#even I'M not immune to the idea that the things i suffer from are things that can Disappear Magically 😭

[uncanny-tranny]

Every time you think, "Oh, I don't have [x condition], I'm basically cured!" that is the devil talking. You aren't cured, you are likely going through periods of your symptoms waning. Don't cease whatever you're doing to help yourself, like medication, for instance, because it's likely you still have the conditions or symptoms, even if you aren't noticing them as frequently or severely.

[hivemuthur]

Request: something with sex pollen or accidental aphrodisiacs (science experiments?). And not like dubcon. More like Viktor/Reader have unconfessed feelings and apparently one or both of them needs to be drugged and desperate for sex to get them out. Idk if it’s your thing but I’d be interested to see your take on it.

I remember the evening I got this ask. I was like yesss and my friends gave me the look, you know?

Unknown Variable

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! sex pollen, but I've managed to plot it up a bit. From warnings: unsafe sex, rough sex, lots of fluids, brief mentions of experimenting on animals. The substance here is based on how fentanyl works, sort of :') I had to make myself a loop hole for something I wanted to write for the longest time :v

word count: 4,5K

author’s note: Freaktor Nation, how we feeling? Thank you for granting me another porn-writing fiddler milestone Anon :') beautiful artist behind the cover is @petitesieste 🖤

—

Your idle hand plays with the pendant of your necklace while the other scribbles down notes from the last test. Another miss. And life goes on in pain.

Finding a medication that alleviates pain without an endless list of side effects has been Sisyphean work, to say the least. Every time you think you’re close, something immune to compromise pokes its insistent head through the crack you’ve made in the never-fully-open door to the human pain receptor map.

To be honest, your ambitions to cure pain have long been tempered. Now, it’s merely about making it less relentless—offering people who struggle with it a brief reprieve, something to make it manageable. Not that Viktor was your inspiration, but he is a constant reminder of why you should keep going when every trial eventually turns to dust.

"Why do you insist on keeping such thorough documentation of the rejected ones?" The said reminder peeks over your shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek.

You huff, masking how startled you are, and mutter, "Of all people, you shouldn’t be asking stupid questions."

"There is no such thing. Only stupid answers," he counters, eyes still glued to your notes. "It’s a very noble goal, you know, but you might have to come to terms with the fact that a complete erasure of pain may simply be impossible."

"Again. Of all people, you should not speak of the impossible, Viktor," you smile under your nose and turn your head just enough to see that he’s smiling, too. A jest.

"I'm only teasing you," he hums, reaching out to point at something on the page. "This… is not bad. Persevere, you will get there."

His fingertip lands right next to where your hand has frozen mid-writing, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his palm. For a brief moment, you allow yourself the illusion that Viktor is doing it intentionally. But the thought vanishes as soon as he straightens and clears his throat.

"I'm not sure I will continue with this one," you admit, tapping your pen against the page. "It gets rid of skeletal pain but gave my rats a headache to die for."

"Oh, no, no." Viktor shakes his head, eyes still scanning your notes. "This one, you shouldn’t abandon. Perhaps just tweak it."

"Tweak it?" You scoff, slumping back in your chair. "Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tweaked it?"

"I can only imagine," he replies with a wry smile. Then, after a beat, he leans in again, tapping a precise point on the intricate web of chemical formulas—lines and hexagons scrawled across the page. "I am no chemist, but this… just tickles the wrong part of the brain. Make it tickle the right one, and it might actually work."

It’s hard for him to mask the undertone of hope lingering in his voice. Hope that you will find the answer. Hope that your relentless pursuit of relief for those who suffer will finally bear fruit. And, if he allows himself a moment of selfishness, hope that his own pain, the dull ache that never leaves him, might one day be eased.

But there is something else, something unspoken and far less rational. Viktor has always found himself drawn to you, not just in admiration for your intellect, but in the way you work—how you lean too close to your notes, muttering under your breath, the way your fingers absently play with whatever they can find when you are deep in thought.

Since the early years at the academy, he has enjoyed working by your side more than he would ever admit. When your paths eventually diverged—yours to chemistry, his to engineering—he felt the loss more acutely than he had expected. There was pride, of course, in seeing you forge your own path, and such a noble one at that. But the empty spaces where you used to be, the missing sound of your voice arguing a point over some formula or blueprint, left a quiet ache that he did not know how to soothe.

Sometimes, when the solitude stretches long enough, he allows himself the indulgence of believing he was your inspiration. That some part of your devotion to this research, to this particular pursuit, was born from those long nights spent together over textbooks and dimly lit workbenches. But the thought is always fleeting, because minutes later, you will wave a dismissive hand at him, shooing him away to his own lab with a teasing remark, and he will remind himself that he is a fool for entertaining such notions.

It is not as though there have been no opportunities. There have been moments—unguarded, lingering occasions where it might have been easy to reach, to say something, to step beyond the line of friendship. But somehow, the time was never right. And so, this one thing, he never felt like he could touch.

You blink a few times, scrunch your eyebrows, and hum. The pen gets trapped between your teeth as you pick up the sheet and bring it close to your face, as if looking at it from a smaller distance would somehow make it clearer.

“You know, you might be right,�� you finally say in a tone that suggests Viktor is never right.

A chuckle rumbles out of him. “Unthinkable,” he snorts, leaning on his cane and offering you a smug, satisfied grin.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be so pleased with yourself,” you chide, but the corner of your mouth betrays a smirk. “Thank you. I must ask you to leave me to be a genius now.”

“Ah, there it is,” he sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Served my purpose, and now I’m being unceremoniously chased away.”

“Don’t sulk,” you tease, waving him off as you set the paper back down. “I’ll even put your name in teeny-tiny little scribble on the leaflet.”

“You spoil me,” he deadpans, shaking his head as he turns to leave. He pauses by the door, glancing back at you with an affectionate smirk. “Fine. Let me know how it goes.”

Before you can say, “You’ll be the first one to know,” Viktor is already gone, the door swinging shut behind him. You give yourself a moment to rub the stupid feeling of light-headedness away from your temples before setting back to work.

What was meant to be a small tweak stretches into hours. Then days. Then, after two weeks, as you stand in front of the blackboard, the realisation you hadn't anticipated settles over you. Whatever you’ve created will inevitably end the already miserable lives of your test rats. Other than that, the medication looks as ready as it will ever be.

You could wait, of course—gather a group of willing human test subjects and conduct the trial properly. But let’s face it—you’ve waited long enough. And it’s right there.

Your jaw aches from hours of clenching, your sleep has been erratic at best, and now, to top it all off, a dull pain throbs in your tooth. You could just check. Worst case? You die. And if that happens—well, you won’t care anyway, will you?

As for the side effects? Manageable. Irrelevant in the grand scheme of the doctor-patient relationship. So yes—it seems you’ve very much done it.

The sun sets at some point while you debate with yourself—to drink or not to drink. When you finally do, all your hesitation, all your pain, the aches and nagging little pokes you hadn’t even realised were there—vanish. They melt into a feeling of softness and lightness, enveloping you in a warmth that feels almost like a gentle embrace.

Your fingers flex as if testing for any lingering pain, but there is none. Even the dull pressure behind your eyes from lack of sleep has dissolved. A laugh bubbles up, unbidden, and you press your palm over your mouth, giddy with disbelief. It worked. It actually worked.

Then, just as quickly, your thoughts snap to Viktor.

You scramble for your notes, knocking over an empty vial in your haste. Ink smears as you flip through your pages, but you hardly care. Grabbing one more vial—just in case—you cork it tight and shove it into your pocket. You need him to see this. Now.

Your heartbeat pounds as you rush out, barely remembering to lock the door behind you before taking off down the corridor. The lamps lining the halls have already been lit, casting flickering pools of gold onto the stone floor. You don’t stop to enjoy it.

Viktor’s dorm is far from your lab, but somehow the jog doesn’t get you tired. On the contrary, it feel great. You reach his door and rap your knuckles against the wood, shifting on the balls of your feet with barely contained excitement.

“Viktor! Open up—I’ve done it!”

The door swings open faster than you expect, and Viktor is already halfway through a hasty, "Shh!" before you shove the stack of notes into his chest. He stumbles back a step, catching them with one hand while bracing against the doorframe with the other. His hair is tousled, his vest unbuttoned—he must have been in the middle of something, though whatever it was is immediately forgotten as he frowns down at the crumpled pages.

"What—?" he starts, but you barely hear him.

With a triumphant little flourish, you hold up the test tube between you, the liquid inside gleaming under the candlelight. “I did it,” you whisper, grinning. “It works.”

Viktor’s gaze flickers from the vial to your face, eyes narrowing. "It? You mean—?"

“If this isn’t enough evidence—” you gesture to the notes he’s still sorting through, his confusion growing by the second—“I might have secretly tried it.”

His fingers still against the parchment. His head snaps up. “…You what?” Voice pitches embarrassingly, sharp with alarm. He glares at you as if he might physically shake the confession back into your mouth, but it’s too late.

You shift your weight between your feet, the initial rush of excitement dimming just a little under his scrutiny. “I tried it,” you admit again, slower this time, watching as his grip tightens around your notes. “And it works, Viktor. No pain, not even a little. I feel…” You hesitate, trying to find the right words, then settle on, “Light. Like I’m floating.”

“That is not reassuring,” he snaps, finally stepping back to let you inside. As soon as you cross the threshold, he shuts the door with a soft but urgent click and turns on you. “You—” He exhales, dragging a hand down his face, visibly forcing himself into something calmer. “You did not even hesitate?”

“I hesitated a lot,” you counter, but that does nothing to ease the storm in his eyes. He looks down at your notes again, scanning them, flipping through pages. His brow furrows deeper with every line.

The rustling of paper sounds unbearably loud in the silence, the only noise countering it the pounding of your own heart in your ears. He says nothing, eyes scanning the pages with intense focus. He’s not just skimming—he’s memorising, cataloguing every formula, every line of documentation. His lips part once, his expression shifting from concern to consideration.

Finally, he lifts his gaze, hopeful and searching. “And the side effects?”

“Very unlikely to make an appearance. Oh, hey!” Your sentence stutters to a halt as you catch Viktor tilting the vial at his lips—and swallowing. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You said it’s safe. I trust you.” He shrugs with a grin, then his eyes flutter shut. After a moment, a quiet, breathy laugh escapes him. “I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “It does work.” As if testing a theory, he exhales deeply, then sits on the sofa and stretches his legs out experimentally. “Please, continue.”

You blink, thrown off balance, but quickly shake it off. “Uh… very unlikely,” you repeat, resuming your pacing in front of him. “Whoever prescribes the medication would have to be attracted to their patient, and vice versa, for any additional effects to take place. And they would both have to ingest it. So, you see—”

Through your excited rambling, you don’t immediately notice Viktor clearing his throat uncomfortably. You frown briefly, a strange warmth blooming in your chest, but your mouth refuses to stop moving.

Viktor speaks your name softly, trying to halt your trot. Then, again. Then, once more—his voice lifting just a notch in urgency.

You finally pause, eyes locking onto his. “Chances are… very slim,” you finish the sentence, but your voice falters into something dangerously close to a whine.

Viktor stretches his legs out stiffly, his hips jerking once as his fingers clench into the fabric of his trousers. A flush creeps up his neck, blooming across the cheeks and he exhales sharply through his nose, shifting as if trying to find relief. His chest rises and falls fast, and when he swipes a hand over his face, his lips part, damp from where he must have licked them. Another small jolt runs through him, thighs pressing together, and his knuckles go white where they grip his knees.

But above all of this, he just looks… incredibly hot. And as if the sight alone isn’t enough to nearly undo you, he speaks.

“Aphrodisiac.” Comes a low mutter of disbelief. “Brilliant, really,” he chuckles weakly, though there’s little amusement in it—only breathlessness. Brilliant, how you connected the dots. So incredibly brilliant to tickle, as he advised you, the parts of the brain that entwine both—pain and pleasure.

“But, oh… f-fuck,” Viktor stutters, a sharp inhale cutting through his words as his body betrays him. His hand twitches towards his lap before he catches himself, fingers gripping his wrist in a desperate attempt to resist. A painful cramp of lust wrenches his stomach into a knot, his entire frame tensing. “You’ve missed a variable, I’m afraid—”

You stand frozen, staring at him, torn between bolting out the door and throwing yourself at his feet. But then the realisation crashes over you, scorching hot, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your pulse slams against your ribs, your skin suddenly feverish—damp forehead, shirt clinging to your back like a parasite.

“You…” your voice wavers as you step forward, heat curling low in your stomach. “It means—” Viktor swallows hard, his gaze flickering up to meet yours, pupils blown wide. “Oh, gods,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out. “You like me,” the truth spills from your lips, the weight of it sending another sharp pang of want through you.

“Immensely,” he admits, voice strained, thighs pressing together as another tremor runs through him. His face is painted in apology, but his hands reach out for you.

You take another step, closing the space between you, and his breath stutters. “Since when?”

“Always, ah—” he gasps, struggling to keep control. His fingers tighten into fists against his knees again. “You?”

Your throat is dry. “Oh… s-same,” you choke out deciding the time for embarrassment is long gone.  

His head tips back, jaw clenched, a strangled sound slipping out as he exhales. “Gods.”

And it just fucking hurts not to touch him. The pain you had so recklessly rid yourself of is back with unnatural force—aching, unrelenting—and gods help you, if you don’t rut into his lap any minute now, you’re going to die miserably.

When you get close enough, his fingers brush yours pleadingly, and the touch feels like a punch to the gut. The mere ghost of his skin against yours bends you in half, has you leaning over him, gripping the backrest of the sofa for support.

“Can I?” he asks, his hand hovering under your skirt. The sweetness of it—this man, asking permission to touch you when you’re so clearly drenched, when you’re convinced he can see the slick dripping down your thigh—makes you want to weep.

You nod desperately, breathing out a tearful, “Please.”

Viktor immediately comes to your aid, his palm swiping up the dampness on your leg before pressing flat against your cunt. The sound it makes—slick and obscene—has him gasping. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispers, bewildered.

His neglected cock aches, trapped painfully in his trousers. With the hand not already between your thighs, he fumbles with his belt, freeing himself—but to no avail. His left palm is even clumsier than the right, which now falters, frozen between your legs, his drunk mind unable to do more than one thing at a time.

Desperate for friction, you grab his wrist and rut against his palm, spreading slick all over his fingers. Viktor whines, overwhelmed by both having you and not having you where he needs you most. Then, with a sudden motion that makes you gasp, he moves your knickers aside, hooks two fingers into your cunt, and pulls you down onto his lap.

The moment you're there, you begin to slide your pussy up and down his cock, and Viktor moans—a filthy, slutty sound that has you threading your fingers through his hair, tugging his head to face you.

He looks so gorgeous you could eat him and clean your teeth with his bones. Possessed by greed, you sink your tongue into his mouth and nearly stop grinding from the sheer feeling of it. His hands—gentle, reverent—cup your cheeks, soft lips nipping at yours, his eyelashes tickle your skin when his eyes flutter shut in relief.

It had never crossed your mind to just kiss him. And oh, you’ve missed out on so much.

Because Viktor kisses like he’s been wanting you for the longest time—slow and deep, breathing in through his nose as he presses his face into yours. Close, so close you could melt into him, dissolve into liquid and flow down his throat, straight to his heart. His scent floods you, sweet on your senses and unmistakably him, nothing in particular yet everything at once.

Your hips move once more, but he doesn’t let you go. He groans into your mouth, biting down a moan when your pussy lips hug the underside of his cock, teasing the spot just beneath the head. You stay there, rubbing your clit in short, frantic movements, the sinful sounds falling between you, making you ache for more.

Desperation floods your veins, your slick coating every inch of him as you grind into the ridges of his groin, each drag of your clit sending ecstatic warmth down each of your limbs. Viktor is no better—his breath comes in ragged pants. He grips your hips unsteadily, trying and failing to guide you into something slower that he could endure.

“F-fuck… you are—” His voice trembles, his forehead falling against yours as if the weight of his pleasure is crushing. “So wet. You feel so—so good.”

You can barely reply, too lost in the heat of him, the feeling of his length dragging through your folds, the head catching just right where you swell, the sensation buzzing, building up. Still, you manage a breathy, “Your cock feels amazing,” and the whimper Viktor lets out is nothing short of wrecked.

His hands slip up your back, holding you close, his lips brushing yours as he mutters sweet, broken things—bits of words and phrases in his native tongue. You don’t understand them all, but the way he speaks them, ardent and needy, has your stomach tightening, your whole body scorched.

“Viktor, I’m—”

“I know. Please, cum. For me,” he pleads, his hands gripping you tighter as you begin to lose your rhythm. It’s there, you can already feel it creeping up your spine, twisting and prickling your skin where Viktor touches you, coaxing it out.

The heat in your belly snaps, and you cry out, trembling in his arms as your release gushes over him, soaking his cock, his thighs, pooling where your bodies meet. The wetness, the sheer warmth of you, sends him over the edge in turn.

Viktor shudders beneath you, his voice breaking on a guttural groan as his cock twitches and spills, ropes of hot cum streaking over his stomach, mixing with your slick into a sticky, messy heat between you.

Your mouth falls back to his, kissing away the sweat from his lips, your pelvis still rocking gently through the aftershocks—the slide so easy now that you feel like a whore doing it. Viktor hums when you pull his damp hair away from his forehead, his breath slowing down when he exhales a breathless chuckle. "You will kill me," he murmurs, voice hoarse and fucked-out.

"No," you whisper, nuzzling into his cheek, your body still moving against him, slow and unhurried. Like a cat rubbing against its keeper, needy and content all at once. "No, I would never. I need you."

Viktor groans softly at that, his hands tracing your sweat-slicked back before settling at your waist. "What do you need from me, sweet girl?" His voice is low, the tone suggesting that anything you ask for, he will give you.

"Please, fuck me," you breathe, pressing closer, your lips brushing against his jaw. "I feel so empty." Only now you begin to undo the buttons of your shirt and Viktor does the same, pressing your damp stomachs together. He inhales your scent from the crook of your shoulder and hums, eyes rolling back in his skull as if the words physically unravel him. His grip on you tightens briefly before he smacks your hips with both hands and says, “Get up. Please.”

Your legs nearly betray you, thighs shaking and knees weak as you try to rise from his lap, only to almost collapse back at the sight of the webs of your shared release stretching between you. It makes a sticky sound, gross and hot, and to your relief, Viktor must find it hot too—because he’s nearly fully hard again.

You don’t know if it’s the medicine or something else. You feel different now, though it definitely still holds, since Viktor gets up with ease, turns you to face the couch, and presses his fingers to the back of your neck, squeezing gently before bending you over. “Ass up, head down,” he says, a renewed lewdness in his tone.

You turn your head, catching him in the corner of your eye, and at the flicker of concern on your face, he smooths a hand along your spine and murmurs, “It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt.” He peels the sweat-dampened shirt from your back, and you smile at your shared state of half-undress—the way no time is wasted getting fully bare, the discomfort of parting greater than the inconvenience of underwear pushed aside clumsily and trousers still pooled around his knees.

Only you know how many times you’ve pictured this exact scene. But your mind never drifted far enough to conjure exactly how wet and scorching everything would be, how your thighs would quiver in anticipation. The cushioned seat dips next to your knee as Viktor sinks down beside you, close enough that your legs touch. His cock hovers below your pussy, his hands undo your bra, then settle where your hips crease.

He rocks back and forth and tsks when you shift needily. “So impatient,” he hums, sickly sweet in your ear. “But I suppose I have your lack of restraint to thank for being here in the first place.”

A clever retort sits at the tip of your tongue, only to be punched back down when Viktor slides inside you with one smooth thrust, hitting deep. He groans, wide and loud, fingers digging into your flesh—but you don’t see his face. You barely see anything through the tears pricking your eyes, forcing you to squeeze your lids shut. Your nails bite into the couch, and your back arches to meet him, presenting your ass just as he asked.

Still tight from your last climax, you hug all of him snugly, yelping when his balls slap against your soaked lips. It’s slow, almost teasing—the way he stretches you out. He’s too busy gaping at his cock, appearing and disappearing inside you, to hear your little mewls of incoherent begging, the word please tumbling from your lips over and over with no meaning beyond desperation.

Finally, you’ve entered the realm of things he can touch. And it’s dishonourable, the way it happened—but he doesn’t care. The ability to touch you, to fuck you, quickly erases all shame as he slams into you, hard and measured, knocking moans and ragged pants from your throat. It feels better than anything he’s ever felt.

