#like I WROTE HER CHARACTER how did I forget lmao

[actiniumwrites]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

synopsis: how they react when they find out you’ve never had a date on valentine’s day

based on the prompt: “you’ve never had a valentine’s date?”

characters: diluc, kaeya, mona, zhongli, xiao, kujou sara, kazuha, itto, tighnari, cyno, and childe x gn! reader (separately)

warnings: fluff, a bit of angst in some of them, these are meant to be pre-relationship but you can interpret them how you want

notes: releasing this a day early because i know i’ll forget about it tomorrow lmao. also i was gonna do more for this than just a bullet scenario, but then i realized there was only like a week left until valentine’s when i wrote this so i couldn’t do anything big 😭 but i did really like this prompt so enjoy!

diluc:

his facial expression contorts into one of confusion as he wipes the inside of the glass in his hand

you’re sitting in front of him, legs crossed one over the other as they dangle over the barstool you’re on. your head rests in your hand innocently, as if what you had just said hadn’t affected you at all

you’ve never had a valentine’s date?

no. diluc just can’t accept it, at least, that’s what he decides as he puts the glass down and starts to remove his apron

before you know it, his hands are gripping yours, pulling you out the door and into the now sunset painted city you called your home

valentine’s wasn’t over yet, and diluc was sure as hell going to make sure you got that date

kaeya:

he laughs, his smile wide and his eyes teasing as he blinks through his tears

but then he sees the way you grimace and your eyes look anywhere but at him. he sees a sense nervousness and embarrassment wash over every inch of your face

he feels awful

kaeya hadn’t meant anything bad by his laughter. truthfully, he thought you were joking with him because, how could someone so utterly beautiful in every which way, someone so full of life, someone so perfect never have been asked on a date on valentines?

you were all he had ever wanted and more, and yet you weren’t even his

apologies come flying out of his mouth for a solid two minutes before you assure him it’s okay and, as expected, that stupid smirk appears on his face again

his hand is latching onto yours as he leans in close, asking you to join him on a date so he could make it up to you

and although he seems rather nonchalant on the outside, his heart is beating rapidly on the inside, begging you to accept so he could finally make you his

mona:

her mouth falls open at the sound of your response to the question

then it shuts…and then it opens again

meanwhile, you have to keep yourself from laughing too hard because of the way she currently resembles a fish

she huffs as she ignores your muffled laughter and tosses the pen she had been writing with to the side and gathers her papers on her desk

you’re still laughing, but her face is as serious and determined as ever

and before you know it, you were getting dragged out of her room and into yours. and your best friend tells you to get ready, as glammed up or as comfortable as you want

she was going to take you out on the best damn date of your life and maybe, just maybe, finally confess her feelings to you

zhongli:

his eyes widen in shock and he immediately sets his tea down to clasp his hands together

he’s silent, thinking carefully about what to say to your response to his question. honestly, he looks like someone had just murdered his grandma

deep down, he wants to ask why

but he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or make you feel bad never having a date on valentine’s

his hand aches to reach for yours and hold it tight in his. secure it with all his adoration and love for you, make you realize he’d do anything to take you on a date — valentines or otherwise

slowly, his eyes reach back up to meet yours and he stands, unclasping his hands and extending one out for you to hold

“if you do not mind, i would like to have the pleasure of being your first valentine’s date. and, perhaps if you enjoy it, you would consider allowing me to take you out again.”

xiao:

he scoffs — why were you even telling him this anyway? he didn’t even like valentine’s day so what does this have to do with him?

yet, he doesn’t miss the way his heart seems to skip a beat before pounding furiously against his chest

was he angry? upset? emotional? sad? he wasn’t sure but, whatever it was, it was not a good feeling

he masks whatever emotion it was and displays the most neutral expression he could come up with

because, no, xiao is not jealous and most definitely does not care

yet, as much as the adeptus claimed to hate valentine’s day, he couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit interested if it means he gets to spend the day with you

his eyes avoid yours and a small blush crosses his face as he offers a proposition:

“if you would like…maybe you could spend the day with me?”

kujou sara:

her arms cross as she leans sideways against the wall, staring directly at you as she scoffs

“who wouldn’t want to take you out on a date?”

shit

the general definitely did not mean to say that out loud

suddenly, she’s standing upright and stuttering left and right as you stand in front of her in shock

her hands are waving in front of her face sporadically as she desperately tries to explain herself

but then your silence turns into laughter and it feels like the world around her completely stops as you reassure her that it’s okay and that you’re actually quite flattered

embarrassed as she is, sara sighs and stares at anywhere but you, “i know it’s your favorite, so meet me at uyuu restaurant at 7 tonight. please don’t make me regret this.”

kazuha:

he offers a gentle smile and covers your hand in his own

“that’s okay, neither have i.”

you’re quick to ask him why, but he’s quick enough to ask you the same

you’re dumbfounded, but argue that you asked him first. and he explains, saying that he’s always preferred the wind and spending his time in nature rather than out on silly dates

and your eyes loose their shine a little, not only upset because you have to talk about the fact that no one had ever asked you on a valentine’s day before, but also because it meant you likely wouldn’t have the chance to ever go out with him

and he notices, because that’s just how kazuha is

“just because i said i don’t prefer to go on dates, doesn’t mean i don’t enjoy them. in fact, i would greatly appreciate it if you would join me at chinju forest later today. perhaps we could have a picnic and enjoy the scenery together?”

itto:

he gasps loudly, almost as if he’s in a horror movie and the killer just found him

it scares you at first, thinking that his sudden expression was not in reaction to your response, but then you realize itto was in fact reacting to you

it’s just his dramatic nature

his hand is over his heart and his eyes are shut, acting as if he’s in pain

“oh no! no, no, no! this just won’t do!”

and you laugh whole heartedly at him. a smile irresistibly tugs at your lips and your eyes are all wrinkled

and when you recover, itto’s looking at you with the brightest, most fondest look you think you’ve ever seen in your life

and it hits you: he was trying to make you laugh so that you wouldn’t feel bad

and then he’s all serious, but you can tell he’s really just nervous, “uh, hey listen, i can take you out…but only if you want! not that you have to or anything — no, no that would be uh…yeah!”

tighnari:

“valentine’s day is a rather trivial holiday. there’s no need to be so upset about never having had a date.”

your eyes fall to your hands as he says those words. not that he sees of course, seeing as he’s turned around at his desk, writing away at some papers

“yeah, no! i get it, you’re right,” you say. but your words don’t match your tone, and you hate how quick tighnari is to pick up on it

he sighs and turns around, still fiddling with the pen in his hand, but you don’t meet his eyes

you knew he didn’t mean it in a bad way, that’s just who he is, but you couldn’t help the hurt you felt when he spoke

and then he sighs again. although, this time a small, but genuine, smile graces his expression, “if a date is what will make you happy, then i would happily take some time off from work.”

cyno:

he’s hesitant to respond

not because he finds it appalling that you’ve never had a date on valentine’s day, but because he’s simply not well versed in relationships or emotional comfort in general

his eyes stay focused on the ground and his fingers tighten against the barrel of his polearm

he’s so quiet that you’re not even sure he heard your response

and he continues to think for a few more moments before huffing and just saying everything outright

overthinking wasn’t the mahamatra’s style

so he asks you out to dinner that night. not out of pity either, just simply because that’s what cyno wanted

sure he wasn’t a fan of the holiday, but his feelings for you are certainly enough to make him want to celebrate it

childe:

his hand is intertwined with yours as you walk together down the streets of liyue

“wait so, you’ve never had a valentine’s date before? as in, this is literally your first one ever?”

you don’t respond. instead, you stare at the buildings around you and all the other couples adorning the different restaurants and gift shops

childe isn’t stupid. he sees the way you get uncomfortable and instantly regrets making the comment

he speaks softly, “i’m honored, you know? besides, you couldn’t get a better first date than me.”

you’re slapping his arm in a matter of seconds, trying to hold back your laugh, but acting angry nonetheless

but then you’re laughing together and you realize, yeah, it really couldn’t get any better than him

[sintriangleau]

I was writing out the next chapter and I realized that I forgot that this version of Mayu has MASSIVE issues regarding her parents and I just... forgot. Like I had her whole arc planned out as being pretty positive (and it will be fairly positive, she kinda wins constantly) but now I have ANOTHER problem to sprinkle in there. I just forgot about how I wrote her parents out of the picture and then moved on like that wouldn’t leave her with major issues! Hmmm... I’ve gotta rethink some things and do some more research oops

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 1

NEXT >

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 14K (i am so sorry)

warnings: descriptions of war, suggestive themes, slow burn so it's only sensual for now, religious shame and guilt

disclaimer: this work contains Catholic imagery that is a part of rofan manhwa worldbuilding tropes. "the saintess" trope itself isn't a saint in accordance with Catholic traditions, it's just a character archetype that developed over time in the isekai genre and means more of a "holy maiden chosen by god" and "healer" with "divine powers" protected by the "church" of that specific fictional world. however, i did my best to do my research. this work has nothing to do with Christianity or any other religions and is totally fictional. please keep that in mind as you proceed!

author's note: mandalhoerian goes back to her reader era! please say thank you to @chesue00 for allowing me to use her artwork in this fic, I wrote a whole scene that depicts the art piece which was the whole inspiration for this 3-day frothing at the mouth frenzy!!!!

now, Sacrosanct is a blend of tropes i love in rofan manhwa/webtoon/mangas that are my favorite, so prepare for misunderstandings galore in the future 😭 but leon specifically is inspired by malthus from hilda furacao. which just means yearning and sexual repression. re2!leon to re4!leon pipeline is just the sweet commoner knight to cold duke of the north pipeline in manhwa, and if you understand what that means, im personally sending you a virtual kiss LMAO Happy reading, I hope yall like it!

don't forget this is the first part only.... heh. the template credit

🌀READ ON AO3 !

The first blush of dawn trickles through the gaps in heavy drapes, bathing your chambers in apricot hues. Crisp echoes of rustling silk resonate as you delicately lift the mask from its velvet perch. Bathed in daybreak's golden light, coloured glass chips embedded into the mask shimmer in lost constellations. The caress of velvety smooth fabric against your skin sends shivers dancing down your spine as you tie on, freshly laundered linen smell intertwining with lingering scent of last night’s incense used in nightly prayers, hints of lavender meet smoky frankincense.

Your gaze shifts to the mirror, the mask now concealing your mortal features, intricate filigree swirling across your face in an ethereal web and tiny crystals dotted along the lines sparking like stars. Taking a deep breath to stand a little taller and square your shoulders, you reach up to adjust your veil, ensuring no errant strands of hair are visible. The gauzy fabric falls in diaphanous folds around you, the whispers arising with your every movement the only sounds in the stillness of dawn.

Though the sacred mask and veil hide your earthly form, they cannot conceal the weakness of the human soul in your eyes.

The gateway to your wishes is wide open, one closer look is all one needs to see how you yearn to walk unencumbered through the gardens, to feel the caress of sunlight on your bare skin.

But the edicts are clear - when you leave these chambers, the Saintess must be fully shrouded, an exalted vessel and naught else.

You amble down to the sacred chapel for morning prayers before breaking your fast - a custom enacted in hushed reverence. As you descend stone steps weathered by time, you're swaddled in the scent of smoldering incense permeating from open timber doors, trailing invisible veins into the invigorating morning air. Inside, familiar faces of fellow sisters and brothers offer gentle nods of greeting as you find solace before the altar, sinking onto the cushioned bench tailored specifically for you, in the name of quiet contemplation and prayerful kneeling.

In honor of Ethelion, your one true Lord, silence descends—a pause amplified by its gravitas. Then with an authority that makes everything else seem trivial in comparison, there's the priest: his directing is ripples on still water reaching out towards infinity—sound molded into sacred words known only too well to heart.

The humming drone of faith-soaked chants serves as a welcome breather from the constant ponderings on war and sacrifice that’s been plaguing you for weeks. Those gnawing realities always sneak up and nibble away at your moments of peace, but here in this church, Ethelion’s mercy reigns supreme—the refuge is heard in the choruses belted out emphatically, slicing through any weighty thoughts, their lyrics loftier than any worldly worry.

As the sun stands at its zenith above and sends shards of golden light filtering through the stained glass canvases, the ceremony unwinds. It feels like saying goodbye too soon amidst vibrant echoes of hymns that grip onto ancient brick walls built upon stories spanning centuries, currents of history carrying their inevitable fade. Here, they stand still—if only for a while—pinned by lingering notes lost in air rich with incense burn and oakwood musk coupled with memories tasting of sacramental wine still clinging to tongues.

Stepping into the courtyard, you're swathed in a prism of pastel hues—blossoms unveiling their sugared whispers to the inviting warmth of a lingering breeze. You catch wind of their fragrance; it hooks you, a blend of sweet floral undertones and spring's renewed vigor carrying history within its essence, and you cannot wait to check on your lily garden.

Children dart amongst looming pews, mischief gleaming in their eyes as they engage in hushed games, shards of laughter echoing softly around the otherwise hallowed space. The sight tugs at a wisp of nostalgia, memories when life was simpler, less layered with expectations and daunting futures.

The youngest ones eyeing your departure don't miss a beat. Like mini warriors possessed by unruly spirits, they break rank from the congregation to run after you—a whirlwind of giggles and shouts lacing the air. Their excitement thrums against your skin, buzzing like electricity—an unexpected surge that leaves behind a ghostly imprint.

Yet before they can reach you or even conflict with stone-faced paladins on guard duty, an adult hand restrains them. Respectful bows font towards you as if to acknowledge an unspoken understanding—a solemn line between what is allowed and what isn't negotiated under sacred roofs and watchful gazes.

The breaking of your fast happens solely in the intimacy of your chambers, where you can abandon the weariness of your mask.

Fresh fruits and bread baked by the monks in the kitchens await you on a simple wooden table, their colors vibrant against the muted tones of your chamber. The apples gleam like polished rubies, their skins taut and inviting, while clusters of plump grapes spill over from the plate. The bread, golden and crusty, emits a warm aroma that fills the air with comfort; its texture promises a satisfying chew that will sustain you through the day’s trials.

You pour yourself a glass of tea, steam curling up like ethereal wisps as you set it beside the fruits, its sweetness rendered by generous dollops of honey that transform each sip into liquid amber. As you bite into a slice of bread, the crust crackles under your teeth, giving way to a soft and airy interior that melts on your tongue. It’s simple fare—yet it nourishes not just your body but also stirs echoes of childhood memories spent in the kitchens, where laughter mingled with the scent of baked goods.

The weight of your impending sacred duty hangs over you like storm clouds heavy with rain.

It's not just a responsibility; it's an anchor dragging you into the depths of despair, each step forward to navigate it is like wading through molten lead.

You peer through the frost-kissed window, and the courtyard below unfolds like a battlefield before a decisive clash. Figures clad in armor move with the grace of dancers and the determination of warriors bound for glory or doom. The pieces of gleaming plate mail reflects the pale light, casting fractured rainbows on the cobbled ground.

The gleam of virgin armor, polished to a high sheen, is nothing more than a facade.

It's an ornament, untouched by the brutality of combat—it’s their holy calling that these paladins embrace, not the bloody stain of war. And yet, you sit there on your throne and hesitate to send even one amongst them into the fray for your crown's sake.

How easy would it be to fool yourself into believing that time has frozen, and these young knights in training are simply rehearsing under the guise of some distant uncertainty. But your eyes have skimmed those sealed parchment letters, their inky truths seeping more dread into an already strained air; you're not as naive as all that. The chilling certainty of the Holy War lurks just on the other side of these weathered stone walls—it's only a matter of moments before a gasping messenger dispatches reality like storm clouds breaking open.

Regardless of how fervently you pray or how deep your self-sacrifice runs, it won’t alter this predetermined destiny.

Even as you grip your blessed rosary so tightly it leaves hardened impressions in your palm's soft flesh. Even when unshed tears blur your vision, scalding hot yet stubbornly refusing to fall free, and a knot of shame twists low within your stomach like vile poison—an uncomfortable squirming inside that is almost visceral. Your journey forward leaves much to be desired–mired with dark ambiguities, where faith resembles something more akin to a clumsy blind groping in the vast unknown.

Your heart twinges—a raw ache—at the sight of blond hair all too familiar.

"Leon," escapes in a murmur from between your chapped lips against the icy window pane—the cold seeping into your skin; tiny tendrils numbing any sensation away.

The young paladin has blossomed into a towering figure since his personal guard duty by your side the last month, his frame enveloped in the armor that’s bigger than his still-growing form. The sight of him clad in battle gear is a poignant one, for the metal plates seem to engulf him rather than adorn him. He looks anything but menacing, sweet consideration towards those he’s sparring with, despite clad head-to-toe in battle gear, with such carefree confidence that threatens to split your aching chest.

In a split second, on the other side of that cold glass wall; Leon’s focus latches onto your unveiled and unmasked presence like a sunflower bending towards light.

It's as if you've breathed some forbidden word into the wind - an inaudible gasp tingles the silence and ripples off his lips. He stammers mid-battle stance, frozen under some unseen celestial hammer, scorched into oblivion.

You step back hurriedly, yanking your veil down over your face once more; it's rough underneath your fingertips, but nothing compared to the turmoil swirling inside you. His own stunned gaze falters, tugs itself away as if burned - damn those beautiful eyes! But that moment costs him dearly as his rival lunges and he crumbles under the assault, and your heart won’t stop racing, undeniable fondness with a foreign heat creeping up your neck.

Leon bounces back from the blow almost instantly, staggering back to his feet like it's second nature; like he hasn't just had the wind knocked out of him and seems more rattled than before.

His opponent’s moves are unforgiving, one after another until Leon's guard slips. With a resounding thud that sends shudders up your spine, Leon gets slammed into the dirt floor.

His helmet soars through the air with an eerie ring that echoes around the courtyard, tumbling to rest at the boots of a nearby Paladin whose gaze is stuck on Leon’s prone form - filled with something close to pity but still masked by pride. A comrade extends a roughened hand, helping Leon upright, his comforting pat lingering just a moment too long on his shoulder blade as if unsure whether to leave or stay for strength. Jovially yet sternly, the older knight cuffs Leon on his arm, gauntlet striking armor with a dull clang.

As you retreat from your voyeuristic post at the window when reverberating tolls from the grand temple's bells signal practice time has run its course, there's an adrenaline rush buzzing under your skin even though you were merely watching. The upcoming blessing ceremony casts its shadow over you – all consuming and much larger than life; leaves no space for silly fancies.

