#Technically ooc but it doesn't matter

[ocean-queen-official]

Have a couple of Lizzies I did in DTI freeplay

[its-xornoth-bitch]

guys should i write my Rivendell twins angst?

Summary;

An ancient prophecy tells that Prince Xornoth of Rivendell has a destiny. One he must fulfill. So he spent most of his teenage years studying the prophecy, and the legends and stories associated with it. Now he's doing exactly what he's supposed to, to the letter, but everyone hates him. He's just doing what he was told! They should be proud of him, he hates being told what to do! And to make things worse, Scott's not even trying to follow his destiny and everyone's basically worshipping him! How is that fair?! Xornoth is just trying to do the thing he's been told his whole life that he was born to do!

Not included in the summary, but an extra note; Scott is also suffering under this system. Neither of them want to be this prophecy. It's just Xor's pov because there ain't enough Xornoth-centric anything.

[elias-magnusnt]

Elias,

I assume I'm not allowed to have a drink, at present?

Yours,

Jonah

For Christ's sake, you were just cut open. No. No, you foolish boy!

You may get a hug, if we're careful about your stitches.

Or, I do have another statement. Feel like reading about music bands?

[paramounticebound]

---

[magichcuse]

I've been thinking of fun ways for Kit and Viv to coexist while still Making Sense, so here's what I've thought of:

I think this first one might be my favorite because it incorporates Dedrick in it—after Theo finds Dedrick at his door, Kathleen offers to act as Dedrick's mother to prevent gossip. Even though Dedrick is obviously Not Kathleen's Son (and Kathleen would be honest about it with Dedrick because she thinks he deserves to know), most people don't care enough to dispute it. Unfortunately for Dedrick, having Kathleen as a mother doesn't really help offset Theo's neglect because Kathleen wasn't ready to be a mother yet and she's not exactly the warm fuzzy type. By the time Kit comes around (idk how but right now I think enough people ask when Kathleen and Theo are having another kid for her to make Kit out of spite), she's more prepared to be a mother and has learned from her mistakes with Dedrick. I could see this possibly causing tension between Dedrick and Kit. When Patrick finds out Kit was made with magic (Kathleen and Theo sure as hell aren't making her the Old Fashioned Way), he asks her to help him make a baby and Vivian is born. Patrick and Theo get together eventually, but merging the families together is kinda messy.

This is the one I originally came up with—Kathleen agrees to marry Theo to get Damion off of his case, but she also lets Patrick stay with them so he isn't forced into an arranged marriage. She lowkey plays matchmaker/shipper, giving Patrick and Theo many excuses to be left alone together. Kids come in eventually, the order doesn't really matter.

There's also a variant where Kathleen chooses to marry Patrick instead and let Theo stay with them, but it's essentially the same thing except it theoretically gives Theo time to accidentally get someone eggnant.

[its-xornoth-bitch]

THIS! Why?! Scott and Xornoth. Like, I get that across the way there's a fWhip and a Mythical Sausage, but they're from different kingdoms. It makes sense.

Now I adore Empires. And its been a hot sec since i’ve watched Scotts POV so i could be wrong. but one thing that has always irked me about S1 is that Scott’s parents named their kids, Scott and XORNOTH. like?!?! sure heres our youngest Scott and his demon older brother Xornoth. No, hes not a demon yet. but we know.

[aurmisery]

confessions unheard: sickening sweetness.

a ronin b. x gn! reader for 'My Fallen Valentine's.'

okay as you can guess this is going to be ronin x reader ! hope i did this prompt correctly? i just thought of really sweet (unhinged even) fluff.

cw // depictions of gore and viscera, this is ronin we're talking about LMFAO, violence, references to cat-calling/sexual harassment, drinking,

-and i'm sure that's it!

sorry if this is ooc, since this is supposed to be sweet n shit i tried making him more of a loser and uncharacteristically in love??? also i don't even know if he drinks and im sure it's probably not canon for him to be feinin this much 😭

idrk if i have a good grip on his character n all but i tried my best!! sorry for all the filler in this lol

good luck to everyone else participating!

(FUCKING FINALLY I GOT ALL THE WORDS BACK PLUS MORE!?! ENJOY!!!!! and if there's any errors....just ignore it...for my sake...)

word count: 5723 ❤️

something's...wrong, with ronin.

well- you technically could say that out of context and nothing would change, but no, something is terribly wrong with him. and surprisingly, it's not the fact that he's a serial killer with a kill count that rises practically everyday, nor is it the human remains aligning his shelves.

he's been out of it lately. constantly pacing around the reds and blacks of his room, all the while being more...fidgety than usual, unable to focus or parade his regular devil-may-care attitude around.

this is really fucking weird for him; ronin beaufort is the devil, and the devil doesn't change. he remains in the darkest pits of hell and slaps his knee at the idea of it, even.

he's unchanging, eternal, his punishment being no different.

so why couldn't he focus on his damn job and get this fucking filter replaced?

sweat beads down his forehead, grease coating his arms as he strained his neck further beneath the car, wrist flicking with each turn on the drain bolt and eventually...

it loosens, crust fluttering from the grooves of the screw, and the must of... whatever the hell's been sitting in this person's tank slowly infiltrating his nose.

it didn't have the strong petroleum scent, none of the chemical sharpness, and it didn't snake up his nose like new oil did either-

it smelled charred. ashy, even, and the must was evident as he turned the bolt and it did the rest of the work, a thick, almost black sludge filtering out of the tank and all over the concrete ground with a wet thud.

lacking a quick reaction, ronin's brows knitted low, letting a small 'fuck,' pass by his lips as he turned and reached around for wherever the hell he laid the oil catch pan.

he forgot to put it under the plug...somehow.

he's been forgetting to do a lot of things recently, matter of fact.

he shoves the thought down. he probably just needs to stop staring at a screen as soon as he comes home and get more rest, yeah, that's it.

speaking of a screen, when did you last text him? actually, when's the last time you two have held a conversation?

he slides the pan from beside him underneath the gunk-spewing tank, rolling from under the car and grabbing his tools and such off the ground, running his nails through the tips of his low ponytail.

...maybe he should check his phone.

it wouldn't hurt, just to see if there's a notification from you. he did get your number, finally. took a bit of convincing and some back-and-forth before you slid it, but now he has one of his best friends at his fingertips.

best...friends.

the collocation doesn't really fit with you, or at least the image he has of you. sure, you're his friend, a damn good one at that, and if he were to use it the way a normal person would, he would definitely call you his best friend.

but it doesn't feel right for him to call you that.

it's not like you're undeserving of the title, but it just doesn't fit with you. should he create a nice little title for ya?

he grins at the idea, and doesn't seem to notice the blackened oil trickling over his knuckles as he fumbles with his password.

you two are like... peanut butter and jelly? nah, overused, and stupidly corny. you two are like...thelma and louise! ehhh, he's not feeling it. cool reference, but maybe there's something else buried in that skull of his.

he leans against the car door, finally wiping his hand over the thin material of one of his plain work shirts. you can't really wear anything cool when you're working as a mechanic, after all.

tom and jerry? you two do bicker a lot. eh, not enough, also doesn't have that ring to it. bonnie and clyde? hard maybe, it'd be perfect if it was more platonic, besides, you two are just friends anyway.

friends- ugh, he cringes at that. he can't just dilute his partner in crime to a...friend.

naming you his partner in crime is very basic, but considering the underlying context between you two, it's rather fitting, right?

yeah, you're his partner in crime. plus, it doubles as a Set It Off reference in a way. fitting, veeeery fitting, actually.

"yo, beaufort! i'mma need this area in about 2 to 3, you finishin' up over there?"

a burly voice calls out- presumably one of his coworkers, and the twist in ronin's lips gives out- no notification from you.

he types out a quick message to you: 'still Alive?' as he slides his phone back onto the work table, he'll check it later- and only when he's done with this stupid replacement.

he lowers himself onto his creeper, rolling underneath the car whilst pulling the sludge-filled tin from underneath the ink-smeared tank and flushing the rest of the old oil out.

he grabs a wrench, tapping the rust and burnt oil from the plug and screwing it right back to its rightful place. he can do this quick, he's done this hundreds of times before, what's one more?

he's taking out the old tank when a high pitched chime rings out from his work table, his notifications alerting him of a new message.

weirdly enough, his motions freeze on cue and he's about to stand up and check it like it was instinct. but- well, he was still under the car.

a sharp, hollow crack rang through the garage as his head met the steel frame above him. a curse shot from his lips, low and snarled as the pain bloomed across his skull. eyes squeezed shut, he gritted his teeth, pressing a palm against the fresh ache.

for a moment he just...laid there, letting his arms fall flat on the concrete below him, exhaling through his nose and letting the pain settle before daring to move again.

what the hell's wrong with him? he told himself that he wasn't going to check his phone 'till he's done with this, and this is one of the easiest things to do in this field! why is it taking him this long?

through his wavering vision, he could spot two muddied boots slinking besides the car he's under, before they creased and the person sunk into a crouch.

"you okay there, kid?"

ronin rolled his eyes- 'kid', only one or two people here call him that, and the baritone of his voice paired with those boots must mean that the manager was doing his rounds and decided to check in on him.

"'m fine, just layin' on the concrete 'cause i wanna."

a thick rumble reminisce of a chuckle reins deep from the gut of the older man, before he cleared his throat and reached a gloved hand out underneath the car.

"need an ice pack?"

he eyed it- could help if there's any possibility of a bruise or a welt showing up, but as ronin ran a hand down his face, he gave a shake of his head.

it doesn't really hurt that badly anymore.

"nah, thanks though. just...lemme finish this and i'll be on my way out."

a grunt followed, the gloved hand retracting from under the car, and the raggedy pair of boots turned out of view.

alright, fuck it- let's just get this over with.

.

.

.

with a quick brush of his hands, ronin came out to the front, tapping on one of the various workers and letting them know that he was clocking out for the day.

slinging his bag over his arm, he was met with a calloused palm fixed onto his shoulder blade. he turns, and yep- the big guy.

"get some rest, you seem off your game."

the grouch's voice was unusually sincere, and it almost made ronin's gaze soften before the older man gave him an overly enthusiastic tussle of the hair.

"you're still young. sleep is important for you."

he's eyeing the light bags beneath his eyes and ronin could tell, but he only shrugged and gave a sloppy salute in return.

"yeah yeah, no kiddin', i'll be on my 'best' behavior next time. see ya later, old timer."

the gruff man stiffly nodded, immediately disappearing into the busy background as ronin turned and headed for the door.

as soon as the bell overhead chimed, he padded in his passcode and opened his messenger app, pleased to see the '3' icon bubbled besides your nickname.

[writer Darlin']

-'Sadly, my heart is still beating 😭'

-'agent's on my ass so I've been writing another piece for as long as I can whilst the hype is still high'

-'wouldja put me outta my misery?'

and there comes that feeling again, the staticky unease that bleeds into his cheeks, that flows in his chest and even shows through the light tremble of his fingers.

and then the obnoxious twist of his lips, the smile that weaves itself thick and heavy on his lower jaw that he can't seem to rip off, and he steps a bit slower through the sidewalk.

