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deathsmallcaps · 4 hours ago

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I’m autistic and despite growing up with a Black Stepdad and Black friends, and thinking the Civil Rights movement and the Civil War were cool, and even going to schools with pretty inclusive curriculums, I sometimes repeated mean things I heard (often from my Dad) or did not give thought to how certain lines of questioning/conversation may feel different towards different people. I was, and still occasionally am, racist. Among other things.

(I initially grew up in an almost exclusively Black and white town that was roughly half & half, and later moved to an area that was more half & half Indian and white. I have only ever lived in the east half of the USA)

Sure I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Sure I did believe that everyone should be treated well. Sure I loved the Black people around me. I’ve never said the n-word - I didn’t even know it existed until I read Roots by Alex Haley. But I didn’t consider nuance, I didn’t consider feelings in my thirst for knowledge, and frankly, I have a tendency to be obnoxious. ALL normal things for an autistic person. But ALL things that are quite hurtful. After all, don’t we get hurt when someone stereotypes us?

Looking back, I feel like my Stepdad should have been more active in my social education. He wouldn’t have been educating some random white person who walked up and hurt him, he’d have been teaching his daughter (he’s always treated me how his family treats daughters, for better and for worse).

But my mom, the white woman, stepped up as a good ally. SHE gave me Roots. SHE talked me through dealing with ‘white guilt’ and how that’s nobody’s problem but mine. SHE encouraged me to educate myself, and to consider what I say before I say it. SHE helped me realize my privilege. With help from a psychologist, we both learned how to handle my social issues. And now I’d say I’m a more conscious person. It doesn’t hurt that one of my English classes focused on the Harlem Renaissance and another taught Othello and Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. Since then, I’ve sought out media and information by and about creators of Color and my relationship with my Black family members and friends has definitely improved.

I’m lucky guy. My autism is not the most debilitating in the world, and I do think it gives me valuable insight into said world. Acknowledging it helped me gain insight into how I work.

But I’m still an upper-middle class Anglo-American culturally-Christian white adult whose worst personal interaction with the cops is getting a speeding ticket. The only things I could possibly be oppressed about here is my sex/gender and if someone clocks my neurodivergencies. Maybe my allyship if its a REALLY crazy situation. It’s my responsibility to be aware of my privilege, love my fellow humans, and educate myself on how to respect others. Loving does NOT equal respecting. They’re different things. Just like how your family may genuinely love you but do not respect or understand you.

All those things on the news, about children getting shot because they’re wearing their hoodies up, or having a panic attack, or whatever bullshit excuse a white person with a gun can dream up. Those are extreme and something to be worried about. That kind of behavior should be condemned. But that doesn’t cover every single angle of oppression. And oppression isn’t just perpetuated by the nebulous concept of The System! It’s also perpetuated by Our Common Man. AKA, you and me sometimes.

Sometimes, you’re going to reach out in ways that have worked before and it’s not going to be appropriate. That hurts! But if you do your best to incorporate that info into what you’ve learned, then that’s awesome! I’m proud of you! You’re going to have to keep doing it though!!! And that’s okay!!! That just means you’re getting to live life!!!

Apologize and/or change the subject and educate yourself soon after. Those are some of the best skills you can have. You can’t go back, you can only improve the future.

Another really good bunch is being honest and introspecting on why certain things make you uncomfortable. Once you know, own it and desensitize! Be a good friend!

This is getting very long. If you want some concrete examples,

Some of these things happened because I am autistic. Some may have happened because I was a white kid. But for whatever reason it occurred, as an autistic older teen and now adult, I needed to learn from these experiences so I can help make the future better :). You are capable of learning these things too.

Problem: I once asked a Black friend how it was to be Black. I was trying to educate myself! It wasn’t appropriate though. I kept asking repeatedly, and we were like 13. She was a child and shouldn’t have to have the answer.

Solution: My mom redirected me to Black literature so I could learn from adults willing to talk about it. She didn’t owe me information, nobody does, but especially not kids.

Problem: I was 16 (in 2017). I was talking to a Filipino American* girl who was just coming out of homeschool. I wanted to be nice and relate to her, and I loved Disney. Turns out so did she! I asked if Mulan was her favorite Disney Princess. My thinking was ‘I like Tiana best but I really liked seeing Anna because we have the same hair color -> I know representation is important because (at the very least) it’s nice to see people who look like you being heroes -> Mulan is cool and the Asian princess ™. I was trying to relate and be kind. But that wasn’t appropriate. I made a general assumption, and made her uncomfortable. Mulan was a favorite of hers, it turned out, but that does NOT matter. A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared. And it’s THEIR right to close it up again.

*despite Filipino and Filipina being gendered, when saying demographic information, such as ‘Filipino American’ about a woman, the trend is towards -o. I couldn’t find a direct answer, but multiple sources said Filipino-American about ladies.

Solution: Remember everyone is an individual and may not want to talk about all aspects of their life. Let them offer information about aspects that you aren’t knowledgeable about, like being of Filipino descent, or being homeschooled, or how it is being a Disney fan of Color. If they bring it up, offer responses like ‘I didn’t know that. Cool!’ Or make encouraging noises like ‘huh!’ Or ‘neat!’ So they know it’s safe to keep talking to you about a subject that is important but sensitive to them. And they might not ever bring these things up! And that’s okay. It’s their business. Retrain your nosiness elsewhere, it’s hard but possible :)

I must reiterate: A person’s relationships with their demographic’s stereotypes are extremely private unless shared - and it’s THEIR right to close the subject. And for the record, just because there is a Southeast Asian Disney Princess now (Raya), it would NOT have been appropriate to ask if her favorite was Raya. That’s still stereotyping, it’s just updated for the 2020s.

Problem: I love name meanings. I couldn’t find my one Indian-American classmate’s name meaning online, so I went up to him and after starting a pointed conversation, I told him my name’s meaning in the hope he’d tell me his. He did, but he was uncomfortable. Because I didn’t really talk to that guy before, and in a roundabout way socially coerced him into giving up information to a relative stranger. Information he probably didn’t care that much about, but it was obvious I only wanted one thing from him. It was rude and showed that I hadn’t really cared about him before I wanted something from him. And people generally don’t like being treated like living wikipedias of their cultures!

Solution: sometimes you’re going to have to accept you aren’t owed information. This also applies to my first example. If you can’t find information online, even if you find the perfect subreddit that welcomes questions like these*, they might not give you an answer. And that’s okay. It might drive you a little mad about missing that bit of information, but it will not end your world. Trust me. I’m putting a lot of personal mess-ups on here, I’m not going to start lying to you now.

*people don’t like being treated like walking Wikipedias for their cultures in general, but sometimes the armor of online anonymity makes people more comfortable sharing. Not always though. Maybe check other questions from other people in that subreddit or tumblr or whatever to find an appropriate format, or get a general sense of what kind of questions are answered happily. You may just have to let it go.

Problem: when I was 17 my mom introduced me to two women, a Black woman and a white woman. She told me offhandedly that one played in an American football adult league for fun. Being a feminist, I was really excited by that, because American football is a very male sport. I didn’t end up talking to either of them about it, but I sure thought a lot about that during that encounter. Afterwards, I said something to my mom that made it clear I thought the Black woman was the football player. She corrected me and said “You thought it was [her] because she’s Black,”. She was correct, I felt terrible for stereoptyping, and I cried (I cry easily). I wanted to go apologize or something. My mom pointed out that the apology would be for me, not for her. Which is an issue (I still struggle with this in many different contexts)

Solution: if you want to apologize, ask yourself ‘Am I doing this because I want the person I hurt to know how apologetic I am? Am I doing this because I want to hear ‘it’s okay’?’. If either of those has a yes as the answer, then reconsider making the apology. If the person really does appreciate apologies, then offer one. But keep it simple. Don’t mention your feelings or why you messed up. That doesn’t matter, and can make them feel guilty for their own valid feelings. And regardless, focus more on not repeating the behavior. That’s the best apology, even if you never see the person you hurt again. You hurt someone, so *I must stress this* it is NOT about you.

Problem: I’m going to college in a very white town (it fits my budget). My first week there, a white friend E was talking about her friend P, who I was to meet later that day. She mentioned they are a minority (E is from that white college town and is still learning too. She’s improved quite a bit. She doesn’t lead with that kind of information anymore) who was also from the area. I was confused. I had pretty much only seen white or white-passing people the last few days. I asked, and she told me they were Indian* and from a local people (among others. Like many Indigenous people, P isn’t from just one Indigenous or only-Indigenous culture). I was shocked. I was under the impression that all the Indigenous people from [college] area were killed or forcibly removed or assimilated.

*P prefers the term Indian when talking about themself or their family, due to their multiculturalism and preference to older terms, but the most polite thing is to refer to an Indigenous person by their People. So if you’re talking about M, your Salish friend, and for some reason his ethnicity comes up, call him Salish - not Indian, not Native American, not Indigenous. Unless he prefers those terms. Though individuals generally prefer the more culture-specific name. If you’re talking about a group of different people or peoples who are original inhabitants of the Americas or Australia or the Pacific Islands (and sometimes Africa), then use Indigenous. That being said, always defer to personal preference.

Solution: I let P bring up info about their peoples when they wanted. I looked up some things later. I also did some research and found that the Indigenous people of my [home] area weren’t all gone either. I had been taught in my state history class who they were exactly, and then they were never never brought up again. Then I learned about things like the Trail of Tears and residential schools, and assumed their culture was effectively dead. I was wrong, thankfully!

Problem: This is not exactly racist but I feel that it’s relevant. I’m talking to this guy right now. A couple weeks ago, we went out and I brought up a question that I thought was pretty normal for dates/conversations where you get to know one another. “What do your parents do?” After all, parents’ occupations affect you! He told me that his mom is working as a fruit seller after being laid off and his dad was laid off (his parents are divorced like mine) and is currently unemployed. FAUX PAS! Yikes. Both of my dads have histories of unemployment (my Dad likes to quit, my Stepdad has gotten laid off multiple times*) but all are employed right now. And I know how awkward (at the very least!) it is to be in that situation, especially money-wise.

Solution: I looked up bad questions to ask on dates later and yup! That was on there. Don’t talk money until you you’re serious. Apparently doing it so early on is a very white/privileged thing. One website I read even said that explicitly.

*Once you get laid off once, you’re often a new hire at a company. And being a new hire, you’re more likely to be laid off, because companies value seniority. Thus, a self-perpetuating situation unfortunately. I wouldn’t be surprised if other factors came into play - reminder: my stepdad is Black, and employers may use that information when choosing which new hire to let go. But we know for sure that seniority is definitely part of the issue.

General Reminder 1: Don’t ask to touch or talk about Black people’s hair. No comments about getting it wet, how it’s different from yours, how working with it must be different, interesting little factoids you may have learned about their hair, weaves, wigs, and so on. If you genuinely have curly hair at 2c-ish or higher (see picture), then it’s a different story. You may have something in common that’s fun to talk about! Comments on how nice it looks are sometimes okay, but consider: are you only saying these complements when it’s straightened or braided? Or only when it’s natural? If you really are only complementing them when it’s on one side of the spectrum, then that’s an issue. Respect Black hair as an art form or even just a part of existence, in its entirety.

Also don’t say it’s kinky or wild hair. Black people can sometimes use those terms for themselves but it isn’t for us. There’s literally a ton of historical laws and economies that have oppressed Black people’s hair and those are some of the things that we should just listen to them about.

This can applied to other cultures’/races’ clearly visible differences from your own features, too.

General reminder 2: look at the kind of things you like to watch, or read, or even react with, like memes. Are they making fun of the minority people in those books? Would that meme be as funny to you if the person in the picture had facial features more like yours? Are the people who look like the person in that meme using that meme? Are People of Color getting to talk and have non-stereotypical storylines in your TV show? Are they even there?

Lastly: You’ve read all this advice from a white person. Go seek out advice, stories and more from other sources!!! It might hurt in the moment but that’s just called growing pains. You will still make mistakes but you have to look to the future! Learning from the sources themselves will be a lot more useful towards creating a pattern of information and behavior your autistic brains can utilize :). Let’s all go be better allies!

The books and authors I mentioned are great places to start and another really good one that I cannot recommend enough is the Levar Burton Reads podcast. But don’t just read fiction. Crack open some history books or podcasts or tv shows. Give yourself some context. Personally I adore Wikipedia when I want to find out more but I don’t have a book. Okay I’ll stop.

idgaf how autistic you are stop being racist😭😭

#personal testimony here #under the cut I spell out some examples #edit: I wrote this ages ago and wanted to clear my drafts a bit #just updated some details where I caught them and I’m posting now #idk if this would be helpful but I hope so!

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whatifitis · 2 days ago

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♡ 150 reasons - LN 4 ♡

Summary: 150 reasons why lando loves you

Author's note: idk i thought it'd be nice

CW: literally just fluff

Hi baby!! :D

I saw this trend on tiktok just now and wanted to do it for you. I love you a lot and you know how hard it is for me to show it sometimes. I thought this could be a nice small way to at least show you a bit of how much I love you. My love for you knows no boundaries. <3

P.S. if there’s any misspelings dont say shit cause im dyslexic and you know that :(

Your smile

Your eyes

The way your eyes sparekl all the time

Your rosy cheeks

Your wavy hair (you hate it but u love it)

Your heart

Your brain

Your patience with evrything (including me)

Your honesty

Your inteligence

Your humor

The way you’re always there for anyone. Doesnt mater if u know them well or not

You always listen to people and help them when they need it even if your tired

You challenge me and help me become a better person

You never judge me

You make me feel safe

You believe in me, even when idont

You inspire me everyday whether it’s work related or just life in general

You’ve seen teh good and the bad in me and you still love me

You laugh at all my jokes even if they suck

You’re my best friend (🎶you can hear it in the silence🎶)

You respect my space when i need it, even if i go about it awfully (when writing ‘about it’ i accidentally wrote ‘tit’ :I)

You give the best fucking hugs

When i get anxious, you always help me, even if it’s just when you sit with me and help me breathe

You took the time to learn about me and my mental struggles so that you could help me better

You make life so much more better

You remind me that i’m worth more than i think i do

You chose me

You make me blush and happy

Your music taste is amazing as well (btw i got us tickets to see Noah Kahan)

You’re like my personal google and dictionary

You get along with my family

My mum loves you (i think she loves u more than she loves me ngl)

You get along with max and you mock sometimes and it makes me laugh so much

You stay even if im mean and dont deserve it

You sacrifice a lot

You always put others before you

You don’t mind my gaming (even when i keep you up late with my screaming)

You always listen to me talk about the things i like

You hold my hand in public (it sounds stupid but it makes sense ok so shut it) <3

You never give up on me

You bring out the best in me

Max said he hadn’t seen me so happy until i met you

You make me feel lucky to have u

You support my career and stuff even though it gets really hard sometimes

You make the bad days better

You make everyday better as well, not just the bad ones

You never make me feel bad or ashamed about feeling certain ways

You always validate me when i need it

You never lie to me

You always tell me straight up when im the one in the wrong

The way you smell

The way you look when u see me

The way you hold me tight even if i’ve just raced singapore and am sweating out of every crevise

You stay strong for the both of us

Your attitude

Your kisses

You’re always down to play video games with me (IM SORRY FOR IT TAKES TWO I DIDNT KNOW IT WAS HARD)

The way you call me your love

You stand up for me even when im not deserving of it

Your cooking skills

The way you play with my hair

How we’re able to joke with eachother

The way you tell stories

The way you talk in general

How funny you were when telling me about work and snot shot out of my nose

You match my freak

Your singing (even if its off key sometimes)