Sunset paints the temple grounds in a bronzed hue as Leon treks alone back to the barracks, his mind adrift. Training bruises throb under his armor, though it's the sting of his fractured pride that truly wounds him.

None of it matters in the face of the glimpse of divinity he accidentally caught.

He nearly bends with the weight of it, an abyss of greed that he fears his brothers-in-arms can sense infecting his spirit. It maligns his growth as a paladin; he's sure Ethelion sees the invasive avarice lurking beneath skin and bone, an illicit truth residing within him nipping at him from the inside like a woodworm.

The seed of which had been planted over a decade ago, in these lily gardens, in the healing hands of a young Saintess whose presence and unmasked face lingered in his heart and grew into an infatuation with her holy touch.

He was but a boy back then, brittle and broken in body, his fragile skin stretched thin over bony limbs, rife with illness that stole the color from his cheeks and the air from his lungs. His very life seemed held together by prayers of his parents alone, fluttering like leaves in the wind. He'd stumbled into the garden by accident, chasing a stray cat with his siblings, not realizing he was lost.

Yet fate cast her sanguine smile and Ethelion himself turned an eye on him, sending the Saintess his way.

A warm glow drew him further through the bushes, and there you stood, cloaked in a robe that made your radiance seem as if it were born from moonlight. His eyes should have burned upon landing on you unmasked, youthful face that unmistakably belonged to a human girl of his age and not that of Ethelion in the flesh, but instead, his lungs expanded with an unknowable strength because of the divine power around you, an easiness that made it feel like he was breathing for the first time.

Not met with punishment for such audacity—he was instead gifted healing through your sacred touch–and got left laced with a perpetual yearning, sickness eradicated from his being and infused life onto starved limbs.

A lesson was disclosed to him later on when he’d become aware of himself, about why the Saintess had to be veiled.

His desires knew no end. It was for her spiritual purity that the Saintess could not be seen unmasked or reveal herself to mortals. Could one imagine the consequences of men akin to him lying eyes upon such magnificence, gracing skin intended only for Ethelion's touch? The impressionable child that he was had bloomed into an adult consumed by her divinity, hell-bent on basking in it all life long. Surely kingdoms would fold, as mortals were bound to disrupt natural balance attempting to seize the maiden of god.

So, when you appeared in the tower window today, he was overcome with a sensation so powerful it felt like angelic apparitions traced their wings down his back.

Divine grace embodied, shining forth in ways he couldn't articulate.

An inexplicable need arose from his bones for him to go to you, throw himself down in worship, confess sins one by one and receive penance:

In the hush of many nights when the temple halls were empty, he would wander like a ghost and always come back to kneel at the feet of Ethelion, daring to touch the cushions before the altar where you prayed, his fingers lingering where only your robes should caress. The audacity of his gaze tracing the delicate embroidery of your veil when he stood guard by your side, seeking to unveil something meant solely for Ethelion’s eyes, was but one of his many transgressions against the sanctity that cloaked you…

His form of worship seemed askew, borne more out of desire than devoutness; staining the starkly white fabric of his duty with its off-colour ardour.

He could never allow you, the revered Saintess, to know about this sinful sentiment dwelling within him; tarnishing every sweet memory associated with you.

The fantasy he harbored diminished his image, trendlessly etched as an obedient paladin's plight – but for him, you represented something significantly more profound. To even admit how dreams featuring you bewitchingly bathed in grace tainted his oath of celibacy would risk jeopardizing the hope invested in recognizing his service towards Ethelion.

The desire to earn the highest recognition, a Paladin's title and acceptance of his fealty to protect you as such – got increasingly tangled in a visceral wanting lost somewhere between sacrilege and worship that left a devout hunger echoing within him for your sake.

To satisfy this, he threw himself fiercely into arduous training channels to strengthen both his body and mind with every challenging day that went by - striving ceaselessly with dreams of deserving a place by your side.

Now, he stands precipitously on the verge; holding on desperately to this undisclosed confession – harboring a stolen glance of you from earlier as a secret talisman.

How could he go into the Holy War with his brothers now, knowing he'd seen beneath your veil and… Felt.

“You seem troubled, Sir Leon.”

Leon doesn’t dare turn; a jagged lick of dread splinters down his spine. He recognizes that voice—how could he not when it haunts his dreams night after night? Instead, he stares into nothingness, rooted to the ground, his mind unable to process that you're speaking to him.

But he does turn, finding you standing serenely beneath an archway covered with tangled fragrant vines in the Temple's back garden.

Your presence fills Leon with equal parts awe and unease, as if Ethelion himself is shaming him from above for desiring what should be beyond mortal reach.

Yet your countenance remains unchanged, unmarred by his inner turmoil. The mask stays in place, an extension of your divinity—only now, Leon swears that beneath it, your eyes are smiling at him.

Leon stands within the cool shadow of the ancient temple, its weathered stones holding an age-old embrace that wraps around him like a cloak. The air is thin with the delicate scent of lilies that’s wafting towards him from the garden—from you, and outside, where sunlight filters through the leafy canopy, you stand amidst color. Your garments catch the sunset, casting a shimmer that mirrors the beauty of your surroundings.

The difference between his shadowed presence and your radiant figure is a shaming from above, showing Leon your place in His divine light while he remains shrouded in sin.

The clinking of Leon's loose armor rings as he lowers himself to one knee before you, “Forgive me, Saintess. I did not mean to disturb your meditations.”

The rustle of silk heralded your approach, brushing against the cool stone floor like a gentle breeze stirring a field of wildflowers. He inhales sharply, his breath hitching in his throat as the fragrance of lilies envelops him.

You stop before him, your robes cascading around you like a mirage of opal waves, he is captivated by an urge so primal that it sends a flush of heat to his cheeks and makes his palms sticky; he longs to press his lips to the delicate fabric that seems to breathe with divine grace.

“Please rise, Sir Leon. I saw you training today. Your skills are formidable.”

His pride swelled silent and strong within his chest – a sudden weight that could unbalance him more than any physical blow ever could.

"Your words honor me greatly," he manages to speak to the stones at his feet, even after he is back up at his feet.

"Yet you seem to have much on your mind."

He cannot meet your eyes; it feels overwhelming to face such beauty and concern directed solely at him.

"Pardon me, that was a silly question, wasn't it? Of course you have much on your mind. You're about to ride into battle. Such thoughts are not easy to bear. Do you wish to talk about it?"

"It's not my place to trouble you with such things, Saintess. They will soon be far from here, and you will be safe in the Temple.”

He glances at you, and the look in your eyes is enough to make him forget how to breathe. It’s a blend of curiosity and tenderness; an innocence that nearly pierces through his mask and grazes the wicked depths of his heart.

You tilt your head, much like a bird contemplating a worm, and gently ask, "Would you indulge my curiosity and share one worry with me?"

It's an impossibly generous gesture, for you to extend this small piece of yourself to him in the middle of your meditations. Leon's teeth ache at the sweetness of it, at your kindness that extends even to him.

“I’m doubting my worthiness to serve,” he confesses unceremoniously. “I train relentlessly, but I lack the innate spark my brothers were born with. It's as if... as if I'm play-acting at being a Paladin.”

Those aren't the only doubts that torment him—but the ones he can actually say out loud without burning at the stake for.

"Do you remember the day we met, Sir Leon?" you begin, clasping your hands and turning around to face the gardens, the gentle breeze is making your veil flutter.

Leon nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. Even so many years later, the memory still has the power to stir his soul, churning something in his chest that makes it hard to think straight.

"It seems like it was yesterday that a young boy came stumbling into the garden, barely able to stand up, and looked me dead in the face. What do you think I saw in him?"

He always assumed the Saintess would have forgotten such a brief encounter, yet it was etched firmly into his memory and to hear it spoken aloud has his pulse miss a couple beats.

"Do you think I saw weakness as he lay gasping in the dirt? Or did I perhaps see an innocent curiosity that was easily swept up by the cruelty of this world and tamed into obedience? Or maybe I saw something else entirely.”

He shakes his head, trying to make sense of your words. It sounds like you're making a statement, but it's not clear which part you agree with.

"Tell me, Sir Leon. What is a spark? Does it come to life, or can it be nurtured from the smallest ember of resolve?" you whisper, fingers trembling as they ascend, tracing a path as delicate as a petal's fall, nearing his cheek with hesitant affection.

He’s paralyzed when your touch indeed lands instead of drifting away.

Your fingers linger, tracing the curve of his jawline with such gentleness, demure and awkward; and the pressure of it makes his skin sing, sparks dancing along every inch.

It's barely a caress, but he feels it in his bones—this ache—that swells and burns, a fire set alight inside his chest that’s on the precipice of consuming him whole.

A whole-body shiver breaks free, but you remain unfazed—your hand is still there, stroking his flesh with such tenderness; soft against the corner of his jaw.

"One is not born to greatness, one achieves it." You're calm, yet firm, a voice that commands respect. He's reminded of the many times he heard you deliver blessings on high ceremonies. There's something about the cadence of your words that pulls at the strings of his soul, drawing him in closer—deeper. "What truly matters is the conviction behind your actions. And, Sir Leon, you may not see it yet. But there's a spark inside your chest that burns brighter than any candle. Don't let anyone dampen it, for it shall shine a path forward unto others and bring glory to our land."

You pull away, leaving a void in your wake. Leon finds himself wanting to reach after you, wanting nothing more than for your skin to keep pressing against his, for your warmth to bleed through his own and ease the burden that's crushing him.

He wants to kiss those fingers that have—

Red hot shame enough to set firewoods aflame shoots straight to settle on his cheeks, flushing them as a wicked feeling sinks in his stomach, a heavy sinking pit. The meaning of your words resounds in his heart like a thunderclap after the lightning that was your touch, your holy words washing over him like a balm—or a warning.

He's brought back to reality abruptly with the harsh cackle of metal against stone as a group of paladins walk by and salute him and bow for the Saintess, pulling him out of a daze as he greets them. Their voices seem distant, faces a blur. It's a miracle Leon manages a nod at them in acknowledgment.

He finds his tongue eventually, his face still aflame with embarrassment at the realization of being in front of the Saintess, an idol of the Church, a woman he thinks of during his late-night ruminations, and still feels guilty for.

"T-thank you, Saintess,” his voice wavers, trembling even with those two simple words that leave him shaking, stirred to the core as if a sudden storm just swept him away to sea, and you are the shore he longs to return to. He fears he might drown in the depths of those beautiful eyes, pulled under by the current.

"It is I who should be thanking you, Sir Leon. You're risking everything to ensure peace for our realm."

Your words wrap around him like a hug, holding him in place while also offering a moment of comfort, like coming home from a long trip away. He treasures those precious few seconds, committing them to memory. But you are a Saintess, not a fellow knight, and there are no hugs or handshakes in his world.

"I'll see you in the ceremony," you continue, before leaving Leon with his heaving chest and a pressure knotting deep in his stomach, walking back to the serenity of the Temple, robes fluttering around your feet like snow settling over frozen earth.

Once you have disappeared into the confines of the temple, he lets out a deep breath. His heart is still beating wildly; the memory of your fingertips brushing his skin is seared into his flesh, an indelible mark that cannot be scrubbed away. He is unable to shake the feeling that he has committed some unspeakable sin; his body a living, breathing violation of his vows.

Leon washes himself in the barracks' bathing chambers, and as he stares at the naked flesh beneath steaming water, his thoughts turn to the ritual that awaits him. In the heat and sweat of it, he wonders if you can wash him clean, baptize his tainted heart.

His sweat trickles down his back, leaving shimmering beads of perspiration in its wake, he can feel each droplet sliding down like a ghostly caress overheated skin glistening under the light of flickering candles; his head is thrown back, and wet hair is slicked away from his face as he reclines in the wooden bathtub. He reaches up to trace the lines of his jaw with trembling fingers that hover just above his skin, remembering what it felt like to have your touch there. He closes his eyes and lets the steam envelop him; he feels the heaviness in his groin, thick and full between his thighs.

In this moment, he is alone with his guilt and shame; but underneath all that self-recrimination there lies a deeper emotion he dares not acknowledge: hope.

The blessing ceremony unfolds with the break of dawn the next day.

Rows of paladins stand at attention, forming a formidable barrier outside the towering chapel. You make your way up the marble steps, flanked by your retinue, and lift your veiled face to behold the regimented paladins before you. Their armor catches the sunlight in a dazzling display, swords resting peacefully in their scabbards. Every single one of them is an anonymous guardian, faces obscured by identical helmets and billowing white capes adorned with a shimmering blue starburst emblem emblazoned on their chest plates.

Upon reaching the summit of the staircase, the massive oak doors swing wide open, revealing an expanse filled with devout worshippers immersed in fervent prayer. Bathed in hues of multicolored light filtering through intricate stained-glass windows, their worshiping forms kneel upon the cool marble floor. Sunbeams caress their bowed heads like a halo, creating a mosaic of ethereal radiance that plays upon their serene features.

The hush that descends as you cross the threshold is whispered benedictions through the hall, enshrouding all present in a solemn embrace as you draw nearer to the altar at its heart.

At the altar stands the head priest, garbed in ceremonial robes—the deep hues of white and gold intertwining with ancient symbols. His palms are raised towards the statue of Ethelion, supplication etched into every line of his face. Before him sits an empty altar table covered in rich crimson velvet trimmed with gold brocade, and at its center rests a silver bowl filled with holy water, reflecting shards of light like fragments of a broken mirror.

Beside the basin stands a golden chalice and a sharp blade gleaming ominously.

You sink into a curtsy before the priest—your knees grazing the cool stone floor—as he intones your full title: "I salute the Beloved of Ethelion, Avatar of Eternity and Renewal,” before he gently beckons you to rise.

Taking your place before the altar, you feel the weight of an entire kingdom resting upon your shoulders. This ritual isn't mere superstition; it's a tangible link between mortal and divine—a celestial promise that Ethelia is indeed favored by the gods.

Yet beneath this grandeur lies urgency cloaked in ceremony: you're chosen by Ethelion to channel his blessing—a gift that comes with strings attached. It promises good health and protection from injury but depletes as quickly as candles flicker out in gusty winds.

You've done this countless times, yet it never becomes easier. You can only hope that the god residing within you answers earnestly today—gracing the paladins with divine strength and healing their wounds as you pour every ounce of yourself into them.

A hushed silence envelops the chamber as the priest lifts up the basin and blesses its water. He then raises it above your head, pouring its contents slowly over your body. The liquid cascades down your shoulders like molten gold—cool initially but warming as it mingles with your skin—and pools at your feet like melted sunlight. It seeps into the hem of your flowing robe which now shimmers like saffron touched by daylight's first rays.

The priest murmurs prayers of consecration while taking up the gleaming blade from beside chalice's stem. Gesturing for everyone gathered to join hands, he swiftly cuts into your wrist without warning—precise and unyielding. Blood oozes forth; dark as ink with whiffs reminiscent faint iron scent permeating air around tendrils curling upward almost ethereal fashion dripping fingers’ tips.

"May Ethelion guide thy swords on this path forward!" you invoke in a solemn tone. The words carry an authority that rings throughout the entire Temple, sending vibrations through the gathered crowd as they repeat your verse.

With a sharp exhale, you approach the priest and rest your open wound over the golden goblet, watching your blood drip into the vessel, drop by painstaking drop. All the while, the attendees recite their blessings in a swelling crescendo, their voices echoing back from the domed roof like an urgent prayer caught between earth and sky.

Your arm throbs incessantly—a dull ache blossoming into searing pain, but you press on, undeterred. Despite how difficult it becomes, there's solace in sharing this burden with others, knowing that they too have a part to play.

Finally, when enough blood has been collected, the priest holds the chalice high and exclaims, "For the kingdom! For Ethelion!"

On command, the paladins march forward with military precision, lining up in single file before the altar, the line extending out of the doors. With measured steps, they kneel in succession, resting their forearms atop the surface in a gesture of humility. You are handed the holy sword, its blade shimmering beneath the lights, its hilt ornately decorated with rubies and diamonds.

Placing your bleeding wrist atop the hilt's cool metal surface, you hold it above the first kneeling paladin's helmeted head. Slowly and carefully, you dip your finger into the cup of crimson liquid and anoint him with your blood by marking his crested forehead—a tangible sign of his sworn loyalty. Whispering a blessing so only he can hear it feels almost intimate—the sword becoming a conduit for divine power. The tip of the blade descends upon his crown; his shoulders instantly stiffen under this sacred touch—they tremble when it grazes one shoulder then moves to deliver an ethereal blow to the other.

The process repeats itself, endless and exhausting, as you move down the line.

Each anointment saps more of your energy reserves until you're left weak and nearly hollowed out from within. Yet pouring every bit of life force into each paladin so they may be shielded on battlefields ahead brings bittersweet satisfaction mixed with aching relief—you find strength anew just enough to persevere.

By the time you reach the end of the rows, your skin feels as paper-thin as the gauzy fabric covering your body. The edges of your vision have started to blur, and it takes considerable effort to stay upright, gripping the edge of the altar to steady yourself. Your heart is fluttering beneath your ribs like a frantic bird, wanting to burst free from its cage of bone and muscle and escape this agony. Your palms are clammy; you're sweating profusely beneath your robes, but despite this, you must see this rite through till its completion.

The ancient wooden door of the chapel creaks open, its mournful groan deafening in the silent night. A thin beam of moonlight slices through the gap, illuminating the dusty air. Inside, flickering candle flames cast warm, trembling light on Ethelion’s marble statue, which gazes down at you with unblinking, expressionless eyes.

You place your mask at the base of His effigy; unveiling yourself like this is a crucial part of the ritual—a moment of communion with the deity. You stand exposed before Him in every way—physically, spiritually, and emotionally. He serves as a mirror reflecting your deepest essence—a piece of you laid bare without fear or shame. Hiding from Him would be like refusing to acknowledge your own existence.

Summoning all your bravery, you remove the fragile veil that acts as your last shield against the world’s curious eyes, letting it rest gently next to your discarded mask. With both face and hair now revealed, you kneel before His statue. Your head bows low in penance, hands squeezed together in a gesture of deep devotion.

"Blessed Ethelion, forgive your servant," you plead with a tremor. "I have doubt in my heart. I'm afraid."

The statue remains silent; only overpowering stillness fills the air as seconds stretch into eternity. Then warmth radiates through you—starting from your chest and unfurling into your limbs—like sunshine poured into your veins, igniting every fiber with radiant energy.