-'nah, i think I'll let ya Suffer a bit longer...'

-'besides, what's a devil to do Without entertainment?'

at this rate, you're probably rolling your eyes out of your own skull because of him, and he'd want nothing less.

[writer Darlin']

-'damn, cruel. shouldn't have expected the devil to be my savior anyway, guess I'll have to ask a sweetheart like Angel to smite me instead of your lame ass 🙄'

as soon as your reply dropped, he responded. no, not out of jealousy or anything stupid like that, but c'mon, be honest with yourself.

-'you've already got Lucifer himself staring over your shoulder, don'tcha think you're being selfish by hoarding all of the Divine power?'

he knows he's being a little shit, but that's just how he is when it comes to his best buds.

he's scrolling through your previous text messages, and it's enough to put a strain over his heartstrings. it's always a dance with you, and he wouldn't have it any other w-

...he nearly walks into a street light.

awkwardly shoving his phone back into his pocket, he decided to worry about getting home alive without some random slip-up ending in his death or worse.

yikes- yeah, he just needs a good kill and a few more hours of rest, and everything will go back to normal. that's all he needs.

...did you respond to his text yet?

.

.

.

maybe ronin was back to his usual self, because after going home and cleaning up, he felt like a new man.

it could've just been ridding himself of the grease and powder from his workplace, or maybe it was the thrill seeping its way back into his bones as he ran a finger over the cold, heavy iron of his crowbar.

changing back into his usual aesthetic helped too, reds and blacks with accents of silver coating him from head to toe, devil horns peeking atop the grey and black fabric of his beanie.

now that he's in uniform, pep flooded his step as he threaded his blackened nails through the silk of his hair, sliding out through his front door and into the night.

who's going to be his lucky pick for today?

.

.

.

he found his victim rather quickly.

greasy brown hair hung in uneven clumps around his sunken face, a pair of bloodshot eyes, watery and half-lidded, scanned the street with a predatory gleam, glinting with something both lazy and lecherous.

and each time a woman pedalled by, presumably hoping to get home before the night sky blackened further, his lips would curl into a crooked grin.

his targets were few and far between, but he made sure that every one of them knew that he had a mouthful of things to say about them right off the bat.

...no matter how young they looked.

it was almost funny, he wanted a victim and he found the best candidate as soon as he set out searching. who'd miss a scumbag like him? uptown needs their savior, after all.

it's more than enough to warrant bashing his head in for the night, and the perfect opportunity to clear his own in the meantime.

the narrow walls of the alley were slicked with grime and shadows. overhead, a single flickering street light was trying its' best to illuminate the corner with its green-hued flare.

its dying glow cast over the alley, draping its rickety textures in a haunting atmosphere- fitting, given that ronin had doused these walls with blood before.

the pavement was littered with crumpled newspapers, shattered glass, and puddles of murky water that reeked of decay. a nauseating stench hung heavy in the air- a blend of rotting food, damp mold, and something metallic and sour, like old blood.

scraping his crowbar along the exposed pipes decorating the filthy path, he tapped it against the dingy metal, once, twice- until finally, the scumbag turns his head, yellow teeth fixed into a scowl.

got him.

ronin's fingers flexed around the warming iron of his trusty weapon, before lifting it and raking its teeth against the brittle brick, a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard grating through the stale air.

"cut that shit out," a low snarl, warning, biting, even. the man's now leaning uneasily over his own two feet, glass bottle tight within the drunk's grasp.

ronin whistled out a long, sharp burst, dragging his tool against the cracked concrete, glass occasionally crunching under his platforms.

"you wanna go, asshole?" the pig snarled, vocal cords strummed with copious amounts of alcohol and mucus as his wrist wiped over his running nose.

the drunken bravado of this prick is more than enough to have ronin's fingers itching to burrow through his abdomen- to wreak havoc across this bastard's body and let him know what hell truly looks like.

the drunkard's now storming towards ronin, almost tripping over his own shoes as he slung slurred words and insults towards him.

little did he know, he was just luring him deeper within the emptied twists and turns of the alley, just to ensure that he gets enough time to hear him scream without any unneeded innocents stopping by and getting an eyeful of gore beyond their wildest nightmares.

eventually, the lone streetlight stopped its' flickering, dimming into a low hum buzz as its' glow grew weaker and weaker- and finally into pitch black.

how well can a drunk man see in the darkness?

.

.

.

it was the same routine. wash, rinse, repeat. mangle the disfigured body into whatever position he wanted and splatter the newly-killed man's innards all over the alley concrete for all to judge.

but the experience was....rather lacking. he barely had a taste of the rush, of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. it died out quickly, and he's right back to thinking of you as he slips through the night and right back into his sanctuary.

[goreboy] 04:06

-'hey Angel is cupid Also an Angel?'

[Angelic] 04:07

-'Well that's a lot of capitalization, especially with the A's but I don't think so? I think he's some god or something in Greek mythology, but I'm not too sure. Why?'

[goreboy] 04:07

-'you two have wings Good enough'

-'tell him to fuck off please and Thanks!'

-'and hey, you know i can't resist that Sweet sweet alliteration.'

[Angelic] 04:07

'How do I deal with you...'

'But wait wait wait, what does that mean? Cupid?'

he feels instant regret- he shouldn't be texting or ranting or whatever the fuck he's doing to angel right now. she's got her own shit going on, and he's skipping like a school girl in a field of daisies- well, preferably bodies, over the thought of...

you. god, it makes his heart hurt. why? how would he know?

he has to hunt you down for this- you definitely cast some weird spell on him to make him feel this strongly for whatever reason and it's absolutely destroying him.

sure, he cares about you, deeply. you're really close and he enjoys being around you, but he didn't know that hanging out with you a couple of times would amount to...this.

and now he's spiraling inside of his own head, falling apart at the seams so easily, and he doesn't even know why.

[goreboy] 04:13

-'oh god bless my bleeding Heart'

-'...'

-'it's Nothing.'

[Angelic] 04:13

'Ronin, is there something going on?'

being sardonically impulsive was a trait that rarely bit ronin in the ass, especially when his instincts were usually sharp, but when it did- it wasn't a fun time.

tucking his head in a bandage-draped palm, he dangled his fingers over the keyboard, only for them to hang motionlessly.

what does he even say to that? "i'm falling in love with one of my best friends and for the first time i'm too much of a pussy to admit it! woe is me!" give him a break.

[Angelic] 04:16

-'You don't have to tell me anything, but if there's anything going on, you know you have a safe place with me, no matter how irritating you are.'

-'Regardless, you really should sit down and just process anything that could be troubling you. Get some sleep in and see how you feel in the morning about everything, y'know?'

'-And if it's cupid related, I don't mind playing matchmaker. 🤍'

ronin couldn't help the smile creeping up on his lips. it helped, y'know? remembering that he had someone in his corner who he could confide in when things got heavy.

[goreboy] 04:17

-'Noted'

-'...'

-'thanks. for y'know, Everything.'

-'and that last bit seems rather Interesting despite the fact that you're basically a Lamer version of cupid'

[Angelic] 04:18

-'I hate you oh so very much 😭'

a dry chuckle vibrates through his chest, and he's shutting off his computer, letting the screen fade to black.

she's right, though. instead of moping in self pity, he should sleep on it, maybe even pray that he won't feel anything for you when the sun rises and he gets out of bed.

he lazily sets his phone on his nightstand, not bothering to plug it up before he had a double take, hitting the power button and reading the numbers in bold.

"4:20 AM."

didn't he say something about getting more sleep?

shit.

.

.

.

he wished he could say that sleep did something for him in the grand scheme of things...

it did little to nothing, especially with the time he went to sleep. now he's restless, maybe a tad manic, and driving himself absolutely mad at the thought of you.

god, it feels as though his teeth are about to fall straight out of their sockets- and not just because he's been slapping himself dumb around his room all night.

he's been thinking- way, way, way, way too much. thinking about his feelings, what he wants, if there's a possibility of you feeling anything too, if you want him too.

further in the day, he thought that perhaps a drink or two will smooth the rough edges, shut his brain up enough for him to do the usual, but after a glass, or two...maybe three, he wasn't getting any closer to salvation.

he still thinks about it- those rare times that you've two hung out and you would casually slink an arm over him or play with his hair as you two binged another horror franchise. the times where he'd turn to watch your reaction at a movie heavily relying on shock value and how you'd scoot a little closer to him after it.

was he just imagining that? did your heart beat no faster at the idea of being closer to him? was all of this normal for you? whenever you went outside to do something simple, like checking the mail, did you not spot something that reminded you of him?

because as he's trailing down the countless alleyways he has memorized like the back of his hand, everything he looks at sends his mind into a blurry fuzz of everything you.

he didn't even notice the storm clouds rolling in, and the low grumble of faraway thunder did little to dissuade him from traveling farther from home, despite his lack of jacket or umbrella.

he felt like a stray dog wandering the streets with a maw full of bleeding rot, looking for something to devour that'll push the feeling down.

but there's nothing to do to push it down, to cast it out of sight and out of mind, and he's too full of feelings that he doesn't know what to do with-

should he pick out another kill for him to waste his time on?

normally, that'd be something he'd consider, something he'd chase out and bide his time on until the adrenaline, the rush, the high- would hopefully push you out of mind.

but he knows it'll just fail, like it did the day before.

the sky's weeping heavier at this point, and he's just now wringing out the black fabric of his shirt, drenched beyond relief at this rate.

he shrugs it off like it's whatever, as if the thunder and fat raindrops pummeling down on him was nothing more than an inconvenience, and he decides to retreat back home for the day.

each stride through the darkening streets feel almost weightless as he trails down the empty sidewalks, and it's right there.

his sanctuary.

except he turns the doorknob and it's... locked.

a frown bags over his lower jaw, and he tries it again. nope, locked.

and then a hollered "i'll be right there!" muffles behind the door. wait, what?

he looks forward, noticing the unfamiliar 'welcome!' rug at the doors front steps, and the change in scenery around him.

the door opens, and before he can hot tail it out of there, you're peeking out from behind the frame, and your brows furrow.

fuck, he's so screwed.

did he really self sabotage himself so badly in his drunken stupor that he walked to your front door instead of his?

because now he gets to see you- in person. and he doesn't know if he can handle that right now, if he can stand face to face with you knowing how his heartbeat quickens at the sound of your voice, nonetheless seeing you right before him.

you're motionless for a second, eyes beading over his form in a vertical line before you craned the door wide open, a mix of concern and confusion etched onto your face and he sobered up at the sight immediately.

don't you see that you're opening the front door to the worst person right now? fuck, why did you decide to answer? you shouldn't have, you really, really shouldn't have.

it felt like he was dying of embarrassment, and death had never felt so foreign and uneasy in his chest as he gave you a nervous grin.

"uh, hey."

his voice was dry and nearly died out as soon as the words left his lips, a faint crack ending off of his awkward greeting.

and suddenly, he could feel the way his pants weighed more than usual and how his shirt stuck uncomfortably close to his skin, fat raindrops still pummeling him under the dark sky.

