#weaker vessels

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Men recorded their mistrust and fear of female genitals very early. The reference to women as 'weaker vessels' in the Tyndale Bible of 1522-35, and the later development of imagery of women as leaking vessels, resonates with the theory of humours that saw women as cold and moist, and the fear of female menstruation and lubrication. As Shakespeare's King Lear says:

Down from the waist they are centaurs, though women all above.

But to the girdle do the gods inherit; beneath is all the fiends'.

There's hell, there's darkness, there's the sulphurous pit –

burning, scalding, stench, consumption!

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

[mukuroom]

if milgram were to pick a new warden from the current cast, they wouldnt even glance at kotoko

[ancientbygone]

unraveling for each other [to the benefit of no one]

[maaarine]

r/todayilearned: TIL that over 75% of girls who compete in cross country and track slow down after age 14, often peaking at age 12-13 before plateauing and declining.

[enigma020]

New character data/information regarding the aftermath of “MOVING FORWARD. (3/3)” comic:

Zachary Winterra’s character age has now been updated to 17. Original creation age remains as 8. (June 12, 2016)

Stela Evergreen’s character age has now been updated to 17. Original creation age: 8 years (June 28, 2016)

Sally Winterra’s character age has now been updated to 13. Original creation age: 3 years (March 6, 2021)

Ryan Ruckus’s character age has now been updated to 15. Original creation age: 5 years (May 23, 2019)

Stel Slimee has transitioned from “Slime” to “Human.” New OC data: “Stel Evergreen,” character and original creation age: 8 months (February 11, 2024)

· Hatsuu has officially SURRENDERED all CREATOR abilities.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

My dad at any given opportunity: “I used to have an as good or even better memory than [my name] and you know how good her memory is.”

I feel like this guy is competing with me by remembering how he was at my age — always has.

And (unrelated) if I criticize him or say anything at all with anything other than happiness or neutrality in my voice, his response is always “Sorry, but you have to understand I’m not feeling good right now. I’m trying to be a father to you; I wish I had a father at your age. I’m suffering. I have [this this and this] wrong with me; and THE ELDERS—“ Dad, Dad… you NEVER feel good; you know this and you’ve lied to me COUNTLESS times by saying you’d try to get help. Go to therapy for fuck’s sake.

“But Jehovah’s organization!” Fuck Jehovah’s organization. If Jehovah’s organization really cared about its members, you wouldn’t be so frightened of defaming its good name at the expense of your mental and PHYSICAL health. If Jehovah’s organization really cared for you, you wouldn’t be hiding your trauma from people who can help “because it’ll hurt Jehovah” like a wife who developed Stockholm syndrome from being beaten by her love-bombing husband.

[scientia-rex]

A lot of younger people have no idea what aging actually looks and feels like, and the reasons behind it. That ignorance is so dangerous. If you don’t want to “be old,” you aren’t talking about a number of years. I have patients in their late 80s who could still handily beat me in a race—one couple still runs marathons together, in their late 80s—and I lost someone who was in her early 60s to COPD last year. What you want is not youth, it is health.

If you want to still be able to enjoy doing things in your 60s and 70s and 80s and even 90s, what you want to do, right now, is quit smoking, get some activity on a regular basis (a couple of walks a week is WAY better for you than nothing; increasing from 1 hour a day of cardio to 1.5 will buy you very little), and eat some plants. That’s it. No magic to it. No secret weird tricks. Don’t poison yourself, move around so your body doesn’t forget how, and eat plants.

If you have trouble moving around now because of mobility limitations, bad news: you still need to move around, not because it’s immoral not to, but because that’s still the best advice we have. I highly recommend looking up the Sit and Be Fit series; it is freely available and has exercises that can be done in a chair, which are suitable for people with limited mobility or poor balance. POTS sufferers, I’m looking at you.

If you have trouble eating plants because of dietary issues (they cause gas, etc.) or just because they’re bitter (super taster with texture issues here!), bad news. You still want to find a way to get some plants into your body on a regular basis. I know. It sucks. The only way I can do it is restaurants—they can make salads taste like food. I can also tolerate some bagged salads. On bad weeks, the OCD with contamination focus gets so bad I just can’t. However, canned beans always seem “safe,” and they taste a bit like candy, so they’re a good fallback.

If you smoke and you have tried quitting a million times and you’re just not ready to, bad news. You still need to quit. Your body needs you to try and keep trying. Your brain needs it, too. Damaging small blood vessels racks up cumulative damage over time that your body can start trying to reverse as soon as you quit. I know it’s insanely, absurdly addictive. You still need to.

You cannot rules lawyer your way past your body’s basic needs. It needs food, sleep, activity, and the absence of poison. Those are both small things and big asks. You cannot sustain a routine based on punishment, so don’t punish your body. Find ways to include these things that are enjoyable and rewarding instead. Experiment. There is no reason not to experiment—you don’t have to know instantly what’s going to work for you and what won’t, you just need to be willing to try things and make changes when things aren’t working for you.

You will still age. Your body will stop making collagen and elastin. Tissues you can see and tissues you can’t see will both sag. Cushioning tissues under your skin will get thinner. You’ll bruise more easily. Skin will tear more easily. Accumulated sun damage will start to show more and more. Joints will begin to show arthritis. Tendons and ligaments will get weaker and get injured more easily, as will muscles. Bones will lose mass and get easier to break. You’ll get tired more easily.

But you know what makes the difference between being dead, or as good as, in your 60s vs your 90s? Activity, plants, and quitting smoking. And don’t do meth. Saw a 58-year-old guy this week who is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t quit whatever stimulant he’s on. I pretended to believe it was just the cigarettes, and maybe it is, but meth and cocaine will kill you quicker. Stop poisoning yourself.

Baby steps; take it one step at a time; you don’t need to have everything figured out right now. But you do need to be working on figuring things out.

[preacheroftruthblog]

1 Peter: Biblical Marriage Counseling For Husbands

Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way… 1 Peter 3:7a There’s a meme going around the Internet that has a man and a woman discussing the stereotype that men can’t understand women.  The man says to the woman, “Women are so hard to read.”  The woman replies, “Well, actually we just want–” before being interrupted by the man who says, “Such complex creatures.”  The woman…

[mintyys-blog]

Hi Minty! :)

Can you write a fic about Thragg taking a human wife for breeding but ends up falling in love with her instead? There aren’t enough Thragg fics fr

I love your writing btw!!

LIKE HUMANS DO | thragg x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST 2 | WARNINGS: attempted sex, kidnapping, lightly implied depression

Do not repost, translate, or rewrite my work (AI generated or otherwise) without my permission. @mintyys-blog

When Thragg chose you, it was not because he wanted you.

It was because you were… viable.

Human genes, though softer and weaker, carried flexibility that even Viltrumites admired. A human mate could bear stronger children more quickly, survive harsh pregnancies better than many of the pureblood females still loyal to the empire.

He saw you once, trembling in the shadow of a collapsed building after a skirmish on Earth. Fragile, filthy, foolishly brave for baring your teeth at him when he approached. It amused him.

It interested him. And so you were taken.

At first, Thragg treated you with calculated patience — the same way one might tame a feral creature. He offered shelter, food, clean clothes. Spoke in simple, direct orders: Eat. Sleep. Come here.

You obeyed, though begrudgingly. There was no fighting him. No escaping him. He was a towering figure of power, a force you had no chance against. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you still clung to the hope that you might find a way to resist, or at least get some semblance of control back. Your pride kept you from being completely broken.

The first few weeks were cold, sterile. Thragg would come and go, never giving you more than cursory attention. You were an object. A tool. A means to an end. His conversations with you, if they could even be called that, were dry. His voice like stone, his gaze unreadable. He didn’t speak of emotions. Not of kindness. He didn’t see you as a person—you were just a vessel.

That was, until the night he made his move.

His eyes, those burning, calculating eyes, lingered on you. Something had shifted in him — an unsettling, almost imperceptible change that you didn’t fully recognize at the time. But you could feel it. The air in the room grew thicker when he stepped closer, his enormous frame blocking the light.

His large, calloused hand reached for your arm, gripping you with a force that made your heart race.

You knew what this was. You understood the implication. He wanted to breed you. A human female, fragile and weak, to carry children — children that would, by nature, be stronger, more resilient than any Viltrumite-born heir.

The thought churned in your stomach, but you’d learned quickly that your body no longer belonged to you. And if you could not escape, you would resist, even if it was in the smallest, most defiant ways.

So you slapped him.

Hard.

The sound rang through the silence, loud and sharp. A slap meant to remind him that you were not his to control entirely. A slap that would not go unpunished, you feared.

But when the sting of your hand had passed, and you looked into his eyes, you saw something you hadn’t expected.

A flicker of something. Not anger, not rage. No — it was the slightest semblance of… bemusement? You stood there, chest heaving, waiting for him to retaliate.

Instead, Thragg simply exhaled through his nose, his eyes hardening just slightly. He released his grip on your arm, pushing you away with a casual shrug.

“So,” he rumbled, as though the moment had meant nothing. “Not in the mood.”

He turned on his heel, the sound of his boots heavy against the stone floor. His words echoed in your ears long after he left the room. Not in the mood.

You were confused. Pissed. But mostly, you felt… humiliated. Not by the slap. No, you’d meant to do it. But by his indifference. By the way he treated your defiance as if it had been nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

There were other women. Stronger, trained women. Women who knew their place.

You were just a human. Just an experiment. An option. The thought of you as anything else didn’t even seem to occur to him.

Days passed. Weeks.

And still, he left you alone.

Sometimes, you caught his eye as he passed, and for a brief moment, there would be something more than cold calculation in his gaze — but it was fleeting. He didn’t linger on you. Not the way you’d hoped. And not the way he had with the other women in the past.

You tried to go about your days as normally as possible, though the stifling silence in his fortress pressed in on you. You weren’t allowed to leave, and even though you found a quiet corner to occupy yourself with books or some form of entertainment, there was an emptiness that gnawed at you. You were being watched. He was always there. Even when he wasn’t physically present, you could feel his eyes on you.

And then came the day.

You didn’t know why you said it aloud. Maybe it was the isolation getting to you. Or maybe, just maybe, you had allowed yourself to dream a little too much.

You were talking to yourself. Muttering quietly, half to the room, half to no one at all.

“I always wanted someone who… would buy me flowers,” you whispered, tracing the edge of your blanket with your fingers. “Someone who kissed me when I woke up. Someone who laughed with me, even after a bad day… I always thought that would come first. Before… everything else.”

You swallowed. “Guess I’m stupid for dreaming.”

It was a bitter laugh, one that cracked in your throat. You could hear your own sadness hanging in the air, like an unspoken plea.

The next day, when you woke up, there was something different waiting for you on the stone table beside your bed.