He fucks you hard and rough. Each thrust is forceful, precise, driving deep until the sound of bodies slapping against each other is all you can hear. When enough pressure builds, and he feels your walls tightening, clenching closer and closer around his cock, he fists a hand in your hair and yanks you up. A sharp cry spills from your lips, your belly presses out, and you have to brace a hand against the couch's backrest. His arm comes around your shoulders, holding your back flush against his chest. The other hand—the death of you—slides between your legs, fingers pressing ruthlessly against your clit.

No restraint, no kindness—no nice boy left in him. His teeth graze your ear before sinking into the straining flesh of your neck, his voice a ragged whisper against your skin. “Take it. Where do you want it?”

Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open as you breathe out a tired, “Inside. Please.” He bottoms out and wrenches it from you—an orgasm so violent it has you screaming silently into the ceiling of his dorm room. It’s devastating, ripping away all muscle control as your cunt seizes tight around him, milking him without mercy. Your hands tremble, knuckles whiten as you struggle to hold yourself up, trying not to slump face-first into a pillow.

It’s all too much for Viktor. He falters, his hand slipping from between your thighs. He whispers your name distantly, voice raw, and ruts upward—once, twice—before spilling inside you. Hot cum floods every crevice, thick and unrelenting, leaking out even before he pulls free.

Everything melts into one—your shared breaths, the wet warmth between you, the sluggish rhythm of your heartbeats syncing. Viktor sits back on his heels and wraps his arms around you, nosing into your neck. Leaves soft, loving pecks there, trailing from your collarbone to your temple.

“You really didn’t know?” he asks quietly, his thumb stroking your lip.

You swallow against the dryness in your throat and chuckle. “Oh, gods, no. I’d like to think I have more decency than to drug you into this.” Your face tucks into his throat as you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I have never been more pleased about someone missing a variable,” he mutters, and he’s back—himself again. His hands are gentle as they cup your cheek, swiping away your worry. His lips are sweet on yours, licking the salt from your skin. What this little mistake has just opened up for you—you have no idea. But you can’t wait to find out.

[satinestales]

❝what was rule number #2 again❞ I.| bucky barnes x reader

pairing: tfatws bucky x reader summary: messing around in banner's lab, the night before your mission wasn't as good an idea as you thought, and you begin to question your actions the moment you step out of it. things worsen when you realize the super soldier serum isn't immune to an unknown contagious disease. warnings: sex pollen, no warnings this part, the II one? hahaha

a/n: I may have insulted the reader a few times in the beginning, so I apologize for that. but let's be honest, we'd do the same. I decided to split this fic into two parts because if I wrote it all into one part, it'd have 10k words. I'm not an english native speaker, so forgive me my sins and bad grammar if you find something.

m.list

You weren't stupid. But you also weren't exactly smart. If you were, you would've minded your own business, stayed in the gym, and went through the plan for tomorrow's mission. Maybe even go to bed a little sooner, to be ready for the next day's alarm. But Banner was away for a business trip, and seeing his lab silent and alone didn't exactly sing you lullabies to sleep. That's why you found yourself standing in the heart of it at 3 a.m., in your pajamas, praying everyone was asleep. It was well known around the compound that Banner's and Stark's labs were a faraway island, and anybody with a brain would circle around them. But you were an excellent swimmer and sharks didn't scare you.

10 hours later, you realised why Banner turned green every time someone even glared the glass door of his science play room. You were a fast swimmer but not exactly a bright one. The only bright thing related to you was that you were easily struck by it. And the glowing pink flowers in Doc's terrarium took you down faster than the sharks. It was bright pink with purple shadows. It reminded you of passionflower, but it was bigger. Way bigger, and you weren't sure if you were hallucinating, but the feeling of the flower's filaments moving was too strong. They were moving in waves, then circles, then each moved in its own way. It was mesmerising.

It was too late before you realized you moved the flower out of its enclosure to get a closer look at it. The smell hit you hard, filling your brain with colorful fog. You smelled a dash of cinnamon, mixed with ginger and lavender. You couldn't miss the powerful vanilla and pumpkin filling up the room. You didn't realize how bad the consequences of smelling Doc's flower would be until you came undone under your fingers nearly seven times. And it still wasn't enough. The scheduled time of your and Barnes' meeting was quickly approaching, and your skin didn't feel less on fire than it did two hours ago.

You managed to get out of the sweaty mattress and put some clothes on you, loose ones, hoping that your skin could breathe a little. You prayed some air would cool you down, clear your head, and slap some sense into you. It was now obvious why Banner was so determined not to let anyone close his lab. He was experimenting with aphrodisiacs, and you, unwillingly, became one of his lab rats. Thoughts didn't stop multiplying in your head until one landed steadily on its feet. Tony has been visiting Doc's labs the last few weeks, five minutes on the dot after curfew. You knew because you were always stationed on your balcony, which gave you a clear view of the other building, and its glass windows didn't hide much. It only became pitch black when Tony came in, and Banner didn't even flinch when he heard the door shut.

Chuckle left your lips when you connected the dots, ignoring how amusing you must look for Barnes, sitting right next to him.

"Something funny?" he asked, not dropping his gaze off of you. You were now on your way to the target's last seen place, being lucky enough to get a ride in Tony's self-driven car. You wanted to drown him in kisses because you can only imagine the suffering if you had to walk all the way from the compound to the other side of the city. Your skin was still on fire, your hair was sticking to your neck, and salty drops chased each other on your skin. You certainly were an amusing sight to Bucky. Or a terrifying one. You wished he got used to it by now. After all these years of fighting against each other, then with each other, and now forced to fight by each other's side, he saw you through worse conditions. But as far as he knew, you were locked in your room all week. You had no reason to look like you had an early meeting with the reaper.

"Just, thinking," you mumbled back at him, forcing yourself to keep your head rested against your seat, begging your body to not betray you for looking back at your partner. Your body fighting the chemicals in your body, you could only imagine how it would end if you stared at Barnes for more than five seconds. Worse, let alone if you touched him. You read about aphrodisiacs and scientists' failed attempts to know what you were going through. You were prepared to die before touching Barnes.

You were secretly jealous. It wasn't fair of you, but Barnes' serum running through his veins protected him from anything related. You almost abandoned your morals, but the pain you were going through justified it. You had no idea how you were going to focus on the mission, communicate with James, and, if it came to it, fight the target. You could only focus on the heat between your legs and how touch-starved you were. And your, undeniably, attractive coworker wasn't helping the case.

You and James had a complicated history. Both born in the 40s and dated for a while before he fell from the train. Years later, he comes to kill you for Howard's successful experiment on you. Immortality would definitely suit HYDRA and their planned assassinations. James, back then, the Winter Soldier, failed to capture you, so they decided your family's fate. And your friends. Then, years later, Howard's. You forgave him. All of it. Because you knew it wasn't him. But when he came back from Wakanda, with no traces of HYDRA in him, and didn't spare you a glance, you couldn't forgive him that. Seventy years of tolerating the actions HYDRA made him do, and he couldn't even look at you. It broke your heart but rather to act like a cunt than a weepy baby, begging for attention that will never come.

"Well then, do it fast. We're almost there." You hear his grumpy voice, making the butterflies in your stomach double their count. The decades-old memories of you together overwhelmed your brain like a tsunami. You couldn't swim out of that. The way his tongue circled your clit as you played with his hair at the theatre restroom. Or when he made you ride his face with Steve in the house. The way he pounded into you against the wall so you wouldn't forget him when he gets shipped out the next morning. And the way he had to cover your mouth that night at the bar, celebrating his unit's rescue. Now he was sitting millimetres away from you, and he wouldn't have done any of it. You still hoped, subconsciously, he'd dick you down like he did all those years ago. But that was a fantasy. Very vivid, real fantasy.

"Yes, sir," you let out, closing your eyes, tugging on your shirt so your fingers wouldn't accidentally slip in between your thighs. You didn't wanna make a scene. Even tho at some point, you knew you would.

You didn't catch James' hungry gaze when he heard those words slip from your mouth. At the back of his head, he reminiscent the amount of times it was him, slipping out of it.

It took you exactly 17 minutes before you got yourself out of Tony's car. You accidentally grinded yourself on his leather seats, causing you to accidentally moan, and of course, Barnes caught it. He'd never miss that sweet sound leaving your lips. At nights, he wished he'd made you sound like that, even louder. But that was ages ago, and you were over him. It was the only thing that made sense to him.

Five minutes into your romantic stroll to the target's office, the wetness in your panties got worse. You figured the more you moved, the less it hurt, but the pleasure doubled. And the Avengers training lessons didn't exactly cover how to act if you're orgasming every five seconds just because your thighs rubbed against each other.

Correction, you didn't actually cum. It was more of a frustrating edging that made you wanna rip out your hair. You were sure Barnes had already figured something was off or had at least suspected something. The suppressed moans and the tugging on your crotch weren't exactly subtle.

"Alright," he stopped walking, a few meters away from a huge building. It was surrounded by a deep forest, straight from a horror movie. "he was last seen inside. If Steve's correct, we should..." You kept nodding, not actually paying attention to what he was saying. It was the way his metal arm moved when he talked and the way his fingers curled while explaining the plan. You never got the answer to your question if he could feel through his amputated arm. He had to, you thought. You heard him groan every time someone pulled it too hard. You were embarrassed how much it roused you when you heard him whimper in pain, but it was also one of the things that circled your head when you were alone in your room.

You'd imagine, would it feel different. It would definitely be cold, rougher, you suspected faster. And with the serum running in his veins, he'd definitely last longer. That, you were one hundred percent sure, for it was Natasha's moans you heard for over two days after she and Steve finally hit it off. But Nat was also a super soldier. Bucky would probably tire you out by the 2nd round. But you were willing to risk it.

"If you're not gonna be listening to me, then you can turn around and go back." Was the first thing you heard after you forced yourself out of Bucky's hand around your throat fantasies. It probably wasn't the best idea, but seeing Bucky frustrated and annoyed by your incompetence made you feel things. And you wanted more.

"Whatever you want, Sergeant." You smirked, walking past him towards the building. His smell punched you in the face, making your walls clench around nothing. Fuck. Your self-control was harder to put in check. You were sure in a few minutes it'd be non-existent.

"Whatever is your problem today," you heard him behind you. You didn't look at him, focusing on keeping a steady pace towards the building so you could finish the job, get home where you could fuck yourself to oblivion. No one, but your fingers were currently available. And even they couldn't sometimes do the job you needed. But you knew whose would.

"I'm talking to you." Your heart dropped when his hand landed on your shoulder. Your skin got warmer again, and the pulse between your legs was impossible to ignore. You didn't know if you wanted to kill him or fuck him.

Ideally, both.

Turning around, you found the strength to twist his arm, finding out it was his human one, making it easier to push him back. He looked so taken back that it was amusing. But not amusing enough to stop the aching of your cunt.

"Touch me again," and I won't answer for the consequences. You wanted to add. But you didn't. Instead, you stared back at him, praying to god you'd drop dead or something would happen to stop the throbbing pain. You wanted to push your pants down and do something about it, but Bucky's presence wouldn't let you. It would, seventy years ago.

God, the number of times he made you rub yourself in front of him, fuck yourself while he watched. Couldn't he do it now? You'd happily obey.

"You've been acting distant ever since morning," he said, taking a step closer. "I just wanna know what's wrong," he said, lowering his voice at the end. You were sure it was just the stupid plant making you see things, but Bucky's dark eyes were hard to miss. Or the sweat on his forehead. Or the way he clenched his jaw when his eyes dropped to your lips.

Your heart sank. Holy fuck.

You couldn't help but laugh. It was, after all, comical. You looked manic but that didn't bother you. You felt so many emotions at once that you struggled to choose one.

"What the hell are you doing," you heard his voice interrupt your laugh. You were out of your mind. Your legs weak and sweaty, your cunt covered in your wetness, your head filled with migraine, skin on fire, and thoughts surrounding only one thing. And now, cherry on top, you realize Banner discovered an aphrodisiacs that make the super soldier serum its bitch. James motherfucking Barnes joined the lab rats of Banner's sex research.

[kii-nami]

STAINED GLASS SAMSARA, EVERBEARING | PHAINON & MYDEI

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

cw: 10k words; ; fem!mc; mydei's spinoff is here, and phainon's spinnof is here; mc is involved with both of them at the same time but fujos dni; no actual cheating; part of a wider hsr au by me and my friend; written from a pov of my other oc from this fic; i am not a honkai lore scholar i'm simply freaky; if you have any questions feel free to ask

They meet you for the first time with the fog of the hot water settling heavily in their lungs.

Burdened by her unavoidable involvement with this world’s struggles, Stelle is a little tense beside Shuhua. Their close brush with death – curtsy of Aglaea’s fierce dedication to protecting the secrets of Amphoreus – left the group somewhat shaken. Everything has been overwhelming ever since the cart crash-landed; so much so that Alisa started doubting Stelle’s decision to stay, instead of returning back to the train.

Despite accepting and enjoying her life of Trailblaze, this time things felt somewhat different. There was too much at stake to simply vanish and end up dead now. And they just had to get stranded without any way to contact the Express and leave sick March behind to be looked after by that suspicious Memokeeper hitching a ride.

Maybe asking Sunday, who is yet to settle down properly without following her around everywhere, to stay back and keep an eye on the situation was a bad idea on Alisa’s part. Even Aventurine, unfortunately roped into their shenanigans by Shuhua yet again, is suffering the consequences of their decision to leave them behind to have a nice trip as a family.

And it’s not like Alisa hasn’t entertained the idea of trying to use the powers of Repudiation, but the possibilities of what-ifs were far too great for her to risk the lives of her friends. So none of this seems extremely enthralling now that Alisa has to constantly watch her companion’s backs, trying to make sure she doesn’t need to mend them together body part by body part.

At least now that Aglaea isn’t trying to actively kill them, the group can finally relax just a little. And now that they’re about to go on a quest to kill a Titan – a God? surely not an Aeon? – Shuhua decided that it’s the best time for them to be as greedy and lazy as possible and soak in the healing waters of Amphoreus.

Maybe this too, as per usual, is a bad decision.

From under the weight of warm waters everything is coated in haze. Despite the promise of these baths healing not only body and mind, but also soul, Alisa is yet to feel any different. Being immune to everything has its ups and downs and right now she got the short end of the stick, unlike the rest of her companions.

Shuhua, as restless and as dedicated to playing a martyr as she usually is, spots Phainon first. Her mood pers up instantly, wet tail swishing excitedly in the hot water of the public bathhouse, sprinkling the droplets all over her companions. Through half-lidded eyes Stelle groans slowly, almost spitting the bathhouse water that got into her mouth. Lethargically scooting away from Shuhua to not get assaulted by her enthusiasm any longer, Stelle continues her nap in relative peace.

Noticing how nobody seems to appreciate her elation, the foxian finally decides to calm down a little, pointing unceremoniously to the faraway corner of the bath, “Look. Over there.”

Dan Heng, bored and half-invested into Shuhua’s new scheme, follows her line of sight languidly, only to be met with a picture that is a bit too perplexing even to someone like him. “Is that Phainon?”

A rhetoric question it may be, but it surely wakes Stelle up from her warmth-infused drowsiness, “Where?” With one eye open, sleep still clouding her vision, she looks in the direction that holds Dan Heng’s attention, just to finally wake up when she does spot Okhema’s unwilling hero. “Oh… It’s not that I’m judging, but…”

“That’s a little shameless even by my standards.” Shuhua snickers, a little devious chuckle, before she sinks under the water to tug Alisa up to the surface.

Finally releasing the breath she was holding, Alisa wipes the water dripping from her lashes and focuses on whatever got Shuhua act all scandalized. And considering that the foxian had little to none of said shame in her body, it must be one hell of a scene. Involving Phainon of all people, no less.

Elbows resting on the edge of the bath, he’s leaning back against the tiled wall. It's almost odd to see him so exposed, or even visiting a public bathhouse of all places, especially when Aglaea offhandedly mentioned that the Chrysos Heirs had their own private one to use however they pleased. It must have been truly an exclusive place with no entrance for ordinary people for him to be here. And considering his obvious company, it wasn’t much of a wonder why he chose to come here instead.

You – whoever you are – slowly step out of the warm waters, wet hair sticking to your exposed back; white, lightweight fabric of your robe clinging to your body, clashing with golden and crimson ink all over your skin. You reach for a bowl of grapes on one of the tables with refreshments, returning back into the bath just as leisurely, and it is only when the waves pick up the length of your hair that Alisa realizes the extent of your undress. Nothing but a thin, flowy fabric of your robe hanging loosely off your shoulders, you press yourself close to Phainon’s side and he eagerly invites you into an embrace, tucking you tightly to his chest. You pluck a grape from the vine, passing one to Phainon, brushing the pink berry against his lips. He opens his mouth, all but literally eating out of the palm of your hand.

Picking one for yourself, you pop the grape into your mouth; only you don’t get to enjoy the taste of it, as Phainon leans close to you, lips pressed against yours in an unannounced kiss. It’s a long moment before you separate, wandering hands of the hero straying a bit too far along your waist for such a public setting, but when he does allow you to breathe again, you huff and scoot away, following with a playful roll of your eyes. As smug as always, Phainon grins triumphantly. The berry stolen from your mouth must have tasted a lot sweeter than the one you offered him.

Phainon says something, slow and well-enunciated, although all the words are lost between the hum of the waves and the chatter of other visitors. You reply, much less careful and much more hurried, yet it still brings a blinding smile to Phainon’s face as he laughs freely. And when he brazenly tugs you impossibly close, with you all but sitting on his lap, Phainon seems much more relaxed, almost free, as if completely unburdened by the expectations this world placed on him resting on his shoulders. It’s as if only the weight of your body against his that truly matters for him; the delicate softness of your touch as your fingers glide along his shoulders until you bring your lips together once more.

And maybe it is so. Alisa does not allow herself to ponder on it any longer, lest it brings unwanted tears to her eyes. Jealousy is a vice, and she might not be holy, but envying someone else’s love this pure will surely drag her to hell if her past doesn’t already guarantee her a spot there. Maybe a little risk is worth a chance of seeing him even for a second.

Dan Heng’s deadpan voice brings Alisa back to reality, far away from the dangerous thoughts she will inevitably regret, “You have zero shame, Shuhua.”

The foxian scoffs, tugging on the tip of her ear to shake the excess water soaked into the fur right on the vidyadhara’s face, “Clearly they have negative shame, Dan Heng.”

 “Should we go say hi?” As if just woken up – full of mischief and yearning to wreak havoc – Stelle darts up to her feet, raining bathwater all over with her chaotic movements, “I feel like we should.”

Alisa has half a mind to stop her. It's neither time nor place and the two of you are clearly busy. Tomorrow is an important and, quite frankly, terrifying day for everyone in the Holy City, Alisa can only begin to imagine how you must be feeling sending Phainon away to battle a literal god. Logically, it’s better to give you some privacy, but has Stelle – or anyone other than Sunday, for that matter – ever listened to what Alisa had to say? The answer is predictably obvious, and whatever protests she voices are all lost on Stelle as she readies herself to march into the mayhem of her own doing.

“I strongly advise against it.”

Only she doesn’t get the chance to, tripping over her own feet, grasping for anything to hold onto and dragging Alisa along with her under the warm waters of the bathhouse. Shuhua and Dan Heng are quick to pull the two of them up, but their movements are far too sluggish under the influence of Thanatos’ power, and it does little to stop Alisa from inhaling some of the water.

“Miss Castorice…” She coughs out a greeting, although it seems to just make the matters worse as the woman takes a guarded step back.  “It’s okay! We’re okay! You just startled us.”

“I apologize, Lady Alisa. It wasn’t my intention.” Despite her rather poor repertoire of emotions, guilt is prominent on Castorice’s otherwise impassive features. Hands locked tensely in front of her, the Chrysos Heir sends another apologetic glance Alisa’s way before focusing on Stelle, “But please do not disturb them. It’s rare to see them here like this. Lord Phainon rarely has the time these days and Lady [Name] almost never leaves the Temple…” Castorice catches herself, putting an abrupt stop to her rambling, although the way she’s carefully watching you and Phainon paints a completely different picture for her sudden decision to stop talking. “Such an awful fate they were given.”

About to press for some answers, Alisa tries to find the question she wants the answer to the most, but none seem not invasive enough. Still, she imagines any would be more tactful than anything brewing in Shuhua’s head and judging by the ever-growing smirk tugging on the corners of her lips, she has a lot of those prepared already. Yet just like Stelle not so long ago, Alisa is not successful in her endeavor.