You never doubt me

U dont mind my clinginess (sorry about scaring u in the shower the other day as well)

You never tell me to go away

You always communicate with me

You plan things for our future

When you send me vlogs when im away (or even when im home but youre at work)

You make my heart feel full

You’re consistent with loving me. Whether you’re sad or mad or happy or anything, you still love me the same

Youre never too busy for me

The way we can just sit in silence together and do nothing but still have fun

The way you help me pack when im getting ready to travel

The way you pack my favorite snacks for me when im going away for a while

We can share victories together, big or small (lol big or small, ya know, like dicks)

You never make me feel alone

You watch stupid ass movies with me all the time

You dont get mad at me when you try to teach me to play valorant (it’s fucking hard, csgo is better anyways)

The way your face lit up and you started talking faster when you were talking to me about your favorite artist

The way you speak to me so gently when i need it

The way you make a playlist for every mood possible

The way you make a playlist for every book you read, even if the book was bad

How you insist we don’t have enough driving playlists so we always make more

The way you introduce me to new things (i still wont try fish, screw that)

Youre adventurous

You put up with my shananigens

The way you made a million stickers on whatsapp

How you always say ‘i love you’ with the ‘i’

When you tell me goodmorning and goodnight even if youre mad at me

How you help me dress better

How u kiss me in a way that screws me up forever

How you always ask me about my day

How you always put your leg on mine

How you show me how forever feels

How you put up with my stupidity (I REALLY THOUGHT THE MATTRESS WAS GONNA HELP)

You’re gonna be an amazing mum someday

How you spam me with tiktoks

Your laugh is the best sound ive ever heard

Youre beautiful inside and out

How u were able to make me laugh even after i’d poked by hand with a knife when i tried cutting an avocado

How you helped me escape the bed sheet when we discovered my new found claustrophobia

How you always rep mclaren and quadrant merch

How you always make backed goods and make them healthy sometimes so i can still eat them

How when we’re out and you can tell im anxious

And when you realize it you find small ways to ground me like holding my hands or tapping my foot with yours

You love the pictures i put in the new digital frame (you cant lie and say u dont like yassified alonso)

If im hungry in the middle of the night, you join me in snacking or ordering a whole pizza

How you know you’re lactose intolerant but still eat dairy filled foods

And how you lock me out the room when you have to deal with the aftermath of eating dairy

How you're already naming our future children

How you laugh til you cry at 3 in the morning from watching tiktoks

And waking me up to watch them with you

How you get so excited when talking to me about the last book you read

How you tell me about the book theories you hear and your own theories (violet’s mom was definitely venin)

How when u find me snacking in the middle of the night, you don’t question it

How we have dance parties in the living room

How you quote random things all the time, especially tiktok sounds

Your love for musicals

How you say “me and boq” every 5 mins

Your unconditional love for not just me, but everyone

Your love knowing no boundaries

The way you didn’t get scared away when faced with so much hate and shit when we first started dating

Your strength

How you learned the “wait, they dont love you like i love you” thing in different languages

Your high streak on duolingo

Your creativity

Your piano skills

Your love for celsius (although it’s not good for you and you should probably slow down on them :( try coffee instead)

How you and my mum go shopping together all the time

How you’re invited home more than i am…

Your dedication to work

Your work ethic (it’s not the same as the reason above)

Your vast knowledge of everything in Marvel

How you interact with the fans

How you show me off in every way possibel (i might've said this already)

How you help me with quadrant shit

How you give me a room tour anytime youre somewhere new

The light you emit

The way you make everything so much brighter

How you always try to learn new things (we should try tarot reading again, that one was fun and we can scare the shit out of max with it)

The way you never let go no matter what

The way you always give back to people

The way you live everyday like it’s the last

The way you love me and hold onto me

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antinousletmehit · 2 days ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 39 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warning, suicidal themes

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The door to the cabin slammed open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges. “WE WON!” Eurymachus bellowed, stumbling in first, already waving a half-full amphora of wine over his head.

Behind him, Druses, Cassander, and Pisistratus poured in, all grinning like madmen, their armor still smeared with blood and dirt, but their spirits higher than ever. Acrisios was being guided carefully by Antinous, his blinded eyes still adjusting, but even he wore a smug grin. “By the gods, I never thought I’d see the day!” Druses declared, tossing himself into a chair as he reached for another jug, ignoring the way it nearly tipped over.

Cassander was already pouring drinks, his hands steady despite the chaos, while Pisistratus simply sighed and shook his head at the madness. Telemachus, still seated on the bed beside his wife , exhaled through his nose and pinched the bridge of it as if trying to summon patience.

“Really?” he muttered.

“Yes, really!” Eurymachus slurred, shoving a drink into Telemachus’ hand. “We finally kicked those Skiaphos bastards into the dirt, and now we’re celebrating, whether you like it or not!”

Y/n, still curled up with Phebie in her lap, looked up in bewilderment as Cassander plopped down on the floor near her, tipping his cup in her direction. “And you, my lady,” he said dramatically, “have the honor of being our most hard-won treasure.”

Antinous, standing stiffly in the doorway, scowled. “She’s my sister, Druses.”

Cassander raised his hands innocently. “Fine, fine. I’ll drink to her as a survivor, then.”

“Enough talk,” druses interrupted, shoving another amphora into Eurymachus’ hands. “Drink!”

A loud clang echoed as someone slammed their cup against another, and just like that, the entire room erupted into a full-blown victory feast. Telemachus, still holding his untouched drink, glanced at Pandora. She was watching the chaos with wide, almost uncertain eyes, the noise and rowdiness so vastly different from what she had grown used to. But then, slowly, her lips twitched into something small—a ghost of a smile.

For the first time in years, she was surrounded by the voices of home.

——

The ship rocked gently on the waves, but that didn’t stop the chaos unfolding on deck. Eurymachus and Cassander, already deep into their victory celebrations, had somehow managed to round up a small group of women—skiaphos camp followers who had been brought along to tend to wounds, cook meals, and now, apparently, entertain.

Eurymachus had a woman draped over his lap, laughing as he dramatically poured wine into her mouth, only for half of it to spill down her chin. “Ah, my beauty, you must learn to drink like a warrior!” he teased, wiping it away with his thumb before taking a deep swig himself. “A true war hero deserves a feast and fine company!”

Cassander, meanwhile, had two women on either side of him, his arms slung around their shoulders. “Eurymachus, I think you’ve been holding out on me. Where’d you find this one?” he gestured toward the dark-haired woman currently toying with the strap of his tunic.

“She found me,” Eurymachus said smugly, leaning back. “What can I say? War makes men irresistible.”

Druses, sitting across from them with a disapproving scowl, rolled his eyes. “You’d think the two of you actually won this war by yourselves the way you’re acting.”

“We did,” Eurymachus retorted without missing a beat, grinning. “We fought, we bled, we conquered. Now, we celebrate.”

Cassander raised his cup in agreement, while the woman on his right giggled and pressed closer. Antinous, standing near the railing, let out a long sigh. “Gods, you two are insufferable.”

“And victorious,” Eurymachus shot back, before turning back to his companion. “Now, where were we?” The ship sailed on, the sounds of raucous laughter, slurred praises, and playful flirtations carrying over the waves.

——

Telemachus wiped the sweat from his brow, still feeling the tension of battle in his bones, before turning to Antinous. “Where’s Acrisios?” he asked. Antinous, who had been standing with his arms crossed, stiffened at the question. His usual sharpness dulled into something more solemn. He didn’t answer right away.

Telemachus frowned. “Antinous.”

Instead of speaking, Antinous simply turned and walked toward one of the cabins. Telemachus followed, his steps growing heavier with each one. Antinous finally stopped in front of a door, hesitating for a moment before pushing it open. Inside, the room was dimly lit by a single flickering lantern. Acrisios sat on the edge of a cot, his posture rigid. Thick bandages wrapped around his eyes, covering the wounds that had stolen his sight.

Telemachus inhaled sharply. Acrisios, upon hearing the door open, tilted his head slightly. “Who is it?” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying tension to it—one that made Telemachus’ stomach sink.

Telemachus stepped forward. “It’s me.”

A small, tired smile tugged at Acrisios’ lips. “Ah… I should’ve guessed.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Bet I look like hell.” Telemachus didn’t answer. He just stood there, taking in the sight of his warrior, his friend—reduced to this.

Antinous leaned against the doorframe, his jaw tight. “He took a strike to the face during the fight. It—it got his eyes.” A heavy silence settled between them.

Finally, Acrisios gave a short, bitter chuckle. “Guess I’m no good to you now, huh?”

Telemachus clenched his fists, his throat tightening. “Don’t say that.”

Acrisios turned his head toward the sound of Telemachus’ voice. “I can’t fight. I can’t even see the damn sea outside.” He exhaled. “So what do I do now?” No one had an answer.

Telemachus felt the weight of Acrisios’ words press down on his chest, suffocating in a way that no battlefield ever had. He stepped further into the room, the wooden planks creaking beneath his boots. The dim lantern cast long shadows along the walls, flickering against the bandages covering Acrisios’ eyes. Acrisios let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “No smart remarks this time, Telemachus? No grand speech about how I’ll make it through this?”

Telemachus swallowed hard, his hands twitching at his sides. He wanted to say something, anything, to ease the suffocating air of loss hanging over them—but what could he say?

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I—” He clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply. “You’re still one of us, Acrisios.”

Acrisios gave a humorless smile. “One of you? A warrior who can’t fight? A man who can’t even see his own reflection?” His fingers dug into the edge of the cot. “I should’ve died on that battlefield. At least then I’d still be Acrisios the warrior, not Acrisios the blind.”

“Shut the hell up.”

Both men turned their heads at Antinous’ sudden outburst. He was still leaning against the doorway, arms crossed tightly, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping his forearms. His usual sharp smirk was gone, replaced with something unreadable.

“You think you’re useless now?” Antinous scoffed, pushing off the frame and stepping closer. “Because you lost your sight? That’s it? You’re not special, man the fuck up.”

Acrisios’ face hardened. “That’s it? Antinous, I—”

“You’re still breathing,” Antinous cut him off. His voice was rough, edged with something dangerously close to emotion. “You’re still here. That should be enough.” Acrisios opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat.

Telemachus knelt down in front of him, resting a hand on his knee. “You think we’re just going to leave you behind? After everything?”

Acrisios let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

Telemachus gave him a firm squeeze. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Silence stretched between them.

Acrisios eventually sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Damn it,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Antinous sat down on the cot beside him, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, well. Life’s a bitch.”

Acrisios let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

Telemachus stood up, looking between the two men, before placing a hand on Acrisios’ shoulder. “We’ll get through this. We always do.” Acrisios didn’t answer right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy @0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl @dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk @h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @yuvany @i-liketoast

#aphrodites gamble #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #telemachus x reader

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sadisticmagpie · 1 day ago

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Danny stared at him and then starts giggling. "You know, you aren't the only one to have said this to me, but you are the first alive adult to do so." He massaged his eyes, "Thank you for that" The halfa looks up at Clark and smiles.

This time, this time there's something tangible in that smile, a silver of hope. Clark looks at the child and sees, sees that this child, while a hardened warrior, a hero, is still a teenager who died. "You're welcome, Danny." Clark smiles back. After a moment of hesitation, he adds. "...Can I hug you?"

Danny again stares at him, ducks his head and gives a timid nod. "Yes" Clark envelops him like a protective blanket. His hug is just as warm as Danny remembered, full of caring and gentleness. As if nothing will hurt him while the kind reporter hugs him. It makes him feel vulnerable, tired, but protected.

Clark feels the boy tremble a bit and his hearing picks up on choked sobs. "Come on, let it out. It's okay, it's alright. It's over. They wont hurt you again." He reassures the ghost boy, holding him as close as he can.

"...what will happen now?" The child asks.

"While you recover, you'll stay here in the Watchtower med-bay. Green Lantern got some ghost yetis to help you and other ghosts recover. You'll have to stay here for however long your doctors deem necessary." Danny interrupts and looks up at Clark "Is one of the Yetis names Frostbite?" He has to pause for a bit at that question. Scott said the leader of the ghostly doctors is called Frostbite. Did Danny know them? Could the reason as to why the yetis seem protective of Danny be that they do know him? Was he healed by them before? "Yes, the leader. Do you know him?" Clark asks.

"Yeah! He's really nice, helped me a lot before with fighting injuries." Danny confirms, smiling brightly at the mention of his friend / doctor.

So Danny had some kind of medical backup, that's reassuring... wait "Did you say fighting injuries?"

At that Danny looks at him proudly, but also a bit sheepishly. "Yeah, I am... was the only one to protect Amity for a while, before befriending a lot of the ghosts and fought them so they won't cause too much damage. And then the GIW..." He gets a distant look in his eyes. "They weren't much of a threat at the beginning, but they learned. Upgraded their weapons, tactics, bases. After a while it became hard to raid them and release the captured ghosts..."

After that confession, Clark had a realization. Danny was the main protector of Amity Park. How much did he have to fight? "You are their hero." There's no doubt about it, no questioning or second thoughts. "Yes. And I wouldn't change my decision any way, or at least after dying." Danny looks up at Clark again. "What about my sister, Jazz, or my friends, or parents? Will they be able to visit?" He asks in a curious and hopeful manner.

"They should be able to, though again, you'll have to clear that with the medical team. I don't think they'll allow visitors for the next several days. Also, it would be a bit hard, with us being in space."

"Thats... good. I don't want to worry them and it'll give us some time to calm down..." Danny admits, then gets a focused expression. "Wait, space? We're in space?" At that, Danny's eyes light up like miniature stars.

"We are, though please don't try to escape your bed to watch it, at least not for a few days. I don't want you to get more injured." Clark pleads, seeing the boys obvious fasciation.

"Okay, okay, i won't go out now. Though no promises next week!" Danny smirks tiredly, with every second becoming more aware of how tired he is.

Clark notices that, lays the boy on the bed and covers him with a blanket. "Now sleep, you'll need to regain as much energy as you can while you're recovering" He said while stroking the Halfas hair.

"Mmmmmm, a'right, just a bit..." And just like that, the boy passes out from exhaustion.

Clark tucks him in, making sure he's comfortable.

"Goodnight Danny"

Danny is gravely injured by the GIW, his voice box is severely damaged.

Making use of his own voice is impossible, but through some ghostly means Danny doesn’t quite understand, he can mimic others voices he hears just fine.

It’s a ghostly ability he found out he had a few years ago, with just a sentence or two heard he can do a flawless impression of that person. Now it’s not so flawless. The mimicked voice warps and fluctuates pitch, it’s crackly and he has a hard time not switching between multiple voices with every sentence he speaks.

His voice is reduced to an uncanny frankenstined attempt at speech that activates the average persons fight or flight response.

It’s no surprise that Superman is startled when he calls out for survivors while freeing the ghostly captives and a “not a deer” version of his own voice responds back.

#danny phantom #daniel fenton #DC #superman #fluff #Fuck GIW #writing #continuation #nice #i love this #fucking love vulnerable danny #and Yetis #theyre amazing #idk about the Fenton elders #for now #nothing

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thebunnednun · 1 day ago

Text

Still Human

★Pairing:Aged up!Pro Hero!Boyfriend!Tenya IIda x Secret Girlfriend!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and what better way to celebrate with your uptight boyfriend than driving him crazy and knocking the self control out of him?

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Flirting/Fluff, suggestive themes, sexual nudity, touching and kissing, undressing together, preditor and prey, teasing Wc: long, No ageless blogs!