A bouquet. Awkward, heavy-handed — a thick mass of local flowers, some crushed slightly in his too-strong grip, but unmistakably colorful. Vibrant. Alive. You blinked, unsure if you were still dreaming. The faint morning light coming through the narrow windows highlighted the colors — purples, whites, pale blues — though they looked so out of place here in this cold, sterile environment. It was almost like they didn’t belong in the fortress at all. Like they belonged in a home, somewhere warm and soft. Somewhere that wasn’t here.

You stepped forward hesitantly, your fingers trembling as you reached for them. The petals were rough to the touch, their edges a little frayed, the scent faint but real.

Beside them, a simple note written in that sharp, aggressive Viltrumite hand:

“For you. - Thragg”

[kqutie]

EPIC: THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER TWO : THE FAVOURABLE CIRCUMSTANCE

relations. : platonic various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader

chpt. sum. : you feed the rest of Odysseus' fleet and earn the trust and love of all 600 men. You even come to an agreement with a certain, goddess of wisdom.

tags. : reader is a disney princess ; female reader ; pure comfort ; reader helps ody get home ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; the crew are lowkey simping ; elpenor and perimedes make the best duo! ; athena makes an appearance ; isekai and transmigration ; fix it fic ; characters know their future ; happy ending for everyone!

length. : 5.2k

a/n : i took advantage of my bursts of inspiration and current obsession for EPIC: The Musical to get this out, hopefully it's a good read. A third chapter is guaranteed to come! I'm thinking of making this a 4-5 part mini series -- just pure fluff and comfort! Enjoy my loves!

navi. | series m.list

← prev | one: the second miracle

The crew were dehydrated and hungry. This is the price they had to pay to avoid the Cyclops and, at first, they felt it was worth it. However, now that their stomachs were constantly aching, a heavy and painful reminder of their ravenous hunger, they were beginning to second-guess themselves. Growing weaker by the day, they left their oars, slowing their journey home considerably. There also weren’t any reliable winds to push them home. The gods were determined not to influence their journey home in this altered reality but that too had become a major drawback. They couldn’t see an end to it; their spirits were dwindling and the idea of stepping on Ithaca’s sands was now a distant dream.

It wasn’t until the flag was raised by their Captain’s ship that the crewmen dared to feel an ounce of hope. With what little strength they had left, they aligned their boats and set up the slim bridge across, connecting the two vessels. They recognised the first person to traverse the bridge: Polites, their optimist of a third commander. They also recognised the second person to come across: Eurylochus, their hardened second in command. It was the third person that they didn’t recognise, however. 

“Who is that second commander?” Lycaon asks, approaching the tall, sword-wielding Eurylochus but is unable to remain standing in his weakened state. He envied the commanders who could still stand so tall despite their harrowing situation.

“She is the fair maiden,” he answers simply. 

“Does she have no name?” 

“She cannot speak, but she is a blessing to us all,” Polites cut in with a grin, his eyes remaining on you as you cautiously cross the bridge, your long, flowing white dress dancing with the weak sea breeze. “Come now, I assure you it’s safe,” the headband-wearing third commander urges in a gentle and kind voice, softly pulling you to safety with his sweetness. “That’s it, good girl,” he praises as soon as you make it close enough to hold his outstretched hand. He gently guides you to the boat’s perimeter and reaches up to hold your waist, where he then proceeds to lower you down with ease. If Polites was shocked at the amount of energy and strength your food had given him, he didn’t let it show but Eurylochus certainly did. Never before had he seen his gentle third commander display such brawn; perhaps it was his willingness to be a gentleman in the presence of a lady that helped aid his sudden show of burliness.

You smile at Polites in gratitude but are slightly warm in the cheeks from his praise. For a gentle-mannered man to call you so sweetly and smile as if he hadn't just made your heart skip a beat whilst effortlessly lifting and lowering you safely to the ground was something you had never experienced before. Though, admittedly, in the short time you've had to think about it, you won't be complaining if you ever experience it again.

Taking the chance to look around, you’re saddened by the appearance of these war-torn soldiers and crewmen. They had fought for ten long years and came out victorious but it appears as though they aren’t meant to stop fighting just yet. Now they were faced with the most formidable foe, Mother Nature and the seas ruled by one of the cruellest gods you think you’ve ever witnessed. In an attempt to soothe them, you offer a kind smile to which their sunken features are somewhat startled but not unpleasantly. It’s been a long while since they’ve been in the presence of feminine beauty quite like yours. And in their touch-starved, hungry and aching states, you appear before them as a miracle, a mercy upon their blurring visions before they succumb to hunger and their eventual deaths. 

“We call her the fair maiden, she is a very important guest of the Captain,” Polites announces with a smile, making the starved crew tilt their heads in question, slow to comprehend his words. Their third in command was the singular shining optimist of their entire fleet but they couldn’t believe how happy he was in such dire times. And why was he glowing and not sunken? Did you have something to do with it? “She is here to offer us help,” Polites turns to you, silently asking for a demonstration of your blessing while Eurylochus protectively stands behind you. He knows the desperate actions starved men will attempt in the face of the one thing they desire most, his Captain was also aware of this and both agreed that he be the one to protect you across the eleven black boats of his fleet. 

Nodding once, you walk forward and approach Lycaon. The starved man pushes back his chestnut locks so that he can observe you without the shadows of his overgrown and messy hair. Admiring your appearance, there’s something about you that's reassuring, he already feels safe and taken care of under the warm smile on your lips. 

“Good day, m’lady,” he bows his head in politeness after manoeuvring himself into taking a knee before you. If you were an important guest of their Captain, you were to be treated as equal to the Captain. Several of the other crew members who still have the strength to move, mirrored his actions. Soon enough, a majority of the men on board were taking a knee and bowing their heads to you. It made you a little shy and tuck your chin in bashfully, an endearing action to those who were able to witness it. 

Gently, you raise Lycaon’s head with your soft fingers under his chin, giving him a warm look before reaching for your inventory and materialising a fresh basket of bread and a deep bowl of minestrone soup before him. With a gasp and wide eyes, Lycaon looks between you and the food several times before finally meeting eyes with the second and third commanders.

Was this a dream?

Polites laughs and Lycaon realises he had spoken aloud, “It is not a dream, my friend. The fair maiden is here to bless us with food, enough food to feed us all!” Polites then turns to the antsy crewmen looking ready to pounce from a distance, his eyes sharpening uncharacteristically at their savage appearance, “She has plenty to go around so I advise you all to wait patiently…” Polites lets his words sink in, only continuing when the men visibly reel back, ashamed, “If any harm comes to her because of your impatience and greed, you will be severely punished.  Understood?!” Eurylochus looked openly impressed from where he stood, nodding in approval behind his usually sweet friend. 

“Form groups of ten now and we will make the rounds,” Eurylochus’ firm command was immediately followed. The first group, composed of those who gravitated towards Lycaon, bowed their heads in gratitude and jumped at filling their stomachs the instant you returned the gesture. It was as if they had asked for silent permission and pounced when you finally gave it; they wouldn’t dare sabotage their chance at finally being able to eat a full meal. Before you could move on to the next group, however, Lycaon gently takes your hands with his calloused, and shaking ones to press a grateful kiss against your knuckles. 

“Thank you, my lady,” unable to speak, you convey your assurance by taking the hand he kissed and petting his head, softly trailing your hand down to cup his cheek and smiling when he leans into your touch. His tired but assured olive eyes flutter close to savour your softness and warmth. You’re surprised at the tears that fall from his long lashes but smile when you see his smiling lips littered with crumbs. 

You make the rounds with the rest of the groups and happily watch as they all have their fill. Thank goodness the animal crossing portion sizes are as unrealistically big as in the game; everyone could have their fill without having to deprive another of their portion. It was also helpful that when all the food was gone, the cutlery and tableware it came with also disappeared — no waste!

Just as the first group was finishing up their meal, you returned to offer them several large, perfectly round, and juicy oranges as dessert. They cheer in delight and awe at your airy giggle. Despite being unable to speak, you manage to sound the sweetest, twinkling laugh they’ve ever heard. To be provided with delicious food on such hard times was already such a blessing but to receive it from a beautifully fair and kind maiden was an entirely new blessing atop that. Their hearts and minds can be at ease now, their stomachs full and their nights no longer filled with restless tossing and turning from the discomfort of hunger. 

After receiving the gratitude of the 50 men on this boat, you make the same trip to the rest of the 10 black boats left in Odysseus’ fleet. The experience was relatively the same, beginning with weary eyes and ending with cheers, sighs of contentment and endless gratitude. You can’t count the amount of crew members who have kissed your hand or cried tears of relief before you.

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

For another day or two, you repeat the same routine of feeding the crew a hearty meal you cook up on the kitchenette summoned on Odysseus’ ship, right beside your storage shed for easy access to ingredients. Thinking ahead, you make a bunch of bread baskets, from normal bread to the savoury and snack bread baskets and offer those with jams on your morning deliveries to each ship. That allows the crew to have some sustenance while you prepare their bigger meal later on in the day. You feel bad for being unable to offer more food but Odysseus assures you that you’re doing more for them than what is needed. 

“I can have my crew survive on just one meal a day, they wouldn’t dare complain after the hunger they’ve had to endure until you arrived,” Odysseus assures with a kind smile after seeing your anxious expression. However, you immediately throw up your hands and wave them about in protest, causing the Captain to look at you perplexed. 

“I don’t think she approves of that, Captain,” Polites laughs and claps his friend on the shoulder. Odysseus shakes his head and chuckles in light humour. 

“Then let me express my thanks for helping my crew. You are truly a blessing and have the biggest heart,” Odysseus bows at the waist like he did the first day you arrived and Polite quickly follows. Even Eurylochus bows from where he's stationed guarding your shed. It flusters you and you reach out to lightly tap their shoulders in assurance, as if to say, ‘It’s alright, please raise your heads,’.

“Those coconuts you gave out are also really helpful,” Polites nods towards the pile of coconuts on one end of the ship, “They’re a great way to quench our thirst. I’d say they’re more hydrating than water,” you clap in happiness and nod eagerly, your eyes closed as you smile and it escapes you how all three— the captain and his commanders —soften their gazes at the sight. They can only truly believe in Polites’ ‘open arms’ belief because of your boundless kindness and eagerness to help. 

On the second day aboard Odysseus’ ship, you cook up a treat by making the three pizza recipes available to you from Animal Crossing. The Margherita, mushroom and seafood pizzas were very well received by the crew along with the peaches you gave for dessert. They were eager to request more pizzas in the future if you were willing. On the third day, you made a bunch of Seabass pies (many of the men adored the fish design you put on top, they called it ‘charming’) and apples for dessert.

For many, it was their first time having pizza and Seabass pie so it was really fun to see them, not only, satiate their hunger, but also openly react to something they were tasting for the first time. There were many satisfactory hums and excited, contagious gossip about what they liked most about a particular dish. They found pizzas fun and easy to eat while the pie was a wonderful layer of mashed potato, fish filling and golden crust goodness — a combination they had never encountered before but acquired an instant taste for.