"is it...normal, for you to be standing in the pouring rain?"

it was a jab, a friendly one at that, but your lighthearted words were simultaneously laced with...shock? surprise? maybe pity?

he pulled at his collar, sheepishly rubbing at the nape of his neck as water trickled down against his spine, causing a shiver to stream through him.

"uh, yeah-yep. y'know, just, uh...getting some fresh air."

getting fresh air in the middle of a thunderstorm? yeah, right. he was hoping to lean into the dry humor of it all and maybe crack a smile out of you that would allow him to brush past the inevitable 'what the fuck are you doing here?' question, but fate said otherwise.

"well, maybe you should come inside? i mean-you're soaked and the night's only gonna get darker."

immediate no. he cannot let himself step through your doorway, he cannot delve between the walls that's everything...you. that's the LAST thing he needs right now, last thing he should surround himself with.

you tug at the wet fabric of one of his sleeves, as if trying to guide him into the warmth of your home, but he only nails his palms over the ridges of your doorframe, enabling him still.

"no, i'd rather stay riiiight here, thank you."

you side eyed the worsening weather at his back and grazed your pupils over to his, staring at him as if he said something funny.

"ronin-"

"'m fine where i stand, thanks darlin'."

you frown, your brow raised strictly as if you were about to scold him, but you held your tongue for whatever reason, as if you could tell that he really didn't want to step inside.

"fine, but if you get a cold and i have to take care of your ass, don't tell me i didn't warn you."

is it bad that the scenario doesn't sound too bad to him?

his heart's working against him in ways he never knew it could, and before he could shut himself up, he's leaning further towards you, eyelids heavy and irises locked onto yours.

"you'd take care of me if i were sick?"

he didn't realize how desperate he was coming across, but when he heard the immediate drop in his tone and the lack of crypt in his voice, he felt a flutter in his chest. fuck, you're killing him.

the attitude slathered all over your face phases over, shifting into light solemn as you cross your arms, giving a small nod.

"yeah, of course. i care about you,"

fuck, you're killing him!

"-you're one of my bestest friends, after all."

oh my god, put him out of his misery already!

he's never rolled his eyes harder, he could've sworn he saw the man on the cross himself for a moment and he could've set on his knees as a believer right then and there.

maybe he should ask for the lord to strike him down here and now, and hopefully with enough repentance he'll die on the spot.

unluckily for him, you noticed his reaction, the way his head turned and his x'ed out pupils narrowed and slid out of view. the way his head veered away from you and his nostrils flared momentarily.

now you're curious, and you already know what happens to those who question things they probably shouldn't. curiosity killed the cat, 'n all.

"well, you have something to say, yeah? this is the first time i've seen satan himself shivering, so should i assume that hell finally froze over?"

the jest in your voice was unmistakable, but so was the genuine undertone of your question. he wished he could turn you away and soothe your curiosity with a toothy grin that told you all you needed to hear-

but with how he's standing ahead of you like a deer in headlights, he'd reckon that it wouldn't do much to salvage this situation.

"i don't," he began, only to slap a hand over his face with his index and middle fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i, i can't, it's..."

he drawls off, and he can feel it, the excuses longing to claw their way out of the confines of his throat, the overwhelming need to escape your gaze, and the hesitation churning in his abdomen.

"wow, whatever the hell you're going on about is really fucking you up, huh?"

you weren't wrong. this was definitely out of character, especially for ronin out of all people.

you clicked your tongue, rolling it over your teeth as you mentally noted the slight tremor in his body.

"are you...sure you don't want to come in?"

your voice falls on deaf ears, he's too absorbed in it all, in everything you do down to the smallest things. it's embarrassing, really, the dilation of his pupils following the view of your tongue running over the angle of your canines.

the sight should strike terror into his bones and he knows it. he should be running for the hills at this point - what can he even do to tilt the odds in his favor?

and yeah, he's fucking horrified. horrified at the way that his face doesn't pale in fear, but hazes over with the lightest pink. horrified at the way his heartstrings tense and pull, as if his heart was trying to ruthlessly beat itself out of its' bindings.

you're the scariest thing he's come across. the careless ruffle of your hair, the rosy pigment blotched over your bottom lip, and that...casual look in your eye. the way light dances and reflects in your irises like the prettiest firework show he's ever seen.

you're bad. really fucking bad for him, you're the worst thing he's laid eyes on, and he knows it once your head tilts in confusion and his gut wrangles high into his throat. what the fuck are you doing to him? do you know what the fuck you're doing to him?

you're probably deeper in the pits of hell than he is, and that's saying something. you're dangerous! akin to some monstrosity that the likes of man couldn't even fathom.

he was wrong for questioning your lack of survival instincts when you opened the door for him, he should've been questioning his own when he wandered to your front door like a lamb to the slaughter.

instead of having your aorta between his fingers, you have his wrangled between yours, and you don't even fucking know it.

the crackle of thunder right down the street is enough to wake him from his internal monologue, and he realizes that you're basically shaking him dry, snapping your fingers before him in a pitiful attempt to 'wake him up'.

"jesus christ," you heave, and you're grabbing him by the wrists, the heat of your fingers locking around his pulse burned his cheeks into a brighter shade of pink that, for once, made him look more alive than corpse.

"ronin, talk to me. tell me what's going on, please, you're not acting like yourself, and that says something."

the sound of his lifeline thumps heavy in his eardrums, even as he digs his teeth into the crackled, slightly bloodied mess of his bottom lip. he can feel the random, morbid variations of everything he's been feeling coursing through his veins.

they taste odd, unbalanced over the piercing on his tongue, and he doesn't even know how to describe it himself. fuck it, he's here right now, he needs to do something about these feelings while they're still fresh and bleeding, but all the ideas garble up into pathetic word vomit once he gets a hold of them.

he's eyeing the wet glisten of your lash line, and he notices you're now, too, partially in the rain. the hands holding his wrists now interlocked with his, fingers crisscrossing over one another.

he's thinking about it all; the times you've shared, ranging from your hangouts to your gaming sessions, and they all were...

perfectly imperfect.

yeah, the time you two went out for ice cream and not even two steps away from the truck, your scoops splattered all over the pavement. or the last time you guys hung out over at his place and blackjack- his pet rat, started nibbling on your fingers and you nearly dropped the damned thing.

nothing ever seemed to go as planned when your paths crossed. it was as if the gods themselves conspired to curse your time together, weaving misfortune into every interaction, a twisted, modern-day version of romeo and juliet. yet, no matter how things unraveled, the night would always end the same: with laughter, warmth, and the unmistakable feeling that none of it mattered as long as you were together.

the stupidest shit could happen on the days that you've planned to see each other on, and no matter what, you two would find a way to work it out, without fail.

standing here now, would telling you ruin everything that's been? divide you two back on your separate roads, the way fate wants it to be?

he's tired of guessing.

twisting black painted nails around the width of your hand, he moves your palm up to the plain of his chest, and your brows raise. he lays it close to his collarbone, but far down enough that the flat of your hand meets the rapid thudding in his body.

"feel how fast my heart's beating?"

you nod.

"would'ja drive a stake through it? spare me my autonomy, quiet the rhythm in my ears and leave me no longer breathing?"

he's closer to you now, the x's in his pupils trailing your every feature, taking in the way your cheeks flush and your lids lower.

"would you consider that mercy? no longer needing to confront your emotions?"

he gives you the slightest smile at your response, the void in his gaze sucking you in as he lays a thumb under the curve of your lower lids, brushing over your cheekbone, smearing a few water droplets across your cheek.

"who wouldn't? that's the beauty in being human, in feeling all these...things. gives us so many weaknesses, so many flaws, but so, so much to discover."

he's almost grinning ear to ear at the sight of your eye twitching irritably, a tight lipped smile spread on your face as you huff. he can tell you want him to get to the point.

so he will.

"ronin, stop all the cryptic talk. just, tell me what's going o-"

"i'm in love with you."

and the warmth pumping through your cheeks increased by tenfold, for a moment, the cogs in your brain just... stalled. you blinked, once, twice, staring at him like he'd just spoke in a language you didn't know.

"wait... what?" the words tumbled out before you could stop them, a mix of confusion and disbelief your words.

"you... you like me?"

"did i stutter?"

"no, no, i-i just...like, like like me?"

it was adorable; how doubting you were, your words almost frantic. and it wasn't in a 'ew, you like me?' type of manner, it was more of a 'oh my god, you like me? me!?' way.

he now has both of his hands cupping your face, thumbing along the corner of your lips and you're even warmer- or maybe it's just because he's drenched in rain water and you're only slightly damp.

"is there somethin' wrong with me for likin' you?"

and just like that, the tables turned. you're the one who's flustered and trying to explain yourself while he's just smug watching your panicked display with a grin.

"no! no, it's just- i'm...dumbfounded. i mean, i didn't really see it coming. are you...sure?"

he's more than 100% sure, but if you need some more convincing, he doesn't mind.

"want me to prove it to ya?"

his jaw's already nearing yours and a low timbre wedges in the tangle of his vocal chords, words sweet and curious.

his question was rhetorical- he knew you wanted him to, and your irises giving his lips a quick glance confirmed it.

"well? i'm waiting in the wings."

you give a slow nod, hands running up to the broadness of his shoulders before he dipped forward and...

the soft pout of your bottom lip met the cracked surface of his, and it couldn't have been more perfect, the trailing of your fingers rising through the soaked locks sticking to his skin. you're warm, really warm, and he doesn't want to let you go.

and suddenly he can breathe again, the tension compressed in his body releasing all at once, he, for one, finally feels free at the maddening press of your skin to his.

the faint taste of alcohol dances between you two, and your tongue gives a light swipe over his bottom lip in response to it, as if trying to get a better taste.

have you come from the abyssal sky above to grace him salvation? to save him from the endless pits of his own sin? to cut him apart with gentle hands, to dissect him with hushed promises of alleviating the burning ache in his chest?

because the warm cradle of your embrace sets his soul alight, and he's burning up like a dry weed catching the first sparks of summer's relentless rays.

it's been so long since he was last touched like this. since he's had someone to cradle, someone to hold, to kiss, to love.

he's been saved by you, and not in the biblical sense, no, he's damned no matter how you look at it. but he no longer feels lost, no longer yearning, craving something he thinks he can't have.

eventually, you have to pull away, his arms still slung over the dip of your back, and yours still around the nape of his neck.

"whaddya say? wanna be my partner in crime?"

you cringe, your nose scrunching in utter distaste at his title for you and you pitch a playful whack on his chest, a curl lingering on your lips.

"were you always this cheesy?"

he's about to respond with a teasing quip back, but then-

"ah-achoo!" his head pivots away from you and into the crease of his elbow, sneezing into his arm and he sniffles quietly.

"i uh, might have to take you up on that offer you proposed earlier?"

"see! i told you!"

----

hi teehee thanks for reading sorry this definitely sucks ass in some parts bc i rushed this last minute, lots of things here were just made up/headcanons about his character

i....i finished editing it....2000 words officially brought back from the dead...i couldn't have done it without the power of friendship ‼️

[kazucee]

! WITH GENTLE HANDS TO HOLD.

