#his sand powers explain everything

[mysteriousdragon2]

I have so many hyperfixations but, I’ll pick Crocodile from One Piece

He will crush me and if he doesn’t kill me physically, he will mentally by down talking me

[whore-ibly-hot]

"What it takes to lead."

Yan!Dictator x Fem!Reader x Yan!Next in line.

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Non-con, mentions of violence, fascism, groping, p-in-v sex, sexism, questionable father son Dynamics, power dynamics, leather play.

AN: I recently began reading @yanderedrabbles works and they broke my brain, so when I saw they had a Yan!Dictator planned it inspired me. This is... meh.

You don't know how this could've happened.

It was supposed to be a routine visit. Your father was a well off oil baron, owning one of the largest refineries in America, not counting his export deals. You had gone with him, unaware of the tense political state of Dela Marina.

Admittedly, the American government was somewhat aware of the rulers less than conventional methods of maintaining control. Camps, strict surveillance, and a cutting off of outside media aside from those approved by the Dela Marina Media council, but for America's political interests, and more importantly your father's bank, the warnings signs went ignored.

It started off as just a nice, tropical vacation. White sand beaches, exotic meals, and a blaring tan from the sun. However, something soon seemed a bit off. The leader, El presidente Ramon Ballesteros, gave you chills. He said nice things, talked about his vision for Dela Marina, how he would shape the land and people to 'true culture'. It would be inspiring, if his faze didn't feel so dark, so imposing. It was as if hew was analyzing everything, every move you made.

Still, Féliz calmed you a bit. The son of Ramon, as close to a prince as you could be in this 'democracy'. He was nothing like his father. Quiet, more subdued, though just as analytical. His father takes thing in while he speaks, but Feliz stays behind, letting his father do the talking.

"Hello there, señorita." Feliz had approached you the night of the welcome dinner, a lavish affair with Del Marina's finest chefs on hand. "My father wanted me to welcome you personally, we are both youths, uh, leader of the future, he says. Your countries, and mine." He seems awkward repeating his father propaganda. Despite this, you like him. He's funny, he tells you about growing up in Del Marina, about the culture, the people. "You have to go to the beach with me, there all white sand. Is beautiful, and if we go early enough, we can see the starfish beach." You took him up on all his outings, you could tell he was deeply alone, at his core.

"Feliz?" You had asked once. "Do you... get out much? I mean, I'm one for decadence. Whole point of having a daddy with money is spending it." You laugh. You were privileged. You knew it, you embraced it. You had never had to worry about anything, never had a reason to loop beyond at the suffering of the others. Why focus on all that?

"No, I don't. It's tense, in Del Marina. Their are Terroristas, rebels. Mis padre would rather me be here, where its safer. Besides, partying isn't for me. I have to learn how to lead, to study and to help people. My people." He'd explained, fiddling with the white pressed uniform he so often wore, a less refined and adorned version of his fathers. "Loosen up." You had suggested. "We can have some fun, we're friends now, yeah? Let's go party!" Feliz had never wanted really to go to a club, to spend time with the privileged people while he knew others, those being exploitated, were suffering. But you were so, so pretty, and the only friend he felt he had. You made him feel special, not for bring the son of the president, or 'Del Marina's future'. You made him feel special for being him. He agreed.

He was terrified when you both snuck out, naturally it didn't take long for the guards to drag the both of you back to the palace, you kicked and yelled while he went quietly. He feared his father would turn his anger to you, he was ready to take the brunt of the anger. However, his father seems amused. You laugh along with his dad, not sensing the chilling undertone.

"Your son, and the american girl, Presidente." A guard said, bowing, hand over hid chest. "They were seen heading to a club on the north side."

"Ah, let them go." Ramon grins, waving a hand as the guards back off. "Kids, ey? Even at twenty, they still can't help.but wander off. It's good, independence. To think, to have fun. Kids behave this way, it's expected. Dismissed." The guards leave, and he steps down to you. "I ought to thank you, you know? No one has ever gotten my son quite so out of his shell. Feliz, I've tried to inspire that boldness in you, I suppose I didn't realize it would take such a lovely young lady to do so." Felix goes red, looking down. He knows this is a facade, and still can sense the danger in the room. Ramon takes your hand, kissing it. "But i should have known, he is his fathers son, and we are both red blooded men, yes?" He chuckles to himself.

"I didn't mean any harm, I just wanted to have some fun. And I thought maybe Feliz needed a friend." You mumble, heels scuffing the floor awkwardly. Still; you aren't sorry. "He needed a break. To live."

The president goes silent, but then nods, laughing with his arms going. "Of course! Dis boy of mine, always with the working, he wants to be like his papa. It's honorable, but a young man still needs to let loose while he's young. Next time, all I ask is you take an escort. These terroristas planning Del Marina won't care about your intentions, just the message hurting you would send." His gaze grows serious, and you gulps.

"Ah, y-yeah. I'll keep that in mind." You look down, stepping away. "I'll probably go to bed, I've had enough fun. Goodnight, Presidente." He smiles, watching as you turn to Feliz. The tan boy looks through his dark locks, trying to hide his obvious flush from his father. You didn't need any reason to be made to stay here, and he knew his dad. "Night, Feliz." You call, and he just sends you a weak wave. Worried you upset him, you scurry off. The moment you slip out of the heavy wooden door of the presidente's office; his happy and jovial expression falls, mask melting away.

"Why this sudden change in you?" "Papa, please, I didn't mean anything by it, it was all my idea-" His fathers raised hand silences him. "Enough, Feliz." Ramon sighs, strolling to his desk cabinets, hand running across the mahogany surface as he opens up a velvet box, pulling out a bottle of scotch. "I didn’t lie to you, I'm not angry. I wish that your judgment had not been blinded and you had simply brought a guard-" He pours to crystal glasses, the brown liquid filling the clear, ornate glasses. "But I'm proud none the less. You made a choice, a bold one. Hm, we drink, you're becoming a man!"

Feliz winces at the glass sliding towards him, but knows his father won't take no gore an answer. "It was nothing, Papa. Just a quick outing, she was bored and I went with."

"Oh-ho, it was more than that, my son. It's okay, I'm older, but I'm still a man. I'm not immune to the charms of a woman. She is beautiful, no?" Ramon takes a sip, relishing in the burn of the drink. "This is the real infatuation you've had, isn't it."

"Its not an infatuation, she's a friend and-" His father glares, he knows he hates liars. "I... I like her, of course. But its nothing serious, no more than a crush."

"Even a crush is serious for a stoic, quiet man like you, Feliz." His dad leans forward to lift his chin up a bit. "I've never seen you take to anyone like this, that's what makes it serious." Harshly patting the young man's cheek, he leans back. "Her Father is a great ally, a man willing to buy the vast amount of oil our country has. It would be incredible for Del Marina to seal a deal like this, to lock something down. And Feliz, I know you want what's best for the country." Once again, hisbfather cold demeanor returns, shifting from joviality frighteningly fast. "So, I tell you to pursue it."

"I don't even know if she feels that way about me, a-and I couldn't ask her to stay in some foreign country!" Feliz is spouting every excuse he can think of, to push you away, push his fathers implications away, to keep you safe from the truth. The dangers of Del Marina, of his father government and more importantly, his father. Another withering look makes him nod. "I'll... ask her out. See if she'll accompany me to the press gala." He mumbles obediently.

"Good boy. Go, get some rest." He pats his sons shoulder. "And remember, Feliz,-" He chides, turning away and taking another sip, back to the future of Del Marina. "Ballesteros's take what they want."

Lying in bed, the grandness of his room feels imposing. As cold and lonely as ever, his own oil portrait staring back at him. He never liked the commissioned piece. It felt... fake. An image of his, posed by a map, in his uniform, looking like his father. Just. Like. His. Father. The sound of a creaking door makes him sit-up, and he only feels the discomfort in his stomach grow as he sees your form slipping into his room, clad only in pajamas that cling to you. Despite the terror he feels, the pulse of arousal in his gut is prominent too. He grabs his silk pillow, covering up a growing problem as he sees you approach.

"You can't be here, w-what are you doing?" He asks.

You just shake your head and laugh. "Please, it's fine. Your dad made it clear he likes me, and I wanted to check on you." You plop down unceremoniously, groaning at the feeling of the luxurious sheets on your body. "Shit, that's good."

"Go, you have to go-"

"Are you mad at me?" You ask, pouting as you turn to face him. Hes cute when he's nervous, brows furrowed and dark hair tousled. His hands grip the sheets. "Cmon. I'm sorry if I upset you, I just wanted to have fun!"

"I know, I know." he shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you, I was excited. It's just that you don't know my papa like I do. He always has a plan, a motive, for anything he does. And i don't want you getting caught up in something you shouldn't."

You frown, but ignore his warning. "Nah, he likes me, it's fine. I'm not scared of some politician, no different than my dad-"

"No." Hes dead serious, seeing the soft, sweet man so serious makes you pale, gulping. "You have no idea what he's like. What our country is really like, I-" He puts a fist over his mouth, rubbing at his face. "Please. Just try to keep your head down. Okay?" Nodding, and cold at the severity of his sudden change, you scoot closer.

"Okay, okay." You put your hands up in mock defense. "I'm sorry, I'll keep in line. I just wanted to check on you." I pat his arm. "Didn't want you mad at me."

He relaxes at the feeling of your slumped, warm weight against him. "No, I couldn't be mad at you, amiga. You're one of the... few friends I have, even in the short time I've known you. I just don't want you hurt."

"I like you too, Feliz." You murmur, and the simple admission is enough to make his heart palpitate. He grips the sheets, before slowly putting a hand on you. "Go, you should get back to your room. I'll see you tomorrow."

Watching as you pad across the floor, he coughs. "And... there's a gala, coming up. A media event for father and yours to be shown getting along. If you... if you wanted to go. With me."

"Who else would I go with, Feliz?" You tease, making him just look down, nodding.

So how did it end up as this? You're stuck up in the room given to you at the Presidente's estate, it had once felt so grand but now felt suffocatingly small. A deal had been struck, something went wrong when you had been seen at the gala. Media went wild, rumors flew about the pretty new girl spotted alongside Dela Marina's darling prince. And Ramon approached your father with an offer. You don't know what it was, or why he'd agree to it, but it culminated in your father jetting off; leaving you behind.

"Please, please- I don't understand-" You whine, hands shaking and skin slicked with nervous sweat as you see guards sealing up the doors of your room. Trapped. "Presidente Ramon-"

"Shh." His gloved hand pressing a finger to your lips silences you, eyes wide. It is now you are beginning to see the side of the Dela Marina presidente you had heard of. Calculated, cruel. "There's no need to panic, little American darling. It's not like your losing any luxuries you had back home, perhaps you are even gaining some. Both me and your father think this is best, a joining of powers. Now, he was hesitant." Ramon rolls his eyes. "But you are a fierce little thing, and I told him you'd get a bit more discipline here. I doubt he was strict enough in your upbringing. Not that a spark isn't amusing, señora. It's charming at times." His smirk is that of a lion looking over it pray.

"You see," he intertwines his fingers together as he sits down at the foot of the four poster bed beside you. "My son. He loves you. He'll say it's a crush, but a father knows his son. He's always been good, my boy. Never asked for things, never taken what he wanted like he should. This is a push in the right direction for him. To make him make a move. I expect you like him as much?"

"I mean, I don't, I don't know-" You're stammering, hands shaking. It's all crashing down, overwhelming. The feeling of absolution in his town, of finality, is bone chilling. "He's my friend?"

"Ah, well, that's only his own fault. He has trouble taking initiative, and I dont fault you either." He sits up straighter. "Im a traditionalist, like my father and his before him. Of course it should be the man who propositions the young lady, but my son-" he waves his hand. "Has this idea in his head, silly notions about the changing of culture. I am fine with most of it, but a wife and children? Being the man for your family, for your country. No, that I will never budge on."

"Papa!" The heavy door slams open, with a frantic Feliz standing in the now open doorway. "What are you doing, why is she here-"

"Ah, my boy. Come, sit. Me and your friends father had been talking, she'll be staying for a bit. Good news, ay? Now, I'm sure you've got something you'd like to say-"

"Y-you can't do this, she doesn't belong here, papa-" Feliz juts his hands forward to help you, to try and think of a way out of this. "Are you okay? Did your father leave-"

"Feliz!" Ramon's voice booms across the room, causing both of you to still like deers caught in headlights. "Calm yourself, I'm helping you along in making a decision you are unable to make yourself. You will be grateful, and apologize."

It's shocking to see how Feliz shrinks, to see how his dad treats him behind closed doors. "I- I'm sorry, Papa. I just didn't want her in distress. I didn't want her feeling confused." He mutters, head down like an obedient hound.

"Of course, and that's admirable, but you should put more trust in your father to know I’ve already explained the situation. Now come here, come." He waves his son over, and the pair stand near you on the bed. "Tell her. Of your feelings, take charge."

"I-" Theyoung man is trying not to hyperventilate, hands gripping his white uniform short like he's staving off a seizure. "I like you, you know this. I feel emotions for you that no one else had made me feel, and-and if you'd have me-" he sounds like he's ready from a script, eyes clenched shut.

"Not if. Be assertive." His father hisses. "Tell her she is to be yours. Tell her your feelings are strong enough you won't be denied. Tell her what you can provide given your status." He's glaring like a schoolteacher scolding a naughty pupil, and the shaking boy nods.

"When- when you decide I am right for you, I'll provide what you need. Our country has vast resources, and wealth for you to enjoy. You would want for nothing." Its monotone, like an audio book, like it's pre-recorded. Seeing his fathers fist clench, he moves to kiss you lightly. As he approaches, he whispers a soft "I'm so sorry-" as he places warm, slightly chapped lips onto yours. Shocked, but to afraid to not play along, you kiss back. It's soft, it would be intoxicating if the sense of impending doom didn't weigh so heavy, being moved like dolls in a dollhouse.

"That was nice, Feliz." You can think only to reassure him, hand landlord on his neatly pressed shirt. "Very nice, I like you too, of course." You tuck his hair behind his ear, seeing the way his lip wobbles, his eyes water. He's so guilty, he never should have spoken to you.

"Wonderful." His body is jolted by a slap to the back, his father laughing. "Good man, now, shall I leave you kids alone? I'm sure you'll want time to yourself. Son, you understand what a man must take from his woman, yes?"

"I... our relationship is new, papa. I can't. I-I-" He pauses. "I won't, I won't do it. I can't, I wouldn't know how and I dont want her to do anything she doesn't want."

Ramon scoffs. "She's agreed to be yours son, go on! Of course she wants it, don't you, pequeña?" Ramon gestures to where you're laid, looking at you expectantly. When you say nothing, he raises his brows in suprise. "Unbelievable. I set the two of you up for every opportunity and you can't do that. Son," he grabs Feliz's shoulder roughly. "We are men. Conquerors, rulers. We take what we want, lions from lambs. How can you expect to lead, to protect this great country from terroristas if you cannot ask your woman for what all hot-blooded men desire!" He's growing angry, truly mad, his usual cool annoyance heating up. "You have to learn if you don't take what you want, someone else will. Your land, your power, your woman."

"Papa, please-"

"No. I have to do everything my self with you. I'm going to show you what happens if you don't take the first step." He changes his eyes to you, your cowering form. "Strip, girl." You're eyes widen, head shaking on instincts.

"What, no, no, I'm not going to-"

"The choice is not yours. I've got guards outside, you're in my country. In my home." He comes to the bedside, leaning down so he's practically nose to nose with you, dark brown eyes feel like a pool you're drowning in, swallowed whole. "The only thing you are in control of now is how gentle I am, sí?" You're still frozen, just shaking your head over and over again, resulting in him sighing. It's a minor annoyance to him, like he's not violating you but rather just dealing with a disobedient pup. "Everything by myself." He repeats.

Gloved hands brush across your collarbone, cool leather causing a trail of goosebumps to blossom on your skin. He jerks his hand back, tearing the buttons on your dress. The front pops open, buttons clattering to the floor with a 'tink-tink'. Feliz winces, hand to his mouth in horror.

"Papa, please, please don't..." He begs, voice as soft and light as he can make it. He was a good father when he was little. Doting, he'd comfort him when he cried, take him on little outings. A part of Feliz hopes that softer voice would remind him of the boy he once was, that he'd give in.

"This is what happens son, you don't take initiative, someone gets there before you." Ramon feels you squirm a bit and tightens the grip he's got on your left arm, gaze never leaving his son as he warns you. "Don't squirm, girl." He warns. "You're a lady, not some groveling worm, hold still, I'll get to you in a moment."

"Can I talk her through it?" Feliz asks. "Let me be by her side, or at least... I don't know!" He begs. Ramon tilts his head, then nods. "Alright. Second best option is getting in where you can. Rising through the ranks, get over here." Feliz scrambles to get to your other side. "Now, let's get this off." Ramon grabs the blade he keeps on his waistband at his side, pressing the cold still to your pretty skin while he cuts the lace straps of your bra off. "Aw, beautiful. Shame to hide such beautiful breasts away, without a man to reveal them." He coos. Rough lips place a kiss to your left nipple, making you whimper. "Just beautiful. Feliz, take it in. Your first woman."

Feliz is staring, both horrified at his biological reaction and awe struck at the sight of your newly revealed breasts. He'd stared many a time when they were covered, to see them exposed in front of him was a new feelings entirely. He reaches out, letting a breath he didn't know he was holding escape as he gropes your left tit.

"There we go, it's good, yeah? A woman's body is a miraculous thing." Groaning, he leans down and kisses up and down softly the nape of your neck. "Don't stay quiet, let me hear those pretty noises, girl." He whispers

"I don't, this can't happen, presidente. I don't want this." You whisper, and he just chuckles, looking up at you from his place on your chest. "Ah, amor, but you will."

A sudden pressure on your ass makes you squeak, his hands groping the meat of your ass firmly, sure to leave bruises. "Don't speak back to me, ey? Lay back and enjoy what a man in power can offer you, girl. And call me Ramone." He grins. "There's no need for formalities when I'm going to have you speared on my cock."

Feliz grimaces at the way your eyes water, so afraid. But not only can he not help, he's so horrendously turned on. Your heaving breasts, wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You're a picture of eroticism, and the hardening in his shorts is a clear sign that the part of him desiring you is winning him over. He watches his father roll you over, gloved fist kneading the cheeks of your ass.

"Just a short reminder to not talk back. To behave."

A sharp pain makes you yelps, a harsh slap to your ass. Immediately after delivering the blow, his gloved hand massages to red mark. "See? Even when in the throws of sex, you should exercise your control, my boy. Let her know you are in charge, regardless of their pleasure she is providing you." He scoots aside, petting half while looking at Feliz. Feliz swallows harshly, but hovers his hand lightly over your plump rear. Another squeak, as he delivers a softer, albeit still harsh spank. "Make sure she's okay now. A firm hand, not a cruel one."

Feliz shaky hand gently rubs the mark, mimicking Ramon's actions, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. "Not too much, right? It wasn't too much? You-" He's trying to justify himself, why he feels so aroused by all this, by you. "You liked it, right?"

You're shocked, but as you shake your head no, another slap. The gentle kneading afterwards does little to relieve the pain. You know not to protest. "It's fine." You whisper.

Feliz wouldn't normally believe you, he'd hear the pain in your voice, the tremble. He'd want to sooth you, but he was so unbelievably needy in those moment, for for relief and to believe you were happy with him. That this was a good, intimate moment between the two of you, without his fathers direction, without force. Thid was the moment he trusted himself, his virginity to you. He just smiles weakly at your statement that it's okay.

"So pretty, let's get these off of you, huh?" You can feel the gloves leather, once cool, now hot against your skin he snaps your pantie strap against your hip, making you flinch. "Hm, I bet you've had plenty of men. A rich privileged American girl, spending your papas money. Does he know, know that your a slut, or is he too busy?"

"I've only been with a few guys..." you weakly protest. "From... club and stuff."

"A few too many. If any proper man had had you, he'd be sure you only ever took his cock, allowed him inside of you." Once again grabbing that knife, he slides the blade across the strap he had previously snapped, the fabric tearing and loosening. "Beautiful..." he runs his finger over the lips of your pussy, puffy from arousal. He lets you feel each wrinkle in the leather of his gloves, before spreading your lips apart, strings of slick snapping.

Feliz feels his mouth is watering, your mouth watering, your most bare part vulnerable for him. He can't stop himself from cupping your mound, letting his fingers curiously trail up to your clit. You let out a reluctant moan at the feeling; and he just leans down to kiss your cheek. "You're so pretty. A-and you're doing so well..." Making sure his father is distracted, he whispers in your ear. "Im sorry our first time together had to be like this, but... its still nice, right?" He's still in denial about the horrors of his actions. "You still get to feel good, and you get to be with me. This... this is what we both want..."

"Feliz..." You whimper, but he just shakes his head. "No, don't tell me it's not. I can't handle that right now." Despite his good nature, Feliz has always been given what he wanted. He cant help but feel selfish, ask you not to hurt his feelings or overwhelm him while your the one being violated. He'll reflect on that later. His lips, slightly chapped, press hot against yours, once, then twice. "That was my first." He admits. "Wouldn't want it to be anyone but you."

Suddenly, his father grabs his collar, pulling me back a bit. "Come now, boy. Clear out, I need my time now."

Feliz pales. "Papa?" He's visibly confused. "You said... take what I want, be a leader, not a follower. I thought you'd be giving her to me, that I'd be having sex with her! You said a man should let his woman be only with him from the moment he decides he wants her?" His tan hands are shaking, flushed face a mix of embarrassment and frustration. All he wants is to tenderly relieve the pressure in his shorts with you, and as he sees his father let out a 'tsk', his frustration increases.

"But that doesn't apply, does it? She's had other men before, and she's not a true, proper woman of our country. If nothing else, it's better I be sure she's even worth it. It's not simply sex, this could be the woman you choose to lead alongside, boy." His father cold glare makes him shrink back, sliding off the bed.

"But, isn't it a test of my leadership that I take her first-"

"You wouldn't question your papa?" Ramom hisses, and Feliz wilts. He can't make eye contact with you as he leaves the room. When it's him violating you, he can at least pretend you feel safer because it's him, that you like it. But its his father, a ruthless dictator, and stranger. As he leaves and makes his way down the hall, he's determined to be ready to cater for you when it's all over.

Back in the room, you remain a trembling mess, watching the much older man removing his belt with a practiced speed. "Please don't, sir-" You ask. "I don't feel comfortable, I don't-"

"You should feel grateful." He reminds. "To have both the attentions of a leader and his son. I understand it might be frightening, you know the kind of man I am. How i stay in power, I've tricked your father but I've no doubt that boy of mine has admitted some things to you." As he removes white dress pants and dispenses of his gloves on the nightstand, he grips your chin with now-bare fingers. Calloused; from years of clawing his way to the top. "You aren't stupid. That's one of the things I admire about you, girl. Smart, if a bit spoiled. That's fine, respect can be taught, a place can be taught. Natural intelligence can be harder to develop."

"Why me?" You blurt. "Why are you forcing me into this, you could have any woman, I'm not even close to your age, a-and Feliz, Feliz likes me!" You hope to garner even a bit of sympathy for his son in this moment, hoping it would prevent him going all the way.

"He does not 'like' you, he loves you." He says matter-of-factly. "Which is precisely why this has to be done. You will be in the public eye, the first lady of this great country. I need to know you can be submissive, can provide as a wife should. But... I also need to know you can be taught, can take orders. My boy, he is-" Ramon shakes his head. "Meeker than I would like, despite my efforts. I need to know even with his less than firm hand that he can ensure you behave. And ones true colors come out in the bedroom, I find."

