the almost manic control of your family elders, you swore you would do everything in your power to escape their clutches; even if you had to reject everything you knew and start with nothing once more.

And yet, when your desperate attempts to retain your autonomy began to slip through, when your efforts to diverge and leave your own traces in this world were all but thwarted without a moment’s hesitation, the doubt began to settle like morning mist.

Maybe you were never meant for something greater. Maybe you were destined to be overshadowed by your family’s bygone history, dispirited and made to be forgotten by the elders who loathed disharmony in their control. Maybe this path was always fated to be yours to follow, to trudge in the weathered footsteps moulded in the shape of your ancestry. Generation after generation, stuck in an endless cycle of ash and sweat and metal and the suffocating stench of iron. Never to be free.

In the end, you were just a puppet to be controlled, your prodigious talent for the sword an attribute for them to weaponise.

But then he came in like a raging storm, your once gloomy and hopeless world bursting into a vibrancy you never once thought possible. In a seemingly impossible feat your shackles were shattered, a fate which had never been yours to claim suddenly handed back to you by that outstretched calloused hand and kind gaze unfitting for such a battle-haggard boy. Even so, despite such outward expression being a noticeably stark contradiction to the boy’s sharp features, his smile did not waver, nor did his patience for your eventual acceptance of his hand.

Perhaps you are a hypocrite — perhaps you are a spineless fool who cannot break away from the destiny instilled by those elders. But if this decision allowed you to devote your all to something wholeheartedly, to step into a world where those so-called lofty ideals may not be so out of reach, then you would gladly be one; even if it meant walking down a path carved by the very same wretched footsteps you loathed, the imprint of your own the last to be seen from that bygone legacy.

Side step. Downward strike. Duck. Envision your opponent standing overhead, their sword raised with both hands and ready to strike down. Pivot. Parry with an undercut. When they’re off balance, lunge and strike them at their opening—

“What have I said about overworking yourself?”

At the sudden voice, you startle. Luckily, your sword did not drop, and you breathe a faint sigh of relief before turning to the source of the voice. You shouldn’t have been surprised considering you already knew who would have such a profound voice and presence, but seeing your king leaning against the wall of the training grounds still manages to catch you off guard.

With your independent training now interrupted, the adrenaline guiding you through the motions vanishes. Flexing your stiff fingers, you roll your neck while making your way to the sidelines while trying to ignore the weight behind his accusatory gaze. When reaching the benches, you come to a stop, pick up your water bottle, and give a fleeting glance towards the intruder.

“Your Majesty?” you ask, voice lighthearted in a way that tries to ignore the underlying meaning behind his presence. “What are you doing here?”

He huffs. “That’s what I should be asking you.” Mydei regards you with scrutiny, arms crossed and lips pursed as you guzzle your water. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Well, I asked you first!” Is what you would counter with if he wasn’t your king. Alas, he is. And so the very apparent status difference between you prompts a much tamer response to spill after having wiped off the excess water clinging to your lips.

“Training, Your Majesty.”

…Perhaps you should have gone with your initial response. Had you done that, maybe the ominous clinks of jewellery would not be steadily growing in volume, nor would the brooding aura of an upset king (your king, you must remind yourself, for you alone put yourself in this predicament) be slowly encroaching on your back amidst a suffocating silence. Eventually he comes to a stop behind you, his presence heavy and lying in wait like a predator watching its prey.

You gulp. Is it too late to run? Most definitely. Will you at least try? You’re not an idiot. (You learned from your first attempt that it was useless to try. It was also very embarrassing. Never again.)

With almost robotic-like stutters, your head turns towards your right — towards the shadow currently looming behind you. When your eyes meet, your mind draws a blank. What were you doing? Where are you? Who are you? Why must you suffer like this instead of some other knight?

But then he parts his lips, narrowed gaze and deep-set frown still etched into his features, and suddenly you’re reminded how tough love is your king’s speciality.

“Are you aware how late it is?” he asks, tone firm.

“Um, I wasn’t exactly keeping track.” Had his glare not darkened, you would have thought that answer to be sufficient enough. Clearly it was not, and you scramble to conjure a more sufficient answer. “If I were to guess, however… quite late?”

“Very. Past dinner, no less.”

Oh. You knew time flew while you were training (the gradual darkening of the sky said enough), but to think you missed dinner? Maybe you’ll be able to snag some leftovers if you’re lucky enough. If not, then you will simply pretend hunger is nonexistent and your problem is solved.

Even so, if your king is known for his horrendously stubborn and competitive whims, then two can play that game!

“That’s too bad,” you sigh. “And here I was hoping I could spar with you, Your Majesty.”

At that, he brings a clawed hand to his head before releasing an exasperated breath. “Don’t be foolish, [Name]. It is late. You should get some food, too.”

“What?” you drawl, a grin slowly appearing on your lips. Raising a gloved hand, you try your best to hide your smile from Mydei’s suspicious expression. “Don’t tell me you’re… scared to lose, are you?”

You don’t even get the chance to blink before he is standing before you, eyes closed and a strained, twitching smile stretching his lips.

"A spar, you say? Sure. Let’s spar."

Well, that was easy. Hurting a man’s ego sometimes really is the way to go.

Making your way to the centre of the training ground with your sword in hand, you begin to think maybe this wasn’t the best method. Sure, you got what you wanted and managed to train a little longer, but having a murderous king standing opposite you and cracking his clawed gauntlets isn’t the most pleasant of visuals.

Well, whatever! You asked for this, so you must see it through; even if you won’t hear the end of it from him afterwards.

Taking a slow breath, you adjust your feet’s positioning and shift to find your centre of balance. Raising your sword at eye-level, you exchange a single nod. With a precise step, you close the distance, and—

Clang!

Within a second, your training sword flies out of your grasp and out of sight. A dull thud is heard, but all you are focused on is the glint shining off the clawed, gold-plated gauntlet as it withdraws from the position your sword once occupied.

Silence.

“...Your Majesty,” you start, voice hesitant as you try to process what just transpired. “Is it just me, or do you seem more agitated than usual?”

Mydei is relatively expressionless as he stands upright and cracks his neck, as though it were just a regular Tuesday.

“Hmph. There is no such word in the Kremoan dictionary. It’s because you skipped dinner to train. Again,” he stresses with absolute certainty you’re almost inclined to believe his words. Almost.

Despite how long you have been Mydei’s personal guard, you are yet to see a single dictionary in Kremnos. With how often he uses that phrase, you would think there would be at least ten of them in the royal library, not the figment of his imagination and temperament of an agitated cat to be his source.

But you don’t tell your king that. Instead, you opt to stare at your sword lying pitifully in a cloud of dust on the opposite end of the training grounds. “I see.” 

“Do you now?” he asks, an undertone of scepticism woven within his tone. “Because the last I recall you saying that, you continued to skip dinner for your personal training. It is fine to train, but over-doing it and neglecting your health will only harm you.”

“Yes, yes,” you sigh, peeling off your gloves as you bypass him, heading straight towards the outer ring where your water bottle was previously left. “My king’s natural instinct to take care of his subordinates has triumphed once more. I concede.”

“If you know, then start listening to me.” His head shakes at your theatrics, joining you at the sidelines with your once flying sword now securely in his hand. You retrieve it with gratitude before stowing it away securely and taking another sip from your bottle. He lingers behind you, quietly helping pack away the equipment. You’re not sure what exactly is going through his mind, but you are enlightened soon enough.

“Come drink with me.”

You pause, the hand towel pressing against your neck also pausing in its ministrations as you process your king’s words. “You mean your pomegranate juice with goat’s milk?”

He gives you a strange look — all scrunched brows, narrowed eyes, and a downward curled lip. You’re almost inclined to poke the midpoint of his brows and tell him to loosen up lest he wants to get wrinkles early, but, alas, you fancy not being on the receiving end of his unamused stare for a change.

“What else?”

“You’re right. I apologise for assuming there would be something different for once, O fearsome king of— ow, ow, ow!”

Your words are promptly cut off by the biting cold metal entrapping your left cheek. Despite knowing escape is futile, you still try to free your cheek from your king’s bullying. It, as expected, fails, and so you’re left to do what you do best — complain. “What was that for?!”

“For being so cheeky,” he retorts. For extra measure he gives your cheek another squeeze before letting go. You jump away at the presented opportunity and cradle your poor, abused skin, pointedly ignoring his deadpan gaze and huff at your antics. “Don’t worry. There will be an assortment of cheese and other accompaniments as always.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll meet you in your chambers, Your Majesty.”

As you are about to trudge towards your quarters, his figure steps in front of you and blocks the way. When meeting his gaze, you find him already looking at you in a mix of confusion and mild annoyance.

“Why?” he asks, and you’re left wondering how this man is the king of a nation.

“So I can have a shower and change into non-sweaty clothes…?”

“Just use my private bathroom.”

“But what about my clo—”

“I still have some of your spares from prior visits. All clean,” he quickly adds, possibly seeing your attempts for a rebuttal.

That fiend. Of course he would look so proud of himself knowing you have no arguments, nor the will to argue, left in you. At this point, all you want is a nice shower and some food, all of which he has offered and knows you won’t refuse.

With yet another defeat fresh in mind you release a long sigh, accepting your fate once more as you begrudgingly fall into step with your king who looks far too pleased with himself, if his satisfied smirk is anything to go by.

Seriously, with how often he calls you into his office and personal chambers for a drink or some food, one might think you’re his personal attendant; you may as well be at this rate!

Well, at least he seems to be in a good mood. In the end, that is all that matters to you.

---

A curse. A sin. A stain upon the royal family’s name. That is what Mydeimos, the once celebrated crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, became known as after the prophecy was foretold. Without a question for the prophecy’s legitimacy, his infantile body was cast aside and thrown into the endless abyss by the man known as his father, King Eurypon, while his mother, Queen Gorgo, died by the king’s treachery after challenging him to a duel shortly after his descent.

…Or so he was told by his teacher, Krateros, who followed after him with the Kremnoan detachment after he resurfaced from the endless depths of that river at the tender age of nine. As it stood, Mydei’s childhood evaded him. He knew he hadn’t led a typical life. He'd grown up fighting endless monsters in an attempt to evade death, learned to read, write, and speak both the common tongue and his mother tongue after nine-years-old, and was forced to adapt his newly undying body to the overworld while traversing the lands. The phantom pain of injuries sustained never faded despite its physical evidence stitched anew without a lasting mark. His senses took a while to completely adjust, the new sounds and sensations leaving lasting remnants for days at a time.

And then would come the nights; the nights where he would dream of the mother whose face escaped him. They came frequently — every night, even. Truth be told, the young prince learned most of his fighting through those dreams. Where his mother awaited him by the flickering firelight, a training session would soon follow. They would spar, him left huffing while she remained unperturbed, and the same conversation would flow without diversion. She would praise him; he would ask why they learn to fight; she would give her response; he would question the philosophy; she would eventually relent and agree with his view, explaining her reasons. And, as in every dream, his mother left with the same parting words,

“I no longer put my faith in any oath or doctrine. Now, I have just one role… That of your mother, Mydeimos. Your guardian…”

And then it would end. And every time, the crown prince would wake up, go about his day with the detachment, and futilely hope for a sequel to his dream. But as was the cycle of life and death, that dream repeated endlessly and without cease. There was no closure, no elaboration of wisdom or guidance she departed him with.

While he never fully understood her words, he continued to traverse the lands with his detachment. Life and death came frequently. Sometimes it would be expected, other times it would grab him by the collar and steal his breath. Regardless of the many partings Mydei witnessed, the pain always lingered. That much never changed even as he became older; he just learned to hide the pain better, to not show any weakness.

His travels eventually led him to the territory of an influential family — one renowned for producing highly capable knights, as well as the budding rumours of the elders’ tyrannical control over their domain. Wealth clearly was not an issue, but rather the skewed distribution between the rich and the poor. The detachment was commissioned to put a stop to their oppressive reign and, after having witnessed the effects first-hand, it did not take long for them to purge the land of its dictators.

And then he stumbled upon you, alone amongst the carnage and debris with a listless gaze directed to your former home and a broken sword discarded beside your kneeled form. Maybe it was the spur of the moment — of your untapped potential or even the budding guilt of wrecking everything you once knew — but he was crouched in front of you with an outstretched hand as the words, “Come. Join me to see the birth of a new king,” escaped him before he could dwell on his next destination.