While you were sipping on a coconut milk drink between cooking sessions, some of the crew were eying you curiously but tried to make it seem as though they weren’t blatantly staring. It was quite endearing actually. You gestured to a particularly starry-eyed crew member and kindly motioned him over. Elpenor with his fluffy brunette hair, cacao eyes and bronze skin approaches with a small, shy smile, closely followed by his slightly taller friend, who sported wavy blonde hair that came down to his chin and greyish-blue eyes. 

“I go by Elpenor, fair maiden,” the broad-shouldered brunette introduces with a bow when he comes to stand before your curiously tilted head. You remember him as the one who unfortunately died after getting drunk and falling off of Circe’s palace in the musical. It was your guess that the man who followed him was his friend Perimedes. 

“And they call me Perimedes,” the musical portrayed Perimedes as a man who hides his true emotions, appearing nonchalant and jovial despite his depressed disposition. You can't help but feel an aching pinch in your heart for the man. Before you could realise it, your hand reaches up and cups his cheek, softly stroking your thumb over his stumble comfortingly. Perimedes’ grey-blue eyes widen and he frantically looks to Elpenor who grins widely at him, happy to see his friend be treated softly. “U-Umm… is everything well, fair maiden?” Perimedes asks, looking uncomfortable at your touch, but doesn’t pull away; rather, you feel him tilt his head towards your touch. You suppose his bad habit of hiding his true feelings persists and Elpenor, being his closest friend, remains close to him as a result. Both have become each other’s rock.

Shaking your head, you smile assuringly and slowly bring your hand back, giggling with Elpenor at the unknowing whine the taller blonde let out from the loss of your touch. Quickly, you offer the two your large glass of coconut milk and giggle when their eyes comically bulge in surprise.

“Are you offering it to us?” Elpenor asks with wide eyes, hesitant to proceed. Surely accepting would be crossing the line. But you nod eagerly and softly thrust the drink towards him and Perimedes once again. 

“W-we can’t accept,“ Perimedes begins as Elpenor nods along, stepping back with his friend. Both are unable to stomach the sad look in your eyes and the pout that plays on your lips when you see them back away, and they look to the side in shame. Why was it so painful to watch you frown because of them? “That was your drink, fair maiden,” both sides continue to insist on their stance and it would have continued if it weren’t for Eurylochus walking up from where he was observing the scene with Odysseus and Polites, both of whom wanted to laugh at the situation. 

“You two have no authority to refuse the fair maiden’s kindness,” Eurylochus’ booming voice begins, making the two freeze up, “if she sees it fit to share with you, then you must accept. It’s rude to do otherwise,” you smile gratefully at Eurylochus who’s hard expression softens considerably in return and brings up a hand to pat your head. You’re much shorter than him and he finds that the difference has influenced the large feeling of responsibility and protectiveness he feels over you. “Well?!” his hard expression returns when he faces a slack-jawed Elpenor and Perimedes. 

“Then we kindly accept,” Perimedes begins, bowing at the waist with Elpenor quickly following. The large glass, even though you’ve already had your fill still had enough for both of them and you seemed happy to hand it over. Perimedes offers it to Elpenor who takes the first sip and immediately takes a liking to it. The bronze-skinned youth eagerly offers the drink to his taller friend before he’s even formed the words to praise such a refreshing, milky drink. 

“…It’s delicious! Go ahead and try it, my friend!” 

You and Eurylochus watch in satisfaction as the two don’t stop at just sharing with each other but move to their crew members so that they can have a sip too. Seeing what would happen next, you go about making more coconut milk drinks and hand one to Eurylochus to take back and share with Odysseus and Polites just as Elpenor returns asking for more on behalf of the other crew members. Looking over his shoulder, you smile at the crew members’ eager eyes but shy demeanours. These hardened men could act rather cute if they wanted to. 

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

In the days that you have been on the ship, excited rumours about your potential association with the gods have yet to stop circulating, which was beginning to worry Odysseus. You’re mainly associated with Demeter, Dionysus and even his great-grandfather, Hermes, who was rumoured to have delivered you as divine intervention. You were adamant at denying all rumours and Odysseus did his best to suppress the talk but it wasn’t very effective. The rumours haven’t caused any response from the gods but Odysseus knew that it would only be a matter of time. 

As the sun set on the horizon, a chill took to the air and raised goosebumps across your exposed arms but you couldn’t get over how beautiful the ocean looked with the setting sun. You were undeterred. Now that all the men were fed for the day, you took the alone time to enjoy the scenery and plan for what you should cook tomorrow based on the ingredients you had in your storage. You weren’t anxious about the supply; your endless gameplay had kept you well stocked, and you were happy to share the food with the men who truly needed it for a safe and smooth journey home. Looking into the distance, your eyes squint at a growing speck as it floats in front of the setting sun and its vermillion rays. 

A bird? Did that mean land was close by? How come it was alone?

As the speck got closer, you could make out its majestic wings and smooth body, flying through the air so silently, you’re certain you would be oblivious to its approach if it didn’t catch your eye when it was still a speck in the distance. When the bird was close enough, your eyes widened in shock when you realised that it wasn’t just an ordinary bird. Perched on the sails before you was an elegant snow owl. There’s only one owl you know of in EPIC: the musical.

“Athena!” your voice comes out easily and you gasp. It’s been so long since you’ve last spoken or heard your own voice but you were happy to have it back. Observing your surroundings, you quickly gather that you’re in the goddess’s time dimension. 

“Explain yourself, mortal,” Athena doesn’t waste time and, although her tall stature and piercing eyes are intimidating, you’re only filled with awe, “rumours of your association with the gods have reached Olympus and it’s causing quite the stir. Are you plotting against my champion?” 

She begins to raise her sword, aiming for your neck but you step away with your hands raised in surrender, quick to defend yourself, “No no! You misunderstand! I only want to help everyone get home safely,” The goddess eyes you with suspicion for a moment. She feels no malice in your voice or stance and, satisfied that you mean no real harm, she lowers her sword in an act of trust. 

“What is this talk of you having powers of a god? If you continue to cause a fuss, you will draw too much attention and endanger Odysseus’ journey home. This was his chance at a better future, avoiding the original entirely — I will not allow you to get in the way,” 

“I understand,” you nod and smile kindly despite her glare, “I’m happy Odysseus has you guiding him still,” the goddess arches a curious brow at you. She has her suspicions about your powers but to think you were knowledgeable of recent events too was quite alarming. How much do you know? “I promise that I have no ulterior motives. I sincerely wish to help Odysseus and his crew get home safely. I admire the King very much, he deserves to be happy, he deserves to return to his wife and son without delay,” 

“Who are you?” Athena has yet to feel a drop of deceit from your exchange and her self-reflections following the viewing of a potential future have led her to trust in her champion more. The goddess has also learned to be more lenient regarding his human characteristics. As a goddess, she is ignorant of such shortcomings but owes him the consideration. She was ashamed for the way she acted towards someone she had blessed, abandoning him when he needed her most, staying only for when he did her bidding.

When Athena had watched herself fight for her former champion and the friend she had found in his son— all so that Odysseus may escape Calypso’s island —the goddess was left unsatisfied. It wasn’t enough of a redemption for her. With this new chance, she has sworn to balance being a better friend to Odysseus with being his mentor — she dares not narrow-mindedly renounce their relationship. Ever. And this means confronting the potential threat he had invited onto his ship. 

“I am a normal person who wants to do the right thing and help her favourite characters get their happy endings,” the oddity of your statement slips your mind and Athena, being the goddess of wisdom, urges you to elaborate, seeking to understand your unusual blend of words. So you inform her of all you know, omitting some things so that your explanation doesn’t become too complicated with the saturation of unnecessary embellishments. 

“You mean to say you come from another universe entirely?” Athena hums to herself as you nod along, “And you say you’ve brought with you the skills you had acquired through long hours of work from that other world?” That was certainly one way of putting it but it’ll do. “And that this world only exists as fiction in yours, hence why you know what may happen…”

“Yes,”

“Then answer me this, how did you manage to get here?”

You shrug, “I’m afraid I don’t know, Goddess Athena,”

“If you do not know how you got here, you won’t know how to get back,” her words make you face a reality you had been hiding from ever since your arrival. Admittedly, cooking and feeding the crew had been your way of avoiding the obvious problem you didn’t want to confront. It filled you with a deep sense of dread and an uncomfortable restlessness you couldn’t shake. You don’t know how to get home and that uncertainty makes it difficult to envision a future where you can return home again.

“…I suppose I’ll be staying here until I find a way home then,” you laugh to yourself humourlessly, adopting Polites’ optimism and earning a sigh from Athena.

“As long as you don’t bring harm to Odysseus, I will ensure that the gods don’t get too curious,” her words make you smile and nod happily. That was an assurance you will eagerly accept.

“Thank you so much,” Athena offers a kind smile and bows to peer down at you more intimately. 

“No need for thanks; we share a similar objective, mortal,” you nod with determination swimming in your eyes and you can slightly trace the goddess' smile in the shadow of her helmet, “get Odysseus home safely,”

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

Early the next day, just as you’re finishing up your morning food deliveries to the other ships, you spot something in the distance. An island. When Polites and Eurylochus carefully escort you back to Odysseus’ primary ship, you go straight to the Captain, who appears to have already spotted the island on the horizon. 

“I’m tempted to dock on that island to see if we can replenish some supplies,” you nod beside him, “oh, so you agree?” you nod again, smiling brightly and tugging on his robes in your eagerness. The closer you sail to the island, the more you recognise it. Rather, you recognise the carefully planned terraforming you had mapped out before commencing your revamp, evacuating your villagers’ homes to the sandy beaches but it appears as though their homes no longer exist there. The island’s structures remain, however. You remember the trees you had carefully placed, the crop fields you had set up and were about to fence, the beaten paths you charted, the lake and rivers you shovelled, and the elevated areas you had dotted with vines for easy climbing access. You wonder, if not your villagers’ homes, if your home would be there too…

“Are we anchoring at that island Captain?” Eurylochus asks, having spotted your island too. 

“Yes, we are,” Odysseus looks at you with eyes full of certainty. If you were confident to anchor at the island, he was willing to trust your judgement, “give the orders, full speed ahead,”

“Yes Sir!” Eurylochus turns to the crew and orders them to the oars, directing their rowing towards the lush island ahead. Odysseus offers his hand, which you readily take and he leads you to the front of the ship, and you observe the island’s fast approach. 