He pounces, baring down rather suddenly, grip on your jaw near crushing as his free hand strokes once, then twice over his cock; brown with a curve to it and a purple tip. "But, I am also not a liar. I admit the idea of having a beautiful young woman around my manhood isn't-" he nips are your ear, breath hot yet making you feel frigid with fear. "Intoxicating."

"It's been a long time." You whisper, and he feigns a caring pout. "Ah, I'm sure. Don't worry, I won't let you hurt. But remember, this is about taking orders. First, take me in your hands. I doubt you're inexperienced in this, so don't feign naivety." His voice is low, threatening. Despite the churning feeling of sickness, you take his length in one shaky hand, wrapping round the erect shaft, and refusing to meet his gaze.

"Good. Go on now, kiss it, just the tip. I want to see you practice restraint, just because you don't want this doesn't mean I will rush." He warns. Your plush lips gently press the bulbous tip, you can feel a shiver run up him as you do. Testing the waters and desperate to get it over with, you slowly slip in the tip, tongue pressing against the vein under his cock. He doesn't thrust, not allowing you to take hin in fully; but the clenching in his jaw shows the effect it's having.

"Wonderful..." He groans. "Very good, take a little more, yes? I know you can, shit-" He rolls his hips, the salty flavor of skin filling your mouth further as you take him in deeper. "Good, suckle. Suck the cock of El presidente-" He's beginning to get a bit lost in his praise of himself more than you.

Sloppy, wet sounds fill your ears, eyes screwed shut as a few tears slip from them. Ramon grunts, whispering another moan of pleasure before noticing and sighing. He wipes some tears with his thumb, licking up the salty water to your shock. "Don't cry, cariño. I'm not being cruel. I'm being rather gentle with your pretty mouth; no damaged goods here." He reminds. You can hear his grunts increasing in frequency, his cock twitching in your mouth, when he roughly threads his fingers in your hair and yanks you off his cock.

"Hands and knees, face away." He demands. "Don't make me wait." Your knees dig into the silk of the bed, assuming an easily mountable position. Once again, you make a final plea. "Please-" Your voice sounds as though it could shatter. "Don't hurt me."

To your suprise, you can feel him freezing behind you, and hear a deep sigh. You scre your eyes tight as you feel him assume position behind you, leaky cock pressing against your folds as his chest, still clad in his white dress shirt, presses against your bare spine. One hand holds himself up, while the other takes your chin from behind, gentler than his initially grip. He places a few small kisses mixed with nibbles against the flushed shell of your ear.

"Being a leader-" he begins, "Is not easy. Being the wife of one, even more so. There is danger, societal expectations, and constant decisions that must be made. But know this, my touch is not something you need to fear, cariño." He's uncharacteristically tender now, and that frightens you more.

He finishes his speech with a kiss to the back of your neck, before sighing as he eases his tip into your wet folds.

"Ah-" You whine, it's thick, but it doesn't fully hurt. He's tender, he kept his promise. "Feel that? The stretch of a true Dela Marinan man?" He asks, working his way in a bit deeper. His balls, heavy, slowly crawl closer to the lips of your cunt as he further enters, groaning.

"Beautiful. Mmph, you don't have the makings of a first lady." He firstly pulls out, before sheathing fully again. "You're practically sucking me in, girl. You were made to take a Dela Marinan man, god-" His pace increases, gripping your hips as the thrusts.

"Are you close?" He asks. "Can you feel that coil of pleasure within you? Go on, release. Cum when the man controlling you demands."

Letting out a final mewl mixed with a sob, you can feel yourself beginning to spasm, walls twitching as a gush of fluids coats his cock. In a display of impressive control, though not surprising for the cold blooded president, he removes his angry cock without finishing. Quickly tucking himself away, back into his boxers, he towels the sweat from his brows as he appraises your fucked-out form. "You have the makings of a good wife. There is more to teach certainly, but there will be time for that. Though-" He tilts his head as if in deep contemplation, before leaning down to press a rather full kiss to your sweat-soaked form. It's passionate, surprisingly so, and he had held back from something that intimate so far. "As much as I love that boy of mine, I wonder if he is man enough to deserve a woman like you." He whispers, before pulling away and rather curtly leaving.

You can hear what sounds like voices in the hall, and soon two female attendants come to wipe you up. You're took sore to protest, and as they scurry out, the hurried footsteps of Feliz replace the noise they made. A look of worry fades slowly when he sees you, looking tired but mostly unharmed. He's got a glass of water in hand, a piece of chocolate, and other random medicine cabinet items. It's clear he was unsure what a woman would need for aftercare, and just took everything.

"I'm here, it's okay now." You can't even bring yourself to tale comfort in the words of your friend. You wanted him to have saved you, yet the most emotion he showed during the ordeal was learning he couldn't have you first. You just lay silent, still. He lays down beside you, fully clothed, curling into your side like a child seeking their mother's comfort. He pulls the sheets over you, kissing your forehead before closing his eyes.

"It'll be better next time." He promises. "It'll be me." That hardly soothes the pain.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Dating in a Dream - Jamil Viper

SUMMARY: What would his dream be like, exactly the same as in the original story, but with the small detail that he is dreaming that you two are dating?

CHARACTERS: Jamil Viper x Reader 🐍🦐

TAGS: Fluff; a little angst; GN Reader; In a Relationship (kinda); Kiss

WARNING: Spoilers from Book 7 and Jamil’s dream (Eng Server)

WORD COUNT: 6.220 words

COMMENTS: This was written as a companion piece to the original dream story, so the parts that are the same as the game are just summarized.

I would also like to say: I kept the endings "sama" and "bocchan" because I thought they would make more sense, and since "sama", from what I researched, is gender neutral it could be used with Yuu. I don't know if Jamil's shawl has a specific name. And I'm not good with color names.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy 🐍

Dating in a Dream: Idia / Epel / Rook / Vil / Kalim / (Jamil) / Floyd / Jade / Azul / ...

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

Kalim seemed to have enjoyed the dream-to-dream journey, and even compared it to his carpet rides. But Vil didn't look or feel very well. It seemed like some kind of motion sickness specific to those dream travels. Everyone agrees that Vil should rest. Silver and Ortho stayed with him in the shade, while you, Grim, Sebek, Kalim and Idia, or rather his tablet, went for a walk to analyze the world of that dream a little more.

After walking around for a while, Sebek comments that it is as hot as in Kalim's dream. Which is explained by the fact that both dreams take place in Scalding Sands. Kalim recognizes the Camel Bazaar and suggests that you all should buy Vil some coconut juice, it's cold and refreshing and might help him feel better. Grim agrees, but Idia and Sebek fear that this could cause problems because they don't have the local currency. However, Kalim assures that everything will be fine.

Kalim orders, to everyone's surprise (or almost everyone's), TEN coconut juices. The vendor gives him a heap of whole coconuts with an opening at the top and a straw each. Kalim encourages you all to try a sip and you do so. It really felt good in that heat. Kalim prepares to leave with the coconuts when the vendor calls his attention.

“Excuse me, sir! You need to pay.”

“Pay? Sorry, I don't have any cash on me.” Kalim responds too naturally and tells the vendor that he can just bill his house like usual.

But the vendor didn't know what Kalim was talking about. When Kalim told him his name the vendor recognized the name, however...

“Al-Asim, huh? If that's true, that's even less reason to put anything on a tab. You think you can dine and dash at MY stall? You've got some nerve, kiddo!”

“This is going south fast...” You say. “There's no returning the juice now that we've drunk it...” You approach Kalim to talk to him about that situation and that's when the vendor finally sees you well.

“OH! (Y/N)-sama!” The vendor practically stutters your name and completely changes his attitude. “I-I didn't see you were in this group. Are they your friends? I am so deeply sorry for my bad manners. If you don't have money with you either, I can just bill the Viper's house if you'd like.”

“The Viper's house?” Kalim wonders. “Why Jamil's house?”

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Grim whispers loudly at your feet. “Just say yes and get us out of this!”

You accept the vendor's offer and he lets you go with all those coconuts and a smile on his face. But a slightly scared smile. Returning to Vil, Silver and Ortho, you all discuss what happened.

“So, (Y/N) seems to have more power here than Kalim.” Ortho observes. “And apparently they are also somehow connected to Jamil Viper's house.”

“But how?” Sebek wonders. “And why?”

“Well, by the way the vendor reacted when he saw (Y/N)...” Idia says. “I have an idea... but let's analyze this place better first.”

Vil and Ortho exchange glances with each other, probably thinking the same thing as Idia.

“We can start by checking my place.” Kalim suggests. “Jamil's place is on our grounds.”

Arriving at the place where Kalim's house would be, it was deserted... Literally.

“Wh... This can't be right... MY HOUSE IS GONE! The main building, the annexes, Jamil's home, they're all gone! Where'd everybody go?!”

A local resident who was passing by asked if you were tourists and told you that the Asim Palace had a change in ownership years back. The new owner had it relocated to high ground on the outskirts of town. He didn't know who the new owners were, but he know that the Asims had to give up their house after their business failed.

You go look for the palace.

You all go to where the palace was now and Kalim is shocked to discover that it was true that his house really did get relocated to higher ground. And not only that, but it looked like the exterior's been repainted too. The roofs have gone from teal to red, and the walls from white to black.

“Hey!” A Guard suddenly approaches. “What are you kids doing here? This is a private－ ah! (Y/N)-sama! It's you, and Kalim. My apologies, I hadn't recognized you from afar. Jamil-bocchan has been looking for you to go to school together.”

“Jamil?” Kalim steps forward. “Jamil is here?!”

“What kind of question is that? This is where Jamil-bocchan lives... Viper Palace!”

You discover that the one who bought up Kalim's home was Jamil's father, the head of the Viper family. He bought that manor from the Asims when they were in sore need of money, and know the Vipers were the richest family in Silk City.

After the guard's explanation, you hear music coming from somewhere and an elephant emerging through the front gates at the head of a whole parade. You see that the guy riding the elephant was none other than Jamil, wearing a uniform just like the one the fake Jamil wore in Kalim's dream, but this one was red and black instead of turquoise and white.You also see the dreamer's silver bird around his head.

“Make way! Coming through!” Another guard announced. “Make way for Jamil-sama!”

You all step aside.

“Why are YOU making way, Kalim?” The guard who was with you questioned him. “Take this parasol and join the procession!”

Since you were distracted looking at that guard and Kalim, you got startled when you suddenly felt something grabbing you by the waist and lifting you into the air. When that thing finally lets go of you, you are in Jamil's arms and you realize that that thing was the elephant's trunk.

“Where were you, my desert bloom? You are quite late.” Jamil asks you and then looks at your clothes. “Have you been shopping? Hm... no offense, but I've seen you in better clothes.” He smirks.

Jamil lands you on the elephant's back, but you can't stand on your own and cling to Jamil. He laughs.

“You haven't gotten used to it yet, have you? But let me just change those clothes real quick. You can't go to school without a uniform.” He uses his magic pen to turn your NRC uniform into a uniform similar to the black and red clothes with gold jewelry he was wearing. “Much better~” he says in a lower, slightly seductive tone. “Black already looks good on you, but red looks even better.” He grabs you firmly by the waist to hold you, before turning to the people in the procession behind you. “Get marching, and don't break formation!”

“Jamil looks like he's having a ton of fun!” You hear Kalim say right behind the elephant.

“You there, quiet down! Less talking, more walking!” Jamil orders him.

You look back and see two lines, in front of one of them is Sebek, followed by Vil and lastly Silver, in front of the other is Kalim, followed by Ortho and lastly Grim, who you imagine would be complaining.

“So...” You try to chat with Jamil. “How long is the path to school again?”

“Is it just me, or are you more spacey than usual?” He looks at you slightly suspicious. “Unless... Oh, you're asking because you're tired from shopping, aren't you? Well, Jahar Sahir College is on the other side of the city, but the path is straight so you'll see we'll get there in no time. Enjoy the parade.” His watchful gaze returns to the people behind the elephant. “You there － your parasol is drooping. Hold it properly!”

“Whoops, sorry! I'll fix that right away.” You hear Kalim apologize.

Jamil is very suspicious and attentive. If you take too many risks, he might realize that you are not one of the NPCs from his dream. And it’s not a good idea to take that risk more than 2.5 meters above the ground.

Suddenly, in the midst of the euphoria of the moment, Jamil pulls you to lie on his other arm, making you lose your balance and scaring you. Even if you shouted in fright, it was just another scream in the middle of the cheers. Jamil laughs before pulling you back to your feet and grabbing you to hold you steady. If you hug him or cling to him, he will like it even more.

“What was that?!” You ask, it really looked like you were going to fall off the elephant.

“Ha ha ha!” He laughs in a way you don't remember ever seeing. “I just felt like surprising you.” He smirks. “Or maybe it was a little punishment for disappearing on me and arriving so late to the parade.”

And as another surprise he kisses your lips quite lovingly, but only for a couple of seconds. When he breaks the kiss, he laughs at your surprised face.

“I know, I don't usually do this with so much attention on us. But no one will dare tell us anything.” his smile had a hint of menace.

“All right, we're here.” Jamil finally announces. “Parasols closed, elephants to the stables!”

Jamil leads your elephant to a special platform for you to get off, and he helps you, giving you his hand to support you. You look around and see a school just like the school in Kalim's dream, but once again red and black instead of teal and white. And the statue in the fountain was also different. It wasn't the Ruler of the Oasis's, but you recognized this one, it was a statue of the Sorcerer of the Sands, the same man from the Scarabia Dorm.

“We should go look for Kalim.” Jamil bends his arm to invite you to intertwine yours with his. You do so and he starts walking towards the fountain. “Kalim! Where are you?!” He shouts displeased.

“Oh, I'm right here!” Kalim waves with a big smile. “Hello!”

“Don't give me that!” Jamil retorts. “How can you loaf around without looking after your boss...? Wait. What's with that outfit? Did you botch your color-changing magic again?”

It was as if all that joy of his had disappeared as soon as he approached Kalim. It was a little sad to see, both from Kalim and Jamil's side.

“Huh? I didn't botch this.” Kalim explains. “It's supposed to look like the Ruler of the Oasis. Cool, right?”

“The Jahar Sahir College uniform uses traditional red and black colors like what the illustrious Sorcerer of the Sands wore. What were you thinking, bleaching them to your whims? The nerve.” Jamil takes his magic pen and changes the colors of Kalim's clothes to the same as his.

“Ooh, the colors changed! These are pretty nice too, actually. Thanks, Jamil!”

“I think you mean to say, 'Thank you very much, Jamil-sama, sir.’” Jamil corrects with an offended expression. “Honestly... You'll never let go of that pampered rich boy demeanor, will you? Look. The Asim family owes the Viper family more money than you could pay off with a lifetime's worth of work. So you should try to make yourself at least a LITTLE useful to me.”

“Jamil!” You say, as if asking him to moderate his words.

“I know, you don't like it when I'm like this to Kalim, but he needs to know his place.” He looks at you strangely, almost sulking. “You always had a soft spot for him that I never understood.” he addresses the group again. “By the way, who are you people? Jahar Sahir College isn't open for the general public to just waltz in.”

Silver explains that they are from Night Raven College and Vil says that the reason they came to Scalding Sands was a Film Research Club project, but that they had heard so much about Jahar Sahir College that they had to visit it. He said they were looking for the reception and it was shortly after that Kalim spotted them and approached them. Jamil seems suspicious at first, but after thinking about it for a while he supposes there is nothing strange about it.

“Considering their shabby attire and vapid expressions, I'm sure they're simply students.” Jamil murmurs.

“Hey, I heard that!” Grim informs.

“Oh dear, I beg your pardon.” Jamil says smugly. “I let my inner voice slip out there...”

“Wait a minute...” Grim notices the way Jamil talks to him. “You don't recognize me?”

“Recognize you?” Jamil repeats, confused. “My apologies, but I don't remember ever meeting a little beast like you.”

“WHAT?! You know (Y/N) but you don't know me?!”

“What does one thing have to do with the other?” Jamil turns to you. “Do you know this strange cat?”

As Grim complains that he's not a cat, you think about what to say. But what should you say? That you don't know him? That you met him once? But when? And how? The more time you let pass, the more suspicious Jamil would become.

“We crossed paths with (Y/N) before the parade.” Vil saves you. “I think Grim developed a special liking for them after meeting them.”

You see Grim look surprised at that excuse and then lower his ears a little sad, reluctantly accepting his new role in Jamil's dream.

“I can see why.” Jamil smirks. “I've never met anyone who wasn't enchanted by (Y/N). Which is ironic coming from someone who is not a mage. Allegedly.” He looks at you with that mischievous smile and raised eyebrow.

“Forgive my indiscretion if so.” Ortho says. “But would I be correct in concluding that you two are a couple?”

“Yes, you would.” Jamil answers casually.

“However, you said that they are not mages, but they are students of Jahar Sahir College?”

“An exception was made due to personal circumstances.” Jamil said defensively. “Nothing you need to... worry about.” He finished in a slightly threatening tone despite the smile. “Returning to the subject of your visit. As the student council president, I would be a far more fitting person to show you around campus than Kalim.”

“Oh, truly?” Vil smiles. “How fortunate for us to receive hospitality straight from the student council president himself.”

“I wouldn't want Kalim giving them the impression that our students are subpar.” He mutters.

Jamil says that, personally, he is interested in hearing about Night Raven College. He knows about the Dark Mirror and says that Scalding Sands also has long been a flourishing producer of magical artifacts.

“There's the Magic Flying Carpet, the Great Serpent Staff, the Hourglass of Clairvoyance...” He looks at you for a split second with a smile on the corner of his mouth, when talking about the hourglass. “And the Magic Lamp.”

Jamil says that the Sorcerer of the Sands himself employed such artifacts in his great deeds, and that to this day many people in Scalding Sands, including students from Jahar Sahir College and Jamil himself, are interested in them. He also brags about his family's treasure being bursting with artifacts collected from all over the world.

“I'd love to hear more about the ones housed at your school.”

“Ooh, wow! You liked (Y/N)? I had no idea!” Kalim says. “I'm so happy for you two. And you're the student council president? That's great, Jamil!”

“Why are you acting like this is the first you've heard of it? Not only do you GO to this school, but you and (Y/N) are friends. Now stop standing around and prepare a proper reception for our guests”

“Whoops! Right, I'm supposed to work for Jamil. Okay, a proper reception means a party, right? I got this!”

Kalim starts by asking someone to prepare a party, until Jamil reminds him that this was HIS job. Then Kalim says that a party needs drinks, but instead of going to the kitchen to get some, he uses his signature spell, Oasis Maker, to make it rain.

“You fool!” Jamil says to Kalim as he uses his own shawl to cover you and try to keep you from getting too wet. “Who goes around spraying water without any warning?!”

“We'll need food, too.” Kalim continues, oblivious to what Jamil was saying. “I'll go grab some food from the kitchen! Be right back!” The rain dissipates as he runs away towards the interior of the main building.

“What's gotten into him?” Jamil mutters again. “He's never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's usually not THIS bad.”

“Maybe he's just too excited that we have guests from so far away?” You suggest.

“Trying to alleviate his incompetence as always.” he mutters to you, slightly disapprovingly, before turning back to the others. “Ahem... I'm sorry you all had to see that.”

“Please, don't worry about it at all.” Silves tells him.

“Here you are, Jamil - uh, I mean, Jamil-sama!” Kalim comes back. “I brought a bunch of your favorite foods. Look! I've got a whole pot of curry, some dates... Oh, and lots of silky melons! Where should I put them?”

“I had a bad feeling, but seriously... Who brings the food out before they even set out rugs and tables?! This is beyond bad. You're utterly useless!”

“Ah hah hah! Sorry about that! I've never done this sort of things before.” Kalim apologizes, good-humored as always. “Jamil-sama, could you hold the pot of curry? (Y/N), Grim, you hold the dates and melons.”

“Mrah! Don't plop a whole pile of melons on my head!” Grim appeals unsuccessfully. “Geez, this is heavy!”

“Okay, I'll get some rugs next!” Kalim announces excitedly and runs away again.

“Hey, wait! What kind of staff makes their bosses and guests do the work?!”

“I thought you hated dates.” You say, looking at the large basket full of them that Kalim passed into your hands.

“And I do.” Jamil confirms. “At least someone remembers. Ahem... I'm so sorry about this.” he apologizes to Grim too. “I'll keep the dishes levitated with magic. You don't have to hold them.”

“Ooh, it's all floatin' now.” Grim says relieved. “That's much better!”

“Ugh, that dimwit gets on my last nerve. Mom and Dad are far too lenient. And so are you.” Jamil tells you.

“I see you don't like that about me.” You concluded as the others spoke amongst themselves.

“It's not that I don't like that side of you and you know it. But there are people who don't deserve it.”

“Well, I think Kalim deserves it.” You defend him.

“How stubborn.” Jamil sighs. “But I'd be lying if I said I disliked it. Depending on the situation, it's quite attractive.” he smirks.

You didn't know, but while the two of you were talking about Kalim, the others were also talking among themselves about Jamil and you.

Grim wondered if Malleus's spell wasn't supposed to be giving people happy dreams, but Jamil was in a snit, he didn't seem all that happy to him. The Shroud brothers concluded that this dream followed the same pattern as Vil's dream. Kalim was a source of stress for him, just like Neige was to Vil. But Kalim exerts an outsized influence over Jamil's personality and capabilities in reality. Removing a figure that influential would make the dream more prone to major paradoxes. Unlike Grim, and maybe that's why Jamil didn't remember him.

“Nonetheless...” Ortho sees Jamil smiling at you, even after that silly little argument. “He seems pretty happy with (Y/N).”

“True, he seems more relaxed with them.” Silver agrees.

“We must not deviate from the main point!” Sebek reminds them. “We need to make Jamil realize this is a dream as quickly as possible!”

“Right.” Silver agrees. “Between this place and the bazaar, Jamil's definitely got a strong imagination. I don't think a simple shock would do the job. How do we approach this...?”

Kalim returns, saying he went to Zahab Market and got some nice pieces from the rug merchant. Vil comments that those "nice pieces" look like they'd cost an arm and a leg. Jamil finally seems satisfied with Kalim's work, taking the opportunity to boast again about his family being the richest and most influential in the city.

“Anyway, check this out! Doesn't this carpet take you back?” Kalim shows him a carpet almost identical to the flying carpet of his that you knew, but instead of red, this one was purple.

“Take me back? Why would it?”

It was a regular, unenchanted replica of the flying carpet. Kalim talks about a time when the two of them and his father went to a rug merchant, Kalim thought it was a real flying carpet, spread it out on the ground and walked right onto it. That got him a scolding.

“How could I forget? The look on that merchant's face when you stepped on a vintage silk carpet with your muddy shoes－HRK!” The dream world begins to distort. “Wait... I would never take someone as overeager as Kalim to a high-end store. Rgh... What's going on?! I suddenly feel dizzy...”

Seeing Jamil wavering, the others encourage Kalim to keep talking. Kalim remembers a time when they snuck out of the manor to visit the Camel Bazaar and drank coconut juice together, but Jamil says that Kalim was the one sneak out on his own and Jamil had to scramble after him. Then he remembers a time, just before they enrolled in Night Raven College, when Jamil used his signature spell to make the bad guys fight each other to get him and Kalim out of trouble. But this time Jamil insisted that he didn't know what he was talking about.

Kalim says that he was always the best and most dependable friend he could have, and that he trusted everything would work out just fine as long as he left it in Jamil's hands. But he was the only one of them who felt that way and now he know that Jamil hated it all along.

“That's why you used (Y/N), Grim, and the students in Scarabia to try and get me kicked out and sent home, right? Winter break sure threw me for a loop. I was super crushed when you betrayed me and told me you hated me.”

“Used (Y/N)?! How dare you... I would never... I... I did... What I did... That Winter break...? Betrayed? Augh! My... My head!”

The world distorts a little more.

Kalim says he doesn't know what Jamil is thinking, but he knows that the person he is right now isn't the person he really wanted do be. He wanted to be the best version of himself, but that isn't this.