“Castorice!” Phainon’s voice is as clear as she remembers hearing it for the first time. “Esteemed guests, too.” He waves in their direction, hurriedly crossing the little distance between the refreshments table and their bath. “What a coincidence. Is the water to your liking?”

Dan Heng dips his head in lackluster appreciation, “It’s great, thanks.”

Satisfied with the answer, Phainon doesn’t offer any more questions, although the mysterious something woven into his self-assured smile is a little unnerving this time around, “If you’re free this evening you should come to the Garden of Life. My light has a way with words, her songs will not disappoint you.”

Castorice nods, accepting the offer easily. Even if Alisa wasn’t as intrigued by your relationship, she would have agreed either way. If not for the music, then at least for the rare investment sparking in Castorice’s eyes at the mention of you two.

“We’ll be there, Lord Phainon.” Maybe not everyone, most likely just Alisa and Dan Heng, but she would definitely not miss a free opportunity to listen to a ballad or two.

 “Not you too…” A disappointed sigh following his words, Phainon frowns slightly; blue eyes darting between Alisa and Castorice, he shakes his head, “No matter. I’m gonna go back now, can’t leave my lady alone for too long or she gets stolen by wild cats.” The smug arrogance paints his grin once more; Castorice – so uncharacteristically for her – looks almost amused by the nonsensical joke Phainon made. “See you later!”

He leaves in a hurry, just as fast and suddenly as he approached them, returning to your side. You welcome him, offering to take the wine pitcher off his hand but Phainon just shakes his head in silent disapproval. Opting to pour the pale peachy wine himself, he settles in the water next to you and lifts the goblet just enough for you to drink from it. And when you do take a careful sip from the silver cup, Phainon is quick to steal the wine from your mouth. Although you never seem to truly mind his unabashed behavior in the slightest, indulging it way more than you ever should have.

Maybe Shuhua is right for once, there are people with less than no shame.

Finally turning away, Alisa can’t help but muse over such unrestrained displays of affection. “He loves her a lot.” It sounds almost bitter, but Alisa is glad nobody notices. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Even with her escaping the grasp of Istanai, Alisa will never truly be free unless she returns back to his side. And she can’t right now.

“He does.” Castorice is as solemn as always when she agrees quietly, her next words distorted by the excited buzz of the bathhouse visitors, “I imagine when you have so little to remember of home, what you do have you cannot ever let go. Even in death.”

It’s silent after that. Only the distant hum of the chatter and Phainon’s laughter cutting through the wall of white noise once in a while. They watch Castorice carefully as her unreadable eyes, all but glued to the glow of the sun shining over your head, get mistier by the moment. Tense shoulders, she cannot seem to find peace amongst the foggy air of the bathhouse.

“Castorice?” Stelle calls her name tentatively, but Castorice, too deep in whatever thoughts torment her, doesn’t react. Shuhua nudges Alisa on the shoulder, a little spooked by the idea of a literal manifestation of death being so lost in her own thoughts, and having no choice on the matter, Alisa reaches carefully to tug on the skirts of Castorice’s dress.

The Chrysos Heir flinches ever so slightly, misty gaze clearing up as she looks at where Alisa is still holding onto the fabric of her dress. “Please don’t listen to the rumors. Lady [Name] is not a bad person.” Coming completely out of left field, Castorice’s warning confuses the group even more than her silence ever did. “And do come to the performance, you might gain a lot of insight on that which you never considered to ponder on.” She looks almost conflicted when she says this, as if fighting with reason itself to justify her decision. Although when Castorice does get it off her chest, she seems almost liberated from her self-imposed shackles. Then she blinks, hand pressed over her chest as if she just remembered something important, “I completely forgot… I came here to fetch you, Lady Alisa. Lady Aglaea is interested in striking a deal.”

Shuhua groans. Alisa gets out of the water without much thought. Control is order and you cannot control what you cannot see. Yet again, the daughter of Repudiation is the biggest enemy of order. Only Aglaea is nothing like Sunday. And it’s for the better that she isn’t.

“I guess it can’t be helped.”

Alisa killed an Aeon once, what a demigod compared to rejection personified?

If only things were that easy.

They meet you for the second time with the strumming of a harp and your soft voice barely audible in their ears.

You are dressed far more modestly than you were back at the bathhouse, which isn’t that hard to achieve all things considered. Much of your exposed skin is still painted with golden ink, intertwined with red lines where they form some kind of convoluted patterns all over your chest and back. Your fingers run over the strings with some sort of stiffness one would not expect from a professional musician, and despite the music being nothing short of heavenly, you seem far too detached from the tune you’re playing. Even your voice is far too muted for a crowd that gathered around, and although the people are eerily silent while listening to your romantic tale of a sun’s journey to greatness, nobody is asking you to sing louder.

It's strange. There’s something off about this evening that Alisa can’t place her finger on just yet. Castorice hesitantly learns to accept that the powers given to her hold no effect on the daughter of Repudiation, so she slowly takes some liberties in standing far closer to Alisa than any reason would allow. Alisa lets her, contemplating offering a friendly hand, but deciding against it at the end. She knows better than anyone how overwhelming change can be for a person.

Shuhua, despite her initial unwillingness to join the group for a night out opting to just wallow in misery as she always tends to do at any mild inconvenience, seems to enjoy herself right now. Stelle and Dan Heng stand a little to the side, the deadpan expression on his face gives away an idea or two about the topic of Stelle’s commentary.

Phainon is sitting on the grass close to where you are, unbothered and casual as he always seems to be. Aglaea and one of the fragments of Tribios – Tribbie – are conversing quietly in the far away corner of the Garden of Life, but the leader of Chrysos Heirs doesn’t look all that happy to be here. Even the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos is present, albeit it’s a little hard to read between the lines of his permanent scowl, even more so than through Aventurine’s carefully crafted, mildly amused poker-face.

It's not Mydei’s presence that rubs Alisa the wrong way, it’s the odd absent-eyed looks Aglaea keeps throwing the Nameless that bother her. Despite a quite innocent and harmless deal they struck today, Alisa can’t help but feel even more on edge around the woman. Aglaea admitted she can only see this world through the golden thread, so why does she keep eyeing them so intently? It’s none of Alisa’s business and yet… Survival of her family is her business, isn’t it?

People give you a round of applause and you lift yourself up from the grass, bowing shallowly. Phainon is quick to follow you, taking the harp off your hands and bringing your palm to his mouth in a fleeting kiss. Castorice shifts uncomfortably, closer to Alisa’s side. And Alisa truly doesn’t want to assume anything, but from the corner of her eye she watches Aglaea’s frown deepen.

The crowd disperses slowly. Shuhua attaches herself to Alisa’s arm with a tired groan and an annoyed twitch of her ears, nuzzling against the feathers of halovian wings. Stelle is still rambling about losing her login streak in Wandering Waves and missing some important character’s banner. Dan Heng is the only one to actually care about the performance and even if usually Alisa would be the first to jump into a discussion about arts, her mind is uncharacteristically elsewhere.

With a whine, Shuhua announces that she’s craving a late-night snack before the big day. Both Stelle and Dan Heng pretend they don’t hear anything, not that Alisa expected anything else from them. Not even fighting for custody rights, Alisa drags Shuhua into a different direction that will take them to the Marmoreal Market. Maybe some dromas steak will soothe her friend’s miserable longing.

Yet as per the rules of Trailblaze, its pathstriders can’t stop getting themselves in trouble. And even now Alisa is barely quick enough to tug Shuhua behind a row of shelves full of potted plants before they get spotted by the two shadowy figures standing under the torchlights of Amphoreus’ otherwise dim alleyways. The scene unfolding before them leaves quite an unpleasant aftertaste in Alisa’s mouth when she swallows thickly. And now the fur of Shuhua’s restless tail doesn’t feel all that pleasant against Alisa’s skin amidst the heavy, warm night air.

“Is that who I think it is?” the foxian mumbles, a little confused tilt of her head, ears pressed tightly against her head.

“Please be quiet.” Alisa is trying to save them from being inevitably discovered, although her efforts go unappreciated, as Shuhua huffs, scandalized and offended.

“Hey, don’t shush me!” Despite being nothing but a whisper, the sheer force with which Shuhua delivers her line is nothing short of a scream. “You start sleeping in the same bed that smug, undercooked chicken wing and now you’re turning evil.”

Turning blind eye on the usual, albeit even more colorful, insults thrown Sunday’s way, Alisa covers Shuhua’s mouth with the palm of her hand, “Shush.”

Shuhua’s exasperated hissing is muffled, but it’s not audible enough to reach outside the little corner they’re hiding at. It’s for the better that it is that way, as the shadows grow nearer, heavy footsteps fall to a standstill under the darkness of a little shop across from the shelves covering them and Alisa can only pray the plants are enough to mask the bright fur of Shuhua’s tail.

The skirts on the back of your dress drag along the dusty ground and you don’t rush to lift them, slowly albeit deliberately walking past Mydei who remains standing near the bakery’s window. The annoyed crease between his eyebrows deepens as he catches up to you, stopping you by your forearm, the gentle touch not matching his permanent scowl.

Your gaze is planted firmly on the ground, someplace where your shadows intertwine. Mydei steps closer to you, hands moving along your skin until he holds your face in his hands, lifting your head up. “Why won’t you look at me?” He speaks differently. Less brash. Way slower and just as well-enunciated as Phainon was addressing you not so long ago. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset.”

“Of course I am, Mydeimos.” You talk just as quietly as you sing, with a tiny rasp of hesitation to your tone. Yet right now it’s mixed with something so bitterly vulnerable, it’s almost easy to forget that you are a taken woman. And with how compromising your position is, it’s all but effortless to misinterpret the situation for what it isn’t.

“I am immortal.” Mydei states plainly and you scoff.

He’s still holding your face in his hands despite your arms hanging limply by your sides. It’s hard to see under the shadows of twilight, but even in such darkness the hurt pooling in your eyes is difficult to miss. “Immortality does not take away the pain of death.”

“I am used to it.” It’s unclear whether Mydei is trying to convince you or himself, but either way it doesn’t work.

The bracelets on your arm clink against each other when you finally lift your hand to press your palm firmly to Mydei’s chest. “I told you already, didn’t I?” Your voice trembles like the strings of the harp, as if you are on the verge of tears. And maybe it is so, “Your ache is my agony. Your suffering is my anguish. I must live this life knowing I cannot aid you in your endeavors. History does not–”

Thumb against your lips, dipping ever so slightly into your parted mouth, Mydei interrupts your fervent rambling, “I wowed to battle fate for you. This hasn’t changed.” You are a taken woman yet with the way the Mydei so effortlessly throws earnest promises of eternal devotion your way, it’s easy to forget it is not he who you are officially involved with. “But Deliverer is better suited for that Coreflame than I am.”

Mydei drops Phainon’s title shamelessly, as if he is not standing here in this empty alleyway with you, holding you in his embrace so delicately behind Phainon’s back. Have you two no guilt? Does your shame really run that shallow to betray the man who loves you so dearly with such graceful ease? With his brother in arms, no less. How little self-respect does the crown prince have, to chase after a taken woman?

“You cannot defy who you are.” You whisper dejectedly, not bothered by the mention of Phainon but the fact that Mydei refuses to change his mind. You give up then, tense posture going lax as you sigh heavily in defeat, “But who am I to deny your wishes?”

“My wishes?” Mydei questions, a victorious glint in his eyes. “I have a lot of those, you know.” He steps closer and you step back until you reach the wall, Mydei’s arm against the back of your head so you don’t accidentally hit yourself against the white bricks. “I am insatiable in my greed. Or so they say.”

He doesn’t wait for any response, just dips his head down and presses his lips against yours feverishly. You reciprocate, eager and yearning, all but melting against his body until there is no more empty space between you. But even then, he still draws you closer, free hands itching under the missing fabric on the front of your dress.

Taking your preoccupied state as an opportunity for escape, Alisa once again drags Shuhua into the darkness of the alleyway. There are no words exchanged until they are far out of your hearing range. Marmoreal Palace is relatively empty this time of day, and Alisa feels like she can finally breathe properly. So many things running through her mind, she has no idea where she should even begin. All that Alisa truly knows that it’s wrong. They shouldn’t have been there to see that. You shouldn’t have been doing any of that at all. And yet...

Shuhua, however, never holds back when she has to say something, “This wench!”

“Shuhua, please.” Trying to calm her friend down is futile, but Alisa is known to enjoy suffering to its fullest.

“I have to give it to her though.”  Shuhua huffs in irritation, dusting her tail off any cobwebs it gathered during her stay at the dusty corner of an alley. “How hard is it to swindle those two at the same time?”

Acutely aware that she’s doing nothing more than playing devil’s advocate, Alisa is desperately trying to rationalize the situation, “Maybe this all is a big misunderstanding…” She knows nobody is inherently good, but she's always trying to look only for the best in other people. And Alisa really doesn’t want to believe that either you or Mydei would betray Phainon in such a way. Logic, however, is much harder to argue with.

“Her tongue was in places mine can’t reach.” An irked scoff and a roll of her eyes, Shuhua crosses her arms over her chest. It’s hard to believe such a thing is possible but once again facts win over delusions. “We should tell him about it the first thing tomorrow.”

“Shuhua…” Not liking Alisa’s tone, the foxian throws her glare of disbelief prematurely, before any stupidity can even cross her mind. But as it usually happens, disapproval doesn’t stop Alisa from speaking and she truly has had enough of Shuhua’s bad decisions in the span of these couple of months to last her for another ten years. “I am not condoning her actions, but… I don’t think this is the right time to drop something like that on him. We truly don’t need any bad blood between those two, considering they are quite literally on a quest to kill a god.”

Shuhua blinks, canines biting harshly into her bottom lip. She’s clearly searching for something to counter Alisa’s argument with but can’t find anything of equal value to reason. Eventually giving up, Shuhua sighs dejectedly, “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” Then she grins, a little manic and sort of troubling curve of her lips, as she cackles sarcastically, “We just have to kill a god, how hard can it be…”

Not harder than it was to kill an Aeon. But it’s better for Shuhua to never remember what exactly transpired inside the Realm or Repudiation.

Alisa can only hope that after all is said and done, she doesn’t have to act out on her side of the deal with Aglaea.

They meet you for the third time amongst the sea of passersby, the shining gold of your jewelry flickering with your every movement.

They spot you at Marmoreal Market not long after they successfully take Nikador’s Coreflame to the Vortex of Genesis. They pass by Melpomene, and despite calling out to her, she rushes past them without even a greeting, an annoyed growl falling from her lips as she casts one last glare in the direction of Marmoreal Diner. Confused, Shuhua follows her line of sight, ears perking up and tail wagging when she finally spots you amongst the crowd.

Against both of their better judgments, neither Alisa nor Shuhua told Phainon about their unfortunate discovery after they returned to Okhema. And considering he is still locked inside Nikador’s trial, it is for the better that he is not aware of your infidelity. This, however, is a perfect chance to finally confront you, not only about your unfaithfulness but also about the rumors floating around the Holy City.

After that night in the alleyway, Alisa couldn’t help but put her meddling skills to good use and sharpened her ears as much as possible. Castorice’s cryptic warning aside, the rumors about your person are hard to ignore when one actually listens to what the public has to say. Turns out, people seem to have very mixed feelings towards you. Some deem you an important, vital figure to Okhema’s wellbeing in such trying times: a famous bard, an acclaimed hymnwriter, a renowned poetess, a revered High Priestess of the Temple of Silence. Others think of you as a rotten fruit, slowly corrupting the well-oiled dynamic not only between the Chrysos Heirs themselves but also between Aglaea and the Council of Elders.

And as it so happens, everyone is acutely aware of your not-so-secret affair with the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos. All except Phainon himself. Even stranger thing is that despite your unfaithfulness being a well-known fact, nobody is rushing to inform the hero of it. Whether he lives under a rock or his devotion to you is that unshakable is unclear but whatever the reason for it is, Alisa can’t begin to sympathize with either you or Mydei.

Neither can Aglaea, it seems.

Goldweaver’s threads wrap themselves around Shuhua’s arm, planting her firmly in place, “I strongly advise you to stay away from that woman, Shuhua.”

The foxian clenches her teeth, and Alisa decides to intervene before things escalate someplace none of them wants to, “Lady Aglaea, good morning.”

Heavy blink of her sightless eyes, Aglaea turns to face Alisa albeit she can never truly pinpoint her location, “Good morning, child.” Despite the friendly, polite tone, Aglaea’s detachment from humanity prevents her from truly igniting the warmth in her voice. Alisa can’t blame her for it, neither can she condemn the woman for trying to protect her home by any means possible. Although now Alisa has a faint suspicion that her odd behavior during your performance had nothing to do with the Astral Express but everything to do with you. “Please heed my advice and stay clear of her, there is nothing the Temple can offer you that I cannot.”

“Of course, Lady Aglaea.” Alisa nods, agreeing with the woman without even trying to argue her case. Sometimes to reject something you need to accept it first, and who would understand that better than a daughter of Repudiation? “Please take care.”

Aglaea bows her head in a shallow goodbye, disappearing into the busy crowd just like Melpomene did not so long ago. Shuhua, still trying to come to terms with the fact that there might be a target painted on her back once more, gives Alisa a suspicious side glance.

"She's still spying on us, isn’t she?” Shuhua asks carefully. She is yet to get used to this new dynamic of being the one following Alisa’s lead for once. But to live is to survive and adapting is an integral part of survival, and Shuhua really doesn't want to meet her end here because of some light snooping.

Alisa shrugs, mumbling a barely audible agreement. Just because Aglaea’s golden thread cannot see her, doesn’t mean her spies cannot hear her. Breaking their agreement with the leader of Chrysos Heirs will put her family in danger, but despite his smug, overconfident attitude, Phainon is a good man. Sunday might be right: her kindness is her weakness ready to be exploited; but he’s not here to stop her, so what else Alisa is supposed to do?

“Lady [Name]!” It has been a long time since she needed to scream to get someone’s attention.

The people give Alisa an odd look or two, some stop to search for the source of a disturbance. You, however, head straight ahead. Box with honey cakes securely pressed to your chest, you never turn their way even when Alisa calls out to you for the second time. Some passersby give them confused side-glances; one quick look over your shoulder at the commotion, you never notice the outlanders, swept by the busy crowd of the market. Walking past them casually, you leave with only the scent of sunlit oranges, ripe pomegranates, and warm cinnamon clinging to the heavy air long after the flowing tails of your skirts disappear from view.

And so, you escape. And so, Aglaea wins.

“Can’t believe she ignored us like that!” Shuhua hisses. Angry and disappointed, she curses under her breath, icy glare digging daggers into the dense crowd of the market.

Something isn’t right at all about this. The omnipresent gaze of Repudiation calls for rejection of all, and even on the endless path of Trailblaze Alisa does not stop defying authority. Mokosha, Penacony, Amphoreus. Her guilt, her love, her longing. Karina, Sunday, Aglaea. To live is to survive. Survival calls for all sorts of risks.

“Maybe she didn’t notice us…” Alisa cannot see the golden threads, they dissolve into dust all around her, but she can spot them weaving through the market, trailing the scent of sunkissed oranges and sugary pomegranate you left behind.

Shuhua cannot see what Alisa can, however. “Stop playing devil’s advocate, I locked eyes with that wench.” But Shuhua wasn’t brought up with the oath of rejection woven into her every breath, so it’s understandable that she does not condone this doubt festering inside Alisa’s heart.

“I think it’s better we just talk to Lord Phainon.” Alisa knows it’s the only right thing to do. The only way to force you to be honest with yourself. The only way to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. The only way to not let Aglaea win ever again.

“Yeah, yeah.” Shuhua grits her teeth, even more vexed than she was before coming here. “Now come on, I need breakfast, or someone dies.”

Alisa doesn’t doubt it. She just hopes it won’t be Shuhua herself.

The golden thread trembles, yet its presence remains.

They meet you for the fourth time illuminated by the sunlight and scorched by fire, as you melt the ice of the memories of the world long gone.

It’s dark inside the Temple of Silence. Nothing but long corridors, dimply lit by torches burning deep purple flames, and imagery of the night sky painted in crimson and gold all over the white walls. Phainon is leading the way with well-practiced movements, all while entertaining Stelle’s barrage of ridiculous questions and Dan Heng’s polite yet distant commentary on some of the more captivating things that the hero has to say.