(the gentle scholar who's completely smitten for you: soft/fluffy Veritas Ratio relationship HCs)

AN: the brainrot is hard with this one boys. Think of this as a pre-hc post before I post the Reca fic that I have yet to write the ending for. Also possibly ooc TT? IDC JUST GIVE ME SOFT DOWN BAD MEN.

The gentle scholar to your dismay has always been an early riser. Making it a habit to wake up before you and running through his morning routine like clockwork. You're not even surprised when you awake to the other side of the bed completely empty but the aroma of the breakfast he makes for you instantly draws your attention away from the lack of body heat (or lack of a body in general). Despite you constantly waking up cold you're always greeted by a warm delicious breakfast, a cup of coffee brewed just the way you like it, and him freshly showered and smelling of cedarwood and mint. He always makes it a point to eat breakfast with you (if he's not busy that is). Occasionally you'd try to wake up early with him, setting an alarm beforehand with the most obnoxious sounds to get you to wake up. Usually it doesn't work, waking up almost everyone in the entire galaxy except you. Unless you requested for him to specifically wake you up at this time, he'll always let you sleep in and let you wake up on your own accord. He finds your resting state oddly endearing and would often spend the first five minutes of his morning routine just admiring you.

He has found out that the most effective way to wake you up is through the simple act of kissing your forehead, something he does everyday without fail. It doesn't matter if you're sick or mad at him, he'll still do it. It starts with a small peck, then a press of his own forehead against your own, then a small murmur of ‘good morning’ before one last chaste kiss to the skin between your eyes.

Coffee in the morning was a sacred time for you both. He has your preferences mastered and takes his time to make it according to your taste. He brews the coffee first before going to wake you up so that they'd have time to cool down and so that you'd wake up to the scent of freshly grounded coffee beans (which he knows you love)

He ironically likes matcha (though he still prefers coffee more) and gets offended whenever you label it as 'sweet grass water', that leads to you both getting into a 20 minute debate over whether or not it is worth the hype. He's dead serious. So are you.

He will never leave the apartment without saying goodbye to you. It's either verbally or through the form of a sticky note saying 'see you tonight my love'.

He is genuinely interested and often invested in your interests. Being with a man who values knowledge has its ups, whenever you find a new thing to obsess about you immediately have a person by your corner who's willing to listen to all your rambles. He'd definitely educate himself on the matter as well and help you do deep dives and research about it (it's both of your past times). He likes it because it makes you happy and because it's technically something new to learn about. He loves finding new topics to talk to you about and he always wants to make sure he's intellectual enough to actively engage in a proper conversation with you.

PLANS. OUT. YOUR. DATES. (IDC WHAT Y'ALL SAY) he will be the type to have memorized all your favorite places, where to take you when you're craving something savory, where to take you when you're feeling depressed. He does the work and probably has a physical copy of all the fun places he could take you on depending on your mood. Now he can easily figure out what places you'd want to try out and which ones to actively avoid.

He is the epitome of self-care (BRO HAS A LITERAL LIGHTCONE WHERE HES IN A BUBBLE BATH) you both have days where you just soak in a bubble bath with him reading a book and you relaxing against him, occasionally he'd read to you. Face masks? Yes. Nail care? Sure why not? He loves doing self care things with you (or just spending time with you in general, the soft skin is a bonus)

Would often gift you novels or books that he knows you'll enjoy. You'll be pleasantly surprised to see his handwriting on the margin because he had annotated it beforehand, and to your dismay he will quiz for fun on the book from time to time to test if you actually read it (you always do.)

He's not big on matching clothing but would get matching jewelery, he doesn't wanna hide that he's obsessed with you but he doesn't want to flex or show you off like you are some kind of object. He would get you both matching rings, matching bracelets, matching necklaces, and will always wear them without fail. He's usually subtle about it but whenever anyone asks him about them he'd answer you.

He ironically likes calling you pet names darling, love, idiot (endearingly), but he loves your name, he's probably the type to know the meaning behind your name as well.

Dating him is not spoiler free unfortunately, he will accidentally spoil the end of a movie or book because he's already read the reviews of it online, and has watched the analysis of it before watching it with you.

Also will commentate on the movie: "that's dumb why didn't she just-"

LOVES TO ARGUE WITH YOU, he doesn't care if you're degrading him in the most foul way. He will relish you getting angry and starting fights.

HE WILL. NEVER. RAISE HIS VOICE AT YOU. it'll always be that stupidly calm yet smug one, he is a firm believer in the 'loudest voice doesn't mean you win the argument' idea and he goes by that a lot. He can be condescending however, the type that makes you want to punch his stupid face.

"such unfortunate language. only those who cannot express themselves intelligently would resort to such crude substitutions in vocabulary" — Ratio at some point (he was losing the argument)

Begrudgingly allowed you to paint on his white alabaster sculpture that he sometimes wears, there's a trace of you everywhere on him, the design changes from time to time. He probably made you one as well.

He keeps all the gifts and letters you give him in a special box and has a picture of you on his person every time.

He probably has tabs on everything, the date of your first kiss, the date of your first date, your favorite color. It's all inside a little notebook.

Doesn't even need to say I love you because his eyes say it all, he looks at you as if you had placed all the stars in the sky. it's a subtle look but over the time you were able to identify it.

[isa-ghost]

I genuinely intend to remain reinforcing that Phil Does Not Want To Do Lore On The Realm because I don't want the community's pushing to send him to the point of never doing anything like it again (I've seen this lowkey happen before in other fandoms).

BUT...

I see such a clear pipeline from trPhil's "no fuck you go away I'm burying previous trauma and pain in logging obsessively" to some sort of "fine, I admit I'm miserable because I lost family and friends AGAIN, and I will begrudgingly try soothing it with letting people in my bubble again" type surrender moment brought on by trSneeg because he's so persuasive and makes excellent points with pure logic and reason and the idea makes me salivate.

Obviously it's all 100% ooc jokes and even if it WAS intentional rp, we have no guarantee that trPhil is "main" (specifically q) Phil, but technically trPhil HAS vaguely opened up to trSneeg about the grief and scars he has in the wake of losing his children. trSneeg knows trPhil is bitter and still grieving. He can see that logging, no matter what trPhil insists, is Not helping him actually heal. It's just barely letting him cope.

It's the same old tricks rpPhil has always turned to to deal with baggage, immersing himself as much as he can in physical labor of some kind. His projects back home in Hardcore, the "trains in his basement" in DSMP after he had to kill his own son, all the building and looting and protesting he did on QSMP any time the kids were taken away from him.

And I think we've seen more than enough evidence to show that trSneeg could 100% keep his cool through all the stubborn and heated refusal trPhil would meet with his attempts to convince him to just be willing to socialize and invest in people again. Not even to join Yellow, just let himself have meaningful connections again, rather than sticking to tolerating his and trFit's presences (most of the time). Even though trPhil's evasive behavior has been reinforced (probably tenfold) after The Keepers assaulted him and destroyed his wings AGAIN, I think with the tenacity and confidence trSneeg exudes, he could slowly eventually coax trPhil into opening up again. Even if just a tiny bit.

Especially because he sees why trPhil is so adamant on sticking to his guns rn, he knows it's not JUST the factions and snails. He'd see it even if trPhil hadn't straight up told him multiple times already. Right away, trSneeg would make it very clear that trPhil would have no obligations to anyone or anything, that socializing doesn't mean he HAS to save people from the peril they face or take a side in the interpersonal conflicts they have or help them all figure out what the deal is with the eyes or the Keepers or anything else.

He doesn't have to put up with a snail that reminds him of his lost kids, he doesn't have to choose a side like it's Purgatory again, he doesn't have to get involved with the horrors people are going through like he often did with the islanders, he doesn't have to help solve/understand whatever is going on in The Realm like he did with The Federation and The Codes and everything else fucked up and strange on Quesadilla Island. If having friends is all he wants, he can have that.

And even if trSneeg STILL couldn't sway trPhil with All That, that would mean we'd get a gut-wrenching storyline about how after so many years of loving and losing again and again throughout his immortal life, rpPhil knows that pain is a part of love whether you want it to be or not, you can't have one without the other. He can't make connections here without signing up for the stress and pain that comes with it because that's what it means to care about people.

It's not just the most recent time putting him off from it all, it's an entire cycle he's been forced to suffer in for as long as he can remember, because that's what being immortal entails. He wants the cycle to end already. He can't stand being fully alone right now whether he admits it or not thanks to QI. His determination to isolate himself as much as he can while he's in The Realm is to slowly reacclimate himself to being alone so he can tolerate it in his home world again. When the loneliness gets unbearable, that's when he has no qualms with being pestered by people or goes to see what everyone else is up to. As that happens less over time, he'll go home again now that complete isolation doesn't hurt anymore (or more accurately: now that he's reconvinced himself it doesn't).

All of this is to say, trSneeg is 100% the guy that would break the ice under trPhil and get his story rolling, whether that means he embraces the pain of loving and caring again, or reinforces how hellbent he is on trying to escape it.

[its-xornoth-bitch]

@elvenkingsmajor I think you'd enjoy this <2

Scott and Xornoth know the differences between each other’s faces; the sharper line of Xornoth’s nose, the arch of Scott’s eyebrows. But the servants, apparently, do not - because Scott and Xornoth switched out their colour-coded blue and purple headdresses and ceremonial robes this morning, and it’s been an hour, and absolutely nobody has noticed.

The twin heirs of Rivendell spend the day pretending to be each other. It goes pretty much flawlessly, although not without a healthy dose of sibling bickering.

-

(yet another treat for 48 hour extreme timed challenge exchange! reblogs appreciated :D)

[scribs-dibs]

SYSTEM ERROR: A SECOND EXCEPTION

RAHHHHH MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! THIS IS MY SECRET SANTA GIF FOR THE SUPER DUPER REALLY COOL SHRIMP LOVER @tetrachrxmacy !!!!! i hope you like it !@!1!1!1!1!1

not explicitly romantic (kinda a found family typa thing. youve been RECRUITED!1!!1!1!1), depictions of (minor) blood and injuries, reader is referred to using they/them, svarog mightttt be ooc....but I DID TRY!1!1!1!, Clara is in here quite a bit, i think that's it?

wc; ~2.2k

"Inquiry," Comes the thundering pulse of Svarog's voice, "Why did you risk your life for Clara?"

The unfortunate drawback to humans is their inherent weakness.

Emotionally and physically unstable. Failure to adapt to a multitude of climates. Consistently distracted by irrelevant matters.

Weak.

Svarog is a machine, and as such, knows very little of empathy. There is no need for feelings, for they imply a lack of logic. There is nothing logical about the way humans feel, with their emotions so influential it often becomes their undoing. There is little point to it all, he thinks. If anything, it seems the most logical course of action is to discard emotions altogether, so humans can function and think better. Survive better.

So matters such as this can be avoided.

This is yet another deficiency in humans: their impulse. It is your impulse, your lack of thought that has landed you here.