“I wonder why you are so eager to anchor there,” he eyes you with playful suspicion, “is it a trap? Do you have an ulterior motive after all?” you pull an offended look and lightly slap his shoulder, waving your finger in his face as he laughs brightly. “Alright! I trust you, I trust you,” he takes a step back and bows to you once more. Odysseus has bowed to you many times out of gratitude but never has he once kissed your hand like many other crew members. It just shows his devotion to his wife and your admiration for him grows from the thought. 

Polites soon joins the two of you and jokes with Odysseus for a moment, the both of them happy to finally set foot on stable ground. It was nice to see Polites alive and thriving and to see Odysseus not being pushed into becoming a monster. They both deserved better than the original timeline, and you were privileged enough to have a front-row seat, playing an active role in ensuring that they returned to Ithaca safely. 

“I have a feeling that this island is special to you somehow,” Polites notes. Out of the three, he’s been the one with the most sense of understanding your intentions wordlessly. It made his company and presence a huge comfort to you. Seeing your eager nod, Polites grins, “I see! The island is special to you! Is it your home? Is it your island?” you nod again and the two give a curious look, both wondering how you got from your island to their ship via your wooden storage thing. But they don’t press for answers, content in their trust for you. You’ve given them no reason to be distrustful so following in your directions feels natural. 

It isn’t long before Odysseus’ ship finally anchors at the humble pier permanently affixed to your island, usually occupied by Kapp’n but the turtle creature is nowhere to be found. Having become attached to you, Elpenor and Perimedes readily volunteer to help you down after all the men have made their inelegant jump from the ship’s elevated deck floor. Elpenor jumps down first and outstretches his arms to catch you. For being the youngest crew member, he was rather muscly and robust, similar to Odysseus’ strong build but his physique had yet to mature into Odysseus’ equal. 

“Are you ready, fair maiden?” Perimedes asks, his smile coming across much easier and with little to hide. You wonder if it had something to do with his new love of pizza and coconut milk. Nodding, you place your hands on his shoulders while he grips your waist and lifts you with ease. He settles you on the ledge first and joins you again before guiding your arms around his neck as he holds you up from your back and under your knees, dangling you over the edge as Elpenor frantically positions himself beneath you. However, the bashful youth is quick to shut his eyes when he realises he’s able to look up your skirt. His friend’s misplaced arm has allowed the lower part of your skirt to fall open to those below. “Don’t close your eyes! Are you an idiot?!” Perimedes scolds as you both giggle at his flustered friend below. 

“I would be seeing a very private view of our fair maiden. I dare not open my eyes and violate her so!” Elpenor moves about nervously but quickly follows Perimedes’ direction when he guides him to stand in the perfect position to catch you. 

“That’s perfect, now stretch out your arms and be ready to catch our fair maiden! She’s our precious cargo! Handle her with care!” Elpenor does as he’s told and nervously anticipates your fall into his arms as Perimedes counts down from three.

The two have caused such a fuss that several crew members begin to watch nervously, and the number of spectators has grown to a considerable amount as more and more ships anchor at your island’s shores. Even Odysseus, Eurylochus and Polites were watching, all three shaking their heads at the ridiculous antics the two were doing, Polites, however, were more nervous than the first two. He’s grown very fond of you in the short few days you’ve been abroad the ship and he shudders to think of you ever becoming injured. Aware of all the eyes watching you, you tuck your chin in sheepishly.

After reaching one on his countdown, Perimedes lets you go and you fall effortlessly directly into Elpenor’s arms. It was an exhilarating trip down and, in your excitement and princess-type treatment, you kiss Elpenor’s cheek as a ‘job well done’ when he begins to set you down. His laugh of relief immediately stops at the affectionate gesture and he blushes a ruby red as you walk along the pier, oblivious to the shocked expression of the other crew members who watched the whole thing. Odysseus was laughing into his hand, amused by the flustered look on Elpenor’s face and the jealous expression on the surrounding men. Eurylochus, in his amusement, tried to suppress a grin and Polites shook his head, sighing good-naturedly. Everyone was then a witness to the most endearing image they’ve seen of you. 

You had spotted the way you looked in the water and, seeing your custom dress design in real life was so fun that you picked up your dress skirt and leaned forward to admire your handiwork. Everyone can see your beautiful smile and the delight in your swaying movements, you even do a twirl with a light giggle and it’s clear everyone’s grown enamoured by you. 

“Maybe she’s actually a descendant of Aphrodite?” Odysseus jokes, making Eurylochus laugh while Polites nods in agreement. 

“I don’t think that’s too far from the truth,”

navi. | series m.list |

next | three. the new island →

a/n : that final scene is inspired by Disney Cinderella where she’s magicked her new dress and looks at herself in the well – reader is a fair maiden meaning she is now a disney princess! Also, I know that there are some mixed interpretations of Elpenor and Perimedis and this is my interpretation of them. I did my best to keep talk of their looks not so detailed but you are free to imagine them however you like. (I think I was influenced by Neal Illustrations’ Apollo in God Games for Perimedes though… and Elpenor is kinda based on Ximena Natzel’s Odysseus in Appetite… so do with that what you will)

Thank you also to everyone who has expressed their love and support for this unserious fanfic, I adore you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

[jiffy-jeff]

omg its finally real this thing had the wildest process ever, details below cut

OK SO this was originally the last hornetober (from @silksongeveryday) piece, vessel, which I made abt this au where hornets a bit less sane (and maybe just a bit weaker to infection) and becomes a willing vessel of the radiance, amplifying Her power and making problems. Basically the bad ending.

However. my ego boost from a successful inktober made me underestimate painting both of these guys and didn't touch the painting for 6 months. But. I remembered it existed last week and decided to cut hornet and her complicated radiance fluff that I had no clue how to render and make it just the hollow knight lol. And now it's here yippee.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Two centuries later, William Tyndale in 1522 introduced – for the first time – the phrase of 'weaker vessel' into the first passage:

Lyke wyse ye men dwell with them accordinge to knowledge gevinge honoure vnto the wyfe as vnto the weaker vessell and as vnto them that are heyres also of the grace of lyfe that youre prayers he not let.

Likewise ye husbands, dwell with them as men of knowledge, giving honour into the woman, as unto the weaker vessel, even as they which are heirs together of the grace of life, that your prayers be not interrupted.

"Normal Women: 900 Years of Making History" - Philippa Gregory

[rahuratna]

Synopsis: A lover's embrace is often all the comfort one needs. Your companions show you, through their touch, just how much your bond means to them.

[Lae'zel x Reader/Tav, Gale x Tav, Astarion x Tav cuddle headcanons]

Genres: Romance, fluff, humour, angst.

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(This turned out a lot more romantic and sentimental than the humour/fluff I'd planned. Either way, hope you enjoy it, lovely readers!)

Lae'zel: Dodge and Feint

In all fairness, you hadn't expected her to be party to softer forms of affection.

When all of this had started between you, it had been the result of a rather bold proposition after a difficult battle. Lae'zel had warmed to your fighting prowess, and your first time with her had reflected all of that desire, and more.

What you hadn't expected was the depth of respect, passion and acceptance you'd received from her, when you considered that in her eyes, you'd started off as a specimen of a weaker species with a nose that was too long for comfort.

If you'd been in her shoes, you're not sure you'd find yourself attractive.

Those thoughts aside, you'd found yourself wondering at times, whether you'd be able to persuade her to appreciate other things too. The softer side of affection, touch specifically, had always appealed to you.

You hadn't dared suggest as such to her yet, but you'd be lying if you hadn't fantasized about her strong arms holding you close, the tickle of her braids over your collarbone, the steady beat of her heart against your back.

But how to proceed?

Lae'zel was a tough nut to crack. You'd considered the direct approach; simply asking her outright for a cuddle. The images your mind threw up as a response made you choke on your tea. She might just coldly turn you down, and somehow, that seemed a lot worse than being punched in the face.

And yet ...

On a particular afternoon, after trekking through the mountains, your exhausted band had camped out on a rocky outcrop. The sky was an embroidered masterpiece above you, adorned with pearly stars stitched by some heavenly hand.

Blanket draped across your shoulders, you'd brought a steaming drink of mulled wine to Lae'zel, courtesy of Gale's stash of recipes. She'd glanced up at you silently, accepting the vessel.

You seated yourself beside her, before inching closer. She showed no sign of feeling the cold.

"The stars look beautiful tonight."

She turned her gaze upward, fingers curling tightly around the cup in her hand.

"I've seen the stars, up close. Most are chunks of cold, empty rock, without even the memory of a single soul's tread. They are beautiful, I suppose, in their loneliness."

Something in her description caught at your mind, causing you to glance sideways at her.

"And once you leave your tread on them? Do you think they retain some fondness of that moment?"

"Stars have no soul."

"And if they did?"

She snorted and took a sip of her drink.

"You ask the oddest questions."

"You seem to like them. Most of the time."

You offer a cheeky grin in response to her sharp look.

"You assume a great deal."

Emboldened, you shift up until your side is pressed to hers, before passing the blanket across her shoulders and tugging the end snugly back towards you, effectively wrapping you both within the soft, comfortable folds.

She didn't move, but raised her eyebrow at your actions.

"I don't recall saying that I was cold."

"Maybe you're not. Maybe you are. It's my job as your chosen partner to wrap you in a blanket either way."

"Hmm. More presumption. What do you gain from this? You'd feel warmer if the blanket was wrapped more firmly around just you."

Your voice grew softer, almost hoping she'd let the comment pass without acknowledgement.

"I like this better."

"This?"

"Being close to you."

She remained still and silent for the rest of the time, but you noted that she'd made no move to remove herself from your proximity.

In the course of your short relationship with her, you'd found that Lae'zel was highly observant, mentally recording a lot of the things you said and did, only to produce that knowledge later in the most unexpected ways.

A few days after that night camped on the mountain, she'd suggested a sparring session, with no weapons involved. You'd eagerly agreed, deciding that your hand-to-hand combat skills needed some practice.

Not that you'd appreciate being flung down into the dirt multiple times, but it was certainly better than being caught lacking in a decisive battle.

And Lae'zel had proven herself an efficient, if somewhat ruthless teacher.

You readied yourself for the session, stretching your muscles and hopping back and forth, limbering up. Lae'zel took a sip of water from her canteen before closing the top, joining you in the open glade near camp that you'd chosen for this session.

She didn't give you the grace of an easy start, as you knew she wouldn't. Her hands darted out, landing a series of sharp jabs against your ribs, so rapid that you didn't feel anything at first, but then the impact kicked in and you winced.

You took courage from the fact that just a month ago, you'd probably have been doubled over in pain. Lae'zel had certainly conditioned you well.

Regaining your balance, you swept your leg out, watching  as she nimbly leapt back. You hadn't managed to knock her over, but you'd put some space between you.

Circling, watching her follow your motions, you felt a shiver pass down your spine. Lae'zel's demeanour shifted, very subtly, during sparring. You gained a taste of the way she faced her opponents in battle, focused, predatory, a born hunter stalking its intended prey.