Shuhua is restless, even more so than usual since they got stranded on Amphoreus. Alisa fears it might be Shuhua's breaking point, but she will cross that bridge when she gets there and for now, they have far more pressing matters to deal with. Confronting you in your own temple is not going to be easy, but with Stelle and Dan Heng now involved in this against their will, things took a turn for the worse.

Noticing just how big the distance between them and Phainon grew, Shuhua exasperatedly mumbles something under her breath and picks up her pace, dragging Alisa along by her elbow. Phainon, finally stopping near the intricately carved door at the end of the hallway, is still entertaining Stelle’s curiosity without complaints. Shuhua throws him an apprehensive side eye, irked glow of her eyes spelling nothing but trouble for everyone involved, but Phainon misinterprets it as something it is not.

“You seem nervous.” He’s wrong, everyone except him is acutely aware of it, yet nobody is racing to correct his assumption. “I assure you, there is no reason for you to feel anxious.”

“It’s just…” Shuhua begins, a strained smile on her face, “It’s a little dark here, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Should have warned you.” Phainon rubs the back of his head, an apologetic smile tugging on the corners of his lips. “Well, don’t worry. It’s very bright inside.”

Three light knocks. The dark, purple flames flicker to the rhythm of the drumming of Phainon’s knuckles. The heavy door opens on its own, light drowning the dimply lit corridor. For a split second Alisa’s vision goes blurry, as if blinded by the brightness of the light. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the new environment, but when they do, she almost wishes she stayed blinded forever. She should have known better than to trust Shuhua’s mad ideas, they’re always more trouble than they’re worth.

Shuhua’ grins, “Oh, isn’t it just great.” Dan Heng is quick to silence her before she drops any more unnecessary comments, but he can’t stop a little gasp that escapes Stelle’s parted lips.

Alisa diverts her gaze from the scene of the crime, trying to focus on something else other than the impending fight between an immortal man turned unwilling demigod and a hero acting as the muse to of almost all of your ballads. Eyes wide and pupils blown, Shuhua bites her lip to stiffen any more sounds coming from her, although most of it just seems like the foxian woman is trying to suppress inevitable cackle which is bound to worsen the tension even more.

Mydei’s arm is wrapped loosely around your waist, just to give enough support so that you don’t accidentally topple over and drop the goblet full of pomegranate juice all over the sofa. Or all over him to be precise. On your knees between his parted legs, one gold painted arm pressed against his naked chest, you’re carefully pouring juice into his mouth. He doesn’t as much as blink when some escapes his lips, sliding along his skin and leaving the dark crimson trail until it gets lost in what little fabric is covering his chest. Mydei simply slides his gloved hand along the expanse of your bare back, moving your hair away from your neck and bringing your face closer to his.

Dropping the empty goblet in your hand, you let it hit the white marble of the room with the deafening noise that makes everyone in the room flinch. You don’t seem to mind the noise, just sink even closer to Mydei, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips and when you part at last, you glide your tongue along the crimson trail. Then you sink your teeth into the slope of his neck, an apologetic flick of your tongue over the rapidly vanishing indent of your teeth in his skin. Mydei leans his head against the arm of the sofa, half lidded eyes watching as you leave a trail of bites along his chest.

Phainon, for all his recklessness and flair, is awfully calm even when he positions himself in a way to cover most of your exposed body from their prying eyes. Posture lax, no tension in his shoulders, he doesn’t seem astonished or betrayed, or even simply angry. If anything, Phainon seems almost embarrassed to subject his guests to such an indecent display of affection between his – girlfriend? wife? Alisa isn’t even sure who you even are to him with the way the hero keeps addressing you – and his brother in arms. Knuckles rubbing against his forehead, Phainon clears his throat.

Mydei, unbothered by the presence of another man in your private chambers, doesn’t spare Phainon even a quick glance, “You’re late, Deliverer.”

Canines digging into her lips, Shuhua is barely holding herself together from cackling. Alisa has to admit, that all of this is sort of funny in some twisted way. But all of this snooping around just for them to end up here, intruding into whatever you three knowingly have going on. Oh, how embarrassing indeed.

Phainon, back still shielding most of the view on your nude body, tugs his coat off, “Please inform [Name] that I brought in our esteemed guests for an appointment.”

With a deep, annoyed sigh, Mydei finally looks over his shoulder, “Really now, hero? Couldn’t find any other time?” You lift your head, watching him with mild worry in your eyes as if you just now noticed the presence of someone else in the room. Three light taps on your shoulder, Mydei whispers something extremely slowly and you nod, sitting up straight, moving your hair to cover your chest. “Or person, for that matter?”

Phainon shrugs dismissively, as if trying to play his mistake off as something that is not his fault and then throws his coat towards Mydei, “They seemed really eager to meet our Lady of Eternal Fire.”

Mydei scoffs, catching the piece of clothing and dropping it over your shoulders the next very second, “Oh, I’m sure they were.”

You slip your arms into the sleeves of the coat and get up from the sofa, “Phainon.”

Despite the tender kiss you give him, you acknowledge the hero with some sort of detachment when you say this name of his. But it must be because you, as Castorice pointed cryptically all the way back at the bathhouse, are the only one who knows of Phainon as a son of Aedes Elysiae, and his true name is far dearer to you than the one he chose for himself.

Then you divert your attention to the members of Astral Express, a peculiar smile curving your lips, “Mysterious outlanders from beyond the stars. Welcome to the Temple of Silence.” You beacon them to follow you to the large marble table in the center of the room with a gentle wave your hand, the sleeve of Phainon’s coat flapping as you do so, “Please take a seat.”

They do as you say, albeit a little hesitantly, and settle into a long ottoman, just barely big enough to fit the four of them. Phainon joins you on your side of the table, immediately resting his head on your shoulder, and despite reluctantly leaving the comfort of the sofa, Mydei remains standing behind you with his arms crossed against his chest.

“What brings you here?” You ask, hand running through Phainon’s hair. “Against Aglaea’s… insistent suggestions to stay away from me, too.” There’s a little teasing to your hushed tone. You are far more playful than Alisa initially thought, way less intimidating too.

Despite Stelle expectantly watching Shuhua, nobody says anything. What is there even left to say now that Shuhua can’t hold your trysts against you for her own entertainment? And neither she nor Alisa herself were here with any hopes of actually getting in contact with the Express.

Dan Heng, however, tired of constant childish tantrums of his temperamental fox friend, takes one for the team, “We were looking for a way to contact our friends back home, and Phainon lead us here. He told us there’s a chance you can help us reach through the barrier to contact them.”

One moment. Then two. Three and then four. You say nothing, your puzzled gaze drifting from Dan Heng to Shuhua, to Stelle, to Alisa and then back to Dan Heng. You mutter something under your breath; quick, single word sentences, as if you are trying to decipher something but keep failing at doing so. Phainon lifts his head from your shoulder, once again oddly guilty shine in his blue eyes.

It’s tense, unnerving kind of confused silence that never seems to settle and only continues to grow. “Deliverer.” Mydei sighs, heavy and exhausted, “You didn’t tell them.”

The frustration in Mydei’s usually mildly agitated tone is almost palpable, and Phainon chuckles awkwardly, “I thought it was obvious.”  Then he quickly gets onto his feet to leave the table only to return a couple of seconds later with a heap of yellowish parchment, a bottle of ink and four quills. He sets everything on the marble surface carefully and you thank him, passing the paper to the group. “Apparently not. My apologies, I must have complicated things way more than I initially assumed.”

A simple complication doesn’t even begin to cover the level of mental gymnastics you three forced them into, but even Shuhua’s confused ear twitch is met with Mydei’s almost-warranted exasperation, “Don’t look so damn lost, outlanders. You’ve never met a deaf person before?”

Oh, complicated indeed. Alisa was right to doubt everything, but with the way Shuhua’s ears fall flat against her head she can guess the guilt of assuming things is catching up even to her.

“It’s quite alright.” You dismiss the sudden pitiful glances with a careless shake of your head, instead pointing to the parchment you offered to them. Phainon once again takes a seat next to you, although his posture is far less relaxed than it was before, observing carefully as Stelle twirls the quill in her hand. “Before we begin, you must give an offering to the Temple. Please describe a memory you cherish and feed it to the fire.”

Dan Heng gives you an apprehensive look, doubting your words despite doing exactly what you told him to. Stelle does the same, quickly scribbling something on the paper and dropping it into the purple flames flickering in a large ceremonial goblet installed into the indent in the middle of the table. It takes some time for Alisa to think of a memory she is willing to share with a stranger, and next to her Shuhua grins, folding her paper neatly in half and throwing it into the fire as soon as she can.

Mydei rolls his eyes at such behavior, finally giving up his watch to sit down next to you. He tugs the armored gloves off, placing them neatly near the ottoman and rests his hand on the marble, fingers barely grazing the edge of the ceremonial goblet. You give him a pointed look, the one of a concerned warning, but he dismisses you with a slight, teasing tug to the pointed tip of your elf-like ear poking through the dark strands if your hair. You are about to continue playing a losing game when Phainon once again drops his head on your shoulder, lifting your left hand up to press a tender kiss to your knuckles. Those two, despite all of their differences, know how to distract you when it works to their advantage and succeed in doing so with the ease of a well-oiled machine.

Giving up, you return your attention back to your guests with a fleeting, barely audible apology, then dip your free hand into the fire and pull out five cloudy crystals, dropping them into a silver bowl placed in front of you. Picking the magenta gemstone up, you bring the copper colored one along with it, clicking them against each other. Phainon laughs, the joke is lost on not only Alisa but also on the rest of the Astral Express, although even Mydei seems to get it.

“You two are very special. One is an empty slate, unable to be recorded.”  You begin suddenly, dark eyes drifting from Alisa to Stelle intently. “Another blessed by the gaze of your local gods. What a peculiar life you have, Stelle.”

Upon hearing her own name, despite never introducing herself, Stelle asks a couple of questions you are never meant to catch nor would ever want to answer. You just toss the stones back into the fire and pick a green one, discarding this gem almost instantly as well.

“Rebirth? How interesting…” Looking at Dan Heng, you are searching for something Alisa isn’t sure you can find. But with how the Vidyadhara goes rigid upon hearing your words, something tells Alisa it is not only a single cherished memory of theirs you now have access to. “I am sure that whatever this jade abacus you are thinking about is, it will not help you to leave this world, Dan Heng.”

Smugness on Shuhua’s face deflates exponentially once you get to the pale peachy crystal, her scheme backfiring on her so unpredictably. “Oh, an odd choice for sure, and yet…” You quirk your brow, chuckling lightly under your breath and leaning forward to pass the stone directly into Shuhua’s hands. “Who would have thought that man had it in him to…”

Embarrassed, Shuhua hurriedly hides the peach-colored gem in the pocket of her shorts. You don’t say much more, just sit quietly with an oddly familiar glint in your half-lidded eyes, well-manicured nail in between your teeth. Phainon says something that is lost not only on you but also on the rest of the group. You swipe your tongue over your painted lips, crimson hue glistening even more under the glow of sunlight, and pick up the quill to write a couple of quick notes just to pass them to Phainon as soon as the last drop of ink hits the parchment.

Phainon skims over what you written, a choked cough contracting through his chest, and he crumbles the paper carelessly. “Shuhua’s chosen memory sparked sudden inspiration in me.” You explain then, a teasing lull to your voice, while your nimble fingers straighten the parchment Phainon so thoughtlessly ruined. “I am sure it will not disappoint you either, husband.”

“Aren’t you forgetting anyone?” Mydei asks, fingers that were toying with the edge of the ceremonial goblet now completely engulfed by the purple flames.

“This one sees the appeal of wild cats just like I do…” You say distantly, a subtle shift to the air around you as you tuck the note you wrote into the pocket of Phainon’s coat. “So I have something else for you in mind, Mydeimos.””

 Despite shedding light onto the meaning of Phainon’s bizarre joke and thoroughly embarrassing Shuhua even further with the knowledge of all her previous affairs, your provocative tone contradicts your appearance. Even while replying to Mydei as if you can hear him, you do not look a slightest bit happy or relieved to be able to perceive sound once again. Instead, you hastily free yourself from Phainon’s hold, swatting Mydei’s hand away from the fire and cradling it close to your chest.

Unlike you, the prince does not return from the flame unscathed, although the burnt skin mends itself almost instantly. You were right, immortality does not take away the pain of death, yet Mydei endures the turmoil with ease. True to his promise of battling fate for your love, he is willingly walking into the scorching fires just for a chance of you hearing his voice.

Love of such kind can bring all realms to ruin, yet it is the only kind that you can accept.

As if trying to brighten the mood, a little pink creature that has been following Stelle around ever since her conversation with Oronyx, finally shows itself. Curiously peeking out from behind Stelle’s shoulder, Mem says something that only she can decipher, and receiving a lackluster shrug from the Nameless it slowly floats up to you, fluffy tail swatting Phainon across the face. You watch it with an oddly nostalgic sense of longing littered all over your face like gold dust, strained fingers gripping Mydei’s hand harder. If you know something about Mem’s origin – which Alisa does not doubt even for a second – you keep it to yourself and let the pink fairy playfully bully Phainon some more, until it is completely satisfied and settles on top of his broad shoulders, tail wagging excitedly.

“Are all memokeepers so… eccentric?” Shuhua whispers right into Alisa’s ear and it startles her, dragging her away from her lingering thoughts. “What's up with that fifth memory bubble, anyway?”

Albeit a welcomed distraction, the idea of you being a pathstrider of Remembrance makes things even more convoluted than they initially were, although that power of yours is easily justified by that simple explanation. And considering how easily Fuli extended Their blessings to Stelle, it would be only natural that They gaze upon someone so closely intertwined with memories.

Soft smile of yearning all but completely gone, you look away, returning to the matter at hand. Last, bright pink crystal left lying in the silver bowl, you disregard its existence as if it's just a figment of your imagination. The subtle shift of the air does not seem so subtle anymore.

“Thank you for your kind offerings, Trailblazers.” You speak at last, although there is some sort of tragic finality to the way you deliver your line that tells Alisa you cannot fulfill their wishes. “I must disappoint you, however. What you desire of me is far too ambitious.” Alisa already expected as much, so it does little to disappoint her, but a discouraged sigh that Shuhua and Stelle share hurts her nonetheless. Yet your deeply apologetic expression seems extremely sincere, as you bow your head, “I am not a Chrysos Heir, neither am I gazed upon by an Aeon like the two of you. I am a mere preserver of truthful memories. A dedicated historian, if you will.”

Despite not truly acknowledging yourself as a pathstrider of Remembrance – knowing little of Aeons beyond the information you gathered from their memories – you almost openly recognize yourself as a memokeeper. Just as odd as Black Swan and Reca, albeit a little less suspicious in your intentions and far less invested into the overarching plot of this adventure.

Mydei seems to find some amusement in your claims, however, if a muffled snort coming from his person is anything to go by. He tugs on your ear again, the gold chain hooked to a tiny circular earring in your cartilage dangling as he does so. It's weaved with crimson and navy gems, uncannily reminiscent of Mydei’s own jewelry and the sentimental charm of it is oddly heartwarming.

A huff from you makes Phainon stiffen a laugh, yet another inside joke that goes right above the heads of the ignorant Nameless. He presses his lips against your knuckles once more, far more reserved in his affections than he was back at the bathhouse. Mem shuffles on the spot in his shoulder, tail wagging faster at the sudden disturbance as a bright pink paw hits Phainon square in the face. You giggle, murmuring a couple of teasing apologies in Mem’s stead, yet do not reprimand Stelle to keep her companion at bay. You simply watch Phainon, overflowing fondness in your eyes threatening to spill over.

When you do turn to look at Stelle, your gaze hardens exponentially, “Natural enemy of Goldweaver I might be, but I cannot restore memories like your little friend here does, nor can my power reach beyond these skies. I am truly sorry for wasting your precious time.”

Guilty as you seem to be for not being able to help them, there is something else to the way to shift in your seat. The hand with which you were holding onto Mydei so tightly just a moment ago drops on your lap. Phainon quits his pretend battle with Mem to give you a once over; nothing too out of the ordinary, yet it strikes a suspicion of doubt, nonetheless.

The last memory bubble remains untouched, but from the corner of your eye you keep a vigilant watch over the pink hazy crystal. A memokeeper always has their secrets and all their cards are always tucked close to their chests, under a hundred locks where the destructive forces of time cannot reach them. And right now, you too are hiding something in plain sight, masking your own troubles under the grievances of the Nameless travelers.

“Your time ran out, outlanders.” Mydei states suddenly, no room for discussion left in the way he gets up on his feet to stride towards the exist. “I’ll see you out.”

Stelle is about to say something when Alisa interrupts her, “At least we tried, right?”  It's a rhetorical question and she can only hope her friends get the hint and listen to what she has to say for once. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, Lady [Name]. We will be off.”

They do. Confused and a tad bit worried, they follow Mydei to the door. You wave them goodbye, but don't get up to see them off. Neither does Phainon. Spirits low, Mem hops off his shoulder to float back to Stelle’s side.

Three knocks. The doors open on their own. One last glance at you that Alisa is quick enough to steal reminds her how easily her heart aches for others. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Whatever you saw in that last memory was enough for you to keep your knowledge to yourself. And it is for the best that you can trust yourself to make such decisions. Alisa isn't sure she can say that about herself and not turn out to be a liar.

Mydei is far less of a competent guide than Phainon is. The journey is far too fast and now it's evident why this place is called the Temple of Silence. None of the questions they had were answered, none if them were even brought up in the first place. At least Shuhua can sleep soundly now with her conscience clear of any doubt that she's secondhand complacent in someone else’s infidelity. It doesn't seem like enough, however.

So even when Mydei comes to an abrupt stop near the gates of the Temple, Alisa has half a mind to ask at least something. She knows he won't indulge her curiosity, the prince is not Phainon and cares not about faux pleasantries of keeping up with appearances. But as it turns out, Mydei was itching to share a word or two with them already.

“Deliverer is too soft on you, so I’m going to say it myself.” It's one way to put it, but who are the humble Trailblazers to argue with a disgraced prince of a fallen nation. “This is the last time you come here for favors of such matter. That fool might deny it and say we and the Dressmaster reached a compromise, but he made his choice a long time ago. And my pact with Aglaea is fragile and I hold little to no attachment to either the Goldweaver or the Holy Maiden.” A slow yet steady pace at which a warning turns into a thinly veiled threat, “He’s delusional and living on borrowed time. I am immortal and I cannot forget. If you bring danger to her doorstep, I will pay you tenfold.”

Nobody responds. What is even there to say to such a declaration? Even more questions than before, Alisa can't help but wonder just how exactly Phainon and Mydei came to an agreement when it came to sharing your love and how you had it in your heart heart to tie both of them down to your soul so selfishly.

Not like Mydei would ever give her a clear explanation. No longer truly human, Mydei owes the Nameless even less than he did when he was just a Chrysos Heir. All have their own memories to preserve and it's none of their business, anyway.

“You keep bringing up Aglaea but what exactly did we do that's illegal?” Stelle is rarely as tactful as she should be, however. Maybe that's why she gets what she wants so easily. Audacity gets you places tact cannot. “Is your… arrangement not up to her moral standards? Or is it about the–”

Mydei chuckles bitterly, a sarcastic undertone coloring his humorless laughter and Stelle shuts her mouth quickly. “If there's someone who has those so-called arrangements you speak of, then it would be the Goldweaver. You should ask her about it if you are that invested into other people’s private lives.”  For the first time in a long time it feels like they finally crossed the line with the meddling in affairs that do not concern them. Mydei doesn't allow them to wallow in self pity, unceremoniously showing the group to the gates. “That being said, you’ve exhausted your question quota here. Leave.”

No goodbyes are exchanged but nobody expects the prince to send them off with a warm pat on the back. Shuhua, once again melancholic, dejectedly scratches on the shiny fabric of the pincushion strapped to one of the belts of her outfit. Mem is babbling away about something that leaves Stelle in less than elated mood. Dan Heng will surely scold them for snooping when they return to their room, but for now Alisa must embrace the shame.

“And learn to hide better next time, outlanders.”

To live is to suffer. To dream is to survive.

The tears you wept into the silver bowl cover the pink gemstone like ocean water drowns the corpses of the fallen. Even in death, you yearn to preserve a memory that remains nothing but a distant dream in the eyes of those who remember.

Maybe killing an Aeon is easier than salvaging broken pieces of rapidly melting ice.

Only one way to find out.