"I don’t want any of them to die," you confess quietly, tears spilling free to splash against the cold flagstone floor. "They’re innocents caught in a war not their own."

There are no words in response, yet you feel an undeniable answer; Ethelion’s reassuring presence envelops you like a warm embrace. He is there to listen to you in silence.

This ritual is a moment of weakness—where fear manifests openly for release. These men are about to step into hell itself beyond the walls. Though they fight for honor and glory, deep down you know it will become a bloodbath—a massacre that will rend this kingdom apart.

"There's nothing sacred about this; yet here I stand sentencing Your children to death," you lament as tears trickle down your cheeks, mingling salty bitterness against trembling lips. No further sign comes; Ethelion appears content merely to observe from His heavenly perch—perhaps reminding you gently of your divine duty—the role He has ordained for you. "I beg forgiveness, O Lord. I could not change the minds blinded by ignorance. My heart bleeds for those suffering because of this conflict. Please protect them so they may come back to bask once more in Your radiant light."

You bow deeply before Him; rising again is a struggle as your knees quake beneath you.

"Saintess."

You jump at the familiar voice that slices through the sanctity of silence, eyes widening in recognition and trepidation.

This is the third time Leon has witnessed you this vulnerable without the holy artifacts shielding the flesh beneath, yet he remains unassuming and gentle; shock absent from his spirit this time. He stands close behind you in this hallowed space belonging solely to Ethelion's infinite wisdom, and you dare not breathe—afraid of shattering this ethereal moment.

"Avert your eyes, Sir Leon.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, standing erect. You remain there unmoving, save for the tiny droplets of sweat gathering on your hairline as he moves with the grace of a shadow, his steps measured and deliberate, until he stands by your side, his eyes unwaveringly fixed upon the towering statue of Ethelion that looms before you both, as if seeking solace in the stone divinity rather against the evil of your human form.

He drops down onto both knees, bowing so low that his forehead nearly kisses the cold stone floor.

A subtle movement draws your attention, and you steal a glance from beneath your lashes. The moonlight caresses strands of golden hair and spins them into threads of silver. His attire deviates from the usual paladin's armor; instead, he wears a simple cotton shirt, its sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, veiny forearms sculpted by hard practice. The fabric clings to his form, hinting at the sinewy strength that lies beneath. Riding breeches embrace his legs snugly, tucked into worn boots that have weathered countless journeys.

The collar of his shirt is notched open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the base of his throat and the expanse of his upper chest. Your gaze traces the contours of muscle defined beneath the sheer material, and traitorously ventures lower, lingering on the curve of his bent knees before daring to explore further down to where his knuckles rest—taut and unyielding atop thighs etched with power. It leaves your mouth dry.

The intensity with which he shuts his eyes mirrors that boy from years past—the one who clenched his fists tightly against pain, refusing to cry as he battled an illness that should have claimed his life but didn't.

You yield to an impulse, enveloping him in the ethereal embrace of your veil, a shield against the world's gaze and your own. His body tenses beneath the delicate fabric as you glide it over his features, a soft gasp escaping from deep within him. With a trembling exhale, he quivers imperceptibly, fingers pressing into the cloth with a fervor that leaves faint dents on his skin, hands strained from the intensity.

"Open your eyes," you murmur tenderly, reluctant to disrupt the fragile moment.

Gleaming blue flickers into view through the white, translucent shroud, their clarity distorted by the gossamer material. You observe his swallow, the rhythmic rise and fall of his Adam's apple as he tentatively reaches to draw it down over his face.

Through the veil's prism, you must appear as a kaleidoscope of hues and forms to him; a phantom of your true essence, an elusive apparition hovering at the edge of reality.

"The… The blessing went well today," Leon sputters, cracking at the end like glass under pressure.

"Why did you come here, Sir Leon?" you ask gently, sensing that beneath his stiff formality lies a multitude of untold emotions.

"Are you alright?" The genuine concern for your person sends shivers cascading over your skin; fine hairs on your arms lift as he touches his wrist—mirroring right where your blood had been drawn. "Does it hurt every time the blessing is performed? I've never watched it before. It's..."

He falters, mouth opening and closing, and you notice how the fractured light from the windows bathes the swell of his cheeks in a tender luminescence. His words hang between you both, delicate strands of silk trying to knit themselves into coherence.

"It's awful, Saintess. To see your suffering laid bare before everyone."

"I would drain my whole body if it meant those brave men will go out knowing they are protected," you say with resolute calmness, though deep down, you're curious about how he truly perceives you now.

A barely audible "I know," escapes him. It feels like a confession—an unpleasant truth he doesn’t like being faced with. Whatever it holds makes warmth surge through you, igniting your skin and causing another involuntary shiver as he moistens his lower lip with a slow sweep of his tongue. "I know."

"Don't worry about me, Sir Leon. Your job is out there defending these lands, while mine is to ease your burdens. Think only of protecting those who need your shield.”

“Is it wrong to care for those I serve?” His wholehearted question tightens something within you—stirs an undefined yet potent emotion ready to bloom.

"Not at all," you reply almost breathlessly as he gazes intently at the curve of your jawline—your face blurred but memorized by him with stunning accuracy. "Remember whom your sword serves; we live only to honor Ethelion."

"I wish the world were different," his words seem hollowed out, lacking meaning, and yet there's an unmistakable conviction there, a resolve that drives him.

"As do I."

You glide your fingertips over the altar's slick surface, taking in a deep breath that fills your lungs fully with the sanctity of this space.

Then he straightens up suddenly; determination shines in his posture. He doesn’t rise from his kneeling position, yet it frightens you in the same way it would if he had shot up to stand.

"If you'll allow it, Saintess," he says, venerating, and the delicate fabric of his veil brushes against the embroidered sleeve of your robe. That fleeting contact sends a jolt through you, reverberating like a soft, whispered promise. His simple gesture, his proximity—it shouldn’t mean anything. But you feel he might as well have taken your hand in his. "I would pledge an oath to you as well."

There’s a deliberate slowness in how he pulls back, the motion of a man lingering at a threshold he has no right to cross.

Your chest tightens, your breath coming slower as you try to compose yourself. “Of course, Sir Leon,” you manage, though the stillness between you is filled with your uncertainty. What if you're not worthy of his devotion? Of his sacrifice? If he saw what lay beneath the veil, beyond the role of saintess, would he still look at you this way? Or would he recoil, realizing the truth of what you are: flesh and blood, no more divine than the earth beneath your feet?

You feel his stare. It’s as though they’re tracing the length of your body, reaching you through the barrier of the veil, and somehow, that makes the sensation more intimate than if he were standing before you fully revealed.

His breath catches, just slightly. You hear it, feel it, even though the veil between you muffles the sound. "It’s not about whether you’ll accept it," he continues, and there’s a shift in his stance. You can’t see his face, but the way he holds himself, the slight movement of his shoulders beneath the fabric, tells you that he’s grounding himself. "I give this vow because it is mine to give. For you, not for recognition or reward. It’s my choice, my will. No one needs to know."

His spine is ramrod straight now, but there’s a softness in his words, a slight tilt of his head as his eyes search yours. “My loyalty belongs to you alone.”

You swallow hard, the meaning of his words sinking deep into your soul. A lowly servant of Ethelion, that’s all you are. A vessel. No name, no family, no identity beyond the veil. His words... they speak of individual loyalty, devotion to you, not to Ethelion, not to the divine purpose you embody. You are no one. You have no right to such things. How could you take from him what rightly belongs to the god you serve? Wouldn’t you be struck down for such hubris? For leading a paladin astray, pulling him from the only true master he should follow? You tremble at the thought.

"Sir Leon, I cannot accept this." Your fingers curl around the skirt of your robe, the fabric twisting beneath your grip. “It’s—”

His chin lifts, eyes steady on you. "—wrong?"

You start at his interruption. Your voice sounds so feeble as you finish the sentence with a meek, "Yes."

He stays rooted, motionless, but something in the atmosphere shifts again. His breathing, though controlled, seems deeper, and you sense the quiet resolve in the silence that stretches between you.

"Then let me be the one who wrongs Ethelion." His tone carries a weight that presses against you, not through sound but through the way his body holds firm, unwavering. His movements are subtle, restrained, yet the soft brush of his hand grazing his side signals something deeper, a release of tension. "I pledge myself to you, Saintess. To your will, your desires. You are my strength."

The air feels dense, thick with the weight of what he’s offering.

These words flow from him like water spilling over stones, filling up spaces where it couldn't previously reach. The warmth in your chest expands, spreading outward until it seeps into every fiber of your being. Your fingers twitch, the edge of your sleeve twisting between them as you try to ground yourself.

"Please grant me a token of your favor."

Your hands tremble at your sides, your pulse quickening as you fidget with the fabric between your fingers.

What can you possibly offer him?

You glance down, but everything feels out of reach, the world reduced to this one moment.

"But I..." you begin, unsure, your fingers tugging nervously at your sleeve, "I am not a Lady."

There’s a pause, the kind that stretches, and though you can’t see his expression, it feels charged. He shifts ever so slightly, enough that you catch the faint rustle of fabric as he moves.

"All the more reason," he says, a shy smile in his words. "An unworthy paladin asking for a favor from the Saintess—what could be more fitting?"

"Then you may pick whichever object from the temple you desire—"

"I want something of yours, not an icon, nor some relic," he replies immediately, cutting you short, the butteriness sending shivers running down your back. "What do I lack that you have plenty of, that you won't miss, even if it's just a small trinket?"

Your heart stumbles in your chest, the weight of his request crashing into you like a wave. Real? What could you give him? What is yours to offer?

"A lock of hair?" you whisper, feeling your pulse quicken as you say it. The words feel small, vulnerable, but they tumble out before you can stop them. "Would that… suffice?"

Silence follows, his breathing seems to stop.

A lock of hair would belong to you, not the Saintess. A proof of your worldliness, beyond the connection to Ethelion's divine essence. Something that is of the girl and not the holy maiden. Is that what he seeks?

"Your hair," he breathes out in an exhale, as if tasting the words. He appears completely entranced and you become conscious of yourself, the inappropriate nature of just what you brought up.

You draw a slow, shaky breath, the idea settling uneasily in your chest. There’s something intensely personal, too intimate about the exchange. "No, you misunderstand—"

"Your hair, Saintess," he repeats it again, this time more forceful than you've ever seen him; you'd never dare refuse this request and it steals your breath, silencing every protest rising in your throat. "I will accept no less."

Leon rises to his feet, dwarfing you with his broad frame. For the very first time, in Ethelion's presence, you feel small and helpless, like a child who's wandered into his garden. There's something overwhelmingly disarming about sharing this space with him. A foreign sensation blooms within you— a spark that threatens to ignite your world into flames—but you dare not give it voice.

Leon had once worn his armor with pride, each plate fastened like a second skin, the weight of his sword as natural as the rhythm of his heartbeat. Every step forward felt as if he marched hand in hand with something divine, a force greater than himself guiding his every move. The blessing of the saintess had lingered on his skin, a quiet touch that had etched itself into his soul, fortifying his resolve. He had believed, back then, that he was a vessel of the god’s will.

That was years ago.

Now, standing at the edge of the battlefield, the familiar weight of his armor feels heavier, pressing down like an unbearable burden. The bitter taste of dried sweat clings to his lips, and a dull ache pulses beneath his ribs where his armor had done little to stop the last blow. The sun glares down on the blood-soaked earth, the cries of the wounded melding with the clash of steel and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.

This was not what he envisioned. There was nothing divine here.

A shout rises above the noise, sharp and commanding, drawing his gaze toward the horizon. The enemy soldiers draped in black, surge over the hill like a wave of shadow. His grip tightens around his sword, the hilt slick with a mixture of blood and sweat, fingers straining against the leather-bound grip.

“Leon!” A voice, rough and worn from years of battle, cuts through the din. Leon turns, his eyes locking onto Captain Krauser, a veteran whose gaze is as sharp as a hawk’s. His expression is hard, impatient. “Orders from the Temple: we flank their left side!”

Leon’s heart clenches at the mention of the Temple.

It had been a long time since the orders felt pure, righteous. The Church’s demands had grown more questionable with each passing day. What had once been a campaign to protect the kingdom and its people now reeked of ambition—land grabs disguised as divine conquest. Territories seized, villages razed under the pretense of holy duty.

But Leon doesn’t question. He never has. He is a soldier, a paladin. A servant of Ethelion.

The memory of you—serene, always hidden beneath the mask you wore as the Saintess—surfaces in his mind, unbidden, his anchor to the divine, the blessing you placed on him sacred. You believed in him, blessed him with your blood, and for that, he would fight. For that, he would fulfill his duty.

He moves after Krauser, silent as a ghost, maneuvering through the throng of soldiers until they reach the flank. The enemy’s forces are spread thin, their attempt to push the kingdom’s army back leaving them exposed. It should be an easy victory. A victory that would tighten their grip on the region, crush the enemy’s morale.

The order comes swiftly, brutal and final: Leave no one alive.

Leon hesitates, his sword held in a grip that tightens until his knuckles ache. Leave no one alive. The same command they’d been given in the last village. And the one before that. What once felt justifiable—crushing the enemy for the kingdom’s safety—now sits like lead in his bones.

Those they slaughtered hadn’t been soldiers. They were farmers, villagers. Innocents. Women and children.

He closes his eyes for a brief moment, and the memory of the last village rises unbidden, a flash behind his eyelids. He can still smell the smoke, hear the anguished cries of mothers shielding their children. His punishment for hesitating, for not cutting through them as he did the soldiers, feels lighter than the weight of that memory.

“Are you deaf, shiny?” Krauser says with a low growl, dragging him back to the present. “I said move.”

Leon’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck pulling taut. His body moves automatically, his sword rising as he steps forward, following the rest of the paladins into the fray. Steel clashes with steel, bodies crash against one another, but the noise fades, swallowed by the gnawing doubt lodged deep in his chest. He strikes down another soldier, their blood splattering across his already stained armor, but the pit in his stomach only deepens.

He had been blessed to protect the kingdom, to serve the saintess. How did it come to this? When did righteousness turn into this—bloodlust veiled by holy orders?

Each swing of his sword feels heavier, as though the weight of every soul he cuts down drags him closer to the earth. He fells another enemy, watching as the light drains from their eyes, but it’s not just the life that drains from them—it’s something in him too.

This war, it’s nothing like he’d imagined. In the temple, they had spoken of glory, of righteousness, of battles fought in the name of Ethelion. His fellow soldiers had whispered about the honor of dying for the Temple, the promise of eternal life in the afterworld. They had made war sound like a divine calling, a sacred rite of passage where every death was sanctified, every act of violence blessed.

Out here, there is no glory.

Only blood.

The blood of his brothers, mingled with the enemy’s, staining the dirt beneath their feet. The screams of dying men linger in his ears long after the fighting stops. He’s seen cities burn, watched women and children scramble through the streets, faces twisted in terror, only to fall under a volley of arrows or be trampled beneath the horses of his comrades.

Leon had thought he could stomach it. He’d steeled himself for the brutal reality of war. But nothing prepared him for the guilt, the crushing weight of it, as each atrocity committed in Ethelion’s name piles higher on his soul.

At first, he’d believed the bloodshed was necessary, part of the divine plan. But with every passing day, that belief crumbles a little more, cracking like fragile glass.

Now, standing over the bodies of men who’d once fought to protect their own, Leon can barely remember why he’s here. He can’t recall the saintess’s face anymore—only a faint echo of your eyes, the memory fading like a forgotten dream.

How did the lines blur so completely?

He tightens his grip on his sword, but the weight of it feels foreign, like a weapon forged for someone else.

Facing the fire, Leon watches the flames dance, their orange glow casting restless light over the camp. The logs hiss and crackle as they blacken, edges curling inward with each passing flicker. Every so often, flares shoot out from the heart of the fire, sending sparks spiraling up into the night before falling back down into the pyre. Heat washes over his face, warm yet uncomfortable, the kind that burns if stared at for too long. Leon turns away, unable to face his own reflection in the fire’s glow.

Around him, shadows shift across the ground as torchlight flickers over tents and hastily constructed barriers. Laughter rises from nearby campfires, men gathered in groups, boasting about their conquests in battle, their stories of women left behind growing hazy with time. The smell of roasting meat mingles with the sharp bite of smoke as soldiers cheerfully drink from their ale rations. Some play cards or dice, animated, full of hope for victories yet to come. Others simply bask in the temporary lull, telling tales of their glory to fill the silence.

Leon keeps his distance, seeking refuge near a cluster of trees where the light barely reaches, and the noise fades to a murmur. His back rests against a sturdy trunk, sword and shield propped beside him, the armor around him a forgotten weight. He has no desire to join in the revelry. Solitude feels more fitting—more honest. He closes his eyes, trying to relish the brief respite, though the chance of true rest feels distant, as elusive as peace itself.

"If you don’t eat, you’ll lose your strength." A gruff scoff breaks the silence, drawing Leon from his thoughts. He glances sideways to find Captain Krauser standing above him, holding out a steaming bowl of stew. The smell of the meat, thick with gravy, rises into the cool night air, but Leon’s stomach churns at the sight of it.

"Captain Krauser," Leon mutters, accepting the bowl out of obligation more than hunger, balancing it on one knee. "Didn’t feel like celebrating with the others."

Krauser doesn’t move. He stands there, arms crossed, his bulk casting a shadow that blocks the faint moonlight. His scarred face is half-illuminated by the fire’s glow, the deep lines etched into his skin more pronounced in the flickering light.

Leon stirs the stew absently, blowing on it before taking a small bite. It’s warm, but tasteless. Each mouthful feels like ash, though he forces himself to swallow.

Krauser lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He lowers himself to the ground beside Leon with a heavy sigh, the earth shifting beneath his weight. "Is that guilt weighing you down, shiny?" His voice is rough, edged with a mockery that barely conceals his weariness. "Because that’s a damn waste of time."

Shiny. The word used to grate on Leon—an insult for paladins whose armor hasn’t yet been sullied by enough blood and battle. His once-polished metal has long since dulled, but the name lingers. Now, he doesn’t care what anyone calls him. It’s just another word.

"Just a bad feeling," Leon replies with a shrug, forcing another spoonful down. The broth is bland, lukewarm at best, but he eats slowly anyway, chewing as if it will somehow ground him in the present.

Krauser grunts, his large frame shifting uncomfortably as he leans back against the tree. "You’re learning." He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as he glances toward the distant glow of campfires. "New orders came in. We move south at first light to intercept a convoy carrying supplies."