In truth, Mydei was unsure why he felt compelled to see through the territory’s reconstruction and stability. It was none of his business, and his people were not the patient type when it came to aimless pursuits. And yet, upon witnessing your eyes regain some of its light at his proposal, he found himself uncaring of their protests. He would bring order to the land himself if it came down to it.

Luckily, his men agreed and the restoration was a smooth process over several weeks. Poverty was gradually overturned, a democratic system would be established after their leave, and the people finally experienced peace. They were even celebrated in honour of their feats for freeing the citizens from the suffocating ruling, departing the next morning with you as their newest addition under Mydei’s behest.

(You had nothing left, you’d claimed to him the night of the celebration after sharing a drink, having lost your purpose after being caged for so long. He merely gave you a reason to soar once more.)

From travelling with his group, fighting side by side and experiencing losses together, to usurping the throne under King Eurypon’s ruling, you eventually found your place beside him after his ascension to the throne as his handpicked personal knight. The years flew by — some longer, others shorter. But throughout it all, it hadn’t taken long for Mydei to grow fond of you.

Perhaps it was your lost, broken shell he saw fragments of himself in back then among the carnage and debris which caused the first crack in his heart. 

Perhaps it was your innate talent for the sword he witnessed first-hand after sparring you for the first time in the open planes to test your abilities for himself.

Perhaps it was how you gazed at him with purpose and renewed devotion, watching from afar as you dedicated yourself to honing your abilities in an effort to be useful to him. 

(You would never be a burden, Mydei found himself thinking once. The very notion itself left an uncomfortable stir in his heart.)

Perhaps it was your expression when you first tried his cooking, him growing bashful in the face of your starry eyes after forcing you to take a break during your self-imposed training.

(Mydei was grateful it was nighttime. God forbid he let you see him so flustered just from you enjoying his cooking.)

Perhaps it was when you stood by his side for the first time not as the comrade he travelled and faced numerous hardships with, but as his personal guard who would forever stand by his side.

(Oddly enough, Mydei anticipated your knighting ceremony more than he did his own coronation. For having been raised with the ideology that overthrowing his father and becoming king was everything, the newly crowned king found himself overwhelmed with something inexplicable when you swore that oath before everyone in attendance, touching your knelt-form’s shoulders with the tip of the ceremonial sword, and handing you the kingdom’s royal insignia to proudly boast on your person.)

Perhaps it was when he spotted you chatting with Phainon back when he was a rookie and not yet the knight commander, who would follow you around like a puppy trailing behind its owner and pester you for the smallest of things; joining you to the water fountain, asking to watch you train, helping you with whatever menial task you decided to pick up for the day, somehow convincing you to be his personal instructor — just whatever routine of yours he could slot himself into.

(It struck Mydei as odd whenever the scene of you both together would cause his heart to clench. It was a pain unlike what he was used to experiencing, more akin to the air knocked out of his lungs and pin pricks settling deep within the beating organ. The mere thought of Phainon having your attention alone was enough to agitate the king, but maybe it was your easy acceptance of the starry-eyed rookie’s presence in your life which hurt a little more.)

Perhaps it was that time you threw yourself in front of him to stop an assassination attempt in his room in the dead of night when all but you both and the assassin were asleep, quickly disposing of him before Mydei rushed to catch your wounded form from hitting the bloodied floor before turning to him asking if he’s alright as though he was the one injured. He’d given a withering stare in response, offering no response as he picked you up and placed you on his bed to patch your fresh wounds.

(He’d given you a stern lecturing, reprimanding you for being so reckless and getting injured as a result. You’d quietened down then and offered an apology but, rather than his unintended harsh words, he’s almost certain it was his trembling hands as he tried to bandage your torso, the subtle shake in his voice he desperately tried to mask as disapproval, and the distraught manner he held you in which made you back down.)

Perhaps it was when he’d caught the way that blasphemous scholar started to seek you out on his own, having always been known to keep to himself unless absolutely necessary, even refusing palace summons were you not the one to personally guide him upon his arrival.

(In the beginning Mydei chalked it up to nothing but a passing curiosity during the scholar’s first visit to the palace, his gaze lingering when you walked away. But when Anaxa started to only ask, or demand rather, for you to be his escort otherwise he wouldn’t come to the palace — despite his personality, his discoveries are still one the best — a strange discomfort welled up within him. Sometimes Mydei thought himself to be petty when intercepting you both during the garden strolls, but when reminded of how that scholar would glance at him over his shoulder with a smirk before resuming his bickering with you, he believed some petty acts can be justified.)

Perhaps it was the days he spent by your bedside, gripping your hand as he barked out for all those well-accomplished physicians to do something to rid you of the lethal poison flooding your system while he could only sit and wait and pray for you to survive this, that you wouldn’t leave him alone. Not when you promised to remain by his side eternally.

(Despite running himself haggard, clinging to the fraying hope you would survive the longer the days dragged on, his wellbeing was nothing in comparison to the choked call of his name, voice hoarse from lack of use and eyes misty as they adjusted to the light. Despite all the words and nags and repressed emotions he all but wanted to tell you — because why would you take such lethal poison meant for him when you knew of his high tolerance? How something like that would have affected him far less than it did you? — Mydei deflated with relief when your cold hand touched his cheek in assurance, clutching desperately to the warmth beginning to seep through your palms as proof of life.)

Perhaps… it was nothing in particular; perhaps it was just you. Unapologetically. Wholeheartedly.

But really, if Mydei were to truly pick a moment where this inevitable downfall of his started, then it would no doubt be the day you were both about to reach the main outskirts with his resistance in tow the night before the Kremnos Festival, his goal to overthrow that man within grasp. The day you pledged to be his entirely.

Mydei had no expectations. He merely followed the path he chose and the fate awaiting him at the end of his journey. He was the crown prince. He was soon to be the king who would govern the land and do everything in his power to bring peace and prosperity to his people. Even if it took unimaginable sacrifice, countless losses, and surrendering his own freedom; everything he desperately wished to avoid in this inevitable power struggle.

He had long since accepted what the rebellion would entail.

And yet there in the heavy downpour did you kneel, one fist clenched atop your soaked heart and the other wrapped around the hilt of your sword wedged in the soil. Mydei could not hear anything happening around him; nothing but your clear voice as you made a vow that changed his life from there on out.

“Allow me to be yours, Your Highness. Your sword, your shield, your confidant, your friend… Whatever it is you need, allow me to assume that role. You don’t need to selflessly sacrifice yourself any longer. I pledge to be yours to use however you see fit, so please allow me to remain by your side eternally and fight for you until death itself forces me away.”

(…How could someone look so sure of themself? How could you say those without an inkling of doubt seeping through? How could you put so much trust in him when he himself had many doubts about his own capabilities?)

It was then, through your clear words and blindingly resolute eyes, did Mydei allow himself to dream once more — to hold onto the hope that, at the very least, you would remain beside him. Selfishly, just this once, he wished to have something to call his own without spilling his entire being for the sake of fate.

And so when he knelt down to match your height and accepted your pledge, the then Crown Prince, soon to be King Mydeimos made a vow to himself; to protect you from those who wished harm on you or tried to get you out of the way in an effort to target him, no matter the route it took to do so. Because regardless of the many potential threats that were to come once he purged the castle, the one thing Mydei refused to give up was you.

“Have you found something deserving of your protection as well, Mydeimos?” He faintly recalled his mother’s voice, the familiar words settled deep within his memory. Despite how long he had travelled with the Kremnoan detachment, Mydei could never give an absolute answer to that question. The answer was always there — just out of reach.

But as Mydei stared at you, your warm smile having melted the frigid rain from his subconscious, he could finally answer his mother’s question with full certainty.

Yes, Mother. I have. When I return home tomorrow, you can rest easy.

(Even now, as he watches in amusement when your lips pucker from the sweetness born from his preferred version of pomegranate juice, he vows to keep you safe from the dangers posed from those beyond this room.)

A languid yawn escapes you. Resting in the shade of a large oak tree secluded from the palace, you allow yourself to relax. Dashes of honeyed marigold slip through the gaps of the leaves and paint your leisurely form in dappled warmth.

Barely anyone knows of this spot other than yourself and Mydei (given the fact he is, y’know, the king and all), so you don’t have to worry about being disturbed in your rare, blissful moment of peace and quiet.

Sighing contentedly, you slowly melt further into the lush grass. Now, if only it could be like this every day—

“Fancy seeing you out here!”

…Of course someone would ruin your rare, blissful moment of peace and quiet just when you thought about it. A knight never rests as they say, and whatever higher being is out there looking over you seems rather keen on keeping it that way. 

Maybe if you just keep your eyes closed they will take the hint and—

“Uhm, [Name]? I know you’re awake.”

…Darn it.

A resigned sigh escapes you. With great reluctance, you peek your eyes open. Through blurred vision you see a figure hovering over you, clad mostly in white, black and gold. Blinking a few more times and gently rubbing your eyes, the hazy outline becomes clearer, the smudged outlines merging into defined lines.

“...Hello, Commander.”

A bright smile lights up Phainon’s expression after your attention focuses on him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in glee. Really, what need is there for the sun when you have someone who is the very epitome of it right above you?

“There’s no need to be so formal. You can call me by my name, you know…”

“I’m merely treating you with the respect you deserve, Commander.”

The young leader visibly deflates upon your insistence, the upright tufts of hair drooping in tandem. His lower lip further juts out in a pout as he mutters, “Sometimes I wish I were still a rookie. At least you called me by my name back then.”

When catching his sulking mumbles, you merely give him a deadpan stare before releasing a low sigh. Hoisting yourself up, you scoot backwards until you can rest comfortably against the base of the tree. Probably having sensed your nonverbal invitation, he wastes no time joining you under the shade, his prior down-trodden mood instantly wiped off and replaced with an unmatched radiance.

Now, you would never outright admit to having favourites among the knights; that would just bring on more troubles and questions than you would like, and you already have your hands full with some of the people you know. Yet — again, never would you admit this to anyone outright — you could never deny the inherent soft spot you have for the young man. Aside from you being the one to introduce him to this haven away from the main palace years ago, it was probably his stubborn charm and constant presence which inevitably made you grow fond of him. He also has rather amusing reactions to certain things, so much so he can be like an open book at times.

A soft rustle. A gentle jab. You’re snapped out of your reverie when strands of white and gleaming cyan appear from your peripherals.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, eyes slightly widened and head tilted in curiosity.

“It’s nothing,” you begin. “Just got caught up a little in my… thoughts…” Phainon blinks and tilts his head once more when your voice trails off. Yet you pay it no mind.

This time, you are solely focused on his looks; more specifically, how unusually dishevelled in contrast to his typically neat and tidy appearance.

While his hair being messy is nothing out of the ordinary, you spy more out-of-place strands than usual, all sticking out in sporadic directions. Despite the light colours taking up the majority of his uniform, it usually remains clean even during training sessions. Yet right now, prominent marks of dirt stain the once snow white of his apparel, his collar and cuffed sleeves slightly askew from their usual position. Despite this contrasting appearance, what holds your attention the most is the dark discolouration located on his wrist.

Perhaps noticing your intense gaze focused elsewhere, his eyes follow your stare.

“Oh. When did that happen?” he says, relatively unconcerned for the bruise blighting his skin.

You frown. “Commander, how did you not notice ”

“I suppose I might have gotten a little distracted, haha…” he trails off, sheepish. There is an awkward laugh as he lightly scratches his cheek, his eyes settling everywhere but on you. 

Seriously, how is this guy the leading knight commander?

(…Well, actually, someone who can spar with your king for several days and nights in a row is more than qualified to be a knight commander.)

Without warning, you surge forward. Perhaps caught off-guard, Phainon stiffens, frozen in place as you gently hold his injured wrist and bring it closer, turning it over and lightly brushing your thumb over the amalgamation of deep purples and reds and blues.

“...They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

Perhaps sensing your apprehension, he encloses his hand atop of yours and gives it a soft squeeze. “I am the knight commander, remember? Compared to before, things are different now. Besides,” he adds with a light smile, “it’s been a long time since then.”

His gaze holds yours in gentle assurance, leaning forward slightly. When remnants of his body heat brush against you, a sudden wave of awareness at your lack of distance has you hastily lean back.

“Really, you need to be more aware,” you reprimand, awkwardly coughing as your eyes resume scanning over him intently in search for other possible marrings on his person. “It’s not good to make others worry so much, you know.”

Okay, so maybe you might sound a little hypocritical — but it’s different when it concerns someone else! At least when you do it, it occurs away from lingering eyes, unlike him who practically prances around in his messy appearance.