[11-asher-11]

⋆⁺₊⋆ Proofs of shifting (for me) and why is not lucid dreaming, allucinations or anything likes that ⋆⁺₊⋆

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1. Trends dies, shifting never died in internet

if shifting was a trend of 2020 wouldn't it be death by now? why the community keep growing? simply shifting wasn't know, it exsisted online even before 2020 but ofc people didn't talk about it. They would have been seen as crazy in their opinion. But in 2020 it became popular, i have no idea why? no ones know, it could be someone manifestation, it could just meant to be like that in this universe and honestly one day it would have happen anyway no? it's just been in 2020 but it could be 2017, 2028, even 2347, BUT it happens now. That's more good than you think. People tend to hate 2020 but it has been also helpful to this community.

Also the fact that in on internet means anything? is just how people comunucate nowadays.

2. The community itself

Now. Y'all really think that people have so much free time to talks for hours abt it? for getting what? hate? called crazy? or maybe get diagnosed by a random stranger with schizophrenia?

People thought us that everyone lies, and if they do online is for attention, but what kind of attention is even that?. And guess what? people can be honest. Sure people lied but you can notice even online when someone lie and when someone doesn't.

Also in this community ppl think is full of teenagers or something but actually is full of adults. There are old shifters, even just on tiktok we have a shifter of like 80 years old. Why a 80 years old would lie?

3. Difference from lucid dreaming

So that's so stupid just to explain. LUCID DREAMING. it means you KNOW that you're dreaming. IF IT FEELS REAL IS NOT DREAMING.

Also there are many difference, in lucid dreaming rarely you have all senses and how much I know is impossible to smell things .

Also (that example is weird 😭) if you have like..a sexual intercuse in a dream after the orgasm you would wake up (that's basically proven), BUT by shifting is not like you "wake up" after you had sex.

Also in a lucid dreaming you have to wake up in a way or another, by shifting you don't. You just decide and also you can decide to never shift back here.

4. Allucinations and schizophrenia

GUYS. pls don't diagnosticate ppl with mentally illness. IS HARMFUL for ppl who really suffer it.

First schizophrenia is usually diagnosed by young age but you can get diagnosed after, but what are the effects of schizophrenia. For what is found you see/hear things that don't exist in an ambient that ALREADY EXIST. IT DOESN'T CHANGE THE WHOLE REALITY. the same with allucinations . Sure us shifters aren't immune to that (unless you manifest it) but definitely is understandable the difference from shifting and allucinations.

What about psychosis? auto-psychosis is possible but still it has something kind of rules. It can be done if you have mentally illness, there are religious psychosis ofc, by stress and drugs BUT IS STILL REALLY RARE. and still is seeing things that aren't there. NOT A WHOLE DIFFERENT ASS REALITY.

Also y'all know that most shifters that SHIFT are on medication to NOT have psychosis, allucinations or against schizophrenia? if is really just allucinations why they still can while on medication?

5. Old books

there are old books that talks abt shifting (ofc not calling him shifting) like Robert Monroe (his books are targeted as cultism and i literally have no idea of why but is probably bcs is a old book) or like Neville Goddard.

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Ofc for some people all of this is not a proof of anything and IT'S FINE. i personally think the best way to prove shifting to yourself is doing it. AN YOU WILL IF YOU WANT/DECIDE.

HOPE IT HELPS. if y'all have other proofs or things to say about this post i'm opened to talk about it. Byee!

[michanvalentine]

A lot of people like to headcanon that Astarion may be able to cure himself of Vampirism one day

And, while I know that it is possible in DnD, of difficult, I'm personally not a fan of that future for him

However

I am a fan of the idea of treatment options that could exist one day to help alleviate some of the symptoms of vampirism

For example, I don't see why it couldn't be possible in the Forgotten Realms to obtain the blood of thinking creatures through some form of magical cloning, for example

It could also be possible to maybe find ways to mass produce sunwalker rings so that they're less rare

These things wouldn't cure vampirism, they would still be unable to enter homes uninvited, or wade through rivers

But it could ease some of the suffering vampirism causes, as well as reduce their risk towards mortal communities

What do you think?

Very interesting. I have to admit I’ve never really taken the time to reflect carefully on these possibilities. I’ve always known they existed, somewhere in the back of my mind, but I never truly focused on them. So I’m glad to do it now, thank you. Knowing myself, I’ll probably start from the points you offered and go off on a long, exhausting tangent through various connected areas, eventually rambling in one of my usual wild monologues. xD Forgive me—just know that I love you all. <3

For example, when you talk to me about treatments to alleviate the symptoms of vampirism, my brain automatically kicks in: wow! Cool, like some kind of aspirin for headaches! Wait… what effects would aspirin have on a vampire? How does their metabolism work? What is the physiology of a vampire? Etc. So… let’s pause for a moment on this, just to see where it takes us…

According to D&D lore and rulebooks, vampire spawn (and vampires in general) are animated by negative energy, are undead, and don’t have a real metabolism like that of humans or mortals in general. So they don’t consume food and don’t produce body heat (and I suppose they don’t poop either! xD). Thermally, they are at room temperature, like any object, and this varies depending on the climate. They move, speak, etc., but at this point I assume that this doesn’t depend on neural connections and brain impulses, but rather on the negative energy that unnaturally animates them.

The only trace of a metabolism they have concerns blood—the primary source of vital energy from which they draw sustenance, satisfaction (it eases the pangs of hunger), and regeneration. You could even say they “come back to life” when they feed: from D&D Beyond — “When they feed on living blood, they become briefly 'revivified', enough to regain some semblance of a living body, which fades if they do not continue feeding.” From this, we can infer that a well-fed vampire appears more like a living body, while a starving vampire clearly shows the traits of undeath. So, more glassy eyes, taut and pale skin, and a more feral expression.

So vampires don’t need food or water to survive, because they are unliving creatures. According to the rules, an average vampire requires about 179 ml of blood per day, which adds up to 5 liters per month — roughly 12 humans per month. However, they can eat and drink, even if they gain no nourishment from it. They often do so for social appearances or for taste, but this is up to the DM's discretion. Many stories describe vampires who eat only for show or who suffer when trying to ingest regular food, even going as far as vomiting if they consume too much.

In BG3, for example, we see Astarion sipping wine with ease and favoring good vintages — even stealing bottles during the reunion party at the end of the game. In essence: vampire spawn can eat food and drink beverages — but they do so for pleasure or to appear normal. Their bodies gain no nourishment from this; their physiology is entirely blood-centric, which is essential to their existence and their powers.

Now I’d like to do a general overview of the immunities, resistances, abilities, and weaknesses of true vampires and vampire spawn — just to give as detailed a picture as possible before wrapping up this tangent my thoughts have taken.

Full vampires are immune to many of the typical mortal weaknesses. They can’t be exhausted, charmed, paralyzed, or poisoned, and diseases don’t affect them. Common weapons struggle to hurt them: only magical or silvered strikes can truly damage them effectively.

One of their most iconic abilities is regeneration, which allows them to heal quickly — up to 20 hit points per turn — unless they are exposed to sunlight or immersed in running water, both of which are fatal to their regeneration and capable of dealing direct damage.

In addition to this, they can shape-shift into bats, mist, or humanoid forms, climb walls and ceilings like spiders, and manipulate others’ minds with their gaze. If they are “killed,” they dissolve into mist and attempt to return to their coffin, where they slowly regenerate. Some of them, like Strahd, can even summon nocturnal animals or control the weather.

They also have legendary actions: they can act multiple times during others’ turns, making them challenging enemies even for entire groups of heroes.

Vampire spawn are immune to certain physical conditions like paralysis, exhaustion, and charm, and they are resistant to damage from nonmagical weapons. However, they are not immune to poison or disease, which makes them somewhat more vulnerable than their masters.

They also regenerate, albeit more slowly (10 hit points per turn), and they share some abilities like climbing vertical surfaces and the classic vampiric bite, which deals necrotic damage and heals the spawn if the victim is grappled.

They can’t transform, don’t have legendary actions, and are unable to charm or summon creatures. They are cruder, more physical, less refined. And most importantly, they are not free.

Both categories fear certain specific things: direct sunlight, which burns their flesh and blocks regeneration; running water, which has a similar effect and can deal serious damage; and stakes to the heart, which paralyze a vampire for as long as the stake remains embedded. They also can’t enter a home without being invited.

Astarion — either due to the tadpole (which may have negated his weaknesses, but perhaps also his bonuses), or simply for gameplay balance — is noticeably nerfed in BG3. He can’t climb walls like a spider, he certainly isn’t resistant to normal weapons, and he’s not immune to certain effects either. Additionally, a stake to the chest doesn’t paralyze him — it kills him outright, as can be seen in the worst-case scenario during the biting scene.

In any case, as clearly indicated in the D&D manual — and this is the key point — vampire spawn are not immune to poisons.

When a poisonous substance enters the body — whether ingested, inhaled, or absorbed through the skin — the first thing that happens is that it gets absorbed into the bloodstream. From there, it’s transported throughout the body and can reach vital organs such as the brain, liver, kidneys, or heart. Depending on the type of poison, it may begin to cause damage immediately by interfering with the body’s normal functions: it can block cellular respiration, disrupt nerve signals, or throw the heartbeat into chaos.

However, the body doesn't remain passive. Once the foreign substance is recognized, the liver steps in — it’s the body’s main "detox center." Here, the poison is chemically modified by special enzymes that aim to make it less toxic and easier to eliminate. This process is called poison metabolism. Sometimes, though, the liver can’t neutralize it entirely — in certain cases, the metabolism even produces a more toxic form of the substance before the body can fully get rid of it.

After being transformed, the poison (or what remains of it) is typically expelled via the kidneys through urine, or through bile, feces, and even sweat or breath. But all of this takes time, and if the dose is too high or the target organ too sensitive, the damage can become severe or permanent before the body manages to purge the toxin.

What I’ve described is metabolism — part of the body's physiological processes — and the fact that vampire spawn are affected by poison suggests there’s room to speculate that, despite undeath, something inside them may still works the old-fashioned way. And if it’s true they don’t digest food, it is true they metabolize blood, their primary source of sustenance.

So what would happen if actual medications were created specifically for vampires, to be administered through blood in order to facilitate absorption? The vampire version of a headache aspirin, so to speak?

In Vampire: The Masquerade, this concept is actually codified. A vampire who drinks the blood of someone who is high or drunk will experience the effects of the substances in their system. And I believe there’s a sort of in-game confirmation of this in the (wonderful <3) letter the Gur leave for Astarion six months after the defeat of the Netherbrain.

"To the spawn Astarion, Greetings from the family of Ulma, hunters of monsters and keepers of peace across Faerun. We know this letter finds you well, for although we hunt you no longer, we do sometimes keep a watch. Your restraint and control over your bloodlust has been admirable. Indeed, it has been an inspiration for our children, who have struggled with their own hunger. These last months have been a difficult time for our people. We have protected and nurtured our children as best we can, and we have learned much. Herbs we once used to dull our foes' minds are now sedatives to ease hunger and pain, restraints built to hold the undead now protect them from themselves. There has been a lot of pain, but a lot of progress too. Our children learned discipline and control, while we learned compassion and patience. There was a time when we would have destroyed any undead creature, our own blood or not, and called it a mercy. But then we met you. Wer saw that redemption was possible. Difficult, yes. Painful. But possible.

You saved our children first from Cazador, and then from us. For that, we thank you.

We will watch you still, but with more admiration than fear.

Walk in peace, Astarion." Maybe it's still an experimental concept, but there's evidence that in BG3 steps are being taken in that direction. After all, up until that moment—until Astarion made the impossible possible by showing the world, and those who hate and fear them, that vampires can be good people, capable of integrating and doing the right thing—no one would have ever spent time trying to alleviate their suffering in any way that didn’t involve a stake to the heart and a trial by fire.

The Gur’s message, and the way they say they’ve learned so much over the past months about vampirism and compassion, proves that Astarion didn’t just change his own fate—he changed the fate of all his kind. Because from now on, they’ll be treated with discrimination, yes—but as people: some evil, some not. Not all equally monsters.

It’s a significant step, a turning point, a revolution within the world of vampires itself.

In any case, going back to the concept of medicine for vampires, even Lady Incognita, in one of her writings—Diseases of the Blood—suggests that the blood of the person being fed upon might affect the vampire who drinks it.

"This is a journal handwritten by a vampire known only as Lady Incognita in which she describes two different blood diseases that, if contracted by ingestion of infected blood, might inconvenience a vampire with a brief illness. The bulk of the text is descriptions of symptoms and diagnoses of Red Thrombosis and Thandal's Paroxysm. Lady Incognita notes that, with a vampire's superior senses, it's possible to train oneself to recognise infected prey by scent before biting them, 'Red Thrombosis by a piquant, gingery odour, and the Paroxysm by a sharp astringency'."

So yes, there are substances—like herbs, poison and even illnesses—that can affect a vampire through the blood they consume. So even setting aside the idea of a full cure that would restore someone to mortality, we can still talk about treatments that support and alleviate the condition of vampirism itself. And even if, in BG3, they’re only just beginning, I’m sure that over time the Gur—or others like them—will find more and more ways to fight this “disease.”

However, I believe this might apply especially to vampire spawn, because—at least according to D&D statistics—vampire lords are instead immune to both poison and disease. Therefore, we cannot know whether there are other substances that could bypass their resistances and be metabolized by them. Or whether BG3 strictly follows the rules and lore of D&D, since Lady Incognita speaks of vampires in general, without specifying whether she refers to spawn or true vampires.

Regarding the examples you gave — blood cloning and mass production of sun rings — I have to say they’re truly interesting and original ideas! They would certainly solve a lot of problems and greatly reduce the number of victims—both intentional and accidental—of vampires who need to feed. However, if we want to place them within the context of D&D, we need to analyze them in more detail.

In the first case, one might refer to clerics and druids who are capable of creating food and water, straight out of the D&D manual. Through a similar process, we could imagine the possibility of recreating another form of sustenance — namely, blood for vampires.

However, to create truly exquisite food or fine wines, the simple powers of an average druid or cleric wouldn’t be enough (though they could still prove useful in a pinch). So if we follow the same parallel, the level of complexity required to recreate blood as rich and nourishing as that of sentient creatures would increase so much that, in this case, the simplest solution might be to set magic aside and instead organize a sort of blood bank — where people could donate their lifeblood for the cause (or for a bit of money) — for the benefit of socially integrated vampires, as part of a structured and legalized system (or illegal — as long as it works!).

Also because, regardless of whether the spell is feasible, one would have to wonder whether druids and clerics would look kindly on creating blood instead of water or food, since—due to their beliefs—they might see it as something unnatural or even outright blasphemous.

As for the second example, this involves arcane magic. And here, a preliminary note is needed. Magic in D&D requires three components: material, somatic, and verbal. In BG3, things are simplified — our beloved wizard Gale clicks, speaks a magic word, and casts the spell. But in D&D, it’s a bit more complicated. In theory, a wizard can’t cast spells they don’t know; they must prepare them in advance by selecting them from their spellbook after each long rest. Moreover, to cast a spell, they must perform the correct sequence of gestures, use the right words, and consume the necessary material components.

And this, in my opinion, is where things get tricky. Aside from needing to know the spell (and assuming the process is even known), some rare items — like the cloak or the ring that would allow a vampire to walk in sunlight — are so unique and hard to find because they were crafted with truly exceptional material components that aren’t easy to acquire or are so valuable that not everyone can afford them. Silly examples to illustrate the point: the horn of the last unicorn, or the largest diamond in the world kept in the highest, most heavily guarded tower of the sultan’s palace. That’s why mass-producing the ring you mentioned would be highly improbable.

That said, even considering a possible blood bank for “well-behaved” vampires, I wouldn’t underestimate their instincts — kind of like my cats, who, despite having plenty of kibble to eat and being basically little balls of fluff and fat, still give in to instinct the moment they get the chance, and I find myself pulling birds, mice, and lizards out of their mouths. I think that, even with the best intentions, the instinct to hunt is a strong and primal one for vampires. And the sight of blood, regardless of how full they are, would still be intoxicating.

So I believe that in the most plausible scenario—one consistent with both D&D rules and the worldbuilding of Baldur’s Gate 3—the most viable ways to alleviate the symptoms of vampirism lie in the use of substances as “medicines” and the establishment of “blood banks.” As I mentioned above, the world has begun to open up to these “good” vampires, and with their integration, knowledge surrounding them will gradually increase, allowing society to evolve and improve—both in terms of medicine and inclusive social structures.

Even though other problems might arise precisely because of these innovations—like the darker side of the coin. For example, some spawn could become addicted to certain treatments in the same way some people become dependent on certain medications or opioids. And that would open up a whole new discussion about the fine line between healing, control, and social manipulation, because in that case, medicine could become a weapon in the hands of unscrupulous individuals who might exploit the addictions they create. Or they might even start some kind of mafia around the management of donated blood—a sort of ruthless black market. But that’s another story…

But if I were to dive into fantastical headcanons without considering any rulebook restrictions on spells or world lore, then blood cloning and the mass production of magical items would definitely be among my favorite options! In fact, I’m about to say something completely bonkers, but it makes me grin just thinking about it.

If I had to imagine something truly innovative to bypass or ease the symptoms of vampirism, I’d put my faith in the combined genius of Gondians and Ironhand gnomes (pioneers in creating devices that blend magic and science) to recreate the Iron Man of the D&D universe! Astarion, in his iconic vampire superhero armor, stabbing criminals by daylight and blasting them with runepowder—what a vision! xD

Let’s imagine it!

Astarion’s Solar Armor: Custom-designed, of course. A lightweight, ultra-thin suit forged from a special alloy (blending mithril or adamantine with powdered runes), designed to shield against sunlight. It's equipped with magical photovoltaic panels that convert light into arcane energy—powering the armor and even allowing self-repair via embedded micro-golems, like magical nanobots. When needed, the special alloy can turn invisible, letting him slip away even in broad daylight.

Naturally, it features hidden pressure compartments where Astarion stores his thieves’ tools, potion vials, ciphered letters, and even a folding backup dagger. And let’s not forget the “Whisper” communication module—a magical crystal receiver that only works with its twin fragment, allowing secure, encrypted telepathic messages over a short distance.

On his belt he carries compressed runepowder grenades, activated by alchemical ignition with just a flick of the thumb. They’re spherical, with darkened copper finishes and runes that glow ominously before detonation. Astarion keeps them in a side holster with a snap-lock closure.

And how could we not mention the Fluid-Repulsion Boots? When activated, they enchant the air around him with a subtle hydraulic force, redirecting the flow of water away from his body—allowing him to walk across riverbeds without harm.

Of course, he also carries practical travel blood supplements—because you never know when hunger might strike! These vials contain a synthetic fluid that mimics human blood, infused with regenerative magic and authentic flavor. They can temporarily “fool” the vampiric body, quelling hunger and suppressing predatory impulses. One vial keeps the thirst at bay for 8 hours.

And I could go on for hours with my Marvel-style absurdities, but I’ll spare you because I love you. <3 I’d say I’ve rambled enough already, so to wrap things up, dear anon, I’d say there’s strong evidence that your idea of using treatments to help alleviate the symptoms of vampirism is not only great and plausible, but it’s actually supported in the game itself—even if just through small mentions scattered here and there.

Especially because, even in D&D terms, fully curing vampirism can be an incredibly difficult feat. It might require the use of extremely rare and hard-to-access spells like Wish (which can have all kinds of unpredictable and unwanted consequences), or divine intervention (Astarion, time to start charming Selûne’s daughter, lol)—and even then, the cure would benefit only a single individual.

Treatments, on the other hand, could benefit everyone, which is really encouraging—especially when you realize that one solution doesn’t have to rule out the other! And who knows, maybe one day Astarion really will manage to win over Selûne’s daughter and get himself a little divine favor! xP

[reds-skull]

Thank youuu

I love them too, I'm thinking of having them as a big brother/little brother duo maybe?? Anyway here's them buying tea for the base like stereotypical Brits

Ok first time I read this my heart melted because it's so sweet :]

I keep thinking up aus for mw2, but they're all too complicated for a one-off comic, and I just finished a series so I'm not doing another one for the time being. But I had a superpower au for them, that I'm gonna explain under a read more because I know it's gonna be long lmao

But before that thank you for everyone again! I read all your lovely comments and they warm my heart <333

SO in this au, some people gain powers the first time they die. The powers are based on how they died (also when they die they meet these cool eldritch beings called reapers that have a little chat with them to decide if they're worthy of those powers).