Make sure you read till the end! This is the 3rd installment of a Valentines day series. I also want to clarify that the pictures are to give inspo as to what your relationship looks like. They in no way shape or form are to indicate what you 'should' look like.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The air in your office was thick with unspoken words, the dim glow of the city skyline casting long shadows across the mahogany desk where you sat, legs crossed, fingers lightly tapping against the polished surface. Iida stood before you, arms rigid at his sides, his jaw tight, eyes scanning your every movement like a detective analyzing a suspect.

“This ends tonight,” he declared, voice laced with authority, but you only tilted your head, watching him with cool, unreadable amusement.

“Does it now?”

You leaned back in your chair, the silk of your blouse catching the light as you regarded him with the kind of detached confidence that made even the most seasoned officials wary.

“Because from where I’m sitting, you look a lot more rattled than you’d like to admit.”

His lips parted slightly, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself, rolling his shoulders in a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation. Control that was slipping through his fingers like sand.

You’re always like this. Always two steps ahead, always so collected, always able to see through the cracks in his armor.

It’s infuriating.

"You think this is a game?" he asked, voice sharp.

You hummed, tilting your head as if considering. "Not at all, Turbo Hero Ingenium," you said smoothly, watching the way his brow twitched at the title. "I just find it fascinating how you always seem to end up here, in my office, at ungodly hours, demanding answers I have no obligation to provide.”

He inhaled sharply, hands balling into fists.

"You—"

But before he could finish, your mask cracked, the slightest quirk of your lips betraying you, and then—

He groaned. "You're doing it again."

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your palm, a slow, wicked grin stretching across your face.

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Toying with me," he grumbled, finally stepping out of his stance, the tension in his shoulders loosening as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You laughed, warm and full, the cold councilwoman persona dissolving into something far more teasing.

"I wasn't sure how long we were going to keep the act up, but you lasted a lot longer this time," you mused, pushing yourself up from your seat and stepping around the desk to meet him. He sighed, shaking his head as you smoothed down the lapels of his jacket with a little too much familiarity.

"This is the last time I let you talk me into roleplaying our first confrontation," he muttered, but you could hear the way his voice softened, the way he let you press close without a second thought.

"You say that, but I know you'll let me do it again."

"Only because I have no choice," he shot back, though the way his hands settled at your waist told a different story.

You smirked. "See? You're learning."

His jaw clenched, but it was less out of frustration now and more out of something else. Something that made you feel victorious every time you teased him past his limits.

"Are you going to be difficult all night, or will we actually pursue this date?"

You pretended to think. "Depends. How badly do you want to take me out?"

He exhaled sharply, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting off a smile.

"You drive me insane."

"And yet, here you are," you teased, running your fingers up his tie, straightening it with practiced ease before stepping back. Tenya looks at you for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. But if you so much as smirk at me at dinner—"

"You'll do what, exactly?"

He didn't have an answer. He never does when it comes to you.

And that was exactly how you liked it.~

Tenya, ever the gentleman, gathers your belongings with practiced efficiency, straightening the strap of your handbag and ensuring your coat is neatly draped over his arm before turning to you with that unwavering sincerity of his.

"Will you be taking your car, or shall I drive you this evening?" he asks, adjusting his glasses.

You glance up at him, amused by the formality, before shaking your head. "I took the subway this morning." His eyes narrow ever so slightly, just enough for you to know he’s displeased.

"You what?"

"You heard me."

"You should have called me," he says, voice tinged with mild frustration, but you can hear the concern beneath it. He shifts his weight, glancing at you like you’d personally offended his entire lineage.

"Tenya," you start, reaching to take your coat, but he keeps hold of it, waiting for a real answer.

You sigh, leaning against the desk. "I don’t feel like hard-launching our relationship just yet," you admit, watching the way his shoulders tense at your words. "The public’s opinion of us is fragile as it is. We are fragile in their eyes. If they found out I was dating you, I’d never hear the end of it. And if they found out about the other thing..." You trail off, leaving the weight of your past unspoken.

He exhales, adjusting his cuffs. "I understand," he says carefully, but you can tell he doesn’t like it.

"I only wish you’d allow me to make your life easier where I can."

"You already do," you assure him, reaching up to smooth the line of his tie, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath your fingertips.

Typically, the public eats the two of you up. The fights, the passionate arguments, the well-televised spats—it’s a miracle no one has figured out you’re dating yet. An even bigger miracle that no one has put together that you, the ‘quirkless’ city councilwoman who refuses to move up in politics because you love the public too much, are the very same Black Widow villain that keeps slipping through the cracks.

Nope.

To them, you’re just the sharp-witted politician who constantly butts heads with their beloved Ingenium, and he’s the perfect poster boy hero trying to put you in your place. If only they knew the truth—if only they knew that the hero commission had thought sending their most well-spoken hero against you would be their best bet at keeping you quiet.

They were wrong.

So very wrong.

Because from the moment you saw him—tall, broad, blue-eyed, built like an absolute dream—

You wanted to devour him.

Not in a metaphorical sense, not in a political sense, but in a very real, very inappropriate sense.

You wanted to knock those glasses off his face, mess up his neatly combed hair, tear his cute button up and sweater vest combo, and send him back out into the public looking like he had been utterly ruined by you.

And you will.

Eventually.

But for now, you settle for fixing his tie with an extra little tug, just to remind him that no matter how much he tries to maintain control, you will always be the one to throw him off balance. Tenya clears his throat.

"Then I’ll be taking you home to change," he says, finality in his tone, as if that somehow settles the matter. You smirk. "You’re awfully demanding for someone who just got roped into driving me around."

His fingers tighten slightly around your coat, jaw clenching as he exhales slowly. "You are insufferable."

"And yet again, here you are."

His glasses slip just slightly down his nose as he glares at you, and god, it takes everything in you not to reach up and finally bite him the way you so desperately wanting to all day.

"Come on, our reservation is at 8 sharp, and I am not rushing my bath again." You tug Iida toward the door, trying to keep him moving. "Getting sparked by electricity every time you sneeze because of wet hair is not as fun as your little Pokémon friend makes it seem."

He sighs, long-suffering, but still stops in his tracks to help you into your coat and scarf, pulling it up over your shoulders with practiced ease. His large hands smooth down the fabric of your shoulders, ever the gentleman, making sure you’re properly bundled up before gathering your things without a second thought. The small gestures don’t go unnoticed, even if you like to pretend they do.

With one last glance around your dimly lit office, you flick off the lights and lock the door, the sharp click echoing through the quiet hallway. The two of you take the back stairs down to the parking garage, heels tapping lightly against the concrete as the chill of the underground lot seeps in.

And then, with a sudden, mischievous glint in your eye, you tap his arm and bolt.

"Tag!"

You hear him exhale through his nose, fully expecting him to launch into a lecture about your ‘immature behavior’—but instead, there’s no sound of protest.

No scolding.

No stern reminder about the proper decorum of a public official and a hero.

You turn your head mid-step, only to see him already sprinting past you, heavy bags in hand, like the whole thing was effortless.

"Are you serious?" you yell, pushing your legs harder as you try to close the gap.

Iida, ever the show-off, doesn’t even break stride. "If you insist on playing, then you should at least know how to win!"

Oh, hell no.

You dig deep, pushing yourself forward, arms pumping, ignoring the way your heels weren’t exactly made for this. Just as Iida is about to reach his car, you lunge forward in one final burst of speed and—barely—make it to the door a fraction of a second before him.

"Ha!" you crow, slapping your hand against the side of the car as you catch your breath.

But victory isn’t enough. Oh no.

You want to rub it in.

So, before Iida can react, you quickly punch in his door's lock code—the one you’d memorized long ago despite his attempts to keep it from you—and hop straight into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut and immediately locking it.

Tenya skids to a stop, rolling his eyes as he watches you settle into the seat like you belong there. Because you do, he has several photos of you adorning the sun blockers in his car. A handmade charm bracelet you made him is draped around his rearview mirror. His expression is unimpressed as he exhales, shaking his head. He makes a show of patting his pockets, expecting to find his keys—

Only for his eyes to suddenly widen.

Slowly, he looks up at you, and you’re already grinning, dangling his keys between two fingers as you wave them teasingly.

"Looking for these?"

"Open the door, lady!" Tenya exclaims, exasperation dripping from every word. You lean back into the seat, tossing the keys into the air and catching them effortlessly.

"Hmm... I dunno, Tenya. I could... but where’s the fun in that?"

His brows furrow, lips pressing into a tight line as he crosses his arms, his entire stance radiating judgment.

"This is childish."

"You love it," you counter smoothly.

Tenya inhales deeply, clearly trying to summon patience.

"I swear to all things holy, if you do not unlock this car right now—"

"What? You gonna spank me?" You smirk. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I’m in your car. With your keys."

His glasses slip slightly down his nose as his eye twitches. You know you’re pushing him—teetering right on that very fine line of his patience.

And you love every second of it.

Tenya doesn’t argue. Doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t launch into a lecture about how this—of all things you do—is wildly inappropriate behavior for a woman of your stature.

No. Instead, he just… sits.

Right on the hood of his car.

And damn, if he doesn’t look good doing it.

The deep blue remodeled 1978 Cadillac Coupe DeVille gleams beneath the dim garage lighting, a beast of a car that suits him in an old-school, timeless way—elegant, powerful, built to last. And yet, despite how imposing the vehicle is, Iida perches himself on the hood with ease, crossing one ankle over the other, arms folded neatly across his broad chest.

Like he’s prepared to wait you out.

You narrow your eyes, huffing as you lean forward and honk the horn.

Nothing.

So, you push open the door, stepping out with dramatic flair before marching right up to him.

You poke his side. Then again. And when that earns you nothing but a quiet glance downward, you tilt your head with a pout.

"Tenyaa," you whine, dragging out his name like a spoiled child.

His brows twitch, lips pressing together to keep from smiling. But you see it—oh, you see the struggle in his eyes.

"You just want me to die so you can eat me," he accuses, voice laced with dry amusement.

"Well, yes," you say without hesitation,

"But not for a good long while!"

That earns you a deep, exasperated sigh. A small shake of his head.

Then, finally, finally, he moves—sitting up and properly turning to face you. You smile up at him, beaming, before pressing his keys into his palm.

"I promise to behave until we get home. How does that sound?"

Tenya exhales again, softer this time, before nodding.

"I trust your word."

It’s a simple statement.

Honest. Unwavering.

And damn if it doesn’t do something to you.

Before you can react, he’s already standing, already moving with that fluid grace of his, towering over you naturally as he escorts you toward the passenger side. He opens the door effortlessly, one hand resting protectively above the frame as you slide in.

"Careful," he murmurs, guiding you in like you’re made of something precious.

Oh, you really do want to eat him.

But not yet.

All in good time.

You’re a patient woman.

You can wait.

Tenya makes sure you’re settled, smoothing the coat over your lap, brushing his fingers over the hem with absentminded attentiveness before shutting the door gently behind you. You watch as he rounds the back, carefully placing your things into the back seat, his meticulous nature evident in every precise movement.

Finally, he slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors, starting the engine, rolling his shoulders like he’s unwinding himself from the games you play.

Poor thing.

He really doesn’t stand a chance.

The low hum of the Cadillac’s engine fills the space between you, a comforting sound against the quiet lull of the city outside. The streets blur past in streaks of neon and dim streetlights, and for a moment, it’s just you and Iida—Tenya, the man who was supposed to be your greatest thorn but somehow became the safest place you’d ever known.

You stretch your legs out before tucking them up beneath you, slipping off your heels and wiggling your toes in relief before shifting to face him.

"So," you begin, eyes flickering to the road ahead. "This new villain incident—let’s hear your thoughts."

Tenya glances at you from the corner of his eye, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "The details are inconsistent. The patterns don’t match. Every crime scene is staged differently, but there’s a thread tying them together—an underlying familiarity in execution."

His large hand would look really pretty on your thigh right now.

You hum, resting your head back against the seat. "Sounds like multiple people under one directive. A smaller group, maybe three or four. Not a gang—too clean. No wasted movement, no unnecessary violence. They’re professionals, trying to look like amateurs."

His fingers flex against the leather of the steering wheel. "That’s what I suspect as well." A pause.

"It amazes me, you know. How respected you are in both worlds."

You smirk, stretching a hand over to rub slow, lazy circles along his beefy forearm. He works out and it really pays off. "Well, it helps that I never got caught," you tease, watching as the tips of his ears burn red. "And helping the hero commission out with your little robbery-slash-murder charge gave me some brownie points."

Tenya stiffens, lips parting in reflexive protest before shutting again with a quiet exhale through his nose. His grip on the wheel tightens for just a moment before he forces himself to relax.

"Hey, it’s okay," you murmur, smoothing your palm down the length of his bicep. "I wouldn’t have believed that lie for a second."

A beat.

"Oh, really now?" he finally says, voice lighter but still carrying that edge—that stubborn little thread of indignation.

"Yeah," you nod, tilting your head.

"And why is that, my pearl?"

"I told you before," you reply, voice softening.

"You just aren’t that kind of guy. I can see it all in your eyes."

Tenya exhales through his nose, but there’s something softer in the way he holds himself now, in the slight curve of his lips. You grin, reaching up to comb your fingers through the dark strands of his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

"Besides," you add,

"Who would be a cold-blooded killer with those eyebrows?"

Tenya lets out a breath that might have been a laugh if he wasn’t fighting so hard to keep his composure. But you see it, the way his eyes blink and his nose does that cute twitch thing when he’s trying not to laugh. His grip on the wheel tightens again—reflexive, instinctive—before he forcibly loosens his fingers.

"You are an impossible woman," he mutters, but he leans into your touch despite himself.

Your nails—long, sharp, painted the deepest red—drag gently against his scalp again, and he shivers before tilting his head ever so slightly into your touch. It’s a distraction, one he’s warned you about before.

But this time…

This time, he allows it.

He clears his throat, straightening in his seat before muttering,

"I love how sharp your nails are."

You glance down at them, flexing your fingers slightly, watching how the streetlights catch the glossy crimson polish. They’re wholly inappropriate for your workplace, long and pointed, an elegant danger at your fingertips.

"You used to hate them," you remark, amused. "I did," he admits, voice quieter now.

"But now I can’t help but love everything about you that I once found to be a pet peeve."

The car rolls to a stop at a red light, and without thinking, you shift, curling into his right side, cheek resting against the firm, warm muscle of his shoulder. Your arms wrap around his right arm, holding it hostage against your chest, and you peek up at him through your lashes.

Tenya exhales sharply through his nose, glancing down at you, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat of the car and the warmth of your body against his.

"Is that so?" you murmur, fingers lightly tracing circles over the fabric of his sleeve.

His jaw tightens for half a second before he nods.

"Yes," he says, voice steady, unwavering.

"Completely."

—

Your living room is a masterclass in careful arrangement, a space that doesn’t just exist—it flows.

Everything is connected, each piece guiding the eye seamlessly to the next, like an intricate web spun with intent.

Because it is.

At the very center of it all sits your couch—a deep, blood-merlot velvet piece with subtle curves that seem to invite rather than demand attention. It is the anchor, the heart of the room, and from it, everything extends outward in perfect balance. The coffee table, an oval of black glass, rests in front of it, its delicate golden legs branching out in twisted, spindly patterns. It holds scattered trinkets—an untouched glass of wine, a ring left abandoned beside it, a worn book edged in gold leaf with a spiderweb pressed into its cover.

From there, Tenya’s gaze is drawn to the shelves that frame the room, dark wood stretching upward in asymmetrical lines, bending around the space like the edges of a silken thread. The books stacked within them are placed with deliberate chaos, some upright, others lying flat, their spines a mix of deep, moody colors. Among them, small trinkets glint in the low light—brass figurines, a glass paperweight that holds a frozen crack of lightning inside, a single golden spider perched atop a candleholder.