When you hear no response, you pause. Typically, this would be when he had some playful quip or sly remark about how you’re not any better than he is to retort back with, often accompanied with that charming, boyish grin and teasing gaze of his. Usually, he would give a playful nudge to your shoulder as he recounts the times he found you dishevelled and roughed up with dramatic flair, often in pursuit of getting a reaction out of you before tending to your superficial wounds with a tender touch.

You find none of his usual antics this time. Instead, when you lift your eyes to meet his, there is an uncanny solemnity in his expression, his once spirited and mischievous gaze now shadowed with uncertainty. And when he opens his mouth after a beat longer than you would have liked, a flicker of doubt flashes briefly across his features before it settles into his shadowed contours, disappearing as though it were never there.

“Does seeing me like this make you worried?”

You blink, confused at his sudden switch in attitude. “Huh? Of course it does. Why wouldn’t I be worried about you?”

A beat of silence.

“I see…”

Something creeps into you then. Slow. Subtle. Discreet.

You’re not sure what it is about him. There has always been a subtle quiet nagging feeling in the back of your mind, whispering there is more to him than he lets on.

Is it that friendly demeanour he automatically has on display regardless of who or what he encounters? Or is it how his expression dims when he turns away, eyes dull and expression grave once he no longer has to put up such charades? Is he even aware how frequently his smile does not reach his eyes at times? How he looks as though something unfathomably burdensome weighs heavy on his shoulders as he plays the part of the hero people make him out to be?

…Does he even realise how worried it makes you when that sullen countenance of his has been increasing in frequency in recent times?

With a resigned sigh, you quickly discard such thoughts. Instead, you pat the space beside you before shuffling back down onto the grass in a comfortable position. 

“Rest here,” you clarify, prompted by his furrowed expression spurred by confusion. “No one else other than His Majesty knows of this spot, so you can rest comfortably without worrying about onlookers.”

And when his downcast expression shifts into something far brighter as he readily scoots himself closer beside your seated form, you think it’s fine if he never tells you his story. If he can live the rest of his days free with his past behind him, then there is nothing more you would ask of him.

---

Phainon still dreams vividly of that day.

When he closed his eyes, the screams and the wails and the cries of sheer terror rang loud in his ears.

When he closed his eyes, he saw his father fighting to his last breath with a broken sword in hand.

When he closed his eyes, an all-too familiar heat licked his skin and ebbed away in a brief moment of reprieve in this hellish nightmare before returning with renewed fervour.

When he closed his eyes, his mother was in front of him once more screaming for him to run away all the while being ripped apart by those monsters.

When he closed his eyes, a pungent mix of ash and sulfur and iron burned him from within.

When he closed his eyes, his childhood friends were swallowed by the black tide and turned into the very monsters which destroyed his home.

When he closed his eyes, their voices asked, “Why, Phainon? Aren’t we the best of friends?”, their anguish and betrayal evident as he steeled his heart and drove his sword through them to grant eternal peace.

When he closed his eyes, her outstretched arm and final smile dissolved into smoke, billowing away with the ashy wind and distant cries. 

When he closed his eyes, that harrowing embodiment of the reaper itself stood before him, a grim reminder for what had been done and what he strove to vanquish.

And then he wakes up. When he returns to slumber, the cycle repeats itself.

Phainon can still remember it. All too well.

Even as he journeyed across the lands to find a sense of belonging — to find a reason other than vengeance to pick up the remnants of his former self and piece them back together to feel whole once more — not for a single moment was he free from death’s shadow. It clung to him incessantly, its vice-like grip unforgiving in its grave reminder of his true purpose, of how the happiness he felt throughout his travels were fleeting remnants of his past hopes, of how the simmering anger and inevitable retribution for his people would come to overpower the temporary relief he’d been desperate to seek refuge in.

Regardless of how much he tried to dispel that nauseating voice, Phainon knew it would only be a matter of time until his psyche would give out.

In the end, his hatred would consume him. Entirely. Irreversibly. Unapologetically. 

It continued like that for a while: wander from place to place; temporarily stay in a tavern or a makeshift camp; help the locals in whichever manner he could; build superficial bonds with those he encountered; move to the next destination; repeat.

It was a tiring routine, one which led to constant doubts about his own character and the purpose he had in the world when all was dark and silent, but it was a routine nonetheless.

And so he trudged on, roaming the land with but one clear goal in mind: to become stronger to kill that cloaked reaper.

Amid his wandering, he heard through word of mouth the rise of Castrum Kremnos’ new king. Former King Eurypon was slain in the winner’s duel of the Kremnos Festival, the challenger and recently coronated monarch having turned out to be the crown prince thought to be dead years ago. The tales Phainon heard kept piling up: some discussed the prosperity and improvements accomplished after he took the throne, while others spread exaggerated rumours of his feats on the battlefield.

But if there was one thing which stuck to the young wanderer, it was how strong this king supposedly was; the exact quality he strove to improve.

And that was how he found himself in a spar with said king until there was a victor. After much persistance and persuasion to be let in by the guards stationed at the gate, the king himself appeared at the site of the commotion closely followed by you, who Phainon assumed to be the personal knight he’d heard through various gossip.

King Mydeimos was curt in his speech, something Phainon thought went against royal etiquette. (Maybe Kremnos didn’t bother with trivialities such as etiquette?) But it mattered not, for his one and only purpose was to be part of the royal knights in order to get stronger.

“Stronger?” the king scoffed. There was an almost imperceptible mocking bite to his words, but it was soon forgotten when he tilted his head back with a cocky expression. “Then let us see if you are worthy. If you can best me in a duel, I will accept you as one of my knights.”

Contrary to Phainon’s thoughts, the duel lasted ten days and ten nights. They were both utterly stubborn, a feat he thought no one rivalled him in until that duel. Even so, the young man never realised how exhilarating it was to clash with someone of equal match, to be able to go all out without worry. Strength truly was unlike any other quality, both in the merits it brought and the weight it forced upon the wielder.

The duel came to a draw after the tenth night. It was you who stepped in, adamant in your decision even after Mydei’s bitter mutters. You’d approached them both with water and towels in hand. He never noticed how parched he was, nor the sheer amount of sweat and grime which clung to him until your deadpanned once-over.

(He had never rushed to bathe so quickly before in his life. He had also never expected a king of all people to look bashful at their subordinate’s scrutinising stare. The more you know, he supposed.)

The following morning marked his official instatement as a knight. Mydei, though with a rather begrudging acknowledgment, commended his prowess with a brief comment about his expectations before you stepped forward as his tour guide. The tour of the palace grounds was… efficient, to say the least. You showed him all there was to show, not forgetting to include some side quips about areas to stay away from and shortcuts within its grand structure. And just like that, his first day ended with a hearty meal.

The following days gave way to a few discoveries.

One, were all Kremnoans hard to get along with, or was it just those he encountered? Every time he tried to strike up a conversation with a fellow knight (or warrior, as they liked to call themselves), Phainon found himself on the receiving end of either a blank stare, a gruff response of some kind, or the cold shoulder, all of which left him awkwardly laughing on his own. But it was fine! Most of them were responsive in their own way, and there were some who even initiated the conversation before he did!

Two, they took their training very seriously — more so than he anticipated even after hearing about their battle-oriented traditions. In what he expected to be relatively light sparring sessions turned out to be full on tournaments, each opponent going all out in their matches. Considering who their king was, it really should not have been so surprising. (Then again, he himself wasn’t all that different when considering his competitive streak…)

And three, you were different compared to your first impression. While, yes, you came off as rather cold and stand-offish in the beginning, Phainon’s gaze somehow managed to trail toward you. He noticed you were always standing in the distance in some manner; always observing, always alert and at the ready. From what he managed to catch, you cared more than you let on to your peers whether they knew it or not, as shown through the subtle acts you did for them.

But he’d seen it in your eyes — in the way you sometimes spaced out with an all-too familiar shadowed expression as though the weight of the world was a burden too heavy to carry on your own. And, perhaps, you had noticed it in him as well when you allowed him into your space in quiet, reassuring company.

Maybe it was then when Phainon realised he wasn’t alone in this desolate world. That maybe, just maybe, you could both carry this weight together. (Two is better than one, as they say, so perhaps sharing such deep-rooted burdens could help you both as well.)

And for a while, he believed it.

He believed it when you allowed him to follow after you back during his rookie days. Unlike the king’s impressive brute strength, Phainon found himself drawn to the finesse of your swordsmanship. There was an undeniable artistry in the way you fought, your movements fluid and light as though you were dancing in the air itself. He never knew the way of the sword could be so beautiful, so utterly captivating; not until he fought you. Even when he lost there was no voice of self-loathing echoing within his mind, just pure admiration for you and your skills.

(It was then Phainon knew he wanted nothing more than to learn from you. Under your guidance, he was certain his eventual vengeance would turn successful. You were apprehensive at first. Perhaps you never thought to take on a student before him, hence your hesitance. But it was fine. He was nothing if not stubborn, and could be very persuasive when he wanted to be, which became evident when you eventually relented two weeks after his relentless pursuit with a weary sigh. He’d somehow found himself enjoying your company along the way, eventually making it a habit to tag along wherever you went. You never seemed to mind either.)

He believed it when he stumbled upon your anguished form all by your lonesome. It was in the dead of night. He was unable to sleep and decided a late night stroll and some fresh air would do him some good, only to have come across the scene where numerous training dummies laid in tatters while you were hunched pitifully in the centre.

(Phainon detested his inability to move, utterly frozen and helpless at your tormented cries of self-loathing. He wanted nothing more than to run to you, to kneel down to your crouched form and tend to your wounds, to provide you a comfort he himself wasn’t even sure he was capable of giving. And yet he could do none of what he desired. Instead he only gazed from the shadows in agony as you abruptly stilled, slowly stood back up, grabbed your previously discarded sword, and resumed what you were doing. He couldn’t remember how long he remained there watching you. By the time he regained his senses, dawn had risen.)

He believed it when you stood in front of him against your comrades without hesitation. Phainon knew it would take some time for him to be accepted by the pre-established knight order. They were all familiar with one another before the current king had taken his throne, having gone through unimaginable sacrifice and loss to get to where they stood. As such, he did not mind when they were particularly harsh during the spars against him. But when you appeared and defended him from their assaults, getting angry at the people you were more familiar with on his behalf, Phainon felt as though a new world had been opened up before his very eyes.

(They just wanted to make sure he was strong and capable enough to protect their land and king. He knew that. As such, he had no qualms with their harsh methods of training, even when his hands trembled and his knees buckled under their relentless attacks. If this would prove himself to them — prove his worth that he, too, had a right to stand and fight with them — then he would endure, and endure, and endure. Phainon never liked to rely on the help of others; if he could help it, he would be the one to help all those in need. And yet, in that moment when all said and done where only the two of you remained in the abandoned training grounds, your form crouched and gaze filled with unimaginable concern for him, Phainon found himself not minding being on the receiving end of your outstretched hand if it meant you would fuss over him like that.)

He believed it when you found him during a particularly rough night and let him find comfort in you. He’d been walking aimlessly in the gardens after one of his recurring nightmares in the hopes of cooling off. Phainon wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting from his decision, but you finding him and offering your shoulder to lean on definitely were not on the list.

(Admittedly, it was a moment of weakness he never intended to show anyone — especially not to you. You were the last person he wanted to be seen as weak to. He wanted to show you the fruits of his labour under your teaching, to show you he was capable of handling whatever was thrown at him. And yet, when you looked at him with that warm, knowing gaze, his head was on your shoulder before he knew it. Maybe… maybe he could allow himself to want something for once. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish, even if it was just during those brief fleeting moments where only the two of you seemed to exist.)

He believed it when he chanced upon you resting in the garden, your back against the lush grass and head angled towards the sun. He remembered tilting his head at the thought. You always reprimanded him for doing so (“Do you want to go blind?” you would huff and shield his eyes with your hand, unknowing that was the reason he continued such a trivial action), so what spurred you to go against your nags? To find the answer to such a riddle, he took it upon himself to sneak up on you, a cheeky line or two ready on the tip of his tongue to tease you about being a hypocrite.

At least, until he saw what — or rather, who it was you were gazing up at.

Mydei.

Phainon froze, feeling nothing more than a complete outsider.

That was the first time Phainon had seen you so… relaxed? At ease? Happy?