Soap died from an explosion. Got blown out of a building. So his powers are explosion resistance and creation. His fingertips are always on fire because he's practically blowing the air around them all the time.

Gaz fell off a helicopter :( so now he can manipulate gravity, either objects around him or himself. He also floats a few inches off the ground most times.

Price was kinda hard for me to decide but I ended up making him die by abandonment. Now he can telepathically communicate with people.

And Ghost... he died in that coffin. Got pulled out by a reaper and received the powers to control limbo, the space between life and death. He's not authorized to use them unless he's alone, so he gets sent on solo missions only, until Price recruits him to the 141.

That is, until he pairs up with Ghost.

Before being recruited to the 141, Soap mainly defused bombs. Since, even if it's too late, he won't die. Thing is, Soap still gets hurt. His bones get crushed, his heart stops, his limbs get torn apart. He does heal, but the worse the injury, the longer it takes.

That made him kinda depressed. Because he felt like a glorified bomb robot. Except he's cheaper, since it doesn't cost the military any money when he fails to defuse on time.

Ghost isn't immune to bombs. He himself doesn't enter limbo, since that traps anything alive.

He and Soap go on a mission where intel suggests the enemy has rigged various explosives around the intel they need. They split up, Soap goes to defuse them and Ghost slowly makes his way through the facility.

And Ghost does help him. But he treats him like he would a regular, non-powered human. Stops when he's in too much pain, encourages him through it. Does his best to stop the bleeding.

Ghost completes his objective, but Soap gets spotted by an enemy and detonates the bomb he's working on to save himself.

Ghost find Soap after he fails to sitrep, impaled by a rebar. He whimpers and begs Ghost to help him off it, since he can't heal.

Because Ghost sees him as human. He watched as Soap kept trying to make jokes with him, but more importantly, how he treated him no differently from anyone else.

Soap, for his side, isn't used to that... gentleness. And that's how his interest in Ghost begins.

They exfil and return to base. A few months pass, and Ghost keeps an eye on one Soap MacTavish. Looks through his medical records, past missions. Finds out just how much he suffers through.

But Ghost isn't his commending officer, so he can't do anything. Until he's approached by his captain, John Price. He brings up the option of adding a new member to the taskforce. He gives Ghost the candidates he considered, Soap was brought up, Ghost stops him and states that he would agree to a new member if it was Soap.

Now if I had like, better writing abilities I would have absolutely written this as a fic. Butttt I don't and even if I did, I don't have confidence in them so I won't. But this idea is now out there and you can do whatever you want with it.

Also I got like a lot more sketches of this au but I only posted the ones I made for the ask.

[oblivions-dawn]

Implementing Addison's Disease Medication in Skyrim

I almost didn't sleep last night because I was thinking so hard about this and I may have actually figured out something that makes sense--but in order for everyone else to understand, I have to explain Addison's Disease. If you're becoming a doctor, at least in the United States, it's highly likely that you read about it, although it's probably condensed to two pages or less. I will do my best to not delve too much into the complexity of it but still try and outline the basics.

Addison's Disease is specifically the autoimmune illness where the immune system attacks the adrenal glands [the little nuggets that sit on top of your kidneys] and destroys them. These glands create the hormone known as cortisol, the stress hormone [no, it's not adrenaline, though it plays a role in that as well]. This hormone controls everything in your body--and I mean everything: physical, mental, emotional. Things you don't even think stress out your body, like laughing, this hormone has a hand in. If not medicated properly, it very quickly leads to death. In the States, roughly 60 people die a year that we know of, and it's considered a rare disease as well--meaning less than 200,000 known cases a year.

The other issue with this disease is that every person is different--what is normal to me is insane to someone else. I take pills several times a day to function. Some people are on a pump, similar to those that suffer with diabetes. For my character, I'm drawing most of my ideas from how I specifically manage my illness, so I would love to hear from others with chronic illnesses about how they would tackle such a thing in the fantasy world of Elder Scrolls that we know and love!

Originally I had considered the effects of fortify as a possibility, but while scrolling through the ingredients I realised that regenerate would make far more sense; the pills I take act as a regeneration of my cortisol rather than fortification or restoration, as the hormone is not being strengthened or restored. Below I've listed all ingredients [which only includes base game and DLCs, not CC] that achieve at least one of these effects:

Regenerate health: emperor parasol moss, garlic, gleamblossom, juniper berries, luna moth wing, Namira's rot, nordic barnacle, vampire dust

Regenerate magicka: dwarven oil, fire salts, garlic, jazbay grapes, moon sugar, mora tapinella, salmon roe, salt, taproot

Regenerate stamina: bee, fly amanita, scaly pholiota

The first thing I noticed was that there are only 3 ingredients in the base game that regenerate stamina compared to health/magicka. I suppose you could include drinking alcohol, but since I have to avoid the substance myself it's likely that my character wouldn't use it either. There is one ingredient that achieves all three of these effects, which is the purple butterfly wing added in the Anniversary Edition through Saints & Seducers/Rare Curios. My character lives in the Reach and the butterfly doesn't spawn naturally in the world unless it's near Sheogorath things, so while it is what I'm looking for, it simply won't do as a sustainable/obtainable ingredient.

Since my character knows her alchemy very well, my partner did suggest that she could harvest blood or adrenal glands from animals, and I may consider this idea if she needed to strengthen her potions or use it as her liquid base instead of water. I also thought that she would have ideal mixtures that would work better than others or take less ingredients; for example, using only garlic and fly amanita, as the garlic achieves two of the effects she's looking for. Salt would be added to all of her potions since Addison's Disease is incredibly salt-wasting [how convenient that it regenerates magicka! I personally cackled when I noticed] [pickles anyone?] [actually she probably could pickle some of her ingredients . . . . I'll file that idea away].

There are a lot of possibilities for combinations here, which is great and gives me something to work with. I may consider researching which ingredients do resist damage or something as a way to negate the pain she also experiences, but for now I'm happy with what I've discovered and put together. This was actually a lot of fun for me to explore and again I would love to read other people's thoughts and ideas! Diseases/disabilities/illnesses aren't explored nearly enough in fantasy settings, especially chronic ones, and I hope this encourages others to do the same and bridge that gap c: <3 And thank you to this post in particular for violently tossing me down this rabbit hole ehe

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

hii I JUST LOVE YOUR WORK i stay and read them every day tbh, it's my first time requesting so I'm a lil nervous (also english isn't my first language so if i write too tangled things don't mind please) yandere disease has been corrupting my mind lately like this disease has taken over the world and now people are divided in two types: yanderes and darlings. Every darling is forced to stay with their yanderes by their parents and government when they turn 20 , like goverment has been taking care of yanderes too much, there's territories and special occasions where yanderes can meet darlings, if darling tries to escape people are just gonna drag them to their "soulmate" otherwise they think darling are too weak and fragile to protect themselves.

If you're too busy, just ignore this. I also know how hard it is to write. Hope you're doing good💗💗

Your English is perfect ❤️ better than some native speakers' ���️ I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!!

Yandere!Fiance x GN!Reader

There were conspiracy theories as to how it happened.

Populations around the globe had declined dramatically, worrying nearly every country in every continent. The most popular theory online was that to combat the rapidly declining birth rate, one (or more) of the suffering countries conspired to create a new kind of biological warfare; an illness directed at their own people to foster relations. Unfortunately, while half of people were naturally immune to the attack, the other half were affected too much.

It was just a theory. Nothing could be proved. No government wanted to get to the bottom of the "attack" because their economies were booming; who would want to rid people of an illness that drove the rate of divorce to an all time low? It didn't matter if there were a few hiccups along the way.. As long as people were pushing out more babies, governments across the planet were more than happy to just create new laws to keep the death rates minimal ensure happiness amongst couples.

(Reader) prayed on their knees like fanatic, begging any God that may be listening, for years that they could be one of the Lovers instead of a Darling. They were terrified of the idea of becoming someone's Darling; becoming a prisoner to a loving murderer. No matter how perfect each family unit seemed to be, the young adult could see it in their father's eyes, the longing for the outside world, away from their mother. The suffocating love their mother drowned him in; the almost unnoticeable quiver to his smile.. (Reader) wished upon every single star in the sky that they could fall madly in love with someone, just so they didn't have to live through the rose tinted hell their father did.

But every crush they had was normal, none of the guys they thought were cute in highschool awakened some kind instinct in them. Eventually (Reader) turned 19 years old, and found out that they were engaged.

"To who??" (Reader) nearly barfed onto the dinner table. Their parents sat across from them, smiling happily from the good news they had just delivered to their child.

"He went to the same elementary school as you! Isn't that romantic?" Their mother cooed, poking her husband while doing so. "Apparently he's known since forever that you two are soul mates, but he's been too shy until recently to approach the Family Planning Bureau about his feelings~"

(Reader) gripped their thighs under the table while their eyes stung from the blossoming tears. ".. Do I have to meet him?" They asked quietly.

Although the building was painted bright blue and was surrounded by a beautiful, flowery landscape, it felt like a prison with it's tall chain link fencing.

The sorrowful expression on their father's sympathetic face burned into their retina so painfully, that every time they blinked while on the bus to their first meeting with their "fiance" they could still see it. He knew just as well as (Reader) did that there was no escape.

Even the walk towards a private meeting room past other Darlings felt like a death march. (Reader) could only hope that the "electric chair" wouldn't be too painful.

The kind guard opened a door, and a young man they did not recognize sitting inside immediately stood up, his face bright red.

His freckled and bespectacled face was almost hidden by his wavy, unbrushed hair. A smile stretched sweetly across his round cheeks, and (Reader) noticed that his blush went down his neck. "Ah- (Reader)! It's nice to- it's nice to meet you!"

It didn't matter that he was incredibly adorable: (Reader) was determined not to let their guard down.

"You said we went to elementary school together?"

"Yes-"

"-I'm sorry, but I don't remember you." They interrupted him, curt and to the point.

Instead of looking offended, his eyes softened and his smile became (somehow) warmer. "I'm sorry." He motioned to a seat near the table he was just sitting at. "I can explain everything.. if you give me a chance."

Reluctantly, (Reader) sat across from him. It was hard to deny that he was attractive, really being their ideal man, but they continuously bit the inside of their cheek to prevent themselves from feeling any sort of positive emotion. They knew better than to fall into this trap.

"My name is Anthony." His freckles almost disappeared entirely under his blush. "I'm sorry I never had the confidence to approach you.."

"Huh?" The confused teen forgot to hold their tongue. "Isn't it, like, frowned upon to talk to your Darling before registering with the bureau?"

Anthony rubbed his hands together nervously. "I - I really didn't want you to meet me this way.." He sucked in air between his teeth, looking faint. "I.. Do you believe in true love?"

A pang shot through (Reader's) heart. They remembered every time they would chase a crush, yearning for something true and genuine. Reading love stories from the days before the bureau, and wondering if that was what love was really like once upon a time. "No."

He sighed sadly. "I believe.. or at least, I want to believe in true love." Anthony sat straighter, staring into (Reader's) eyes with a shaky confidence. "I should have asked you out when I first met you in the fifth grade. I'm sorry I was too nervous to talk to you back then."

Vibrating adrenaline shook their system as they tried to make sense of what this stranger was saying.

"I wanted to ask you out, and take you on dates, and get to know you like in the old days."

"Why didn't you?"

His head fell slightly, obscuring his face entirely. "I thought that my feelings for you weren't strong enough.."

(Reader) suddenly felt as though they were connected with Anthony on a spiritual level; as though he was the only person in the whole world to understand them. The need for love, conflicting with the fear of not being a Lover, being destined to be labeled as a Darling. "Are you.." (Reader) dropped their voice to a whisper, "are you a lover?"

Sorrow filled Anthony's figure. Shoulders slumped, and back shuddering under his uneven, heavy breaths. "Would you report me if I wasn't?"

It was as if God had finally answered (Reader's) prayers. Their heart was racing; their head felt lighter than a cloud. Stuttering over their words, the young adult had to avert their gaze. "I don't remember you.. but I wouldn't mind getting to know you." Even though they didn't love him, Anthony felt like their one and only chance to fall in love naturally. To not be trapped like their father.

"Then.. I can see you again?"

(Reader) smiled. "Yeah.."

....

The second (Reader) left the room, Anthony's head hit the table with a loud bang.

It felt like he was going to vomit with how excited he was, and he couldn't contain his giggles any longer. Being in the same room as his childhood love was almost too much for him, and he almost ruined everything.

Anthony had worked so hard to make (Reader) love him.

He knew they liked shy, nerdy types, so he morphed into that. Destroying his eye sight so he could wear glasses, growing out his hair so he could always look slightly dishevelled, biting his tongue until it bled to force himself to stay in character.

Tears pooled around his nose on the table. He was smarter than the Lovers that made his precious (Reader) scared to be a Darling.

"I'm so happy..~" Anthony sobbed loudly in the empty room. "Please fall in love with me quickly~ Although, I don't mind waiting on you forever.. I want you to love me now..!"

[junebuggiezz]

Howdyyy!! I loved the red panda request, and I was hoping for a Jax x gn!reader balloon dog who's easygoing and cheerful that can turn into any balloon object or other animal? I hope you have a good day!!

Jax/Balloon Dog!Reader HCs

𖦹—This is giving Unikitty vibes. I haven't watched it, but I'm getting that feeling if that makes sense?

Gender neutral || You morph into a centipede once ||

✦ Your body being made out of latex and/or rubber means that certain movements you make are squeaky. Something like moving on specific flooring, getting covered in water, turning a body part at a fast pace. You're also immune to electricity, but this costs the other members with visible hair to suffer the consequences.

✦ Depending on your mood you can either stay on the ground or float at your comfortable height. Guarantee with 50% chance anything on the floor won't get you unless they're in a higher place to grab you!

✦ Your body is very light, so scenarios with even the slightest of wind will cause you to drift off. You explained it to Caine when you first arrived and now adventures require you to have a string attached somewhere to your body for someone to grab onto to prevent this from happening. If they can’t get to you in time, tough luck ’cause now you’re suddenly flying higher, and farther, and farther, and farther—

✦ Sharp objects are your enemy BUT IT WON’ KILL YOU, DON’T WORRY! Even if you get popped, you're able to respawn back whenever. It's based on your mindset, when you're comfortable coming back. Although it's... unknown where you are when you’re trying to “reset”. Even Caine can't explain it. I can guarantee it’s a place where you find sanction and just be alone with yourself, but it's best not to dwell how it's there and why only you can access it.

✦ Being poked at a certain point/angle can cause you pop or to slowly deflate (based on the material you spawn with) and funnily enough, cause your voice to slowly pitch up. Jax loses his mind every time he hears it and can't take you seriously until you're fixed up. You either need to respawn or put tape over the spot.

"BAHAHAHA! YOUR VOICE! YOUR VOICE—I CAN'T BREATHE!" Jax cackles as he lays on the floor, holding his stomach.

Zooble sighs. "Someone carry [Name] so we can head back..."

✦ A little rude, but sometimes he’d be the reason why you deflate/pop and he holds up the pointed object like it wasn't the thing that popped you. He does this when he feels like pushing your buttons or just as a fast pass to get you to spawn back in the Circus.

✦ You like giving compliments to the members of the circus! They each have their own reactions spamming from enthusiastic "Thank You"s to confused, but accepting. Then there's Jax.

"Tch, yeah thanks, [Name]! You probably just want something, don't you?"

"Nope! Just felt like complimenting you today, that's all."

"Right..."

✦ Give the guy some time to get used to it. He doesn't trust you much in the beginning, but he grows to use it like an ego boost.

"Heh, see? [Name] thinks my idea was impressive. I don't see them complimenting you guys, now do I?"

"I can if they'd like—"

"Shh, just stick with me here, rubberhose."

✦ Nicknames mainly comprise of "Rubberhose" and "Popper". It's simply and easy for Jax to come up with those two, and I doubt he's on the scientific side about knowing balloon production.

✦ He does vocalize at times to tell you to calm down; even though it's your personality, it sometimes seems a bit too much for him to deal with. He’s not as energetic as you, so that’s a little downside. (bwomp)

✦ He likes to see what kind of stuff you can morph into and requests get more difficult as he attempts to see if there's a limit on what you can or can't do. He sometimes likes to grab you and try to change you into something of his own, giving you that Cheshire cat grin afterwards like he accomplished something great.

“Okay okay, now morph into a…” Jax snaps his fingers. “Morph into a truck.”

You laugh. “You’re so funny, Jaxy,”

“Don’t call me that—”

“Try something a little smaller? Think of anything!”

He hums. “Anything?” His smile begins to morph and he drifts his eyes towards Ragatha sitting on the couch. He suddenly grabs hold of you. "Small, eh?"

Ragatha sat idly before Jax’s shadow loomed over her, making her hum questionably and turn to him. He had his hands behind his back and had one of his usual grins.

“Oh, hey Jax! Do you neeED—AHH!” Ragatha screams as Jax reveals his hands—you wriggled in place, your body morphed into a centipede. Ragatha jolts from the couch and runs off. “GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!”

You stop in place. “Heyy… I’m not a thing.” You squint.

“Ha!” Jax places you on his shoulder. “You are now.”

✦ Ragatha likes your cheerfulness; it's something that lifts her spirits up and she knows it's not something you're faking. You two have great talks when the both of you are next to each other and you easily make her laugh with your charm and morphing. She's the type to hold onto you when she feels like you'll drift too far from the group.

✦ Pomni questions if morphing hurts your body at all and is surprised that it doesn't. If you accidentally drift into her personal space she lightly pushes you away and makes sure you're comfortably in your own spot, but she’ll also hold onto you if needed. She also flips out every time you get popped, like, to the point she breaks her neck to check on you if she hears any noise similar to a pop.

"[Name]! [NAME]??"

"I'm right here, Pomni."

"OhthankGod."

✦ Zooble just wonders where you get this energy from. They kind of feel comfort in knowing they aren't the only one who can change their form in a way. They go to you to get an opinion on which body part they should wear for the day and you always complement the different looks they have when you see them. They let out little chuckles under their breath when they see you morph into something to cheer others up or just cause you can do whatever you want.

✦ Gangle is able to cheer up from you talking to her long enough. She sometimes requests for you to morph into things to pose for art references in her sketchbook. She’s always nervous to show you the final product, but you easily convince her to do so just by being her hype person. She likes hanging out with you and Zooble most of the time when she gets lonely.

✦ Kinger pays more attention when you morph into insects. He verbally names them through their scientific names or common names if you’re confused and question him about it. Sometimes when he freaks out he grabs onto you too tightly before quickly releasing you and letting out a loud “Sorry!”

✦ Caine and Bubble sort of try to push you into their group in a sense. Caine likes the fact that you’re willing to go on these adventures and give it your all! He sees you as a “Determined little air balloon” (His words). Bubble likes to call you their twin and the whole group finds massive discomfort in that sentiment. You do as well, and the gang sees them float behind you while you aggressively speed walk away. Even you have your limits.

“Don’t be shy to talk to your favorite sibling about anything!” Bubble says as they twirl around your figure.

You laugh and wave at Bubble as they linger away. “I’ll be sure to do so!” You keep your smile, even after you walk back towards your group. Jax crosses his arms and gives you a cheeky, pointed look.

“You wanna tell the class—”

“Absolutely not.” You make a dreaded face before smiling and clapping your hands. “Let’s change the topic—let’s talk stargazing!”

[hannsluvely]

after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one

chapter two | red. rain. rotten.

his pov;

She was standing underneath a stripe-patterned banner that shielded her from the pouring rain. Her nimble fingers sorted through an assortment of fruits, trying to decide which were the ripest and tastiest of the bunch. Of course, she was by herself, with none of her peers or family around her. I knew she was close to them. But why must she always be alone?

The tan-suede coat I wore protected me from the cold, keeping my body somewhat warm. My gloves and hands were stuffed in my pockets as I peeked around the corner and watched the girl shop. I noticed her begin to shiver, which I dreaded. I was so selfish. I didn't need this coat. I've spent countless nights in the cold, the crashing waves of the East Blue only intensifying the breeze. I was almost immune to the cold, but her? Y/N's nose was reddening as her teeth shattered. Was any fruit worth suffering in the cold? A devil fruit, maybe. But even then, it wasn't worth it. "Y/N," I smiled as I approached the maiden. The girl's head rose as she picked up an apple then her body twisted, her eyes growing wide upon the sight of myself. She nearly jumped. "How-" She shook her head. "Are you following me?" Her voice and body shook. Yes. "No, of course not," I laughed, brushing the accusation off my shoulders as I took a few more steps toward her, closing the wide gap. "I was looking for something to eat and I spotted you. Am I not allowed to say hello?" Guilt was something I was tremendous at. Y/N still seemed skeptical but after a slight sigh, she smiled and nodded her head. "No, forgive me. I'm sorry. Uh," She turned her attention to the apple she was holding then let it drop among the others crowding in a small basket. "None of these apples look good."