Leon keeps eating, though his grip tightens slightly on the spoon. He waits. There’s always more.

"Intelligence says there may be hostages," Krauser adds, his voice turning grim. Leon notices how the lines around his eyes seem deeper, more etched than before. There’s exhaustion in them, though it’s well hidden behind his hardened exterior. "Our task is to eliminate the threat to the kingdom."

"Kill the hostages?" Leon’s response is flat, more a statement than a question.

A heavy silence falls between them, stretching like a weight neither of them wants to bear. The fire crackles on, sending occasional sparks into the air, while the distant hum of soldiers' voices fades into the background. The smell of burning wood fills the space between them, thick and stifling.

Krauser doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenches, the scar on his face pulling tight as he looks ahead, not meeting Leon’s gaze. "You know the orders," he says finally, the words dropping like stones into the quiet. "We do what we’re told."

Leon lowers the spoon, the taste of the stew forgotten as his stomach twists. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. He stares into the fire again, watching as the flames curl around the blackened logs, reducing them to nothing but ash.

The sword feels heavier today.

Leon rides ahead of the troops, the rhythmic clop of horseshoes striking the stone path echoing across the endless stretch of open land before him. The morning sun climbs lazily in the sky, casting pale light that stretches the shadows of soldiers and horses over fields soon to be stained with blood.

His breath puffs in the crisp air, small clouds that vanish as quickly as they form. His fingers tighten around the sword’s hilt, knuckles whitening under the strain, even though there’s no immediate need to wield it. Sweat runs in a thin line down his spine, sticking his shirt to his skin beneath the armor.

Behind him, the sounds of the army in preparation are a constant hum—swords being drawn from scabbards, armor buckled into place, horses snorting in nervous agitation. Soldiers march in disciplined ranks, though their faces carry the tension of men too aware of what’s to come. Some are barely more than boys, fresh to the battlefield, eyes wide with fear they think they can hide. The village lies beyond the next ridge, nestled in the hills. The command had been clear: leave none alive.

Leon shifts uncomfortably in the saddle. His throat tightens with the weight of it, as if each breath is a struggle to swallow the bitter taste of what they’re about to do. He glances to the soldiers beside him, seeing faces too young, too eager to kill or die, all in the name of a god who remains as distant as the stars.

There was a time when Ethelion’s will felt as close as his own heartbeat. When the saintess’s blessings had filled him with purpose, your touch a reminder of the grace he fought to protect. What would you think of him now? Would you still offer him your blessing, knowing the blood that stains his hands? The lives he’s taken, the innocents who died beneath his blade?

As they near the village, Leon pulls back on the reins, slowing his horse. The captain riding beside him narrows his gaze, a sharp glance cast his way, but Leon doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Captain,” Leon’s voice comes out rougher than intended. “What if we’re wrong?”

The captain scoffs, not even turning his head. “Wrong? These people are traitors. They must be dealt with.”

Leon’s grip tightens around the reins, the leather biting into his palms. “But we have no proof. No confirmation that they’ve—”

“There is no what if, shiny,” the captain cuts him off, his tone as cold and unyielding as iron. “Our orders are clear. Or have you forgotten your place?”

Leon swallows hard, his throat dry. His place. To serve, to obey, to carry out the will of Ethelion without question.

But his place has never felt so wrong.

They crest the final hill, the village coming into view below. Smoke rises lazily from chimneys, the scent of cooking fires carried on the wind. From a distance, it looks serene. Peaceful. The villagers go about their day, unaware of the army bearing down on them, unaware that in moments, their world will be torn apart.

Leon’s stomach churns. His horse shifts beneath him, sensing his unease, and he forces a slow breath, trying to calm the storm of doubt swirling inside him. His brothers-in-arms march forward, steady and resolute, their swords ready, their minds set on the task ahead.

But Leon’s horse won’t move. It stands rooted, mirroring the weight in his soul.

The captain urges his own horse forward, barking orders to the soldiers to fan out and surround the village. Leon watches as they obey without hesitation, without question. Their faces remain emotionless, minds focused on the task at hand.

How can they not feel it? How can they not sense the wrongness of what they’re about to do?

As the soldiers advance, the first shouts of alarm rise from the village below. Leon can hear it—the panic in their voices, see the sudden fear on their faces. Mothers pulling children close, men scrambling to gather their families. Chaos erupts as arrows fly and swords are raised, and yet, Leon remains frozen in place, his hand trembling on the reins.

The first bodies fall, the clash of steel and screams blending into a cacophony that drowns everything else. The world tilts beneath him, the ground shifting as the sickening sound of death fills his ears, louder than the wind, louder than anything.

I can’t do this.

The thought slices through the haze like a knife.

I can’t.

His grip tightens further on the reins, every muscle in his body tensing, ready to move, ready to do something. Anything.

A shout from behind jerks him from his paralysis. “Sir!”

Leon turns sharply, his pulse racing. A young messenger rides toward him, his face pale, fear etched into every line as he pulls his horse to a stop, barely managing to speak through gasps for air. “Urgent orders from the capital! Princess Ashley has been taken by the enemy. We must mobilize immediately to retrieve her.”

Leon’s heart slams against his ribs.

The princess. The heir to the throne.

For a brief, blessed moment, the chaos of the battlefield fades away, replaced by the only thing that matters. He can save her. He can stop this madness and do something that truly matters.

But the church has other orders.

The captain rides over, his brow furrowed as he tears the sealed letter from the messenger’s hand, the royal crest glinting in the sunlight. He scans it quickly, his expression hardening with each passing second before crumpling the parchment and tossing it to the ground.

“We proceed as planned,” the captain snaps, his tone cold, final.

Leon’s blood runs cold. “But the princess—”

“The orders stand,” the captain repeats, not even glancing at him. “We were sent here to purge this village of traitors, and that’s what we’ll do.”

The sound fades from Leon’s ears, replaced by a sharp ringing that drowns out the Captain ordering the messenger away and trying to direct him to the nearest base.

His pulse pounds in his temples, each beat like a hammer driving nails into his resolve. This isn’t just another village. This isn’t just another order. It’s the future of the kingdom hanging in the balance, and they’re about to throw it all away for what? For bloodshed masquerading as faith?

The bile rises in Leon’s throat, bitter and burning.

He thought he could stomach war. He thought he could follow orders, no matter how brutal. But this?

The last thread of the leash holding him snaps.

Leon’s hands shake on the reins as the captain’s sharp gaze lands on him. “Leon,” the captain growls, noticing his hesitation, “Remember yourself.”

An oath. To serve, to obey, to protect.

But as he looks out over the village, sees the smoke rising, the screams tearing through the air, Leon knows the truth.

This isn’t the will of Ethelion.

This is the will of men.

Men who’ve twisted the divine into something grotesque, something that demands blood for power. Men who’ve forgotten what they were supposed to protect.

Your face flashes before him—soft, kind, with that quiet strength. The words you once spoke come back to him, clear in the chaos.

One is not born to greatness. One achieves it.

“I can’t do this,” Leon whispers, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His voice is barely a breath, but the weight of the truth in them rings louder in his mind than any shout of command.

The captain’s gaze sharpens. “What did you say?”

Leon meets his eyes, feeling the fire build inside him. “I won’t do this,” he repeats, stronger now. “I won’t sit by and watch us slaughter innocents while the kingdom’s heir is in danger.”

“You swore an oath.”

“I swore an oath to protect,” Leon retorts, his breath catching as conviction tightens his chest. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

For a long, tense moment, silence stretches between them. The captain’s face twists in fury, his hand hovering near his sword. “You defy the Temple, and you defy Ethelion himself. You’ll be branded an oathbreaker. You’ll never be able to return.”

An oathbreaker. Cast out from the temple, from the faith, from you.

But Leon knows, deep down, that this decision was made long before he spoke the words.

“If following the Temple means abandoning the kingdom, then I’ll bear that title gladly.”

The captain’s jaw tightens, fury flashing in his eyes, but Leon doesn’t wait for the response. He turns his horse with a sharp tug, spurring it forward. The wind rushes against his face as he rides, faster and faster, leaving behind the chaos, the orders, the lies.

He knows what this means. He knows what’s waiting for him at the end of this path. There will be no place for him in the temple, no return to the saintess’s grace.

But as the wind cuts through him, sharp and freeing, he knows one thing for certain:

He’s made his choice.

And now, he’ll live with it.

The streets of the capital are thick with people, their cheers rising in waves that echoed off the towering stone walls of the city, the air alive with the sounds of celebration—laughter, music, the rhythmic beat of drums that thrummed through the cobblestone streets like a heartbeat. Banners of blue and gold flutter in the breeze, catching the midday sun and casting fractured patterns of light across the throngs of spectators who lined the streets.

And there, at the center of it all, rides Leon, astride a massive warhorse clad in gleaming black barding, the royal crest of Ethelion emblazoned on its chest. The horse’s hooves clatter against the stones, a steady, rhythmic sound that matches the beat of the drums, though Leon barely hears it. His focus is elsewhere—distant, cold, fixed on a point far beyond the horizon as the cheers of the people wash over him like distant waves.

He sits tall in the saddle, his body encased in full black armor that gleams like polished obsidian despite the streaks of dried blood splattered across the metal. His cape, once a regal white, fluttered in the breeze, its edges torn and frayed from the brutal campaign that had crowned him victor. Though battered, the helmet is tucked under his arm, leaving his face exposed to the cool autumn air.

The cheers from the crowd echo off the stone buildings, filling the air with a roar of excitement and adoration. Cries of “Long live Sir Leon!” and “Hail the hero!” ring out from every direction, the people pushing and jostling to catch sight of him as he rode by.

It all means little to him.

They shout his name, faces alight with joy, hailing him as their hero, their savior. He has returned from the war triumphant, Princess Ashley safe at his side, the enemy defeated and the kingdom secured. To them, he is a figure of legend, a warrior draped in glory and victory.

But to Leon, the glory feels hollow, like fool’s gold.

He fought for close to a decade, driven by a purpose that no longer existed. The blood on his armor, the lives lost in his name—it all seems to blur together in his mind, a swirling mass of faces and screams that he can’t escape. Even here, amidst the fanfare and celebration, the battlefield clings to him, its shadow cast long and dark over his soul.

The people can’t see it. They see only the armor, the crown of laurels resting atop his head, the bloodied sword at his side. They don’t see the burden of it, the way it presses down on him like a sin he could never lay down.

He glances to the side as the parade moved forward, the crowds pressing in closer as they strained to catch a glimpse of the soldiers coming home. Children are perched on their parents’ shoulders, waving small flags, their faces painted in the colors of the kingdom. Women throw flowers from their balconies, petals raining down like confetti, their bright colors almost a mockery to the dark steel of his armor.

And then, through the sea of faces, something catches his eye.

A small blur, darting between the legs of the adults, weaving through the crowd with surprising speed and determination. Leon’s gaze sharpens, his body tensing instinctively as he tracks the movement, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword.

It’s a child.

A little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, her hair tied in messy braids, face flushed with excitement. She breaks free from the crowd, slipping past the guards who stood watch along the edges of the street, and before anyone can stop her, she runs toward Leon, her small hands clutching something tightly to her chest.

The crowd gasps, a murmur rippling through as the girl reaches Leon’s horse. The guards move forward, ready to intervene, but Leon holds up a hand, signaling for them to stop.

He looks down at the child, eyes dark and tired. The little girl stares up at him, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths, wide eyes filled with awe and something else—something Leon hasn’t seen in a long time.

Hope.

For a moment, the world slows, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as Leon and the girl lock eyes. She is so small, so fragile, standing there in front of him, her little hands trembling as she holds something out to him on her tiptoes.

A flower.

A single white lily, its petals slightly crumpled from her tight grip, but still intact, still whole. She raises it up to him, her hands shaking, lips parting in a shy, nervous smile.

“For you, sir,” she yells, her voice barely audible over the distant roar of the crowd. “Thank you for saving us!”

Leon stares down at the flower, his heart constricting painfully in his chest. The blood on his armor, the dirt caked beneath his fingernails, the weight of the sword at his side—all of it feels wrong in the presence of such innocence. He’s a soldier who threw away his oath, a killer, a man forged in the fires of war, and yet here stands this child, offering him a flower as if he were something more than just the weapon the kingdom had wielded.

His hand, still encased in the cold metal of his gauntlet, moves slowly, hesitantly, as if it doesn’t belong to him. He reaches down, the armor creaking with the motion, and gently takes the flower from the girl’s outstretched hands. The petals brush against the bloodstained metal of his gloves, stark and bright against the darkness of his armor.

“Thank you,” Leon mumbles, rough and strained, the words catching in his throat. His grip tightens around the delicate stem of the flower, careful not to crush it. For a brief moment, the warmth of the child’s gesture pierces through the fog of guilt and weariness that’s permanently settled over him, a glimmer of light in the darkness.

The little girl’s face lights up with a smile, her eyes shining with pure, untainted joy. She stands there and jumps up and down with excitement, beaming up at him as if he were the sun itself, as if his presence alone could banish the shadows that lingered at the edges of her world.

But Leon knows better. He feels the lock of hair curled inside the locket above his heart burn his skin.

The grand doors of the royal palace groan open with an echoing creak, revealing the hall beyond—a glittering display of prosperity and flamboyance that seems to scorn the simple austerity of the life Leon has known. Polished marble floors gleam beneath chandeliers of wrought gold, their light refracting off mirrors that line the walls. The air here is crisp, almost sharp with nose-breaking blends of perfumes, with none of the heavy warmth of the temple's incense.

Leon’s boots click sharply against the marble as he enters, each step ringing out in the cavernous hall, a sound swallowed by the murmurs of the courtiers who line the edges of the room. The steady hum of muted conversations fills his ears, escorted by the occasional clink of glasses. They watch him with calculating eyes, the nobles dressed in silks and velvets of every hue, faces painted with smiles too precise to be genuine, as suffocating as the armor that once bore him through battle.

He feels naked without it now, standing here in formal garb, his sword sheathed and distant at his side, a mere symbol of his victory rather than a tool of survival. The dark fabric of his tunic hangs heavy on his shoulders, trimmed with the royal blue of the kingdom.

Ahead, at the far end of the hall, the king sits on his throne. The high-backed chair is a towering edifice of dark wood, inlaid with gold and precious stones that sparkle under the dazzling chandeliers. The king himself is an imposing figure, draped in royal blues and deep purples, a crown resting atop his graying hair. He watches Leon’s approach with the same detachment as the nobles—his gaze that of a man weighing the worth of a tool rather than acknowledging the triumph of a soldier.

As Leon reaches the dais, he stops, kneeling—an action that should feel natural after years of service, but here, it is different.

The king rises slowly, the robes trailing around his feet like the velvet shadows of dusk, and approaches with the same calculated precision that governs the court. A ceremonial scepter gleams in his hand, more ornament than authority, but its significance is clear.

“Sir Leon,” the king’s words cut through the room like the edge of a blade, each syllable crisp, measured. “You stand before this court as a hero of our realm. For your valor in battle, for your unwavering loyalty to the crown, and for the rescue of Princess Ashley, I bestow upon you the title of Margrave.”

The tap of the scepter on Leon’s shoulder is light, almost delicate, but it might as well have been a hammer.

The king returns to his throne, settling back with a rustle of silk, and gestures for Leon to rise. “Rise, Margrave.”

Leon pushes to his feet, the formality of the moment bearing down upon him as the court claps in practiced politeness. Their applause is soft, a murmur of sound that fades almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving the room in an expectant silence.

It is time.

A low ripple of movement stirs at the far end of the hall as the clergy step forward. Robes of pristine white trail across the floor as the procession approaches, a stark contrast to the vivid blues and purples of the nobility. At the head of the clergy is the Archbishop, his ceremonial staff clicking rhythmically against the floor with each step. And beside him—veiled, serene, and radiant in her holy robes—is the saintess. The mask is a pure white, veil milky and opaque; the contrasts of light and darkness across its fabric give the impression of a reflection on water, of a thousand shifting stars under the sun. On your head rests a delicate crown of silver thorns, interwoven with fine filigree, glimmering like fresh snow, hands folded in your lap are covered by silk gloves, so smooth they almost shine.

Leon’s heart stutters.

This is the moment he has been longing for, the only prayer that’s ever left his lips even after his faith had fallen.

He has endured the war, survived the bloodshed, all for this. For you. For the woman who has been his guiding light, the saintess who had once healed him with her touch, whose presence had filled the void within him during the long, cold nights on the battlefield.

He steps forward, his hands trembling at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as the group approaches the dais.

His knee wants to bend before he even realizes it, the instinct to kneel before you stronger than any other impulse.

But as when you take your place atop the steps of the dais, hands raised in the familiar gesture of blessing, something gnaws at him—an unease that creeps along the edges of his mind. The movement of your hands, the tilt of your head—it is all wrong. Too stiff, too formal.

He hesitates.

The room holds its breath, the nobles watching in silence as the saintess descends down towards him, the veil obscuring your features, body swathed in layers of white that flutter with each step.

Leon’s pulse quickens, and his eyes—despite his every effort not to—search for yours through the veil and the mask. He needs confirmation that it’s him who has changed. He needs to see, even if it is just the glimpse of the eyes he had held in his memory through every moment of agony, through every victory.

But as you draw closer, his stomach drops.

The eyes behind the veil—dark, unfamiliar, and cold—are not yours.

His body freezes, his muscles locking in place as the realization hits him with the force of a blow.

This isn’t you.

This woman—this stranger—isn’t the one he had fought for, the one whose face had kept him alive in the blood-soaked trenches of the war.

The saintess lowers her hands, preparing to lay her blessing upon him, but Leon jerks back, his knees refusing to bend, breath quick and sharp in his chest. The room grows still, the murmurs of the nobles faltering as the tension thickens around him like a noose.

The Archbishop’s head snaps toward him, the ceremonial calm in his expression faltering for just a moment. His fingers tighten around the staff, the knuckles turning white beneath the pressure.

“Margrave,” the Archbishop’s reprimand is sharp, cutting through the air like the crack of a whip. “You must kneel to receive the Saintess’s blessing.”

Leon’s fists clench at his sides, the leather of his gloves creaking under the strain. His body is trembling, but it isn’t from fear. It is from the fear-soaked anger that is building inside him, slow and burning like a fire stoked too long. His gaze fixes on the false saintess, his heart thundering in his chest, his mind spinning with questions that have no answers.

Where are you?