The Overworld has changed, compared to the stone-cold tomb he was to protect the Underground from. But it is still starkly bright, an expanse of pure white and tall, sharp trees. Against it, a figure– yours, no doubt, for his calculations of faultless, laying in hiding against some rock and rubble. Blood has stained the fresh white snow, blotches of crimson dragged along in an unsightly path to you. Your hand is dyed a shocking red, too, inadequately covering a gash near your side.

Analysis: Across your abdomen, a long, superficial gash. The cause: Likely the result of an altercation, as is normal with your recklessness. On your face, a smile. Conflicting information.

Such matters are none of his concern. You are, and have always been, a human as ordinary as any other. As such, it is only logical you are just as weak as any other human. The only reason he's stepped foot up here is because–

"M-Mr. Svarog, do you...think you can help?"

The automaton takes a moment. This is the voice of Clara. His precious Clara. Who has flushed, tear-stained cheeks from stressing the urgency of your situation. He kneels and rests a hand on her head. It is his best effort at comfort.

Svarog doesn't want much to do with you. You are unpredictable, brash, and quite obviously lack self preservation skills. Most notably, these traits are all horrible examples for Clara, but despite this you are her dear friend. As such, he has been forced to tolerate you, time and time again. You have accompanied Clara on a number of excursions, but none of them involved danger. Part of him, tempted by the technicality of you not technically being from the Underground, wants to just leave you here as payback for putting Clara in this position.

But as Svarog gazes at his daughter again, panicked, ruby eyes illuminated by the pink light of his singular one, he cannot bring himself to say that saving you is a waste like he wants to. This is another thing that sets Clara apart from every other human: It is always difficult to say no to her.

He lets out a sound, then. One that would expel steam if he produced it, heavy and almost tired-sounding...if he were human, it would be a sigh.

"Very well. For you, Clara."

(And from what you can tell, further away and with your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you swear his tone is softer with her. You are almost warmed from the brutal cold at the sight of it. When Svarog stands again, and the soft, near-fuzzy light of his eye sharpens again as he focuses on stepping closer to you.)

It is Clara who takes the lead, running and almost tripping over herself just to land at your side. Svarog tenses. (Your threat level is low, but not zero.) Vaguely, he makes out the sound of her desperate apologies, but for what he does not know. Humans find themselves hurt for a number of reasons, none of which are the fault of his dear daughter.

But then--

"I'm so sorry! Yo-you saved me- and then…and then I left! And- and there's so much blood--"

"You only left to get help, Clara. It's okay, see?"

He appreciates that you use your unbloodied hand to point to him, your smile unwavering but still tense.

"Help is here."

Svarog supposes that changes his view of you, slightly. Your injuries were not the result of your own ever-foolish recklessness, but out of responsibility for Clara's safety. What Clara wields is a strong will and a kind heart, never a weapon. You, an outsider to him, put your life on the line to keep her safe.

He runs a careful eye over Clara again.

Assessment: Not a scratch to be found. You have been successful in your goal.

So perhaps you are worth saving.

Blood-stained snow crunches beneath his feet. The automaton stands just behind Clara, peering down at you pensively. He can see how the light of his eye wavers as he analyzes you, recalling the fatal flaw of all humans. You are weak. He needs to be careful.

No. Correction. He needs to be gentle.

It is strange. He hadn't considered extending such a kindness for someone other than his daughter. But Clara herself is trying her very best to support your weight enough so you can stand, and the movement is enough to have more dribbles of crimson slipping from your gash. That won't do.

"I will take them, instead."

It stalls him for 2.5 seconds, trying to comfortably balance you on one of his arms. You rest against his torso, solid and cool, contrasting this warmth of your body as more blood smears across the surface of him. He has to be quick.

Clara reaches for one of his hands and walks alongside you both. Though she seems relieved, the subtle signs of worry across her features are not lost upon him.

"Inquiry," Comes the thundering pulse of Svarog's voice, "Why did you risk your life for Clara?"

You hum, but he knows this sound is not contemplative.

"It was the right thing to do. Clara's a kid after all,"

"B-but! But I could've- You shouldn't have had to protect me!" The girl grows teary-eyed once more, and Svarog can see how your brow furrows at the sight.

"And," you start, cutting off Clara's self-deprecating ramble, "I wanted Clara to be safe. I can handle this fine," (False: This is a lie, you're hurting. You're uncomfortable, too, but have said nothing. These actions go against his idea of what ordinary humans would do. Perhaps you're not as ordinary as he thought.)

"But Clara? I don't wanna think about what would happen if those jerks got to her, you know?"

Highly unusual behavior, on your part. Humans will do anything to survive. Taking a risk this grave for someone else, for his Clara...

Something within him stirs. Getting you to safety suddenly becomes much higher of a priority than he had estimated.

Svarog sinks down and scoops up Clara with his opposite arm. He doesn't know much about healing humans other than his daughter, but your survival is important to him now. He'll do whatever he can.

Softly, Clara calls for you. You must look particularly hurt, because the more she stares, the more guilt seems to consume her. You try to offer her one of your best smiles.

"It'll be okay...Mr. Svarog will help you feel better, I promise!"

You want to respond, but you suppose your body's weariness finally caught up to you.

You drift off in Svarog's arms, the clink of metal rocking you softly to sleep.

⋆★⋆

It takes very little time for Svarog to get you to safety. He is unable to fully understand the intricacies of the human body, just as you would be clueless when faced with inspecting the mechanics of an automaton. But though the injury you sustained was less than ideal as was the process of stopping the bleeding and wrapping the wound, his task had been completed.

His posture is less rigid. He feels his guard lower significantly. Assessment: Relief.

When he had taken Clara in, she was but a child. He supposes there was no reason for him to care enough to take her in, other than the clear, irrefutable orders to preserve humanity within the underground. But just as he was mistaken in thinking “true rationality” was the key to helping Clara and the rest of the underground, perhaps he was also mistaken in thinking that you were ordinary and insignificant to him.

At the very least, you make Clara immeasurably happy. That in itself is enough to value you just a bit more.

Furthermore, you’ve become somewhat of a common presence here. Clara talks highly of you when you help around the settlement, and though he still thinks you are reckless and brash…you still have enough sense to keep the ones important to you safe. You aren’t the hard-headed fool he had initially taken you for.

Svarog finds himself just a bit more empathetic, then. Though you are weak now, you’re clearly strong enough to hold out for this long on your own.

He is alerted again when you start to stir. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment he can see panic threaded into your features.

“You are awake,”

When your gaze flickers to his, he sees the way you deflate on your exhale.

“Hi Svar-”

“It has taken one hour, forty-five minutes, and fifteen seconds for you to wake up after we brought you down. How are you feeling?”

He is strangely eager. Though your vitals are stable, it is a different matter entirely to hear that you’re fine from you.

You seem taken aback by his sudden interest at first. Briefly, the automaton ponders if he should back away and give you some space. But then you smile softly up at him, a true smile, without pain dulling its purity.

“I’m much better now,” Your fingers move to trace over the bandages wrapped around your middle. They aren’t verysecure, like the person who wrapped them was overly-cautious about squeezing you too tightly, “Did you do this?”

If he had a visible expression, you’re sure it would be tense. Instead, as if trying to keep calm and collected, he offers a slight tilt to his head.

“Is it unsatisfactory?”

“Oh, no! It’s fine,” You trace over it again, this time in the opposite direction. You can almost picture it: Svarog tentatively wrapping the gauze around you, Clara guiding him with worried, gentle instructions. It’s a cute thought– if only you were conscious to see it.

“It’s perfect, actually.”

Svarog feels himself relax again.

The call of your name alerts the two of you immediately, and he would usually be concerned if not for the fact that he recognizes that tone. It’s Clara, clearly excited to see you both upright and awake.

“You’re okay–! I was so, so worried!”

For some reason, Svarog feels at peace when you hold Clara tightly in your arms. You smile sheepishly at the sudden affection, softly petting at her head.

It's a strange feeling. Truly, Svarog did not pay any mind to you before. But now, when you're under his care, and Clara runs to you as she would a second home, the automaton feels himself starting to shift. You, previously a thorn in his side, insistent and unyielding, has also been a constant presence for Clara. You, who he thought to be nothing more than a foolhardy adventurer, has saved his daughter from harm. And now, shy as she is, Clara embraces you tenderly, ardently, with all the love in her heart.

"Love" itself is a concept hard to quantify. But if "love" is what he feels when Clara runs up to him and hugs him in that same way, and you return these affections without so much as batting an eye...

If risking your life, too, is an act of love, then he supposes you must love Clara that much more.

"Mr. Svarog, they can stay with us for a bit, right? Until they fully get better?"

Assessment: Clara adores this individual. This individual adores Clara, in turn. Threat level has decreased significantly over time. This individual has taken great risks to ensure Clara's safety. Ensuring their safety, in turn, has become a priority.

You blink, seemingly taken aback.

"O-oh! I wouldn't want to cause more trouble–"

"No,"

That tone was too harsh.  You jolt at the sudden sound, clearly surprised at his quick answer. He attempts it again:

"No. You should stay. Your chances of recovery will increase at least 20% if you do so,"

Svarog takes a look at his daughter, still wrapped tightly around you as if you will disappear.

"Clara will enjoy spending more time with you, as well."

There is a soft purse in your lips, like you contemplate speaking. He keeps his glowing gaze trained on you, hoping to encourage you to speak your mind.

Success.

"...Will you enjoy me staying here, Svarog?"

The automaton pauses. This is not about him and his preferences, Clara's benefit has been at the forefront of any decisions regarding you. But, strangely, he finds himself..warmed at the idea of you staying with the two of them. Not as a meddlesome, ordinary human, but as a part of them. Weak on your own, no doubt, but stronger together.

"Conclusion: You belong here. You’re a part of our family."

⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆⋆★⋆

RAHHHH TY FOR READING!!!! comments and rbs appreciated <3

[its-xornoth-bitch]

BOOP ME MOTHERFUCKERS

[dcdreamblog]

This is probably getting a little outside your purview, but the same book of Weird War Tales I read about the Creature Commandos in also had an entry on something called the Haunted Tank, a WW II tank crew lead by a man named Jeb Stuart, who claimed to be advised by the ghost of his ancestor, Civil War general J.E.B. Stuart.

Is there any credence or proof to this? I know the Spectre is a thing and the JLA had someone who claimed to be an actual angel on it, but I can’t tell if this is stretching things or not.

There's an absence of evidence, but that doesn't by itself prove an evidence of absence as any good scientist will tell you. Let's break it down. There's two general stories surrounding the Haunted Tank, the WWII version and the less well known modern version.

(Movie poster for The Haunted Tank, WB Pictures, 2009. It was ok. OOC: u/thejedibugs on Reddit)

The original WWII version of the Haunted Tank story followed the crew of an M3 Stuart light tank commanded by Sgt. Jeb Stuart. Stuart claimed until his dying day that he was guided by the spirit of his grandfather, Confederate general J.E.B Stuart. Sgt. Stewart claimed that he received advise from his military ancestor. Painting the words "Haunted Tank" across his machine in white paint and hanging a Confederate Flag from the turret while the tank and its crew served with distinction across North Africa and Western Europe, including Operation Torch, the Normandy Landings, and the Battle of the Bulge.