He paused. The word sunk into his conscience, descending into the abyss of his raging thoughts. You never showed such an expression with him. Sure, you allowed yourself to relax in his presence more so than when in others — a feat Phainon held very dear to his heart. You laughed and joked around with him, shed your carefully structured armour the rest of the world was only allowed to see, let him be privy to your vulnerabilities…

And yet — and yet, and yet, and yet — he had never once seen such an expression from you before; you, who seemed so unequivocally content sunbathing with the feared king, who also had an adoring expression the young knight had never seen before. 

Phainon would not necessarily call himself a jealous man, nor one who covets what others have. It was ungentlemanly, an ugly vice unbecoming of the chivalrous knight he wanted to be — of who he strived to become. Someone worthy, someone reliable, someone capable of protecting others.

Yet there he was, hidden in the shadows watching from afar with clenched fists, a spiralling mind, and a rotten heart. Amongst the few intelligible thoughts in his chaotic mind, a dark cloud hung above him. Suffocating. Maddening. Unbearable.

Everything he vowed to never become suddenly seemed to be the only voices he could hear. Those revolting voices he once shoved down without a moment’s hesitation lingered a second longer, the words akin to poison-laced honey having sunk into the depths of his psyche before he could snap himself out of the trance and walk away.

If he were to climb to a higher position, to become someone of a more influential status… would he become someone you could rely on like that?

(Even now, as he finds himself fixated on your peacefully dozing form under the oak tree with his hand shielding your eyes from the burning sun, Phainon can only hope that hideous green monster never sees the light of day; at least, not around you.)

Today is not your day.

First, you overslept. Usually that wouldn’t be so bad — after all, who doesn’t need a lie-in every now and then? However, you missed the usual breakfast time, today consisting of your favourites. How did you know that, exactly? Well, your king had ever so kindly enlightened you on such crucial information after instructing you to run twenty laps after showing up to the scheduled training session late. You were rarely late, typically even being an early riser when there was morning training scheduled. But of course on one of the few days you were late, he was there overseeing the session.

(And, of course, since everyone was in attendance he couldn’t let you off without a disciplinary punishment of some kind. Go figure.)

And as if that was not enough, your oh-so beloved king decided to rain on your parade once you finished the laps by reminding you of a certain scholar’s visit, and how you are to once again escort him to the audience room.

Now, you are no stranger to this eccentric man. With how long you’ve been stationed in the palace, it would be more surprising if you weren’t at least acquainted with him. Even more so when considering how familiar you have become with him across the years with his… anticipated visits. At least he always had some rather interesting stories to share each time; some about his students and how “challenged his school of thought” (which he would boast with a proud expression and a rather hearty laugh of sorts), others rambling about how the other scholars in the Grove would get on his nerves with “meaningless drivel” and “unoriginal opinions unbefitting of their scholarly title”, as he would so eloquently put it, as well as even some stories detailing his latest experiments and the progress of ones he had previously shared with you. (And how they blew up in his face. Quite literally.)

Yes, since you’re so familiar with him, surely you wouldn’t have such a hard time finding him, right?

Wrong, apparently. You have been searching for the past hour with no luck — yet another thing added to your amazing day.

“Seriously, where could he be? It’s not as if he has anywhere else to go,” you mutter to yourself, bottom lip caught between your teeth as your narrowed gaze sweeps across the palace gardens for the fifth time.

“Ahem.”

Jolting at the abrupt sound brushing against your ear, you whip around with a hand on the hilt of your sword. Upon seeing that familiar nonchalant face, however, your previously tensed and battle-ready form relaxed. A sigh escaped you as you turned to properly face him.

“Oh. There you are, Lord Anaxa. To—”

“Anaxagoras.”

“—what pleasure do we owe this visit of yours, Lord Anaxa?” you continue, smiling at the visibly unimpressed man.

“Pray tell, are you being sarcastic with me right now?” he asks, arms crossed and expression as monotonous as his voice. “I find it hard to believe you happened to conveniently forget the reasons for my visits.”

“I am in no position status-wise to be as such with you, my lord.”

“I see. So you were.”

“Respectfully, my lord, I was not.”

“Your words implied if status were not an issue, you would be sarcastic. Therefore, you were.”

As though sure in his deduction (which was very much accurate, but you choose to not confirm what he already knows), he crosses his arms with a raised chin, narrowed eye, and a haughty huff; you have all but half a mind to strike him with your sword’s handle. But you refrain with all the self-control you can possibly muster. You would never hear the end of it with how much he tails you during his sporadic visits, after all. He complains enough about Lady Aglaea, the most renowned seamstress across the lands as well as one of Mnestia’s most cherished priestesses, and adding what he nitpicks about you? Yeah. No. You don’t need your ears to be bleeding any time soon.

Sure. He’s always been a little… vain? Prideful? Egocentric? Really, Anaxa is a lot of things, his penchant for getting under people’s skin and uncaring demeanour in regards to that being the key dominating factor. Rumours about him spread like wildfire. Some surrounded his rather questionable methods, but most surrounded his blasphemy. After he arrived in Castrum Kremnos for his first official audience with Mydei, you didn’t find anything of what they said in the stoic young man. Even so, you maintained a cordial distance, unwilling to entangle yourself with someone who had the potential to ruin your king’s reputation.

Well, up until you chanced upon him practicing one of his proposals requesting more funding and magic-imbued equipment for the Grove of Epiphany to a stationed dromas, that is. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on him and some of his rather… outlandish propositions meant for his discussion with Mydei, which you would have heard later in the meeting room regardless, but the way he practically waxed poetic in his long-winded speech, paused, then muttered something along the lines of, “No, no. That fool won’t appreciate nor understand such flowery prose. I’ll need to simplify it for him to understand,” all the while feeding and stroking the dromas with an unexpected gentleness struck a chord in you.

After all, someone who treats the dromas kindly in the way he did couldn’t be a bad person, right?

As it turned out, he was just a well-accomplished scholar who could get pretty cynical at times; namely when it came to the matter of the gods. (You’ve heard rumours of one too many complaints officially written by the various temples in Amphoreus. Despite their differing beliefs, they all seem to agree on their mutual resentment for Anaxa, a feat you find oddly impressive considering the sheer number of temples there are in the empire.)

“What has your mind so occupied?” he asks, brow raised and face closer than you last recall it being.

You blink. Once, twice. Without missing a beat, you respond, “I was thinking about how grateful I am to be your escort, my lord.”

“How quick-witted of you,” he says, deadpan. Anaxa straightens up and appears by your side, and you take that as your cue to begin the walk to the audience room.

Contrary to your initial expectations, the walk is relatively silent; peaceful, even. While you find some of his stories to be entertaining (particularly the manner in which he tells them), you feel you deserve some peace and quiet after the morning you had. Ah, the breeze is so lovely—

“So, have you considered my proposal?”

Nevermind. You spoke too soon. The breeze is horrible.

You inwardly sigh, already knowing where this conversation is going from the sheer number of times you have gone through it. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lord.”

Once again, Anaxa regards you with an unimpressed stare. “Are you playing dumb again?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to jog your memory.” With a fist raised to his lips as he gives a — rather dramatic, if you might add — clearance of his throat, the scholar turns to you, a smug grin stretching his lips. “My proposal for you to be my most cherished assistant, of course.”

“Oh,” you begin with a sigh, “while I’m grateful you think so highly of me, my lord, I’m afraid I’ll have to kindly refuse your proposal. Anything outside of the sword is beyond my capabilities, I fear.”

“Hmph. That’s what you always say. So you do remember after all,” Anaxa accuses, a petulant frown tugging down the corners of his lips.

“Perhaps my answer is just unchanging, my lord. My—”

“—loyalty lies with my beloved king. Yes, yes, I have heard it all, so spare me the theatrics.”

You frown. “Don’t—”

“—speak so dismissively about His Majesty or tarnish his name, lest you want to add treasonous snake to your plethora of nicknames, as well. Yes, I have heard that, too. And here I was thinking you would come up with something new after all this time,” he tuts, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Your eye twitches. It takes every fibre in your being to maintain the strained smile tugging your lips, desperately reminding yourself to maintain composure. “My lord, has anyone told you how insufferable you are?”

Unfortunately, this man has a rather remarkable ability wherein your usual composed demeanour seems like a figment of your imagination.

“Plenty, dear knight. Are you only just now realising that?”

“Regrettably, I am well-aware of your…” you pause, grimacing as you try to find the fitting words, “much-to-be-desired reputation.”

“I’m happy to know you’re so interested in me, enough to be a cause for concern over my wellbeing,” he says. Oh, how you long to wipe that smirk off his face. “Now escort me through the palace gardens. You wouldn’t let a frail scholar such as I wander alone only to become lost in such a vast space or, worse yet, collapse in the middle of it all with no nearby help, would you?”

(‘Frail scholar’ your ass. You’ve seen that man shoot one of those plague-stricken monsters creeping up from behind him with such pin-point precision it would put shame on the battalion — he’s half blind!)

“...You talk too much, my lord.”

“And you, dearest knight, dilly-dally too much. Chop chop, the garden isn’t going to be toured itself.”

Lord almighty above, if my king does not strike down this fiend then so help me.

“You just wished harm upon me, did you not?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lord Anaxa.”

“That’s Anaxagoras to you. And your expression says it all. See? When you wish for something to besmirch me, your lips tighten. Your fists also tremble as if you wish to punch me — to which I will give you the benefit of the doubt since I still want you to join me. And also…”

…If Castrum Kremnos doesn’t want to see another incident, it better pray this man does not push your buttons any further today.

---

Anaxagoras was no fool.

He knew what it meant when his parents never returned home, their faces having long since faded from memory while his sister was the only one to remain beside him.

He knew what it was like to live in poverty, barely having the means to scrape by and eat what could be afforded from his sister’s measly income as an animal tamer.

He knew what it was like to lead an isolated life, having watched from the shadows of the trees as his peers frolicked the grassy fields while he sat alone picking at the fallen leaves or found companionship in the dromas.

He knew what it felt like to be wronged, that one priest always seemingly furious with his childlike curiosity and doubts about the oh-so revered gods as he was thrown out of the temple time and time again.

Even when he barely reached the early stages of his childhood development where his cognitive skills became more prominent, he still perceived things well-beyond his years. Perhaps a little too much.

Anaxagoras was no fool, and yet, sometimes, he wished he were.

His sister never blamed him for the trouble he knew tended to follow him. The money she could have used for herself was instead split into basic needs and funds to buy the items he looked at for a second longer during market strolls. Books, screws, heavy pliers, delicate scales… These were some of the few items she bought him with the money she could have used on herself; the money she should have used to treat herself more often. Yet she would merely smile and stroke his head, the words, “Your happiness matters most to me, Anaxagoras. The money can always be earned again,” always uttered without fail.

Perhaps that was when his endless curiosity for life itself manifested, her support his sole pillar.

(Despite all the trinkets she bought which he held dearly, his most cherished item would be the dromas stuffed toy hand-sewn by her, it accompanying him to bed every night without fail.)

And when he had ever so boldly declared he would become the most knowledgeable person in the whole empire— no, the whole world, she took him seriously. Despite believing her encouragement at face value, he truly realised it during one of their market strolls when passing merchants talked about the Grove of Epiphany, a sanctuary devoted to the pursuit of wisdom, caught his sister’s interest. 

(He’d memorised that name in secret — the Grove of Epiphany. If, somewhere in the future, both he and his sister could attend together… would their lives be a little easier?)

Then one day she’d sat him down and presented a stash of funds she had kept hidden; his travel funds to attend the Grove. When he’d asked if she would join him, she refused, instead insisting she would continue making ends meet and remain in their remote city-state as a home he could return to.

Anaxagoras believed her.

Of course he did. He believed she would always be there waiting for him, on the receiving end of his letters sent during his time in the academy, there to greet him when he returned during the breaks, appearing at his graduation where he could amass the funds to support her after everything she had done and sacrificed for him all those years.

Anaxagoras believed her.

And so despite the heavy heart of their parting — of being separated from each other for the first time — he clambered onto the carriage of her merchant friend and waved until he could no longer see her. Thoughts of what new things he would learn and experience filled his mind as the carriage trekked onward, the prospect of growing his boundless curiosity instilling hope for a better future in the young boy for the first time.

At least, until word of the black tide having struck his home reached him halfway through the journey.

Anaxagoras never knew true fear until he was rushing back. The bile which would not go down no matter how hard he swallowed; the thunderous beats of his heart having drowned out everything around him; the suffocating grip which clawed at his throat.