“Remember who you truly are!” Kalim transforms his clothes into his Scarabia Housewarden uniform, which makes Jamil start to remember.

“What was that scene just now? It shouldn't be familiar to me, but... it is. The... The real me is...”

“JAMIL-SAMA!” You hear someone shout, and a second Kalim, wearing a Jahar Sahir College uniform, appears running.

“There are two Kalims!” Silver says. “That means...”

“Yes, it must be the darkness.” Vil completes.

“Jamil-sama, when I heard you went to school earlier than usual. I scrambled to catch up...” Fake Kalim says, worried. “Oh no, how could this be?! Please, hold on! I'll get you to a doctor! Guards! GUARDS!”

The ground was painted black and Jamil began to sink rapidly into darkness, surrounded by a dark fog that prevented him from seeing you all well. And guards of black goop formed to prevent you from approaching them.

“Kalim...?” Jamil says with some difficulty.

“Yes, that's right. I'm the real Kalim, your loyal retainer.”

“Huh? Jamil, look again! That's not me!” the real kalim tries to warn him.

“He's an assassin sent to end you.” the fake Kalim tries to convince him “Don't listen to a word he says.”

“Wait...” Jamil looks directly at you with heavy eyelids struggling to stay open. “(Y/N)... they...”

Black goop rises from the ground and forms a figure, a perfect copy of you, also wearing Jahar Sahir College's uniform.

“I'm right here, my love.” your copy tells him. “They had the nerve to impersonate your beloved as well. But I'm here now. The real me. The real (Y/N). Look in my eyes. As long as you stay here, you can be a ruler forever. Money, land, freedom, love... Everything is yours!”

“Yes... That's the truth...” Jamil gives in. “You're absolutely right, both of you...”

“Wait! Trust us, not them!” Kalim shouts again. “JAMIIIL!”

But none of that stopped the darkness from swallowing Jamil.

“Stop disturbing Jamil-sama's sweet dreams, you street rats!” The false Kalim commands you.

“As if we'd listen to you!” Sebek retorts. “Let's do this!”

You all change your clothes and fight the darkness. And after defeating it, Kalim jumps into the pool of black goop without hesitation behind Jamil, followed by all of you.

When you open your eyes again, you see that you’re in the Hallway of Scarabia Dorm. By the red light that dimly illuminated the place and the dark fog, you realized that it was the same scenario as when Jamil overbloated. Suddenly, you hear a creepy laugh you've heard before and you all go to the lounge.

“I did it... I finally got Kalim ousted from school and claimed the position of housewarden for myself!” Jamil is the center of attention in the room, wearing his drom uniform, and had that psychopathic smile on his face. “Bring on the food and drinks! This calls for a celebration. The foolish king is gone, and the true power behind the throne has risen in his place!”

While the Scarabia students follow his orders, you see Azul next to Jamil with that red glow in his eyes.

“Wait a minute, those eyes...”

“Hey, (Y/N). You put it together too, right?” Grim tells you in a whisper. “Looks like Azul ain't fakin' it like he did during winter break. He's really under Jamil's control.”

Most of the dorm's students, who were all actually the darkness in disguise, were gathered in the lounge. You were decidedly outnumbered. Idia says that the best thing would be to get into a more advantageous position and make a surprise attack, so you will quietly make your way behind the students and then launch a coordinated strike on cue. Silver says that Idia should give the signal and the others would carry out the attack.

“Ahh, I feel on top of the world. So this is freedom! How sweet it is.” Jamil keeps chattering. “The biggest thorn in my side, Kalim, is gone. Azul has fallen into my hands.” he looks to his right side to see Azul standing right there. “And (Y/N)...” He looks to his left side, but finds no one. “...is trying to escape again? *sigh* Bring them back to me!” he orders the Scarabia students.

Silver pulls you behind a pillar and you all hide.

“Mrah! What do we do now?!”

“Hand (Y/N) over.” Idia says to everyone's surprise.

“What?! Have you gone insane as well?” Sebek protests as quietly as he can. “What about the surprise attack?”

“Listen, if Jamil really likes (Y/N) he won't hurt them.” Idia explains. “And (Y/N) can help distract him and provide a more effective surprise attack.”

Sebek, Silver and Grim are reticent, but you are the one who takes the initiative and gives yourself to the Scarabia students while the others remain hidden. Two students hold you by the arms and take you to Jamil. And to your surprise, as soon as they let go of you the darkness forms shackles around both of your wrists.

“It pains me to see you reduce to this, (Y/N).” Jamil tells you and pulls you by the chains of the shackles to bring you closer to him. “But you insist on resisting me. Oh, and those clothes... Let's give you more suitable ones, shall we?” He uses his magic pen to turn your NRC uniform into a Scarabia Dorm uniform. He laughs with satisfaction. “A beautiful desert bloom such as yourself should be on the arm of the most powerful housewarden in Night Raven College. What do you say, my dear? Why refuse to be my new Vice Housewarden, and partner?”

“To be honest... I also have a crush on you, Jamil.” you admit and he smiles, too pleased. “But not this version of you. The real you. Or rather, the best version of you, that I know exists behind this senior psychopath.”

“The... real... Hrk!” his head hurts and the world distorts a little, but Jamil pushes you, making you stumble and fall to the ground.

“I'll teach you some respect... but until then...” he orders that the Scarabia students grab you by each arm and lift you up. “Let's just calm that rebelliousness of yours for a while.”

As the students hold you by the arms, he holds your chin to make you look at him. You knew what he wanted to do to you and struggled to keep him from using Snake Wisper on you. You are saved by Kalim, who attacked Jamil before the signal with a solid blow.

“Wh... Kalim?! What are you doing here?!”

Silver and Sebek attack the students who were holding you and free you from the shackles by breaking them.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” Silver asks you, holding you in his arms in case you need a little comfort.

“Huh? I don't understand...” Sebek says. “The students aren't attacking us...”

“YOU BIG DUMMY!” You hear Kalim say.

“D... Dummy?!” Jamil responds in disbelief.

“The biggest one there is!” Kalim punches him again. “How can you treat (Y/N) like that?! I may not have realized you liked them, but I know you would never do these things to them. You don't want to force them to like you. You want them to like you for who you are. That's why you started getting nervous whenever we met with (Y/N), right?

“Nervous? ... Hrk!”

The dream world begins to distort as he remembers the first time he felt good around you and then begins to worry if you secretly hated him for what he did to you and Grim on Winter break.

“You don't want to use them, you don't want to deceive them.” Kalim continues. “And the same applies to competing with others. What you wanted wasn't a prize earned through dirty trickery! And you know it! Wake up right this instant, Jamil!”

“What I wanted? ...Hrk!”

The world distorts again with another memory: Jamil telling Kalim to shut up! Telling him not to give him orders! That he was through following other's orders! That he was going to BE FREE!

“Argh, you keep trying to tell me my business...” Jamil says, annoyed. “What would someone as oblivious as you even know about me?!” he punches Kalim.

And the two of them begin to fight while insulting each other. Until the insults are reduced to one adjective at a time between punches. Cynic, Imbecile, Jerk, Airhead, Blockhead...

“Such childish bickering...” Sebek comments. “The other students and Azul are all pawns made from darkness, but they're just standing there staring.”

He suggests that you aid Kalim, but Silver stops him.

“Let them get it all out of their systems.” Silver says. “Sometimes a fist fueled by emotion is more effective than any words. ...It definitely was for me.” He gives a small smile.

After some time of fighting, Kalim starts laughing.

“Huh? What could you possibly have to laugh about right now?” Jamil questions.

“Y'know, Jamil... I think this is the first time in our 17 years together that we've ever fought like this!”

“What?! Well, obviously! If I beat you up in reality, it would spell disaster for... Ah?!” The world distorts again. “Gaaah! Augh! It hurts... My head! In reality...? Why did I say that? Rgh, augh...!”

“That's right. This is all just a dream! Please, Jamil, remember! Remember the real you!”

“Right... That day... What I did to you... What I did to... Ah, aaagh...” Jamil remembers what happened on winter break, the dream shatters and he wakes up. “Heh. Haha... Ahahaha... That's right. I failed to oust you that day.”

Kalim celebrates that you all managed to wake up Jamil, but after a little chit-chat the ground starts to shake and fissures began opening all over the place. The dream was starting to break down because Kalim wasn't supposed to exist in it.

Idia warns everyone to get out of the dream as quickly as possible, but then the floor started giving out beneath Kalim. Jamil dove in to save him and the darkness began to dragging him in. Kalim grabbed Jamil to try to get him out of there, but Jamil told him to leave him and punched him when Kalim refused to do so. If you had also tried to help Jamil, he would have just push you too. And Jamil was swallowed by darkness.

When you returned to the dream after the Shroud brothers informed you that it was safe, you landed in Jahar Sahir College. And when you see Jamil he is wearing his Scarabia uniform. Kalim ran to hug him but Jamil dodged successfully.

You and Silver say you're glad he made it back, and Jamil says that he owe all of you a great deal before asking if someone could please fill him in on what was going on.

After the Shrouds show him the explanatory video he says he gets the general gist, and admits that he wasn't entirely sure the rest of you weren't more illusions he subconsciously conjured up, but he never would have thought of the cheat tools idea that Idia came up with. And continued talking about the possibility that it was part of Malleus' spell but it didn't make sense to bring it up to him at all, if that were the case.

“So it's probably safe to accept that all of you aren't illusions created by me or Malleus.” Jamil finally concludes.

“Dude, you were questioning our whole premise...” Idia comments.

“Why wouldn't I, after having my mind, my memories, and my whole world rewritten? But... if you're all real that means...” Jamil looks at you and starts to get worried. “W-when exactly did you get here?”

“Some time before you appeared riding an elephant at the start of the parade.” Ortho answers.

“Yes, we were even part of it!” Kalim adds smilingly. “It was super fun!”

“S-s-so... those people at the parade...” Jamil stutters as the panic grows. “T-the person w-who was with m-me on top of the elephant...”

“Aaaall that until we lost you to that black goop after our fight.” Kalim adds, oblivious to the main point.

“So... that means... that (Y/N)... that whole time...”

“Jamil Viper, please breathe.” Ortho asks him. “I am detecting worrying imbalances in your aetheric structure.”

“Jamil looks like he's going to explode with embarrassment.” Idia says. “I don't even know if that's possible in a dream, but I'd rather not find out.”

You realize the best thing to do is to calm him down, he was unable to say a single word anymore. You take his hands, tell him everything is okay and ask him to breathe.

“I-I-I'm really sorry...!” He says still in panic and almost petrified. “I-I don't know why I did that... I-I didn't want to... I didn't...”

You hug him and feel how tense all the muscles in his body are.

“It's okay. I don't blame you.” You say in a whisper close to his ear. “We don't control our dreams. If you remember what happened, do you remember what I told you?”

“W-what did you tell me?”

You confess that you like him too and that you knew that wasn't the real him. Maybe you even say that you’re willing to forget all that and start over as it should be when you return to the real world.

You then feel Jamil’s muscles begin to slowly relax. Until he reciprocates your hug, is as gentle as it is strong.

“I'm sorry...” He apologizes in a whisper, probably the most sincere you have ever heard or will ever hear from him.

“Aww, GROUP HUG!” Kalim says excitedly.

“NOOO!” Everyone else grabs him and stops him from joining you.

“My goodness, Kalim!” Vil scolds him. “You really need to learn how to interpret social insights.”

When you break the hug, he still tries to look you in the eyes, but can't. You chuckle and cup his face to make him look at you.

“Ironic.” You say with a reassuring smile. “You being the one who doesn't want to look into another person's eyes.”

A small smile begins to form on his lips and he brings a hand to one of the ones you have on his face. He looks at your lips for a second and when he sees you smiling connivingly, he kisses you.

A kiss that lasts until Grim loudly clears his throat. As soon as Jamil breaks the kiss and looks at the others, remembering that they exist, he... isn't embarrassed. He smiles smugly at them, still holding you.

“Hey, last time I checked, it was still my dream.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[devdozes]

FOR YOU, I'd retrace our footsteps together. For you, I would suspend time regardless of the sin you have done.

CONTAINS SPOILERS ON AMPHOREUS QUEST!! FLAMEREAVER PHAINON!! AND NO TB/ASTRAL EXPRESS.

Time was a cruel thing. It twisted and turned, never allowing him to escape its suffocating grasp. Phainon had grown accustomed to this endless loop, each cycle a repetition of the last. He had been the Flame Reaver for what felt like an eternity, his soul bound to the constant churn of time, his heart forever yearning for something he could never touch.

Once, he had been a warrior of honor, a man driven by a purpose greater than himself. The Titans' Coreflame had once been something he fought to protect, a power meant for good. He remembered the fleeting joy of watching the flames ignite, watching them burn brightly, but those days were long gone now.

Now, Phainon was a mere shadow of that man. The loop had done something to him, stripped him of his ideals, leaving only the embers of hatred and pain. He was no longer a protector, nor a servant of justice. He was a destroyer.

The Cycle, over and over again, had been the same. He had lived it countless times, and each time he had fallen into the same traps. He'd watched the deaths of the Coreflame’s heirs, those young souls who carried the promise of a new dawn, only for him to snuff it out like a mere flicker of a flame. He became the villain each time, cold and calculated, a heart hardened by too many cycles of death.

Each life he had taken, every flame he had claimed, had brought him closer to something darker. His mind had become twisted, his thoughts only focused on eradicating what he once held dear. He hunted the heirs of the Chrysos bloodline, taking their Coreflames, feeling the heat of their power surge through him with every kill. He had long since shed any pretense of righteousness.

But even in this madness, there was a flicker of something softer, a memory that lingered in the darkest recesses of his mind. Her.

The nameless swordmaster who had appeared with the black tide. Her presence was a constant in the loops, a reminder of what he had lost—and what he could never have again.

It was funny, really, how he could fall in love with her over and over, only for time to erase her memory each time. Every iteration of the loop, every repetition, led to the same tragic end: she was taken from him, her name slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers. And yet, with every reset, he would remember her. He would fall for her again, only for time to tear them apart once more.

The Grove of Epiphany had been one of the first casualties of his downward spiral. He remembered the bloodshed, the carnage, and how, at one point, he had believed that every life he took, every flame he consumed, was for some greater purpose. Now, all that remained was a hollow emptiness. And through it, through all the chaos, one thing was certain: the Coreflames were his now.

And with each Coreflame he took, the bitterness in his chest grew, as did the hatred for the world that had betrayed him. The Titans had failed him. The Chrysos heirs were nothing but pawns, sacrifices in his endless quest for meaning in a world that had none. He no longer cared for anything or anyone.

But her… she was different. She had always been different. Even in this new, twisted form of himself, he felt something for her that he couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was her strength, the same cold determination he saw in himself before the time loops had stripped him of everything. Or perhaps it was because, in a world of endless repetition, she was the only thing he couldn’t control.

There was no escaping it—he was a villain now, a fallen hero. He was the Flame Reaver, and he would burn the world down if it meant he could find an end to this torturous cycle. But in the deepest parts of his soul, there was a quiet, soft whisper that still cared for her, even if he knew he could never have her.

He had given up on redemption, on saving the world or saving himself. But there was something inside him, buried deep beneath the weight of all his hatred, that refused to let her go.

In a world untouched by the cruelty of time’s endless loops, there was peace. There was happiness, something you could hardly remember. For you, life had become a delicate balance of duty and love, of learning your place in the world as one of the Chrysos heirs, the rightful bearers of the Titans' Coreflames. Among your family, you were revered, your Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time, a symbol of eternal strength and balance.

In this life, there were no endless resets, no cycles that forced you to watch loved ones die over and over again. There was only the now—the soft whisper of the winds as they carried you through the vibrant meadows of your home, the laughter of your family echoing through the halls of the Chrysos estate.

And then there was Phainon, the Cheerful Chrysos heir. In this timeline, he was nothing like the broken soul you had glimpsed in the darker corners of your memories. His smile was warm, his laughter infectious, and in his presence, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

You had met when you were young, both heirs of the ancient Titans, bound by destiny yet free to forge your paths. Phainon had always been your companion, a figure of unwavering strength and kindness, someone who stood by you through every trial and tribulation. Your connection was undeniable—your Coreflame resonated with his, both burning brightly in the world you had chosen to protect.

The world was kind to you. You had no inkling of the silent shadow that followed you—Flame Reaver Phainon, the one trapped in a timeless cycle of death and destruction. You didn’t know that he, the man you loved in this timeline, was also the same villainous figure who had once hunted you down, the one who had wiped out the Coreflames and caused so much destruction.

You only knew the happy, carefree version of him—the one who danced with you under the moonlight, who whispered words of encouragement as you trained with your sword. The one who smiled and held your hand, promising to protect you, no matter what.

But somewhere in the periphery, Flame Reaver Phainon watched silently, his presence felt only as a shadow. He never made himself known, never revealed the truth of his existence to anyone. He could not. The loops had twisted him into something that would never be recognized by you. He could not bear to break the world that you had built, the world you believed in.

Time was cruel, but it was cruelest to him. He had watched you live this life, free from the burden of the past, and though he hated himself for it, he could not bring himself to destroy it. To destroy you.

Flame Reaver Phainon stood far away, hidden in the shadows. He kept to the outskirts of your life, a distant observer, never crossing into your path. He didn’t want to disrupt your peace. You deserved happiness, and in this life, you would have it—even if he could never be the one to give it to you.

You had never noticed the subtle shifts in his demeanor, the dark thoughts that occasionally clouded his once bright eyes. He had mastered the art of wearing a mask, of being the cheerful, carefree Flame Reaver you knew and loved, while the real Phainon remained trapped in a world of despair. The Phainon who had lost himself to time, who had become a villain to secure the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him: you.

But the irony was cruel. Here, in this timeline, you were happy—unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond your reach, unaware that the same man who promised to protect you was the same one who had burned the world down in another life. And what could he do? How could he ever tell you the truth? That the happy, loving man you held dear was nothing but a shadow of the monster he had once become?

Your love for him was real, pure, untainted by the past. You had no reason to suspect the darkness that was still buried inside of him. No reason to believe that the man who cared for you so deeply was also the man who had taken so much from others, who had razed the Grove of Epiphany, who had killed those who carried the Coreflames.

But he could never leave you. He could never walk away.

Even if his love for you was doomed—even if he had to stay in the shadows for the rest of his days, watching you live this perfect life without him—he would never stop loving you.

And in the quiet, as you laughed with your family, as you trained with your sword, as you lived a life untouched by the chaos of his existence, Flame Reaver Phainon knew that his heart would forever ache for what he could never have.

This—this happiness, this peace—was the only thing he could never take from you. Yet, He would be forced to.

You had never truly understood the weight of the Coreflame within you, the Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time. It was said that the Titan’s flame granted eternal strength, the ability to manipulate time itself, and yet it never felt like something so monumental to you. It was simply a part of who you were—like breathing, like existing. You trained with it, honed it, but you had never been burdened by it. Not in this life.

Instead, you found joy in the little things: in your family, in your home, and most of all—in Phainon.

He was always by your side, always smiling, always the light to your darkness. When you sparred with your sword, he was there to cheer you on. When you sat in the courtyard, your mind swirling with doubts about your duty, he was the one who would sit beside you, offering his comforting presence. His laughter, carefree and genuine, was a balm to your soul.

It was hard to imagine a life without him. He was the one who had been with you through it all—the good and the bad. You often found yourself leaning on him, finding solace in his strength and kindness.

He was, after all, your closest friend.

Your companion.

Your confidant.

And sometimes, in the quiet moments when he would look at you with an intensity that made your heart race, you wondered if it was more than friendship. But then he would smile, that soft, radiant smile of his, and you would think better of it. No, Phainon was your friend. Your ally. Your protector.

But there was a part of you that couldn’t help but hope that maybe—just maybe—there was something more. Or maybe, you had known

You had never been one to fear dreams. They were just that—fleeting, intangible fragments of your mind's wanderings. But lately, something had begun to shift in your sleep. The nights were becoming… unsettling.

It started small. A whisper in the back of your mind as you drifted off to sleep, something that gnawed at your thoughts. Then, the dreams became more vivid—more real. You could feel the weight of them, the weight of something else—something ancient, something twisted. Your dreams were filled with time, with moments that seemed so… wrong. Memories that weren't yours.

You didn’t understand it at first. It felt as though you were looking through the eyes of someone else. Someone far away. Someone distant. And each time, as you ran through the distorted visions, you saw a shadow. A man cloaked in darkness. His features always blurred, his face just beyond your reach. His presence was terrifying, yet strangely familiar.

You'd find yourself standing in the middle of a desolate battlefield, flames licking the horizon, the scent of ash heavy in the air. There was pain in the air, a destruction so profound it shook you to your core. But what terrified you the most was how familiar it all felt. The emptiness, the coldness in the very air… and his presence. The one who stood at the center of it all.

The dreams would always start the same. A flash of his silhouette, his figure towering over the flames, as though he were one with them. He was wielding a blade, the darkness around him seeming to twist and bend to his will.

And then… you'd feel it. His gaze. It was almost like you could sense his eyes on you, even though you never saw them directly. The weight of them, cold and sharp like a knife. But you could never see his face. It was always obscured by the smoke, the shadows, the fire.

Each time the dreams played out, you grew more desperate, more frantic to see his face—to understand who he was. The moment you were just on the edge of recognizing him, of seeing his features, the dream would shatter. You’d wake up with a start, gasping for air, heart pounding in your chest. The cold sweat clung to your skin, the room around you far too still, too quiet.

And yet, despite the unease these dreams brought you, you couldn’t shake the sense that there was something important—something deeply tied to you—in these visions.

Tonight, however, the dream was different. The feeling of time—your Coreflame’s power—roared to life within you, and the images began to spiral faster, like a kaleidoscope of fractured moments. You saw yourself standing in a place you didn’t recognize, a strange landscape, distant and unfamiliar.

Then, there he was.

A silhouette, cloaked in black. His figure towered over you, just like in the past dreams. But this time, the shadows didn’t obscure his face. You could almost see it. A flicker of recognition, something deep within you calling out, but as always, the vision faded before you could fully make out his features. You could feel his presence, his overwhelming aura of power and coldness.

Your heart raced, your breath hitched as you tried to reach out, to grasp the fleeting vision of his face, but it slipped away—just like the others. It was maddening.

Then, you heard it.

A whisper. A voice, distant and yet so familiar, it sent a chill running down your spine. The words were unintelligible at first, but as the voice grew louder, you realized it was speaking to you:

"Three slashes."

The dream fractured, shattering into a thousand pieces as you tried to make sense of it. A thousand thoughts clashed in your mind, a storm of confusion and fear, until you couldn’t take it anymore. Your vision blurred, and you were ripped away from the nightmare, your eyes snapping open to the dimly lit room around you.

You were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. The remnants of the dream clung to your consciousness, haunting you.

Sweat slicked your skin, your heart pounding as if it had just sprinted miles in terror. The air around you felt thick, suffocating. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from your mind.

"What was that?" you muttered to yourself, your voice hoarse. You rubbed your temples, trying to chase away the lingering sensations of the dream. The fragments—those images of him, that presence—were too real. Too close. And yet, you couldn’t quite grasp them.

You stood up from your bed, shakily making your way to the window, trying to breathe in the cool night air. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft, ethereal glow. But despite the calm outside, you couldn't escape the feeling that something was terribly wrong. That you were being watched—tracked—even now.

You had no idea who this shadowy figure was. You had no idea why you kept seeing him, or why it felt as though you had known him for a thousand lifetimes. But the strangest part was the feeling that the closer you got to uncovering the truth, the further away it slipped from your grasp.

And then, amidst the confusion and fear, there was a strange thought that crossed your mind—one that had no place in the current reality you were living:

What if this wasn't just a dream? What if these glimpses were real? What if this man was real?