You feinted high and swung a blow that actually landed on her side. You felt the muscles of her abdomen clench, absorbing the impact before her hand closed around your wrist and she tugged sharply. The momentum behind your swing had you catapulting forward, off balance, right into her powerful hold.

Your feet left the ground, and you heard her grunt as you turned the tables, throwing your full weight back. She went down, but her hold on you never slackened.

Breathing hard, you squirmed in her grasp, but she stayed firm, one arm looped around your torso, keeping your arms trapped at your sides.

You huffed out a frustrated breath. You'd really thought you'd had her for a moment. More fool you.

Tilting your head back against her shoulder, you gave your concession.

"All right, this round goes to you."

"Are you surprised? You shouldn't be. It'll take much more training before you can best me."

"Thought I did get lucky for a moment there."

She remained silent, but you noticed that she hadn't released you from her hold.

"Lae'zel?"

"What is it?"

"Are we ... continuing?"

She didn't answer, but her grip around you loosened enough for you to free your arms. You turned slightly.

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course it is," she snapped.

"Then why have you stopped?"

Her put-upon sigh blew against the shell of your ear, warm, almost gentle.

"I thought you liked this."

"What? Being wrestled to the ground?"

"No, you imbecile! Being close to me."

The pieces suddenly slotted together in your head with stunning clarity.

She'd wanted to offer you physical proximity, and offering a sparring match in a secluded area, away from the prying eyes of others, had obviously been the logical conclusion in her mind.

You almost laughed, but then decided that this would be a very, very bad idea.

Instead, you sighed happily and leaned back in her embrace, head tucking beneath her chin.

"You thought right. I do like this."

"Hmph. So easily pleased. You should be glad I volunteered this training session. Otherwise, you'd just have to go without."

Her triumphant (rather smug) tone sparked a surge of something unbearable in your chest, a yearning you hadn't know you were capable of feeling.

How did she manage to do this to you?

Even with her clumsy, abrupt manner, her biting comments, her quick and sharp reprimands, her stand-offish nature, Lae'zel had somehow rendered herself so vulnerable to you.

You could feel it in the way she pressed her cheek to the top of your head, you could see it in the way she trusted you to lead her. You could sense it in the way her words reached you, always sincere and spoken from the purest of fires that burned within her, a warrior's constant in your cosmic equation.

And when her lips find yours, the latticework of the trees above you seem to open up further, exposing the arch of the sky, and your fingers find their way into her hair, sinking into the sweet hope of traversing that endless plane alongside her someday.

Gale: Materials and Method

"So, I've heard ... "

You downed the last of the healing potion and looked quizzically across at Gale.

He cleared his throat and stirred the pot with a little more vigour.

"I've heard ... no, read, a treatise on the healing power of touch. You know. To make you feel better after ... large and potentially traumatic events."

You grinned at him.

"And where did you find this treatise? Sharess's Caress?"

He shot you a reprimanding look, betrayed a little by the way his mouth twitched.

"Hmm. I don't think we're talking about the same written work on the subject of intimacy, although, dare I say, both have their merit."

You propped your chin on your hands, your breathing now a little easier as you felt the potion go to work on the bruising around your ribs.

The bandits you'd encountered in the hills had gone down fairly quickly to your party's combined attacks, but not before getting in a few blows of their own.

"So tell me, what does your treatise say?"

"Well, it speaks of the psychological benefits, all well researched, mind you, of maintaining skin to skin contact with someone you are already ... attached to. Someone you care for."

"And how are any of these things measurable?"

"Ah, through the release of certain hormones in the blood. Those can be measured."

"Is it really as simple as that?"

He was quiet for a time, gaze distracted.

"There was a time when I thought it was. That perhaps, love could be quantified. That its increments over time could be precisely measured by how much ... one gave. And how much was taken."

"And now?" you prompted him, gently.

"Now, I don't prescribe to the same school of thought."

He turned to you and smiled, that familiar warmth you'd come to associate with Gale's regard passing pleasantly over your features, as if touched by some invisible sun.

"Now ... well, I don't know what I believe. Let's just say that I'm ... open to conducting more research."

"Are you now?"

"Indeed, I am. A fortunate position to be in, don't you think?"

You laughed and watched him stir the stew for a while. You were fully aware of what he had done, setting out the offer for you, waiting patiently for you to turn it over in your hands, consider it from all angles, and decide if you'd give your consent or not.

In actuality, your mind had been made up some time ago.

"So, is there any way I could help you with your research?"

"There most certainly is."

His answer came a little too quickly, and your expression grew sly as you noticed the embarrassed flush steal up his neck.

"All right. Humour me, Master Gale. Where does all research begin?"

"With a question."

"How do I know if I'm asking the right one?"

"You have to refine it. Make it as concise as possible."

"Hmm. Here goes then. Gale, would you like to position your arms around me?"

"That's the wrong question. The real one should be- "

"About the benefits of embracing someone. I'm aware."

"Then - "

"Let's cut to the chase and begin experimenting?"

He uttered a soft laugh, one infinitely full of affection. Rising, he approached you with playful deliberation, pausing before you, one hand on his chin.

"I'm simply taking a moment to check whether you're ... receptive to my experiment."

You drew your knees together and raised your voice in a piteous falsetto.

"Oh, what foul Gods have sent this mountain breeze my way? I am so very cold. If only a warm and toasty man, of the scholarly persuasion, could come by and warm me."

Gale checked off a point on one of his fingers.

"It seems my services are required after all."

He resumed his steady pacing around your form.

"Next, I should observe the reactions before and after an embrace. Does it really have the intended effect, or can my subject survive quite well without it?"

You collapsed sideways across the log you were seated on.

"Oh, I am about to perish from this cold and loneliness. If only there was a man with a handsome beard, smelling slightly of stew, to come by and deliver sustenance to my soul."

"Ah. It seems they are both cold and lonely. A frightful combination, to be sure."

Gale was now right behind you, both hands coming to rest on your shoulders. His touch was light, but the weight of intention laid heavy across you both. He began to move his palms in soft soothing circles, beginning at the tops of your arms and slowly traversing the slope of your shoulders.

"Now, how does this feel?"

"Quite marvelous. I feel like I may be cured in no time."

"Never rush to conclusions like that. A true scholar would question the validity of what they feel in this moment. Does it really make you feel good?"

"Are you ... fishing for compliments under the guise of scientific inquiry?"

"I am merely following the method. Wiser men than me speak for its merits, you know."

"Well, wiser men seem to be beating about the bush an awful lot. It feels wonderful, Gale."

There was a pause before you felt him shift, the material of his trousers scraping across the log as he stepped over it and positioned himself in front of you. You took his outstretched hand, standing to face him.

"Looks like the spirit of experimentation is growing bolder."

He shook his head, shoulders heaving with silent laughter.

"You've played along wonderfully so far. Don't stop now."

"Oh, fine then."

You straightened and met his eye, shivering slightly in anticipation at what you'd seemingly kindled there.

"What next?"

"Put your hands on my shoulders."

When you complied, he stepped into your space, breath fanning along the flesh of your ear.

"And now for the final determination. The proving of my hypothesis, so to speak."

His arms slid around your waist, gentle, enclosing you in everything he was, his hold always considerate, but firm. You felt the light scratch of his beard against the side of your neck and inhaled sharply.

"And what is your hypothesis?"

"That this is most beneficial indeed."

"I have to agree."

You felt the curve of his lips against your skin, the tightening of his arms as he drew you close, enveloping you in his scent. Your hand found the nape of his neck, running up into the flow of his hair.

He inhaled deeply, taking you in, before he froze, gripping your waist and moving you a little further away. In the dim light, his eyes gleamed with amusement and chagrin.

"I do believe, in my desire to test this hypothesis, that I've managed to burn the stew."

Astarion: Practice makes perfect

He was staring again.

You could feel his gaze tracing along your skin, like molten threads of metal through a sword, fresh from the forge.

Making the journey from the Shadow-cursed lands (now no longer under the hold of Ketheric Thorm), had been slow at first. Your party was exhausted after the battle at Moonrise Towers.

Even though you had taken respite afterwards, the imperative nature of your mission to overthrow the Absolute was pressing. You compromised by setting a steady pace towards  Baldur's Gate, frequently stopping to rest and re-supply.

As occupied as your thoughts were with what awaited you in the city, there was another puzzle to be unraveled.

Astarion's recent behaviour.

Since your encounter with the drow blood merchant, Araj Oblodra, there had been some revelations in your relationship with him. Astarion had come clean about his original 'plan' to seduce you, and his own budding feelings that had put an end to it.

As much as you were still processing what it all meant, you couldn't help the spark of hope that

flared every time you looked at him and saw the genuine softness and affection, the well-concealed pleasure he took in your company.

And now, there was something new. This ... watchfulness, for want of a better term.

You couldn't make head or tail of it.

He seemed to be waiting to ambush you at every dark corner in camp, his flowery drawl snaring you every time you passed his tent. He sat with you while you ate, even considering his distaste for regular food. Sometimes, you'd check your clothing and find new embroidery or repairs, probably done in the dead of night.

All this was well and good. You could accept the attention, and lavish him with your own, but he seemed to be ... expecting something from you, and you couldn't possibly make out what it was.

It was obvious that he was growing rather impatient with your lack of discernment. Once, you'd given him a peck on the cheek to say good night and you'd spied the flash of hurt that had lingered in his eyes for a moment, covered up instantly with charm and wit.

It was bothering you to no end.

What did he want from you? Why wouldn't he come out and say it?

On one particular night, the thoughts he'd inspired left you tossing and turning, sleep evading you. Rolling onto your back, you stared at the roof of your tent.

Right. No answers there.

It was then that you heard it; a soft tread just outside. Raising your head slightly, you listened carefully, one hand inching beneath your bedroll for the knife you kept handy there.

The footsteps stopped, then started up again. You realised that the person was pacing. Up and down. To and fro. It went on for some time, with pauses in between.

You put the knife back.

No assassin would be this indecisive. And besides, you recognised that tread. Your senses had all but made it highly familiar.

You called softly into the night.

"Astarion?"

The footfalls stopped abruptly.

"I know you're there. Come inside. It's so cold out."

There was a pause before he pushed the flap aside and crawled in. The dim glow from the campfire filtered into your tent, outlining him in flickering shadow.

He sat cross-legged, silent.

You waited for a few seconds before inching across to him, wrapping your blanket around his shoulders and retreating.

He uttered a small sound of frustration.

"Why do you do that? I'm not made of glass you know."

You frowned. He sounded ... tired. A trifle bitter.

"Do what?"

"You know what."

"Astarion."

You took his hand, feeling his strong, cool fingers clench convulsively around yours.

"You need to speak to me. I really have no idea what's been troubling you."