The lighting is subtle, almost deceptive. A single, low-hanging chandelier with twisting, branching arms drapes from the ceiling, its glass teardrops refracting light like dewdrops caught in a web. The space is too fluid, too perfect in its asymmetry—it almost feels like an illusion. His eyes follow the lines, from the gold-threaded rug that sprawls beneath his feet to the marble side table that holds an unlit candle in a glass lantern.

Every element is positioned with intent, guiding the gaze in a way that makes it impossible to focus on just one thing for too long.

And yet, despite all of that, he only sees you.

You, standing in the very heart of it all, as if you had orchestrated this space to pull him in, to tangle him in your threads without him even noticing. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with literature spanning politics, law, and fiction that has no place among them but stays anyway. There are vinyl records stacked neatly beside a vintage turntable, the soft hum of jazz still crackling through the speakers from earlier, a song left unfinished.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, their heavy black curtains drawn back just enough to reveal the neon-drenched skyline, the glow casting shifting shadows across the polished wooden floors, bending as if they are alive. A few steps away, your dining area is visible, set with antique wine glasses that sparkle like starlight over the circular table. A bar cart stands nearby, stocked with top-shelf liquors, everything organized yet effortlessly casual, as if a party could start at any given moment.

And then, there’s him.

Standing near your couch, Tenya’s fingers flex subtly at his sides, the sharp inhale of his breath barely audible. He has always been well-mannered, always collected.

But tonight?

You are testing him.

His hands had just been looking for your zipper, his touch careful and precise, the slight drag of metal against fabric going to fill the silence between you. It was routine, something he had done before, yet when he stepped forward, intending to settle his palm at the small of your back—he found nothing.

Nothing but warm, bare skin.

His throat tightens.

You glance at him over your shoulder, adjusting the fur shawl draped around your arms, the soft white contrasting the deep, ink-black of your dress. Deceptive in every way—a turtleneck, long sleeves, stopping mid-thigh, paired with opaque tights that promise just a hint of what’s beneath.

But the back?

Completely open.

A sinful scoop that leaves the whole curve of your spine exposed, down to the very arch where his hands ache to settle.

Tenya adjusts his glasses, a habit, a tell. He knows you notice.

Your lips match your heels, deep red and glossy, perfectly painted, perfectly smug. Your nails are still sharp, tapping idly against the clasp of your purse as you watch him, knowing.

He should say something—anything—but he can’t seem to find the words when your eyes, lined with a perfectly sharp cat-eye, flicker up at him through the dimness. A soft shimmer dusts your cheekbones, catching the dim light just enough to make you glow.

He should be focusing on the night ahead, on the reservation, on the politics of your relationship that dictate restraint.

But all he can think about is how easy it would be to pull you back into him, to trace the length of that backless dress with his fingertips, to dip his head down and press his lips to the delicate expanse of your skin. To press his face into that small curve and become well acquainted with the natural scent there.

You are going to be the death of him.

And he cannot wait.

You smooth your hands down your dress, a subtle invitation, and catch the way his gaze follows the motion— the way his jaw tenses just slightly, the way his fingers twitch like he’s restraining himself.

"Do you like it?" you ask, voice honey-sweet as you shift your weight onto one foot, the motion making your backless dress dip just enough to tease.

Tenya nods, but it isn’t enough for you.

With a playful smirk, you reach out, curling two fingers around the knot of his tie and tugging him down to your level. He barely stumbles, ever the perfect balance of poise and control, but the surprise in his eyes is unmistakable. You tip your head just slightly, brushing your lips featherlight against the corner of his mouth before murmuring,

"Don’t be shy… I only bite a little."

His breath catches—just for a second.

Then, before he can find his words, you cup his face between your palms, your thumbs dragging along his cheeks, nails just sharp enough to poke into the hidden dimples you know are there.

"You’re just too cute," you muse, and the warmth in your voice is almost too much for him. Tenya clears his throat, desperately grasping at control, but you can see it in his eyes—how dizzy you make him, how he’s barely holding back.

"Dinner," he states firmly, like an anchor, like something to ground himself. And you hum, tilting your head, letting your fingertips drift from his cheeks to trace along his jawline.

"Mmm, yes… I am very, very hungry," you admit, deliberately letting the words curl with meaning, just enough to make his breath hitch before you pull away. "I’m ready when you are."

You can tell he’s struggling to gather himself—his hands curling, relaxing, curling again at his sides—before he inhales deeply and squares his shoulders, standing tall. A true gentleman, even in the face of his undoing.

"You are stunning," he says, voice rich and smooth, every ounce of sincerity laced into his words.

"And you are handsome," you counter, stepping in close and pressing your ear against his chest, right over his racing heartbeat. Your lips curve as you listen, pressing your palm flat against him.

"I always did love the pretty little pattern your heart makes."

Tenya exhales sharply, and for a second—just a second—he imagines how easy it would be to hold you here forever. To fall back onto your couch with you in his arms, your face tucked beneath his chin, his hands tracing your form, not out of greed, but pure admiration.

You are unlike anyone he has ever known.

No one makes him feel the way you do. No one ever will.

So he’s going to hold on.

Very, very tight.

Even if you act like a bad girl. And maybe you are.

But he can handle it.

Before you can pull away completely, Tenya leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You blink, just slightly caught off guard, before he gently takes your hand and regains control of the moment, escorting you toward the door with quiet determination. He guides you down the steps, leading you toward his car.

Valentine’s Day is just beginning.

—

The click of glass against marble is the only sound in the kitchen as Tenya places two wine glasses on the counter, his movements slower than usual, almost calculated.

He’s loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first two buttons of his dress shirt, rolled his sleeves to his elbows, and abandoned his shoes and coat at the door— a sight that makes your lips curl in quiet satisfaction.

Poor baby.

All night at dinner, you played your game masterfully.

You spoke to him in that slow, mature voice, low and warm like silk sliding over bare skin. You brushed your foot against his ankle, just enough to make him stiffen—especially whenever the waiter came by, forcing him to act natural while you hid a smirk behind your wine glass.

Then there was the French.

“Mon cœur,” you had purred at one point, your voice dropping into something thick and saccharine. You leaned in close, your fingers teasing at the stem of your glass, whispering words far filthier than the fine dining atmosphere deserved.

And then—as if you hadn’t just threatened his entire career—you smiled sweetly, sipped your wine, and carried on like nothing happened.

Tenya had barely survived the night.

And now, here you are, perched at the kitchen counter with an air of false innocence, watching him fumble for a bottle of wine like you didn’t just spend the last two hours tearing his restraint to shreds. His tie is crooked, his shoulders are tense, and his breath has been uneven since the car ride home.

And you?

Oh, you’re enjoying every second of it.

With deliberate slowness, you slip off your fur shawl, draping it over the chair before sliding off the counter. Your heels click softly against the floor as you move toward him, steps light and smooth, a predator approaching its prey.

By the time you reach him, he’s bracing himself against the counter, his head tipped down, fingers curled like he’s trying to keep himself from shaking. You gently press yourself against his back, arms slipping around his waist, careful—so careful—not to smudge your lipstick on his pristine wait coat.

He goes rigid.

And then, slowly, he turns to face you, his expression a battlefield of emotions. You blink up at him, tilting your head ever so slightly.

"Are you okay, baby?"

‘Baby?’

Oh, you’re testing him now.

No— he realizes,

You’ve been testing him since the moment he met you.

Tenya lets out a shaky, unsteady breath, his chest rising and falling under your touch. He’s trying—trying so hard—to regulate himself, to keep control, but the second you start rubbing soft, soothing circles into his chest, his composure nearly shatters.

Any other time, he would have melted into you.

But now?

Now?

His hand moves before he can think. Gently, but firmly, he takes your smaller, dangerous hands in his own. He lifts them, brushing a delicate, reverent kiss across your knuckles, but his breathing only grows heavier.

"I'm sorry, cara mia," he murmurs, his voice strained, frayed at the edges. "I feel… strange."

Your eyes sparkle with mischief, but your smile is nothing but honey. "Oh, that might be the special chocolate I gave you earlier."

…

"WHAT!?!"

Tenya jerks upright, his entire body snapping to attention, eyes wide and alert like you just told him the building is on fire. You blink at him innocently, then lift your hands in mock defense.

"You were sooo tense," you drawl, tilting your head. "I just wanted you to loosen your tie a bit."

Oh.

Oh, it all makes sense now.

The warmth flooding his veins, the sluggish yet hyper-aware feeling humming beneath his skin, the way he hasn’t quite felt like himself since dessert—it wasn’t just you. Tenya swallows hard, then drags a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling just slightly.

Never take food offered by a spider woman.

His mind is whirring, piecing things together at full speed, but his eyes never leave you.

He stares at your sexy little, devious figure standing before him, taking in the curve of your lips, the sharpness of your nails, the glint of something dangerous yet intoxicating in your gaze.

And suddenly, he realizes—

He doesn’t want to run.

He wants to chase.

Your instincts fire off just a second too late.

The moment you take a small, cautious step backward, tilting your head just slightly, something in Tenya’s expression changes. You don’t know what it is exactly, but you feel it.

"Tenya…?"

Your voice is soft, questioning, but it doesn’t stop him.

Because he moves.

Fast.

You barely get a scream out before you’re bolting, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

He lunges, just missing you by a breath, and you take off so quickly that you nearly slip on the tile. Your heart is hammering, your laughter spilling into the air as you sprint into the dining room, dashing around the table like a panicked little rabbit.

But he’s right behind you.

You risk a glance back and regret it immediately.

Tenya isn’t surprised.

No, he’s grinning.

It’s not his usual measured, polite smile. This is something else. Something wilder.

Hungrier.

And you realize with a thrill of fear and excitement—

He likes this.

So you do the only thing you can—you run faster.

You dart out of the dining room, legs burning, nearly tripping as you tear through the hallway and up the stairs. Your chest is heaving, your heartbeat a frantic rhythm against your ribs, but he’s right there.

Too close.

You shove through your bedroom door, throw yourself inside, but—

He’s already there.

Your breath catches in your throat as you spin, wide-eyed, watching as Tenya steps forward.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he knows he’s already won.

And you?

You’re stepping back, step after step, breath after breath, until—

Your calves hit the edge of your mattress, and you fall. The second your back meets the sheets, you realize—

You lost a heel back there.

And judging by the way Tenya is looking at you, taking in your breathless state, the way your hair has fallen out of your bun over your shoulders, your legs still half-twisted from trying to escape—

He doesn’t care one bit.

The soft click of the bedroom door shutting is the only warning you get before Tenya turns to you, watching, waiting.

His movements are calculated, gentle, but the tension in his shoulders betrays him—he’s holding back.

Still, he kneels, reaching for your ankle, careful, as he helps you slip out of your remaining heel. His fingers graze the curve of your foot, tracing lightly before setting it aside. He exhales through his nose, shifting to take your hand, his own swallowing yours in warmth.

Then, he lifts it.

A kiss.

Soft, reverent.

Then another, a slow trail along your wrist, your forearm, his lips brushing along the delicate fabric covering your inner elbow before pressing against the crook of it. He does the same to your other arm, his mouth mapping out devotion along the path of your veins, his breath hot against your skin.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, low, rough, almost strained, before tilting your chin upward, his fingertips pressing just enough to angle your face where he wants it. You feel the drag of fabric as he tugs at your collar, exposing the line of your throat.

And then—

Another kiss.

Soft at first, featherlight.

Then another, deeper, lingering.

Then another, his lips parting just enough for his tongue to flick over your pulse point, teasing. His teeth press against your skin, not quite biting, just enough for you to feel the gentle scrape. You sigh, a sound so pleased, so sweet that he shudders against you.

His large, warm hands splay over your stomach, the fabric of your dress smoothing beneath his palms as he bends you backward, laying you out like something delicate and divine. Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, your room casting a soft, ambient glow over the space. The room is yours, but the moment?

The moment belongs to him.

Tenya kneels back, eyes raking over you with such intensity that you reach for him, fingers curling into his tie. You pull him closer, undoing the knot with slow, deliberate movements, but just as you reach for his glasses—

He stops you.

He shakes his head, readjusting them with a slight push along the bridge of his nose, breath unsteady.

"I want to see you," he admits, voice hushed.

You smile, thumb brushing against his jaw as you promise,

"I’ll be gentle with you."

His response? A sharp pinch to your hip. You yelp, laughing, breathless, utterly in love.

Your hands fist into the fabric of his dress shirt, fingers slipping beneath to press against the taut muscle of his waist. You pull him down, drawing him into your space, where he belongs. And he lets you.

For a moment, he hesitates.

But then his full weight shifts, pressing into you, enveloping you in warmth, security, want. A sigh escapes you, lashes dusting against your cheeks as your eyes flutter shut.

Tenya watches you, panting, unraveling, waiting.

You undo more of his buttons, fingers brushing over the heat of his skin.

But he pulls you closer, closer.

"May I touch you?"

His voice is hoarse, pleading, but his hands stay rooted where they are, waiting for your word.

"You have all my permission."

The groan he lets out is pure relief, a sound deep and rich, vibrating through his chest. His fingers tremble only slightly as they cup your cheek, his thumb dragging slow, soft, worshipful over the apple of it.

Then, finally, he kisses you.

Deeply.

Thoroughly.

Like a man who finally has what he's been chasing.

Tenya drinks you in, savoring the way your lips mold against his, the way you sigh into his mouth like you were meant to be here, with him, beneath him. His body is so warm, radiating heat through the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, the material still tucked neatly despite his tie being discarded somewhere behind you.

His hands are careful, reverent as they skim your jawline, one remaining at your cheek while the other finds the curve of your waist, splaying over the thin, form-fitting fabric of your dress. He’s breathing so hard, chest rising and falling with a rhythm you’ve never quite heard from him before, uneven, desperate.

He holds himself just above you, though his body is already pressing you into the plush bedding beneath you. He’s trying so hard to be respectful, to stay in control, but you feel the way his fingers flex, gripping the soft fabric of your dress just a little tighter like he's trying to ground himself.

You hum against his lips, one hand curling into his collar to bring him impossibly closer, the other brushing through his hair. His glasses are still in place, slightly crooked now from the way you’ve been touching him, and you reach up, fingertips lightly grazing the arm of the frame. He shudders, a quiet noise slipping from his throat, but he doesn’t stop you this time. Instead, he leans into your touch, eyes lidded, lips parted as he breathes you in.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel the full weight of him, his warmth pressing into every inch of you, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. You let your hands wander, trailing down the lines of his shoulders, over the broad planes of his back, fingertips slipping beneath the fabric again to feel the taut muscle beneath. His skin is hot to the touch, burning under your palms, and when you shift beneath him, he groans, barely holding himself together.

“You’re trembling baby,” you murmur, lips brushing against his as you speak, voice low and sweet, a whisper just for him. Tenya swallows, his grip at your waist tightening for a fleeting moment before relaxing.

“I…” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to memorize you in this exact moment. “I feel…” His words trail off, his brows knitting together as if he can’t quite find the right thing to say, but you know. You know because you feel it too.

Your fingers trace over the nape of his neck, nails just barely scraping over the short hairs there, and you feel the full-body shiver it sends through him. He exhales a ragged breath, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for just a moment before he shifts, pressing soft, lingering kisses to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the line of your throat. His lips are unbearably gentle, moving slow, deliberate, as though he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory.

“Tenya,” you breathe, tilting your head just enough to give him more room, encouraging, inviting.