But that thought left you with more questions than answers, and as you collapsed back into your bed, the exhaustion of the night, both mental and physical, finally took hold. But sleep… sleep didn’t come easy. The weight of those unanswered questions lingered, refusing to let go.

And somewhere, just outside the edge of your consciousness, a pair of cold, distant eyes watched.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ You found yourself walking towards Phainon as he sat near the edge of the campfire, the soft glow of the flames flickering across his face. His expression was always warm, kind, like the sun itself—so different from the shadowy figure that haunted your dreams. You hadn't told anyone about the dreams. They were too strange, too disorienting, and you had no idea what they meant.

But you had to know. There was something about this black-cloaked figure, a presence so powerful it felt like it was reaching out through time itself. You needed answers. And somehow, you had a strange, unsettling feeling that Phainon might be the key to it all. After all, his warmth and the way he always seemed to smile when he saw you made you feel safe, protected. But there was an undeniable curiosity, a nagging question you couldn't shake.

You approached him, trying to push aside the unsettling feeling in your gut. "Hey, Phainon," you began casually, trying to mask the tension you felt. "I was just curious about something." He looked up at you, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"Curious? About what?" he asked, his voice light and reassuring.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether you should bring up your dreams or not. Instead, you opted for something safer. "Well, I’ve been hearing rumors about a black-cloaked figure. You know, one who’s supposed to be really powerful and dangerous. Do you know anything about them?"

Phainon's smile faltered, just for a moment, before he chuckled softly. "Ah, that old ghost story. It’s not really a story, though," he said, his tone almost too casual. "I know about him. It’s part of my history, actually."

Your heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t what you were expecting. "What do you mean?"

Phainon shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands as he stared into the fire, his gaze distant for a moment. The warmth in his eyes seemed to dim, replaced with something heavier. "That black-cloaked figure, Uhm Flamereaver- ..He was the one who destroyed my village—Aedes Elysiae. The one who left us in ruins. The one who brought us to our knees."

Your pulse quickened, but you managed to keep your voice steady. "Destroyed your village? That’s…" You trailed off, unsure how to phrase your thoughts without revealing too much of what you were feeling. You couldn’t tell him about your dreams, not yet.

Phainon nodded solemnly, his voice quieter now. "Yeah. It’s not a memory I like to revisit. That black-cloaked figure, the one who towered over everything, wielding power that seemed to bend the very world around him. He destroyed everything I held dear. And after that, it was just… chaos."

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to grow still. The fire crackled, but it felt distant, almost irrelevant compared to the heavy realization settling in your chest.

Aedes Elysiae. Phainon’s village. The place that had been ravaged by this monstrous figure. The same figure that had appeared in your dreams—his face just beyond your reach. The connection between your dreams and Phainon’s past suddenly hit you like a bolt of lightning.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth was sinking in, sinking into your bones. The man you had seen—this terrifying, shadowed figure in your dreams—was the destroyer of Aedes Elysiae, the very place that had shaped Phainon’s life. This man, this figure, had destroyed everything Phainon had ever known.

The weight of it nearly crushed you, the realization that your dreams were linked to his trauma, to his pain.

You took a breath, trying to keep your composure. "So, you’ve met him, then? Flamereaver?"

Phainon’s gaze darkened, his smile gone completely now. "No. I never did. No one did. He came, destroyed everything, and vanished. No trace of him ever remained, except for the ruins he left behind."

You felt a strange chill, as though the very air around you had thickened. You couldn’t quite explain it, but there was something unsettling about the way Phainon spoke. His voice was so steady, but there was a palpable sorrow, a longing that echoed through his words.

"I never found out why he did it," Phainon continued softly, more to himself than to you. "We were just… collateral damage in whatever war he was fighting. And we paid the price."

A lump formed in your throat. "I'm sorry," you said softly, not quite knowing what else to say.

Phainon turned to look at you, his eyes softening slightly. "It’s not your fault. And don’t worry about it. It’s just something that happened a long time ago. I’ve moved on."

But as he said those words, you could see the cracks in his facade—the sadness that he’d buried so deeply. It was clear that this event, this destruction, was something that had changed him. And perhaps, despite his smiles and his warmth, he was still broken by it.

You nodded, feeling a strange weight pressing against your chest. You hadn’t expected Phainon’s story to echo so deeply with the images from your dreams, nor had you expected it to hurt as much as it did. You couldn’t tell him what you had seen—about the figure’s eyes, the way he’d felt so connected to you, the haunting whisper you’d heard in the darkness.

But you couldn’t ignore the terrifying realization either. The man you had seen in your dreams—the figure of destruction—wasn’t just a figure of myth or nightmare. He had been real. And somehow, somewhere, he was still connected to you.

You blinked, snapping yourself back to the present. "Well, thanks for telling me," you said, forcing a smile. "I wasn’t expecting that."

Phainon gave you a small, warm smile. "No problem. If you ever want to talk about it more, I’m here."

You nodded, stepping back, though the weight of his words lingered. There was so much more you didn’t understand, so many pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. But one thing was certain: The man in your dreams—the one who haunted your nights—was tied to Phainon’s past.

And somehow, that connection felt deeper than anything you could’ve imagined.

The night had come swiftly, blanketing the world in an inky blackness. But sleep, when it finally came, wasn’t peaceful.

Your body tossed and turned as unsettling dreams clawed at your subconscious, dragging you through a nightmare that felt far too real. In the darkness of your mind, you were pulled into the void, and the figure you had been seeing in fragments now stood clear as day in front of you.

Flamereaver.

His presence was suffocating, a looming shadow that seemed to swallow the very air around you. His figure was clad in a flowing black cloak, the same cloak you had seen, but now, it was different. Now, his face was obscured by a black and gold metal mask, sharp and cruel, with angles that made his expression unreadable but no less terrifying. The golden sword in his hand gleamed ominously, its edge stained in a crimson hue, a dark reflection of something far more sinister than just a weapon.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t scream. But the vision played before you as if you were a spectator, unable to escape the horror.

Flamereaver's sword—a golden monstrosity—was pointed directly at you, its sharp tip glinting as if it had been forged in the very fires of torment. You could feel the weight of it in your chest, even though it didn’t pierce you. The cold, hollow sensation was enough to make your heart race, the fear that gripped you was as tangible as the blade that hovered inches from your skin.

Then, the vision shifted—abruptly and painfully.

A figure—someone familiar—stood before you in the flames. It was Mydei, his body lit by the firelight, and yet there was something horribly wrong. The sword you had seen moments before was buried deep in his back- his 10th vertebrae. Blood pooling around him as his once proud form crumpled to the ground. His eyes were wide with pain, his golden gaze fading as he collapsed.

You couldn’t move, but the weight of the tragedy hit you like a tidal wave.

And then, the scene shifted again, and you were standing before a pile of ash and golden threads, Aglaea's body lifeless on the cold stone floor. The threads that once had wrapped around her form now lay scattered around her, their beauty twisted in the face of death. The golden strands still clung to Flamereaver, wrapping around him like a pathetic attempt to bind him, to pull him back from his path of destruction, but it was useless. She was dead. A hole through her chest, the final sign of her futile resistance.

Your breath caught in your throat as the image of her body, still draped in those golden threads, haunted you. You had seen her, so graceful and so powerful in the waking world, but here she was, a lifeless body, a casualty of Flamereaver's wrath.

Aglaea, the weaver of fates, had fallen before him.

The words from the prophecy rang through your mind as if they had been spoken to you in a thousand voices at once:

"The undying Mydeimos is, the lion apart from the rest. Chrysos Heir who seeks the Coreflame of Strife, must suffer a thousand deaths, be bathed in blood on the path home, and bear the madness of fate alone."

The images blended into one final, crushing vision: Flamereaver standing over you, his sword raised high. The echo of his voice, cold and detached, filled the air, though you couldn’t make out the words. The bloodstained sword gleamed, and you knew, you just knew, that this wasn’t just a dream. This was something more.

And yet, despite all the horror, there was something strangely familiar about him. The mask. The presence. Flamereaver wasn’t a stranger. It was as if you had seen him before—felt him before—but from where? Why did he feel so... intertwined with your fate?

The vision ended abruptly, your body snapping awake, drenched in cold sweat, your heart racing as if it had been through the flames itself. You sat up, gasping for air, as the lingering images of Flamereaver, Aglaea, and Mydei haunted your every thought.

You couldn’t understand. Why had you seen that? Why had it felt so real?

You pressed your fingers against your temples, trying to stave off the overwhelming dizziness. The confusion. The connection that tied you to them, to Flamereaver. His name hadn’t been spoken aloud, but you knew—deep in the pit of your gut—that this was no simple nightmare.

The visions were more than just fragments of your subconscious. They were memories, perhaps not your own, but they were real. Flamereaver, the destroyer of Aedes Elysiae, the end of Aglaea, and the death of Mydei... it was all intertwined with you.

Your blood ran cold as the fragments began to piece together: Flamereaver, the man who destroyed everything, was somehow connected to you, just as Phainon had said. The connection was deeper than anything you could have imagined.

And yet, you still didn’t know how. Why. How could your fate be so entangled with the one who destroyed Aedes Elysiae? How could he have been the one to bring about such tragedy?

You had the Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time. And yet, it seemed that the time you lived in wasn’t the only timeline you were a part of. The glimpses, the memories that never happened, the visions—they were all a part of a story that was still unfolding.

And as much as you hated it, as much as you fought against it, the answer seemed to lie in Flamereaver—the villain who had become a shadow of what Phainon used to be.

You laid back on your bed, staring up at the ceiling as the storm outside began to pick up, the wind howling like the fury of forgotten gods.

In the quiet, you whispered to yourself, uncertain but desperate, "What is it about him?"

The answer was hidden, buried deep within your Coreflame, but you couldn’t touch it. Not yet.

You closed your eyes, but even as you tried to sleep again, the shadows of Flamereaver and the bloodstained sword haunted your thoughts.

You awoke with a sudden start, the remnants of the haunting visions still clinging to your mind like an insistent fog. But they quickly dissipated as panic shot through your veins. The dream’s weight faded, replaced by the reality of the chaos unfolding around you.

The room was in disarray. The walls, normally quiet, seemed to hum with tension. The air itself felt thicker, heavier. The sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the corridors outside. You could hear voices shouting, calls of alarm, the sense of urgency thick in the air.

Tribbie. Trianne. Trinnon.

They were gone. Missing.

Your heart skipped a beat. You barely had time to process what was happening before instinct took over. You leapt from your bed, your legs unsteady from sleep but propelled forward by the pounding sense of dread. You didn’t need to hear the specifics to understand—your companions, your friends, the remaining parts of Tribios, the ones who bore the Coreflame of Passage, had vanished.

Their absence wasn’t just a loss. It was a void. They were the heart of the Chrysos Heirs, the key to a future you hadn’t fully comprehended yet. Without them, something would break. Something crucial. You couldn't lose them.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your weapon—a gleaming sword that reflected the dim, flickering light in your room—and sprinted out the door. Your breath hitched as you charged through the corridors, the air thick with panic and confusion.

The moment you heard the cries for them, it was like everything clicked. You had to get to Janusopolis. You didn’t know how, or why, but you felt the pull deep within you—the place where Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon always went when they needed to calm their minds.

Janusopolis.

The holy land blessed by the tripartite prophecy. The very ground where Tribios, the Holy Maiden, had once tread. The land that held the secrets you hadn’t fully understood yet. You could feel the prophecy stirring in the depths of your soul.

Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon—the remaining fragments of Tribios—needed you. They were not just missing. They were calling to you, urging you to find them before something terrible happened. The fragments of the prophecy you’d heard before rang in your ears, but now, it made sense.

"Seek the children of humanity with golden blood in their veins, shatter the dimmest dark in this world, and walk toward the tomorrow where the stars gleam."

The words were clear now. You had to find them.

The cold night air bit at your skin as you raced toward the gates, not stopping to think about the danger you might be in. You had no time for that. Every part of you screamed for urgency, every breath felt like it could be your last if you didn’t find them.

As you ran, your mind raced. Why? Why were they gone? Was it connected to the visions you’d been seeing? The presence of Flamereaver? Could he be the one who had taken them? The thought made your blood run cold, but you couldn’t afford to think like that—not now.

Your feet carried you faster and faster until the silhouette of Janusopolis came into view—a holy city blessed by the stars, kissed by the dawn, a place of serenity and power. But tonight, it felt anything but peaceful. The quiet, peaceful aura that usually hung over the place seemed to be suffocating. The city that once whispered of hope and deliverance now felt hollow.

You skidded to a halt at the gates of Janusopolis, breathless and trembling with adrenaline. You pushed through the crowd of panicked Chrysos heirs and soldiers, no longer caring about the chaos that surrounded you. Your eyes were locked on the entrance to the holy land—the same entrance you and the others had walked through countless times before, when you sought peace and guidance. But now, it seemed to be leading you to something else entirely.

You entered the city, your heart pounding in your chest. The holy streets were empty, the usual hum of life and light eerily absent. It was silent, too silent, save for the soft echo of your footsteps as you moved deeper into the city.

There, at the center of the city, in front of the great temple that once stood as a beacon of hope, you found it—the source of your fear.

Tribbie.

She was standing there, her small frame illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby lantern, her wings drooping. Her purple eyes were wide, filled with confusion and fear, but there was something else in them too. Recognition. Pain.

“Tribbie?” you called, your voice hoarse with panic. “What happened? Where’s Trianne? Where’s Trinnon?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze distant, as though she were lost in some sort of trance. The golden threads, the ones that connected the Coreflame of Passage to her very soul, glowed faintly, almost as if they were guiding her toward something.

Slowly, she turned to face you, her expression softening slightly at the sight of you. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper.

“They’re gone,” she said, her voice trembling. “All of them... taken.”

You blinked in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘taken’? Who did this?”

Her eyes flickered toward the shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally in the dim light. There, at the edge of her vision, you could almost make out a figure—a figure cloaked in darkness.

The figure who had been haunting your dreams.

You clenched your sword tighter, adrenaline pumping in your veins. You knew it was him.

“Flamereaver,” you murmured, the name tasting bitter on your tongue. “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Tribbie didn’t answer, but her silence was all the confirmation you needed.

“We need to stop him,” you said, determination hardening in your voice. "We have to find Trianne and Trinnon, and we’ll stop this madness together."

But as you took a step forward, the city around you began to tremble, the ground vibrating beneath your feet. . . . . .

Time seemed to slow as you, Tribbie, and Trinnon continued your search through the darkened streets of Janusopolis. The golden threads of the city flickered faintly in the distance, and the air, thick with tension, pulsed around you. Every footstep, every breath felt like it echoed louder than before. Despite everything, there was a flicker of hope inside you—hope that Trinnon and Trianne were still alive, hidden somewhere within the city, waiting to be found.

You turned a corner, your heart skipping a beat when you saw them standing ahead, safe but clearly weary. Trinnon was leaning against a column, her expression tense and filled with concern. Beside her, Trianne stood tall, but her posture was fragile, almost as if the weight of everything was slowly crushing her spirit.

“Trinnon! Trianne!” you called out, rushing toward them. Tribbie, who had been close by, ran ahead, her little wings fluttering with excitement.

“We found you!” Tribbie exclaimed, her voice barely above a breathless whisper, but the relief in her tone was unmistakable.

Trinnon gave a weak smile, but there was something in his eyes that unsettled you. Shee wasn’t quite himself. Neither of them were. “It’s been too long,” she muttered, looking between you and Tribbie. “We’ve been trying to keep them at bay, but I don’t think we can hold out much longer.”

You frowned. “Hold out? From who?”

Before anyone could answer, a shadow fell over you all. It was cold and suffocating, a darkness that swallowed the light, even the very essence of Janusopolis itself. You turned slowly, dread clawing at your chest.

Behind you, emerging from the murky shadows, stood Flamereaver. His towering form, cloaked in black, rippling with an unsettling aura, made your blood run cold. The metal mask covering his face gleamed like a twisted version of the moon, reflecting a darkness that seemed endless.

“Flamereaver!” Tribbie cried, her voice high with fear. But there was no surprise, no uncertainty. This was the force you had feared, the figure from your dreams, the one you had known was bound to come for you all.

Flamereaver’s golden sword, shaped like a crescent moo,n gleamed in his hands, stained with a sickening red that made your stomach churn. His stance was relaxed, but you could feel the weight of the death and destruction he carried in every movement. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, were a cold abyss of madness.

The silence that followed was unbearable, suffocating. Finally, Flamereaver spoke, his voice distorted by the mask. “So, we meet again.”

Before anyone could react, Trianne stepped forward, her posture regal and strong despite the way her hands trembled. “You won’t have them, Flamereaver.” Her high pitched yet weak voice rang out, resolute.

Suddenly, the air around Trianne shimmered. She raised her arms, and before any of you could move, a massive holy gate began to form behind her, glowing with ethereal light. It looked like an impossible barrier, a final line of defense. But Flamereaver was not a force that could be stopped easily.

“Trianne, no!” you shouted, but it was too late.

With a flick of his wrist, Flamereaver lunged toward her, but the holy gate expanded rapidly, forcing him back. The Gate of Passage, as it was known, was a last-resort barrier designed to seal away any being of immense power. But Flamereaver was no ordinary foe. The gate trembled as if it were alive, and with a screeching sound, the atmosphere crackled with raw energy.

Flamereaver didn’t hesitate. He plunged his golden sword toward the gate, and for a moment, the world itself seemed to hold its breath. The holy gate’s light flickered, but Flamereaver’s strength, bolstered by the sheer force of madness, proved too much.

Trianne’s face twisted in pain as the gate flickered one final time. “You have to go!” she gasped, her voice strained and fragile. She turned toward you, her eyes filled with regret.

“No, Trianne!” Tribbie cried, reaching out to her. But it was too late.

Before you could react, a force from the gate swept over you and Tribbie, throwing you backward. Trinnon, too, was knocked off his feet. You could barely hold onto your weapon as the force pulled you, the world spinning in disorienting chaos.

“Trianne!” you shouted one last time, desperate, your heart shattering with each passing moment.

And then, in a heart-wrenching instant, the gate slammed shut. The light dimmed, the air grew still, and you were thrown into the distance, far from the destruction. The three of you landed hard on the ground, dazed and disoriented, your mind still struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

You forced yourself to stand, gasping for air, but the world felt heavy. You turned back toward the gate, your chest tightening as you realized what had happened.

Flamereaver had...gotten Trianne.

You didn’t need to see him strike—because the weight of his power, the flickering glow from the gate, told you everything you needed to know.

Through the shimmering walls of the closed gate, you could see Flamereaver standing before Trianne, his mask cold and unfeeling. The last thing you saw was his sword raised high, and then, in a moment that felt like eternity, the light of the gate went out.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The journey back to Okhema felt like an eternity. Every step you took seemed to drag you deeper into a world that had already begun to crumble. Trinnon, her usually calm eyes now dim with sorrow, walked beside you, her face pale and tight with grief. Tribbie flitted nervously around, the usual playful energy replaced with a quiet sadness, as if the weight of the world had suddenly fallen onto her small shoulders.

As you reached the entrance to Okhema, the ancient gates groaned open, revealing the familiar yet ominous surroundings. The moonlight barely penetrated the canopy above, casting long shadows on the stone path ahead. You felt a growing sense of dread, something gnawing at your insides, the remnants of the painful memory still fresh in your mind.

Then, you saw them.

Phainon, Anaxa, Aglaea, and Mydei were gathered in the center of the village, standing together as if in solemn unity. They were all here. Phainon, with his usual carefree demeanor, was in stark contrast to the turmoil within you. His hair, the color of pearls, fluttered gently in the breeze, his posture relaxed as he chatted with Anaxa, the strategic genius with a calm and composed aura. His sharp features, marked by the cold wisdom he held, were unmistakable.

Aglaea stood near the group, her golden attire gleaming softly even in the dim light. She was the picture of elegance, but there was a distant sorrow in her eyes—a far-off look that made her seem out of place in this gathering, as if her mind was elsewhere.

And then, there was Mydei. The calm, calculating nature of his gaze was gone, replaced by something more unsettling. His golden eyes, always so sharp and perceptive, now held a layer of sorrow and desperation that was deeply unsettling. You could see it in the way he stood, slightly apart from the others, as if weighed down by an invisible burden.

“You’re back.” Phainon’s voice broke through the silence, his tone warm but somewhat distant. He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "How did things go?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words felt stuck in your throat. Trianne’s last moments, Flamereaver’s cold, unfeeling mask, his sword raised above her—everything was a blur now, the weight of the loss pressing heavily against your chest. The air felt thick, suffocating, as you glanced at the others, waiting for them to notice that something was wrong.

But no one seemed to.

Anaxa tilted hiss head, sensing something amiss but not pressing for details. "You look... tired," he said, his voice laced with his usual sharpness. "Did something happen?"

Tribbie shuffled uneasily, her wings fluttering nervously. "We... we couldn’t save her," she whispered, barely audible.

Mydei shifted, his gaze narrowing. “Who? What happened?” His voice carried the weight of someone used to having the answers, always in control, but this time there was a hint of vulnerability in it.

You couldn’t bear it anymore. The emotions roiled inside you, the memories of Flamereaver and Trianne’s sacrifice pressing against your ribcage like a thousand pounds. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill. "Trianne... she’s—" You couldn't say it. The words didn’t feel real.

Before you could finish, Phainon stepped forward, his brow furrowing in concern. "What happened?" His voice, despite its usual playful tone, now held an edge of genuine worry. "Where's Trianne?"

You felt a wave of frustration rise within you, mixing with the sorrow, the confusion. Why was he acting like everything was fine? Why wasn’t he seeing it? Flamereaver had already destroyed everything. Everything you had fought for. You could feel the anger bubbling in your chest, but it was quickly swallowed by the guilt that followed.

Anaxa, ever perceptive, observed your reaction. He stepped forward and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, offering silent support. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Flamereaver came... he took her.” Your voice cracked. “Trianne’s gone...”

There was a long, painful silence. Then, it was Mydei who spoke first. “So he’s still out there,” he muttered, his voice colder than you had ever heard it. His eyes were fixed on you, then on the others, calculating. "I’ll find him."

Aglaea, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. "We need to be careful. Flamereaver is not just any enemy. He’s far more dangerous than we could have imagined."

Phainon finally spoke again, but this time, his voice had a dark edge. "If Flamereaver is out there, then everything’s changed. But there’s something else… something about him that doesn’t make sense."

You stared at him, confusion flickering in your mind. "What do you mean?"

Phainon turned his gaze toward you, his usually bright eyes now clouded with something more... haunted. “I’ve faced him before. In a different world. He’s not the same anymore. But he’s... so familiar."

You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. There was something about the way he said that that made you uneasy. His expression was too distant, too removed, as if something far darker was lurking beneath the surface.

Before you could probe further, Tribbie looked up at you, her large eyes wide with worry. "I don’t like this... I don’t like how we’re all acting like nothing’s happened. We need to stop him. We have to save everyone."

Mydei moved to stand closer to Phainon, a grim expression overtaking his usual calm demeanor. "We will. But we have to be prepared. We need to find Flamereaver before he finds us again."

The weight of the situation finally hit you in full force. Flamereaver wasn’t just a villain. He was something far worse—a reflection of someone you knew, someone you cared about. Someone who had loved you.

And now, in a twisted, painful way, that love had become the very thing that could destroy everything. . . . .

As the words of the Chrysos heirs echoed in the darkness, the weight of it all became too much to bear. The grief, the uncertainty, the loss—it all collided inside your chest like a tidal wave. Your heart raced, pounding with a rhythmic intensity that you couldn’t escape, as if something was trying to break free. Your vision blurred, and the world around you started to spin.

Before you could stop yourself, your knees buckled, and everything went black.