Sgt. Stuart's crew have gone on record saying they never heard or saw the spirit in the flesh as it were and Stuart's insistence made him seem slightly off his rocker to his comrades BUT having complete faith in their commanding officer's combat ability they played along and many of them have recounted tales of events that they could not otherwise explain in the heat of combat. (Such as multiple occurrences of the tank aiming and firing itself at the correct moment to save their lives without anyone being in the vehicle)

Records at the time are slim. The tank was successful in its missions and as such was rarely questioned by commanding officers.

A reconstruction of the tank (the original was destroyed near the end of the war) is on display at the American Heritage Museum in Hudson, Massachusetts.

(Image of the second Haunted Tank produced for the History Channel's "War that Time Forgot" series)

The second Haunted Tank was and is an M1 Abrams deployed during the 1st Iraq War. This tank was commanded by one of Jeb Stuart's own grandchildren, Sgt Jamal Stuart. (The WWII Jeb Stuart actually has 2 living Grandchildren, the other a woman named Jen Stuart who is also a lieutenant in the armed forces).

Their tank was rescued by the spirit of J.E.B Stuart during an ambush by raiders after falling behind an American convoy due to mechanical failure.

Jamal Stuart has been much colder in his take on his ancestors interference. Since, as the name implies, Jamal Stuart is a black man. (Technically mixed race, his mother is African American) and has spoken at length about having to come to terms with the legacy of his ancestor appearing right in front of him. Whatever actual agreement they came to is ultimately a private matter but Sgt' Stuart's Abrams also became known as The Haunted Tank and also flew a Confederate Flag out of the vehicle's turret for the length of their deployment.

No generation of modern Stuarts seems ecstatic at the associations their stories create (The WWII Stuart had a black soldier among his crew despite official rules against army integration, one of his own children married a black woman and his grandson IS black). And yet the story is what it is, whether you or I or anyone else like it or not.

[its-xornoth-bitch]

GRADUALLY WATERMELON

GRADUALLLY WATERMELON

GRADUALLY WATERMELON

gradually watermelon ?

don’t gradually turn me into a watermelon thanks

[hobiebrownismygod]

Hobie Brown wasn't actually a runway model; Key Term, "Briefly"

I keep seeing people saying Hobie Brown was a runway model because of this specific line-

(Sorry for the bad quality, I couldn't find a gif)

"I'm not a role model, I was briefly a runway model"

I know a lot of people say that he was a runway model as a joke, but some people are misinterpreting the line. He wasn't actually a runway model. He crashed a runway. Thus the line, "briefly".

Now, I'm not saying headcanoning him as a runway model is wrong, it doesn't really matter to me, but I just feel like that would be very OOC (out-of-character), and considering his values, he definitely wasn't canonically a runway model.

Modeling is a job in which every aspect of your life is controlled by an agency. The food you eat, the clothes you wear, your weight, your body, your hair, even your friends are determined by your modeling agent. Many models do not have access to free speech or free will and are under powerful contracts which limit their freedom heavily. Hobie Brown would not advocate for this at all. I don't believe the same Hobie Brown that protests against fascists and actively fights for freedom and loving yourself would want to be a runway model and have every aspect of his life controlled by a greedy agency. Not to say that he wouldn't absolutely kill it on a runway, but it would be very OOC for him to have been or currently be a runway model.

Activists often crash runways to publicize certain things, like animal rights or animal cruelty. Hobie was probably doing the same thing or something similar, since he is technically an activist, an activist for freedom of speech and basic human rights.

This is more of a rant than anything else, and I just really wanted to get this off my chest because I've seen a lot of people posting about him being a runway model. Headcanon him however you'd like, but if you want to be accurate, please try to do some research before-hand. The writers did an immaculate job at making him a very deep, well-thought out, well-written character, so try not to misinterpret him! 💜

[lair-of-platonic-yanderes]

Hello! Can I request a Platonic! Yandere! Alhaitham x GN! Child! Nahida! Reader? Thank you!

There is a sick God child in Scribe's house

Platonic! Yandere! Al-Haitham x GN! Child! Nahida! Reader

Description: Alhaitham has repeated time and time again, that he is only an Acting Grand Sage. But life of the nation can't just freeze until new Grand Sage is appointed. So, Alhaitham doesn't have a choice and should work with Dendro Archon to clean up the mess, that was from former sages' actions.

Grudges are petty. Smart person could either to stop holding it, or take revenge. Azar, exiled, striped of all his power and influence, has a grudge. Azar still has his intelligence. Azar still has an ace up his sleeve.

_______

Warning and tags: OOC. Platonic Yandere. English is my second language. Spoilers for Sumeru's AQ. Reader are Gender Neutral. Azar is a bastard. Mentions of attempted murder. Poisoning.

Alternative timeline (I guess) - Wanderer's Interlude happened before Fabulous Fungus Frenzy Event).

Wanderer's name is Azra (after character from "The Arcana" game).

Detect quotes from Nahida's voicelines and special dish description.

Alhaitham made one comment about raising a child together with Kaveh. Take it as you want (as a joke, or a pre-relationship).

_____________

Alhaitham's life goals were, in the eyes of some fellow researchers, unfit for an Akademiya Scribe.

"Having an easy job and living a simple live? Are we really talking about star alumnus of the Haravatat Darshan and not about someone from Vimara Village?"

For a few years, that «ridiculous» situation remained a relatively popular gossip between students. "Mysteriously" it was brought up only when Alhaitham was in an earshot.

Alhaitham didn't care about gossips and being a talk of the Akademiya. He liked his life and that was all that matters.

However, after Lesser Lord Kusanali were freed from the captivity, his normal and comfortable life was, while not outright destroyed, disturbed. Acting Grand Sage was still a Grand Sage, whose duties did not compare with the duties of a scribe. Alhaitham wasn’t oblige to accept the new position, but, the overthrow of sages left Sumeru and Akademiya in chaos, and Alhaitham’s normal life would be disturbed anyway. While choosing between more work and rebuilding his life from scratch, he chose the lesser of two evils.

However, on days like this, when sage’s table was almost bursting under the weight of papers, when there were an archon, who offered their help, and who were now lost among mountains of old documents, that had to be placed on the floor, Alhaitham thought, that starting life from scratch was not a bad idea.

In theory (or in a book) after the coop, Sumeru’s problems should be easily resolved. Archon were free and ready to rule Sumeru again, traitorous sages were stripped of their powers and exiled, and the problem with appointing new sages shouldn’t be that hard. There were enough people, who didn’t dirty themselves with betrayal, and, Alhaitham admitted, Dendro Archon have all necessary means to investigate new sages. Alhaitham himself would gladly assist in choosing Azar’s (or his, if he is counts) successor. Ask him, and Alhaitham will confess, that he made a bet that problems would be resolved quickly, and he would not have to stay Grand Sage longer than necessary.

And then, history and laws reminded of their existence.

_______

If someone read books about Akedemiya's history, they might find a very strange name in a list of previous Grand Sages. Strange in a way "Aren't Grand Sages (or just Sages), normally, are chosen from people of Sumeru? How someone from Fontaine managed to become a head of Akademiya?"

The truth is, Grand Sage Dupont, who lived three-hundred years ago, despite the name, technically, wasn’t from Fontaine. His parents, two Driyoshs, conducted research in a land of Hydro, and, during that time, future grand sage was born. The reason behind his name was lost in time (Did his parents plan to stay in Fontaine at first? Did someone named Dupont saved them?), but, when young Dupont reached schooling age to attend Akademiya, the family returned to Sumeru.

Information about Dupont's Akademia’s days were vague, except of few moments.

First, and the most obvious one, Dupont was smart, and his academic success was undeniable. However, some books from that period mentioned, that Dupont has an annoying trait of skipping from one topic to another in his research papers, using long, overcomplicated (even for Akedemiya's standards) words. Despite that, he never mentioned insignificant information, and, at the end, everything would play its part. That turned an annoying trait into a valuable trait for a researcher. It was a question of time, before Dupont became a Great Sage.

Second, he was obsessed with proving his loyalty to Sumeru. It was unclear, where it came from. He never mentioned, that his peers looked down at him, or if he had troubles with professors.

Third, after spending a childhood in a nation of Courts and Justice, was enamored with lawmaking.

Fourth, he wasn't hiding his tendency to overcomplicate texts (Alhaitham read some of the Dupont books, and, if he was one to judge, "overcomplicate" was a major downgrading), mad loyalty to Sumeru and dreams of making laws.

His days as Grand Sage were unofficially called The Age of Web of Laws.

Age, when Sumeru was flooded with new laws each day, Dendro Archon were pronounced a captured traitor, and people realized, why researchers, who use long words and could jump from one important point to another, probably, should stay away from lawmaking.

Law, after law, on top of three others laws, that connected to unreleased laws made Sumeru's law system a knotted mess.

And then, he remembered about Dendro Archon in Sanctuary of Surasthana.

Lesser Lord Kusanali, during their capture, were ignored. Dupont, for some reason, decided, that Archon, who lost their power and memories during Cataclysm are a traitor and should be treated as such.

He couldn't exile them or execute them. So, as a person in charge, instead, he hopped to make their life a living hell.

There were few hundreds of laws, forbidding or complicating Dendro Archon's possible return to power and rulership. A few dozens laws of making their life in captivity hard (Like a "Seafood law", by which allowed feeding Dendro Archon seafood and only seafood for breakfast/dinner/lunch. Grand Sage failed to realize, that Sumeru, at that point, wasn't a fishing nation, and the required amount of seafood need to be bought from other nations and will cost a lot of mora). Then, the laws, that prohibited the worship of Dendro Archon came. And, when Dupont mentioned, that he will look into possibility of executing Dendro Archon followers, people finally realized, that situation got out of hand.

After a long battle of wits, public opinion and bureaucracy, Dupont was exiled. Most of his laws were banned or cancelled. Even laws about Archon's followers were taken care of.

But, no one cared about Dendro Archon. All laws, that were focused on them were ignored, but never were cancelled.

So, when Lesser Lord Kusanali got on the throne, that useless laws were remembered. Sumeru was in a dire need of sorting them and dealing with them.

_______

That's lead to Alhaitham's and Lesser Lord Kusanali's current situation. To finally get rid of Dupont's laws, Acting Grand Sage and Dendro Archon were working together for the last few days.

Thankfully, it was the last of the bunch, and, if everything went well, in three days the work will be over.

The closest paper mountain tilted, but was stopped by a pair of small hands, emerging from the paper bowels. The next moment, the rest of Dendro Archon followed.

Lesser Lord Kusanali, or, [Y/N], as they called themselves, were almost hugging the much taller tower slowly moving around it, trying to prevent its fall.

[Y/N] managed to not only hold papers back, but also get in the front of the unstable mountain. For one second it looked like papers will stay in place. But, [Y/N] hold a metal container in their right hand and weren't planning on dropping it to stabilize the paper tower better.