The walls close in, the air thick with the silent judgment of nobles and clergy. Each breath is a growing struggle, laden with the oppressive load of their expectations. His limbs feel anchored, refusing to bow before this stranger, this imposter.

“Margrave,” the Archbishop’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding. His eyes flash a stern warning. “You will kneel.”

The pressure shatters.

Leon’s body moves before he can stop it, his hands flying out to grab the front of the Archbishop’s robes, yanking him forward with a force that sends the man stumbling, the ornate staff clattering to the floor. A collective gasp sweeps through the room, the nobles recoiling in shock as Leon’s voice, low and ragged, spills out.

“Where is she?” His hiss is a harsh rasp, breaths coming in short, jagged bursts. “Where is the real Saintess?”

The Archbishop’s face twists in fury, his hands flailing against Leon’s iron grip. “Unhand me, you fool! You stand in the presence of Ethelion’s chosen—”

“No.” The word is a snarl, the growl of an animal promising to get violent. Leon’s grip tightens, the anger boiling over, his muscles trembling with the force of it. “What have you done with her?”

The room descends into chaos. Nobles rise from their seats, the sound of their hurried footsteps mingling with the low murmur of alarmed voices. The clergy shift uneasily, their faces pale, but none of them dare to move. The paladins stationed near the walls exchange nervous glances, their hands hovering near their swords, but none step forward.

They have seen what Leon is capable of.

“Release me!” The Archbishop’s voice cracks, his pale face contorted with fear and rage. “You dare attack the church? You will be branded a heretic for this!”

Leon barely hears them, his body trembling with rage as he stares down the terrified clergyman clawing at his arm, nails digging into Leon's skin, leaving behind bloody scratches.

“I don’t care.” Leon’s voice is low, silent, the words spilling from him like venom. “Tell me where she is.”

Before the Archbishop can answer, a hand—small, yet firm—clamps down on Leon’s shoulder.

Princess Ashley doesn’t release his arm as she pulls him toward the side of the throne room, guiding him through the side doors that lead into a quieter, more secluded hallway. The heavy wooden door closes behind them with a dull thud, cutting off the noise of the throne room and leaving them in a sudden, suffocating stillness.

Leon exhales, his breath shuddering as he leans against the wall, one hand coming up to palm at his face, and between his fingers, stares down at the ground with a wild look.

[saturnniidae]

More dragon rider disability headcanons for disability pride month!

(Ones specifically abt Hiccup are here)

Ruffnut has hypermobile EDS (when the twins were doing some bit that was basically Guinness book of world records she said smth abt 'worlds stretchiest skin' and my mom made a joke and said 'ruff has eds!' And it stuck)

A joke Ruffnut loves to make is saying Tuff is so insufferable she should just run away to join a circus and become a contortionist. She thinks it's the funniest thing ever

Hiccup also has some weird hypermobility stuff going on, when Ruff learns this she calls him a fellow circus freak (affectionate) and offers to let him come with her when she runs away. The response she got was "I'd rather stick my hand in Fenrir's mouth."

Tuff is visually impaired in his right eye from a childhood injury (another joke taken seriously)

All the riders are neurodivergent!

Snotlout has a frequently irregular heartbeat as well as memory issues due to how many times he's been struck by lightning. His whole book he wrote in that one episode isn't the only writing he does, he keeps a notebook to help keep track of minor things he might forget.

Astrid tries to make Hiccup breakfast in bed when he's having bad pain days and is too tired to do it himself. She almost burns the house down every time, so Toothless will go and get the other riders to help out while Astrid is kicked out of the kitchen and sent back to bed

Hiccup can be really fucking mean sometimes! Usually it's intentional bc he's in a bad mood and wants to be left alone. If it's seemingly unprovoked though, the others know it as a sign he's likely in pain and needs to be left alone (he still insists on getting work done but usually Toothless annoys him into resting)

Astrid has aches in her leg from when she got shot with that arrow, it being poisoned with dragon root did something to mess up the healing process so its worse than other old injuries (Dragon root isn't poisonous to humans but still having it in your blood stream isn't a good idea). She's also very mean when she's in pain, especially because it ruins her schedule since she can't train. Eventually her and Hiccup come to an agreement when they're having bad pain days they'll meet up in one of their huts and just. Sit together enjoying the others comforting presence but rarely talking

This is because Hiccup and Astrid both hate being in pain in front of people, they both share that almost extreme fear of vulnerability and the best they can do is take comfort in each other

Hiccup and Fishlegs are hyperfixation buddies! Fishlegs is the only one who doesn't get mad (it's just fond exasperation) when Hiccup wakes him up in the middle of the night to infodump, they just bounce off each other talking about dragons until woah suddenly the sun is rising and that is when Fishlegs gets upset because he values his sleep

All the riders have burn scars of varying severity. They literally work with dragons there's no way they wouldn't. And they all deal with their pain in different ways, but are unwavering supportive of each other when they can be

I've said it before and I'll say it again, a lot of characters should be disabled.

I know, cartoon logic and all, but the things that happen to these guys are things that should affect them for the rest of their lives. And watching characters struggle with permanent change like that, the realization you can never go back to how things were, and eventually healing and learning that's okay! You can still find happiness and be happy and it doesn't make your pain any less valid! It's so important to me and that's obviously reflected in my interpretations of my favorite characters lmao

[justarandombrit]

Okay well as you may know from looking at my blog for five seconds, I saw the matinee for Starkid Innit. During the interval and after the show I wrote down some notes. I tried to get them in chronological order but my memory is dogshit and I definitely missed some stuff, I hope you appreciate it though.

Outside:

. EVERYONE SUNG GRANGER DANGER

. IT WAS SO GOOD (except for the high note lmao)

. EVERYONE SUNG DAYS OF SUMMER

. EVERYONE A SMALL GROUP OF PEOPLE SUNG GOIN' BACK TO HOGWARTS

Act 1:

. The Nightmare Time sting punched me in the face

. The shout-out to the confused parents

. BRIAN + MEREDITH IN TGWDLM IS EVERYTHING TO ME

. High School Is Killing Me, Literal Monster and Nerdy Prudes Must Die all got mashed together!

. Corey!Richie is my Roman Empire

. Jaime in NPMD….

. Jaime had a different line to PJ’s original in Literal Monster. I couldn't hear half of it but it was different

. JEFF!MAX

. THE AUDIENCE SINGING RICHIE'S PART!!!!!! I'M NOT A LOSERRRRRRR

. TOGETHER!!!!!

. OUR DOORS ARE OPEN

. Jaime singing Sami/Harry ABOUT HER DOG (Nori)

. The audience whipping out the phone cameras

. CLARK SINGING I WAS GAVE ME SUCH INTENSE CHILLS

. Joey finally giving the white, male side characters attention

. Joey changing “I know I'm not a star” to “I know I'm not Clark”

. He pointed the mic at the audience for the “DEFINITELY NOT!”

. Joey mistimed his jump 😔😔

. Genuinely his best performance of Sidekick yet

. Joey making fun of Brian for not getting a big solo

. Brian kept pretending to beat him up, it was brilliant

. Not Over Yet is definitely Brian's song, shut up

. Brian accidentally singing the same verse twice (How does he always mess this song up?!?!?)

. My mum took a photo during the “EVIL PLAAAAANSSSS” bit and it was right when Brian was choking Joey

. “So look alive and don't forget”

“FORGET WHAT?”

. FEAST OR FAMINE

. Rogues Are We still goes so hard

. Rogues Medley without Kick It Up A Notch is weird, but Kick It Up A Notch without Dylan would definitely be weirder

Intermission:

. Ice cream :D

Act 2:

. Starting with We Got Work To Do is so iconic

. THERE'S BEEN A CHANGE IN THE CLIMATE, SOMETHING'S IN THE AIR, WE FEEL THE HEAT, NO NEED TO DEFINE IT, WE DON'T REALLY CARE

. MEREDITH REQUESTED BACK ON TOP!!!!!!!! AND IT WAS SO GOOOOD!!!!!!!

. Joey shouted “Draco, get on the floor!” at Lauren

. ALL THE UNDERRATED SONGS

. I love how it was hyped up like it was going to be Boy Toy, and then just straight up wasn't lmaooo

. Brian finally got the slow, sexy Hideous Creatures (Take that, Nick Lang!)

. Okay I'm trying to remember the order of the underrated songs they did

. Hideous Creatures (Lauren)

. Pays To Be an Animal (Corey) (He didn't sit in the spotlight and someone yelled “TO THE LEFT, COREY”)

. Get In My Mouth (Jeff) (He fully sprawled out on the stage it was hilarious)

. Land of the Dicks (Jaime)

. Hermione Can't Draw (Meredith) (She sung it so well I briefly didn't recognise the song)

. THEY MANAGED TO WORK IN LUPIN / BRIAN CAN'T SING YESSSS

. I genuinely cannot remember what Brian sung

. Gotta Find His Dick (Joey, and eventually everyone)

. The entire “Oh you wanna know where I got my shirt?” bit

. Brian, Jaime and Joey got it from Primark, Meredith got it from “Primed-mrak”, Lauren’s was a family heirloom, Corey got it from Gucci and Jeff got it from America, from Pri-mart (He made the guy on the drums do a baddum tsh)

. COREY SINGING SHOW STOPPIN' NUMBER. OH MY GOD. (The entire crowd joined in, also, Jeff and Jaime as Steve and Stu)

. Everyone cheering so loud when Joey and Lauren came on stage, and them claiming we had no idea what they were going to sing, and it was actually a completely new song (it was Granger Danger obviously)

. And them continuing to claim it was new throughout the song

. As I expected, I almost cried during Not Alone. Also apparently Darren thought it was going to be a big hit??? And just begrudgingly let them use it for A Very Potter Musical

. Super Friends!

. So sad Jeff’s mic was so quiet for “I WANNA BE A MODERN DANCER”

. THEY SUNG WANNABE BY THE SPICE GIRLS

. The fakeout of everyone leaving stage, then the band coming back on and playing the start of Goin' Back To Hogwarts

. “Darren's not here”

“I'LL DO IT”

. THE AUDIENCE DID THE FIRST PART OF GOIN' BACK TO HOGWARTS ALL BY OURSELVES

. JEFF DID DYLAN'S PART (but he didn't do “All of you to [city name] :( )

. Jeff pointed at various parts of the audience for “Welcome hotties, nerds and tools!” and then whispered “I'm so sorry” immediately after

. Singing (/ shouting) Goin' Back To Hogwarts along with hundreds of other Starkid fans was so exhilarating, I loved it and I almost cried (also I'm gonna be so hoarse tomorrow)

[findafight]

Jonathan’s line about Steve in vol 2 was so…. I don’t know. I mean yeah it straight up confirms that Nancy and Jonathan make fun of Steve behind his back, and like I get that I have never been in Nancy’s situation so obviously it seems more mortifying to me, but I would have felt so guilty in her place. I can’t imagine not shutting Jonathan up if he started shit talking about Steve. Like Steve would have been straight up unmentionable if I was Nancy. Idk.

I get that Duffers don’t treat their characters emotional lives seriously, but like. That’s why Robin being kind to Nancy in s5 despite Nancy’s uh.. well frankly appalling attitude towards Robin, makes zero sense to me. I really wanted Nancy to struggle being in Steve’s group. Not in the “she deserves it bhahaha” way, but like… Steve dumped his friends for her (which was good for him), and her expecting to get the same treatment and meeting Robin instead? Who actively dislikes her and for a good reason? Who is smart and cool and kind? That’s way more interesting than people kissing Nancy’s ass the whole season, while she is actively putting Max’s life in danger. Like, yeah in high school she is the chief editor of the newspaper, and at home she is the eldest sister, and with Jon she makes fun of Steve, and now none of these people are here, but Steve is here and so is his bestie. And Steve is as kind as always, but Robin dislikes her, and it is not just prejudice

Nancy Wheeler you wild girl! She has no guilt lmao She's like yeah steve was dumb and annoying and didn't enable my investigation, and jon goes yep, what an idiot. All while Steve is just like. bumpin around making friends with little nerds haha. Minding his own business blaming himself for the end of their relationship. You're right, it's kinda bonkers because even if we take the stance that Nancy didn't cheat (which I believe she did) like. she still had him as her second choice and as soon as he pushed back a bit and didn't give her the kind of support she wasn't telling him she needed (until talking about exposing the lab in the library where anyone could hear) she jumped ship and ran to Jonathan. Why would she want to talk about Steve? Why wouldn't she want to try to forget he ever existed as anything other than Mike's friend Dustin's older friend? Is that not weird for her?

(i think you might mean s4? but i can work with s5 too haha) It's so much more compelling to me to have Nancy and Robin at odds with each other because Robin is like a little guard chihuahua holding a grudge for Steve. She holds grudges so well let her do it more!! like jesus give him someone in his corner! And also for herself! She got so nervous and tried to explain and defend herself, and Nancy only really started to listen once they got into the hospital. Nancy has a not great plan that puts one of the kids in danger, one of the kids Steve is close to. (Max wrote him a letter!!) I think Robin would really see Steve's people as her people, even if she wasn't personally close to them she'd still feel comfortable around the younger teens because Steve is? Let robin be critical of this plan. Let her call it out or something. Give Nancy someone to push against, it's no fun if there's no resistance! I want Nancy to be the one wanting friendship with Robin, and Robin not being receptive to it. Nancy not having a relationship handed to her would be refreshing and I want to see how she'd try to win Robin's friendship.

Let Robin not want to work with Nancy because she's heard the rumours about how her and Steve ended, even though he only mentioned that he wasn't a good boyfriend ans wasn't what she needed so it didn't work out. Robin saw that one week Steve and Nancy had a fight, and a day later she was ditching with Jonathan? yeah something is fishy there to even the most socially oblivious person. Let Robin know Steve well enough that she knew he at least thought he was telling the truth but that there must have been more. Let Robin decide she was going to do the most cliche best friend thing and not be very nice to the ex that broke her bestie's heart.

ooooh anon what you're saying is so interesting because, yeah. Steve dumped Tommy and Carol for Nancy, and that was good for him, and then Nancy got with Jonathan who doesn't really have any friends in Hawkins. So she's always been her boyfriend's main person of similar age they're close to. But now Steve's got Robin. Who is funny and kind and weird and loyal and smart and sarcastic. Who is obsessed with Steve and who Steve is also obsessed with. And that, from a s5 stancy pov, is so interesting because now Nancy is now competing (in her mind) for her boyfriend/potential bf's attention with his best friend. Like Jonathan was focused on his family, obviously (and this caused strain for them too) but it's not the same socially as a best friend taking priority. Steve would still hold those relationships, because they're good for him and good for the others, and there's zero reason for him to abandon them this time.

I think Nancy would hate it. Like Steve would obviously give her tonnes of attention, but with him having actual close friendships not just with Robin but Dustin and Max (at least) too, she'd still feel like she was bartering for time with him. That is suuuuch a fun potential dynamic between nancy and steve and also nancy and steve's friends.

[im-out-of-it]

making a complete list of my thoughts of the show vs books since I finished it and will probably leave some stuff out since I’m super forgetful, sorry 💀

1. once again love that they upped the ages. glad we didn’t have centuries year old Magnus chasing teenager Alec or all the other inappropriate relationships in the books

2. Malec is fucking perfect on the show and it really showed that if any actually cares about them, they can make the characters much better and give the characters a better shot than the author ever did. I seriously love all the details Matt, Harry, and whoever wrote their episodes did. only one I cannot stand is when Alec doesn’t realize right away that Magnus and valentine switched bodies. but alec handled the immortality thing wayyyyyy better than book Alec ever could. book Alec (and pretty much TMI content and etc) barely exists let’s be real

3. Izzy and Simon are way too rushed in the series but at least they have more do a friendship and there’s no cheating storyline. but I kinda like Maia and Simon together. I feel that Maia understood Simon.

adding: I don’t mind Simon and clary in the show dating and the way they end things is not as harsh as it is in the books. maybe clary (I’m being kind lmao) actually cares about Simon in the show but still kinda uses him at times

4. might be the only thing I’ll say about the books that’s nice but it would’ve been cute to see the vacation storyline (eldest curses) in the show. would’ve been cute to see a Malec holiday and moving towards them having children 🥹

5. Maia doesn’t get enough credit. she’s one of the few sensible people on the show and gets more attention than book Maia ever did

6. speaking of Maia, I’m glad they didn’t go too extreme with the Jordan plot. in the books, I think she was made to feel to get over how Jordan treated her. but man, why does the actor have to be attractive 😭

7. I really like Maryse and Luke together. they fit each other quite well. Maryse has some of the best development in the show and I loved seeing her grow

8. glad Jocelyn was killed off. she was more insufferable in the books so glad the show decided they didn’t need that energy

9. Jace and clary are both clearly insufferable but it’s worse in the books. I feel like in the show they’re still pretty bad but it’s a little tamed

10. Alec deserved better than jace. dude had the audacity to act as though Alec is a fling, expected Alec at his beck and call to do whatever he wanted while not understanding or caring about Alec’s feelings and his needs, practically invites himself at Magnus’s place while being the worst roommate, and then taking for granted all the people who sacrificed (MAGNUS AND HIS MAGIC LITERALLY THIS LOVELY MAN LOSES HIS MAGIC AND HIS HOME AND HIS MIND) once again to help his worthless ass

11. wish they wouldn’t have killed ragnor off. we got to see a lot of vampires and wolves but not a lot of warlocks. would’ve been great to see more of Magnus’s friends. you could seriously make a whole show based off on Magnus and his life

12. kinda wish they kept camille around. I know she was drama for malec in the beginning but she’s still a very fascinating character

13. I’m 100% thankful for the show not following the books and creating their own world

14. I would’ve loved to see more of the alternate universe episodes. one of the best episodes

15. ALL THE MALEC PARALLELS. these two beautiful and desperately, devoted, in love with one another men are seriously the best part of the show 😭 the fact that there are no cheating stories (when Alec is all drunk, underhill is flirting and all Alec can talk about is Magnus. Magnus defies bisexual stereotypes when dot tries to kiss him.), no taking away immortality or throwing fits or bierasure, or any toxic storylines is one of my fav things about Malec. they’re just two beings who are so in love with one another, who communicate, and are just completely devoted to each other. and it’s one of the reasons why everyone was so hooked on Malec. they’re healthy but you’re also excitedly rooting for them 🫶🏼

16. Clary deserved to lose her ability with runes. the angels message was to not use her rune ability for whatever she pleased but she took advantage of it. but I will say, some helped but I feel that the rest she just used because she didn’t care

17. season three breakup wrecked me and I’ll not emotionally recover from that. it breaks my heart seeing Alec break his own heart and Magnus’s all so Magnus can have his magic and be whole again. I’m so glad they got married in the end 💓

18. I’m glad the twinning rune went to clary instead of jace because how many times does this worthless fucker need saved????? SERIOUSLY HOW MANY

19. I think Magnus recognizing what Alec needs at the beginning when they meet is beautiful. I don’t think it’s creepy (as some book fans state.) and it shows that Magnus understands that Alec is not ready to be out. I’m glad Magnus doesn’t get shitty with Alec on not being out like he does in the books

20. also book vs show thing. I actually like the whole marrying Lydia plot. I get the whole grand gesture of kissing in wherever they were- sanctuary???? (y’all cannot pay me enough to read TMI again, I will not go through that torture again) but I really hate that it’s not even in Alec or Magnus’s pov. CC makes a point of giving characters she chooses to have unnecessary pov

21. I probably forgot something but I mainly skipped all the clace content that didn’t involve Alec or Magnus but otherwise, messy show but so amazing for the Malec content. Izzy, Maia, Raphael, and Simon are a bonus as well. I’m just saying that the show could’ve been a whole lot worse lmao

[saxandviolins88]

Transformers Skybound #11 spoilers below cut

New Skybound issue dropped and some very interesting things happened, some very questionable things too, so let's get going! (don't forget to leave a like, subscribe, and HIT THAT BELL)

He's so cool... I love you, Beachcomber...

oof! uh... okay?