"You ... it's ... why do you avoid me? What have I done wrong? Are you ... regretting being together with me? Is it not enough? I knew it couldn't be enough. Why else would you ... "

You held up a hand to stem the confused flow of words, bewildered.

"What are you talking about? I've never once avoided you. I love being with you. You know that."

He was watching you again, eyes flicking between yours, as if to catch some hint of insincerity.

He found none, of course. You felt some of the tension leave his body, but your question still remained unanswered.

"You need to tell me. Why do you think I avoid you? And when?"

He shifted, dropping your hand and taking a deep, bracing breath.

"Do you remember the night we ... spoke. After meeting with that drow merchant?"

"Of course."

"Well ... why haven't you come to my tent since then?"

He waved his hands wildly, as if to grasp answers from the air.

"I'm pretty certain that I don't smell bad, for an undead being. And I'm beautiful, that much goes without saying. My hair hasn't been at its best in recent times, I admit, but plant extracts are rather hard to come by in the Shadowlands, darling, and I - "

You snorted incredulously.

"Are you serious? You really think any of that would put me off you?"

"Well, obviously something has. You don't ... you haven't ... "

He cut off, head lowered, hands braced on his knees. This was evidently difficult for him.

Reaching out, you gently stroked his cheek, a flutter of something vital and warm surfacing as he leaned into your touch.

This foolish, foolish man.

But you had to choose your words carefully.

"Astarion, I haven't been avoiding you at all. I was just ... giving you space. You trusted me with the knowledge of everything you've had to endure. I wanted to let you ... come to me on your own terms and ... oh."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you realised what you'd done. Falling silent, you lowered your gaze.

He folded his arms.

"Oh indeed. You're truly dense at times, my sweet."

"But I - "

His finger laid itself across your lips as you opened your mouth to protest.

"Gods, you're the most lovely, silly, frustrating ... idiot I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

You scowled under his silencing finger, but the relief in his voice was so palpable that you couldn't help the smile that bloomed in quick succession. You reached up and caught his wrist, lowering his hand.

"So, you want me to ... not be quite as considerate of your space as I've been."

"One would think you'd get the idea, considering how I've been invading yours. Not your brightest moment, my love."

A laugh bubbled up in your throat.

"So that's what all of that was about."

"I'm so glad you noticed my bounteous desire for your company."

"All right then. Now that we've cleared the air ... what would you like me to do?"

He scoffed, some of his old panache returning. A welcome change.

"Honestly. Can you not remember a thing about that night?"

"Wait, what?"

"The thing you did."

"Eh?"

"Gods below, I've developed feelings for a deep rothé."

"Can you just tell me - "

"This," he hissed, before leaning forward and wrapping both arms around you. He released you almost instantly, observing your face with attentiveness. The firelight turned the ruby hue of his eyes to something darker, more desperate. In spite of his light-hearted banter, he was -

"Astarion."

Your voice was so full of tenderness, so soft, that you saw him flinch from it.

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Well, it's not exactly - "

It was your turn to silence him, finger lightly grazing his lips. He took a shaky breath.

"What the fuck is this? Why is this so damnably difficult?"

"It's not. We just ... both of us just ... need to learn how to speak about things, I suppose. That's ... simple. Once you get the hang of it."

His voice had lowered to a whisper.

"It is?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure myself. But we'll start with this."

You held out your arms and he approached eagerly, slinging the blanket over both your shoulders. His unusually graceless movement pushed you off balance, and you tumbled back with a huff of amusement, tugging him down with you, his head knocking against the bridge of your nose.

"Ouch!"

"Lae'zel was right. Your nose is too big."

"What are your elbows made of? Gondian steel?"

"All the better to prod you with, my dear."

After a series of scuffling movements, you finally found yourself lying on your back, his head propped on your shoulder, just beneath your chin. Soft curls brushed your cheek as he shifted, his arm curling possessively around your body, leg sliding over yours.

His scent was familiar, breathtakingly so. It pervaded your senses, the sharp stringency of the soap at the Last Light Inn, the faint citrus essence of his hair cream, the smokiness of burning wood from where he'd sat too close to the fire.

You hadn't realised, until that moment, how you'd needed to hold him like this once again, the immediacy of his presence a comfort beyond words.

He raised his head slightly, mouth now on level with your ear. You felt the shift of muscle beneath his shirt, the slide of his hand against your ribs.

"Can we fall asleep like this? Every night?"

"We can."

"You ... really don't mind?"

You turned over, now facing him, your breath dancing across his lips.

In the dark, you couldn't see much detail, but you knew the lie of his features as well as the most well-traced map. Reaching up, you passed fingers lightly over his eyes, mouth, ears, nose, chin.

Your devstatingly handsome rogue. Your shadow dancer. Yours, in all his vulnerability, within these fragile canvas walls.

"I want to wake up to your face. On every morning until ... "

His lips silenced you, opening in unspoken passion against yours. When he parted from you, it was no loss. His entire body was pressed against the length of yours, and your arms had found their way around him again, holding him the way he had desired beyond anything.

"Don't. Don't say more. Just fall asleep with me."

"Just like that?"

You felt him smile into your hair.

"I suppose it''s simple, darling. Once you get the hang of it."

[heliosunny]

nahhh i've got an idea, dom male reader x mydei. hehehehehehe btw if you can't or do not want to write this, it is okay tho. i like your writing style and how you literally the only yandere accounts that post literally often. thank youuuu!

Yandere!Mydei x M!Reader

The grand halls of your palace were once filled with warmth. You were a king not of tyranny, but of wisdom and justice. And yet, justice meant nothing to the blade that had pierced your chest.

You lay on the cold floor of your throne room, the warmth of your own blood seeping into your garments.

Among the chaos, a single figure remained still.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

Your body growing weaker by the second, but Mydei finally moved. He knelt beside you, his hands cradling your face.

"Who did this?"

Mydei was no mere knight in your service—he was something far more devoted.

"Don’t worry, my king." He pressed a hand to your wound as if he could hold you together by sheer will alone. "I'll fix this. I'll fix everything."

-----

The throne was cold beneath him. The weight of the crown—your crown—rested heavy on Mydei’s head, but it meant nothing to him. He had not taken it for power, nor for glory. No, this was merely a temporary position, a means to an end. Until you returned, the throne was nothing more than a placeholder.

And you would return.

The dark mage knelt before him, trembling under his golden gaze. Their face was slick with sweat, exhaustion evident from the unnatural rituals they had performed. Mydei had spent countless nights hunting them down, forcing them to bend reality itself to his command.

"I did what you asked." the mage rasped, "Your majesty..he lives. But—" They hesitated, daring to glance up at him. "Not here. His soul——was pulled into another vessel, elsewhere.."

For a moment, the room was silent. The gathered nobles, too frightened to speak, held their breath. They had already seen what happened to those who failed him.

"Is that so?"

With a flick of his wrist, he let them go.

"Send word to my scouts," he ordered, "Find him. I don’t care whose body he wears now."

His fingers traced the armrest of the throne.

"I will find you.…"

----

The scent of pine and damp earth filled your lungs as you took a deep breath. The forest stretched endlessly before you. Your fingers gripped the worn handle of your hunting knife.

You didn’t remember anything before waking up in this body.

"You're lucky to be alive... Son." the old man had told you when your eyes first opened. His wife had clutched his arm, her wrinkled hands trembling as she stared at you in disbelief.

"We thought we'd lost you"

They had told you about your last hunt, where you were gravely injured, where even the village healer had doubted you would survive.

You looked into the polished steel of your hunting dagger that night, searching for familiarity in the reflection staring back at you.

Still, you had a job to do.

If this was your life, then you would live it. The bow fit comfortably in your grip, the weight of a quiver on your back a second nature. Muscle memory, you told yourself.

Tracking prey was effortless. Another clean kill. Another hunt completed. You wiped the sweat from your brow, exhaling.

------

The weight of the deer slung over your shoulders was nothing compared to the exhaustion settling in your bones. The familiar scent of burning firewood and fresh bread greeted you home, a comforting routine after another successful hunt.

But as you neared your house, something felt off.

You saw a stranger stood at your doorstep, definitely not belong to this village.

Your parents stood before him. The old man’s fingers twitched toward the knife at his belt, his instincts sharp despite his age. The old woman clutched her apron.

Then you noticed it—the object in the stranger’s gloved hand. It glowed faintly as you approached.

The moment the stranger’s gaze locked onto you, his golden eyes widened.

He knelt after realizing that he was staring at you long enough.

"Your majesty."

The glowing object in his hand pulsed faster.

You stared at him, obviously, you didn't recognize him.

"Who… are you?"

"You may not remember me now.. But you will, soon"

Your parents had barely taken a step toward you before the guards moved. One of them grabbed your father’s arm, yanking him back. The old man grunted, stumbling, his weathered face twisting in pain. The other shoved your mother aside, causing her to fall to her knees.

A rush of heat flooded your veins.

With a single step, you closed the distance. Your hand shot out, gripping the nearest guard’s wrist. The crack of bones followed as you twisted, sending the man to the ground with a strangled cry. The second guard barely had time to react before you drove your palm into his chest, sending him staggering back.

The guards scrambled to recover, but before they could so much as lift their weapons, a chilling voice cut through the air.

"Stand down."

The guards froze in place, their faces drained of color.

"You dare lay hands on him in my presence?"

Neither of the guards dared to answer.

"We will have a discussion about discipline."

The guards paled further. You ignored them. Instead, you knelt beside your mother, gently helping her up while your father straightened with a grimace.

"Are you alright?" you asked.

Your mother nodded shakily, gripping your arm. Your father, though clearly furious, held his tongue.

"I will stay here" he announced. He turned to your parents, offering a polite smile. "Your son has lost something dear. I intend to help him retrieve it."

"Fine," you muttered, crossing your arms. "You stay, but don’t cause trouble."

"As you wish, my king."

The forest was quiet in the early morning. You pulled your cloak tighter, feeling the weight of another pair of footsteps trailing behind you.

You didn’t like it.

Every time you glanced over your shoulder, there he was, his eyes always on you. He said nothing, but the way he looked at you made your skin crawl.

You didn’t know who he was or why he called you “king” but he carried himself like a man who had bled for you—and was willing to bleed again.

Still, you tolerated his presence.

If he was telling the truth… if your memories were stolen or lost… maybe this was the only path to getting them back.

The two of you had tracked the deer for hours. Working together was almost disturbingly fluid.

Eventually, you found it grazing in a clearing, its coat dappled gold by morning light.

Mydei raised his weapon. The perfect killing stroke was only a breath away.

But something tugged at your attention.

From the thicket nearby, soft rustling—two small heads peeked out. Fawns.

"Wait!" you said, one hand reaching out to stop him.

Mydei’s movements halted instantly at your word.

He turned to look at you. "It’s wounded. One blow and it’s done."

"It has kids."