His hand slips lower, the pads of his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, trailing so slowly it makes you dizzy. He’s not rushing, not pushing, just taking his time, like he wants to worship you with every careful touch.

“I can’t help myself,” he admits, voice barely more than a whisper against your skin.

“You… you undo me.”

His confession sends warmth flooding through you, a soft ache blooming in your chest at how utterly wrecked he sounds, like he’s struggling to hold himself together, to remain the ever-composed, respectful man you know him to be. And yet, here he is, eyes dark and hungry, breath uneven, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lets his mouth explore every part of you he can reach.

Your hands slide back up, cupping his cheeks, tilting his face toward yours once more. He meets your gaze, his expression so full of something raw and unspoken that it steals the breath from your lungs. You brush your thumb over his bottom lip, watching the way his eyes flutter shut at the touch, the way his lips part slightly as if craving more.

“You don’t have to hold back,” you whisper, pressing the words against his mouth in the barest ghost of a kiss.

“Not with me.”

Tenya lets out a shuddering breath, his resolve crumbling as he finally—finally—lets himself sink into you completely.

The heat between you is electric, palpable in the air as your hands glide over the girth Tenya’s body, his breath hitching with every touch. His waist coat is halfway undone now, hanging off his broad shoulders, and you take full advantage, slipping your nails over the fabric, your fingers scratching over the firm muscle that tenses under your touch. He’s so warm, so solid, and you relish the contrast between his gentlemanly restraint and the raw need you can feel simmering just beneath the surface.

Tenya watches you with hooded eyes, his lips slightly parted, his breathing uneven.

Your red lipstick is smudged now, streaked across your own mouth and staining his skin where you've kissed him. It's like modern art—messy, intimate, a declaration that you were here, touching him, marking him in a way that makes his head spin.

In a way that belongs to him only.

He’s always been fascinated by how you manage to keep your lipstick perfect, how even after a night of teasing and whispering sinful things in his ear, it remains flawless. But now, seeing it smeared, evidence of how much you’ve already taken from him, he wonders how much more of himself he’s willing to give.

Everything.

Tenya trembles as your fingers find his hair, tugging gently, messing it up the way you know he secretly loves but would never admit. He sighs into your touch, his body relaxing against you even as his grip on your waist tightens, his thumbs pressing into that spot on your hips that makes you gasp and arch into him, seeking more. His lips are hot against your throat, alternating between soft, reverent kisses and firm, lingering nips that send sparks down your spine.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, barely above a whisper.

"How could you love someone like me?"

You tilt your head, fingers still threading through his hair, nails dragging lightly against his scalp.

"A man?"

He exhales sharply, shaking his head.

"No. A hero."

That word. That title. The one that sets him apart from you, from your past, from everything you've ever known. He says it like it’s a curse, like he’s unworthy of the love you so freely give.

You hum, letting the word roll off your tongue like silk, letting it sink into his skin the way your touch does.

"My Hero."

Tenya gasps, his whole body shuddering at the way you say it, the way you wield your voice like a weapon designed to break him. His fingers dig into your hips, a groan slipping from his lips as you work his dress shirt off completely, letting it drop somewhere beside the bed. You finally get your hands on him, all of him, the broad chest and sculpted muscles that he keeps hidden beneath his pristine clothes, the ones he hones every day as a Pro Hero.

He’s a perfect balance of strength and discipline, and yet, here, with you, he’s unraveling at the seams.

"You're so cute," you murmur, sighing contentedly as your fingers trace the dips and curves of his torso.

You giggle as his hands disappear beneath your dress, his touch firm yet possessive as he grips your hips like he owns them, like he’s memorizing the way you feel beneath his hands. His thumbs find that spot again, the one that sends white-hot pleasure pulsing through you, and you let your head fall back with a quiet moan, granting him full access to your neck.

He takes it, pressing his lips to your pulse point, then lower, dragging his teeth lightly over the delicate skin before soothing the spot with his tongue.

"Well," you pant, breathless from his touch, from the way he’s holding you so tightly like he never wants to let go. You grab his jaw, making him meet your gaze, your nails grazing the sharp angles of his face.

"How could you fall in love with a villain?"

Tenya groans, a sound so deep and desperate that it makes your stomach tighten with heat. His fingers find yours, entwining them together, his grip firm as he brings your left hand to the headboard, pressing a lingering kiss to your wrist before doing the same to your right. His glasses slip down his nose, and when he looks at you again, you’re met with those impossibly bright blue eyes, wide and trained solely on you, full of adoration and something deeper, something primal.

"You're not a villain anymore," he murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

You smirk, tilting your chin up.

"Mm, old habits die hard, my love."

His expression shifts, darkening with something intense, something authoritative, and you shiver at the way he leans in so close, his breath fanning against your lips. His presence alone commands your attention, and heat pools in your belly as you watch him study you like a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

"Then what am I?" you ask, your voice nothing more than a whisper as you slowly wrap one fine leg around his waist, pulling him closer.

Tenya’s gaze flickers down, taking in the way your leg hooks around him, the way your body curves into his as if you were molded for him. He exhales through his nose, then looks back up, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing.

"Once in a lifetime," he murmurs, his voice low and full of meaning.

Him and his mushy heart.

You whine, rolling your eyes playfully before clicking your tongue at him. Before he can react, you use your leg to yank him forward, making him fall onto you with a startled grunt. He props himself up on his forearms, his glasses slipping even further down his nose, and he gives you that scolding look—the one that drives you absolutely insane, the one that makes you want to irk him even more.

You smile wickedly, reaching up to push his glasses back into place.

"I didn’t put anything in the chocolate," you confess, voice full of amusement.

"But it’s always nice to play with you.~" You press your lips to his cheek, your lipstick leaving a harsh mark against his flushed skin.

"And I really do want you around for a long time."

Tenya stiffens, his whole body going rigid as the words sink in. His eyes widen, his lips parting slightly as he just stares at you, his face red, his expression utterly wrecked.

And then he kisses you, hard, like he’s trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. You melt into him, your hands roaming, helping him shed the rest of his clothes just as he helps you out of yours.

Soon, you’re bare beneath him, your breasts pressing into the mattress as he hovers above you. His lips trace along the expanse of your spine, his hands mapping every curve, every dip of your body as though committing you to memory. You steal his glasses, perching them on your own nose as you grin back at him, and he groans, utterly undone by the sight of you.

"You make me feel depraved," he murmurs, his voice hushed and strained as his fingers trail down your arms.

"Like the lowest possible form of human."

You roll onto your back, smiling slyly as you reach for him, your nails scratching down the length of his arms, making him shudder.

"You are still human, Tenya."

"Mon amour," he practically cries out before flipping you over again, pulling you into another desperate, searing kiss.

Neither of you notice the small ring box lying forgotten near the edge of the bed, the delicate script of your name etched onto its surface as it waits, watching, biding its time.

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

For Valentines day, I hosted a poll about the fic's I have cooking in the oven from my mha 'Fuck it, I got you,' series and this was the 2nd winner. As promised, some info about the relationship between you and Iida:

As a former villain turned councilwoman, your past is something the public never gets to see. Despite working tirelessly to improve the city, you're constantly at odds with pro-hero Ingenium, who sees you as a nuisance at best and a dangerous liability at worst. The two of you have a habit of arguing in the media, and your sharp tongue has knocked Iida down to the rank of Japan’s 8th top hero. But when a string of high-profile robberies sweeps through the city—each crime marked by a spider-like calling card—both of you find yourselves tangled in something bigger than political squabbles.

During an award ceremony, Iida notices something strange—your ring, an elegant but subtle piece of jewelry, looks suspiciously familiar. Slipping it off your finger in a moment of clever misdirection, he later has it analyzed by Momo, and Jirou, only to confirm his suspicions: It’s a stolen artifact, linking you directly to the Black Widow thief. Before he can act, the entire hero awards ceremony erupts into chaos. The police and hero commission storm the event, proclaiming Iida as the true culprit in front of the press. His career is on the line, his private life exposed, and suddenly, he has no one to trust.

And with nowhere else to turn, he calls you.

This fic takes place after all that, where You and Tenya have been secretly dating for a while, and tonight, you were testing out a scenario before heading out for an actual date. You live to get under Tenya's skin, matching him in wit and intellect, always pushing his buttons in a way that leaves him flustered yet drawn to you. Despite all his efforts, you always seem to be one step ahead, and deep down, he loves it.

For a man who thrives on structure and order, you are chaos incarnate.

And he wouldn’t have you any other way.

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

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bumblesimagines · 2 days ago

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i feel like i haven't seen you in ages.

how many years has it been since we ended things?

i'm sorry for everything. i really am.

Sam Carpenter

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

Hauling a trash bag in one hand, (Y/N) shot off some quick texts with just his thumb, though it proved difficult when it kept wiggling and nearly slipping from his grasp. He gave a quiet, frustrated huff and stuffed the phone into his back pocket once he grew closer to the room where the apartment building's trash chute was located, small grumbles leaving him until he shouldered the door open and noticed another person inside.

Immediately, he slapped a polite smile on his face and barely glanced at his presumed neighbor. He learned quickly that only a select few residents living in the building actually wanted to befriend their neighbors; everyone else smiled politely and nodded stiffly without stopping for a greeting. Coming from a small, tight-knit town, the difference was startling.

The person, a girl he noted from the long hair, stood right in the corner of his eye, lingering. He would've assumed she needed help getting her trash down the obnoxiously small chute but there were no bags in her hands or resting near her feet. "(Y/N)?" She spoke quietly, her voice... familiar?

(Y/N) shoved his bag into the chute and took a breath before craning his head to look over his shoulder. It took him a moment, his sluggish brain still settling down from a long workday, but one good look at her face and a tidal wave of memories slammed into him.

Samantha fucking Carpenter. His high school ex-girlfriend who'd left a simple breakup voicemail before disappearing off the face of the Earth, only to reappear on the news following the massacre that ransacked their small town for what felt like the fourth or fifth time.

"Sam, Jesus... I feel like I haven't seen you in ages." He didn't think it'd be appropriate to mention he'd seen her plenty of times being blasted all over social media or shit-talked by the students of Blackmore University. He gave his trash bag another hearty shove so it finally tumbled down the tub. "How many years has it been since we ended things? Nine? It's good seeing you."

"Eight, actually." Sam corrected him softly, her arms curling around herself. She looked somber, melancholic, sober. A part of him felt guilty for being surprised with her sobriety, though, after everything she and her sister went through, he couldn't say he'd blame her for relapsing. "Yeah, uhm.. I'm sorry for everything. I really am. I should've- I don't know, been more considerate? I shouldn't have left like that."

"It's been eight years, Sam. All that's in the past now." He chuckled and dusted off his hands, offering her a half-shrug after. "I didn't think you'd end up in New York, though. What brought you to the city?"

"Tara, actually. She and her friends are attending Blackmore now. I, uhm.. I don't want her wandering the city without someone keeping an eye out for her." Sam let out a long sigh and brought her hand to her shoulder, her fingers kneading into her muscles. God, she really did look tired. He couldn't begin to imagine what went through her head. "I never thought I'd be the helicopter type but..." She shook her head. "What brought you here?"

His shoulders straightened and he grinned. "I work at Blackmore, funnily enough. It's my first year teaching Art History. I haven't seen Tara but if she takes Art History at some point, she might end up in one of my classes. Can't say I'll play favorites, though."

The ghost of a smile passed over her face and she laughed softly. "I'll tell her to keep an eye out for you. I think she liked you more than me."

"Yeah, well, I won her over by buying her ice cream all the time so I wouldn't take it personally."

Despite the years, and the heart-shattering way they parted, talking to Sam felt refreshing. There'd been a point in his life where they'd been best friends, even though they spent most of their high school years getting into trouble and making themselves extremely acquainted with the local cops. Things were different now; they were older, more mature, and with plenty of life experience in their back pockets.

"I'd love to catch up sometime, Sam." He told her gently. "I've got plenty of stories to tell."

Sam smiled again, this time wider. "I'd like to hear some, then."

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paracosmicka · 7 hours ago

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As a trans man I love mpreg as long as it’s not fetishized. I want kids in the future so seeing mpreg is like going oh hey! Another seahorse dad! I don’t get to see myself in media much. It makes me uncomfortable when people don’t separate the 2 mpreg can be fetishized but it’s also a thing a lot of transgender afab go through. I know this is a sonadow account and it’s not that deep lol but thanks it’s cool seeing it :) saying that: more plz 🥹

This actually makes me feel so relieved bc another reason why I’m always hesitant to post pregnant Shadow is I’m worried that it can be seen as disrespectful or that if it might be used for fetishization purposes which isn’t really what I’d like my art to be associated with.

I don’t want to kink shame anyone, as an agender aroace person who does not experience any romantic or sexual desire whatsoever (i think? still learning about the different types of experiences within the aroace spectrum) I feel that I am literally the least qualified to talk about the morality behind mpreg as a kink/fetish.

With all that in mind, I do wanna say that I wish there was more transgender pregnancy representation that wasn’t just fetish. Like just googling “pregnancy symptoms” will give you a wide range of experiences, but when I was trying to look into if there were unique ways that pregnancy can effect trans men, it took a lot of digging so either I’m just stupid and can’t search things on the internet very well or there really isn’t a lot of representation of trans pregnancies.

Although I did recently learn that in the r/pregnancy subreddit, FTM does not in fact mean “Female to Male” and is actually just “First Time Mom” which makes a lot of sense bc for awhile I thought half of the subreddit were just trans guys. Then I discovered there is literally a subreddit r/seahorse_dads and so I spent awhile just reading a bunch of posts in there.

Anyway I’m fine just existing in my own space with sonadow family fluff, but when I share it I get all nervous bc mpreg is cringefail or whatever and I don’t even know if it’s cringe for being cringe or if it’s cringe bc it’s a fetish. Just know that whenever I post any art of any kind, I try to think as little as possible about how people will interpret my drawings, bc at the end of the day I just drew it because it made me happy and thinking about sonadow fluff gives me warm and fuzzy butterflies that I think people are supposed feel when they’re in love but I’ve never experienced that for another person in my entire life and I don’t think I’ll be able to. So thinking about and drawing sonadow is probably the closest I’ll get to that feeling.

And it makes me even more happy when people say they genuinely connected with my art bc then I know that the warm and fuzzy butterflies feeling got through, and I’m just really glad we can all get our little serotonin boost from these stupid gay hedgehogs.

I genuinely don’t think any of this makes sense I’ve spent 3 hours trying to write a response to this ask and then I remembered that I got zero sleeps last night so that’s probably why brain no worky but in conclusion: thank you for the ask Anon it really made my day and I’m spiritually headbutting you like a cat as they say

#asks #para normal talks #para sleep deprived talks #para rambles #i really need to organize my tags better #uhhhhhh #sonadow #mpreg #cat #my cat is here with me in my bed so theres that

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just-jae · 3 days ago

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In addition to acknowledging that parenting is hard, I think this is also happening bc many parents, maybe even society in general simply didn't know ipad parenting would have this effect. Especially here in America, childhood is treated like a a stage of pure stupidity, people dont think babies are actually learning and observing or that what they experiance is going to shape their core understanding of and approach to life.

And at the same time people still downplay not only the internet as avirtual reality and source of information, but children's media and its effect on children. Many parents simply arent educated, not only on parenting and children itself but on the effects of ipad parenting, especially the ones who thought it would come naturally (they don't think twice about their decisions).

Its easy to be mad at these parents, but this is the first generation to be born and raised with an abundance of mobile technology, where heavy content consuption is the norm.