I think we all have seen this scene since last month, but I held off commenting anything about it until I could read the whole thing, and uh... Do the only two female Autobots need to fight each other?

Okay okay! With the additional context, it's a little more excusable, definitely weird, but explainable. It lines with the characters DWJ is setting up - Elita is bitter and traumatized and dealing with it by throwing her anger at people. Arcee is relapsing into violence and anger(despite all she taught Carly, which was pointed out!).

Yes!! More hard decisions for OP!

I really really do enjoy OP as this emotional leader that follows his heart rather than his mind, further down we'll see how his decision to listen to UM paid off.

How many times have we seen Soundwave dragging Ravage's limp body around? At this point, it does feel like DWJ is wanting to give SW more brownie points than necessary.

I do hope there's some sort of payoff to this, but most likely it won't. Honestly, if Ravage becomes a recurring character I'll be content already.

Some people already wrote about Soundwave's natural follower tendencies, but I so much enjoy Shockwave's awful leader tendencies, like I genuinely believe people just follow this bitch because no one else wants to step up lmao, this guy is so fucking bad it's hilarious.

More bitter Elita-1.

I really want to see a more vulnerable side of her, I don't need her to cry and wail, but I'd like for her to see eye-to-eye with OP. I'd just enjoy it if they resolved this and saw each other's perspective on the issue, both do have a point and both are very traumatized.

(No complaints about the 'female=hysterical' action comic problem since Elita-1 was actually shown as competent and equal to Prime, but I did feel the need to point this out)

Wow, I love visual leitmotifs! I do remember this scene.

Lol, I have to be a dick at least once.

But yeah. nice show-don't-tell... Are Beachcomber and Spike about to be the heroes of this arc? God I'd really enjoy that.

JAZZ IS ALIVE!!!

I love Jazz, he's the coolest guy ever!

Please, I really hope DWJ uses him, if you aren't gonna kill him for shock(lol) value at least write a character for him.

IDW ARCEE? ON MY SKYBOUND COMIC?

joke joke!

I really enjoyed this! Arcee relapsing into her vengeful tendencies does wonder to give some three-dimensionality to her. They're in war, and everybody is traumatized, so it makes total sense.

I'm more interested in the 'after', I hope we get more exploration of her as a character and this isn't just a throw-away thing for the second arc.

...

...

I'm happy 🙂.

(LOL, imagine the 'Structies were having their coffee break and they just went: "What does this guy want now?!🙄")

Devastador, meu filho de cem metros.

Lol, Elita-1's reaction is gold, like: "Fuckin' Decepticons and their fuckin' combiners."

These might just be my favorite moment of this whole ass comic book.

JUST. WOW. I felt my guts moving reading this moment, I felt what UM was feeling.

What can I say? I love heroes with PTSD in action genres!

I also adored how this harkens back to the start of this issue and OP's decision.

(I hope they don't pull a: "ULTRA MAGNUS GOT OVER HIS PANSY ASS FEAR AFTER A PEP TALK AND NOW HE'S BADASS AGAIN.")

I love Devastator's expression here. He's just: 😐

(Yep, I'm really chewing on this bone DWJ threw at me)

[tubborucho]

Yeah, I am pretty sure he thought of it as a light-hearted way to explain Sunny why Tallulah is moody. Doesn’t change the fact that it was a fucked up thing to say and genuinely hurtful for a literal toddler.

This and your point about people not being able to let go of the whole Dadza thing are two of my biggest problems with q!Phil. I know it's not cc!Phil's fault how people treat him but the way people overhype his parenting does make it more irritating as a viewer. It's not just fans, though, most characters seem to share this view of him as an amazing Dad. The fact that he stepped up for Tallulah when Wilbur left is great and the effort he puts in is great, but his parenting skills are just okay.

It feels like every time he talks to or about Sunny he ends up doing something bad that's brushed off because "that's just how Phil talks" or "he's just protecting his kids".

His reaction to Sunny's train was awful. I know he has a banter-y relationship with Tubbo but he was criticizing her father and her own choices right in front of her. It felt like he didn't even absorb any of what Tubbo was telling him. Like, why did he keep complaining about it feeling sterile when it was a brand new build and Sunny chose the white blocks themself?

The morality test about stealing the panda was completely unacceptable. Genuinely horrible thing to do to a child especially when he told her point blank at the end that it was a test that she managed to pass. Why would she trust someone who might be secretly testing her?

The talk in the museum was bad for both Sunny and Tallulah. Tallulah isn't "in a mood," she has genuine concerns but has still been making an effort with Sunny even while trying to maintain some distance. For Sunny he was playing up a very real insecurity to make a point. It's not really fair to Tubbo either, his game was having issues and he left his daughter with two of the people he trusts the most. I went to watch from the vod for slightly more context and chat reactions and Phil did not waste any time at all. The moment Tubbo was gone he rolled straight into it with Sunny.

There was also a point a few days ago where Tallulah showed some discomfort over Empanada and Phil responded with this:

Empanada’s nice, you like Empanada. You like Em. It’s Sunny you’re not a fan of. Sunny’s just all in your face with money and sunglasses and shit. But, like, Sunny’s fine too. Sunny’s just a bit much though. Sunny takes a while to get used to.

Sunny was not around for this but it's still a terrible way to talk about a child. They weren't even the egg Tallulah was concerned about at the time. And I do believe that q!Phil wasn't trying to be mean here but he still was. He is consistently unkind to Sunny even when he's trying to make a good point or a joking.

Wait, is the last thing a genuine quote? Because I haven’t heard this one before.

And yeah. Listen, Phil is a good parent. He takes care of Chayanne and Tallulah very well. He is a good parent, but it doesn’t mean that he is good that way for every other child ever. I think people forget that Dad figures in stories don’t mean that they are perfect in every adult-child relationship ever.

He is a great dad for Chay and Lullah. He is genuinely very condescending towards Sunny. It’s like every time they interact he just refuses to even try to see past his initial impression of them. Phil wrote her down for no reason as a shallow and tolerable at best kid in his books, and acts on that judgement in a way that he doesn’t care about her in any way past their basic safety and sometimes teaching them stuff if they need it immediately.

The only reason he pays Sunny any mind at all is that he cares for Tubbo. Also not in a parental way that people (and Tubbo lmao) seem to try and picture it as, but he cares. Sunny is just a tag along.

And don’t get me wrong, I am not saying that he should love her like his own or even really like her. It’s fine. I am saying that he still should treat her with the same grace as other kids that are not his – she is a child, you are speaking of and with a child, being mean about and to them is not okay. Especially because this child did literally nothing wrong.

[stormflower8]

we're back with more south asian!ballister headcanons

part one is here

I did not expect such a positive reaction to part one, so here are some more that I wrote down while going about my day today!

starting with building on what I was doing in part one, relating to the transition to primarily speaking urdu to always speaking english

sometimes ballister forgets english words for things

now, there are two routes you can go with this

either, A, he does that thing where he snaps his fingers a few times to remember

eg, "And then I picked up that," Ballister trailed off, snapping his fingers a few times in frustration. "What's it called? Unda..." he furrowed his brow. Ambrosius tilted his head, "Unda?" he echoed. Ballister waved a hand. "That's the Urdu word for it..." he snapped his fingers definitively, face brightening. "Egg! It's an egg."

or, option B, he just makes crap up

think those videos by Dez the Lez on youtube where she talks about her mother making up random phrases in english to describe words that she forgot (eg. "horse tornado" for carousel)

for example, "Where's my hydration unit?" Ballister asked, opening a cabinet, closing it, then opening another. Nimona stared at him. "Hydration unit?" "You know, the thing," Ballister clicked his tongue as he spoke, as if he was making even a lick of sense. "The hydration capsule." Ambrosius looked up from the book he was reading. "Do you mean a water bottle?" "Water bottle, right!" Ballister laughed, as if it was totally normal to call a water bottle a hydration unit. "Where is it?" "You left it in our room," Ambrosius said offhandedly. Ballister sighed. "Thanks," he said, then left to go find it. Nimona gaped at Ambrosius. "How?" she breathed. "How the hell did you get 'water bottle' from 'hydration unit'??" Ambrosius shrugged. "You get used to it."

both are great options

while option B is way funnier and opens up more opportunities for fics, I think option A might be a little more in character

or he just alternates between the two. that is absolutely an option.

uh, fun fact, I myself have actually called a water bottle a hydration unit before, but I think that's more of me being a dumbass than anything because english is my first language LMAO

chai. ballister LOVES chai.

he is more devoted to chai than he is to ambrosius (/J /J /THAT WAS A JOKE)

if he sees starbucks "chai tea latte" or whatever they call it in his house he is KICKING YOU OUT

ambrosius's favorite hobby is to hug ballister from behind while he's stirring the chai pot and it's a very warm and cozy moment that smells like chai and it is one of their favorite things to do, both during their institute days and post-canon

there was also this one time ambrosius and ballister were kissing (actually, they were probably making out) and the chai boiled over because they were too distracted to tend to it, but the two of them try not to bring that incident up

at first, nimona made fun of ballister for his mildly obsessive chai drinking ("tea?? you're drinking tea?? my god, how old are you? just hop in the senior center now")

then, he finally just forced her to try some, and suddenly he was making three cups instead of just two

and on the topic of drinks,

ballister also really loves mangos, and has fond memories of climbing huge mango trees as a kid and picking them (this memory is stolen from my pakistani dad, shoutout to him akjdhaskj)

this has led to a love of mango juice

he knows ALL the brands. ALL OF THEM.

his favorite is Shezan, because let's be real, Shezan is the best mango juice and I CAN AND WILL throw hands on this

I can vividly imagine ambrosius and ballister grocery shopping and ballister asks ambrosius to go grab some mango juice and ambrosius returns with like the first thing he saw on the shelf and Ballister took the bottle from Ambrosius and examined it. "This one?" he asked skeptically. "Uh, yes?" Ambrosius chuckled. "It was the first one I saw." "This one has a strange aftertaste," Ballister said idly, putting it back on the shelf. Instead, he selected a pack of juice boxes. "These are the best." He then started to ramble about other brands and their pros and cons, but Ambrosius barely heard him. He was fairly certain that, if he were a cartoon character, he'd be making heart eyes at Ballister. Ballister noticed, trailing off when he caught Ambrosius's gaze. He tilted his head to the side. "What?" Ambrosius felt an uncontrollable smile spreading across his face. "Nothing." Ballister watched Ambrosius for another second before snorting out a small laugh and ducking his head to break eye contact. They moved on after that, but Ambrosius made sure to commit the brand name of that mango juice to memory after that.

mango juice is important, alright? bad mango juice is a crime.

this is already super long, but here's one more I sometimes see people talking about

kajul. kohl. whatever you want to call it, ballister uses it.

okay, let me get something straight. sometimes I see fics where one character puts kohl on another, and I just wanna say I could NEVER

for those of you who think kohl is like an eyeliner, it's not. not really.

grab a mirror, and pull your bottom eyelid down. the lower eyelid that connects to your bottom lashes? THAT'S where the kohl goes.

my sister is the one who introduced kohl to me, and she was like "okay storm, you can use mine, but I can't put it on you" to which I responded "wait, why not?" and she showed me where it goes and let me tell you I GASPED in that public bathroom

needless to say I chickened out and did not end up wearing kohl that evening

but enough about me

ballister boldheart is a braver man than me

kohl is cool because it's a culturally, historically, completely inarguably gender-neutral makeup product which is so awesome tbh

anyways he wears it fairly often and it really brings out his stupid gigantic sad wet kitten eyes

ambrosius adores it

nimona wants to try putting it on but ballister is paranoid she'll stab herself in the eye, despite her complaints that she can just "form a new one"

this was, again, so much longer than I expected, but I still have more headcanons! I'll probably make a part three soonish, but until then, enjoy these!

-Storm

[iomoru]

✮✰ Learn More About Me ✰✮

Introduction

Greetings, I am Iomoru but you may call me Io or Moru for short, I am a student writer and I'm basically just new to writing in Tumblr but I've been using Tumblr for over a year and a half now although I never really wrote any fanfics, I did use to write a couple of fanfics in wattpad before so I still have a little bit of experience in writing.

Basic Facts

Age: N/A|Minor

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Aroace

Favorite Color(s): Purple, Blue, Black, Green, Brown

(mostly the darker shades of all the colors that I have mentioned)

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

MBTI: INTP - T

Enneagram: 4w5

Occupation: Junior High Student

Interests/Fandoms

• Favorite Movies/Shows:

- GOTG Vol. 1|2|3

- Coraline

- Avatar: The Last Airbender (ATLA)

- The Legend of Korra (TLOK)

- Spirited Away

- Ponyo

- Madoka Magica Rebellion

- Spider-Man No way Home

• Favorite Animes:

- Kimetsu No Yaiba

- Jujutsu Kaisen

- Madoka Magica

- Frieren Beyond Journeys End

- Spirited Away

- Silent Voice

- Your Name

• Favorite Music Artists:

- Mitski

- Mac DeMarco

- Laufey

- Jack Stauber

- Alex G

- Mother Mother

- Ado

- Kikuo

- Arctic Monkeys

- Cigarettes After Sex

- Penelope Scott

- MARINA

- Odetari

- VDYCD

- isq

- TV Girl

- Kali Uchis

- Lana Del Rey

- The Living Tombstone

• Fandoms that I'm in:

- KNY

- JJK

- Genshin Impact

- Madoka Magica

(these are the ones that I MIGHT/WILL write about, although feel free to request me anything just give me an idea and what's it about)

Fun Facts

• I REALLY love love love Kazuha (so there's a chance I might write more about him)

• Can't really function without coffee xd

• I like making random quotes (mostly depressed or some sh)

• My favorite animal might be something like aquatic animals or so because I really like Marine Life too and watch documentaries about them

• I'm also into Astronomy and I really like talking about Astronomical Theories or listening to them (I also like other theories about reality or the universe)

• I only write for fun

• I really hate loud noises

• I like it when it rains especially if it's night time because it's so peaceful and calming for some reason

• I don't like going out unless if I'm actually interested into going and I'm not in my lazy mood

• I can be forgetful and unforgetful at the same time

• I can hold grudges as long as possible tbh

• I despise my classmates they act like zoo animals

Writing Corner

• I WILL write:

- Fluff

- Angst

- Suggestive Smut

(I can't write actual smut for shit)

- Modern Aus

- GN! Reader

- Fem! Reader

- Tall! Reader

- I also might write Fili Aus

- MLW

- WLW

- Rivals to Lovers

- Friends to Lovers

- Enemies to Lovers

(Where they really hate each other to the point they almost started plotting how to murder the other one LMAO)

- Black Cat (Reader) x Golden Retriever (Char)

(but also depends)

- One-Shots

- Headcannons

- Smau(?)

(I'm not entirely sure tbh)

• I will NOT write:

- Actual Smut

- Poly Relationships

- any mental health disorders

- Kinks that I find really weird and looks abnormal to me

- Series/Longfic

- Child! Reader x Adult character (romantically)

- long age gap (ex. 18 & 27)

(minimum age gap is 1-4 years but it also depends but that's that)

- The ones where the reader is introverted but they're just some shy, uwu, petite, smol bean, type sh

(I want the one where they just despise everyone lmao, although I can write shy reader but it also depends on my mood, although not that type of shy iykwim.)

- Naive and a really dumb reader (I just can't handle it like dude.)

Rules

- I will NOT write any Yandere! char/reader, so if your into that then please just ask other writers that does it.

- Please do NOT spam requests or you will instantly be blocked.

- Learn to read this pinned post first before you ever send any requests, because if you don't then there's a chance I might not do it if there's something in that request that I don't write.

- If you're just gonna send hate comments to my works or to the characters that I have written then you will instantly be blocked.

- Only send requests on my inbox and do NOT dm me directly.

- Please do NOT force me to write something I don't write/like/uncomfortable with, and don't even try spamming me death threats or hate comments or I will block you instantly. (speaking from my experience in wattpad before)

- I ONLY write for fun so please don't pressure me into doing your requests or doing something else.

Expect me to..

- Mostly write about Genshin Impact

- Lots of cringeness

(I can't stop cringing about everything including my actions)

- also there will be cursing sometimes (I think)

- I will mostly do requests on weekends/holidays because I get really busy in weekdays.

- I will mostly do Gn! Reader cuz I can't really tell the difference between female and male readers

- Not gonna be able to reply fast cuz I'm busy with school and other stuffs

- Not active 24/7 but mostly active on midnight (also depends)

- Mostly will write about fluff lmao

- Might not do Canon Verse much for some reason 🧍‍♀

- Expect most of my fics will be tall reader because tall readers are so fucking underrated it's crazy

- Not gonna do part 2s (but also depends if I'm lazy or not)

- also you can request me anything but I might not be able to do it fast due to school and other stuffs

Reminder: Please do NOT DM me if you're just gonna send hate comments or towards the characters that I will write. And also learn to read my pinned post first before sending any request.