You stepped past him, lowering your bow. The mother deer limped slightly, trying to shield the fawns behind her with her body.

"We don’t take parents from children."

"You remember that."

You looked over your shoulder. "What?"

"You used to say that all the time. In war, in law, in hunting… Mercy. You always chose mercy when it mattered."

You frowned. "Sounds like a decent person. Doesn’t feel like me."

"It is you." His voice was hushed. "Even now, with no memories, you’re still.. you."

You looked away, a strange tightness curling in your chest. You didn’t know what you were expecting to find out here—but it wasn’t this.

The deer limped off, its fawns following close behind.

You turned to Mydei. "Let’s keep moving."

He nodded.

The fire crackled softly, its light casting flickering shadows across the trees. Smoke curled upward into the starless sky, carrying with it the scent of pine, ash, and the fish you'd caught earlier. Nothing fancy—just skewered over flame.

You sat on a fallen log, arms resting on your knees, your eyes half-lidded as you watched the flames dance.

Mydei sat across from you. He hadn’t touched the fish. Not yet. As if his appetite depended on yours.

You broke the silence first.

"So," you said, pulling a skewer free from the fire and taking a slow bite, "if I was really this ‘king’ you talk about… what was I like?"

Mydei’s eyes lifted, catching yours through the firelight.

"You were..." he began, "Kind. But strong. People feared disappointing you more than they feared punishment. You never raised your voice unless it was to protect someone."

You snorted softly. "Sounds made up."

He smiled faintly. "I thought so too, the first time I saw you. I thought no man could be so perfect. But… you weren’t perfect. You just chose to be good when it was hardest."

Your hand tightened slightly around the skewer. You stared into the fire, letting the warmth crawl into your skin.

"Tell me another story then." you said after a moment.

Mydei paused. Not to search for one—no, it was clear he had thousands. He just didn’t know which would hurt less to say.

Finally, he said, "There was a day when we were at war. The enemy had taken a village, used the children there as shields. Everyone advised you to wait. To let them starve the enemy out. But you refused. You entered alone."

"You negotiated with them. You carried a child on your back through the burning fields."

You could almost smell the smoke.

You shook it off. "That’s stupid," you muttered. "No one should walk into a trap like that."

"That’s exactly what you said afterward. Right before you scolded me for trying to follow you in."

Then, softly, you asked: "Who were you to me?"

"The one who followed you when no one else dared."

Your heart skipped. You looked back at him.

You said nothing, but for the first time, you didn’t look away.

It had been a few weeks since that first campfire.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between tracking game and listening to those half-sorrowful stories of who you used to be, Mydei stopped feeling like a stranger.

He was still strange, no doubt. But beneath all that stillness, there was a fire—one that only ever flickered when he looked at you.

One morning, you gave him your answer.

"I’m not going back."

You expected resistance. But instead, Mydei bowed his head slightly.

"Understood."

And just like that, he was gone.

But the silence did not last.

Back at the palace, Mydei stood before the high court.

"The King’s return has been delayed." he announced calmly, seated on the throne you once ruled. "In the meantime… I will resume rule."

There was a murmur of confusion. But when the new decrees came, the kingdom shook.

Public executions.

"Let them hang until the birds take their eyes. Let the air know what happens to those who betray their king."

Every prisoner sentenced to death. Hung in the square, their heads severed and displayed for all to see. The message was clear:

Loyalty or death.

Mydei watched every execution himself. Not with pleasure—but with a cold, simmering wrath barely concealed beneath his gaze.

It was never about justice.

It was the beginning of cleansing.

A first step to burn away weakness, to purge every trace of betrayal that had led to your death.

You may have said no for now.

But Mydei would not stop.

He would never stop.

------

You had only come to the city to trade.

A bag of dried fish and preserved meat slung across your shoulder, a small bundle of furs under your arm. Just enough to get your parents the winter herbs they needed.

But from the moment you stepped past the outer gates, something felt… wrong.

The streets were quieter than they should’ve been at midday. Families kept their heads down, conversations died quickly, and more than once, you caught the sound of someone crying behind closed doors.

Worse still—guards. Everywhere. Standing in alleyways. Perched on rooftops.

You found an elderly shopkeeper who was kind enough to sell you the herbs at half price after seeing the pelts. When you asked about the strange atmosphere, she looked over her shoulder and whispered:

"Haven’t you heard? The Regent is purging the kingdom. Anyone suspected of betrayal, anyone who opposed him during the king’s assassination—dead. Executed like cattle."

You froze. The king?

"I thought he was—"

"Gone. But now the Regent rules in his name. And it’s worse. Much worse."

You couldn’t shake it. That tightness in your chest.

Somehow, you felt responsible.

You turned to leave the city before the sun dipped, but you didn’t make it far. Not even two streets out before they struck. A blast of magic knocked the breath from your lungs.

Mydei was sitting on the throne when the doors slammed open.

"Three mages, just beyond the east gate. They claim they caught a spy."

Mydei raised a brow, only vaguely interested.

"Let them in."

The guards dragged the mages in first. Behind them, a figure was pulled forward in enchanted chains, a dirty cloth draped over the head.

His eyes narrowed.

"Who is that?" Mydei asked coldly, rising from the throne.

One mage bowed. "A stranger to the capital. He was wandering near the restricted border. We suspect he may be—"

"Uncover him."

The mage complied, grabbing the cloth and yanking it away.

Time seemed to stop.

Your face.

Bruised. Cut. Blood on your temple. Still breathing, but barely.

Mydei slowly walked down from where he is. The blade was already in his hand before anyone noticed it had left its sheath, and then, the mage’s head rolled to the marble floor, eyes still wide in shock.

The court gasped in unison.

Mydei turned to the second. "You laid a hand on him?"

The last two mages fell to their knees instantly, screaming for mercy.

Then silence. All of them are dead.

Only your breathing remained.

"Bring a physician. Now! The best one. Touch him wrong and I’ll make your family watch as I peel you apart."

----

You awoke with a soft breath.

The scent of polished wood and roses lingered in the air.

You sat up slowly.

Someone helped you change your clothes.

And then the ache started.

Flashes behind your eyes.

A throne. Blood.

But then it was gone—faded like breath on glass.

The door creaked open. And he stepped in.

"Where are my parents?"

"They’re safe. I’ve arranged for a physician to stay with them full-time and have stationed guards discreetly."

A quiet sigh left your lips.

"...Thank you" you murmured, sinking back slightly into the soft bed.

Mydei walked closer, but kept his distance.

"I knew you’d ask about them first."

You looked down at your hands, flexing them slowly.

"...Did I live here?"

"Yes."

You had just started breathing normally again.

But then, the door opened once more.

A robed figure entered—A mage. You hated how you kept encountering them.

“What’s going on?”

The mage remained silent.

Instead, Mydei’s hand moved and pinned you by the shoulder. Not hurting you, but holding you still.

“What are you doing—?”

“They’re here to help you.”

“I don’t underst—”

“You will.”

The mage lifted both hands.

A searing light bloomed in the air between you. You struggled, but Mydei didn’t let you move—his grip grew firmer as the light bore down on you.

“Stop—Mydei, wait! I don’t—”

The spell pierced into your mind like a thousand glass needles.

And then— everything came crashing back.

You saw it all.

Your heart seized in your chest.

And you collapsed.

When you awoke, the pain was gone.

You remembered your own name. Everything that made you you.

And Mydei—he was already there, sitting beside your bed with his head lowered, still as a statue, fingers laced in front of his lips as if in silent prayer.

He looked up the second you stirred.

“You’re…”

You opened your mouth, “Mydei…”

And then he wrapped his arms around you tightly, “You’re back!”

He buried his face in your shoulder, shoulders shaking with silent relief.

-----

Mydei had always walked behind you.

For as long as he could remember, he had never needed anything more than the feeling of your voice giving him orders. That clarity, that purpose, was his reason to live.

Now that you stood once again at the top of the world—he had everything.

There was nothing to mourn. No more nights haunted by dreams of your blood-soaked body, no more empty corridors echoing with your absence.

You had returned. And he was whole.

Rumors had spread like wildfire of the lost king reborn. Nobles who once dared to plot found their heads lining the city gates.

Under your banner, armies surged. You took back what was once yours. And then you reached further. Lands that had turned arrogant in your absence were conquered.

Not all days were bloodshed.

Sometimes, when the mood struck, you would make your way to the royal training court.

Your strikes were heavier now—your absence had dulled the sharpness of your stance. But you were no novice. Mydei, however, never struck you like a teacher. He met you as an equal.

“You're still not holding back.”

“I never will” he’d say simply, offering his hand to pull you up.

In the moments between wars and sparring, Mydei would kneel beside your throne without being summoned. He didn’t need permission.

You never had to ask if he would die for you.

He already had.

Again and again.

As long as you wore that crown, as long as you ruled the world—you would never walk alone.

The palace slept beneath a blanket of stars. Guards stood silent along the halls. Outside, the wind stirred faintly through the courtyard trees, but within your chamber, all was still.

You lay in bed, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths.

And Mydei never left his place beside you. His armor was gone, but his sword still rested within reach. Just in case.

But as the hours stretched on and your breathing softened, Mydei moved. He approached your bed and lingered by the edge for a long moment.

“You’re here…”

His hand brushed yours—fingers wrapping around your larger palm, holding it in both of his like something fragile and precious. His thumb traced along your knuckles, memorizing the lines, the warmth, the proof of your existence.

He knelt.

And with a slow, aching breath, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

When he finally pulled away, he stayed seated beside you on the floor, hand still cradling yours in silence.

The sun had just begun to creep over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow into your chambers. You blinked, rubbed your eyes, and pushed the silk covers aside as you sat up with a yawn.

And then you swung your legs over the side of the bed— and tripped.

“Wha—?”

Your foot caught on something solid, warm, and very much not the floor. With a surprised grunt, you crashed down, dragging the blanket with you as the world tilted— And landed right on top of someone.

“Mydei?”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.”

He had clearly fallen asleep beside your bed, collapsed from fatigue without meaning to. But now you were straddling him, tangled in covers, your hair a mess and arms trapped at his sides.

You scrambled up in embarrassment, muttering an apology, trying to disentangle yourself—

Only for your foot to snag on the blanket again.

Smack.

You crashed forward, and this time, your forehead slammed right into Mydei’s mouth.

“—!”

He let out a faint grunt, and you winced at the sharp sting of pain.

You quickly pulled back, horrified to see blood already gathering at the corner of his lower lip.

“Damn it—! Stay there.” You grabbed the nearest cloth, panicked but trying to stay composed. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t even—! Ugh, this is my fault.”

“It’s fine.”

You ignored that, grabbing the small case of ointments near the bedside and unscrewing the cap. With careful fingers, you reached toward his face.

“Don’t move.”

You dabbed the balm gently over the split lip, and he held still beneath your touch.

“Done. Now get up, Mydei.”