"They've been sitting out for a while. The shop clerk doesn't take the best care of his fruits. It's why they're so cheap," I chuckled to myself and reached down to grab an apple. I twisted it and examined a large brown spot that was eating away at the once-bright red color. I huffed, "I'm sure you can find something else to eat."

"I can't afford anything else to eat."

My eyes widened and I took a step back, visibly and internally shocked. What? She couldn't afford to eat anything other than a rotten apple? "Why?"

"It's a long story," Y/N admitted. "But I don't wanna talk about it." The girl sorted through found one that looked reasonable, and started to dig in her pocket. She pulled out nothing. "Never mind, I can't even afford that." Letting out a pitiful laugh, she dropped the fruit. I frowned. Her absence of money was one of the few things I didn't know about her. And now that I was aware of it, I felt a puzzling and aggressive feeling in my stomach. Was she out of work? Did she not have any way of providing for herself? Raising my hand, I grabbed at my chin and scratched the bottom of it. "Let me buy you something to eat."

"What?" Her eyes widened and she immediately shook her head, waving her hands as a type of rejection. "You are not buying me anything."

"It's just lunch. It's no biggy," I remarked. "At least something small."

"Why?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Do you feel sorry for me? First, you see me getting picked on by some slob, and now, you see that I'm too poor to afford a rotten apple. What's next?"

"Y/N, knock it off. Stop. Just think of it as a friend doing something nice for their friend."

The questioning look remained stuck on her face as she stared up at me. I tried to maintain a serious expression though the look she was giving me made my lower lip purse, like a pout. How was someone so enchanting? I continued to stare into her eyes, making quick glimpses to explore her other facial features before she finally made a decision. "Fine, but just this once, okay?" "You got it." I winked. -=- Being the gentleman I am, I loaned Y/N my coat to wear despite her dismay and numerous declines. She was pouty the entire walk to the pub but I didn't care. I'd rather her in a pissy mood than feeling physically uncomfortable due to the rain. I, however, was shivering. I was starting to become drenched. I held a newspaper over my head in hopes of staying dry but the wind was strong and the rain was forceful, almost piercing through the thin paper.

When we arrived at the restaurant, she found herself a seat in the corner of the establishment, scooting far into the booth. I followed behind her, sitting on the edge of the seat. I'd rather her be sitting across from me than rather to the side but due to her current emotional state, I stayed quiet and slid her the menu. "Get whatever you want, alright? I mean it."

"Are you a man of money?"

"Something like that," I snickered and ducked my head down to examine the options.

"Have you killed anyone before?" Y/N asked as she folded her arms over the table, her eyes peering at me.

I furrowed my eyebrows and let out a soft laugh. "No," I lied. "I'm not like that. I wasn't that type of pirate."

"What kind of pirate were you?"

"What kind of pirates do you think there are?"

"I don't know," She said as she pursed her lips. "I don't like pirates."

I nodded, unsure of a proper reply. I didn't like lying to her. I was fine with lying, in general. I was the master of conniving and deception. But I wanted to be different for her. Maybe a better person, though that seemed a bit rash. I left the East Blue after discovering that Monkey D- or whatever his name was received a higher bounty than me. Double my own, to be precise. My normally high and mighty ego dropped down and was smooshed by a brick. I didn't want to show my face again, at least not for a while. I wanted somewhat of a fresh start. And when I discovered my presence in the North Blue was dim and almost non-existent, I decide to settle down and refresh.

Then I discovered her.

And my plans completely changed.

"Do you know what you're getting?" Y/N's voice interrupted my thoughts and I raised my head and peaked up at her, smiling softly.

"Hm, not too sure yet," I replied.

"Are you cold? You look cold. You can have your coat back, it's--"

"Nah, keep it. It looks better on you," I said with a grin. I reached for a napkin and started to dab at my forearms, trying to dry myself off. The lovely woman aside of me frowned and stayed quiet. I could tell she felt guilty, which, of course, wasn't my intention. So in hopes of brightening up the mood, I decided to tell a joke.

"What's a pirate's favorite type of exercise?"

Y/N smirked and scrunched her eyebrows. "What?" She laughed.

"The plank."

Her hand slapped over her mouth in hopes of keeping her loud giggles and snickers to a minimum but the more she proceeded to think about it, the more laughs she erupted. My face reddened. I glanced around me, noticing that every other patron and pirate were staring directly at us. Gulping, I reached forward and pulled her hand down from her mouth. "Come on, stop. It's not that funny."

"It's stupid, that's why it's funny!" She continued to cackle as she threw herself over the table, clutching her stomach. A smile crawled on my face, not a painted one. Hearing her laugh, while for no reason, was a beautiful sound. And seeing her laugh? That was even better. I rested my chin in my hand and watched her, smiling to myself. When she finally calmed down, she wiped tears from her eyes. Her face was stained red. "Gosh, I am so sorry," She sighed, shaking her head. "I needed that, thank you."

"It's no problem," I said as I dropped my menu.

Due to the lack of laughter, a waiter finally arrived and took our orders.

"I'll have a slice of apple pie, please. With a cup of milk," Y/N smiled up at the waiter as she read off from the menu.

I raised an eyebrow. Dessert?

"Then after that, I'll have the fish and chips. But I want the pie first, please. Not after." She announced and she folded her menu, sliding it forward. She smiled at me.

I looked at her, completely confused. "Uhm," I looked back to the waiter, "I'll just have a cup of coffee."

Now, Y/N was looking at me, confused.

The waiter nodded and left. "Hey," Y/N started. "Why aren't you eating? I thought you were on your way to get something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. Plus I doubt you'll finish all of that. I might pick on your leftovers," I said with a grin then I started to munch on the small bowl of peanuts that sat in the middle of the table. "What's up with the apple pie though?"

"I like to eat my dessert before my food because that's what I'm looking forward to," She hummed as she leaned back in her seat. "What if during our meal, we are stormed by a group of pirates and killed at gunpoint? Or a sea snake comes and eats us whole?"

"Ha! What?"

"It's unlikely but it's possible. And I'd like to die knowing I was able to get to the good part of my meal." She wagged her finger at me.

"You make a good point there."

"I know," The girl said with a satisfied grin.

I chuckled and sat back, drumming my gloved fingers on the edge of the table. A thought pondered my mind but I didn't know whether to act on it or not. I wanted to, but I didn't want to overstep any boundaries. I felt Y/N and I were moving forward with our relationship if there was one. We were talking, enjoying a meal together. I made her laugh. She admitted a quirk about herself to me. I felt there was good progress. But I wanted more. I was an impatient man. And the fact that it took five months for me to finally talk to her, despite her initiating the conversation, was surprising. I was eager to get what I wanted. And Y/N was the only thing my mind and heart could agree on.

But the fighting halves of my brain finally settled and I rested my arm over the top of the booth, leaning back. "So, uh, earlier you said you needed to laugh? How so?"

"It's a long story," She mumbled, shrugging her shoulders.

"I've got no places to be, I have time," I said as I cracked a peanut open, discarding of the shells on an unfolded napkin. I watched as she began to grow uneasy with the topic but I was desperate to want to know what was the issue. Why was she stressing her pretty little head? I frowned. "Come on, talk to me. We aren't friends, I'm a stranger to you, no? Who am I gonna talk to or tell?"

"You make a good point," Y/N sighed and leaned forward, raising her hand to scratch at the back of her neck. "It's just- I don't know, it's a lot. I haven't talked to anyone about it."

“Why not?”

“Because it’s something I’m not proud of.”

What could someone as sweet and fragile as she has done that was such an awful deed?

“What is it?” I tossed a peanut into my mouth.

“Well, I was young when it all happened. But when Gold Roger announced the One Piece before he died, my dad was one of the stupid pirates who thought he could have a shot at finding it,” She announced as her eyes rolled and she started to chew on my inner cheek. “My mom kept telling him to knock it off and stop living in a fantasy but he set off, determined to find it. I haven’t seen him in fifteen years. But this came to me a few days ago,” The girl dug her hand into her pocket, rummaging around before she pulled out a crumpled piece of coffee-stained paper. She rolled the ball toward me.

I looked at her then back down at the paper ball. I reached forward and grabbed it, raising an eyebrow. Unfolding it, I smoothed the paper against the table and started to allow my eyes to trail over the letter.

‘Y/N,

It is with great sorrow that I write you this letter. I wish you the best in your youth and I hope you amount to incredible things, such as creating a new destiny for you and your mother. I am sorry I wasn’t able to be a better father for you. Greed is distasteful. I won’t see you again. At the time of writing this, I will be long gone. But please, do me one thing: never stop smiling.

I love you, kiddo.

Love, Dad’

I clenched my jaw and looked back up at her. “Damn, that is a lot.”

“I told you,” She whispered as she tore the paper out of my hands, crunched it into a ball, and then shoved it back into her pants. “I didn’t think he’d be dead. Not this soon. My parents had me when they were young. And to think that my dad died doing something everyone warned him of. It’s horrible. It haunts my mind every day,” She frowned, her eyes tearing up. “Do I write back?”

“Do you have things you wish to say to him?”

“So much. But if he’s dead, then there’s nothing I can say, right?” Y/N rubbed at her nose and took a deep breath as she looked up, her hands waving in hopes of drying her tears. “God, I hate crying.”

“Maybe just write your heart out. Say everything you wish you could say to him. Then seal it in a bottle and toss it into the sea,” I suggested. I looked down at my gloved hand and hesitating, I reached forward and took hold of her small hand. I gave it a tight squeeze. “What do you want to say?”

“How I hate him for abandoning me and my mother but I still love him because he’s my father,” Y/N murmured, the rest of her words muffling as her lower lip quivered. She broke down in a fit of sobs as tears ran down her gorgeous face. I swallowed, never knowing how to react when someone cried. As a child, I hated to be touched whenever I was upset. I wondered if she was the same way. “I don’t know, I don’t,” She repeated as she buried her face in her hands.

I looked around the bar, nervous that others were watching this scene. First the obnoxious laughter and now this? Her emotions were spiraling.

“Hey,” I whispered, my thumb rubbing along her wrist. “Let's say we get the food to go and I’ll take you back home. Eat where you feel comfortable and so you can properly feel your emotions.”

“Huh?” She raised her head, the light mascara that accentuated her eyelashes, now dripping down her cheeks.

“I’m going to go tell the chef to wrap your meal up. Then I’ll take you home,” I continued and I raised my free hand, snapping my fingers to signal we needed assistance. “But don’t worry, I’ll turn around when you walk inside.” I cocked a smile but the comment remained unheard as she continued to cry.

I finally found a waiter and instructed him that we were taking the meal to go. He looked at Y/N with a concerned look but I told him she was alright. But I didn't even know that.

On the walk back to her place, I think I managed to get her to calm down. My hand rubbed at her back as she dipped her head in her hands. I guided her through crowds, instructing her on where to go since her eyes were covered and swollen with tears. A small frown fell on my face despite the red-painted smile I wore so proudly. The face paint I wore was smeared and dripping due to the rain from before. It was continuing to rain but not nearly as frequent and hard as earlier.

I had no idea she was this emotional. It made me feel guilty, even though, as far as I knew, I had nothing to do with why she was crying so much. I hated seeing her so sad. Normally, if it were anyone else apart from her, ridiculing would be my goal. I never cry. Pirates don't cry. But my nose burned with an odd sensation as I helped her up the staircase to her small, run-down building. I blinked rapidly and the feeling went away. Letting out a sigh, I gave Y/N a pat on the back and informed her that we were finally home. Her head raised from the confines of her hands and she revealed a wet, red face with strands of her hair sticking to her skin. A frown stayed on my face. I pulled my hand from her back and dropped the takeaway down on the doorstep. I clenched my teeth together and watched as she fumbled to push the door open. "Here," I whispered, using my foot to nudge it open. It gave way, revealing a disorderly room with an unkempt bed and a woman sleeping under the sheets. It was probably her mother.

"Thank you," Y/N finally spoke, her voice croaking. "I appreciate it, honestly. I'm sorry for ruining your meal."

"Don't apologize. Things are fine. Go eat then get some rest, alright?"

"Yeah, okay." She rubbed her nose and nodded her head. "I'll see you around." Her body twisted and she hunched over to grab the uneaten food. She stepped inside.

"Y/N," I started, stopping her in her steps. She turned around. As I dug through my pocket, I pulled out a few berries, placing them in the palm of her hand. "Take these, okay? It's not a lot but, it should last you a little while."

"What?" She looked in her hand, shaking her head. "Buggy, no, I can't accept this. This is too much."

"Come on, take it. It's okay. You need it more than I do."

"But this is like," She counted the bills in her hands, "forty-three hundred berries... Are you completely sure?"

"Yes, I am," I said with a smile.

"I'm going to pay you back for this, I promise."

"No need."

"No, I want to. Please. I won't take this unless you allow me to repay you for this. Okay?" She slipped the money into her pocket, wiped her palm on the side of her pants, then held it out. "Deal?"

Chuckling to myself, I nodded my head. "Deal." I shook her hand. "Now, come on, go eat. I don't want to take any more of your time."

"Okay, okay," The beautiful girl agreed with a large grin, which was a much better sight than her crying. "Buggy, thank you. Thank you so much." And with those words, she stepped back, gave me a quick wave and a sincere grin, then shut the creaky wooden door behind her.

The sound of the door shutting nearly made me jump. And when I realized I was left all alone, the same sensation in my nose appeared. I gulped and walked down the stairs, now standing on a wooden dock. I hugged my arms and my eyes widened.

Y/N still had my coat.

[mllemaenad]

It's fascinating that the people who have most consistently and successfully established a connection to the titans are the Grey Wardens.

I'm not trying to oversell here: what they're doing has a lot of downsides. But while there are rare incidents of a dwarf truly connecting to a titan across the Dragon Age stories ... only the Grey Wardens have found a way to do it that's even moderately predictable. Sure, the Joining might kill you. But if it doesn't – congratulations, you're linked up to the Song of the titans.

Of course, they're connecting to the corrupted dreams of the titans: the infamous blight. And the more obvious differences in that connection obviously stem from that: the infertility, the eventual corruption of their bodies, the call of the Song that can overwhelm their minds.

But it's interesting what else is going on with them. I've never seen a Grey Warden dwarf do magic, the way Valta or Harding can. But I do wonder if that's an absolute rule, or just a side effect of the way they're connected.

It does seem to reconnect dwarves to their dreams. The archdemon dreams are the most obvious example, but there's also Oghren's account of a normal dream in Awakening. I recognise that that anecdote is meant to be funny but a) it still happens and b) there's now a lot of material from Harding that could also be described as "funny stories about dreams", and we aren't meant to disbelieve her.

So why no (obvious) magic?

Well, the thing about the Joining is that it is at least an attempt to connect to the blight safely.

The Joining requires darkspawn blood. Recruits are typically sent out under the watch of an older Warden to slay darkspawn and collect the blood. This is a test to see if the recruit has the courage and ability to fight darkspawn. Once the blood is collected, the Wardens add a single drop of Archdemon blood and use magic to make it at least remotely safe to consume. Archdemon blood is among the rarest substances in all Thedas, and it makes the Joining all the more exclusive a ritual. Older Wardens carry a small amount with them at all times. – The World of Thedas Volume 1

The exact details of how the blood is prepared remain a mystery, but the Grey Wardens have clearly gained some control over it. A recruit who is suffering from the taint may not be cured of it, but if they survive the Joining they will develop a resistance that may last decades. Without the Joining they will die or become ghouls like anyone else, so while a certain resilience on the part of the recruit may be part of the magic, it certainly isn't all of it.

Prospective Wardens consume as little as possible, as safely as possible, in order to gain the skills necessary to fight darkspawn: the ability to sense their presence, a practical if not literal immunity to the taint – and the all-important archdemon-killing presence of the taint in their veins.

Most of them aren't trying to do more with it. Although, yep, Avernus has the general idea:

The taint allows us to sense the darkspawn. The longer we survive with the taint in our blood, the more potent it becomes. Unfortunately, this corruption will eventually overwhelm the Warden; over time, it devours both mind and body, leaving nothing. But what if the spread of the corruption could be stopped, or contained in some way? What if the Warden could become more powerful, without having that power kill him? How great would that power be? Would it be enough to stop the demons? The Joining ritual is crude. We take into yourself the blood of the darkspawn in the most obvious way. Most die from the corruption immediately; it is, after all, poison. There must be some way to refine the Joining. Isolate the true power that is found in darkspawn blood, and leave behind the evil that kills us. I can feel the corruption starting to take its toll on my body. I must not succumb. There is too much work to be done. Through my magic I've been able to slow its inevitable spread, but not stop it completely. I am starting to hear things, even while awake: A voice—more beautiful than any other—that calls to me from the depths. In my dreams, I see the Black City, and I am drawn towards it. There is something there, an answer to what this taint is, this taint that we share with the darkspawn… —From the notes of Avernus. – Avernus's Notes

And that's the key thing he points out: the taint within a Grey Warden grows more powerful over time. However, the mental resistance to that taint breaks down as it grows, so by the time the taint is at its full power the Warden is effectively a ghoul. Yes, there are instances of intelligent, functional ghouls – but they're not the norm.

Power develops over time. One of the first things Alistair will tell a newly recruited Hero of Ferelden is that he can sense the presence of nearby darkspawn, but you can't ... yet. That power will develop with time.

In practice, by the time most dwarven Wardens have developed enough taint in them to even attempt magic, they're in no condition to try it. And even if they were, would they think to?

By contrast, both Valta and Harding are basically smacked in the face with the raw power of lyrium. It does not grow in them slowly, it comes to them all at once – and a certain amount of involuntary magic is performed on the spot. Once it's happened, they can't ignore it. They know they can do it.

I wonder if a dwarven Warden on the brink of their Calling might be able to throw some rocks around, if they really tried.

After all: genlock emissaries have magic, and a genlock is ... not exactly a dwarf, no, but it's also not exactly not a dwarf.

[fall0utmind]

Hello again! I'm the same anon that sent the ask about the various forms of guilt present in the a/b/o sick fic.

The anons have been absolutely brilliant with the fic ideas recently!! 

Combining the idea of Marc needing to get a hysterectomy and Vale getting his alpha vocal cords removed altered my brain chemistry a little ngl!! (Medical horror my beloved 🥰) Both of them physically loosing something that is a pretty large part of their secondary gender. Their contrasting reactions to it.

Marc as you've mentioned, adding it to his long list of things that make him The Worst Omega to ever exist (a list that doesn't include a single thing that actually makes him a bad omega, but yknow hes not gonna take a moment and reflect on that, an endless spiral of self hatred and repression is much more safe).

To contrast Vale, who I think at that point would actually agree to the procedure pretty quickly and honestly, if he really didn't realise that he'd used his alpha voice, would probably be relieved, because if that were me I'd probably spend the rest of my life terrified that I'd do it again, or that i had done it other times before.. (the betrayal of your own body/subconscious is such a good trope if done right) Not that he'd admit all that, because Marc has obviously suffered more and Vale is terrified of making this about himself, but at the same time overthinking every time he told someone in his packs to do something.. did they do it because they wanted to or because they had no choice? The pressure just building and building until eventually the dam breaks and he asks during one of the academy pack nesting/sleepover nights, (without Marc present) if he ever used his voice on any of them too? They'd tell him if he did, right? Does the alpha voice even work on other alphas, or just omegas and betas? Or maybe there's a difference between a regular alpha, an alpha to their mate and the pack alpha using their voice? That would probably make the most sense from a world building standpoint, with like disobeying a regular alpha command being a mild discomfort at most, while the other two actually cause pain. Vale (and maybe Marc too, at first, the realization creeping in slowly over the course of several months) assuming it was the former instead of a mix of the latter two?

Hi!!! Getting through my asks so! Sorry its been so long waiting for a reply anon, I appreciate you coming to talk to me x

You keep coming back so now I wanna give you an emoji hmmm - how about 🐺 cause you're always commenting on my a/b/o and it's fitting 👀👀

Oh I love some medical horror. Don't we all? Loads of angst with it too is *chefs kiss*

Marc and his endless fight trying to be good enough when he's actually already fantastic, the best, borderline perfect *sobs* 🫠

I love the idea that Marc is mourning bits of his omega, that he is so at odds with it. It's very dysphoric in a way, right? Which is so interesting to explore. The whole *gender* of it.