Like on a clue, papers on top slid down, ending up on [Y/N]’s head. Alhaitham, without stopping reading the papers before him, grabbed Dendro Archon by the pale green cape. Scribe picked them up, saving from being buried under the paper avalanche. Just in time. The tower fell, and [Y/N] dangled in Alhaitham's grip. Ignoring the blatant blasphemy (who could dare to hold the ruler of a nation, God of Wisdom, as if they were a naughty puppy?), Alhaitham lowered them back on the floor, putting an archon back on their feet.

[Y/N] took off papers from their head with free hand, looking at them in displeasure. They glance at the pile of papers on the ground, reading the titles. They mumbled under their breath, mostly to themselves, not expecting Alhaitham to speak.

“And the Seafood Law is found.”

He looked up from his current documents (Law of "forbid Dendro Archon to walk down the street") looking at the archon with faint interest. As if sensing his gaze, they turned the document in his direction. Alhaitham, quickly reading through the first page, hummed. Without taking away the document, Alhaitham wrote a "Cancelled" on top of the first page.

One more centuries old foolish law that poisoned the life of current Sumeru were dealt with.

Without care, [Y/N] dropped the document on the floor. With a small smile, they turned towards Alhaitham, placing the container before him, on top of the (finally cancelled) "Street law". Alhaitham raised an eyebrow.

"I thought, that you need a small break." [Y/N]'s voice sounded soft and a tiny bit shy. "So, I brought some Candied Ajilenakh Nuts."

They don't seem like traditional Candied Ajilenakh Nuts. Instead of familiar rectangles, Alhaitham was looking at the four-petaled flower, laying on top of the four green-white leaves. He took one of the "leaves", taking a small bite. Syrup melts upon contact with his mouth, nuts easily crumbed under his teeth. Alhaitham swallowed the delicious treat,

Alhaitham, despite spending almost a week working together with Dendro Archon, didn't take them for a cook. Yet, here we are.

"Why?" Alhaitham wasn't sure, if it was a simple curiosity, or just an attempt in small talk. Child god looked at him with big warm eyes.

"Why I decided to give you a gift? The sea anemone has helped the little fish and witnessed its growth, so it's only natural for the little fish to give something back. Why Candied Ajilenakh Nuts?" their gaze became a little bit dreamy. "One little bite makes the brain starts chugging away at top speed, and suddenly there's no problem too difficult to solve."

Alhaitham hold back a smile. Lesser Lord Kusanali had a moment of "normalcy".

Alhaitham wasn't a believer. Gods were just gods, a part of biological hierarchy, perhaps, a product of evolution. He wasn't the one to defy Dendro Archon's divinity, but he won't pray or worship them. At least, that's how he was. Before he started working with Dendro Archon.

It was easy to be an atheist in "old" Sumeru. For years, Dendro Archon was an idea, an echo of the past. Even history books has no clear images of pre-Cataclysm Dendro Archon. Just a schematic drawing of a human head with large green headpiece. Akasha Terminal only provided information on who Lesser Lord Kusanali were, not on who they are.

Then Alhaitham helped to rescue Lesser Lord Kusanali. Dendro Archon stopped to be an idea. It wasn't enough for Alhaitham to start bowing before the divine. The week of working together with Dendro Archon wasn't enough.

But now Alhaitham didn't know, how to view Lesser Lord Kusanali anymore.

They were an Archon, ruler of the nation.

They were a winner of Archon War, who lost their memories and powers during Cataclysm.

They were a poor soul, who were locked in their own home for five hundred years.

They were a wise person, whose somewhat simple metaphors hide true answers.

They were a child, who have a sweet tooth, liked big gatherings (Aether told him about "A Moment of Dreams") a toy box with handmade toys, who, sometimes, were clueless about proper social interactions.

[Y/N] were too many things, and their picture in Alhaitham's mind became more and more conflicting each day.

He should be respectful, but not a fanatic. He should see them as a god. Not as a child.

So, where does the surge to protect that poor child came from?

Alhaitham's facial expression became neutral again. He closed the container, putting it away.

"Thank you, Lesser Lord Kusanali, but right now I don't have time to enjoy it. There is still a lot of work to do."

Dendro Archon simply nodded, turning back to paper mountains.

"Understandable. Now, where is the law, that forbids children to wear green, gold and white colors is?"

Alhaitham perked up, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Did he forced you to...?"

[Y/N] immediately shake their head.

"No! He was planning to release that law, but, fortunately, the same day he was finally accused of power abuse. Still, not hurt to check out if he managed to sign it. And, if we are lucky, we will finally found that little paper sheet, according to which I can't cancel laws."

Dendro Archon slowly moved among the paper towers.

Alhaitham was back to work. But, from time to time, his gaze lingered to the metal container with Candied Ajilenakh Nuts.

For last week, Lesser Lord Kusanali arranged food for the two of them, and now make something for him.

He cooked before, but never tried to make dessert. Well, we live, we learn.

__________

It was a given, that Alhaitham and Kaveh split the house chores between each other. Yes, Alhaitham might use the owner's status and make Kaveh, who was living here rent-free, do all the chores, but he would never do that. To be frank, the thought of blackmailing Kaveh (or anyone else in a dire situation) was making Alhaitham sick.

So, the cooking was split between them. Of course, if someone wanted to add something to the table when it wasn't their turn, they were free to do it.

Tonight, Kaveh appreciated the dessert Alhaitham brought home.

There were some minor passive-aggressiveness during dinners (Kaveh preferring making soups, or Alhaitham making spicy dishes), but, mostly, there weren't any conflicts, and they will eat each other cooking without complaining, commenting or making a scene and cooking something else.

So, when Alhaitham, who, after dinner, grabbed the cookbook Kaveh brought home a few months ago, and occupied the kitchen, he expects questions from Kaveh.

For now, he was silent. Kaveh observed, how Alhaitham was mixing ingredients.

"You are making a dessert." Kaveh's voice sounded flat. Alhaitham barely glance at him, before returning his attention to cooking. Baklava wasn't an easy thing to make for a newbie baker, but it was the only dessert he has all ingredients to make.

"Since when do you have a sweet tooth? First candied nuts, now this." Kaveh refused to drop the subject.

"It's just a small treat for a child who gave me candied nuts today" answered Alhaitham

"For a child?" Kaveh raised an eyebrow. "Did you take in an apprentice? Or..." Kaveh expression became worried. "Or are you planning to adopt a child?"

Alhaitham's mouth moved, before he could think about his next words.

"What if I am?" Alhaitham send a heavy glance towards Kaveh. "What if I am thinking about taking in a child?"

Kaveh expression dropped.

"Spare an innocent soul, Alhaitham. Kids, especially orphans, need attention and emotional involvement and attachment. And you are... I can't picture, what kind of parent would you be."

Alhaitham, who didn't stop cooking, finally finished forming baklava, put it in an oven. With his back turned towards Kaveh, he shrugged.

"I will be a fine parent. And, as for emotions. Well, I have you for that. Together, we will raise a normal child."

His roommate was silent. When Alhaitham turned around, he saw, that Kaveh was closing and opening his mouth, just staring at Alhaitham with an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

Alhaitham sighed.

"I am not planning an adoption or having an apprentice. [Y/N] are a child from Akademiya I have been working with for the last few days. They were quite helpful, and I just want to show my gratitude."

Kaveh was silent. He spoked in a hushed voice.

"[Y/N] from Akademiya. Child, you have been working with. Alhaitham, I respect your take on gods, and Lesser Lord Kusanali might be a kind and forgiving archon, but, don't you think, that calling them a child and by name is disrespectful?"

Alhaitham didn't flinch.

"I don't think, they would mind. They are kind and forgiving."

'Too forgiving.' mentally noted Alhaitham. 'Azar is still out there. Who knows, what he might do.'

Alhaitham glance back at the oven.

"I just want to show them some kindness. They don't have their memories and for five centuries no one show kindness to them. It's not right."

Kaveh pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Since when you became so emotional, hm?" He didn't wait for an answer, turned around and walked out of the kitchen. Before leaving, he looked back at Alhaitham.

"I hope, that you know what you are doing."

Alhaitham knew. He knew, that [Y/N] need some warmth and parental care.

Also, Alhaitham wondered what Azar was up to?

_____

Since he was a child, Azar knew, that he was born to be great. He was from the family of great researchers. He was smarter, than his peers. He was the best student of Rtawahist. He knew, that he will be a Grand Sage one day. It was his birthright.

In his previous life, he has everything. Power, respect, authority, live of luxury.

Now he has no power, he was despised, under constant supervision of forest watchers and matras and was living in an old hut.

Azar hated Avidya Forest. He hated to have nothing, while the traitorous Alhaitham, Tighnari and Cyno and the joke of an archon have everything.

Azar knew, that he can't change anything. But, he will be damned, if he won't try to get revenge.

He glanced at the night sky. It was hard, he only had one shot.

Lesser Lord Kusanali put him in this position. And they would be the one to pay the price.

It wasn't an option, to kill an archon. It wasn't the most common knowledge, but Azar was aware, what happens, when god die. But, what if an archon became so weak, they will lose a human form?

When they were working together, Dottore mentioned, that he made a poison, that will weaken an archon. He didn't test it. Nations won't take kindly to poisoning their archons.

Thankfully, Elchingen wanted to prove himself to Dottore by all means.

Azar didn't care, what would happen to Dendro Archon. They could either die, or became a twig, he didn't care.

He hated them ever since he, a newly appointed Rtawahist Sage, was allowed to enter Sanctuary of Surasthana. When he saw that thing, that dared to called themselve a God of Wisdom. A meek child, who everyone called forgiving, and who exiled him, instead of forgiving.

For a crime of offending the prodigy, Dendro Archon have to pay.

_______

"Are you sure, that you don't want to have something with your tea?" you tilted your head, looking at your guest. Wanderer, who now calls himself Azra, rolled his eyes.

You two were having tea in your living quarters in the Sanctuary of Surasthana. You rarely invited someone here, but Azra was a special case.

"No, I don't want any sweets."

You just smiled, taking a bite of baklava Alhaitham made for you. It didn't look pretty, but it was tasty. You didn't expect him to give you a present in return, you just wanted to give him something sweet. But, you won't complain.

Azra was silently drinking his tea.

"How is your trip going on?" asked you. "Are aranaras a good company for you?"

Azra shrugged.

"Nothing interesting. Aranaras are fine, nation is calm. Someone is planning a tournament focused on overgrown mushrooms."

You hide a smile behind the teacup.

"Yes, I knew. Yesterday, Kautilya and Elchingen came here, asking for permission to uphold the tournament. They even send gifts." You pointed at a few colorful boxes that were standing on the small table in the corner. "Do you want to participate in the tournament?"

Azra raised an eyebrow.

"Is it an order?"

You shook your head. It wasn't the time to order him around or force him to an interaction. Small steps, time will come.

"No. While it will be a good thing, if you will be more social, I won't force you into talking to other people."

Azra huffed.

"Then I will pass. I still have some parts of Sumeru to visit."

You just smiled.

"As you wish."

You take a candy from the box. It was one of the Elchingen's gifts. It was sweet, and the flavor was a little bit overwhelming, but, still, it was good. Not as good as Alhaitham's baklava.