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ

[grapecaseschoices]

Beloved Grapes 🍇some questions from the fanfic hype ask!

(Also also before the questions: I adore your writing very much!! Even in your tags. There was a recent set of tags where you also wrote something like "I don't know how to word it/I'm not making sense because I'm tired" or something but you had worded it so perfectly beautifully. Anyway. I feel like you also use these really fun turns of phrase which are both unique and always perfectly suited. I still think about the "eye crinkle to eye twinkle ratio" which you wrote in a post about Nat and Kai! Anyway mwah I am eating your writing and your thoughts.)

Terrible OC (In terms of, like, villains. We're being positive today!)

Fic(s) you would/have forced someone else to read

A fun writer quirk you've noticed (Specific word(s) they repeat, detailed setting description, a lot of adjectives, trope they write really well, etc.)

hello pumpkin!

(haha i actually forgot what i wrote that so i am so flattered that you did! like that is really ... i guess touching? i mean i've made no bones that my memory is shit, so i forget even my own stuff. BUT THAT SOMEONE ELSE HOLDS LINES I'VE WRITTEN IN THEIR MINDS. i might tear up?? anyway ima stop before i embarrass myself. but ty <3 :-D)

1] Terrible OC (In terms of, like, villains. We're being positive today!)

okay, so i'm really shit about remembering to read shit on tumblr and i havent read ao3 fanfic in some time. so my answer here might not be satisfactory.

most of my time the past couple have been on rp, you know? but yall dont know my rp buds. [BUT I ENCOURAGE YALL TO GET INTO RP. IT IS SO FUN WHEN YOU'RE PLAYING AGAINST SOMEONE ELSE!!! I feel it challenges your view of your character - an your own writing - in a way writing fic/an original story solo or playing IF doesn't. the collaborative aspect is fun and i love the planning, but there is so much you cannot plan. you will surprise yourself with what you write and what your characters will do. but that's another post]

BUT! i will say for fanfic oc, @ava-du-mortain Cecilia du Mortain. it's been a while since I've read Ceci so my memory is fuzzy -- or LIA, rather. And I wouldn't call her a villain ... but I wouldn't say she's just ~misunderstood~. There is a darkness to her I find intriguing that I feel echoes her sibling's, and Pap has linger without making her cartoonish but intense instead ... coming to my mind was a snippet she showed me between Nairuz and Lia.

2] Fic(s) you would/have forced someone else to read

again, i am so bad with this fandom! and i havent been on ao3 a minute my brain is tired.

but, off the top of my mind, not to be egotistical but @lalizah's gift to me for the .... i forgot what it's called. but yall can read it HERE!!

And here is my ao3 bookmarks. Don't at me. I know. What is it I know? I just. Know. lol.

3] A fun writer quirk you've noticed (Specific word(s) they repeat, detailed setting description, a lot of adjectives, trope they write really well, etc.)

I really wanna add rp peeps! But hrm. My first thought was @evilbunnyking So, I'll go with that! Love the way with words, the way characters and characters actions are stated/described. I'm such a sucker for that when it isn't just adjectives but essence? does that make sense? no.

i'm tired. lmao

[bluebird-in-a-cagedrawing]

Hi! It's time for another fanfiction... And if you love crimes/solving crimes and a little hard detective Work this is the perfect one.🕵️‍♂️🕵️‍♀️

...

Also, to see how Helen Hope B and mister detective Void meet for the first time click on this fanfiction as well:

This is set 6 months before detective Void got his mask, so he is an ordinary detective here.

...

Warning:If you hate/dislike snakes you better not read this!

This is actually the third part, the second i didn't wrote it yet 😅

I plan to make at least 10 fanfictions, they are not conan to the real detective Void lore, but for me they are because itis set in the same Universe...

The fourth part name is: The other side of the mirror

This fiction is set a month and 4 days later after the actually lore.

P. S:This fanfiction took the life out of me, lmao 🤣🤣🤣😅 Thank you for your support, you are the best sweet slice of cake!

Hope you like it!

...

Title number: A box full of snakes-619

Fanfiction class:Euclid

Summary: 🐍🐍🐍👀Helen Hope B finds herself in a very strange case with none other than our favorite detective Void... 👀🐍🐍🐍

...

Disclaimer:I don't own detective Void, he is not my original character!! Find this cute original character on Youtube!!

...

The event was better than he hoped it It was the 15th anniversary of the company, a world-famous company, every guest had a good time, he was an old man at 62 years old with lots of responsibilities, one if his important guest madame Rossiya with her fiance mr Berliini, she was a lovely lady of about 47 years and he was the new director of a major Austrian bank just invited him at their table, they wanted to make a generous donation for the greenhouse where the exotic plants were keept, she was impressed by their colors and beauty, something worth conserve for the future.

Mr Greenmark also had been looking for him for sometime by now, the new reporters arrived and they wanted an exclusive report,it Was the moment everybody celebrate with a bath of confetti but in the moment the ceiling opened a male body not older than 49 years dropped, the wires nearly behead it...lt was a scene noone was gonna forget about too soon.

...

Three days later after the incident Mr Williard decided to open the tourist resort, 514 guests were invited all over the world, they have just received an operating permit from the emergency authorities, so all he had left to do Was to check the food, the lights if they were in the right position and of course the great speech which he wrote and rewritte all over again.

"Why so nervous old friend?"

Mr Greenmark was the second after Mr Williard in the great business, they have known each other since they were in their 30th.

Later that day the guests arrived, everyone were so excited, the good music, the lights, the atmosphere, some of them decided they will return again, the other already made up their mind to spend their honeymoon there, everything went well then it was time for the great speach however Mr Williard couldn't find his business partner Mr Greenmark anywhere and he made a gesture toward some staff to make a little search while he made his way to the microphone.

"Welcome to the Hazel willow tourist resort and also one of the largest laboratory where the anti-venom is prepared, we have a large range of anti-venom from at least 1471 species... The laboratory name is Lady-in-white such a beauty, and i am your host Mr Williard W. Monarch, my grandfather was a butterfly specialist, did his research on them all his life, clearly i choose something more dangerous. Enjoy your stay! I am ready to answer all your questions!"

"Sir, mister Greenmark is dead, sir in the west wing of the greenhouse...It's too horrible!"

Everybody turned their heads at the maiden that just come in while some of them gasped or returned a shocked gaze upon mr Williard, some of them even started to gossh, it was something neither of them would forget too soon.

"Poor fellow, being buried in a pile of venomous snakes... Now that is what we call a venomous karma death... All the bad blood between in and out you see...Well, till the police arrives we better check out our rooms for snakes and lock ourselves in them..."

"I agree, who knows who will become the next victim, poor mr Greenmark, rest in peace!"

People talked and gave opinions, that was everything you could heard in the next three hours, it was getting late and the luxury event waan't luxurious anymore after the macabre incident, yes, that is how they put it...Mr Williard was affected the most, two murders in the same place in such a short time, the police still investigated the other one, what a bad luck.

"Is everybody ready, well i would like to say a few words, now i know some of you are concern about all those snakes bites but we guarantee we are trying our best to control the situation, no snake can enter the resort, please don't panic. Now lot's of you asked me why this is happening well my opinion is that because of the hot sunny weather, the climate change, the rainy and dryness, snakes are active pradatory if they find food much easier they build their muscular mass, they shade more often and that creates a need for reproduction, with optimal conditions.The female snake can lay 20 to 60 eggs, in the wild the eggs don't usually survive so that is one of the reason of such many eggs, some of the eggs are infertile those are named slugs... Now it's time to identify some types of snakes like the coral snake, we have the picture in the left corner as you can see, the king Cobra on the right, you can see the beautiful head, magrove snake in the middle. "

"Mr Williard, may we have a moment... Your snake presentation was fascinating but i would like to know more about those snake accident..."

"Such a shame indeed, me and my good friends put a lot of efforts in this company, to be attacked by those creatures... What on Earth is going on?Imagine being bitten by a snake and then ended up hung, who would do such a thing and why?"

"Do you have a greenhouse, sir?"

"Oh yes, is where we keep some of the most rare flower species, my mother loved them, we are trying to protect them by giving them what they need, i am afraid that the ground quality had dropped in the past years. We need to be prepared for anything as humans. "

Helen was in her light blue dress, she looked for any sign of a potential anomaly on the guests that were coming, the heels was killing her, even if it was an elegant event she wish to have brought a pair of sneakers. It was some few moments later that she felt a hand on her shoulder, turning around Hope had found an interesting familiar face, this time he Was wearing a dark light mask which made her was sad a little, Hope considered the color of detective eyes very beautiful and unique, she couldn't understand why would detective Void choose to hide it.

"And what are you doing here? With another SCPs bussiness? This place is the last place i would expected to see SCP foundation members. "

Hope was taken back a little, the detective voice was a little cold and dark, that was strange for her, it was like he was there with her but still he was not.

She didn't wanted to make a scene, yes Hope was a little hurt, but it's not like she would actually admit it, It had to be diplomatic, the diplomacy was always the key to success.

"Look, i don't know why you are acting like a jerk, but not really...Well, yes, sort off... We intercepted some strange calls from this center being attacked by snakes..."

"Is that all? Is there something more about it and you won't tell me just because it is a foundation thing to do, who is the jerk now?"

"Why are you acting like this? You know very well if some objects are involve in this, how dangerous it can get... Clearly, you mister detective can't keep away from these anomalies..."

"It's nice to see how much you care!"

"I don't like it when people are getting hurt, i am trying to change something for the better..."

"You don't make such a good job..."

"Look forward mister detective, what do you see, those people are afraid, to think this all started two months ago when first Mr Williard found a strange gift box on his desk and when he opened it, it had sheded snake skin along with an actual dead venomous snake in it. Of course you don't have to believe me you can ask him in person. "

"Well, it's the moment we all have been looking for, before we end this i want to thank you all for all of your support even in those hard dark moments, on your seat you will find a box that is a gift from our company to you, dear guests, together we made a better year. I felt honored to be here with you today."

As everybody was preparing to open their gifts, looking at the box detective Void had a feeling about that, something told him to stay away from ot and his reflections kicked in.

"Wait a second, do not open the box! Hope the boxes now! "

Hope throw her gift box as well, the others were confused and some people started to scream, they could hear some kind of hiss coming and the first thing they thought was it might be a bomb.

"Those are taipan snakes, they are native from Australia."

"You know those snakes well, maybe we can work together, can i see the Laboratory where they recolt the venom from the snakes?"

The next day even When everybody took their breakfast the tension remain thick, the police told the Witnesses to remain in the building as if one or more of them could be the culprit behind all of those acts, they woldn't have been surprised even if they found a snake in their pot of tea.

"Chef inspector Daniel Sunrise and this is my young sergeant Jaxon, we are here to investigate the strange case of the snakes, we need your statement as well as your fingerprints, in this case everybody is a suspect, we are just doing our duty if you may follow us."

"Great, just great, please mister detective Void tell me you had worked with the police in the past... Now we have them on our tail too, great so freaky great. I am so tempted to use amnestics on them after all this is over, they could put us in the jail for something we didn't do...Oh, fuckk my life double it! "

"Hope don't be so drastic the police is not the problem here, we just need to be careful not to arouse suspicions, as far as they know we are cousins and that is all."

Detective Void and Hope could see that it was more to this story so they put aside the whatever Was going on and tried to work as a team, they both were mature enough, plus Hope felt much better with a familiar face, since she wasn't used to work alone, that and too many strangers.

"If you may take a seat, this should be quick, we still have 303 suspects to check them so first question is where were you at 8:21 pm this Tuesday?"

"I was with mister Gorenje talking about the big event that night unfortunately that was postponed because of the discovery and my cousin was waiting his turn for the karaoke number, you can ask our host, Mr Williard."

"Seems fine till now, let us see some ID cards, huh interesting seems like we have a private detective here, I swear that all detectives have this nature that anywhere they go, they will find a mysterious case."

"I would like to offer my assistance in this delicate situation."

"Fine by me, just don't mess up the scene, let us handle it and if you find anything let us know after all this is an official police department business not some detective work.Come on, send the next ones on the list, you two are free to go for now!"

"Ok, i am gonna put myself together! We have to work together to end this nightmare, like i said before those people are afraid, mr Williard is one of the nice people i have meet, always making sure others get their anti-venom if their life are in danger even if they can not afford it."

"Seems like I will take this case, with 4 murders in such a short time and 3 more victims, the police sure are not enough."

"Ahem, you won't be alone mister detective Void, i will help too, i always wanted to work with a detective in secret that is... I sincerely would love to."

"Fine by me, but no SCP foundation business...Also are you saying this only to make yourself feel a little better and find courage? "

"Is not like i can call them, if it's not an anomaly they don't care speaking between you and me and to answer your second question, it is an yes, snakes scares me."

"Great... Now lets find mr Williard office, somethong tells me that he is there, did he mentioned anything about the office?"

"Mr Williard i will take the case, along side with Ms Bright here, we will try to make everything in our power to find the culprit and help the police catch them."

"First thing first this has security cameras, right? I will go and see what the cameras caught and you Hope, i have a list of question s you may address of guests and stuff around here, maybe they saw something."

Thry have been searching and asking question for about an hour and 45 minutes till they finally meet again.

"Well, what did you find out, mister detective Void? Had any luck?"

"Well, not so much, it made me think that whoever is behind this knows well this place, but i found something interesting in mr Greenmark death. You see, mr Greenmark was all alone at the moment when it happened, noone was around but somehow he stumble upon a wire, i suppose it was a bit dark maybe he did not see it and the venomous snakes falls upon him."

"That is crazy indeed, maybe we did not find anything else because the police took the rest already, anyway i also found something interesting."

"I doubt chef inspector Sunrise would leave such an important evidence behind, so what have you found?"

"First Mr Williard and Mr Grinschmoire, the man who was the second death, had an argument two days before, a maid named Sylvia heard them and told the receptionist about it. Unfortunately, Sylvia has been missing for some time, everybody thinks she is sick or that she has left after the second murder..."

"That is strange, maybe Mr Williard hides something from us, he told us there was no trouble at all... And for this maid i wonder why nobody thought she could be dead as well till now?"

"Maybe we should call off today, mister detective Void, i'm tired from all this detective work...Hope you don't mind it but with so many snakes around here i'm feeling much safer with you."

"You can stay, it's not like i can make you leave in the first place, i will read all the answers and organize notes about everything we know so far."

"Goodnight and thank you!"

Even so, the truth was that Helen forgot to take a room, she though that she didn't need it in the first place, nearly almost 3 days without sleep, she just tried to be busy as a bee just to forget about something, anyway if she knows something about men Was that they have big egos.

"Good morning, ready for a new day? I woke up with this feeling which tells me that we are gonna find the last piece of clue to end it today, can not wait. "

"I just spoke with mr Williard, we have a new clue where we can search, i added to my agenda, are you ready for a trip Hope?"

while they were going detective Void saw a white-yellow substancs powder on a top of a rock, it was the same one found in the laboratory were some snakes were held captive, it was indeed odd to find it there since those snakes were caught in the opposite direction away from the place they were.

The door to the cottage was unlocked, but it was more like someone forcing entry, Scratch marks were present on the wooden door. So entering the cottage the two of them begone to search for anything usefull that may had lead them closer to the truth.

While searching detective Void tripped over a ditch almost would have fallen too if he didn't grab the first thing he could get his hands on, slowly revealing a nice nest full of eggs.

"Those eggs are tall, big and heavy, wonder which bird lays them?"

But he did not have time to find the answer When Hope started to speak, by the sound of her voice the detective notice she Was afraid of something.

"Mister detective, there is an anaconda... A 15 feet long life anaconda...Ahh!"

Her heart skip a beat, Hope was paralyzed by fear, the sharp snake tongue hissing at her and the huge opening mouth revealing its sharp fangs was a nightmare before her, she felt like a mouse.

Mister detective Void could see only the half of the body of the giant anaconda, the anaconda was in the position to strike probably it compare Hope with a heavy meal.

Before she knew it, Hope felt on a pile of something, the anaconda head look at her from above but the window Was too small for such a large body shape.

Helen couldn't open her eyes she still Was afraid, of course dealing with anomalies Was much easier for Hope, they have the technology and there were people she could count on, plus an anaconda that long could eat you in a second and you should know better than to provoke such a large snake.

"Am i dead? Am i in a belly of an anaconda?"

She did not dared to open her eyes yet till she felt a hand on her check, the detective wanted to make sure Hope was still alive and to assure her that there were no snakes near her, he sigh as for someone who was kissing the danger almost everyday Hope sure Was more pale than usual.

"No silly, you just passed out, come on, that anaconda won't bother anyone ever again!"

Hope slowly opened her eyes, finally he thought, they could move on, still she wanted to know What was hiding behind the pile on which she had landed.

A mountain of boxes beautifully arranged they were in front of them, and the detective knew, the only question remain Who brought them there?

"Well, at least we know what happened to the gifts that were suppose to be given, are you alright?"

Hope yawned, Who would have known that the cases were so energy-consuming, she looked at detective Void, clearly something was with him but she couldn't figure it out and it's not like they spoke about it. The poor detective must have been shocked too, that snake had been something she was sure they won't forget soon.

"Just a little dizzy, probably from that snake..."

"Put your hand around my shoulder mister detective, let me carry you, we come together, we leave together...ok?Just try to relax, you are too tense."

They reached the resort, mr Williard was waiting together with Karina also there was another police car near, they have been waiting for them.

"Do you need anything, water, are you hungry? I will speak with Mr Williard myself, promise me you will stay here."

"Incredible, an anaconda this tall takes some years and if they have enough food, what happened to the eggs? We can not let such a gene pass, having more anaconda like this it will destroy the eco-sistem."

"Yes, i know, we also found the gift boxes discarded and covered with an old blanket, we didn't found much i'm afraid.

Helen was in one of the dead point, if the detective was right this was the moment they finally catch the one responsable for the unfortunately incidents. It wasn't long before a shadow appear, it was fast, Hope had begun the chase...for her it Was now or never.

She had both of her guns with her, the suspect would have no escape from her, she was determined When she heard a bottle break, and initially thought it was detective Void.

"Well, what do we have here, i will take that... Do you recognize this remainder of broken shard, miss? I will only ask you once, judging by your face, I know you do so let's hear it! "

"I recognize it because i was in the kitchen before, but only because my detective cousin haven't a proper meal and i was worried for him! I told the Head chef if he could make some dumplings for detective Void, it was there when i saw the package with sealed champagne bottles to be given to Mr Williard guests in that evening. "

"How convenient that you just see these bottles, the same bottle with which my sergeant was hit in the head. What i am saying is that you both are liars, do you even know your so called detective cousin name, miss?"