When he drew nearer to the place he called home, a sense of foreboding rushed through him all at once as he sprinted harder. It came in the form of a creeping darkness, spreading its tendrils far and wide with nowhere to run nor hide. The panic, the tangy metallic scent, the mayhem, the loss of breath, the smoke, the screams and cries and wails and—

And then the silence. When all was laid to rest, young Anaxagoras found himself fearing the silence more than he did the chaos.

He stumbled at the sight of the corroded ruins, his breath knocked out of his lungs when the dread became too unbearable and rendered him imobile. There was no one to answer his desperate cries. There was no one to console him as he weeped amid the debris. There was no one to wipe away his tears as he silently stared at the area his house once occupied. There was no one to reverse time back to when his sister sent him off to the academy and instead take her with him to avoid the tragedy. There was no one to soothe the rage simmering beneath the despair. There was no one — no god — who answered his desperate pleads for help.

He was alone amid the carnage, the destruction his to bear in its entirety.

When the realisation there would be no help struck, that the gods everyone had revered so deeply would never extend their hand to the likes of him, Anaxa knew he had to take matters into his own hands. It was he who controlled his own fate, not the voice of some unseen being. He had to gain power, and what better way was there than to see through to his enrollment in the Grove of Epiphany? It was every aspiring scholar’s dream to attend and receive education there and yet, for the boy who had lost everything with not even the gods on his side, his only motivation was his beloved sister’s wish for him to attend in hopes for a better life.

The enrollment was nothing special. Perhaps it was his family’s connections, or maybe they just saw the talent within him at a glance, but he got in without hassle. The school lived up to its reputation, knowledge found in every nook and cranny if searched for. His teacher, Empedocles, was understanding and kind, his wisdom far beyond anything Anaxa could have imagined before attending the school.

And yet it wasn’t enough. There had to be something more; something he could dedicate his entire being to.

Then, as though the puzzle pieces fell into place, he came to learn of Thalesus, the First Scholar’s, theory of souls, and how life, as well as the composition, movement, and transformation of matter, all stem from souls themselves. Alchemy, he came to realise, and how it could be the answer he had been searching for all along. After all, since all living things had the same origin, why would he be unable to sacrifice himself to resurrect his sister? 

It was the rope he clung to without hesitation, throwing himself into alchemy without pause. His teacher voiced his concerns, but Anaxa took little heed. This was his path — this is what his purpose was for.

Then one day, he succeeded. His left eye was no more, but he managed to see his sister once more… Even if it was for a brief moment. A moment in which she did not say anything, but just the sight of her one last time was enough for him. That momentary exchange soothed his ailed heart in a way he nearly forgot about, and he was able to give a proper send-off with closure.

Despite the resurrection not happening the way he’d planned, Anaxa discovered a new path after his desire had been laid to rest. To continue the study of souls and prove the scholars of the Grove truly knew nothing about the First Scholar’s depth of study.

His achievements soon racked up. He soared academically, brought new ideologies and questioned the tried-and-true. The matter of the gods, however, was what sullied his name.

The Foolish. Demised Scholar. The Great Performer. “A dromas wrapped in finery.” (He never knew why people thought the latter title to be an insult. If anything, Anaxa took that one as a compliment.) He gained many aliases throughout his academic pursuit, but what did that matter? All it meant was people were acutely aware of him, and that was the greatest gift he could have when his whole purpose was to educate them on the real truth of the world.

And when he was soon to establish his own school, the Nousporists, Anaxa was sent as a representative of the Grove of Epiphany to Castrum Kremnos to establish communications. It was there he met you; the personal knight of the newly crowned king.

He hadn’t thought much of you at first. You were merely doing your job to guide him through the palace grounds, ensuring he wasn’t led astray. You hadn’t talked much either. Not that he minded; in fact, he was rather grateful you weren’t the overly chatty type to talk his ear off (there were enough of those back in the Grove as it was). The escort was quick with no detours. Simple and efficient.

He appreciated it, truly. And yet, when you walked away with a quick bow and respectful, “I wish you a pleasant audience, Lord Anaxagoras,” his gaze followed you even after you’d rounded off and disappeared behind a corner. It was an inexplicable feeling, that long-forgotten emptiness back when he lost everything having abruptly resurfaced with your departure.

But he shook it off and walked into the audience room where the recently ascended king awaited. It was merely a scholar’s curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less.

It didn’t take long to note your habits during the two week-long stay at the palace.

Through observation, Anaxa came to realise your tendency to linger in the gardens when you had no immediate duties. With how stoic and business-like you were, it never occurred to him how gentle your expression could become when cradling the flowers. Sometimes when he would take a stroll by himself, he would catch you dozing peacefully under a large tree, your armour shed for lighter and more comfortable clothing.

(Heh. For someone so rigid, you sure had a knack for finding ways to slack off. It was rather amusing when he frequented you more often, sometimes choosing to reveal himself while other times he remained hidden and observed from afar.)

He also observed your rather bad habit of overworking yourself late into the night. He never meant to snoop, but when the crisp sound of a sword slicing through air and haggard pants could be heard in the stagnant evenings, it was natural to let curiosity guide its course. Had it not been for curiosity, he would have never stumbled upon your moments of weakness, where frustration took you by the throat and reduced you to a crumpled heap in the training grounds and he could only watch from behind a pillar.

(Hmph. Really, you were already skilled enough as it was — more so than any knight he had ever seen. Seeing you tell yourself to be better, that you would never be able to protect anyone at this rate… a strange pang pierced in his chest at the thought of you doubting yourself.)

He also noticed how he was the only one you would call by name. Your lower status with the king forbade you from saying anything other than “Your Majesty” or “His Majesty” and, despite how familiar the overly friendly rookie knight seemed to be with you, you rarely addressed him by name. In fact, Anaxa heard his name uttered by your lips more times than that knight’s! Phainon, if he recalled correctly.

(Truthfully, Anaxagoras shouldn’t have been as elated as he was upon the discovery, but the self-assured smirk could not help but to slip out at times when either of the two happened to pass by and catch you saying his name.

…Even when you eventually turned to using a shortened version after he’d annoyed you on a particularly bad day. He would take the small wins, however, as you did use his original name for some time.)

And, eventually, he discovered your stalwart nature. Again, he hadn’t meant to snoop, but it wasn’t as though he expected to stumble across the gaggle of knights discussing his less-than savoury rumours. You were amongst the roster, polishing your sword amid the rowdiness when they turned the spotlight to you asking for your thoughts. Having upset you just two days prior, Anaxa was almost certain you would partake in such trivialities against him — you had been giving him the cold shoulder, after all. Only… you hadn’t. You ended up doing the very opposite. “Please refrain from such ridicule. He is a guest of His Majesty, and it is our duty to remain sharp against unforeseen dangers — not participate in blatant slander.” There was a slight pause, and Anaxa was almost grateful he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him once more upon hearing your next words. “Besides, those rumours seem far too exaggerated. Lord Anaxagoras isn’t as bad as the gossip makes him out to be. A stubborn and prideful man he may be, but he has much passion for his cause; something I find admirable compared to those who only know how to run their mouths with nothing to show for it.” 

(He would have stifled a rambunctious laugh at your brazen words, if not for the obnoxious heartbeat that rang loud in his ears nor the rapid flush which rushed through his body. A hand was placed above the erratic palpitations in a futile attempt at calming the restless orgain while the other dragged pitifully slow down his face, only stopping to try — and fail — to cover the trembling grin which split his lips and let loose a few shaky chuckles. Really, he’d thought amid the last breathy laughter, fully slumped and slid down against the base of the looming pillar. You’re making me almost want to be a little more greedy, my dear knight.)

His departure after those two weeks was nothing special. King Mydeimos came to personally see him off, sharing a brief word or two regarding future relations between Castrum Kremnos and the Grove of Epiphany, while the main figures who worked in the palace were by his side. Despite saying his farewells and climbing into the carriage, Anaxa found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you even after the carriage began its trek back. It was reminiscent of when he first met you, and he could not help the quiet laugh which slipped out at the realisation.

It wasn’t until a fair few years later did Anaxa come to realise what that curiosity of his truly was — of what it had evolved into.

It happened during one of those utterly stifling banquets he loathed, all because he had to show face in at least one of them each year. As it so happened, he hadn’t publicly appeared in any for the year. So what did that old coot of a teacher do? Why, he gave Anaxa that familiar smile before kicking him out into a carriage conveniently on its way to the end of year banquet hosted at Castrum Kremnos, of course.

Really, if he had it his way, Anaxa would have spent this precious time cooped up in his office surrounded by all his alchemical experiments — not loitering in the back of the ballroom with a flimsy champagne flute and grimacing at all the gossipmongers surrounding him.

 Utterly ridiculous. Did those people have nothing better to spend their time on? He pitied them, truly, to do nothing but waste away in a stuffy room and exchange faux pleasantries with one another.

Having had enough, Anaxa promptly stepped out. The cool evening air was sufficient, and he decided a stroll around the gardens was due. It had been a while since he wandered around on his own, becoming used to you escorting and indulging him with conversation.

Funnily enough, the moment he’d thought of you, you appeared in his peripheral vision. Stood in the distance, side profile visible to him. While he wondered what brought you out to the gardens, he supposed he really shouldn’t have been so surprised to see you in the place he knew you frequented most. And for such a stuffy occasion such as the banquet, he really didn’t blame you for being outside.

Just as Anaxa had smoothed down his suit and cleared his throat in preparation to walk over to you, he froze. The sight he witnessed had him rooted before he could even take one step. 

Anaxa had met that brutish king more times than he would have liked. As with his usual outlook, he mostly regarded the monarch with nonchalance, sometimes a slight admiration if a good argument was brought up in their negotiations, and other times a subtle annoyance when his garden stroll-escort with you was interrupted. Yet, seeing you both together under the dim moonlight away from the suffocating crowd and caught in your own world made him feel as though he were imposing on something he should have not. An unfamiliar sensation stirred in his heart. And yet he could not look away, seemingly enraptured.

Such blind, unwavering loyalty... Though a fleeting thought, Anaxa could not help but wonder what it would take for you to direct such beguiling devotion to him instead.

(Even now, as he watches from the sidelines how your unshakeable devotion to your king’s sudden interruption during the garden escort blurs the rest of the surrounding world into an incomprehensible blend of colours, he cannot help the fleeting hope you would one day gaze at him like he was your entire world and more.)

TRIVIA TIME !!

well, more like WORLD BUILDING-SLASH-LORE TIME !!, but i digress. anywho i just wanted to add in this little segment to try and explain the au world a little more, mainly the composition of amphoreus !! this was mainly done for myself bc i kept having inner battles abt whether i wanted castrum kremnos to be the kingdom where everyone resided in with mydei as the sole ruler, or if i wanted amphoreus to be an empire made up of various nations (like how it is in game basically). i ended up going with the latter bc i ended going down an entire rabbit hole creating the world of a fic that most likely won't get a continuation of sorts, but it was fun to imagine and made it a little easier writing the backstories, hehe !!

anyway here are some key notes which hopefully explain it a little more for those interested ^^

Amphoreus = empire

All cities (e.g. kremnos, okhema, etc) are the kingdoms in amphoreus with their own ruler/democracy

Amphoreus has multiple leaders to discuss state affairs (basically hsr main chrysos heirs but not all - like castorice is aglaea’s right-hand in a way + the executioner bc adonia is no longer a nation, or phainon & anaxa who lost their homes) with aglaea as the main/overseeing leader (empress but not really. She just wants to create beautiful clothes ;w;)

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

@milk-violet heres ur tag <33

[batlovebites]

Thinking about how the beasts would deal with a mortal partner's mortality catching up to them. Here's some quick thoughts on that.

Content Warning: death (via old age or sickness) and murder (because these guys do not handle it well.)

Shadow Milk seems like the one who deals with the idea of his partner's mortality the best, up until his partner is on death's door- if its sickness, he'll stop at nothing to find a way to cure it. If its age, though...

I think he'd try to find a way to make his partner immortal, too. But when that fails, I think he'd immortalize them as a puppet. Its not the real them, no, but its them from before age started to take them from him. Its them in whatever the 'best' period of their life was.

After they pass he uses it to cope but he has to control the simulacrum's actions so it actually just makes him feel worse because its obviously not them. It looks like what they looked like at one point, it acts how he remembers them acting, but how he remembers them isn't the same as how they actually were. But he doesn't stop because he'd rather try to convince himself of the lie they're still around than live with the truth that they're gone.

The illusion/puppet he makes progressively becomes less and less convincing as his memories are altered and exaggerated with time and repetition. In their absence, Shadow Milk starts to glorify them in his memory, completely disregarding any of their flaws or negative aspects that made them an actual full person; Which then makes the puppet act progressively less and less how they actually did.