Before this we were just learning how road-oriented residential spaces, which lack safe on-foot paths to schools and such are not only a safety hazard to kids, but drive parents to resort to driving and bussing their kids everywhere, and for kids to stay inside bc there's nowhere safe to play outside.

Consequentially we saw a reduction in motorskills and environmental awareness (ie, even knowing how to get somewherd, being able to interpret a map, being able to draw a map or describe how to get somewhere). To this day, the average parent isn't aware of this effect.

Its not nearly as severe of an effect, but this is what happens when there a new change to childhood, we don't know it's effects until years later.

The best we can do is promote awareness and push public education to prioritize practical skills and knowledge. This ultimately ties back to the failure of public education and it's misguided priorities. The fact that even boomers think the problem is the technology instead of the neglect (using tech to replace active parenting and therefore not parenting) shows that we never actually understood how children are affected in their growing years. We keep assuming they just mature and smarten up automatically and that parents just need to keep them alive and out of jail long enough.

The deranged ipad kid is just a drastic and noticable consequence of a poor understanding of children and parenting in our culture.

no offense but there is almost nothing in the world more shameful to me than letting your child be an ipad baby. I'm not saying parents don't have it hard, but I personally could not live with myself if I purposefully let my child get addicted to the technological equivalent of black tar heroin just because I'm too fucking tired to parent. literacy rates are at a record low right now -- partially because schools removed phonics from their curricula, yes, but also because fewer and fewer parents read to their children or encourage them to pick up a fucking book. you are allowing your child to emotionally and intellectually stunt themselves, and for what? I'm not saying kids shouldn't have any access to television or computers (they should, although particularly for computers I'd encourage one stationary PC in a computer room like we had in the 90's and 2000's), but no, your child should not have unsupervised, unlimited, unadulterated access to everything the web has to offer at the tender age of 6. or give them some age appropriate video games for god's sake. mario or spyro or SOMETHING. something other than tiktok and youtube. call me crazy for thinking that that's shit parenting. not to mention that by only giving them access to ipads and iphones that they don't know how to work actual computers anymore (go on, ask your 12 year old to open and save a file folder on your desktop, I dare you). a generation of shitty parents who have raised emotionally stunted low-attention-span illiterate incurious apathetic children who will very soon become an entire generation of illiterate incurious apathetic voters and consumers. that's another thing, too -- your children are constantly being advertised to and are being groomed to be relentless and uncritical consumers. your children are being preyed upon on multiple levels and you don't fucking care!! easier to call people giving you warnings "prudes" and "boomers" than actually think critically about your child and their future.

look I know parenting is hard. Unfortunately for you, your child didn't ask to be born, and it is nonetheless YOUR responsibility to raise them well and give them every fucking opportunity you can. and I am watching millions and millions of parents who could not give less of a fuck that they are actually materially disadvantaging their own children. im sick to my stomach for real.

#commentary #education #parenting #ipad kid

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rizzmura · 2 days ago

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under your skin; what are we doing

enemy!niki x fem!reader

warnings: strong language, mild sexual tension, suggestive themes, enemies-to-lovers dynamic, light teasing/flirting, angst, heated banter, emotionally charged moments

w.c.: 2.7k

chapter four synopsis: things get complicated as you try to navigate this new dynamic. are you friends? enemies? something more? niki is all mixed signals, and you can't figure out if you’re supposed to love him or hate him. every step forward feels like two steps back, and your feelings grow more confusing by the day... but niki makes his decision by kissing... someone who wasnt you.

the kiss still lingered in your mind, but you couldn’t let it consume you—not with everything else going on. you told yourself it was just a moment, a fluke. but the tension between you and niki was like a constant hum in the background, a buzz you couldn’t shake. it was annoying, distracting—yet undeniably intriguing.

you had never been more frustrated in your life.

it was a regular day at the café, your favorite spot for a little peace and quiet. or so you thought. you were trying to focus on some work when you heard a familiar voice—loud, cocky, as always.

“working hard or hardly working?” niki’s voice broke through the air like a wrecking ball.

you rolled your eyes, not even looking up. “what do you want, niki?”

you heard the soft scrape of a chair, and before you knew it, his figure was looming over you, that damn smirk of his plastered across his face. it was maddening.

“just thought i’d join you,” he said, settling into the seat across from you without asking. “you always look so serious when you’re here. what’s the fun in that?”

you shot him a side-eye but didn’t respond. it was clear by now he liked to get under your skin, and you had learned to deal with it—barely.

“so, what are we doing here today?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to figure you out.

“trying to get some work done,” you muttered, but his presence alone made it nearly impossible. you tried to focus on the screen, typing out the words as if the task would somehow help you ignore him. but it was useless. niki was always there, always in the way.

“work, huh?” niki grinned. “don’t tell me you’re actually productive in here. i thought this was your little hideout to avoid the world.”

you glared at him, but he didn’t even flinch. if anything, his smirk only deepened. “maybe i just prefer peace and quiet, something you clearly don’t understand.”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your attempt to shut him down. “i get peace and quiet just fine. i can be quiet when i want to be.” his gaze lingered on you for a beat too long. “but you don’t seem to like it when i’m quiet, do you?”

the words stung more than they should have. you didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. something about his presence—his cocky, infuriating presence—was impossible to ignore. the last few weeks had only made it worse. and the kiss? that was just a blip on your radar, right? a one-time thing. a stupid mistake. you weren’t going to think about it.

“not really,” you snapped, trying to recover. “but i’ve learned to deal with it.”

he chuckled, a sound that made your stomach twist. “you’re lying. you love the way i get under your skin. it’s cute.”

your face flushed with frustration. “cute?” you shook your head, exasperated. “you’re so annoying.”

“and yet, here we are,” niki replied smoothly, his eyes sparkling with that damned arrogance. “you’ve got me here, sitting across from you, talking to you. so what does that say about you, huh?”

the words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. it was true. he was right. you couldn’t ignore him, couldn’t push him away, no matter how much you tried. it was like he had a permanent place in your mind, whether you wanted him there or not.

“are we friends, or enemies, niki?” you asked before you could stop yourself, the question hanging in the air like a loaded gun.

niki tilted his head, his grin widening. “i think we’re something else entirely,” he said, voice teasing. “but maybe you’re too scared to admit it.”

your pulse quickened, but you kept your expression neutral, trying to hide the growing uncertainty in your chest. “what the hell does that even mean?”

“oh, i think you know exactly what i mean,” he replied, leaning forward slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “but i’m not going to make it easy for you. you’re smart—figure it out.”

before you could respond, niki stood up, pushing his chair back with a loud scrape that made you flinch. he flashed you one last look, that damn teasing smile on his face. “i’ll leave you to it,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

“you’re such an asshole,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

“yeah, i know,” niki called over his shoulder, his voice dripping with amusement. “but you can’t seem to get enough of me, can you?”

you watched him walk away, your heart pounding in your chest. it was like he always had the last word, and you hated it. you hated the way your pulse raced whenever he was around, the way he could make your blood boil and your heart flutter at the same time.

you were getting caught in a web, and no matter how much you tried to pull away, you couldn’t escape.

what were you doing? what was this? it felt like you were spinning in circles, chasing your own tail, unable to break free.

the more you tried to distance yourself from him, the more you realized: maybe you didn’t want to.

the café felt quieter now, almost unnervingly so, after niki walked out. you tried to focus on your work again, but it was impossible. his words, his smirk, his entire presence—everything about him lingered in the space like a ghost, haunting you, and you hated it. hated that you couldn’t just brush him off like you did with everyone else.

you tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to ignore the way your mind kept wandering back to him. figure it out. that’s what he said. like it was some kind of challenge, one that you had no choice but to take on. the audacity. the nerve. and yet, here you were, stuck in your own tangled mess of feelings that made no sense at all.

it was clear by now that niki wasn’t making this easy. he wasn’t going to just disappear and let you move on. every time you thought you had it figured out, he showed up again, a damn mystery wrapped in an enigma that made your heart race and your head spin.

you sighed heavily, leaning back in your chair. maybe you were overthinking it. maybe you should just let it go—tell yourself that the kiss, the arguments, the tension, were all just... meaningless. a silly game that had gotten out of hand.

but when your phone buzzed, you glanced down and froze. a text from niki.

“you looked cute when you were mad. just thought you should know.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you bit your lip, resisting the urge to throw your phone across the room. it was so typical of him to send something so infuriatingly casual, like he didn’t just blow your entire emotional equilibrium to pieces with that simple message.

you could feel your anger bubbling up again, but also something else—something sharp, something that made your skin feel hot and your pulse quicken. you didn’t want to admit it, but you missed the banter, the push and pull, the strange game you’d been playing since the moment you met him. as much as you hated it, you missed him.

you typed out a quick reply, fingers trembling with frustration and maybe something else.

“go to hell, niki.”

it was childish, sure. but it was the only response you had in the moment. you hit send, set your phone down, and tried to focus again, praying that this time, you could actually get some work done.

but then, your phone buzzed again.

“that’s the best you’ve got? you’re slipping.”

you groaned, slumping in your seat. he was impossible. was there no end to the games he played, no line he wouldn’t cross to get under your skin?

you opened your mouth to type another scathing retort, but before you could, the door to the café opened again. your stomach dropped when you saw him walk in—niki, of course. he spotted you immediately, his eyes lighting up in that all-too-familiar way. and then, as if nothing had happened, he was walking toward your table like he owned the place.

your chest tightened, but you refused to acknowledge it. you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even though the last thing you wanted was to deal with him right now.

niki pulled out the chair across from you without asking, settling into it like he had every right to be there.

“you know, i thought about what you said,” he began, his voice light, teasing, as if the moment before hadn’t happened at all. “and i think you’re right. you should really stop texting me back. it’s not good for you.”

you stared at him, biting back a sarcastic laugh. “werent you just here, asshole.”

he shrugged, clearly unfazed. “yeah and i came back, plus i’m just saying. if you didn’t respond, maybe i wouldn’t have to annoy you so much.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from snorting, the laugh coming out sharper than you intended. “yeah, because you’re so easy to ignore.”

a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “that’s the fun part, isn’t it? you pretend like you don’t want to talk to me, but we both know better.”

your heart gave a strange, uncomfortable lurch at the implication, but you pushed it down. no. not today, not ever.

“keep dreaming, niki.” you tried to keep your voice steady, but there was a hint of something in your tone that even you couldn’t ignore. a challenge, maybe. or something more dangerous. you weren’t sure which.

but niki wasn’t letting it go. he leaned in closer, lowering his voice just enough for you to hear, but not enough for anyone else to.

“you want to pretend you don’t feel it?” he said, his gaze intense now, a far cry from his usual teasing. “pretend that you don’t feel something whenever i’m around?” he paused, letting the words hang between you. “we both know it’s there.”

you swallowed hard, every instinct in you telling you to push him away, to tell him to fuck off and leave you alone. but the truth was, you did feel it. and it terrified you.

“so what, now you’re going to admit it?” you snapped, hoping to put the question back on him. to turn the tables, make him the one feeling exposed.

but niki just leaned back in his chair, that infuriating smirk returning. “no need to admit anything, sweetheart. we both know the score.”

you opened your mouth to argue, but then you stopped yourself. he was right. you both knew what was happening, even if neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge it.

for a moment, the air between you felt charged, thick with something unspoken. you could feel the pull again, that damn magnetic attraction that made your skin itch and your heart race. and yet, you both danced around it, pretending that you didn’t know what was happening.

maybe that was the game all along.

“i’m not the one with the problem,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“no, you’re not,” niki replied, his grin still there, but there was something else in his eyes now—something deeper, something that made you question just how much of this was a game. “but i think we both know you’re not really mad at me.”

you didn’t answer. because the truth was, you weren’t mad. at least, not the way you should have been.

you were just... caught. and no matter how hard you tried to deny it, the lines between hate and something else were getting blurrier by the second.

《》

tag list

@ramenoil @strawberrynull @si3rren @rikidaze @yangjungwonnie @hehabi @ijustreallylike2read

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sliceofsugoii · 2 days ago

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I don't know if anyone would interested in this AU but I'm gonna post it anyway 😋

AkaBoku in which Akaashi is a farmer and Bokuto is an unknown owl-like creature

Reportedly Missing Poultry in the Area

Farmers has been reporting about the missing cases of eggs, chickens, ducks, and small pigs every night although they were very carefully locked them up in their cages. At first they thought it was their neighbours stealing but after a chain of missing and suspiciously large bird's footprints near by, they collectedly learned that this is the work of a non human creature.

A Poor Family and Detective Boy

Akaashi's family has been stolen 2 chickens already and somehow their 2 reliable dogs didn't bark at all, it's like they were too scared. His parents just said it was the work of god, he came to take back things we took from the nature, as they pray for his next take will be the neighbour.... And so he decided to take this into his account, knife in his bag and a light in his hand, he had to expose this little thief.

The Encounter

The little pig, with organs exposing disgustingly under the harsh lamp light. And the boy, with blood in his hands and meat full in his mouth, eyes glowing like a hungry animal feasting on its new hunt. He saw Akaashi from a far, and offer his half-eaten piece of meat, with a smile full of pig's blood.

Curious

Akaashi has always been a curious boy, he's a pocket-sized farming 101 notebook, and always pays extra attention to unknown things. And now he is standing in front of this owl-like boy in his room, hand holding a freshly catch chicken and watching the boy slowly transforming into an owl as the chicken's blood thicken on the floor with every millimeters deeper the knife goes into its neck. Fascinating, Akaashi thinks, before he decides he will keep this creature around him.

A New Farming Friend

Bokuto, he said, that was how they called him, he said. Akaashi couldn't figure out who was they, and if that was a surname or last name, but he showed a great learning potential and quickly adapt into the environment.

He very soon learned how to take care of the caterpillars, bugs, weed and the neighbours who sometimes "mistakenly" took one of the chickens. He was a little bit scared of the fire but also very soon learn that if he put raw meat into it and wait for a while, the meat would smell really good and taste even better. And he learned that Akaashi had a magic hand that turned dust he rubbed onto those meat into something not even edible but made the meat taste extra delicious.

Both of them still couldn't figure out why the dogs so scared of him, but that's for a different day

#akaboku #haikyuu fanart #akaashi fanart #akaashi keiji #bokuto fanart #bokuto koutaro #alternate universe

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odileeclipse · 2 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/odileeclipse/775661244514516992/httpswwwtumblrcomodileeclipse775578488590811?source=share

Aahhg I'm fine with whatever!! You decide I don't want to limit your creativity! <3

Pure Vanilla familial connection with Child Reader PT 2.

( can be read as a stand alone or read the first part if you wish to <3)

Word count 6432 (btw I have the Korean dub so shadow milk is characterized like he is in the Korean dub vs Eng dub.)

Beast-Yeast was a daunting place, especially for a cookie who’s innocence and purity’s resolve was crumbling slowly. Pure Vanilla regretted bringing you along to Beast-Yeast but with no one more fit than him to protect you, what was he to do? Watching the faerie cookies fall into deceit, that scared you more than you’d like to admit. You wanted to see the good in everyone. And naively thought perhaps you could change shadow milk too. “Pure Vanilla?” you whispered. You were resting with Pure Vanilla after the banquet in celebration, of momentarily stopping shadow milk. You heard a tired hum in response and took it as permission to continue. “Do you think that maybe we could talk to Shadow milk and tell him to stop?” That immediately took away Pure Vanillas sleep “(y/n) cookie” He sat upright and turned his torso towards you. “I understand your heart seeks understanding, but some cookies are unwilling to listen. Approaching Shadow milk could be dangerous. I wouldn’t want harm to come to you, my light. The best way you can help is to stay safe. Trust me on this” He said gently in an attempt to push any idea you might have. After all, you had no idea what Shadow milk cookie was capable of. Still that didn’t stop you. Making sure Pure Vanilla was asleep you sneaked off, being small made it easy to navigate past the silver tree knights. Directly towards the silver tree. Of course learning from your past mistakes you made sure there would be no roots to trip past. Lest you wanted to give yourself away. You paused, opting to rest on the tree’s large roots. In front of you the tree stood tall and proud. You felt eyes on you. Had they always been watching, maybe. You felt chills. When you heard a whisper soft and hypnotic.