You woke with a sharp gasp, the coldness of sweat against your skin making you shiver uncontrollably. But what truly caught your attention was the sheer clarity of the vision that flooded your mind—a vision that felt too real, too vivid to be a mere dream.

You were standing in a desolate place. There was no sound, no movement, just an eerie silence. The air felt heavy, thick with tension and despair. A figure stood before you—Flamereaver—but the figure before you was different. His mask was gone, revealing a face that was both familiar and foreign. Phainon.

But something was terribly wrong.

His eyes... those cold, piercing blue eyes—his eyes—were filled with anguish, a depth of sorrow that seemed to crush everything around him. Tears streamed down his face, each drop carving through the hardness of his expression, making him seem like a shattered version of the man you knew. He looked at you, not with the warmth that used to define him, but with an unbearable emptiness, as if he had lost everything and was now nothing more than a shell of his former self.

And yet, despite everything, he still reached out to you. His hand trembling as it extended toward you, like a broken plea.

Without thinking, you smiled at him. Not the gentle smile you gave him before, the one full of affection and warmth—but a soft, sorrowful smile. A smile that spoke of a connection beyond what you could understand, beyond what you had ever experienced. You didn’t remember this, you couldn’t. This never happened in your current timeline. But it didn’t matter.

It was another timeline. Another place, another time. The fragments of him—the real Phainon—tugged at your heart, and you could feel a deep sadness in the pit of your stomach. The same sadness you saw reflected in his eyes.

And then, the vision fractured.

Your mind was suddenly overwhelmed with images, flashes—shards of memories from alternate timelines. Each vision more vivid than the last. The pain, the loss, the unspoken love between you and Phainon, the never-ending cycle of worlds where he was Flamereaver, a villain, a destroyer—yet always, somehow, still tied to you.

In one, he was standing beside you in a field, the two of you laughing, your fingers brushing, everything so perfect. But as quickly as it came, that image cracked and splintered.

In another, you saw him, his golden sword raised high, drenched in blood. His eyes were wide with madness and fury as he stood over a body. The vision distorted as a scream echoed, a sound so agonizing it made your heart stop. It was your scream. Your voice, distorted and broken, reaching out to him as his cold gaze met yours, unwilling to stop.

And then there was another. You saw yourself, bound and broken, trapped in a cage of golden light, as Flamereaver—Phainon—stood outside, watching you, the expression in his eyes unreadable, cold, lifeless. There was no sign of the man who once loved you, no trace of that warmth. Only a villain. Only the cold steel of a mask.

The pain in your head intensified. The memories came faster, harder, bleeding into your mind, each one crashing against your senses like waves. You groaned in pain, clutching your head, trying desperately to hold onto yourself as the visions tore through your thoughts. They didn’t make sense. They were too much. It felt like your mind was splitting apart, each fragmented memory pulling you deeper into the abyss.

"No." You whispered the word, unable to stop yourself. It felt like you were losing yourself to these alternate timelines. These lives you hadn’t lived but could feel so intimately, as if you had been there—had been with him—in all of them.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to shut out the images, but they persisted. Phainon, Flamereaver, Phainon again. All different, all the same. Always him, always torn between the love and madness.

Finally, your vision cleared. But the pain didn’t subside. It remained, a gnawing ache at the back of your mind, as if something was trying to break free, something that didn’t belong in this timeline. Something wrong.

You took a deep breath, still shaking from the flood of images that had nearly drowned you. Your hand instinctively went to your chest, pressing against the thumping of your heart. The Coreflame of Orynyx pulsed softly, almost as if it were echoing the pain you felt, resonating with the memories you had just seen.

The timelines. The memories of love, betrayal, and death. You couldn’t make sense of them. But one thing was certain. Phainon, or Flamereaver, was a part of all of them. No matter the timeline, no matter the world—he was there.

And you were bound to him. Always. And forever will be.

With trembling hands, you slowly rose to your feet. The world around you still seemed distant, like you were standing outside of it all. Your head pounded, but your resolve was hardening. You couldn't ignore this any longer. The alternate timelines, the visions—they were leading you somewhere. To him.

To Phainon.

And you weren’t sure if you could save him from the madness, or if he was already too far gone.

One week later, everything felt heavier. The visions hadn't stopped, but they had become quieter, more subtle. The ache in your chest, the strange pull between worlds, lingered but was manageable—at least for now. It didn’t stop you from constantly being on edge, though, as if you were always on the verge of a breakdown.

You hadn’t spoken to anyone about the visions. Not about Flamereaver or about what had happened when you passed out. They were too real, too overwhelming. You didn’t know if they were a warning or simply your mind unraveling from the burden of the Coreflame. But the truth lingered in your heart, and you couldn’t escape it.

You couldn’t escape him.

It wasn’t long before you found yourself standing at the edge of the bustling Okhema, the city’s skyline stretching out before you like a shimmering maze of lights and shadows. The week had passed in a blur of activity and chaos—just the usual for someone with your position as one of the Chrysos Heirs. The loss of Trianne and the uncertainty of your friends weighed heavily on you, but today, today was different.

Today, the gnawing sense that something was wrong kept you from being at peace. The dark thoughts, the phantom memories, all pointed to the one thing you had tried to ignore: Flamereaver, Phainon.

You knew he was close.

Your intuition had never steered you wrong, and the Coreflame within you pulsed softly, almost as if it were calling to you, beckoning you towards something you couldn’t yet understand. The lingering echoes of the visions haunted your every waking moment, especially the one where you saw Phainon, his face covered in sorrow, tears staining his cheeks as he reached for you.

The feeling of helplessness swelled within you.

"Hey," Trinnon’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present. She was standing next to you, her usual mischievous smile softened with concern. Her deep blue eyes studied you with a gentleness that, on a normal day, might have comforted you. "You’ve been staring at the skyline for what, an hour? What’s going on?"

You didn’t know how to explain it. The memories. The pull. The relentless images of Phainon and Flamereaver tormenting your thoughts. How could you tell her that you were seeing multiple versions of the same man, each more broken and distant than the last? How could you explain the confusion, the fear of seeing him as both a lover and a villain, as both someone you trusted and someone you feared?

"I’m fine," you said, the words slipping out more easily than you’d expected. You smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "Just thinking."

Trinnon raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Instead, she placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch warm, reassuring. "Well, whatever it is, don’t bottle it up. We’re all in this together, you know?"

You nodded, appreciating her words, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was lurking in the distance, waiting for you.

It came suddenly, like a storm.

The world around you had been eerily quiet, peaceful even. A brief moment of respite, one you hadn’t truly had in a long time. You stood outside, near the base of the Chrysos estate, when a dark figure appeared in the distance. The air thickened, crackling with tension, and you could feel your heart race before you even saw who it was.

There he stood, Flamereaver—his presence like a shadow that consumed everything around him. He wore the same black and gold armor, his mask now covering his face once more, though the haunting blue eyes of the man you knew still seemed to pierce through the metal.

His arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Mydei, the cheerful and unburdened version of Phainon you knew from this timeline, immediately appeared by your side. His face was calm but alert, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Flamereaver.

"Stay back, you," Mydei said with a forced calmness, but there was a flicker of something else—something that you could feel—but it wasn’t the warmth you were used to. Instead, it was an edge of something deeper, something darker. Maybe it was fear.

The air seemed to vibrate with the tension, the ground beneath your feet shaking as the power of the two forces gathered. It was as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.

Then, like the snap of a thread, the battle began.

Flamereaver swung his golden sword, sharp and relentless, his movements precise and calculated. Mydei, without hesitation, leaped into action, summoning his own weapon—a brilliant sword made of shimmering light—and met Flamereaver's blow with equal ferocity. Sparks flew as the two clashed, their swords ringing with the intensity of their strikes.

Behind you, Tribbie and Trinnon were watching from a distance, unsure of what to do. You could see their fear and confusion, but you couldn't afford to pay attention to them now. The sight of the two polar opposites Phainons fighting each other sent a shock through your chest.

You didn’t know what was happening, but you could feel the weight of it in your bones. You knew they didn't understand what this was, what was happening between them. Neither of them knew that the man they were fighting—the man they saw before them—was a version of Phainon, twisted by the realities of alternate timelines.

But there was no time to explain.

The battle raged on, their swords clashing over and over, each strike shaking the ground beneath your feet. Mydei fought with all his strength, every movement elegant and full of purpose, but there was something different in the way he moved. Something almost... hesitant.

Flamereaver was relentless. His strikes were brutal and precise, as if he had lived a thousand lifetimes of pain, of loss, and now, he was taking it out on the world. His rage was palpable, swirling around him like a storm.

It was almost as if he wasn’t fighting for something, but rather, against everything.

You couldn’t help but feel the weight of the fight on your shoulders. Something in you ached, a deep, visceral need to end this. But you didn’t know how. How could you end something that you didn’t understand? How could you stop this man—Phainon—who was so broken, so shattered by everything he had gone through?

As the battle continued, you felt the shift in the air. Something was about to change. You could sense the power building around them, the two Phainons locked in an almost tragic dance of strength and fury.

Suddenly, Flamereaver let out a loud roar, his sword raised high above his head, glowing with an eerie golden light. His power surged, the earth beneath your feet cracking and breaking as if the very world were reacting to his fury.

"You don't understand," Flamereaver growled, his voice cold and full of malice. "I don't want to fight you. But I have to. I have no choice."

Mydei’s expression faltered, the weight of those words striking him harder than any blow. His sword faltered, just for a moment, and that moment was all Flamereaver needed.

With a brutal strike, Flamereaver knocked Mydei back, sending him crashing to the ground. The impact sent a wave of pain through your chest, and you gasped, your heart racing. Mydei was down—your Phainon was down.

But before Flamereaver could take another step, you found yourself moving, the Coreflame within you pulsing as you reached for your weapon. It was instinct. You couldn't let this continue, couldn't let Phainon destroy himself, no matter which version of him it was.

"Phainon!" you shouted, but your voice caught in your throat as you stepped forward, eyes locked on his face through the mask.

For a brief second, the world stopped.

Flamereaver's gaze flicked to you, and there it was again—the flicker of recognition. Those eyes, so cold yet full of something deeper, something that made you feel the weight of his suffering.

But then he turned away, pushing the moment aside.

"You don't understand," he said again, his voice breaking. "This... this is the only way."

But you refused to back down.

You couldn’t let him destroy himself. You couldn't let him fall further into the darkness. . . . .

The world around you seemed to still, a sudden heaviness pressing down on your chest as your mind raced. You felt the surge of power from your Coreflame of Orynyx, the Titan of Time, deep within you, pulsing like a heartbeat. You could feel its raw potential—an energy that was both ancient and infinite. It was a power to manipulate time itself. You had tried to avoid using it, knowing how dangerous it could be. But now, there was no other choice.

Your breath hitched as you raised your weapon, and with a single, strained command, the air around you distorted. Time itself seemed to ripple, warping into a protective barrier that expanded, consuming you and Flamereaver, trapping both of you in an isolated bubble, a prison where only the two of you existed. No one could come through. No one could escape.

It was a barrier that bent the laws of reality. The world outside would continue, but inside, time would stagnate—like the eye of a storm, everything would be frozen except for you two. No reinforcements. No interruptions. The battlefield was set, and now, it was only a matter of survival.

Flamereaver paused, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. His golden sword lowered slightly, his cold blue eyes locking onto yours.

"What... are you doing?" he asked, his voice sharp and tinged with confusion. His eyes searched your face, the mask still covering the rest of his expression, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty hidden within him.

"This ends here," you said, your voice steady but filled with determination. "I won’t let you destroy yourself. Not like this."

The words seemed to hang in the air between you two, but they were as much for yourself as they were for him. You couldn’t let him destroy everything. Even if it was Phainon—your Phainon, the one you knew in this timeline—he was still the same man who had once brought warmth to your world. The man who had laughed beside you, fought beside you, and cared for you.

But now, he was a shadow of himself—Flamereaver, consumed by pain, by rage, and by the haunting memories of those alternate timelines. He was the same, yet so different. You knew this fight was inevitable, but it didn't make the weight of it any easier to bear.

"Phainon," you breathed, but it came out more as a whisper than a plea. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by the cold, determined rage of the Flamereaver you had seen in your visions.

His grip tightened around his sword, and in an instant, he lunged at you, faster than you could react. His strike was brutal, a slash that could cleave mountains, and you barely managed to raise your weapon in time to block it. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through your body, but you stood your ground.

You were not going to lose. Not now.

You summoned the full power of your Coreflame, letting time bend and distort at your will. With a flick of your wrist, the air around you froze—time itself locked in place for just a moment. The world around you blurred, but you could still feel Flamereaver’s presence. He had slowed, momentarily caught within the barrier you had created. The trick was simple: time had stopped for him, but not for you.

With speed borne of necessity, you launched yourself at him, your sword glowing with the intensity of your Coreflame. But just as quickly as the pause in time had come, it was gone, and Flamereaver was moving again, the collision of your swords creating a shockwave that shattered the air around you.

"Is this really what you want, Flamereaver?" you shouted as you pushed back against his strength. "This... hatred? This destruction? You’re killing yourself, piece by piece! I can’t let you do this!"

Flamereaver’s face twisted, the sharp edges of his mask catching the light, and for a brief moment, you could see the faintest hint of conflict in his eyes.

"You think this is a choice?" he spat, his voice rough with pain and anger. "There’s no choice, not for me. Not anymore. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it all. The timelines, the futures, the deaths… I’ve had to do this. It’s the only way. And you... you don’t understand."

The energy between you two was electric—shaking the very air with every blow, every clash of swords. But deep down, you felt the pull of his words. He wasn’t wrong. The weight of countless timelines had driven him to this madness. The suffering of one too many lifetimes had made him into Flamereaver, a weapon of destruction, not the man you had known. The man you loved.

But that didn’t matter now.

You raised your sword again, pouring more energy into it, time swirling in chaotic, twisting loops around you. A flash of light, and the barrier around you intensified. The air itself began to crack with the pressure of the fight.

“I do understand, Phainon,” you said through gritted teeth, refusing to call him Flamereaver anymore. “I understand more than you know. I see everything. The pain, the loss, the futility. But I won’t let you destroy everything for the sake of a timeline that doesn’t matter anymore!”

The air hummed with power as the final blow approached, and everything seemed to slow down, the world bending and shifting with the force of your Coreflame.

But as you charged, your heart heavy with the truth of what was at stake, you could feel the clash of wills—his against yours.

The air crackled with energy, the space around you a vortex of swirling time, the very fabric of reality trembling with the intensity of your battle. You pushed yourself harder, your sword clashing violently against Flamereaver’s golden blade, the force of each strike reverberating through your body. The power of your Coreflame surged through you, yet the toll it took was unbearable.

Your vision blurred as pain sliced through your chest, the blood rising in your throat. You coughed, red staining your lips, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. But you couldn’t stop—not now. Not when everything was on the line.

You gritted your teeth, forcing your body to move despite the agony. With a harsh shout, you released another wave of energy, bending time and space around you, creating a domain where only you and Flamereaver existed. The ground trembled beneath you, and time itself seemed to freeze around you in a swirling, distorted cocoon.

"Phainon!" you screamed, your voice raw and desperate, but still fierce. "You have to fight for what’s beautiful in this world! You have to fight for life, for love, for all that’s worth living for!"

Each word felt like it tore through your very soul, as if you were speaking not just to him, but to all the futures that had led you here, to this moment, to this endless loop of pain and loss. You didn’t want to fight him. You wanted to save him. You had to save him.

But as you said those words, your body betrayed you. Blood poured from your lips, staining your hands as you continued to focus on the barrier, continuing to manipulate time, even as the pressure on you became unbearable.

The world around you shook with the sheer power of your Coreflame, the barrier you’d created nearly cracking under the weight of your will. You could feel it slipping, the exhaustion pulling at you. It hurt to breathe. But there was no way you could stop. Not now.

Flamereaver’s sword moved again, but this time it paused, his blade hovering in mid-air. His cold, blue eyes flickered with something faint—something that might have been concern—but he quickly masked it, his stance hardening, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the barrier you were weaving, his voice low but heavy with something unspoken.

"Why… why do you keep fighting like this?" Flamereaver’s voice was almost a whisper, the icy edge of his words betraying the flicker of doubt within him. "Why do you continue to believe in something like this world? There’s nothing left to fight for. There’s only… endless destruction."

But you were undeterred. Even as your body screamed in pain, even as your strength waned, you stood tall, refusing to give up.

"I remember," you whispered, the words tumbling out in a broken breath, the truth slamming into you like a tidal wave. "I remember every timeline, Phainon. All of them. Every time we fought, every time I tried to save you... I remember it all."

The words seemed to hang in the air, like the echo of a thousand lives lived in vain. Your hand trembled as you pointed your sword at him, and you could see the flicker of realization in his eyes—recognition, maybe even regret.

"You were my Phainon, and I was your anchor," you continued, forcing yourself to speak even as your voice cracked. "In every timeline, we fought, we lost, and we loved… But I still remember. I remember you, Phainon, and I won’t let this timeline be another where we’re torn apart by fate."

His blue eyes hardened again, his grip tightening on his sword as he stepped forward, a twisted smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. "And what will you do, huh? Keep fighting? Keep trying to change the past? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore."

But you weren’t listening to him anymore. You were listening to the truth in your heart. The truth that had been born from countless lifetimes of love, pain, and regret. You knew what you had to do, and you would do it, no matter the cost.

You gritted your teeth, one final wave of power pouring through you. You could feel the strain in your body, every fiber of your being crying out as you pushed your Coreflame to its absolute limit, warping time itself to bind Flamereaver within your domain.

"I won’t let you destroy everything, Phainon," you whispered, barely able to stand as the weight of it all bore down on you. "I will fight for this world. For what’s good. For you. Even if you can’t see it."

But even as you said those words, the pain overtook you. Your vision blurred again, a red haze clouding your sight as the blood kept flowing. You were so tired. So very tired. The barrier you’d created flickered, cracking under the strain of your power. But you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Phainon, or Flamereaver, or whoever he was now, was silent for a moment. His cold eyes never left yours, the mask of indifference slipping just for an instant. For a brief moment, you saw it—the faintest glimmer of the man you once knew, the man who had loved you, the man who had laughed with you, the man who had once been whole.

But it was fleeting. Too fleeting.

"You don’t understand," Flamereaver muttered, his voice cracking with emotion, though he quickly masked it again. "I’ve lost everything. I’ve seen all the futures, all the deaths, and there’s nothing left for me anymore. Nothing left but this path."

You smiled through your pain, the tears blurring your vision as you whispered back, "Then fight for something new. Fight for the future, Phainon. Fight for a new opening."

And just as you spoke those final words, everything went dark.

The last thing you heard was his voice, soft and distant, but almost filled with something... something you couldn’t quite place.

The world around you shattered as the full force of your Coreflame surged through you, sending a wave of excruciating power pulsing outward. Time itself bent, twisted, and unraveled in an unstoppable cascade, and all the memories—the infinite timelines, the endless iterations of you and Phainon—flooded the space between you and him.

You saw the glimmers of the past—the laughs shared in quiet moments, the times you had fought side by side, the love that had once blossomed, only to be torn away by the cruel hands of fate. All of it surged through you with such overwhelming force that it felt as though your very soul was being ripped apart.

But you kept going. The memories of every single life, every battle fought, every whispered word of love, every sacrifice—it all came rushing back. They were never forgotten. They never would be. You couldn’t let them fade, not now. Not when this was the last chance you had.

With a desperate scream, you lunged forward, charging straight at Flamereaver, your heart wild with emotion, your body burning with the raw power of your Coreflame.

“Phainon!” you cried out, your voice raw and filled with anguish. “This world might not be all sunshine and rainbows, but if you want to kill me and get away from me again, I would go to hell and back to stop that from happening!”

Tears streamed down your face as you threw yourself at him, your sword raised high, your heart an inferno of defiance. The memories blurred in your mind, flashing like streaks of lightning. Every version of you, every timeline, every instance where you fought for him, fought alongside him, died for him—it all flooded back in a painful torrent.

But as you reached him, something changed. The air around you grew thick with the weight of your memories, and Flamereaver—no, Phainon—stood still, frozen in place, watching you with cold eyes, yet there was something more behind them. Something that flickered faintly with hesitation, but it was quickly buried beneath the icy mask of indifference.

And then, with one final push, you reached him. The strain was too much. The blood you’d been coughing up stained your lips, a thick, red reminder of the toll this fight was taking. Your vision blurred, and as you took a step closer to him, your body betrayed you. You staggered, your legs buckling beneath you, and you collapsed to your knees before him, your strength finally giving out.

Blood pooled around you, your heart pounding erratically in your chest as you struggled to breathe. The world spun around you, the edge of consciousness pulling at you, but you fought to stay awake. You couldn’t let go now. Not when you were this close. Not when you could finally reach him.

Despite the pain, despite the overwhelming exhaustion and the blood that continued to pour from your body, you lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him. You smiled, even as the darkness threatened to overtake you, the memories flashing around you like stars in the night sky.

“I remember, Phainon,” you whispered softly, barely audible as your vision blurred. “I remember it all. All of our timelines. All the lives we lived... I won't let you go again. I refuse."

The memories of your past lives, the love you had for him, the pain you had shared—all of it came rushing in, flooding the domain you had created between the two of you. Your soul reached out, pulling his with it, drawing him into the same space of memories you had built together. You weren’t just fighting him now. You were pulling him with you, into the places where you had loved and fought and dreamed of a different world.

Flamereaver—Phainon—didn’t move. His face remained frozen in that cold expression, but there was something in his eyes now. Something different. Something like recognition, but also resignation.

The memories of every life, every timeline where you had fought, bled, and died together, were now swirling around you, enveloping you both. He was trapped in them as much as you were, unable to escape the flood of emotions, the weight of all the pain and love and loss.

In the quiet, in the storm of your memories, you finally reached out, your fingers trembling as you touched his arm, the touch gentle despite the violence of the battle.

You didn’t want to fight him anymore. You just wanted him to understand. You wanted him to remember. You wanted him to see you—see both of you, in every timeline, in every reality, in every life.

“You’re not alone, Phainon,” you murmured, your voice trembling with the last remnants of your strength. “You never were... We were always together, no matter what. And we can still be...”

But before you could finish, everything blurred, and your world tilted. The power of your Coreflame, the memories, the barrier that had separated you both from the rest of the world—it all crumbled.

And with that, you collapsed completely, your body no longer able to sustain you.

But your soul... your soul reached for him, even as everything around you faded to black.

The last thing you felt was his hand, cold against yours, pulling you deeper into the memories you shared.

The world slowly came back to you, warmth and light filtering through the haze that clouded your mind. You blinked, eyes fluttering open as you felt an unfamiliar sensation—softness beneath you, the slow rise and fall of steady breathing around you. Your body felt heavy, almost too heavy to move, but it was a comforting weight, one that seemed to be wrapped in warmth.

It took a moment for your vision to clear, but when it did, you found yourself staring up into the sky, the remnants of your Coreflame’s power still crackling faintly in the air. But what stood out the most—what truly jolted you—was the feeling of someone’s hand gently resting on your head, a steady, reassuring presence.

You shifted, only to realize that you were lying on something. Or rather, someone. The shape beneath you was warm, solid, and unmistakably familiar.

Your gaze slowly drifted upward, meeting the eyes of the person whose lap you had ended up on.

Phainon. Flamereaver. The one who had stood as your enemy, your tormentor, and your love across timelines. The one whose cold eyes had been an unyielding wall of ice.

But now—now, as you gazed up at him, you saw something different. His eyes, once so full of indifference and hatred, now held an undeniable warmth. A warmth that you hadn’t seen in him before.

Tears streamed down his face, staining his usually stoic features. His expression was a mixture of disbelief, sorrow, and something else—something more fragile, like a shattered version of the man you had known.