Eventually probably disregards the simulacrum as its no longer even slightly convincing. But sometimes, when he thinks about them again and his heart starts aching, he conjures it up again to try to live the lie that they're still here again, just for a little bit longer. It always falls apart again, but there's brief moments where he can almost convince himself, so he keeps doing it.

Burning Spice is. Complicated! Would also want to make his partner immortal probably, but if that's proven to be impossible... I think he 'mercy' kills them, before age can affect them too much. When their hands start shaking, their memory begins to slip, their body slowly turning to dust beneath them, so slow they can hardly tell its happening- but Burning Spice has seen time claim a hundred thousand lives before, and can see it happening to them all too clearly.

Burning Spice doesn't want to let time take his partner from him, so he does it himself. Having control over their demise makes him feel better about it, if only slightly. Doesn't let them know its going to happen, because he wants their last memory of him to be pleasant. Just embraces them- and then promptly snaps their neck. Quick. Painless. Over before they could ever even know it happened.

He does view it as an actual mercy in a way, but its mostly a matter of him needing to feel like he was in control of when and how they died as opposed to them being taken from him. Change and destruction is his domain, he does not like it when those things are happening beyond his control, so he takes control of the situation himself.

Burning Spice is also quick to redirect any other emotion into anger because that's easier to manage, so the stages of grief he goes through are all just filtered directly into Anger and used as fuel to destroy more things. No one else would even be able to tell he's mourning at all, but deep down, he is, even though he doesn't want to. He's seen this happen over and over again, it shouldn't affect him anymore. He's angry at himself for letting it affect him. For letting himself grow attached to something- someone- he knew would be nothing but ash beneath his feet within a century in the first place. And yet...

Mystic Flour would perhaps put some effort in looking into how to make her partner immortal, just so that they could see everything else be reduced to flour with her before they both also were reduced to nothing. But she's not too torn up about it if unable to.

She starts to treat her aging partner as if they were already dead at a certain point, which certainly doesn't feel great for them. Comforting them about their inevitable and rapidly approaching fate is not a very nice thing to hear when they are currently still alive, probably have at least a few years of life left in them, and would probably like to enjoy those last few years rather than just think about their approaching death the whole time.

If their old age comes with any particularly high amounts of pain or memory loss, she's likely to speed up the process as a 'mercy'; Inflicting them with the Pale Ailment, which kills them within the day.

The whole day she holds and comforts them until they are reduced to flour, telling them soon they will feel nothing- no joy, yes, but also no pain. That there's nothing to fear. She sits there for a little longer after they're gone, still speaking comfort. Then she gets up and leaves; She feels nothing about it. Nothing at all.

Yet... a part of her, buried deep under layers of apathy, does wish they had lasted longer. Been at her side to see the rest of the world be reduced to flour first. Oh well.

Also, while I can't give proper thoughts until she's released, I think Eternal Sugar would probably Sleeping-Beauty her partner. Lock them in an eternal rest where they're basically dead, but their body does not age or rot further, and they're technically still breathing, so its like they're still there with her! (<- Coping extremely hard.)

[fixated-cookies]

im kinda thinkin about.... hypnosis and smilk.... smth abt the process specifically of taking over and invading your mind.. slowly giving into it even if youre resisting the effects its having on your mind, its inevitable that he'll win and you'll succumb to his control and influence over you... your mind may be foggy, but it's so perfectly empty and moldable now... what were you doing again? do you even care?

smth about being unable to look away from his eyes once he starts it; even if you look away, something will draw you back, and it gets stronger as it goes on... at first, you can physically turn away (though you'll get dragged back by some invisible force), but eventually you cant even rip your heard away from his gaze. smth about it being unable to be stopped by anyone other than himself once he starts it... no matter how far from you he is (as long as he's well... in sightline)

honestly you can like. think abt this in any context you want . i just.... really like the concept of hypnosis with him..... its captivating to me (hah) .... sorry for the essay in your inbox damn

Anon the reason why this was rotting in my askbox for so long was because I needed to give it justice hahaha, hypnosis is totally in character for someone like shadow milk cookie, and I love it.

WARNING- slight yandere, hypnosis

Hmm, I'm wondering how it would start, he would obviously make it a game, maybe a game of truth or dare, hm? Just a little bit of lollygagging to get rid of his boredom.

So, when he asked— “Truth or Dare?”—

You made the horrible mistake of choosing dare.

His grin widened, all teeth.“Ohhh, you’re feeling bold tonight! How delightful! Now, let’s see…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. You should have been nervous. You should have backed out. But you didn’t.

I dare you… to look into my eyes and not look away.”

Simple, right?

You almost laughed. Thats its? Thats all?

"Ah-ah, don’t look so relieved~! There’s a catch, of course. You must hold my gaze until I say you can look away. Break eye contact, and you lose."

You scoffed. What was he playing at? You weren’t afraid of a staring contest. Getting into position you held yourself steady as he looked overly excited.

For a while, it felt like a normal challenge. You stared, he stared, and time stretched between you both. But then… something changed. The air felt thicker. Your body heavier. You blinked once. It felt like it took longer than it should have to open your eyes again. You swallowed. Something felt off.

Your limbs felt distant like you weren’t quite inside your body anymore. You tried to look away—But your head wouldn’t move. "I...I-" "Tsk, tsk… You’re not trying to look away, are you? Ohh, but I can see that dazed look in your eyes already… how precious!" He started to scoot closer. Not fast. Not abrupt. No, he took his time, savoring the way your body twitched ever so slightly. How your breath caught, your fingers tightening into trembling fists against the floor. Your head refused to move. Your body felt so distant, like a marionette with cut strings, a doll that could only watch as its puppeteer inched nearer.

Your vision wavered, the edges blurring as if reality itself was losing focus. His eyes were all you could see. How could this happen? you were so sure he didn't have...any malicious...intent—huh...? What was going on...?—No, you hadn’t! You had to resist, you had to—"Mmm, that’s a good look on you… so unfocused, so lost…" He suddenly interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked, but the action felt slow, heavy, like your body was moving through water. You knew—somewhere, deep down—that this was wrong. That you should snap out of it. But… that was so difficult. Thinking was… so hard. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Only a quiet, dazed sigh.

Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, only for it to falter as your eyesight ripped away from him violently, a frustrated groan escaping you as you squeezed your eyes shut out of defiance. "Oh? You still have some fight left in you?" His voice slithered through the air, a mocking lilt woven into his amusement. How predictable. How pathetic. Impossibly close now, his presence, looming, suffocating—but when his hands cupped your cheeks, you knew there was no escape. His palms were cool, but his grip was unyielding.

"Really now, I thought you were smarter than this." His thumbs trailed lower, brushing over your lips with featherlight strokes. "Oh, my dear, sweet fool…" His voice dipped into a breathy murmur, mismatched eyes drinking in every flicker of your resolve. "...I wonder... how long will that last?"

His grip on your cheeks tightened—just enough for his thumbs to press against your skin, coaxing you, urging you—until your lashes fluttered. A sliver of light slipped through.

And the moment your gaze met his—

The air in your lungs vanished. And oh, how he grinned.

"Mmm… there it is."

His voice was nothing but a purr, smooth and saccharine as he drank in your struggle. His grip softened, shifting to cradle your face so delicately—as if he hadn’t just crushed your resistance in the palm of his hand.

"Much easier when you don’t fight, isn’t it?"

His thumbs stroked your cheeks, his tone mocking, indulgent—but there was something darker beneath it. "Go on, little puppet…" His breath ghosted over your lips as his mismatched eyes pulled you deeper, deeper, deeper. "Be good for me, yeah?" He murmurs lowly Before you could even process it, his lips were on yours—slow, deliberate, consuming. A kiss meant to unravel, to claim. His fingers pressed gently into your skin, holding you there, grounding you— or perhaps, chaining you.

And when he finally pulled away, he didn’t need to command you to look at him this time.

Because you already were.

A single finger tapped lightly against your forehead as if to mock the emptiness settling in. His victory.

"See? Much better when you don’t think."

--

you guys, rate my hypnosis writing I need it!! These ideas are just sooo juicy.

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : genshin boys and their red flags. pairing : childe, scaramouche, xiao, diluc x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere tendencies, unhealthy relationships, mention of controlling and manipulative behavior, each red flag is a warning by itself. author's note : “i don't have favorites” then there's scara part.

overwhelming affection and attachment issues – childe.

childe was not ready for love. maybe he was never meant to love. at least, not in the way that softens his edges and tugs at his heart. and yet, the moment he met you, his world shifted. you were his before you even knew it.

he courts you with unwavering determination. flowers, grand gestures, breathtaking views, mora—he gives and gives, always one step ahead, always ensuring you are left breathless. but then you falter. you worry. you question if a harbinger can truly love, if he can truly stay.

oh, my love, he laughs, voice honeyed with something far too sweet.

his arms are around you before you can pull away, his lips ghosting over your skin in soft, adoring presses. do not doubt, do not fear. if you need reassurance, he will give it. in gifts, in words, in the quiet promise that you are his and he is yours. he will take you to snezhnaya, introduce you as his betrothed, whisper vows of eternity until the words are carved into your very soul.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you.

and yet, as his devotion smothers, as the weight of his affection grows unbearable, you cannot help but wonder—when he swore to love you forever, did he mean it as a promise, or a threat?

anger issues/violence – scaramouche.

where were you even supposed to start with him? the balladeer, the sixth of the fatui harbingers, the puppet who had carved his own place into history with bloodied hands and a twisted grin. you sighed, arms folded as you leaned against the balcony of the grand estate he had forced into your possession. a mockery of a home, nestled in the land of inazuma—the place of his so-called birth. no, not birth. creation.

he had mansions scattered across teyvat, all under your name. because you were to be wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted. a doll didn’t get to choose where it was placed.

you flinched when the cloth brushed against your shoulder, the sting of the lightning-shaped scar sending a nauseating wave of sensation through you. still healing. still burning. you didn’t have to look to know what it resembled—something eerily close to an electro vision, elegant in design, delicate even. the thought made your stomach churn. he had called it a claim, a permanent engraving on your body, mind, and soul. you belonged to him. he wanted the world to see it.

scaramouche was flawless, sickeningly so. apologies fell from his lips like honey, each word perfectly crafted, a voice dipped in false sweetness. he touched you like you were something precious, fragile, irreplaceable. and yet, it was his hands that had carved this mark into you. love. if he was even capable of such a thing.

you cursed the day you fell for him. but it didn’t matter anymore. not when he had already made you his. not when he had already decided you were never leaving. to him, this was love. a lover’s touch. a lover’s proof. a lover’s possession. what was a little pain, a little blood, compared to the unwavering devotion he had for you? he had never abandoned you. he had never let you go. and that—wasn’t that enough?

of course, he lashed out sometimes. hurt you, left bruises that bloomed like violets under his grip, spat words that cut deeper than any blade. but no one was perfect. he certainly wasn’t, but neither were you. and if you ever dared to point that out, dared to tell him he was flawed, he would laugh—sharp and condescending, gaze slicing through you like a weapon. you? telling him he was in the wrong? how amusing.

had you forgotten every little mistake you made? every time you disobeyed, every moment you disappointed him? he would remind you of them all, recounting each one with that knowing smirk, every slip-up, every failure. yet despite it all, he still kept you by his side. he still loved you, still held you close, even when you were ungrateful. he had never truly hurt you—not on purpose. he had only made sure everyone knew what was his.

you had given yourself to him first. whispered those sweet words before he ever did. you started this. and he was going to make sure you never forgot it. his lips brushed against your scar, his breath warm, reverent. a devotion so twisted it bordered on worship.

overprotectiveness – xiao.

xiao does not understand human fragility. he has spent centuries watching them crumble beneath the weight of time, has witnessed their fleeting existence burn away like paper in the wind. when you stepped into his world, he warned you to leave. you did not. when he told you it was dangerous, that he was dangerous, you only smiled. and so, against all reason, he let you stay. you are the first thing he has ever wished to keep.

he touches you as if you are made of glass, eyes scanning your skin for the smallest of wounds. he does not know how to soothe, only how to watch. and so he does—silently, relentlessly, unblinking in his observation. you tell him he worries too much, that you are fine, that you are not as fragile as he believes. but then you fall ill, and his voice sharpens into something cold. you should have worn warmer clothes. you should have listened to him.

and when harm comes from another, when someone dares to insult you, to lay a hand on you, his restraint shatters. the yaksha is feared for a reason. you whisper his name through clenched teeth, hands grasping at his own in desperate plea. he does not hear you. he cannot. and as the air grows thick with something suffocating, something violent, you wonder—how do you stop a storm that exists only to protect you?

possessiveness – diluc.

diluc has always been protective. of his home, of his people—of you. his love is fierce, a fire that burns not to destroy, but to shield. to him, you are something precious, something fragile, something that must be kept safe at any cost. and he tries, oh how he tries, to remain composed. but love and fear are two sides of the same coin, and as his devotion deepens, so too does his paranoia.

are you safe? are you warm? are you happy?

he is willing to break himself apart for you, to strip himself down to nothing if it means you will never know pain. and yet, the more he loves, the tighter he holds. he sees danger where there is none—a lingering gaze, a friendly gift, a name spoken too fondly. do not speak to them, he tells you, they do not have good intentions. do not take that, it could be poisoned. do not stray too far, let me watch over you.

you need not think, you need not worry. whatever it is you desire, whatever it is you require—let him provide, let him be your everything. he loves you, after all. and love, surely, is meant to protect.