“You’ve come so far…your bravery is admirable” You looked around you panicked searching for the voice. “The others, they don’t understand you, do they? But I do.” You thought back to when Pure Vanilla was discouraging you, it’s not that you didn’t want to trust him but your pure heart insisted there was more you could do. The voice was unsettling soft and oddly soothing, a voice meant just for you. “I see the light in you…so bright, so pure. But light and shadow aren’t enemies, little one. Come closer…Let me show you the truth they hide from you” The voice pulled at your heart closer…you needed to be closer to the tree, your body moved on its own from the roots all the way to the trunk of the silver tree. Oddly enough the tree trunk was warm. “Who are you?” You whispered. “Oh, little one…does a shadow need a name?” You thought for a second. “I-I suppose not but…but it’s rude to not call you by anything” You said thoughtfully. Deep down you knew who it was, but you needed confirmation. “I am the one who lingers, and watches. But if you wish…you may call me whatever you like” You knew the tree had been sealed for good reason but purity and innocence only fueled curiosity. “Call you what I like?” You were afraid to admit you knew who you were speaking to. You came all this way in an attempt to stop him, but it was only natural to fear the unknown. “Ah, you already know don’t you?” Shadow Milk could only giggle. “You can feel it-like a whisper at the edge of a dream. Say it, little one. Let the truth take shape.” You hesitantly spoke up. “Shadow milk cookie?” Whether it was an illusion or not the shadows swirled closer wrapping around you like a cold embrace. The tree was pulsing. “Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner, now tell me-does saying my name make you afraid? Or do you still wish to listen?” You had a strong will and an air of righteousness. “Shadow milk cookie, Does it hurt to be sealed?” He laughed maniacally, you were starting to grow more afraid of getting caught. How could he be so loud you looked around you, it seemed like nobody could hear him but you. “Hurt? Oh little one, pain is such a fleeting thing. You stop feeling it after a while. And then, all that’s left is the waiting.” He chuckled, light and hollow, as if brushing off the truth. “But why ask? Do you pity me?”

“Pity you?” You wanted to sound strong but your answer came out as a question. “Oh? Is that what you feel for me? Little one? How sweet..and yet so foolish. Do you pity the storm before it swallows the sky? Do you pity the night as it falls?” You took his questions seriously. “Those questions are hard…I don't think I understand?” A soft hum lingers in the air. Almost as if he’s actually considering your words. “Understanding is not always immediate, some truths…take time to bloom.” He pauses deliberately, allowing the words to taint your mind. “But I don’t think-” he cuts you off. “But you feel it, don’t you? That pull, that curiosity? It’s why you came here all this way isn’t it? Or am I wrong?” His tone is playful, but there’s weight behind his calculating words, like an invitation…or a trap. “I-I should go, Pure Vanilla might wake and come looking for me.” First you heard silence followed by an amused chuckle, a knowing laughter almost as if he expected this outcome. “Of course! Run back to the light, where it’s safe and simple” his voice was smooth, but there’s an underlying undertone for you to figure out, but it's knowing and alluring. “I’m not running away” You said firmly believing words. “Oh but you are!” He said laughing. The laughter died down. “But tell me, little one…” his tone drops causing chills to run down your back. “When you close your eyes tonight…will you still hear my voice?” The air felt heavier and harder to breathe for a moment lingering before it fades, like a memory. He no longer speaks as if he’s no longer there. He lets you go, but that seed of doubt and curiosity has already been planted.

You ran back quickly attempting to not get caught. But the fear of something watching made your heart pound. Entering through the window slowly and quietly you entered the room where he was. Pure Vanilla bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, he was warm, a stark contrast to the lingering chill of Shadow milk you couldn’t seem to brush off. You climbed into bed, staring at the silver tree from the window. The shadows are gone and yet, Shadow Milk’s voice echoes in your mind. “When you close your eyes tonight… will you still hear my voice?" Pure Vanilla’s calm breathing pulled you away from your thoughts for a moment. You watched him sleep hoping it would bring you some comfort. He was peaceful, unaware of the darkness you spoke to, where you had been.

The next day arrived faster than you hoped. Though you didn’t fear the Shadows, not knowing their intentions scared you. “My friends, I’m grateful you agreed to journey with me to the spire of all knowledge” He said happily, having that air of kindness. “Don’t mention it, Pure Vanilla cookie! That's what friends are for! Am I right?!” GingerBrave said his bravery never faltered. “Exactly you can count on us!” Wizard cookie was inspired by his friend. “Yeah! We’ll follow you anywhere, Pure Vanilla cookie…!” said strawberry cookie a tad bit more timid. You tugged on Pure Vanilla’s sleeve “Am I your friend too?” Pure Vanilla chuckled. “Not exactly…ah don’t feel discouraged, you're much more special than just my friend, you’re my light, my little artist, and most of all dear to my heart.” That only thrilled you. “You’re so silly Pure Vanilla” The playful banter only served as comfort making you momentarily forget where we were headed. Carameleon advised against going to the spire of knowledge insisting “It’s too weird…even I wouldn’t venture there”

You tuned out most of their exchanges more worried about the woods surrounding you. Wondering if perhaps He was there watching. When behind you a cookie came rushing. “Wait for me!” of course GingerBrave was in awe assuming they were a cookie following us from the faire kingdom.You turned to look at her feeling suspicious her actions weren’t pure. “Phew…I…My name is Apple Faerie cooke!” You tugged on Pure Vanilla’s robes and he looked down at you quizzically. “I don’t think we should trust her” You whispered while soft light emanated from your soul jam. “It’s alright my light, not everyone is to be feared” He says to you softly. Apple Faerie chuckles softly.her sugar-glass wings shimmering “See? Even the great Pure Vanilla understands” But the soft glow of your soul jam doesn’t fade. You know what you feel. You held onto your soul jam something was wrong. And yet you see Pure Vanilla’s face is serene, does he not see it? Is he choosing to turn a blind eye? “I heard you’re headed to the spire of all knowledge! Please let me come with you!” The light of purity flickers urging you to do something, but what could you do? Pure Vanilla doesn’t seem to…trust you. No That can’t be right of course he trusts you…he does, doesn't he? Apple Faerie glances at her with a knowing smile, her eyes becoming crimson for a split second. Alarming you but everyone around you seemed to see nothing. “It’s a place unlike any other…A magnificent, yet dreadful place! I can help you, you’ll see!” Apple Faerie sounded reliable but the shadows seemed to follow her. Why did no one else see? Carameleon was more than happy to have her around “A guide?! Well that’s just what we needed!” He said cheerfully. Pure Vanilla too? "We are grateful for your kindness, Apple Faerie Cookie. To have a guide as knowledgeable as you… it is a gift." His staff glows faintly, a soft golden light reflecting in his eyes as he looks at her—not with suspicion, but with hope. “We don’t know what dangers await, (y/n) cookie stay close I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.” You continued down the path coming across a shepherd of course GingerBrave and his friends were the first to protect him so you didn’t stray too far from Pure Vanilla. Pure Vanilla forever altruist offered a helping hand. “It’s dangerous to be alone in these woods. We will help you find your sheep.”

“But the spire is the other way!” Apple faerie exclaimed seemingly not wanting to get side tracked. “Don’t worry it’s not going to be much of a detour.” Pure Vanilla seemed confident, you had no other choice to doubt him. Choice? When did you ever want to choose differently. Something wasn’t right it only made you uneasy. You wanted to escape your own dough, the air felt heavy. Perhaps you were just thinking too much. Stuck in your thoughts you followed mindlessly behind the crowd until shouting spooked you “WOLF! WOLF!” cried out the young shepherd. “What?! Was the boy in danger? Wolves are scary but nothing we can’t beat as a team!” Said GingerBrave confidently. The young shepherd giggled. “He he…No! So, when the other cookies came to the rescue, they realized there was no wold, and got so, so angry!” he laughed. Though you didn’t see what was so funny. “It was so funny” Everyone looked at him dumbfounded before he continued with his so called ‘story’. “So, the little boy did it over and over again! He cried wolf, WOLF!” strawberry cookie timidly spoke up “But…why?” you nodded. “Yeah why? That doesn’t make any sense?” It’s like our words fell on deaf ears the shepherd continued “Until One day, a real wolf showed up and took away the entire herd! “WOLF, WOLF!” The boy cried out as loudly as he could… but this time, not a single cookie came to help. You see, they thought the boy was lying as usual.” Wizard cookie had his feathers ruffled and interrupted the shepherd “What a weird story! Why on Earthbread did the boy keep lying?!”

“Yeah, lying is not nice!” Said Gingerbrave resolutely. The shepherd gave such a weird response. “Why, because it was funny.” you tugged on Pure Vanilla “I know we should help everyone but…don’t you find this a little bit strange?” He kneeled down “There is wisdom in caution” His voice is warm, patient acknowledging their doubt rather dismissing it. “And your heart is kind, to be worried for our safety.” He placed a hand over his soul jam. Voice steady and unwavering. “But Kindness is not without the risk, Even when something seems strange shouldn’t we seek to understand before we turn away?” He doesn’t trust my judgement. What? What was that? No he understands he just wants what's best for us. “If there is something amiss…then we shall face it together” You nodded taking in Pure Vanilla’s words doubt filling your heart. You heard bickering between your friends and that shepherd wizard cookie saying. “Funny? You lost your entire herd because of your lie!” the shepherd looked at him feigning confusion. “What do you mean? Oh, we’ve arrived! Look, over there! My sheep!” wolf howls followed. “T-Those aren’t sheep” you said holding onto Pure Vanilla’s robes for protection. Strawberry cookie alarmed looks around. “W-what was that?”

“B-but…those are not…s-sheep!” You nodded in agreement to Wizard cookie’s statement. Innocently the shepherd looked towards but he made eye contact with you almost as if he knew something about you. “Sheep? What sheep? See, I’m not a shepherd, I’m a wolfherd!” Pure Vanilla looked frazzled at the blue boy’s revelation. The blue shepherd left with his wolves and we were all left feeling foolish. “Let me get this straight…The Shepherd Cookie kid was really a Wolfherd Cookie kid?! I’m so confused!” Gingerbrave took the words right out of your mouth. “How are you so gullible, GingerBrave?! That little brat tricked us for some giggles! It was all A LIE!” Shouted Wizard cookie in response to GingerBrave. Pure Vanilla only sighed and attempted to descale things. “It’s…quite alright, everyone. At least no one was hurt, that’s what’s important. Let us continue to the spire of all knowledge. Please lead the way, Apple Faerie cookie.” His voice is steady, never faltering. “Yes of course! Follow me everyone!” She said cheerfully. You looked at Pure Vanilla. He looked sick.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, dusk painted the sky in hues of violet and gold. With nightfall upon us, we had no choice but to halt out journey, gathering beneath the watchful stars to set up camp. You laid beside Pure Vanilla seeking comfort in your protector. The fire crackled softly. A stark contrast to the darkness in the trees. The wind whispered through the trees, but the warmth of the camp is steady and safe. You held onto Pure Vanilla Cookie’s robe. “It’s so dark…and quiet it feels different at night” you said your voice plagued with uncertainty. Pure Vanilla looked down at you, his staff resting beside him, the faint glow of his soul jam shining like a guiding star. “The night can be uncertain, but look” he pointed towards the glimmering night where the stars sparkled like scattered sugar crystals. “Even in the deepest darkness there is always light” He gently wrapped part of his cloak around you, offering warmth. The scent of orchids and vanilla lingered, soothing and familiar. His gentle voice guided your heart. “Rest now. No harm will come to you while I am here.” His voice was a quiet gentle promise steady as the earthbread beneath you. Your eyes felt heavy, still gripping to the soft fabric of his robe. Listening to his gentle steady breathing sleep was able to find you. Safe in the presence of the light of truth.

The warmth of the campfire faded before you, and the stars blurred stretching into an endless swirl of darkness and blue. You blinked a couple times something wasn’t right. It was eerily quiet. Not like night. “You wandered far today, little one.” the voice is neither far nor near. It comes from everywhere, blurring your senses. Soft as silk and deep as an echo. Familiar. You turn around and the landscape changes. No camp, No pure Vanilla, instead it’s a vast open space. The ground is polished and smooth like obsidian. Reflecting your unsure gaze. The sky above is dark but not empty, it pulses. It moves like something more was there. “Tell me was he listening?” A shape forms in the distance, moving closer. Not rushing, patient. Waiting. The edges of the figure ripple like ink bleeding into water. His presence stretching beyond your understanding. “Did he believe you?” You hesitated. Your hands curled onto your soul jam cool and inviting. The soul jam of purity. It’s glow is faint, flickering like a candle against a storm. Shadow milk laughs. “Ah I see.” he isn’t unkind to you. The space around you shifts. The blackened floor ripples and before you it’s Pure Vanilla. You rush towards the light he’s walking ahead, listening to another voice one sweeter, one deceiving. He doesn’t turn to you he doesn’t see you. "You knew something was wrong. You felt it." Shadow Milk’s tone is velvet-soft, laced with something knowing. "But did he?" The vision fades returning to the shadows. “Perhaps you are not ready to see yet…” He murmurs stepping closer towards you, his figure is obscured. “But you will be.” A gentle touch brushes against your shoulder weightless as a breathe, it lingers. “When the light refuses to see, what will you do?” Your breath hitches. The figure begins to dissipate. “Wait, don’t go…I don't want to be alone,” This caused shadow milk to pause. Not in victory, or smugness. Something more quiet and subtle. Something waiting. The vast darkness stills, holding it’s breath. The shadows stop their slow retreat, choosing to curl around your words like a tide that refuses to recede. Your ears are greeted with a quiet chuckle. Not mockingly, not cruel. Just…understanding.

“Ah…” Shadow milk’s voice hums, like an old melody drifting through your heart. “At last you speak from the heart.” Footsteps approach soft and deliberate against the echo of the endless void. He doesn’t appear before you quite yet. But his presence wraps around your being, neither cold nor warm, neither comforting or threatening. Just there.