The betrayal of Valentino's body omg yes!!!Gahhhh valentino!! Yes, yes, yes. So like he's definitely devastated that all of this happened, and he wasn't in control . that's awful for him, that he caused such pain without realising it, and it 100% keeps him up at night. I do think there's a small part of him that also hates losing part of his alpha, part of him that sees it as losing control/ power/ status. But Valentino has character growth!!! So he learns to let that go!

Oh god, the idea of valentino wondering if other members of his pack (mainly Bez) have been forced to do something... (they haven't- just marc). As far as I'm aware, alpha voice only works on omegas. Betas are kinda immune, a bit like how they're neutral on scenting, etc. Idk if that's right, but that's how I view it!!

I strongly agree that an alpha you have a bond with/pack alpha would have more power in their alpha voice. I think i spoke about this before because it would make more sense, so yes, disobeying your pack alpha is almost impossible if they use alpha voice// can be very painful!

They were both so in denail when this happened because they didn't want to be that for each other. Marc didn't want to be controlled. Didn't want an alpha. Especially not valentino but then it all goes to shit so quickly and he's like well fuck. Actually, I love(d) Valentino, and he was grounding for me (marc latched onto Vale and kinda treated him as his alpha, etc.

Valentino is just always in denial - because in hus mind Marc is evil and blah blah blah

So there's no way either of them realised that a bond has been formed.

Phewwww, that was lots of thinking and world building. Thank you, Anon ❤️

[balkanradfem]

Listen you are not allowed to judge me but I've eaten so much unwashed fruit this summer, I'm still doing it as I type, I mean I do have access to water but I don't feel like I need to wash it. Where has the fruit been?? It's been hanging in a tree, and then, it fell, onto the grass. Is it laced with cyanide? No. There's bugs in it anyway! The bugs are faster than me and they've been alive since last year, because there was no strong frost last winter, so none of them died, and now they have like, extended families for the first time. They're not just tiny little things that got born in an egg somewhere, they have their bug grandmothers and grandfathers, all their uncles are alive, their mother is in the third marriage, you get the idea, bug families are thriving right now. So they're getting to the apple first, even if I'm picking it from the tree directly, there's already 3 worms and their aunt eating it up. And is this going to stop me from eating the apple? No. I have the right to eat apples, there's enough for everyone, we can share.

My tolerance level for what I will eat has gotten to the point that if I'm holding something in my hand, and it's edible, I will only not eat it if I feel like it will straight up kill me. Not even poison, because it's like, I've been poisoned before, it's not a big deal, I can cope. And the fruit that is on a tree and already being eaten by 20 bugs is obviously not deadly or those bugs would not be on it, their elders would tell them off, so it's bug-certified, healthy fruit and I can have it.

The trees this year have outdone themselves! Last year there was no fruit so now they're giving it their all as if trying to redeem themselves. And I'm just worried for their branches! The fruit is so heavy! All of the fruit tree branches are hanging so low and curved so badly because each is holding 1.6 ton of delicious fruit and it's like, well I'm helping if I climb up there and take some of it off, right, we can't have the trees suffer for their inability to do math.

Anyway my point is that I don't believe eating fruit can kill a person and I'm in fact, boosting my immunity for sure by being like this, I have ingested some spiderwebs too and I think that's okay too. I'm having a fruit girl summer.

[antispopausandstuff]

decided that i wasn't gonna die with my ideas, so here's at least some of 'em ( note, they're subject to change )

.

!!! VERY DARK !!!

warnings - severe abuse, death, attempted s__cide, and self-harm

not particularly in perfect order of events.

.

Adora . . .

ever since she was an infant, Adora was a lab rat for a variety of malpractices and extreme experiments. as a result, she has high pain tolerance, is immune to most drugs, and an instinct of danger.

killed Flutterina's mom at age 14 ( based off what might've been a fanmade series of the original She-Ra show ), as the Horde would use their 'disobedient' slaves as 'actual lessons' once a cadet was deemed strong enough. as Flutterina's mother was kind, even in her last words, but was considered an 'easy fight', thus Adora having to kill someone else, Adora attempted suicide the same night. and it wouldn't be the last time this happened.

due to Shadow Weaver's magic, Adora doesn't remember most of the experiments or that she killed anybody at all. this is because mental breaks would be very common, to the point it grew to be expected, and they wouldn't go away if she could remember. in present day ( post-defection ), Adora has conflicting feelings on being mind wiped.

because of her high pain tolerance, she's unfazed by Catra clawing her. if she is hurt, it's on an emotional level, but that eventually doesn't matter, either.

once defected, Adora has intense anxiety, evidence of her sheltered living ( misunderstandings of family dynamics, social cues, always tense with authority figures, culture shocks, etc. ), and nightmares, the former and latter from the fear she'll be hunted down for her betrayal.

can't quite understand how she feels about those she called family, especially Hordak. ( "they've taught me so much, and they weren't... terrible to me. not always. but i don't know anything anymore. maybe i never knew anything to begin with." ) it's these conflicting feelings that trap her in the cycle of trying to save Catra from the Horde, blaming herself for the other's actions, and apologizing frequently, in and out of her relationship with Catra.

after earning Angella's trust, Angella tries to earn Adora's ( it doesn't look that way, though ), wanting to be the mother figure the poor thing clearly never had.

Swift Wind is always, always, looking out for Adora and is very protective of her. he can and will stab a bitch ( and has, guess who it is ) for her.

the disc fucks her up. like, a lot. too many things resurface, and when she's completely aware and conscious, Adora immediately falls into a severe panic attack.

but if she thought the disc was bad, she ain't seen nothing yet ( the Portal, Angella's sacrifice ). i love her, i swear-

when she goes to rescue Flutterina with Peekablue, she's hit with the forgotten memory and almost immediately feels sick. it's disorienting the entire way, but she has to push through. Flutterina has never seen her before.

Adora pledges allegiance to all of Etheria post-defection, but she personally pledges herself to Flutterina after telling her the truth. Flutterina has... a reaction ( leaving it vague on purpose ).

i think Horde Prime's arrival is around the time she confesses, amongst several other things thrown at her, so Adora is suffering a huge mental decline and gets abducted. she doesn't make attempts to escape.

Horde Prime convinces her that she can redeem herself from all the pain she's caused, of the evil she's done, and she becomes part of his fleet ( i'm hesitant to call it a cult ).

this is the BIGGEST if, but maybe Hordak making a temporary alliance with Glimmer and Bow to rescue Adora?

Chipped Adora might be a thing...

.

Glimmer . . .

terrified of change and huge commitments, has been avoiding her aunt's teachings after a particularly bad accident ( resulted in Glimmer's scar on her right eye ). but is considered a prodigy with how effective she is at using her current skillset.

was a child when Micah died, part of her fears stems from that, but she hides it from Angella out of another fear of disappointing or overshadowing her mom's struggles.

hides almost everything from her mom as a result of everything above, and even sometimes struggles telling the truth to her best friend, Bow.

is viewed as the most unserious of the Princesses, as she not only uses humor and excitement to cope with serious situations, thus coming off as if everything's a game, but is impulsive, reckless, and a bit hardheaded. for a time, Bow is the only one who understands this and doesn't get upset with her.

because of her fear of change, she becomes jealous of Adora the closer she gets to Bow ( this foreshadows the whole "i don't want to be left behind" thing ), and is part of why she's hostile when they first meet. though, to be fair, she's justified in being hostile with a Horde soldier, anyway.

though she doesn't entirely trust Adora yet, Bow does, and that prompts her to at least try ( even though her jealousy streak is still kinda ongoing ), with varying degrees of success. however, there's one incident where she really hurts Adora's feelings ( this would happen in whatever would replace the Princess Prom episode, as Glimmer is still kinda using Adora as a prop ), and Bow gets pissed because Glimmer's been acting super weird and is blaming it on everybody else. then the kidnapping ensues.

when everyone gets back to Brightmoon, she has her first completely honest conversation with her mom, even though it's hard, and, while Angella is disappointed, she understands where her daughter is coming from and tells her they'll get through this together.

with Angella's help, she apologizes to Bow and Adora. they make up ( Bow does take a minute to warm up, though ). and she writers a letter to Castaspella: Dear Aunt Castaspella, I know it's been a few years since I last visited Mystacor, and I'm sorry. How is Double Trouble? Are they doing alright? I miss them. I don't really have an excuse as to why I didn't come back. I know you're disappointed in me, especially since you had such faith that I'd be a great sorceress. But I was scared. Even before I burned my eye, I was terrified. I didn't want to mess up. I didn't want to let you down. But I ended up doing that, anyway. I'm really sorry. If you'll have me, I'd love to come visit again. Or, maybe, you could visit Brightmoon? I know you're always worried about the barrier, but Juliet could watch it for just a few hours, right? Miss you and love you. Your niece, Glimmer

it's not quite as easy to bounce back, though, as Glimmer takes all of her mistakes to heart and can't let them go. Castaspella isn't keen on leaving the barrier under someone else's supervision, so Glimmer ends up visiting, partially hoping to heal and improve her magic ( Shadow Weaver still messed it up badly in this vers ). Double Trouble wants to catch up and bond, but Glimmer's too in her own head and ends up dismissing them.

the lessons end up being a bust and, well, Castaspella doesn't take it too well and Glimmer's traumatic memories kick in. it's revealed that, as a result of being pressured and pushed beyond her limits, Glimmer's magic went haywire and that's how she burned her eye. while this is going on, DT helps Adora and Bow get past the guards, and the three of them defend Glimmer.

"i-i'm trying, i'm trying so hard, but it hurts, and you- you just don't care! i thought the only reason i left was because i-i was afraid of letting you down, but... but now, i see that i left because i was afraid of you!"

though Castaspella isn't the best, she still heals Glimmer, but coldly sends her off, breaking her niece's heart. DT tries to say that it wasn't fair, but is ignored. they deeply apologize to their cousin, and the two share a hug. DT says that if she needs anything, to let them know and they'll be there.

Angella has the mind to start a fight, but supports and comforts her daughter instead.

huge time skip, probably, but when Angella passes, Glimmer is completely devastated, unprepared, and her magic is unstable. she's stressed, tired, and has never felt more alone in her life. Castaspella comes to the ceremony, but only DT talks to her. they, including Adora and Bow, spend time talking, laughing, and crying together.

for one reason or another, Shadow Weaver is in Brightmoon and takes advantage of Glimmer's grief and unstable magic. for a while, Glimmer is guarded, the attempted manipulations unsuccessful, but she's worn down overtime. she needs a mother figure right now. the only one she could have, Castaspella, still won't talk to her. eventually, Shadow Weaver is allowed to walk freely.

a manipulative, power hungry woman + three traumatized young adults, with one of them being the one said power hungry woman raised, Glimmer, Adora, and Bow are divided. they're all exhausted, hurt, angry, and are trying to push through to become the leaders they need to be for Etheria, but it feels like everything is falling apart. Bow is the first one to walk away.

Heart of Etheria doesn't exist here ( i cannot make any goddamn sense of it ), so it's mainly Shadow Weaver that is tearing them apart, isolating the three of them in different ways. Glimmer's magic eventually becomes dark, relying on her pain.

Adora ends up leaving, too, but not because of being blamed for Angella's sacrifice ( she believed that long before Glimmer said it ). rather, because Glimmer's dark magic had physically harmed her, reminding her of Shadow Weaver. an accident, but a terrifying one.

now all alone, with Adora eventually abducted, Bow nowhere to be found, Glimmer spirals and Shadow Weaver takes the opportunity. though she's stronger, Glimmer is corrupted.

though it'd be a victory, dismantling a section of the Horde with her magic and her army, it'd be presented as isolating, violent, and depressing. it's not a victory for her, because her best friends are gone, her parents are gone, she has no one. except a certain cousin and aunt.

DT convinces Castaspella to get her head out of her a- i mean, to be give Glimmer the support she desperately needs, and, while Glimmer is in the midst of nearly destroying everything around her, Castaspella apologizes.

things aren't immediately mended. though Glimmer is grateful, she can't trust her aunt again. further cousin bonding, Glimmer thanking DT for their help.

.

Bow . . .

ran away from home after a particularly distressing argument with his dads, relating to failing his studies after complete and utter burnout, being found sneaking out of the house, and engaging in interests that didn't align with their expectations and beliefs, archery and technology.

originally became nihilistic post-runaway in the midst of his wandering travels, and almost succeeded in taking his own life, but he was found by Madame Razz.

co-lived in the Whispering Woods with Madame Razz and the fauna, grew up giving half-truths about his family. it eventually becomes routine. and he tried to be more optimistic.

by the time he's found by Glimmer, he's more or less the Bow we know, but is really confused as to why a Princess is there. because why would a Princess be there? their friendship is sorta on a rocky start, as Glimmer keeps trying to do everything herself and is kinda mean to Bow, but he's insistent on helping.

they talked about their family life and they find a connection in not matching the expectations pushed upon them. and that's what started it all! we love trauma-bonding.

even though he's good at handling conflict ( for the most part ), Bow has intense anxiety about it every time and is almost always on the verge of making himself sick. we would see a scene of him actually vomiting after his argument with Glimmer.

not sure if he'd meet Entrapta early, but if he did, he'd admittedly love her genius, and Entrapta would be soft 'cause why is this strangely adorable child so enamored with her work?

during his imprisonment, Bow has a panic attack because 1. he just fought with his best friend and keeps questioning if he did the right thing, and 2. he has claustrophobia and completely forgot until now. then Kyle comes in.

after the panic attack, Bow would ask how Kyle even knew how to do that, with the boy explaining that it was really common in their sleeping quarters and he eventually learned how to help. then, asking why Kyle would even help him, considering they weren't on the same side, Kyle says "you reminded me of someone." he doesn't elaborate on who, and Bow doesn't ask ( it's Ado- ).

the two talk, relating to and laughing with each other. it's the first both of them have felt relaxed in a while, even though they're both in a less-than-relaxing situation. Bow is a little hesitant, but offers Kyle a space in the Rebellion. "i think Adora would like someone from her old home. might calm her down a bit." Kyle is surprised, but, after a moment, accepts.

when Bow is rescued, he panics, because he realizes that he left Kyle behind and feels really terrible about it. it's the first time he's broken a promise since running away, and the thought brings him a lot of stress.

Angella being his mom 'cause she's gonna be the mom to all of Glimmer's traumatized friends.

i think he should have a solo episode every now and then, so one of them would be him going back to the Horde for Kyle. and Rogelio, because he wasn't going to separate them. it's through them that he discovers someone named Lohni is missing ( this would ensue the Lohni rescue mission ).

there'd be implications or subtle details in the background, or foreground, i think, of when Bow would relate a little too much to a situation ( like Glimmer's relationship with Castaspella ). he's not too obvious about it in front of others, but when it's just him, that's when we'd be able to see everything. the way he has to take deep breaths to calm himself, trying to hype himself up or lower expectations, etc. i want there to be a disconnect from how much we know about him in comparison to the cast. so far, the one who knows the most about his mental state is Kyle, but they're still in the stage of being friends, so he doesn't know a whole lot ( also, my personal favorite tidbit to think about, Bow actually does reveal a little bit of his anxieties, unknowingly, in battle ).

oh, the dads. ohhhh, the dads. while Bow doesn't have 12(?) brothers, he does still have a few, with him being the youngest. and, when he comes back 'home', his dads still compare him to them! fun! /s ( not sure if this would be a solo episode or not, i think both have interesting routes ). and they'd also pretend nothing happened, his brothers would either brag or ask invasive questions, and Bow would largely be dismissed or ignored.

either way, he'd eventually come clean on why he didn't talk much about his family, and Glimmer and Adora would understand.

not sure if i'll actually do this, but like... Portal Bow... literally cracking under the pressure. his body is. cracking.

after Angella's death, Glimmer's reign, this would be near Bow's breaking point. he continues trying to deescalate conflict, keep his friends together, but when he gets kidnapped ( still with Sea Hawk, cuz. ) and, well, neither of his best friends notice, Bow's old pessimism returns and he doesn't return to them with his usual warmth in personality. it's there, but not as vibrant.

soon after Glimmer is in training with Shadow Weaver, Bow gets ridiculed, shamed, and threatened by the same woman, but that almost makes no difference to anyone besides them. not because they don't care, but because they don't know and haven't asked Bow if he's really okay. or, in one person's case, can't find the time. Bow's mental state is bordering on critical, and his fight with Glimmer, her argument about trust, it leads him to explode.

after, Bow disappears. and Shadow Weaver may be the reason.

.

Angella's death being the final nail in the coffin for our three protagonists wasn't intentional, at all, but it works so well.

[kyluxtrashpit]

Day 5 of @kyloevents' Kylo week is the Force, and I'm gonna share an idea I had that I still think is cool but idk if I'll ever manage to turn into anything more than just an idea (note that this is written in my 'just get idea down before you forget it' cadence, though I edited it a bit to be at least slightly more coherent lmao. This is my version of outlining basically)

Okay so. Let's imagine a post-tfa prisoner Kylo. He got picked up on Starkiller, Han is still dead, but like. The Resistance are nice right, that’s their thing. He’s been locked up since, but Leia still visits him sometimes. He’s… not openly redemptive, but not fully committed to the FO/Snoke either. That inevitability thing. He doesn’t think he can really change things. He kinda thinks Snoke will come for him, maybe send the KOR. He doesn’t even know if he wants to go back, but the alternative is too frightening to consider, so he’s just kinda assuming that at some point someone will point him at an enemy again – he’s a weapon, after all. He’s kind of biding his time right now. Sometimes he gives info if they ask and he feels like it. He’s very mercurial. He’s cut off from the Force too, cause of course he has to be in order to be contained

Open with scene of a fight. Resistance and local rebels vs stormtroopers. Pretty standard. But the FO uses… something. The Resistance members and rebels start fighting amongst each other. Casualties stack up quickly. Then the footage pauses – it’s actually officers explaining what happened to Leia. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, but they have actual footage now. And a survivor. One that Leia will interview. They don’t really remember what happened, but they have like… they can recall something unpleasant. Dark memories and… then there’s a gap and they woke up wounded and surrounded by bodies. It doesn’t help, but it’s more than they knew before

Someone mentions they could ask the prisoner. Leia looks stressed but says it’s not time yet

They give their best fighters a contingency though. Rey especially. Some kind of device to knock them out instantly that can be activated from some distance. Like, say, by a droid left on the ship. It happens to Rey too and the device fortunately works, but that’s a real problem. How can they overcome this if even Rey is affected?

Leia goes to her son. He knows what this is. And he knows how to beat it: they need to send him. Why would Leia trust him? Need to work that out. But ultimately it ends up happening. It’s revealed he knows he’s immune because the FO tested it on him during the development. He doesn't really explain how it works though, we don't learn that yet

Then we cut to another battle – it’s just him vs a whole contingent of Stormtroopers. The Force-nullifying shackles turn off. He’s wearing a hood or mask or muzzle or something to hide his identity at first. He’s got the knock out thing too maybe, or a time limit on the shackles – that’s why he can’t just leave, if he wanted to. Anyway, then we finally get to see what this mysterious device does – it exploits the persons most painful memories, pushes them to despair and anger, then makes them turn. Except that won’t work on a darksider

The side of Light, the Resistance, needs the Dark to win. It's the only way. And that would bring up Complicated feelings in Leia, because even if they can get him to be fully cooperative, this is her son. She doesn't want him to just be a weapon. And she doesn't want him to suffer from the Dark anymore. But, right now at least, she also needs him to. And of course, there'd be heavy focus on Kylo's dual nature in the Force, as that'd be a central theme

Kylo demolishes the entire company with only the Force, having a full like 5 minutes before the shackles turn back on. He doesn’t really know what to do from here – Snoke should have sensed him, but didn’t reach out. Even with his connection to the Force re-established, he can’t feel their connection. Maybe Snoke did abandon him. Maybe this is a test. He’s starting to get worked up for real this time, but then the shackles turn back on and the Force is silent, small rocks hitting the ground from where they were floating next to him. Well. He supposes he’ll find out. He’s on the Resistance’s leash instead of Snoke’s now – he might as well see where they lead him if Snoke doesn’t want him back badly enough to take action. Not like he has a choice anyway. He returns to the ship he came in. The end...? (or just the end of chapter 1?)