For a few moments both of you were silent again. Then Azra spoke once again. He frowned.

“Elchingen… That name sounds familiar.”

You waited to Azra to tell you more. After few more moments, he shook his head.

“No, I can’t remember, where I have heard it.”

You tilted your head.

“Don’t worry about it. Perhaps, he wasn’t that important for you to remember him.” Azra just shrug, not looking at you. With a sigh, you put your teacup back.

“Azra, your desire to travel is a good thing, and I did support you. However, if I can suggest, staying in one place is also good. Spent some time in Akademiya, attend some public lectures. Try to have a taste of life in Sumeru.”

Azra didn’t look interested in your idea, but, he nodded anyway.

“Fine, I guess I will put wandering on hold for now”.

If he heard your chuckle, he didn’t show it.

_________

Another day of work was over. Alhaitham and you did a great job, and almost all old laws were dealt with. Azra left, prefering to camp in the wild instead of staying in the capital. You were alone in the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

And you felt sick.

It sounds impossible, but archons also can become sick. While the symptoms will never be as serious as mortal's symptoms, it still will be an unpleasant days.

The most serious "sickness" you had was that one time, when you spend all night, hopping from one dream to another, helping sick children. All of them had fever dreams, and you had to go through multiple strange dreams. It ended in you having a headache for whole day.

You curled on your bed, feeling a wave of nausea. You were hot and cold at the same time, you had a headache, you were trembling.

You hold back tears. For that one moment, you didn't feel like an archon, a victor of a war, a ruler of a nation.

You felt like a lonely, sick child.

You were a lonely, sick child til the morning. Until Alhaitham, who wondered, why you were late, didn't start looking for you.

______

"What do you mean they have been poisoned?" barked Alhaitham, grabbing Tighnari by the hood. Tighnari's ears dropped, he felt, how the fur on his tail stood on end. He didn't expect to be disturbed by Alhaitham.

Alhaitham, who has never raised his voice, looked like an enraged abyss monster. He was breathing heavily, his eyes were narrowed, and his teeth were clenched. And, Tighnari could swear, he heard a quiet growling sound.

"It is true, Alhaitham. Lesser Lord Kusanali aren't sick, they aren't having some sort of godly rebirth. They have been poisoned. They show all symptoms of the poisoning."

Alhaitham breathe in and out. He let go of Tighnari.

A quiet whine got their attention. Dendro Archon were laying on their bed. They were laying under the blanket with their eyes closed, with a wet towel on their forehead.

The bed already was big enough to have two adults comfortably laying in it, and it would look even bigger, when a child were laying here. And now, when Dendro Archon were sick, when they looked smaller and weaker, then they truly were.

Alhaitham automatically moved forward, sitting on the bed's edge. He carefully took the towel and, after dripping it in the water bowl, put in back on their forehead. His hands linger above archon's head, before he made a decision. He carefully pet archon's head.

"How?" Alhaitham's voice was barely a whisper. Tighnari opened his mouth in shock. Alhaitham was surprisingly emotional today. And if his reaction to poisoning was understandable (more problems to Sumeru means him being an Acting Grand Sage longer, than he wants to), but the unexplained tenderness was... unexplained.

"How, Tighnari? How they got poisoned?" Alhaitham turned his head towards the forest ranger. Tighnari, whose thoughts were interrupted, shake his head, trying to focus. It helped for a bit.

"It's not a simple poisoning. Not from bad food, or wrong ingredients, or wrong tea mix. The poison looks complicated. It's..."

"An assassination attempt." finished Alhaitham. Dangerous light flashes in his turquoise-orange eyes. Tighnari stayed silent. There was no need for words. He sat down on one of the chairs, rubbing his temples. Why Dendro Archon can't catch a break? First sages, then old laws, now...

Alhaitham stand up.

"Tighnari, help me transport [Y/...] Lesser Lord Kusanali in my home."

Tighnari jumped up so fast, he felt slight dizziness.

"What?! Wh- You- They- Why?!"

Alhaitham spoke slowly. Like he was trying to explain the situation to a kid.

"There is a traitor, or traitors on the loose. And, it seems, Sanctuary of Surasthana isn't the most protected place. And [Y/N] need to be protected. And I can only trust myself right now."

Alhaitham noticed a change in Tighnari's expression. "You and Cyno too, but, Cyno will be busy with an investigation, and you are living too close to the former sages."

Tighnari's gaze soften for a bit.

"It does make sense. But, are you sure, Alhaitham?"

Alhaitham, who was now looking around, making mental notes on what to take with him, nodded.

"More than I ever have been."

______

You were barely conscious. You heard voices, that sounded, like they were speaking from the great distance.

You felt, how multiple blankets were put around you, and you were carried somewhere.

You woke up in a strange place. It wasn't your room. The bed was smaller, than yours, and there were too many books there. For a moment, you thought, that you were laying in the library.

The room's door opened. You focus your gaze on an 'intruder'. Alhaitham walked inside, carrying a tray with a bowl on it. Judging by a steam raising from it, you assume, that it was soup.

Kaveh tried to follow after Alhaitham. The architect looked agitated, but, the moment he looked at you, his gaze softens. But, before he can step inside the room, Alhaitham kicked the door, closing it right before Kaveh's face.

"Oh, you are awake, [Y/N]."

You tried to talk.

"Where..."

"In my home." Alhaitham's voice was soft. You might even call it "parental voice". Alhaitham put the tray on the bedside table and helped you to sit down. He put his hand on your forehead, like he was checking the temperature. He frowned.

"How do you feel, [Y/N]?" Alhaitham looked concerned. You whispered. Your mouth was dry and there was a terrible bitter taste.

"Bad. Thirsty and hungry."

Alhaitham nodded. He frowned. He picked up the soup bowl. You get a better look at it. It seems, that you have mistaken. It was a simple plain broth, not a soup. Meanwhile, Alhaitham scooped up some broth with a spoon. He blew on it then hold the spoon towards you.

On better days, you would take the spoon in your own hand. But, you felt so tired. You weren't sure you can move a finger.

You let Alhaitham spoon-feed you.

While you were eating, Alhaitham spoke.

"Someone tried to poison you, [Y/N]. To keep you safe, I volunteer to house you, until the danger is gone."

You stay silent. You didn't know what to feel. Were you that bad of an archon? Only deserve to be imprisoned, or dead?

Suddenly, a pair of arms were carefully put around you. It wasn't a real hug, but still a hug.

"I promise, [Y/N], I will deal with it."

After he let you go, he gave you more broth. Then he gave you water. He gave you some medicine (from stomachache and fever).

He tucked you in.

"Rest, [Y/N]. Rest and get better. If you need company, Kaveh is in a next room."

Alhaitham carefully pet your head, before leaving. The door was left open, and you could see Alhaitham's and Kaveh's silhouettes.

Alhaitham's gestures were nice. But, there was something in his voice. Something strange.

It was wrong to read others' thoughts.

But, you wanted to understand.

You reach your shaking hands towards the door. You made a gesture with your fingers.

You release your powers.

______

"Acting Grand Sage, what an honor. How Dori Sangemah Bay could help you?" Dori's tone was anything, but not friendly. If she could, she would send him away. But, she can't. If she didn't want to get arrested by Cyno.

General Mahamatra was standing behind Alhaitham, observing. Near him was standing another person. Another investigator.

A strange wanderer in a big hat volunteered to help with investigation. Of course, no one would consider allowing him to help, but after Lesser Lord Kusanali themselves confirmed, that wanderer is their old acquaintance and can be trusted, he became a part of investigation team.

It was impossible to cover up the poisoning. So, all of Sumeru knew about the investigation. Including Dori.

Alhaitham's voice was calm. Terrifyingly calm.

"Do you knew, who tried to poison Dendro Archon?"

Straight to the point. Dori focused her attention on her fingernails.

"There is some information. But, I really want to hear, what Akademiya can offer for..."

"ALHAITHAM, STOP!"

A pair of hands grabbed her by the shoulders. She was picked up and shoved into crates, where she had stored goods she planned to sell during the upcoming tournament.

Turquoise-orange eyes met with golden brown. Alhaitham hissed, while Cyno tried to pry him off Dori.

"A life of poverty and exile, if you don't cooperate. A good deal, don't you think?"

Dori tried to struggle, but Alhaitham's grasp was too strong.

"Alhaitham!" growled Cyno. Alhaitham almost spit his next words.

"I have a sick child in my home. A child, who was poisoned and who still suffer from it. And you want me to be calm, when she is demanding a price?!"

A million thoughts were raising in Cyno's head. He was aware of Alhaitham's views on gods. But, thinking about gods as a product of evolution is one thing. And thinking about rule of the nation as a child was another.

Meanwhile, Dori shouted.

"I will help! I will! But, please, I do need a protection! If rumors are true, Fatui might be involved."

Alhaitham let Dori go. His voice was hard as steel.

"Speak. And I promise a protection.

And Dori spoke.

About a man named Elchingen. About strange purchases of rare herbs he made. About him being seen in a company of Fatui solders. About Elchingen mentioning "Master Dottore". And rumors of Elchingen meeting with former Grand Sage.

______

You were sitting in the common room of Alhaitham's home, next to the man himself.

Well, perhaps, at this moment, you should probably call it your home.

Kaveh was working on some project in his own room, while you were trying to focus on the book in your hands. It was hard.

Instead of a text from the book, you have been remembering some articles from "Steambird".

"Fontaine merchant was torn apart during the tournament in Sumeru"

You knew the truth. Azra made sure to leave you a message through aranaras, before leaving to Snezhnaya.

You got lucky, that the poison Elchingen gave you weren't the original one, but a replica. Without all necessary components, it wasn't lethal for an archon.

"Former Grand Sage tried to assassinate Dendro Archon"

"Former Grand Sage is under arrest"

"Former Grand Sage hang himself in the cell"

Alhaitham didn't tell you the truth. But you understand, what really happened.

Traitors were dealt with. You felt much better. You could return to the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

You can't.

"Because you are still in danger, [Y/N]."

"Because after one will come others, [Y/N]."

"I will make sure, that you are safe. I will change Sumeru and make it safe for you."

You cast a quick glance at Alhaitham. You spoke.

"If you need help with something, I could..."

Without looking at you, he put a hand on top of your head, ruffling your hair.

"Don't worry, [Y/N]. Leave it to adults. Have a happy childhood, my child."

You probably could fight. You could order him to knock it off. You could exile him.

But every time you try to do it, you will remember his thought.

The thought you read a few months ago.

"I wish, that [Y/N], that my child lead a peaceful life"

And you let him coddle you, to parent you. You let him to constantly watch over you. You let h be a gray cardinal, staying a Scribe, but manipulating the current Grand Sage. You let him reshape Sumeru in your honor. You shoved Azar's demise in the deepest corner of your mind.

Sages' actions came from their greed for power.

Alhaitham's actions came from the parental love.

If you were a bird, that never knew the taste of freedom, that sages were a cage, and Alhaitham was an indoor garden. Both were a captivity. But the garden was a better illusion of a freedom.