[itertarot]

Tarot | Future Spouse

What fantasies will your Future Spouse have about you when they lay their head on the pillow before falling asleep? +18

Close your eyes and take a deep breathe, if you don't feel drawn to any image it's okay, I'll be doing more piles soon. This ain't supposed to be an +18 reading so i won't dive deeper in their sexual thoughts now.

Pile One:

If they are a man:

Your future spouse will think of you every night as the moon rises in the sky. In the most intimate moments, before falling asleep, they will feel deeply emotional and connected to you. It's as if the silence of the night intensifies the emotional and spiritual bond you share. It wouldn't be surprising if they have an intuitive and sensitive Moon in their birth chart, under the moonlight their heart will allow itself to feel the love that overflows between the two of you. You are, without exaggeration, the biggest love of his life. The feelings they have for you are tender, fluid, calm, but also passionate, affectionate and intense. Your future spouse will think not only of you, but of the family you will build together. They will fantasise about simple details like making you coffee just to see you smile (and they love your smile), or tucking you in with a blanket on cold nights and watching you sleep with a deep sense of gratitude. They will take care of you, making sure you are warm, fed and happy. Every gesture, big or small, will be filled with meaning and etched in their minds and hearts. But this relationship is not all about affection and tenderness. Your future husband will be skilled (especially in their hands if you get me) and attentive, both emotionally and physically. He will have a touch that will make you discover pleasures you never knew were possible. He will be curious and devoted, always looking for new ways to bring you to your climax, like an explorer in search of hidden treasures. They will want to be the best for you, the only one who can fully satisfy you, like a magician who knows all the secrets of your body and soul, imagining they put their hands all over you especially you clitoris and vulva.

If they are a woman:

Your future wife will be a deeply romantic and family-orientated woman, possibly fitting the profile of a tradwife. She is highly intuitive and gifted with spiritual qualities, probably brought up in a religious environment which has made her deeply attached to values such as chastity. It's possible she's a virgin, saving herself for the person she considers chosen to share her life with and explore the mysteries of pleasure together. But being so reserved and modest made her fantasies revolve around finding someone to take her on this journey of discovery, someone to show her how far the body and soul can go in terms of intimacy and connection. She wants someone to "corrupt" her in a loving way, to guide her like a puppet, but with care and respect, transforming her into a freer, more submissive version of herself. In her fantasies she imagines a partner who has complete control over her, someone who holds her firmly but with skilful and gentle hands. In this scenario, you are the person she has chosen to be her guide, the one who will teach her what true pleasure and deep intimacy feel like.

But don't be mistaken: although there is a strong element of submission in her fantasies, this is mainly due to her inexperience and her desire to break free from the chastity that has always protected her. Your future wife is above all a romantic. She is sensitive, both emotionally and physically, and may be vulnerable to pain. It is therefore essential that you are gentle, patient and attentive to her needs. She will fantasise about how great amd skilful you're in bed.

Pile Two:

If they are a man:

Your future spouse has an intense and exhausting routine, with days filled with tasks and responsibilities. When they finally come home and lay their head on the pillow, their greatest desire is to rest and soothe their aching body after a long day. They are not the type to live in a world of imagination but rather someone practical who prefers action over dreaming. However, when they allow themselves to dive into thoughts about you, even if rarely, their reflections revolve around when things will change, when your lives will finally find peace and stability. They long for the day when you can live together as a family, in harmony and tranquility. Your future spouse works to the point of exhaustion, not just out of obligation but because they want to feel worthy of you. They want to offer you a stable and comfortable life, proving that they are capable of providing and taking care of you. Their fantasies, as simple as they may be, are centered around proving themselves deserving of your love and earning your recognition. They imagine the moment when they will finally have the courage to approach you, especially because, in their thoughts, you are always surrounded by people, as if you were someone admirable and unattainable. They find you incredibly beautiful and feel inspired by your presence.

When it comes to intimacy, your future spouse may have an attraction to spontaneous and passionate moments. They fantasize, for example, about taking you home and, after a goodbye kiss, things heating up so much that you end up giving in to desire in the car. The idea of having your body so close to theirs in such a tight and private space excites them, creating a feeling of unique and intense connection. They also have a fantasy of having sex in the beach, something about the sand on your body, the sound of the sea and open landscape is very exciting for your future spouse, they also love the smell of your body after spending the day on the beach.

If they are a woman:

The fantasy of your future wife revolves around you being the person who will rescue her from the exhausting and draining life she currently leads. She dreams of the moment when you will take the initiative, stepping in to take control of the situation and approaching her with sincere and captivating charm. In her thoughts, she imagines the family you will build together, the cozy home you will share, and the financial stability you will achieve as a team. To her, you are the right person, the one she wants to marry and share a full, happy life with. However, her current reality is quite harsh. She is exhausted, working tirelessly and feeling like the "Cinderella" of her own story, a modern version of Cinderella, trapped in a routine that brings her no fulfillment. The constant fatigue prevents her from diving deeply into romantic thoughts or sexual fantasies, as she barely has time to rest. Despite this, she can’t help but look at you during the day, seeking your presence as a refuge, even from afar. Your proximity makes her nervous but also excited, as if you were a beacon of hope amidst her draining routine. She wants to feel special, cared for, and, above all, safe by your side. And when you finally come closer to her, she will be ready to give you not only her heart but her efforts and dreams.

Pile three:

If they are a man:

You, my dear, are the "damsel" your future spouse dreams of rescuing, but with an important detail: you are no helpless princess. He fantasizes about being the knight in shining armor, the one who enters the tower to save the beautiful, seemingly vulnerable damsel. This is, without exaggeration, the image he creates in his mind. However, he knows very well that you don’t need saving. In fact, he sees you as an extremely independent, self-assured woman, completely capable of handling everything on your own. In a way, you even intimidate him. Your future husband sees you as the "queen bee," the most beautiful, the most admirable, always surrounded by friends and admirers. There's even a song that fits perfectly called Miss Independent by Ne-Yo. You are so confident, radiant, and self-sufficient that he creates scenarios in his head where he can prove himself useful, just to earn a bit of your attention. He wants to be your Prince Charming, the one who shows you that, with him, you can relax and let your guard down. He wants to prove that, if needed, he’ll be there to take care of you. But deep down, he deeply admires the strong, independent woman you are, and that’s one of the reasons he feels so drawn to you.

When it comes to sexual fantasies, he imagines you giving yourself to him as a reward for being your hero. However, he doesn’t delve too deeply into these thoughts because there’s a great deal of respect and admiration involved. He spends more time imagining what it would be like to feel your body even before removing your clothes, or what your kiss might taste like. Kisses, by the way, are a recurring theme in his fantasies, he catches himself thinking about how it would feel to touch your lips, to feel your breath close to his. But because he sees you as a princess, he struggles to take these thoughts to a "dirtier" or more obscene place. To him, you are someone to be adored, not just desired.

If they are a woman:

In the fantasy of your future wife, she sees herself as a powerful queen, the ruler of her own kingdom. She is independent, confident, and has everything she desires in life, except for one thing: a bold and charming knight, and that knight is you. She sees you as someone full of energy, sociable, courageous, and with an irresistible sense of humor. Your daring and boldness deeply attract her, and she admires the way you naturally charm everyone around you. In her fantasies, you win her over with your smooth lines and magnetic presence. She imagines what your scent must be like, how your body feels after a day of activities, and what you look like beneath your clothes. And yes, she will notice that you’re in great shape ( it doesn't matter if you don't see yourself as hot, she will for sure), it will only fascinate her even more. She fantasizes about the two of you going out together, attending a party, starting to drink and dance until the chemistry between you becomes irresistible. At the peak of sexual tension, she imagines that you won’t be able to control yourselves anymore and will need to find a quick, secluded place to finally give in to the desire that burns between you.

She has a very high sex drive, and her fantasies involve many passionate scenes in risky or unusual places, where the thrill of being caught only heightens the excitement. She also fantasizes about the size of your penis (if you have one), imagining what it would feel like to have you inside her. Moaning in your ear is something she would love to do, using her voice to make you even more aroused and connected to her. She wants you to be the knight who challenges and conquers her, but also the one who makes her feel safe and desired. Deep down, she knows that by your side, she can be both the powerful queen and the woman who surrenders completely to the pleasure and passion you share, but don't be fooled she don't like to give up her control.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 10

Added dividers because I felt like the time skip/scene change would become confusing without any indication of it.

I really need an answer on how y'all feel about Immortal x Dupli-kate cuz depending on the popular opinion stuff will change 🤐 I'm willing to split a lot of people up for the drama and/or miscommunication nonsense

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 10 >>next

Some place where the supernatural meets the normal, a little place called The Oblivion Bar, John Constantine simply sat shocked at the words he managed to hear and process through his mushed brain. Bobo closes his hung jaw, drinks his whiskey, and pats his friend’s shoulder as the man mumbles a sobering spell, cringing at the effects. “I should go. Good luck, John.” And so, the chimpanzee quickly makes his exit, leaving the Laughing Magician and Death of the Endless to their business.

“I need you to walk me through this again, luv- wasn’t quite paying attention.” Constantine shook his head as he fully turned to face the smiling entity. “You and who did what?!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to bring attention to what they were saying. This was bad. Really bad.

“Lady Gotham and I took a liking to Batman’s youngest daughter and-“ John quickly interrupted her. “And gave her magical powers beyond my comprehension and immortality- yes, I heard that, did you?!” The man rubbed his face, the thought was making him want to get drunk until he dropped. ”Have you gone mad? Giving a mortal immortality is more of Dream’s style you should know better-“

Death only smiled at him, amusement filling her eyes as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. “She was lonely, she deserves every happiness those powers and eternity are bound to give her. You’ll understand once you see her.” And boy, did John laugh his gut out at that as he shook his finger. “No- no, no, no- there’s no way I insert myself into that mess- Bat’s family is already a mess and reeks of you without magic- No- There’s no way- that’s bonkers-“

Death gets up with a bright smile. “Thank you, John.” Her words make him stutter almost choking on his breath at the audacity. “Don’t thank me ya loon! I’m not going to help her, I’m not even going to see the moppet!” He can only yell and cuss as she leaves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

 “Alright, Cecil-“ The old man immediately interrupted you, the little communication device in your ear buzzing with life as he told you to not use names. “… Dude… I’m miles in the air, first of all! Second, that was like a really common name once. it’ll take a while to find you specifically, and I doubt anyone could anyway- you seem like the type that would erase himself from the gov’s documents.”

“Anyway-“ You didn’t give him time to say anything else. “What house am I supposed to go to again? And why?”

The old man sighs at your antics, rubbing the side of his forehead as he feels the headache coming while he gives the address once more. “Your brother’s teacher, Mr. Hiles, has been the mall bomber. It took us a while, he was smart about it, kept his search into biological bomb-making off the internet but he wasn’t that thorough about his paper trail.”

“Be prepared for anything and a confrontation.” The older man cleared his throat. You always made him nervous; you were an unexpected equation in everything, something he couldn’t control without risking Earth. Donald and everyone else just took his weariness and suspicion as him being overly cautious, but Cecil could tell something was clinging to you that just gave him nightmares.

“And thank you- usually I would have sent someone from the Teen Team but…uh-“ His eyes followed the action on another screen. “They’re busy. Your brother and father are helping them.”