“You’re awake…” His voice was hoarse, cracking as if he hadn’t spoken in centuries. It was softer than you remembered, almost as if he was afraid to disturb the fragile moment.

You blinked, confused. "Phainon?" Your voice came out weak, and you had to swallow to clear the rasp in your throat. The events of earlier—the battle, the memories, the fierce fight between you—felt like a blur, like it all belonged to a distant world.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he carefully brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The gesture was tender, almost reverent. "I thought… I thought I lost you," he whispered, voice breaking.

It hit you all at once—the realization of what had happened. How close you had come to losing him. How close he had come to losing you. Everything that had led up to this moment, all the pain and the fighting, had led you both to this point. A moment where you were here, lying in his lap, alive, and for the first time in so long, together.

You reached up with trembling hands, touching his face, feeling the wetness of his tears on your fingertips. "You didn’t lose me, Phainon," you said softly, your voice full of quiet sincerity. "Not this time. I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes—those cold, distant eyes—flickered for a moment, the warmth that had bloomed there growing, flickering into something more. His hands, which had been so stiff and unyielding in the past, now cradled your face with an almost reverential gentleness.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice shaking with the weight of his emotions. "I didn’t mean to hurt you… I didn’t want any of this. But I… I couldn’t stop myself. I—"

You interrupted him, shaking your head weakly. "You don’t have to apologize. Not anymore. I understand now… why you were the way you were. It’s not your fault." Your words were soft, but they carried the weight of all the pain you had shared, all the regrets that had been building between the two of you.

Phainon’s gaze softened, and he let out a ragged sigh, one that seemed to release all the tension in his body. His shoulders slumped, as if he had been holding up the weight of the world for too long.

"I don’t deserve your forgiveness," he said, his voice low and thick with emotion. "I don’t deserve you."

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a quiet determination. "No. You don’t get to decide that," you replied, your voice steady, though still tinged with exhaustion. "I choose to forgive you. I choose to be here with you. And I choose to fight for us, even if this world isn’t perfect."

He stared at you, as though trying to understand, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth. But his heart—his heart, so broken and battered, was slowly beginning to heal with every word you spoke.

"I don’t know if I can fix all of this," he whispered, his hand gently cupping yours. "I don’t know if I can ever make up for everything… for everything I’ve done."

You smiled faintly, despite the ache in your chest, despite the exhaustion and pain that still lingered in your body. "Maybe you don’t need to fix everything," you said softly. "Phainon, when you think this story is simply the end, it is a new beginning. A beginning for you, and— For us." And then he leans in—his lips against the soft inside of his palm and smiles at you softly. "Enough of this emotional bullshit now come idiot," You say as you grab his hand and the barrier around you all shatters to pieces, running off with his hand in yours, smiling.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Never can we suspend the time, Having to leave the tracks behind. - da capo.

HOPE YOU LIKE IT :DDD I PRSNALI LOVE THIS EGIUREJKF OH MY GODDD IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS NON STOP SINCE 7 HOURS

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦.

— pairing; malleus draconia x ramshackle! reader

— summary; set after leona's overblot, malleus notices how your physical appearance has changed.

— notes; please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ It’s late when you stumble back to Ramshackle dorm, your body tired and aching from the day’s events.

❋ Leona had overblotted, turning everything in the vicinity to sand . . . Including your hair.

❋ You couldn’t bear the uneven patches where parts of it had been turned to sand, and with a little help from Ace and Deuce, you’d managed to hack it all off – but it’ll take you some time to get used to it.

❋ As you’re approaching the rusted iron gate, you notice a familiar figure waiting for you there, illuminated by the moonlight. It’s “Hornton”, as you’ve taken to calling your new friend, unaware of his true identity just yet.

❋ Malleus takes note of your new appearance as soon as you draw near, greeting him with a wave and a tired smile. He doesn’t make a big deal out of your new look, but you can see the faintest raise of his brows, the slight narrowing of his gaze as he takes in your new hairstyle.

❋ “Child of Man,” He greets you quietly, gently, and there’s a concern layered under his words that makes you feel seen in ways others haven't noticed yet. It’s almost enough to make a lump gather in your throat, and you suck in a steadying breath, trying to recompose yourself. “What happened to your hair?”

❋ But he doesn’t really need you to explain; he’s a Fae, more sensitive to magic than others, and he can sense the traces of powerful magic, still lingering on you even now. "A lion’s magic has its claws in you still," he murmurs, almost to himself. He doesn’t mention Leona by name, but something in his gaze darkens, almost protective.

❋ But you tell him anyway, explaining that you had to cut your hair to even it out, and it’s the first time you’ve said it aloud. Even though you try to keep your tone light, there’s a pang in your voice you can’t hide, and Malleus listens with the intensity of someone who understands loss.

❋ Gently, he reaches out to touch the jagged edges of your hair, his face softening into a smile. “You look beautiful regardless, Child of Man.”

❋ And your heart skips a beat at his words.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A fun question your opinion: In each arc, what do you think is the theme of each arc? ( It can be a motif, messages, subject)

These are a mix of jokes and serious thoughts ^^ just to avoid the post from being too heavy overall!

The Rose-Red Tyrant:

Breaking free from perpetuating a cycle of abuse

You are your own person, not a puppet controlled by your parent/guardian

At the same time, you have to take accountability for your own actions (your background can explain your poor behavior toward others but it does not excuse that behavior)

Control that is too constrictive will only push away potential connections and experiences, keeping you isolated and complacent

Anger management classes are good for you, guys

The Usurper from the Wilds:

Let’s play fairly and be good sports!

Judging people for their merits rather than by titles or birth

What makes someone worthy to lead is noble behavior and attiude

Standing up for what’s morally right, even if everyone else seems to be against you

You have value, worth, and hope in spite of what others may tell you and put you down for

It’s totally okay to get revenge on the asshole that tripped you that one time/j

It’s technically not a crime if you don’t get caught (except Leona did, in fact, get caught)

The Merchant from the Depths:

Don’t be ashamed of your past self—embrace it, accept it, and use it as a point of reference for self growth

Be the bigger person rather than becoming a bully yourself

Let your accomplishments speak for themselves

There is no “easy way out” or shortcut; be prepared to face the consequences of your actions

Not everything is as it may seem (think about the “trick” with Azul’s contracts)

… Read the terms and conditions very carefully and think things over before you sign a contract 💀

Schemer of the Scalding Sands:

Wow, this baby can fit so much generational trauma!!

Sometimes you just miss each other’s messages or greatly misinterpret the other’s intentions (Kalim giving Jamil the benefit of the doubt, Jamil obviously being the Bad Guy and everyone else has to point that out to Kalim)

There’s a very complicated relationship between those in power and those without power; this can breed hatred for those at the top

Talent and skill left unacknowledged can fester into resentment

Institutions of higher education can and will accept monetary bribes, what are you gonna do about it?

Not everyone wants to reconcile and make friends; this is okay and should be more normalized

A Beautiful Tyrant:

You can try your best and work hard, but life doesn’t owe you anything (depressing thought, but unfortunately true)

Beauty is not limited to just one’s looks; beauty can also extend to one’s character and actions

Your worth shouldn’t come from external forces; if you are satisfied with yourself, you will always be “beautiful” no matter how you look or what losses you may experience

Public opinion and the entertainment industry are brutal af

Screw gender norms 😤

The Watchman of the Underworld:

The grieving process in general

Moving on from the past instead of fixating on it and letting the past consume your present and hold you back from a future

Learning to forgive yourself

Reaching out and making new support systems/opening up to others to help you cope

Bearing the sins of your ancestors (Shroud family curse)

The Lord of Malevolence:

Change is inevitable, all good things must come to an end; we must learn to accept them and bravely move toward the future

Love endures, transcending race (Sebek), blood (Silver), and time (Lilia)

Self-sacrificial love (Maleanor for Malleus, Lilia for the other Diasomnia boys, Dawn Knight for his own family, etc.)

Is it “true” happiness if it is a fake reality, a convenient dream?

We hate and fear what we do not understand, even though we have the capacity to

You cannot live forever in a happy fantasy world where none of your loved ones/favorite characters leave you, your trauma doesn’t exist, and everything conveniently pans out how you want it to; sooner or later, you must “wake up” and face reality (this point is particularly meta; it applies both in-game and in the real world, speaking to us players and our relationship with the escapist fictional content we consume)

Prologue: Welcome to the Villains’ World and Overall Main Story:

The power of friendship :))

Revisionist history (cuz… y’know… Great Seven and all)

We’re stronger together than alone

It’s okay to rely on others

We may be very different people from very different backgrounds, but it is still possible for us to understand one another

[milkloafy]

wait..... this is hella cute!!! <3<3<3<3<3<3<3 if ur free to do reqs could you do hsr boys summer headcanons? im not sure if theyre open so it's fine if u dont thx!!! 🩷🩷

SUMMER SUN; SUMMER FUN — AVENTURINE, DAN HENG, JING YUAN

⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: ty anon for the request!! :> yes they are open so request awayyy ! i love summer sm best season fr so this was such a fun vibe to write :3 i hope u enjoy! i wasn’t sure which hsr guys u wanted so i just picked my current favs AHDKSLDK 

𝜗𝜚 — AVENTURINE

aventurine would love going to the beach with you 

building sand castles, picking seashells, jumping over the shallow waves along the shore

it all feels fun and refreshing to him. something he did not have the luxury to feel when he was younger

at your encouragement, he signs the two of you up for surf lessons one day

aventurine is…not a natural 

you’re both falling off the boards and needing the instructor to come and fish you out of the waves

after a few too many close calls, aventurine decides he never wants to go surfing again 

when the sun sets and golden hour hits, you take one million photos of aventurine, at minimum 

he models and poses for you, enjoying your excitement whenever you get a good shot 

once you’d had your fill, aventurine sneaks a few photos of you as well

he shows you his favorite beach pic of you with a smile

“you’re prettier than the sunset” 

aventurine ends the day off by buying ice cream for the two of you as you head home <3 

𝜗𝜚 — DAN HENG

while dan heng likes the warmth, he is not a fan of the summer heat

he prefers staying indoors during the summer, at the library or in museum with minimal walking around outside during the day

however, he does like sitting underneath the shade of a tree and reading a book 

some days, he’ll set up a hammock between two trees and ask you to join him 

when the heat cools down and the darkness graces the earth, dan heng likes to walk around and go stargazing 

the temperature is perfect at night—not too hot but also not cold enough to need anything other than a long sleeve shirt or a light jacket

dan heng has read about all the constellations you can see in the summer 

he’s disappointed there’s too much light pollution in most places, but for the stars he can see, he points it out to you and explains the story behind it

what constellation it’s part of, what planet is next to it, is that a space vehicle or a cosmo? 

he would definitely go on one of those websites that sell you a star lmao and “buy” one for you

even though he’s aware it’s a scam, he know you’d find it cute. dan heng shows you the certificate of your new star ownership and the two of you look for the coordinates in the night sky together <3

“you deserve the universe, but for now i got you a star”

𝜗𝜚 — JING YUAN

jing yuan thinks going to an amusement park is the peak summertime activity 

doesn’t matter if you are sweating buckets waiting in the long lines surround by body heat. jing yuan comes prepared. he has a hat, a battery-powered fan with a built-in mist spray, and water bottles with ice 

of course, he shares all that with you once you get tired of using your foldable fan

jing yuan is an amusement park snack afficionado. a salty pretzel? yes. a sweet treat? yes. a whole ass turkey leg? also yes. 

you are never hungry during your outing since jing yuan has you covered 

when you want photos taken of you, you show jing yuan exactly how you want it—angle and zoom and everything

yet when he takes the photo, it comes out off

crooked. blurry. you’re half cut off…

the only good photo he took of you is one where you weren’t prepared and have a horrendously silly look on your face 

“jing yuan… delete that right now.” 

“why? i believe it is called a ‘candid’ by the young folks. very popular.” 

you may not have come out with good photos of yourself, but at least you and jing yuan had fun and will treasure these memories forever. no matter how bad the photo to capture it is. 

[jelloapocalypse]

Hey Jello, a few nights ago I actually ran the Cinnamon Josh one-shot for my friends and had a great time. I really enjoyed the flexibility and imagination that the mini-game system encourages for character creation. Had an absolute ball during the design process with most of my players-had some truly knockout gimmicks arise from it. Unfortunately for one of my players they had a hard time clicking with the openness of the system and kept trying to push power first without a hint of flavor, got any advice for working with a “power-gamer” in a system where the design space is so improv based and cooperative while not throwing balance out the window?

Hey, sorry for the super long wait.

I actually forwarded this question to @eternal-savvy-blog because she has a lot more experience playing AC-based tabletop systems than I do. Here's her answer:

There's a couple of different approaches to this kind of a problem! I've had plenty of times that I have run games for "power gamers" and it kind of depends on the person as to what the best solution is

Don't

The easiest, but also harshest, being "This game isn't for power gamers". With any TTRPG there is a measure of tailoring the choice of players to who you think fits. This works both ways! There are games that reward power gaming and trying to do too much flavour gets in the way. And for AC, to a large extent, if you aren't down with flavour-first combat, it's not easy. I generally only reserve this option for if you've already tried everything, or the person in question is stubborn/not receptive and you know it!

2. Specific Questions/Prompts

If you reckon they just need some guidance, try altering how you talk/ask questions while running AC. Instead of "It's your turn, what do you do?" which will prompt them to lean on their instincts of "pick thing on sheet" or "what's the best damage", try making your questions have more context and specifics.

"Cinnamon Josh caught the cactus and is on his way out! how do you wanna fuck with him to stop this? He's running past the sandtraps."

Something like that is subtle but COULD be enough to stop someone from going "big number" and instead go "Maybe I can trip him into the sand?" This approach is not always gonna work. A lot of the time Power-Gamers are not open to thinking that way and are pretty dead-set on doing "the optimal thing". But for that same reason, if you suggest certain actions to be "optimal" it can nudge some people into the right mindset 3. Tailor the Character

Sometimes it's a matter of making their character in such a way that it feels more familiar and easy to run for that player in particular. But then injecting stuff into the kit that encourages some creativity. A LOT of people will get intimidated and paralyzed by an ability that says "make an item". Giving specific limitations can help most people get MORE creative like "make an item that is related to cats" Suddenly they'll be throwing explanations at you for why something "is TOTALLY a cat item"

Power-gamers are a little different. Instead, give an itemized list of options WITH EFFECTS and make ONE of the options WAY more open ended. That way they'll always be able to just pick something but over time they'll see that "hmm…. yaknow i can usually just think of something better using the last option" Something like: "Magic cat bell. Summon a magic collar that gives you a cat-like ability! (Claws for +2 damage, perfect balance, Enhanced scent, etc.)"

Notice it still has options to choose, but leaves it open to what "cat-like" means. It gives attractive "numbers" options, but is clearly showing it can be ANYTHING they can think of! 4. JUST TALK TO EM!

This one is pretty spicy! Just talk to them plainly!

Don't accuse them of being a power gamer or whatever. The idea isn't to say "you're playing wrong", just "Hey I noticed there was a mismatch!". Just establish that you noticed they play different and may be used to more number heavy games. Then just clearly explain "Hey, Anime Campaign is an open and flavour-first system. it's less about the numbers and what's 'Best' and more about being silly on purpose! Try taking a different approach next time we play!" Most people just don't realize that different TTRPG's operate differently and just need it CLEARLY said to them how the game expects people to play

If they're receptive, they'll try it out! Maybe they'll come around! But they may also try it and go "ehh, not really for me!" and that's fine too! Either way it's a win.

And if they aren't receptive. Welp. Option 1 is there for a reason!

[reallyromealone]

I’ve been soooo obsessed with the babyhaul series.So,I was wondering if you could do an ep where the babe finally develops his quirk.Aizawa dropped the babe at the U.A daycare and a few hours pass and he gets called to the office bc his little one developed their quirk (You can pick the quirk bc I have no idea what it should be)

Feel free to ignore this <333

Title: quirk

Fandom: bnha

Characters: Yamada, Aizawa, Nedzu

Fic type: fluff

Pairings: Yamada x Aizawa

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, child reader, fluff

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Quirks were fun.

Especially when you get a call that your toddler rearrange the structural design of a block into a pile of sand, causing the daycare staff to have to call the parent to said daycare.

"What did he do?" Aizawa asked exasperated as he and his husband sat with their three year old, (name) sporting a cool quirk suppressant bracelet for children as he played with his papas fingers and wedding band "well it seems he developed his quirk, he turned a wood block into sand and then his cookie into a ducky toy and began crying when he didn't have his cookie anymore" the head of the U.A daycare explained and the two teachers shared a glance.

(Name) Had his biological father's quirk.

"Thank you for telling us, if you could excuse us" Aizawa lifted the little one In his arms as they went to Nedzu, they knew this time would come but god they wished they had a bit more time. (Name) Was confused as his dad's looked serious "papa! I got my quirk!" (Name) Tried to make conversation with Yamada who smiled down at his son that was in Aizawas hold "yeah, now we gotta see uncle Nedzu to teach you how to use it" (name) looked confused but just went with it, uncle Nedzu was the smartest guy ever so...

"Uncle zuzu! I got my quirk!" (Name) Said excitedly as he was freed from his dad's hold and set in the ground, waddling/ running towards the principal "So I have been told little mouse, very exciting" Nedzu said handing a cookie to the child who went around his desk to see him properly since he wasn't able to see above the desk.

"The commission isn't to know about his abilities so we can work that to our advantage" (name) was sitting on the carpet with his toys, playing happily while the adults put their plan into action, the daycare trained and signed enough NDA's to make a judge sweat "We will begin quirk training immediately, if he can do something like that without breaking a sweat now... That's something to keep close tabs on"

It was well known that quirks could be more powerful through generations, evolving into something even bigger than itself and (name) had no reaction to using his quirk even by accident, turning wood to sand wasn't an easy feat after all.

"It will only be for an hour a day, he is still quite young" Nedzu showed them folders he had prepared, a very cohesive and airtight plan that had the parents impressed "there's even snack time" Aizawa said with a huff, it fit in for their pick-up time for Eri and everything.

"And if course I'll be there in case something happens" Aizawa said looking back at his son who was in his own world.

That night, Aizawa and Yamada sat with their tot and explained a little bit about his quirk, (name) was already mentally developing faster than they were expecting, they were sure that Kisaki did something to cause that as the boy seemed to be understanding things faster and better than his peers.

"I can make cookies..." The power (name) realized he has was a horrifying realization to the parents who couldn't help but laugh at the fact that making cookies was his first instinct.

"Use that power wisely" Yamada snorted as they went home, they had some things to order and have lunch, (name)s choice.

[lilscandybowl]

                             ˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖ 

Mark would be a hamster dad. He would want to see them every night. He would call their name as soon as he sees them. Feeding them way too many treats of freeze-dried chicken or mealworms. He once did try to feed them an unhealth treat and you ended up sitting him down and went over hamster care. The right hamster care. 

After that, He was right away coming home with flowers, not for you but for the hamster to be able to forage through. The hamster would sit on his lap while he was on a game and when he comes home from a fight. You would often find him holding the hamster in a way to calm down. 

He can’t stand it when the hamster pouches food in her cheek but he loves watching her roll in the sand. Yeah, he would pick her up, show her around, and introduce her to any other animal you own.

                             ˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖ 

“What is that?” Mark asked from behind you as you let him into your room. 

“i told you, i have a hamster” you turn back to give him a weird look. You know Mark for a few months now and was pretty much happy with him. He was everything you liked in a guy, total golden retriever. You watch as he moves closer to the cage looking confused. 

“i just didn’t know you could get cages that big "Mark stated as he look at you. “i mean I'm pretty sure the cage i use to have for mine was like” He made a size with his arms. “With lots of tubes” He was describing your nightmare cage. 

“Well, Minx deserves a big cage.” You comment as you move towards him. “You want to see her?” Mark just stares at you looking excited. You lift up the lid to the cage. “She likes to hide in her bedding. So, give me a second” You just start scooping parts up slowly as Mark watch you. You felt her in the palm of your hand and you pick her up. It was worth waking up her up just to see Mark’s face light up. 

“She is so small” Mark explains looking a bit closer. “She just a baby” You laughed at his little coos at her.  

“She is over a year, babe. Put your hands out” you said and watch Mark look nervous. He started to play with his own hands. 

“I just don't want to hurt her” He muttered out. You look at him. You were pretty sure this man couldn’t even hurt a fly even with his powers.  

“You won't” You move one of your hands to meet his and get him to stop. “i promise” His eyes met yours as he mutters ok. You place your hand against his and let her walk onto him. 

In that moment, you saw his heart melt. You knew that you most likely wasn’t his number one anymore and you didn’t mind that. 

                             ˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖✮-------------------✮˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖ 

The hamster is a standard Russian hamster based on my old girl. She was the best. My boyfriend and I loved her to pieces. Please make sure you are following the right info for hamsters.

[toto-the-cactus]

I started to write this very innocently and planned to make it NSFW but I did the mistake of watching the episode 7 of Dandadan and now instead of horny I want yall to be sad. Ovulation manifest in a very fucked up way for me and I will not suffer alone. Teehee.

Credits where they are due. This ask from @moodymisty is the reason that inspired this... I dunno, AU?? But kudos for them. This idea was really good so I just decided to expand it.

If this get that much attention I'll may think in doing a part 2 where you go and take Angron's ass back without the nails this time, ajua!

Summary: As a perpetual, you have been by the Emperor's side for most of your immortality. There's no name for what strange dynamic you both share, but you do trust him and your loyalty eventually pays off over millennia once he fulfills an old promise he made during your first ever encounter.

Pairing: Emperor of Mankind x Perpetual!Reader (Female)

CW: Slight NSFW

Part 1 - Part 2 - ?

The Mother

“I know you’re still angry”

You hated how He phrased that. He knew very well that you were furious at him more than anything and yet the Emperor voiced it as if you weren’t mourning the loss of the children that you were supposed to call yours.

Erda had warned you plenty of times, looking between a mix of sadness and resignation as she knew very well how much of a tangled mess were yours and the Emperor’s relationship over millennia. Even as a perpetual, you never could come close to understand why He acted the way he did, but his reassurances and sweet-nothings made you easily into crumbling sand between His fingers. So much that when he finally answered your plea for a family, the joy of it had overrode your common sense.

Your genetic composition, while still powerful, never seemed to take and each attempt for a baby to grow inside the gestation capsules ended in failure and that eventually made you grow distant and despondent towards the Emperor, who, for once, seemed to understand your gloomy emotions and gave you some space until a solution could be found.

And it did… in the form of your best friend Erda. She had been ready to reject the proposal of giving her genetic stock, but her own loyalty to the Emperor and her love for you was enough to convince her with still some reluctance along the way.

You hadn’t even cared if these children carried your own blood or not. This was the one thing you had found yourself craving for so long and it was becoming reality.

The Emperor had made it very clear that these creations had been made too to serve as aids for the Crusade, not simply to satisfy the promise he had made to you all those centuries ago.

At first you didn’t heed his warning, too enthralled at the overwhelming emotions of seeing these tiny babies take form.

Your children.

A part of you had been too arrogant, too naive to believe that you could convince the Emperor of Mankind to drop this plan of his to raise kids as pawns of warfare. You had wanted to thrust that a part of Him still would hold the same tenderness that he had always reserved for you like the very first time. So you kept talking to the gestating children, whispering words of love and adoration. You sang them lullabies of long forgotten times and teared up when some would instantly react at the soft tones of your voice.

You have even dreamed with the little one that had shown immense psyker power.

So it broke you beyond repair when Erda came back to you in distraught, explaining what she had done with the developing Primarchs once the Emperor had been still adamant and unmoving to his plans.

The fate of your sons had been decided and your friend had been desperate to try and stop it.