-----

The village was quiet this morning, nestled deep in the rural lands reclaimed under your banner. You were there to ensure their peace.

You and Mydei rode at the front, flanked by a handful of guards. The villagers bowed with hushed reverence as you passed, offering fresh bread and small gifts of thanks. But you felt strange.

“Something’s wrong...”

A firebolt struck the nearest house

“Protect the villagers!” you ordered instantly, drawing your blade.

The guards leapt into action, shielding children and herding families toward safety. You turned sharply toward the treeline.

Dozens emerged—cloaked figures, former rebels from the lands you’d conquered.

They weren’t after the people.

They were after you.

“Draw them away,” you muttered, stepping beside Mydei. “Toward the ruin tower. We’ll finish this ourselves.”

He nodded without question.

The old tower was long abandoned, overtaken by moss and rot. It stood like a crooked fang on the edge of the cliffs.

The rebels chased, just as planned.

Half of them fell to your swords, the rest driven to desperation.

From the shadows of the top chamber, hidden figures lunged—ambushers lying in wait. You pivoted too late, barely fending off a strike aimed at your neck.

In the chaos, someone tackled you from behind.

And you were falling.

The wind howled past your ears as the edge of the tower vanished beneath you—until his hand caught your wrist.

“Your majesty!”

The scene unfolds in slow motion, the world reduced to crumbling stone, blood, and the weight of a choice neither of you wanted to make.

Mydei’s grip on your wrist is iron, his other hand braced against broken masonry, muscles straining to hold you both aloft. And you see it. The moment he realizes: This won’t work. The structure shudders. The math is simple. One life or none.

So you act.

The knife is in your hand before either of you can protest. You drive it into his palm and his fingers jerk open in reflex. His scream is raw, your name half curse, half plea, but you’re already falling, the wind howling in your ears as the tower collapses behind you.

You land hard. Alive. That's what matters.

But Mydei doesn’t know that.

By the time you stagger upright, wiping blood from your lip, the sky is raining something worse than rubble.

He jumped.

Because he thought you were gone, and the universe without you wasn’t worth staying in.

Then your body moves. You lunge, arms outstretched, and catch him midair with a grunt of impact, boots skidding in the dirt. His weight nearly knocks you over, but you hold on.

"You— I mean..."

You grin, all teeth and no remorse. "Miss me?"

He chokes out something between a laugh and a sob. You pretend not to notice the wetness on your collar.

The grand hall of the palace is alive with light and laughter, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine.

You sit upon the throne, draped in royal finery, a goblet of wine dangling carelessly from your fingers. The feast is in full swing—musicians play lively tunes, nobles toast to your safe return, and the long tables groan under the weight of the banquet. But your gaze keeps drifting to him.

Mydei hasn’t touched his wine.

You smirk into your cup.

Then, with a lazy wave of your hand, you silence the musicians.

"Today," you announce, "we celebrate not just my safe return, but the loyalty of the man who would have followed me into death itself."

You raise your goblet toward him. "Sir Mydei—step forward."

For a moment, he hesitates. Then, he approaches the throne and kneels, head bowed.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your free hand. "Tell me," you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear, "was it duty that made you jump after me? Or something far more foolish?"

"You know what it was"

You hum, amused. Then, in one smooth motion, you rise from the throne and pull him up by his uninjured hand. The court gasps as you press your own goblet into his grip.

"Then drink with me," you command, grinning. "And stop glaring like I’m already dead."

His fingers tighten around the cup. For a heartbeat, you think he might throw it in your face.

Instead, he drains it in one defiant swallow.

The nobles erupt into cheers. You laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Good job, Mydei."

[thewandererh]

what if why we didn’t see the doctor’s primary black-cloaked vessel ingame is because it’s his last resort? what if it’s where his heart is stored? or even where all the last copies of all his vital organs are kept safe?

an active consciousness can still stem from a backup of his brain, which his primary vessel holds. so, after his physical brain goes belly up (literally😭) the network of transmitting consciousness to each of his bots is still active. just transferred to a weaker method.

following the “murder” of dr harley sawyer in chapter 4, perhaps he scrambles back to this old vessel whereever it is. maybe it’s been neglected, a plan B dangerously collecting dust, or it’s sitting pristine in a sterile room on life support. nevertheless, harley finds himself in it after croaking his “last words” mid-transfer, and struggles to breathe. he forgot about this vessel. he’d cast it aside because it held the scars of his initial transfer into machine and the containment that followed. it was his first body. and it was so weak. but now it is his last chance.

however, he’s not properly adjusted to the whole having organs thing, and this vessel needs to be properly taken care of. so with bated breath and the struggle of calming his mind, he summons one of his metal corpses from his brain’s tomb. it takes a few agonizing minutes as it arrives to wherever he is, but eventually it’s close enough that he can actively switch bodies with it. consciousness transferral relies on proximity (this is why we only see the bots around his brain ingame).

revived and disoriented, the doctor must now look after himself. the fact of being reduced to this husk eats away at every atom of his being, but he’s simply too weak. he failed. he failed and he’ll be killed for it. but he’s not afraid.

when the splitting headaches cease and he gets used to being alive he can kill something again.

soon, but not yet.

4/19/25 edit : THIS AU NOW HAS A SIDEBLOG! https://www.tumblr.com/screws-of-sawyer headcanons, fics, art!!

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info ramble & sillies under cut!

au idea, ayo?? early titles are ‘mechanized-mind’ or ‘inside-the-mind-of-harley’ or even ‘dry-bones’ but i’m still brainstorming X]. i love putting my characters through emotional agony <33 but this time it’s an au of an existing character i have to analyze to get right so that’ll be fun. now for the drawing, i really like both medical concepts and making stuff up so maybe only some of the function would actually work, but i do not care. the idea was that harley’s primary vessel had a more meshy, detachable plate in his chest to give room for his heart and probably-disproportionately-sized lungs. here that plate is removed in order to help his heart beat. tons of other tubes are wired into his ventilation vents to keep him running to. my running idea for why the sarley hawyer (clone bot, aka secondary vessel) here doesn’t have a cloak is because maybe he had to take it off due to contamination. or it got snagged on the way here. but honestly i didn’t want to cover up the cool anatomy of my neat design i’ve been playing with, so he is naked once again 😔

this was the big flipaclip harley piece i mentioned in this post while trying to animate something. this idea arose instead, and slowly came to fruition as i found an elaborate way to color while listening to some lethal company and ppt 3 & 4 vids. pen pressure is really new to me and i’m on my knees thanking it for this neat coloring texture and technique i will probably never use again 🛐😌🫶 thank you apple pencil ilysm

anyways, here’s some funny wip shots, and general doctor sillies i found today!! ^_^ it’s been another doctor day

once again, astralspiff is a very cool guy guys 🗣️🔥🔥

but alas. adios amigos 😵‍💫🫡 goedenacht!

[koiukiy-o]

flame reaver x gn! reader. angst. 800w.

The first time you laid eyes on him, you thought the stories had been wrong.

The man who had left Aedes Elysiae in ruin was no immortal force, no unrelenting god of war. He was a shadow of what had once been—a crumbling ruin wrapped in frayed black cloth, flickering at the edges like a dying flame.

His armor, once gold and obsidian, had dulled to something lifeless. The jagged protrusions, like broken ribs bursting from his form, now seemed more like the remnants of a carcass picked clean by time. And his sword—

The legendary blade that had carved destruction into your home, that had left knowledge itself in embers—dragged against the ground, its edge dull, its radiance faded.

You had tracked him across wastelands and drowned valleys, through the ruins of empires he had reduced to cinders. You were meant to stop him. You had promised you would.

But standing before him now, as the last scholar of a knowledge he had tried to erase, you did not see a man who needed slaying.

You saw a man already dying.

"Have you come to stop me?" His voice was raw, stripped of the grandeur and menace the rumors had given him. He did not sound like a conqueror. He sounded like something that had burned too long and now had only smoke and ash left in its lungs.

You tightened your grip on your staff. "Should I?"

He laughed, and it was a sound that did not belong in this world—cracked, distant, like wind whistling through a skeleton’s ribs. "If you think it will change anything."

A gust of wind kicked up the dust between you. Even now, embers clung to the folds of his cloak, refusing to die.

"You destroyed Aedes Elysiae." The words felt small, meaningless in the face of all he had done.

He inclined his head slightly, as if considering. "I did."

The rage you had carried for years did not rise as you had expected. Instead, something colder settled in its place.

"Why?"

His fingers flexed at his side. They were no longer whole—veins of fire ran through his skin, cracks in a dying vessel. The corruption was spreading.

He exhaled, and it sounded like the last breath of a fire before it collapsed into embers. "I don’t remember."

You took a step closer. "Liar."

His golden mask tilted toward you. "I remember the fire. I remember the screams. I remember something calling me. But why?"

His hand clenched into a fist. "Why did I burn the city that I once called home?"

The nights were cold in the wasteland. He did not sleep, but you could tell the fire inside him flickered weaker when the sun set. He had stopped moving toward the Coreflame for now, though whether it was because of you or because his body was failing, you did not know.

You should have struck him down while he was still.

Instead, you sat across from him, staring at the broken creature before you.

"Was there nothing left?" you found yourself asking. "No one left worth sparing?"

His fingers traced the hilt of his sword absentmindedly. "There was a time I would have spared them all."

You swallowed. "But you didn’t."

"No." He looked at his own hand, the veins of flame crawling higher. "Something changed."

"Something?"

His mask turned toward you. "Or maybe it was me."

The silence between you stretched. You should not have cared. You should not have felt this pull toward understanding him. And yet, as you watched him sit there, a man crumbling under the weight of what he had become, you realized something.

He did not need redemption. He did not need forgiveness.

The e grove lay in ruin, the last remnants of its wisdom shrouded in shadow. And at the center of it all—

Anaxagoras sat upon the luminary throne, unconscious, one of the three shards of the Coreflame pulsing weakly.

Flame Reaver stood before him, his tattered cloak barely stirring, his gauntleted fingers hovering just above the light that would end his suffering or consume him whole.

You stepped forward. "Don’t."

He did not turn to face you, but you saw his hand clench. "You would stop me?"

"I would remind you." You took another step closer. "This is not yours to take."

His shoulders trembled. The mask upon his face made him unreadable, but something in the way he stood—

Something in the way he hesitated—

"Cerces has chosen him," you continued, your voice steady. "For you to take it now is to reduce everything to ruin."

The fingers of his outstretched hand twitched. He could take it. The hunger within him screamed for it. And yet—

He lingered.

The world seemed to hold its breath.

Then, with a slow exhale, he lowered his hand. The embers along his body flickered once before dimming.

You turned from the throne.

And you walked away.

—

He was not a god. He was not a legend.

He was only a man who sought redemption.

But in the end, even this flame must die. Sooner or later.