“You’re nervous. Yapping again. Chill, I’ll take care of it. Just because I don’t want to be your little puppet doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep people safe.” You found the man irritating, but for now, he was being sane, actually doing his job, so you couldn’t complain. “Getting closer to the target. Going dark.”  Was the only warning the man got before the com was powered off.

Finally ready to land you politely greeted the man, walking through the training both Cecil and Nolan provided at the start of your vigilantism. “I didn’t expect to get caught quite this early, and I certainly expected… more conventional authorities when the time did come.” Professor Hiles just sighs and welcomes you in by your birth name. “How did you-“

“Are you kidding me? Mark is unable to shut up about you. And you forget to wear your hood more times than you do wear it.” The man said as he took off his sweater. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the fourth missing student. I assure you, I have no intention of resisting.” Well… This was easier than expected.

As he started to confess about how he started doing this, he led you to his basement. “Mr. Hiles, while I understand the loss of a child to suicide, a divorce, and the loss of a job ruined you until you hit rock bottom, avenging your son like this-“

“I’m not avenging the death of my son. That would be far too cliché.” Your eyes landed on the teen strapped to the table once he turned on the light, breath hitching as you saw the skin of his arms merging sloppily with the metallic torso the professor modified. “It’s the destruction of my life that has me seeking revenge.”

“The domino effect of pain and sorrow that these monsters create. Children who spend too much time at the mall, attend parties, consume alcohol, and play sports when they should be studying and doing homework.”

“I understand your ire, I’m not one for parties or drunks, but not all kids who do that stuff go to extremes, that’s a flawed logic- it does not give you the right to play god and do-“ You tried to placate him, keeping your tone soft and even, to try and make him see reason. “What I did to all of them, turning them into living bombs, an instrument with which to exact my revenge… my crusade to end the pain and sorrow by these- ‘popular’ kids… I feel no guilt for.”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate end to my crusade-” Mr. Hiles ripped open the shirt he was wearing, revealing the same mechanism the unconscious teen had. “-than the death of a superhero!” You quickly acted, not letting him talk more beyond that as the timer set to 50 seconds started trickling down while you grabbed him, breaking through his ceilings and roof and flying high in the air.

“Is this really how you want to die? Suicide bomb? You still can make this right- you don’t have to die like this just tell me how to deactivate it!“ Your eyes remained on the clock. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen. The man just chuckled a dry, humorless laugh. “Do it. There is nothing for me anymore.” Five, four, three.

You couldn’t tell if what you felt was sorrow or shame, but you knew you were defeated. The man was going to get one final death, but it won’t be yours. As your flight came to a stop well above the clouds, you threw the man higher in front of you as the clock struck one second, and as it hit zero, the bomb detonated, the range and heat of the explosion destroying any remains while pushing you back a bit.

Your eyes remained on the cloud of smoke it created. If the cops found him before you did, the bomb would have wiped out the neighbors, too. That’s what hero life was, what it is. Sacrifices left and right that only made you feel more at odds with this job than before.

As you went back to the house, you activated the com, putting it back into your ear. Cecil immediately informs you that the police are en route as well as his clean-up team. “Get an explosive ordnance disposal technician, too. There is a teen in the basement, the bomb doesn’t seem active yet, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll send a report of what happened soon.” You stayed until Cecil’s people showed up, just to be sure the boy was still breathing and that the bomb wouldn’t activate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Helping Brit and the other heroes clean up the rubble from the alien attack helped keep your mind off things. The Brit enjoyed talking about his kid and wife, yapping until he needed to take a breath and then starting again keeping a smile on your face.

You enjoyed helping clean up, especially when there were no casualties, today wasn't that type of day. But it had become the easy, relaxing part of the job, pick big rubble up, place it into the waste trucks, pick another piece up, make sure to not hit the man in the trench coat, put it in the waste- wait…

Your head snaps back to the man, squinting as your eyes meet. You each take a second to take each other in before your eyes widen in surprise. “Hello, luv. I’m-“ You couldn’t help your excitement as recognition finally settled into your brain. “I know you-“ Your words made John cringe and tense up. When others said that it never ended well for him. “You’re Johnny Con-Job, the lead singer for Mucous Membrane, dude, your band got me into the punk culture.”

That… wasn’t what he expected. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of that or fight back the mental breakdown that was creeping up his spine. “You’re a bit young for that slop, no?” You just shrug. “Your songs got me to finally put myself first, to get the courage to sneak out, see other stuff beyond the walls of my first house, help others, and leave my neglectful family before they could seriously hurt me.” Her words worried him. John never took Bruce as the “lock his kids up” type, but the man was as paranoid as they came, he wouldn’t put that above him.

“It may be slop and shitty vocals, but it’s what I needed to hear.” You teased him while putting the rubble in the waste collector. He watched as you approached him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes. He could see what Death meant. “I need to talk to you. I’m not quite sure about what luv, but I think it’s about Batman-“ He didn’t get to finish, as soon as the name left his mouth, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted well above the clouds, way too close to the ozone layer. “Did he send you?” you hissed, giving his neck a warning squeeze.

Yup. He definitely saw what Death meant as your eyes glowed a Lazarus green. “Nno-“ He choked out. “Did Bruce Wayne send you?” her question was met with the same answer. Your grip softened, grabbing him by his coat instead of his neck as you brought him closer. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to talk in private…” He whispered as he realized the situation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

This was a whole mess that John Constantine knew he should have stayed out of- he knew! From Bruce to the whole family basically ignoring the kid, not even telling her about the vigilantism, to the rogues taking her in and doing a better job of raising her to her running away and getting adopted by another hero- a hero that John knew wanted to conquer the world, the whole fucking race wanted to, the fucking demons had a problem with that and wouldn’t stop complaining to him like he can fix it- he takes a deep breath in. “Why are you telling me all of this?” He whined, rubbing his face as he sat on the edge of some skyscraper with you.

“I’m not hiding my past, I’ll happily snitch and tell a reporter that Bruce Wayne is a shit father, they all just assume I’m Nolan’s actual kid that was in the hospital for a deadly something or whatever.” You shrug. “Please don’t- not because I care about the bellend- I just don’t want to deal with… Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, that may be great blackmail.” His words only made you snicker.

He didn’t know where to begin. Did she know about the Viltrumite? Was she in cahoots with him? Should he tell her any of that? Would she even believe his ass? Maybe he should get the JL involved...

The scruffy man shook his head. “Not why I’m here. You said your hero name is Sorceress? Great, so you know you have magic powers, that makes it easy-“ John took in your shocked expression. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, it never could be. “If this was another world, I’d call you crazy.” You told him simply. “But Midnight City is cursed, and I guess that makes sense… Is that why I can hear the shadows speak?”

John nodded before doing a double take, asking you to elaborate on the shadows speaking part.  “They just speak, whisper, giggle the whole thing. They can also emit what they feel. They’ve always been present, they’re not as strong here, but I think that’s because they’re more tied to Gotham and Midnight City… or just- where there is more darkness.”

“Well, you’re not far off there, love.” The man nodded in agreement as his eyes drifted to the dark dome around the cursed city. He knew where to start. “This is going to be a long explanation, you better strap in, hen, and let me finish before you ask questions.”

“You remember the painting and murals you made of gods and other entities, demons, angels, the whole sort, in Gotham and here? Yeah, they brought the attention to you from the entities you drew. Some of the moppets took them as a higher form of offering than others, a few of them decided to stick around you.”

“Those have also decided to- ‘bless’ you with a few gifts, I’m not sure of all of them, but I know specifically that Lady Gotham offered the shadows as a companion and protector, and I know that Death of the Endless has blessed you with… well, immortality.” There was no way of walking around that fact. “I don’t remember if any of these two also gave you your powers, I was quite sloshed, but someone did.” John looked at the kit, taking in her shocked expression before he nudged you a bit. “Come on, kid, say something. You got me all worried here.”

“It’s all just- a bit much.” You mumble. “Yeah, I get it. A lot for you to shoulder, but I’m sure you’ll power through- oh, thanks love… Wha- How-“ John’s eyes moved from the beer in his hands to the energy can you were looking at. You just shrug. "I wanted to know if I could, thought…” You narrow your eyes at the can in your hands. “I’m not sure if this is made out of thin air or just- teleported or something.”

Constantine just slowly looks back at his beer mug… She was taking this better than most. He hoped it was because the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth, he's sure, so with a shrug, he takes a sip, humming with delight at the taste, muttering something about this being real beer. “You’re here to help me, right? Like- with my powers… I- I think I need help with this whole worshipping gods and demons- entities- thing, too.”

He knew the easy way out would be to say no, to just leave, she had done just fine without him… But that isn’t what came out of his mouth. “Sure, poppet. Just keep on giving me this fine beer.” Given his track record with people and magic, he shouldn’t feel this accomplished at your happiness, but he was always quite selfish, so he returned your hug, even if he was a bit stiff.

“Now- usually the normal thing is to go from small stuff to big, teach the basics, but I’m not one for rules. Have you ever wanted to teleport via portals?” The big mischievous smile you gave him was all the answer he needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You came home at the same time as Nolan and Mark, everyone’s first stop after greeting Debbie was their bedrooms to refresh themselves before going back to the dining area. “I’m going to be honest, Nolan, the longer hair and full beard fit you better than the silly mustache. Right, mom?” You couldn’t help the teasing as the whole family ate. Debbie looked at Nolan with a scrutinizing eye, before sighing and giving an amused smile. “I’ll definitely miss the beard.”

Mark snorted at the teasing as Nolan pouted, brows furrowing. “It’s not silly- it’s a rite of passage into manhood by the Viltrumite culture-“ you couldn’t help but interrupt. “It’s still a silly-looking mustache. What does the Viltrumite rite of passage for women look like?”

Nolan’s momentary displeasure at the mustache comment was overlooked as the inquiry about the Viltrumite women was brought forth. “Huh… I’m not sure, I never really paid attention to that. I think some cut their hair.” A puff of air escaped you in amusement before deciding to tease him some more. “Well, you clearly weren’t planning for a daughter that’s sure.”

Debbie just took in the chatter. She enjoyed the easy atmosphere, the laughter of her kids. “So, how was everyone’s day?” She asks once the chatter stops. “Oh, I met the Teen Team and helped them with the Flaxan attack, dad got kidnapped by them while I was trying to gather up survivors, made friends with Atom Eve, and met an alien called Allen who apparently got the wrong planet.” Mark shrugged.

“I spent the last eight months enslaved by an army from an alternative dimension, although it seems much less time has passed here. About a week ago, I led a revolt against my captors and regained control of my powers. Today, a team of scientists from the rebellion found a way to get me home.” Nolan lied as easily as he breathed.

“One of Mark’s teachers was turning his classmates into organic bombs in order to take revenge on kids he felt were like the ones who led his son to commit suicide. He turned himself into a bomb also and tried to take me out with him but clearly, it didn’t work in his favor. Helped clean up after the Flaxan mess, and met the lead singer of Mucous Membrane who apparently is a mage. He was here on behalf of Death herself to help me and tell me that my powers aren’t because I’m a meta, they’re magic. Oh, and also, I’m allegedly immortal.” You took a sip of water. “Lex also wants to know if anyone would be interested in attending one of his rich folk parties.”

At the quietness of the room, you lifted your eyes from your plate to look at everyone’s shocked glance. “What?” you ask with a mouth full of food.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That night, the teens wanted to sleep with their parents, both needing reassurance. Debbie and Mark were already gone, sleeping deep and peacefully. “Dad… You awake?” your question was whispered as your head lay on Deborah's shoulder. He answered with a warm hand squeezing your shoulder and a quiet hum. “...How do you move past people you can’t save or the people we have to sacrifice?”

Nolan wasn’t sure how to answer that, he’d never felt anything for the people he couldn’t save. He knew that if he had to save earth’s people or his kids and wife… Well… Earth can be populated again. “You look at the people who you did save. We can’t always save everyone, that’s the sad reality. It’s… painful. But it’s a truth all heroes have to come to terms with. Even I can’t save everyone.” Nolan wrapped his arms around his girls and son tighter, pulling everyone closer. “If all you could save was a person, you still did everything you could. If you couldn’t save anyone, you just have to keep your head high and try again.”

You snuggled closer into your mom, feeling her arm instinctively wrap around you as you draped yours over her and Nolan’s stomach, your fingers laying on Mark’s wrist. The sad reality of being a hero...

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I'M REALLY SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEBODY- MY DOC SOMETIMES FORGETS TO SAVE AND I HAD TO READD PPL