Now you lost everything, all your happiness had been taken away and as much as you wished to blame Erda too, you only held her shoulders in a tight bruising grip (she looked at you surprised, unaware that you possessed such strength) and stared at her dead in the eyes with a voice that commanded nothing but attention.

“I’m willing to forgive you, Erda… I am… but you must earn it” you said with a clear tremble in your voice, a painful knot stuck in your throat at the impotence of the whole situation. “Please, please… go find them! Find them so I can retrieve them and hold them at least for the first time!”

So she did, in the silence of the night and away from any prying eyes.

Once alone in the privacy of your room, you cried until the pain bled into painful sobs of despair.

It was in the aftermath of your spilling emotions when the Emperor came to you in a mockery of comfort, his huge hand encased in his golden armor caressing with immense care your body. It was a shame that he had some truth to his words, for your anger simply made you feel like his attempt of compassion was cold and mechanical in nature.

A detailed script where the husband consoles the wife that He must follow. But as fast as the burning anger came, it easily simmered down by the constant sorrow. You felt hollow and as much as you wished to keep ignoring him… you needed the little love he still professed for you in rare moments.

“No, my love… I just feel empty now” your voice conveyed it, for it lacked anything beyond the trembling of a sob.

“Then let me help you” the Emperor expressed with an unchanging expression, but the way he whispered those words felt like the sweetest caress.

You breathed deeply, a few stubborn tears still escaping because how dare he speak to you like you were the only thing that he cared for. You had grown accustomed to this weird and shifting dynamic you both had and yet he did things like this that disrupted the routine and reminded you why you fell for him a long time ago.

You had seen him as a man, nothing more… and he had thanked you for that.

This time you had to choke a sob down before speaking.

“How?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he got up and took his golden armor piece by piece.

It took a while but you were a patient woman with little to no motivation to move at the current moment. This was your room, the single place where no one was allowed to bother you two and so could take any sweet time.

Once finished, his warm hand held your head carefully and left your neck exposed to be kissed and licked at his whim. You were ready to try and tell him to hold on (you would never dream of being strong enough to push him off of you), but the bite on your shoulder forced a breathy moan out of your lips, wilting your weak attempt at stopping.

You still felt the sting of pain at the loss of the children and these actions only fuelled the new emotion of guilt brewing inside you.

Why was he doing this to you? How would this help your broken heart?

“Let me make it up to you… by giving you a child in the only way we haven’t tried” his voice reverberated within your ribcage with the undertone of a growl that accompanied his words, catching you immensely by surprise with such insane proposal that you didn’t even realize when he took your undergarments out until a soft grace to your clit grounded you back to reality.

“Ah~!” you moaned this time louder, completely caught off guard by a sensitivity that you don’t remember ever having.

The onslaught of sensations dazed you, the tears flowing steadily now that you weren’t sure of what to feel in that moment.

This was a distraction, a way to appease you and sooth the sorrow… and you hated that it was working little by little. His words truly echoing inside your mind with the strange mix of guilt and excitement clashing within your body without mercy.

Yes, you wished for a child to hold. To love and care.

His enormous finger breached your entrance, the wetness having been built easily enough as his thumb hadn't stopped on his ministrations to your swollen button. His lips rarely leaving your skin without a kiss or a bite to lick, descending and going down, down.

Then… you saw it. Behind the shiny droplets of tears through your eyelids, a vision of a future that greeted you with a promise.

The children… they were alive.

You sensed the very longing of your heart, the feeling of rough scars being caressed by your gentle touch as an apology for not finding them fast enough.

You saw yourself holding a heavy blanket, a peaceful infant between your arms and a whisper of a name that seared in your memory.

‘Horus’

In this thesis I present today, I'll explain how all the goddamn heresy could have been prevented had the Emperor not sucked ass at speaking with the tactfulness of sandpaper over an open wound.

Anyway, hope yall liked it <333

[777bae]

EVERYTIME LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: Caught in a toxic cycle, you can’t resist Luke Hughes, no matter how many times you swear you’re done. Every time he returns, your walls crumble, and you’re pulled back into his arms, knowing nothing ever truly changes.

Warnings :: implied toxic/unhealthy relationship

Word count :: 2.0k

Every time you see him, it’s like the world shifts around you. As though everything you’ve built around yourself—the walls, the distance, the strength—fades into nothing. It’s like a switch flips, and suddenly, you’re back to being that person who can’t resist him, can’t stay away. He steps into the room with that effortless confidence that used to make your heart race, his smile that disarms you instantly, pulling you right back into his gravity.

You’ve told yourself that this time, you’ve truly moved on. That the pain from the past is just that—past. That you’re better, stronger. But then, there he is again, and all that resolve—the promise you made to yourself to stay away, to stop running back to him—crumbles. It’s like he has some power over you, a force you can’t escape, and the worst part is, you’re not sure you want to escape it.

You’re standing across the room from him, and he hasn’t even said a word yet, but you can already feel it. That familiar ache in your chest. The way your pulse picks up, the way your breath catches in your throat just because he’s there. You feel the weight of it. The gravity that pulls you toward him, no matter how many times you’ve promised yourself you’re done. Your chest tightens, and you know, deep down, this is a bad idea. You should walk away. You should be stronger. You have to be stronger.

But the thing is, every time, you can’t. Your feet move toward him before your brain has a chance to catch up. It’s like you’ve been here before, over and over, but each time, it feels more intense. Like maybe, just maybe, this time it’ll be different. He’ll be different. You’ll be different.

But you’re not. Neither of you are.

He’s standing there now, watching you with that knowing look in his eyes. The kind of look that makes you feel seen in a way no one else ever could—vulnerable, exposed. Like he knows you better than you know yourself. And maybe he does. Maybe he always has.

“Hi,” he says, that low, smooth voice slipping over the words like liquid velvet.

You hate how easily you’re falling into it, the way he disarms you without even trying. The walls you’ve spent so long building around yourself, the ones you swore would keep him out—how quickly they fall, like sand slipping through your fingers. You’ve promised yourself you’ll walk away this time, but you don’t. You never do.

“How’ve you been?” His words are casual, light, but the way he says them—soft and probing—there’s something in the air between you two. Something dangerous. His eyes bore into you like he’s searching for something, and you know it. He knows there’s more to the story. He knows you’re lying.

“I’ve been good,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. It feels like the biggest lie you’ve ever told. It sounds hollow, empty, even to your own ears. But you can’t tell him the truth. You can’t tell him how you’ve been missing him in ways you can’t explain. How every time he pops back into your life, it’s like everything else fades into the background, and nothing matters except him. How you’ve tried, over and over, to stay away, but it’s never worked.

He doesn’t buy it, of course. He never does. He steps closer to you, that familiar glint in his eye—the one that always makes you feel like he sees right through you.

“Really?” he asks, his voice dropping even lower, like he’s daring you to admit the truth.

And for a moment, you almost do. You almost admit that it’s never really been over. That every time he walks into your life, it’s like you forget all the reasons you walked away in the first place. The fights, the broken promises, the ways he let you down time and time again. You almost tell him how much it hurts to be caught in this cycle, but you don’t. You can’t.

Instead, you swallow it. You push it deep down, because you know that if you start, you’ll never stop. You’ll start telling him everything—how you never really left, how you’ve been here, waiting, hoping that one day it’ll be different, that he’ll change.

“I’m fine,” you say again, even though your voice trembles. You hope he doesn’t hear it, but he does.

He knows. He always knows.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now. “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

Your heart sinks. It’s like a dam breaking open. He’s right, of course. He always knows. He’s always known how to get inside your head, how to twist you into knots, to make you question everything. And here you are, standing in front of him, pretending like everything’s okay when it’s not.

You can feel the tension thickening between you, the pull between you two like an invisible thread that you both know will never snap. It’s a dangerous kind of connection, the kind that leaves you empty but craving more. He reaches out, brushing your hand with his, and the contact sends a jolt through you, something you haven’t felt in so long. The air between you crackles with something unspoken. You want to pull away. You should pull away. But you can’t.

His touch lingers for just a moment longer, a casual brush of his hand against yours that seems so simple, so innocent. But to you, it feels like an electric current zipping through your skin, awakening something that’s been dormant for so long. That warmth spreads through your chest, and you can feel your pulse quicken, your heart hammering beneath your ribs. It’s like everything else in the world falls away when you’re near him. The noise of the room fades into a dull hum, the worries you’ve carried for so long blur into the distance. The hurt—the countless nights you spent replaying his words, his actions, the promises he never kept—it all dissipates, vanishing into the air like smoke.

It’s just you and him.

His voice breaks through the silence, soft and almost too intimate, like he’s whispering a secret meant only for you. “You always come back. Every time.”

The words should sting. They should make you angry, should remind you of every single time he let you down, every time he walked away and left you wondering why you let him back in. But they don’t. Instead, they settle deep in your chest, familiar, comforting, like a cruel truth you’ve always known but never wanted to accept.

You should tell him to stop. You should pull away, run away. It’s what you promised yourself you would do—make this the last time. But instead, your chest tightens, the air in the room feels thicker, heavier. Your breath hitches in your throat as his words pierce through the fragile resolve you had built. You try to fight it, but it’s like fighting gravity.

You step closer. It’s subtle at first—just a slight shift, a move that should be innocuous. But then it’s like everything inside you gives in. The walls you’ve spent so long building up start to crumble like sand slipping through your fingers, and with every step you take toward him, it feels like you’re losing a piece of yourself. It’s like he holds the key to every part of you, every insecurity, every part of your soul that you swore you’d protect. You can’t remember why you wanted to walk away. His warmth is pulling you in like the tide, and the further you go, the less you care.

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, it feels suffocating. It’s the kind of gaze that makes you feel exposed, like he’s reading you, peeling away the layers you’ve fought so hard to hide. You see that glimmer of recognition in his eyes—the same glimmer that has always made you feel like you’re both drowning in something you can’t control, yet unable to stop. You’ve been here before. You know this dance all too well.

Everything inside you screams to turn away. To take a step back, to be strong for once. You know what this is. You know what it’s been. The fights. The tears. The way you’ve both hurt each other so deeply that it should have torn you apart for good. You know you shouldn’t fall back into this cycle, but something in you—the part of you that’s always craved this kind of connection, this kind of intensity—refuses to walk away.

You don’t just see him in that moment; you feel him. His presence wraps around you, consuming you. His breath on your skin, the faintest scent of his cologne that brings back memories of nights you swore you’d forget. Everything inside you is telling you that this is unhealthy. That this is toxic. But it feels so familiar. So warm. So much like home.

And in that moment, you hate yourself for it.

You hate that you’re still here. That after everything, after all the promises you’ve made to yourself, you’re still falling right back into his arms. Just like every time before. Because even when it felt like he was pulling away, you always found a way to pull him back in. And when he left, you always found a way to bring him back. It’s the same cycle, and you’ve been trapped in it for far too long.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. It feels like you’ve said it a thousand times before—each time more desperate than the last. But this time… this time, it feels real. Or at least, you want it to.

He doesn’t need to say anything. He doesn’t have to say a word. His expression says it all, that knowing smirk spreading across his face, the one that’s always made you feel both seen and exposed. He knows. He knows you better than you know yourself, and deep down, you realize he’s right. You’ve said it before. You’ve sworn you’d walk away a hundred times.

“You say that every time,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a gentle taunt. But there’s something darker beneath it, something deeper, like he’s enjoying the fact that you can never stay away. “But here you are. Again.”

And there it is. That truth you’ve been avoiding. The one that stings and suffocates you at the same time. You will come back. You always do. You’re caught in this loop of longing and hurt, of broken promises and fleeting moments of happiness that fade as quickly as they come. But in this moment, none of that matters.

Because all that matters now is the pull. The way his presence consumes you, the way his touch feels like an anchor when you’ve been drifting for so long. You should break free. You should take a step back and remember the damage this has caused, the way you’ve both hurt each other. But all those promises you made to yourself vanish the moment you feel his arms pull you close, like they’ve done so many times before.

And just like that, the unraveling begins. It’s like a slow, inevitable fall. The promises, the boundaries, the walls you’d so carefully constructed to keep him out—they all start slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the air like smoke. And in the back of your mind, you know it’s happening again. You know you’ll end up broken, lost in this toxic cycle, but in this moment, you don’t care. You can’t care.

Because all you can feel, all you can think about, is how badly you want to be close to him. To let go. To let him pull you in, just like every time before.

And so you let it happen.

You let yourself fall back into the same arms that have held you too tightly before. You let yourself be consumed by the warmth of him, the familiarity, even though you know where it’ll lead. You let yourself be lost in him once more—just like every time before.

[hyuneskkami]

hi hi hi can i please get a percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite reader?? basically she’s all about the love part of Aphrodite and she’s talking about it constantly and he’s her friend and kinda realises like oh wait i’m in love w her

does that make sense?? also can i get a moodboard w it?? <33

thank you and ily!

masterlist

💌┊₊˚⊹꒷ BROOKLYN BABY .ᐟ

⤷ percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite!reader ‧₊˚ ⋅

ᝰ. 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 . . . percy jackson and the heroes of olympus

ᝰ. 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 . . . y/n constantly yaps about the idea of love to her best friend, percy, and he realises he has feelings for her. (annie’s y/n’s close friend too! i’m too nice to make her an angry b </3) also!! y/n has brown eyes solely bc brown eyes are pretty asf and not talked about enough <3 + ft. best friends to lovers, minor gods dissing (like one time), y/n reading the cruel prince (not directly mentioned), percy having an ‘uh oh, i’m in love’ moment, and a book bouquet. p.s. moodboard at the end!

ᝰ. 𝐤𝐞𝐲 . . . y/n: your name | y/l/n: your last name | n/n: nickname

ᝰ. 𝐰𝐜 . . . 1.4k

ᝰ. 𝐚/𝐧 . . . hdkwjdkw 1/8 asks complete lmao. this req was so cute!! I love reading the ‘moment of realisation’ dialogues in books, but it was especially fun to write it for the first time. it was a little weird to write only bc i’m a cabin 3 kid irl but it’s okay 😭 for the sake of a fluffy fic, I powered through, guys <3

2 years ago . . .

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

“some kid killed a minotaur!” a hermes cabin demigod yelled from near the dining pavilion. glancing up from our glasses of soda, annabeth and I turned towards the voice. “he’s a new one!”

we looked at each other, wondering which god couldn’t keep it in their pants again.

suddenly, a few apollo kids ran out from the infirmary towards the arch near thalia’s tree.

“the new kid’s probably clumsy,” annabeth said.

“he killed a minotaur,” I shot back.

“hey, you can be dumb and strong at the same time.”

“uh huh. whose child do you think he is? I bet it’s one of the big three.” I said.

“no way, they have a pact, remember-”

“do you really think they actually follow that, annie?” I snickered at her.

in a while, an unconscious boy about their age was carried into the infirmary. I only caught sight of his black hair, and dishevelled and bloody look. I decided to visit him the next day to check up on his condition.

the rest of the day was spent reading in my cabin, while my sisters tried new makeup products on our brother, which was quite funny, really.

throughout the next week, I left the warmth of my bed to visit the new kid—percy jackson—in the infirmary. he had begun to regain consciousness.

“who are you?” he asked, sharply inhaling a breath.

“oh, hey,” I smiled at him. “i’m y/n y/l/n. daughter of aphrodite.”

“right. daughter of aphrodite. a goddess,” he repeated slowly.

I realised that no one had explained about camp half-blood to him yet, and took that job upon myself after calling out for will and letting him know that his patient was awake.

“so, there’s gods and goddesses. and monsters. and everything in the greek myths you were taught? they’re all real. at camp half-blood, we’re all demigods—the children of a god or goddess and a mortal.” I continued to explain to him how the demigod world worked, remembering to talk about the mist, the gods, the cabins, and everything else.

I expected him to not believe me, and call me names (like the other new campers) for lying, but he took it like a champ. he nodded at me, sitting up properly, and asked for something so his arm would stop paining. I immediately got will to help him.

the next week, when I was out by the beach, reading my romance novel about a mortal girl and a faerie prince falling in love after being enemies, I heard sand shifting around behind me.

“who-” I turned around.

“hey, y/n, right?” percy asked, walking closer.

“ah, you remember,” I said, a smile growing on my face.

“well, yeah. you’re really just the only person who has spoken to me normally… and not like I was some intimidating and scary… thing,” he said, running his hands through his already dishevelled hair.

“come, sit down.” I patted the sand beside me. he took his place there, sitting down with his legs criss-crossed.

“what are you reading?” he asked.

I explained to him the plot, setting, characters, and everything about the book I was reading for the next few hours.

we sat there till dusk, watching the sun set into pretty hues of pink, purple, and orange.

“it’s so pretty, isn’t it?” I asked.

✮⋆˙ percy’s pov

“yeah, it is.” I replied to her, eyes fixed on her side profile.

wow. she’s so beautiful.

timeskip: present

“perce!” y/n called loudly, running towards me.

“heyyyy! n/n, you’re back! how was the quest? did you get hurt or anything?” I asked, hugging her, and then moving back to scan her for injuries.

“i’m fine, perce, all good. I got will to check me out and he cleared me,” she said, grinning. her face was swiped with dirt and grime, but she still looked like she was an ethereal princess who walked out of one of her books. “what? have I got a lot of dirt on my face?”

“nah, you’re cool. ‘s pretty.” I said, and she laughed—my favourite sound in the entire world. “and anyway, you need to change out of these clothes and meet me outside your cabin. I have something for you.”

“what is it?”

“that’s a surprise-”

“I hate surprises.”

“you’ll like this one,” I winked at her, as she laughed again.

timeskip

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

I changed into casual loose sweatpants and a shirt since it was summer.

ah, summer. one of most romantic seasons ever. the breeze whipping around a girl’s hair, as a boy runs towards her with flowers. the sunlight falling onto their faces as they share a kiss. watching the sun set in pretty shades everyday with each other. that was summer.

everything about it reminded me of percy. watching sunsets, seeing the sunlight fall on his face after he gets out of the water. the flowers, now dry, that he gifted me for every special occasion.

it was hard to admit that I liked him more than I would like any friend. i’d never picked up any hints from him, that might’ve signalled that he liked me, no matter how many of my siblings told me he did.

all friends hold hands, right? and all good friends wish each other a good morning and good night everyday. what was so special? the flowers?

“hey, n/n!” percy’s voice dragged me out of my thoughts. he was dressed in loose shorts and a hawaii button up, and my gods, he looked so gorgeous.

“perce! at least tell me where we’re going now,” I groaned.

“nuh-uh. a surprise is a surprise.” he brought out a blindfold and handed it to me. I raised my eyebrow at him. “put it on. i’ll take you there.”

“I swear to gods, if this turns out to be a prank-”

“shh, it won’t. now put it on,” he promised.

I walked closer to him and put on the blindfold, and he turned me around a few times to make sure I wouldn’t figure out where we’re going. I scoffed at his childish actions.

as he was standing behind me, I felt his warmth on my back. he took my arms at my side and urged me to walk ahead.

he manoeuvred me in different directions and finally stopped after a while.

“you ready, princess?” he asked. the nickname did something to cause butterflies in my stomach.

“yeah,” I whispered.

he took off the blindfold, and it was too bright for a second. I shielded my eyes and groaned, before letting them adjust to the harsh sunlight.

I looked around and saw a huge, fluffy blanket laid down on the grass of the fields. a basket with food was set in one corner and a bouquet in the centre.

specifically, a book bouquet.

“PERCY, HOW DID YO-”

“surprise,” he grinned, as I turned around and hugged him. he’d always given me gifts when I returned from quests, but this was, by far, the best.

“how’d you know all my favourites?” I asked, looking at the 10 romance novels on the blanket.

“oh, annie helped,” he said enthusiastically. “should we sit down and start eating? you can tell me all about the people in your books, and why you like romance books especially, yeah?”

smiling, we sat down on the blankets, and ate away with no care in the world.

✮⋆˙ percy’s pov

as she talked about her books for the next few hours, I could only think about how beautiful her brown eyes were, especially when the sunlight hit them at the correct angle. how soft her lips looked as her mouth moved at a faster pace than her thoughts. how perfect her cheeks were, smiling wide. how amazing she was. how smart and beautiful she was.

when did my feelings of friendship turn into love, for her?

as she continued to speak of the love between her favourite characters, I noticed her longing for a similar love. I could give that to her, couldn’t I?

wait. what? what am I even thinking? y/n’s my best friend.

“love is everywhere, in every gesture, every glance. it’s the thread that binds us together, connecting hearts across time and space,” she said.

and at that moment, I knew I was done for.

I was hopelessly in love with my best friend.

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite — the love like in her books <3

taglist — @nuncscioquidsitamor-14 @mqstermindswift @puffoz @skeelly @urmomabby @sunnitheapollokid @jgracie @canonfeminine @cinemaconrad @totokyo @urbanflorals @aezuria @thetunnelunderoceanboulevard @cherigall @percabethluvr @pjoverseluvr @maybxlle @mershellscape @riordanness @starlitszn @metyouattherighttime @a-beautiful-fool @sequinsnstars @ssparksflyy @fayvpor @iheartgirlzn

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

[lov3rachan]

SKZAnniversary

Summary: When everything seemed to catch up with them, a moment of peace arrives too.

Pairing: OT8 (Individual) x reader (not very heavy on a relationship)

Genre: fluff, comfort, gender neutral (you/your)

Warning: insecurity, beauty standard, society

Word count: 1408 words

Comment: Happy 7th Anniversary once more Stray Kids! This started off as soft moments (Chan) and turned into insecurity comfort rip. As always I’m late lol

Requested by: no one

Written: 24.03.2025-26.03.2025

Taglist: @skzdreamer13, @blueohs

Network: @supernovanetwork

Chandsome

« You can rest ».

The moonlight softly caressed his relaxed features, as his light snores fill the otherwise silent room.

It’s like a rhythm, matching his breathing.

Chan’s lips are slightly open, soft lips still.

Beautiful and at peace, calm.

His body melts in your arms, as he is cradled in sleep’s embrace.

The day’s fatigue and pains, after hours of practice and performances, is slowly washed away, like footprints on the sand.

Chan is finally relieved of toil and weight of his hard work, even if just for a few hours.

He’s no longer leader Bang Chan, Channie-hyung or producer CB97.

In the silence of the room, his worries and responsibilities slip from his mind and he is just Chan.

Minpossible

« I’m here »

Being an idol wasn’t easy, especially not when you liked your privacy.

Lee Know… he was like a cat, unpredictable and mysterious, which wasn’t always appreciated in the industry or by his so-called fans.

He’d come up with weird random post ideas or fun messages and he enjoyed messing with STAY… a lot.

However, not everybody liked his teasing manner and they weren’t afraid to say it, at least online.

Sometimes, he’d just grumble and complain, to no one in particular, really.

All his bottled up feelings finally released in a stream of anger and frustration.

From way too exposing outfits, to the fans’ wild theories: every single thing that irked him, no matter how insignificant, was laid out.

Minho didn’t need someone to give him a solution, or explain how the industry worked.

He just wanted to vent, let it all out.

No words were needed, as you held him in your arms.

As the anger dissipated, his face slightly red from his rambling, he listens to your heart beat to calm down.

Then, with a lighter heart, he is ready to face the world once more.

Charmbin

« You’re beautiful »

Changbin was oh-so beautiful.

As you stared at him lovingly, your gaze fixated on him and only him… he felt like a jewel amongst rocks.

He was surrounded by men who fit the beauty standards, who were praised for their good looks and, in an industry like the entertainment one, let alone that of K-Pop, it was easy for him to forget his own beauty.

Sometimes he’d forget about the muscles he built up with dedication, day after day.

He’d ignore his gorgeous face and curly hair.

More importantly, he’d easily forget how talented he was.

He was one of the greatest producers of K-Pop’s fourth generation, a rapper with powerful vocals and perfect enunciation that could also sing just as well, with a touching voice.