“Do you think he understands, little one?” His voice is gentle but ever so knowing. It could all be a trick. But your heart is foolishly pure. Too naive to see anything past your nose. “The way you feel? The way you fear?” You gripped onto your soul jam tightly. It doesn’t burn against the darkness. It only flickers. “I…I don’t know” You said in a hushed whisper afraid he could turn on you at any second. Maybe he’s the one who pities you rather than the other way around. “Perhaps then you are not the only one who is alone” The words settle in the air, sinking deeper than they should. Truth wrapped in something else. Something that asks you to answer. Silence follows before he says in a voice softer than before. “Would you like me to stay?” The warmth of the fire of Pure Vanilla’s presence still waits for you. But right now, in this dream, in the quiet. The darkness is listening. And for the first time you’re not sure you want to leave. “Stay” you whisper afraid of what this means. Are you betraying Pure Vanilla? “Good” Shadow milk whispers. His expression is unreadable. But his gaze is deep, endless, unreadable. Knowledgeable. “Do you feel it?" he asks. Your soul jam flickered faintly in your hands no longer pulsing in warning but in recognition. It does not glow brightly, nor does it fight. It simply rests caught between light and shadow. You swallow slowly you don’t know what you feel. Only that for the first time the darkness doesn't feel so cold. “You…don’t feel so scary anymore.” your voice feels different. It’s yours but something isn’t right. Shadow milk tilts his head, a soft chuckle like a distant echo through the empty halls shakes your ground. “That’s because you’re beginning to understand” He doesn’t explain further. “…Am I betraying my friends? Is this what purity means?” your voice is a whisper barely a question. The darkness doesn’t answer. You were beginning to wake. A voice softer than before, woven between thought and shadow. “What is betrayal…but a matter of perspective?” Your stand conflicted your heart aches at the thought of your friends GingerBrave, Strawberry, and Wizard cookie. Pure Vanilla’s kind words everything you were meant to stand for. “But…But purity is supposed to be good?” You say it loudly in the hopes it’ll come true if you speak it into reality. Shadow milk hums. “Then tell me little one, what is good?” His voice isn’t pressing. Leaving you with the question deep in your chest. Heavier than it should be, because for the first time you don’t know. You awoke beside Pure Vanilla in a sweat. Your thoughts were scrambled.

Everyone else seemed Well rested as we continued down the path towards the spire. “AAH! HELP! I DON'T WANT TO CRUMBLE” You stared in shock, fear pulsing through you. But you felt the comforting whispers of the shadows surrounding your soul jam. Dissipating when Pure Vanilla held onto your hand comfortingly. “Don’t worry my light, We’ll help and try our best” he said comfortingly even if he didn’t believe his own words. “That cookie needs our help!” said GingerBrave turning to Pure Vanilla. “We must Rescue him” Pure Vanilla rushed towards the crumbling cookie. “How horrible! There are crumbs everywhere…!” You turned to Apple Faerie cookie, “Pure Vanilla is the best healer we have to have faith he’ll be able to help” You said reassuringly to Apple Faerie cookie. As much as you didn’t trust her you felt it was best to comfort and extend your kindness as Pure Vanilla has. She looked at you perhaps with a glint in her eye. The crumbled cookie coughed “Eh…? A healer…? Please…Help…” You watched intently as Pure Vanilla attempted to help the cookie. Feeling a sense of dread. The crumbled cookie pleaded to be okay. Though it seemed futile as the crumbs were everywhere perhaps we shouldn’t help those who can't be helped. Pure Vanilla would most definitely frown at that. But we can’t help the cookie, they're on their last legs. “I…don’t want…I dont want to…crumble…” Pure Vanilla pleaded with the cookie to stay awake. You couldn't watch any longer. You turn away a small voice in the back of your head. “Little one..” It’s quiet, they don't feel like words, just a presence. Settling at the edge of your thoughts. Not pushing or pulling just there. You tremble at the sight, the cookie won’t make it. "It is a terrible thing, isn’t it?" The voice drifts through them like a sigh, like an old memory stirring just beneath the surface. You don’t flinch this time. You don’t recoil. You just listen. "To be powerless. To watch and know there is nothing you can do." you whispered to yourself “H-He tried” "I know." There is no mockery in Shadow Milk’s tone. No cruelty. Just… quiet acknowledgment. A truth spoken without weight, without judgment. “It is a terrible thing," Shadow Milk murmurs again, softer now, like the wind rustling through unseen branches. "But it is not yours to carry alone." Your hands slowly release themselves of stress. You breathe its quiet. The crumbled cookie becomes a monster shifting quickly attacking Pure Vanilla. Pure Vanilla raises his staff, his golden magic glowing but he hesitates. Unable to stand still in that moment of hesitation you make your move. Without thinking the winds stir, they’re not harsh but cleansing. Pushing back the illusion’s lingering magic. Setting reality into place. Chains of luminous energy form from the ground, weaving between your fingers like threads of fate. The chains latch onto the monsters limbs, slowing it and restraining it. The light of purity doesn’t destroy. But it doesn't allow corruption to roam freely. The monster lets our a guttural, twisting shriek. Writhing against the chains unable to move. Pure Vanilla stares in awe. “You…You can wield it” He says breathless. You have no time to answer the monster howls, shattering the chains. Pure Vanilla is no longer their target, its you, the monster lunges at you. In that moment you feel fear creep into your chest. Deep in your mind you hear a whisper."Steady yourself." It wasn't commanding or demanding. A reminder. Shadow Milk’s presence lingers, a quiet weight behind your strength. He doesnt take control nor does he interfere. You wonder if anyone else feels it too. The eyes that seem to follow you. You stand taller drawing the light into your hands, not as a weapon but something pure, something unshaken.

As the monster lunges, the light floods forward, and unyielding force of purity and…truth? The monster dissolves, unraveling fading to nothing. Pure Vanilla steps forward “You were incredible.” his voice is rich with awe. “You embraced purity without fear, and as much as it was grand, don't do that again, I’m supposed to protect you. Not the other way around.” He embraced you tightly. "I-I just reacted," you murmured "I didn’t even know if I could control it—" Pure Vanilla chuckles softly, shaking his head. "And yet, you did. I am so proud of you” Apple Faerie stood there quietly whispering “pheh. Weak..” but quickly allowed herself to ask “Pure Vanilla Cookie, are you unscathed?!” He looked over “I’m alright” He still felt uneasy though. Strawberry cookie spoke up. “What was that?...Who are they?” White lily cookie held the answers. “It wasn’t a cookie. This Place is riddled with phantoms. It was a trap” Apple Faerie Cookie attempted to comfort Pure Vanilla cooke “Don’t dwell on his words, Pure Vanilla Cookie. You only tried to help!” There were words exchanged? How come you didn’t hear them? The light of purity lit up faintly almost in reassurance. You followed quickly behind heading towards the spire this time, for real. Making it towards the Towerkeeper, a riddle is all he wanted to allow passage through. Riddles were never your strongest suite. You allowed Pure Vanilla and White lily to solve this riddle. And solve it they did. White Lily departed after all she had a new role given to her by the previous Guardian. She wished us nothing but luck. But I have a feeling we would need more than that. The spire was large, the books gleaming and confusing, you couldn’t even read properly. The air feels different. It hums with magic, filled with the quiet echoes of the past. Wisdom long forgotten, voices long silenced. You stood near and close to Pure Vanilla, your fingers against your soul jam. Feeling it’s warmth, but something was off. The deeper into the spire the more the light flickers. The walls seem to shift when you aren’t looking. And then there it is the whisper. At first it’s gentle. Familiar. Like something they’ve already welcomed before.

"Little one…" You freeze. Nobody else reacts you look towards GingerBrave although they’re too busy looking through the books trying to find…? What were they trying to find again. Maybe you should have been paying more attention. You look back up their voices fading, and then before you can run towards them. "I know you can hear me."

You shiver your hands curling, you don’t want to hear. But the whisper isn’t commanding, it’s inviting, patient, and most of all you can’t keep it waiting. In the silence where uncertainty rushes in, you look at the spires twisting halls. The clock chiming at it’s own will. You are alone. You turn slowly, your heart is pounding. The path looks different. The spire isn’t supposed to shift is it? The walls seem to climb higher, corridors elongate. You spot the faint light of Pure Vanilla’s staff; it's a mere speck. Why aren’t they looking for you? You should call out, you should run, instead your feet move in the opposite direction. "Come." The voice is so close now. So near. Like a hand reaching for theirs, waiting to be held. "See what they would never show you." You don’t know how long it’s been or where you are, but before you stands Shadow Milk Cookie, Unbound. But was he ever bound in the first place? You step forward breath shallow, fingers trembling against your soul jam. He smiles, it isn’t sharp nor cruel. His eyes can practically see through you.

His voice is now clear no longer in the back of your mind. “You’ve come so far, haven’t you?" His voice is low, quiet. Not a demand—just an observation. You swallow, your chest tight. You should deny it. You should fight. You’ve been deceived. "I… I don’t know why I’m here." (A lie) Shadow Milk’s expression doesn’t waver “Don't you?” his words sink in. They sting with truth. Because some part of you knew you’d end up here. Shadow Milk doesn’t push, He doesn't use force. He extends his hand. “You already understand, don’t you?” His voice is gentle, coaxing, almost kind. But you know better he manipulated you, suppressed your light. No wonder you haven’t heard your light speak to you. He continues. “What purity truly means?” Your breath wavers. You remember the warmth of Pure Vanilla’s pride, the golden glow of his magic—but also the hesitation. The way his light flickered in the face of uncertainty. The way even he had doubts. You regret that night coming up to the tree. You were warned and you kept quiet. It was all your fault. Shadow Milk never forced you to keep quiet. Did he? Shadow Milk’s voice lowers, smooth as silk. "They would have you believe purity is the absence of darkness." A pause. A whisper. A truth. "But you know better." Your Soul Jam pulses. You don’t pull away. Shadow Milk tilts his head, watching you. Overwhelming your senses.

"Isn’t it exhausting? Carrying the weight of light, knowing it will always ask more of you? Knowing it will always demand you to shine, even when you are tired?" Your chest tightens. Because… yes. It is. It always has been. His hand remains outstretched. Not grabbing. Not forcing. Just waiting. "You don’t have to choose one or the other." His voice is almost a lullaby now, weaving into their very thoughts. "You can have both. You already do." Your breath is shallow. Your thoughts spin. You shouldn’t. You should run. You should— Your fingers brush his. Your Soul Jam pulses— Not in rejection. But in acceptance. And for the first time, the light does not push away the shadow.

Time feels different in the spire. Mindlessly like a puppet you’re set back with your friends. Locked within yourself. You shouldn’t have trusted Shadow Milk he was never your friend to begin with. You step back into the light with Pure Vanilla unaware of how you got there. Your hands tremble, cracking from the weight of what you’ve accepted. Your soul jam no longer flickers. Pure Vanilla was frantically looking for you. His eyes softened when he spotted you. “You’re safe” He exhales, his hands are careful, searching for something unseen. “You had me worried, my light” He embraces you. “Please don’t stray far. There’s danger lurking.” You swallow but not with regret. No refret is no more. Only the quiet knowledge Pure Vanilla doesn’t understand. Not yet. But he will. At first you’re as quiet as ever nothing seems off. Until your soul jam doesn’t shine the same way. The ivory warmth seems to be hiding something. A darker glow. Faint but present. You no longer flinched at the shadows. Pure Vanilla seems concerned. The spire of Knowledge is ancient, alive with stories of the past. Halls twisting with light and shadow. The deeper they go the more the air feels heavy charged with magic older than him. And the shadows they move. The monsters don’t lunge. Pure Vanilla raised his staff ready to strike, but you step forward. And the monsters move. Not away in fear, not curling from the light you still hold. They part. Welcoming, in recognition. He thinks to himself something is wrong. There is a darkness corrupting you, like an infection spreading. The monsters cling to you in familiarity, not because they’re lost. But because your soul jam has changed.

Your sole purpose of being was to lure Pure Vanilla away. And of course you were successful after all you were just a pawn, something between Shadow Milk and the one he truly wanted. The torches lining the hall in the spire flicker. One by one they dim. Something is in the air. And then a maniacal laugh different then what you were offered. The laughter is Light. Mocking. Full of Delight."Oh, Pure Vanilla, Pure Vanilla, Pure Vanilla…" He sings the name. Drawls it. Lets it roll off his tongue like an old joke he never quite got tired of. A shadow twists at the edges of the hall, spilling forward like ink until it peels itself from the darkness—a shape, a form— And then, a bow. A flourish of one hand. A smirk, toothy and knowing. Shadow Milk Cookie. The jester of something old. Something forgotten. Something waiting to be remembered. His bells do not chime, but they should. His smile is too wide, his eyes gleaming with secrets and amusement and something darker, curling like a cat in the sun. He tilts his head, grin never wavering. “Such a look on your face! Tsk, tsk, such serious eyes. What’s the matter, old friend?” Pure Vanilla is unwavering, no smile, no frown, he watches. Unshaken. He doesn’t use his magic. This isn't a battle of magic. It’s a game. A game Pure Vanilla refuses to play. But Shadow Milk, the master of deceit, loves games. You stand there unable to move unable to say anything stoic watching.

“Oh, come now.” Shadow Milk sighs, tilting his head, watching him as a cat watches a bird—idly, playfully, but not without hunger. “You look like I just tore a page from your precious books.” He sways on his feet, hands spread wide, inviting, like a magician about to reveal the grand trick. “You should be proud, really. You raised them well. So thoughtful, so brave, so…” He pauses, eyes glinting. “So much their own person.” His smirk sharpens. “Tell me, Pure Vanilla… is that not what you wanted?” Pure Vanilla’s grip tightens. Not on his staff. On himself. Shadow Milk sees it. Oh, he sees it, and he laughs—soft, sweet, victorious. The game is already won. The puppeteer is a master and you’ve bent to his will unknowingly. The darkness isn’t devouring, or consuming. Rather it’s holding you. Like an embrace, something familiar. Something you chose. Pure Vanilla can’t accept that reality. Not when he spent so much time trying to protect you. His heart is steady but his hands shake. Afraid…this isn't how it was supposed to turn out. And it can’t be how it ends. He reached out like he always has done, prying his magic glows, it’s strong, warm like the first touch of sunlight after a cold night. It’s healing. It’s kindness. It’s every moment he spent guiding you, protecting you, believing in you. And he calls out to you “My light I know you’re there come with me” he pleads his heart aching.

You hesitate still under the control of Shadow Milk who infested your heart. But for a moment your heart flickers something inside you stirs. The memory of safety, of warmth. Of the way his magic always felt gentle and good. Shadow Milk sees it. His Grin is wide, lazy and amused. Yet it’s sharp as a knife. He isn’t pleased. He leans in close to you. His voice is silken, sweet, a whisper curled around the edges of your doubt. “Oh, little light…he’s doing it again, isn't he?” Shadow Milk is using that loving nickname making a fool out of what it means to be Pure Vanilla’s light. You blink and he tilts his head in a way that shouldn’t be possible. He watches you with a knowing smile. “He says he wants to save you.” His voice is soft, playful, poison drizzled with honey. He raises his hand allowing you to move and think and be your person. But places a hand on your shoulder as a reminder that you let him in. You let him take over. “But tell me..did he ever listen to you before?

Pure Vanilla’s eyes widened. He flinches inwardly. Your eyes are different. Not blank not lost searching. Doubt wavers in your chest not because you don’t trust Pure Vanilla but because you’re starting to believe Shadow Milk might be right. Because how many times were you brushed off. How many times were you told what was right? How many times did he assume you wanted to be saved? Those aren’t your thoughts are they? Your head starts to reel. You attempt to hold your head trying to comfort the pain, but a force outside of you stops you. “Answer me.” Shadow Milk presses. “I-...” Shadow Milk giggles, spinning on his heel like a performer before an audience, who should know the ending. “You see, Pure Vanilla…” he hums, tone lilting, playful, teasing, cruel. “You’ve already lost.” And then, in a single motion, he pulls the child closer. Not forcefully. Not violently. Just enough. Just enough to make the message clear— "If you take them, you take all of me with them." He says in a hushed tone. Because this is no longer just about corruption. This is about choice. If Pure Vanilla tries to tear them away—he becomes the villain in their eyes. If he fights Shadow Milk too harshly, too desperately— You will not see it as protection. They will see it as fear. And fear… is not what brings someone back. Love does. But is it enough? Shadow Milk’s grin sharpens, eyes flashing with wicked delight as he leans in— And whispers, so only Pure Vanilla can hear :“Go on, then. Save them. let’s see if they want to be saved.”

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