He was one of the funny guys of his group but he was so much more: he was reliable, trusted, respected.

Amongst so many stars he’d forget all about his own light.

However, in your eyes he could see its reflection, shining in your eyes as you loved him without a word, as you wanted him for all he was.

And he felt the most beautiful man of all.

Hyunique

« You’re talented »

Hyunjin really didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful but even he grew tired of compliments.

More precisely, of compliments about his looks.

Gorgeous, sexy, handsome… what about who he was inside?

What about all he had achieved?

His powerful dance moves weren’t just because of his beautiful appearance.

He had poured blood, tears and sweat into it, his whole life had been polishing his skills just to get complimented for his looks.

How many people would have really looked at his art if he didn’t look that way?

Who would have ever spared him a glance if he wasn’t handsome?

People would have probably called him an unreliable good for nothing or an idealistic dreamer, if he hadn’t had his looks, wouldn’t they?

He didn’t know but, the more he thought about it the more his blood boiled, as frustration and helplessness gnawed at him.

Then one hug, as he cried his heart out.

One session together through posts and videos complimenting his art, his dancing and his vocals…

It didn’t take away his insecurity, not completely.

But it helped him ignore the ‘what if’s and focus on the present and on his future, that shined as bright as a diamond.

Hanbelievable

« You’re strong »

Small and cute quokka.

Frail, weak, defenceless.

That’s how he felt whenever he saw fans treat him as if he were made of glass.

Not just them, his band mates and staff as well acted as if he was a ball of anxiety ready to crack and crumble at the smallest sign of pressure.

He was an idol, he had been working his ass off and managing his own mental health for ages.

Sure, he appreciated the concern but sometimes it felt suffocating, as he felt babysat by the others.

He wasn’t his anxiety nor his panic attacks.

However, just because he could be lively, fun and happy, it didn’t mean that he was faking it all.

The perception of others, at times, felt more pressuring than his anxiety himself, as they fuelled it.

Han wanted to be supported but he didn’t want anyone on his case 24/7.

It was just a few words as you were cuddling in bed, a whisper that slipped out as you admired his tired form, as Jisung was starting to doze off.

“You’re so strong”.

Just one sentence woke him up, as he smiled, comforted by your unassuming words.

Yeah, he really was.

Lixtroardinary

« You can cry »

The sky isn’t always sunny, sometimes it rains.

Just like that, even Felix couldn’t help but get mad or sad.

He was already known for crying on stage but, with the exception of the survival show, they were always tears of happiness.

The dancer was Stray Kids’ happiness, the one to bring a smile on STAY’s face.

However, sometimes the fatigue and pain was too much;

Sometimes the hate got to him;

Sometimes his day went wrong.

Hidden in a safe embrace, he’d allow himself to cry, let out all the sadness he felt.

There was nothing beautiful about it, it was an ugly cry, raw.

Felix was going to have a headache the hours after but at least his heart felt lighter and the world seemed brighter.

Sure, his problems hadn’t been whisked away but his mind was clearer than ever: everything was going to be okay.

He was going to be okay.

Perhaps he wasn’t always going to be Happy Felix, but he was going to relish all the happiness he could get.

Seungsational

« You’re special »

‘Eight members, eight all rounders’.

Seungmin didn’t feel like he belonged.

He was the vocalist of the group yet he didn’t have the same unique voice as Felix.

He wasn’t an all-rounder genius like Han nor was he a rapper and producer like Changbin or Chan.

He wasn’t a talented dancer like Lee Know nor didn’t have striking, unique looks like Hyunjin.

And he definitely wasn’t as adorable and fashionable as I.N.

He was… ordinary.

Then, whenever you asked, he picked up his guitar and started to play a bit, singing along the melody.

As he saw your heart melt with every note, and your loving gaze on him, he understood.

It didn’t matter how special others thought he was, nor did he need to compare himself to others.

As long as those who mattered believed in him, Seungmin himself included, he was going to keep doing what he loved.

I.ncredible

« You’re enough »

I.N had grown used to being treated like a baby by others but he couldn’t deny his annoyance, at times.

He was a grown man, capable of his own choices and perfectly fine on his own yet his own fans seemed to treat him as a kid.

Sure, being pampered wasn’t that bad but, when his every move is watched and his independence is undermined… he hated it.

However, what could he do about it?

It’s not like he could change his date of birth.

Age is just a number but it always seemed like his role as a maknae overshadowed his vocals and… it stung. I truly did.

So he appreciated whenever he got asked for a favour.

It was a small thing but it showed the intrinsic trust you had in him, that he could handle it.

That even though he was the youngest of his group, he was good enough, he was capable enough.

[mimimarvelingmarvel]

time bound part two

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Two - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.9k

Months have passed since Johnny and I first crossed paths in the bleak void of the multiverse. In that time, the Borderlands have evolved from a chaotic, unsettling expanse into a strange but surprisingly reliable haven. I've acclimated to its disjointed blend of makeshift settlements and the diverse, often eccentric band of misfits who call it home. One of them is Laura, a fierce warrior with a rough edge, but a surprising softness beneath her surface. She once tried to explain the nature of my variant in her universe, but when she mentioned Logan, it struck a nerve too deep for me to handle. 

Today, Johnny and I are on a reconnaissance mission near the heart of the void, tasked with scouting for any unusual movements. We trudge through the arid expanse, our boots crunching softly over the dry, sandy terrain. The sky is a turbulent mix of colors, the horizon a jagged line of shifting shadows and light. Alioth.

The constant strain of maintaining control over my powers in this inhospitable space is wearing me thin. I can’t afford to let my guard down. We push through a small sandstorm that sweeps across the landscape, its gritty particles stinging my skin. I keep my eyes sharp and my hand resting on the hilt of my blade—a gift from Electra, a gesture of trust and camaraderie.

The oppressive quiet is almost a physical presence, the weight of isolation pressing down on me. We are about to turn back when a sudden disturbance breaks through the stillness. My heart skips a beat as the faint sounds of a skirmish reach my ears. Johnny’s hand clamps firmly on my arm, his grip conveying urgency.

“Did you hear that?” he growls, his voice low and taut with focus.

“Yeah,” I reply, straining to discern the sounds amidst the howling wind. The unmistakable clang of metal and the harsh grunts of a fight grow louder. “Let’s check it out.”

We advance cautiously, our footsteps muffled by the shifting sands, moving toward the source of the commotion. As we approach a tall, metal structure, I begin to climb it, Johnny following to gain a better vantage point. The structure, a rusted remnant of some long-forgotten machinery, creaks under our weight. From the top, the view unfolds before me, and what I see makes my breath catch in my throat.

Two figures are locked in combat below us, their movements a blur of speed and violence. The first is a Deadpool variant, clad in a distinctive black-and-red suit. He’s wielding a pair of katanas with an expert’s precision, slicing through the air with practiced ease. His opponent is unmistakably Wolverine, his adamantium claws extended and gleaming with a deadly sheen. Logan moves with a predator's grace, slashing and dodging with equal skill.

At first, I can hardly believe my eyes. A Wolverine—how could one of his variants be here? My mind races, struggling to reconcile this unexpected sight with everything I know. The scene is almost surreal, like a twisted mirror reflecting a reality I can barely grasp. I glance at Johnny, whose expression has turned serious, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Is that…?” I start, my voice trailing off, unable to articulate the confusion swirling in my mind.

“Yeah,” Johnny confirms, his tone grim. “Looks like we’ve got some serious anomalies here. We need to find out what’s going on.”

I watch as Deadpool and Wolverine continue their fierce exchange, their movements a violent dance. Deadpool’s agile maneuvers and rapid strikes are met with Logan’s relentless aggression. Despite the chaos, there’s a strange familiarity in their fighting styles—both driven by an intensity that makes them almost mirror images of each other.

“What the hell is going on?” I mutter under my breath, my mind reeling from the disorienting sight.

Johnny’s eyes remain sharp as he observes the conflict below. “We need to intervene. This could spiral out of control, and Cassandra could notice.”

Before I can respond, Johnny is already moving, his voice ringing out with authority as he shouts to the combatants. “Hey! We fight each other, we lose.”

The two fighters momentarily pause, their heads turning toward Johnny as he approaches. Deadpool’s head tilts, his mask concealing any visible expression, but his posture suggests surprise. “Dear god, it’s him.” His voice carries a mix of awe and disbelief. I watch cautiously from above, hesitant to step in, my heart pounding at the sight of Wolverine. He looks so much like my own Logan that the resemblance is almost painful.

Deadpool’s voice rings out with an irreverent edge. “Fair warning, gorgeous. You’re going to encounter some indelicate language. A smidge of ass play, but we’ve been prohibited from using cocaine on camera.”

Johnny, unfazed, urges me to move. “Veil, let’s go.” He turns to address me directly, his tone focused and commanding.

Logan’s head whips up, his eyes locking onto me with a mixture of suspicion and recognition. “Y/N?”

I jump down cautiously, my heart in my throat as I watch Logan tense, his claws extending in readiness. I land, a knee on the ground.

“Now that’s a superhero landing!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Logan demands, his voice a harsh growl, the tension palpable.

Deadpool’s eyes widen in realization. “Buddy, I think that’s—”

“Shut the fuck up. I didn’t ask you.”

In that moment, I see it—the familiar huff of his breath, the furrow of his brows, and the flare of his nostrils. I’d recognize my Logan anywhere. His eyes flicker with something unspoken, a mixture of relief and anguish, and his claws slowly retract.

I step closer, my breath catching in my throat. I can barely hold back the tears as I take another step and break into a small run. Logan meets me halfway, his arms enveloping me in a tight embrace. “I thought you died,” he says, his voice choked with emotion as he buries his face into my neck. I squeeze him tightly, my tears mingling with his.

“The TVA, they sent me away. I tried to find you.” I pause, my voice faltering with the weight of unspoken pain. “The others?” I ask, my eyes searching his for answers. He shakes his head, and my face crumples in grief. I had feared this would happen.

Johnny’s voice cuts through the moment, sharp with urgency. “They’re coming.”

I pull away from Logan at Johnny’s warning, my heart pounding as I steel myself. Logan’s face is a mask of pain, and I feel the crushing weight of my failure. I could have saved them all.

Deadpool’s voice interjects with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “Who’s they?”

The answer comes in the form of an onslaught of vehicles, their jumbled piles of mechanics and scrap metal creating a menacing approach. Toad, Pyro, and Sabertooth are among those heading our way, their presence a foreboding sign of trouble.

Deadpool sidles up beside me, his tone laced with a twisted humor. “Oh, they’re driving angry. Can we pick this reunion up later, pumpkin?” He glances at me, then at Logan, who mirrors my confusion.

Johnny steps forward, his posture exuding determination. “I got this.”

I steady myself, preparing for the impending fight. “Stay close,” Johnny warns, and I move closer to him, readying myself for whatever comes next. Behind me, I hear Logan release his claws, the familiar sound providing a strange comfort amidst the chaos.

The cars circle us, forming a tight encirclement. “Cassandra is going to be giddy when she sees what we caught. You can’t run. Everybody knows that.” Pyro’s voice drips with malice as their vehicles come to a halt.

“You see anyone running, dick for brains? You’re not gonna love what happens next,” Johnny retorts.

Deadpool’s voice breaks in with manic excitement. “Oh, oh my God. Oh my God, he’s going to say it. Ha! Oh my God, he’s gonna say it!”

Johnny grins, preparing for his signature move. “Avengers—”

“—Flame on!” 

“What?”

I look at Deadpool with a mix of bewilderment and exasperation as Johnny ignites in a ball of fire. Pyro watches, amused and relaxed. I create a temporal clone in the sky, urging it to engage as I manipulate time, freezing the action momentarily. As I resume time, Pyro defeats Johnny’s clone with a burst of flames. The real Johnny lands beside me.

“I know you,” growls a voice from ahead, and I turn to see Sabertooth approaching with a predatory glare.

Deadpool’s voice is a mix of awe and irreverence. “Holy shit… Sabertooth… your brother.”

I snap at him. “Deadpool, can it.”

Sabertooth snarls, his voice a deep rumble. “Ready to die!”

Logan prepares to fight, his stance resolute. Deadpool adds with exaggerated seriousness, “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Time! People have waited decades for this fight. It’s not gonna be easy. Maybe not. Shoot the double and take him down. Side control, then full mount and you ground and pound, until he makes no sound because he’s dead.” He’s gripping Logan’s shoulders.

Wolverine’s expression hardens. “Shut the fuck up.”

Deadpool responds with a mix of arousal and admiration. “Oh my God. Okay, good luck. I’m a huge fan.”

The battle erupts with a ferocity that is almost immediate. Logan’s claws flash with deadly precision, and he swiftly decapitates Sabertooth. The severed head skids to a stop in front of Deadpool, who remarks with a grim humor, “What is it, girl? Is there trouble at the well?” It stops at his feet. “Oh, big trouble.” As Deadpool leans down and picks up Sabertooth’s severed head, I can’t help but grimace at the gory mess. Blood drips onto the sand, and Deadpool’s voice rings out with a bizarre sense of theatricality. 

“Behold! The head of your precious queen, Furiosa!” Deadpool announces dramatically, holding the head aloft like a trophy. “I have the Wolverine. I alone control her. You come for me! You come for her!” He points accusingly at Logan. I furrow my brows in confusion. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s pronounced ‘him.’ I’m gender blind. It’s my cross to bear,” he adds with a wink, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Logan, breathing heavily from the intense battle, turns to me. “Who’s next?”

“Toad! You’re up!” Pyro’s voice cuts through the chaos, and I can’t help but let out a mischievous giggle. I watch with amusement as Toad sticks out his grotesque, warty tongue. I pull out my blade, my eyes narrowed in focus. With a quick, precise motion, I slice through the air, severing the tongue cleanly. It falls to the ground with a wet, squishy plop.

“Fucking nasty,” I mutter as the severed tongue writhes like a headless worm. The sight is both disgusting and oddly fascinating. Toad lets out a high-pitched scream of anguish, and as the chaos escalates, someone flips a switch. I turn just in time to see Logan hurtling towards me, and I brace myself. 

Before I can react, Deadpool appears behind me, and the next thing I know, we’re all smashed together against a massive magnet. The force of the impact slams us into a heap, and I feel myself being crushed between Deadpool and Logan.

“Uh-oh. Holy shi—” Deadpool starts to exclaim before the sound is abruptly cut off. 

The giant magnet presses down hard, and I feel a wave of darkness engulf me. The last thing I hear is Johnny’s distant shout, filled with frustration and concern.

Next Part

A/N: Let me know what you think! I’m sort of loving and hating my writing, next part will be Logan’s POV (maybe)

[cgunderwearstories]

The Underwear Volleyball Game

It was a blistering summer afternoon, the kind of day where the sun feels like it's throwing a tantrum, making everything and everyone melt. The local adult volleyball team, "Spiked Punch," had gathered for their weekly game at the park. The sand was so hot it felt like walking on a griddle, and everyone was already sweating through their clothes before the warm-up was even finished.

"Guys," Greg, the team captain, panted as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, "I don’t know about you, but I’m cooking alive here. What do you say we make this a little more…comfortable?"

The team looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

"I’m game," said Tony, who was known for his impulsive decisions. "But let’s keep it PG. How about… underwear only?"

A few chuckles rippled through the group, but as they all stood there, feeling the sun beat down on them, the idea started to sound better and better.

"Alright, let's do it," said Mitch, always the first to jump on board with any wild idea. "It’s not like we haven’t seen each other in worse."

Soon, a chorus of agreement followed, and the players began stripping down, leaving only their underwear.

Team "Boxer Brigade," as they now called themselves, consisted of:

Greg, the team captain, who sported a pair of red boxers with little white skulls on them. A tough guy on the court, but apparently a fan of quirky designs.

Tony, always the life of the party, had on bright yellow boxers with smiley faces all over them. They practically glowed in the sunlight, much like his personality.

Mitch, the wildcard, was wearing boxers with little superheroes on them. Every time he jumped, Spider-Man, Batman, and the Hulk seemed to battle it out in mid-air.

Dave, the quiet one of the group, was full of surprises. His boxers were a deep purple with neon green dinosaurs stomping across them. No one saw that coming.

Sam, the prankster, had on boxers covered in cartoon pizza slices, complete with gooey cheese and pepperoni. It wasn’t clear if he loved pizza that much, or just wanted to mess with everyone’s concentration.

Oliver, the team’s tallest player, sported boxers with little surfing penguins riding waves. The contrast of his tall, lanky frame with the tiny penguins was enough to make everyone giggle.

On the other side of the net was Team Tighties, who had an altogether different look:

Ryan, the co-captain, was rocking classic white tighty whities. But not just any tighty whities—his had the words “Captain Underpants” embroidered on the waistband. It was a power move, really.

Mark, the team's gym buff, was in Jockey white bikini briefs, which left very little to the imagination. He flexed unnecessarily often, making sure everyone knew exactly how much time he spent at the gym.

Jake, the strategist, had on what could only be described as “vintage” tighty whities. They were a bit faded, with a slightly stretched-out waistband. He claimed they were his lucky pair from college.

Brad, the jokester, wore white briefs with little hearts on them. "They’re from Valentine’s Day," he explained, but no one asked.

Steve, the guy who always seemed to have everything in order, wore white cotton panties with the days of the week on the back. Today was “Sunday” written in glittery black cursive.

Frank, the quiet but intense player, had on tighty whities with a single, tiny, embroidered teddy bear on the left side. No one dared to ask about the teddy bear.

As they got into position, the spectators gathered around couldn’t help but laugh, but the teams were undeterred.

Despite their new attire, the game began with a fierce serve from Ryan. The ball was flying back and forth across the net, and the sight of grown men diving in colorful boxers and tighty whities was a spectacle to behold. Every time Mitch jumped, his superheros battled it out in epic slow-motion. Oliver’s penguins seemed to surf along with him as he went for spikes. And Ryan’s tighty whities, emblazoned with “Captain Underpants,” gave him an almost heroic flair, or so he liked to think.

The sun was blazing down on the park, and the game had reached a whole new level of intensity. The teams, Boxer Brigade and Team Tighties, were locked in an epic battle, both on the court and—unbeknownst to one side—off of it.

What no one knew was that Tony, the mischievous trickster of the Boxer Brigade, had secretly brought along a volleyball with a strange, mystical marking on it. Tony had picked it up from an old, dusty shop he’d stumbled upon while on vacation in the middle of nowhere. The shopkeeper had warned him that the ball was "enchanted" and would “stir the passions of any who played with it.” Tony, never one to pass up on a good prank, figured that could only mean fun for the game. He didn’t believe in magic, but he did believe in chaos, and that was just as good.

As the match went on, the ball—glowing faintly in the scorching sunlight—moved between the teams with increasing speed and intensity. The heat, exhaustion, and the competitive spirit were all getting to Team Tighties. But something else was starting to take hold too: the curse.

It began subtly. Ryan, the co-captain of Team Tighties, missed a serve by just a hair. Mark, the gym buff, rolled his eyes and muttered something about how he could’ve done it better. Ryan shot him a glare, his tighty whities (emblazoned with “Captain Underpants”) seeming to tighten as his temper flared.

"You think you could do better?" Ryan snapped, his face flushing red as the heat, and something more sinister, started to boil over.

"Maybe if you spent more time practicing and less time strutting around in those kiddie undies, you wouldn’t miss!" Mark shot back, flexing his biceps for emphasis.

The rest of Team Tighties watched in stunned silence as their two most level-headed players began to bicker. But soon, the curse’s influence spread like wildfire.

Jake, the strategist with the slightly faded tighty-whities, stepped in to try and cool things down, but Brad, always the jokester, saw an opportunity. With a quick motion, Brad yanked on Jake’s waistband, giving him a classic wedgie that sent Jake stumbling forward.

"Hey, what the hell, man?!" Jake yelled, his hands clawing at his back to free his underwear from the deep wedgie. But before he could retaliate, Steve, ever the organized one, piped up with a sarcastic comment about how Jake probably had his lucky vintage undies on the wrong day of the week.

That was it. The curse had fully taken hold.

Chaos erupted on the court. Ryan and Mark, who had once been the pillars of the team, were now locked in a ridiculous fight, each one trying to pants the other. Mark’s grip was strong from his hours at the gym, and he managed to yank Ryan’s underpants down to his ankles. But before Ryan could respond, Mark found his own waistband in Ryan’s grasp, and in a swift motion, Mark’s bikini briefs were down around his knees.

Brad, meanwhile, had moved on from wedgies to full-on tearing. He grabbed the waistband of Steve’s "Sunday" panties and, with a mighty pull, ripped it clean in half. Steve, horrified at the destruction of his perfectly planned outfit, lunged at Brad and managed to get his hands on Brad’s heart-patterned briefs. A rip echoed across the court as Brad’s underwear met the same fate.

Jake, who had finally freed himself from his wedgie, saw Frank standing calmly on the side, seemingly unaffected. Frank, with his tiny embroidered teddy bear on his tighty whities, had always been the quiet one, the calm one. But the curse didn’t care. Jake rushed at Frank, ready to take him down in the same ridiculous manner that was sweeping across the team.

Frank, caught off guard, tried to dodge, but Jake was quick. He grabbed Frank’s waistband and gave it a solid yank. Frank’s tighty whities stretched, but instead of tearing, they snapped back with a resounding thwack that sent Frank stumbling forward. Jake wasn’t done. Fueled by the curse, he reached out and delivered a wedgie so fierce that Frank let out a yelp of surprise.

The scene on the court was one of absolute chaos. The once-proud Team Tighties was now a mess of torn underwear, bruised egos, and sand-covered bodies. The Boxer Brigade, standing on the other side of the net, watched with a mix of horror and amusement. They hadn’t expected the curse to take things this far.

“Uh… should we stop this?” Greg asked, glancing at Tony, who was still holding the cursed volleyball, now glowing slightly in his hands.

“I didn’t think it would actually work,” Tony admitted, looking genuinely concerned for the first time.

“Well, do something!” Mitch yelled, dodging a rogue piece of torn tighty whities that flew across the net.

Tony, unsure of what to do, quickly muttered, “Uh, I reverse the curse! Take it back! Whatever!” and threw the ball to the ground. The glowing ceased immediately.

As if a switch had been flipped, the members of Team Tighties suddenly stopped in their tracks, blinking as if waking from a dream. They looked around at the destruction—torn underwear hanging off in tatters, sand stuck to sweaty, naked bodies, and a few still mid-wedgie.

Ryan was the first to speak. “What the hell just happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” Mark said, looking down at his ruined tighty whities and then at the remains of Ryan’s. “But I’m pretty sure we just ripped each other’s underwear to shreds.”

There was a moment of silence as the reality of the situation set in. Then, as if on cue, everyone burst into laughter. The sight of each other, standing there in what little was left of their underwear, was too ridiculous to take seriously.

“Nice moves there, ‘Captain Underpants,’” Mark said, slapping Ryan on the back, causing him to stumble forward, tripping over his shredded tighty whities.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think your gym buddies would’ve fared any better,” Ryan shot back, laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

The rest of the team was in similar states of disarray, apologizing between fits of laughter. Steve, holding the remains of his Sunday briefs, shook his head with a grin. “Guess I’m gonna need a new pair for next week.”

Tony, still holding the now-normal volleyball, sheepishly approached the group. “Uh, guys? About that… I might have brought a cursed volleyball. Sorry about that.”

The looks he got were a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Tony, you’re an idiot,” Jake said, still trying to pull the last of the sand out of his tattered briefs.

“Yeah, but we’re idiots too, for going along with it,” Brad added, giving Tony a playful shove.

In the end, the game was forgotten in favor of recovering their dignity—or what was left of it. They all promised to meet up again next week, but with one condition: normal volleyballs, normal clothes, and definitely no curses.