"My name is Simon Angelo Smith, and my cousin Helen Hope Bright doesn't use my name when i do the whole detective work, please stop with this, you are on the wrong track here if you think she has anything to do with this attack!"

"That would make a cute story for children but i'm afraid the facts prove otherwise, hands behind your back miss, you are arrested!"

"Let her go, you have more important things like your sergeant laying bleeding on the floor."

"Hands up you, in the corner right now!I am the one who gives the order here, back in the corner."

"This situation is geting out of control, mister detective..."

They watched for more few seconds, there was when Hope used the B class amnestics on the inspector and his Sergeant, after they left the sergeant on the Infirmary, they put the inspector on a chair somewhere else for when he was going to wake up and left him there.

"There is nothing amnestics can't resolve, now the 24 hours are gone. So glad i have them with me."

Hope and detective Void decided to tell everything they know to Mr Williard, the poor old man was waiting for news like hot bread, the mam understood them and give them the keys.

As they split up again later that night Helen saw something moving, it was big and looked heavy, plus some pleople in uniform but trying to get closer another trap net full of snakes falls on her, lucky Hope knew exactly about it but the sound it made caught unwanted attention which forced her to flee from there.

"Mister detective Void, i saw something... Ah...Ugh, also i think one of the snakes bite me, i can not feel my leg anymore..."

The detective caught her, leaving Hope gently to the ground, then he took the out station he had at hand while trying to make sure the venom wouldn't spread any faster, mister Williard and a team of medics soon arrived after, Hope attempted to make some jokes, she didn't wanted to put more salt on the wound.

"Obviously for someone who got bitten by a venomous snake you are pretty chilling and vibing... Glad to see you are not the type who would scream their lungs out!" One of the paramedics said as a joke, it was nice to see someone agreeing with her, slowly turning her head in detective Void direction.

"See mister detective Void, i told you i am a tough cookie, not made of sugar...And why should i scream when i know everything will be fine, after all i have the best detective i could ever ask for right next to me and a dedicated rescue team!"

After a while only detective Void and mr Williard remain, the detective carefully planned the next move, he was very focus looking straight at the door, maybe it was time to put an end to this whole saga.

Mister Williard looked at the detective, him and the girl risked so much for the sake of his business and for the lives of the others, he had to encourage the young man somehow but didn't know how.

"It's lovely to see how much faith she has in you, as a young couple I assume...Don't worry we will keep an eye close to her, Hope is in good hand, now you can go and finish what you want to do."

Those words took him back, he slowly took two steps back, couldn't believe what he was hearing... Sure, he and Hope Were a little closer after all they have been through but a couple, the answer was simple: no.

"Am I that obvious?"

"It's just an old man thought, i used to be very protective of my sweetheart as well when i was young.When we, men, find the right person for us we don't know where is left and where is right anymore!"

"Alright, i am going to work on some paper, you know hospital related, don't move around too much, let the anti-venom do it's job and drink lots of liquid..." The nurse slowly put her hand on Hope left shoulder, encouraging Hope, while she left, Helen moved her head to the window, knowing the detective she couldn't stop being worried at what he might do all alone with the" vipers".

"Please be careful mister detective Void, don't get hurt!"

Detective Void enters the room, somehow he knows exactly what to expect, he didn't know how, he just did, the room colors gave him a headache and the smell of perfume, it wasn't like an ordinary criminal case where the walls were old and smelly with some visible mold.

"l must say i have found our marriage boring at one point, he was always looking at young women, do you know how boring that was? Even when it was our anniversary he couldn't take off his eyes of some maid ass or chest, made me sick...Tell me detective what would have been the point if we got divorced? why shouldn't i have all his money and even have more money from those sales? Elegance lies in snakeskin, shoes, coats, hats, purses, Wallets, i could have rule the world, me a woman, a fresh widow which doesn't give a penny for that weak pig cheater!"

"You bribe your husband and Mr Williard economic agent to do your dirty work just so you could eliminate him later. After you got what you wanted you left those papers in one of Mr Williard books as a clue for the police to find it later, so that they would thought he is the one responsable. Two birds with one stones!"

"Exactly detective and if you were smart enough, you would have left things just the way they are."

"Well, it turns out there's nothing more to say then..."

"Exactly. Goodbye detective!"

"What a wonderful terrifying experience we had, right mister detective? Also thank you for saving me again, i just can't keep my little tail out of trouble, don't I? So, um...would you like to meet more? It's not like you keep yourself out of the whole anomaly situations anyway..."

It's been a week since the police arrested Mrs Grinschmoire and the whole operation shut down, Hope felt better and she just finished her entire report of course without mention the detective, she knows Matei and Vivienne would not let her go that easy especially after she was bitten but Helen could live with that.

Chef inspector Sunrise and some other police fellow found the suspect in the middle of the room, her gun was five meters thrown away from Mrs Grinschmoire as she was on her knee looking like a crazy old lady, nobody could find an explanation, they also found a confesion voice recording type along side with money and a large snakeskin clothing range, soon after they found the rest of accomplices, unfortunately Sylvia was found dead.

"Speak for yourself, Hope i am busy..."

"Well, i tried, what can i say more? Just, try not to get yourself killed, alright? Hope we meet again, i can't wait for it, so much fun when you are around..."

"Before we take a different path again I feel like there is something else you want to say to me, your expression gives you away, so what is it?"

"I...Mister detective would you like to go and see... The next time we meet each other maybe we could go together and...Damn, it's much harder to say what i want to say... Look ok, since you like so much to... All those SCPs thing, maybe one day we could make a visit to this lovely place which is a SCP, it has an incredible view..."

"I have one question first:why me?"

"Because just don't ask, i don't have an aswer, i just want to show you the good part of the scps not only the bad one..."

"I will think about it and don't worry if i accept i will let you know after all i am a detective and i always have my ways."

"I would never thought the other way anyway, mister detective Void, till then take care, hope i will see you soon!"

They shook hands and then the door closed behind the detective, he had done well for now, sure never doubt himself ever again maybe after all this detective Void will find the right path to find what he has lost.

The end!

The simple drawing without text:

🙂

[pentacass]

no comment on the story so far except i wanna take shae out of the writers' hands and kiss her back to her senses

'no comment' she said, then wrote so many comments in the tags that she transferred it into the post itself lmao

they're doing shae dirty like how they did saresh. feels like they need a fall guy, a dramatic betrayal, and she's the pick for this particular story. i could feel it in my bones when she made that commotion at malgus' prison which was already...sort of bending her character a bit? but oh haha mandalore sure has a temper hasn't she?

when the story gets wrapped up in the end, they'd better explain all of this good because so far, quite frankly, it's just nonsense. what reason does shae have to throw everything away, everything she'd built and fought for so far? (other than protecting her people) why does she think malgus can help and why would she turn to him for help when she was spitting mad and railing at him a few updates ago? how would she have learnt about what he knows?

also what in the fuck is this 'outside threat' that drove her to this course of action. does it have any link to what malgus sees of the future? but why free him, since it seems he wants it to come to pass? nothing is explained. nothing is built up properly, except through vague prophecies and threats that are flimsy as hell. it's very frustrating.

add: ok i replayed. so her primary goal is to protect the mandos from being destroyed by everyone else. and her first step towards that is. using malgus to somehow stop heta kol. good luck with that buddy.

i am still reserving (most) judgement because all of this can be made better if the writing shakes out well. and from the look of things, they'd better balance it all properly cos there's a ton of stuff heaped onto this plate right now.

ANYWAY. shae vizla ma'am pls call me i'm free this weekend let's make out and forget about all this

[followerofmercy]

Fanfic 20 questions! I was gonna say 'fuck it I love talking about myself even if nobody tagged me' and then realized @hua-fei-hua already did like. Two weeks ago. Whoops aldsjf I don't check my mentions. ANYWAY THANKS HOMIE

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

Currently 119. Should be 120 in a week or two

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

361,556 published. We can add another 60k that is written but unpublished for Monoceros Novae, 9k miscellaneous Hearthling notes, 24k unpublished honkai notes and another 50k in my general notes document.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Actively rn, only Genshin and Honkai. I'll write for other stuff when I feel like it.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Missing Person - Hollow Knight, genfic, little ghost and Quirrel - 1500 kudos (this is why small fandoms are the best alsdfj)

I Need to Leave Him Before He Leaves Me - Genshin, Alhaitham/Kaveh - 987 kudos (helped a lot of people think about their autism with this one lmao)

Homeward Bound - Hollow Knight, genfic, little ghost and Quirrel - 757 kudos (Idk why this one blew up. Wasn't that great but I appreciate the attention. Probably people sorting by kudos)

How 4.1 Should've Gone - Genshin, Aether/Lyney kicking Wriothesley's ass - 656 kudos (First and only time rewriting canon. Surprised at how well received it was)

Abusing the World Tree - Genshin, Lumine/Scaramouche - 643 kudos (Yk I used to really hate this fic and I still do, but not as much as I used to. I still think the entire premise is Horror instead of cute, but I think I did good with the prompt. )

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always. I literally only write fanfic in order to connect with people alsdfj why the fuck wouldn't I take an opportunity to yap. I judge my success as a writer by how I make my readers feel/helping them realize something about themselves/etc and the communication is really fulfilling

I mean sometimes I don't reply if it's literally just like, a heart emoji, which I still appreciate but I don't have a lot to go off of there

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably the one where Steven Universe walks off a cliff on accident while he's sad and can't control his fall speed anymore and dies. I was much younger when I wrote it asldfkj.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That I'm proud of? No clue. Probably another Steven Universe one where Steven and Connie went to prom.

I will say that A Bard Walks in and Hugs the Bartender is my favorite 'happy' ending fic because of a comment I got on it. It's a story about forgetting details about deceased loved ones and the guilt that comes with that and then comfort that that's a natural part of the process, and someone let me know that they felt so seen. They said the forgetting is a part of grieving that doesn't get addressed enough and it was so nice to see it in writing and I'm like. Pack it up boys we've officially won writing! My writing has fundamentally changed a real life person. I have achieved what I consider success.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Very rarely and usually unintentionally. Had a dude call Arlecchino a 'psychotic bitch' in a comment where they were genuinely trying to praise my writing, but on a fic intended to show her doing her best and I'm like. I don't really have the energy to debate why that was rude and I'm blocking you. Bro if you see this tumblr post and you didn't intend to, like, shit on the entire premise and everything I love about that character, hmu in DMs and we can talk asldfkj. Otherwise please find other authors to read

Otherwise I think I'm secure enough in my interests and unabashedly unashamed of anything Problematique I write that bullies decide to choose better targets?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes and I've given up writing normal sex. I'm not good at it. I have a weird kind of medical kink where I think the word penis is sexier than cock and, yk, most people would disagree. I'm both better at writing gore and horror that achieves the same kind of intimacy with a slight sexual bend, and I get more fulfillment out of it. Anatomy of a Blade remains one of my proudest works.

Also I prefer writing it as a character study. I love finding jackoff material but I can't write it for shit. Pour one out for the authors doing what I can't asldkjf

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one you've ever written?

Nah. The setting is usually so important to my interpretation of a character that I just Can't put them somewhere else. Same with AUs. I'd rather write an original story at that point. I will fantasize about it occasionally tho.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yesn't? I've had a few lines ripped, especially for rarepairs, but I had such an unfortunate thing happen recently asdlkjf. This new author so excitedly asked me if they could use one of my fics for inspiration and I'm like "omg of course!!! I'm so flattered!" because I was! and then when they finished writing it and told me about it I was so excited to read it!!!

and then I did

I'm sitting here like "...Who's gonna tell them that this is actually plagiarism without embarrassing them and completely crushing their motivation to write ever again" asldfkjasdf;l

like OBVIOUSLY they were not trying to steal, because why the fuck would they announce it to me. But also I don't want them to be served a cease and desist later down the line so we had to have a little talk and it's all good now. I'm really excited to see what they write next!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Supposedly! I've had several people ask me if they could and then just. Never followed up aldk;fskj. It's a shame because I'm absolutely fascinated by linguistics and would love to pick their brains about what translation choices they made and why.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Sorta? Ray did one chapter as an epilogue to one of mine, and I think I've worked with Sen a few times on shorter pieces. Otherwise I'm a bit of a selfish writer and a control freak adsljf

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Constantly changing. I'm currently on a Bootheng and Zhongxiao kick, tho once I watch more of Madoka Magica I'm probably gonna lose my mind over Homura/Madoka. Also Adora/Catra as I watch more Shera.

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Literally too many to list. See question 1 and the 50k words worth of notes

I have so many ideas that I really need to pick and choose what I work on because there literally just isn't enough time in the world - unless I start doing cocaine or something, but even then I think I'd still have the same problem. Join my discord server if you're an adult and wanna hear me whine about it asdlfkj

16. What are your writing strengths?

Fitting body language and other scene description with dialogue. I don't see images in my head and I think in motion a lot, so I think I do a really good job of keeping a scene rolling while people are talking without having to bring everything to a screeching halt to describe, idk, the color of the carpet on the stairs.

Also emotional damage

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Probably longer works? I lose drive to work on anything over 6k words pretty easily and I also struggle with pacing. I'm insisting on finishing Monoceros Novae so it can be my first novel because everyone's first novel sucks ass. I'm getting it out of the way so my original works will hopefully go better asldkfj

Oh. Also what people look like. Fuck you you get a pronoun and maybe a hair color. If Martha Wells can do it with Murderbot, so can I lmao.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Just for the love of God don't put it in italics unless you're making a point that the person using the other language doesn't use it naturally. I'd like to highlight the poem Kupu Rere Ke by Alice Te Punga Somerville for my feelings on it alsdkjf.

Also gonna copy stardustdiving's answer and say that it's great for multilingual characters and places it makes sense, but I personally think it's a little annoying when it's just a shippy pet name to be cute without, like, some kind of basis for it. Notably Childe calling Zhongli Xiansheng. It's fine if he would say that BUT HE WOULDN'T. He'd call him Mr., Sir or Motherfucker Ratbastard Whyaren'tyoudeadyet

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Undertale! Surprised at how well a lot of the fics have held up over the years.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Changes a lot as I develop as a writer. I'm really proud of Frustrations of the Hunt and this is the vibe I want my original writing to have.

I'm also really proud of my one and only FMAB fic about Alphonse getting pants. It's more serious than it sounds.

I actually have a collection of my works that I'm really proud of too!

Let's tag @resplendent-chungus. Do it bitch /affectionate

[bensonstablers]

I was tagged by @sothischickshe (thank you!!! 🥰) to answer 20 questions for writers:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

205.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

609,094

3. What fandoms do you write for?

fandoms i've written for include:

Law & Order: SVU / L&O: Organized Crime

Good Girls

Gotham

Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Angel

Criminal Minds

Graceland

Stranger Things

The Walking Dead

Riverdale

Castlevania

Preacher

Four Brothers

Outer Banks

Gilmore Girls

while no longer available, in the past i've also written for:

Fast and Furious franchise

MCU / Marvel

Boondock Saints

Hocus Pocus

From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series

DC

(plus more i'm probably forgetting about)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Shared History (Good Girls/Brio)

Degree of Separation (Good Girls/Brio)

Milkshakes (Good Girls/Brio)

Deep Sense of Belonging (Good Girls/Brio)

Sacred Art of Kissing (Good Girls/Brio)

5. Do you respond to comments?

i read all of them for sure but i'm terrible sometimes at responding although i do try my best

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

ooft, okay. there's probably more than this but the following have major character death warnings that could very well be classed as angsty lmao:

i wrote this little ficlet: Gone (SVU, bensler/EO) in which a raid goes wrong and it's just pain from start to finish and then there's Until Long After She Takes Her Final Breath which is a Good Girls/brio fic in which their reunion at the beginning of season 3 goes very differently.

Why don't we go to Venus? is another Good Girls/brio fic in which the summary is: Rio killed her and that was supposed to be the end of it but Beth doesn’t seem to be done with him quite yet.

that one is probably my angstiest overall but the ending is probably the least angsty bit about it??? haha

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

honestly? i have no idea and i have no clue how to check 😭😂

8. Do you get hate on fics?

there was someone going around the SVU/OC fandom leaving weird hate comments on people's stuff (anonymously) and i got one but while it felt rude, it didn't feel like hate, but also it felt like it was supposed to be hateful, y'know? pretty sure i just deleted it though (i for sure ignored it) 😂

but generally, no. i'm lucky to say that i tend to avoid hate on social media and that includes fanfiction.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i have done and the variety isn't huge but it's there? i guess?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i have done! beyond the obvious (where shows, etc share worlds), i did a boondock saints/the walking dead one (which was also co-written) because norman reedus stars in both 😂

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i'm aware of?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

again, not that i'm aware of

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes! the aforemention boondock saints/the walking dead fic was co-written on ff.net and i co-wrote (with the same person), a fast and furious fic.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

i lost myself a ton in writing olivia/elliot from svu/organized crime as well as beth/rio from good girls so they'd probably battle it out for top spot.

BUT

if i'm being brutally honest, my all time favourite ever to write were fast and furious ships 😂 especially the OGs (specifically vince and leon) with my OCs (although there were canon ships i loved to write too!). it was just so fun and freeing and i constantly think about it.

(i also loved when i wrote random marvel/mcu pairings, winterwitch was probably my number one for them and again, i think about it a lot)

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i think it's unlikely i'll finish a lot but especially a degree of separation. i kind of hate it, i'm so sorry 😭😭😭

16. What are your writing strengths?

the thought of analysing my own writing right now sounds painful but two of the most common nice things people tell me is that: 1) they like how i write dialogue and 2) they like my writing style in general

(but of which i highly appreciate!)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i don't do it enough?

nah. true but seriously, there's a ton, however, i do tend to waffle on and write something in several sentences that could have been just one 😭

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't think i've ever done it? if i have it'll be dialogue or whatever that's already in the show/move/etc

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Fast and the Furious 🥰

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

still on ao3: it has to be Why don't we go to Venus? but also Knock First which is a Beth/Rio/Original Male Character threesome fic that was SO MUCH fun

no longer posted: a fic for The Fast and the Furious. it was a Vince/OC story. it was so much fun to write and it was one of my most popular back when i was posting on ff.net and i miss this story all the time (even though it's probably awful 😂) and always think about re-writing and posting it again on ao3

Tagging: @conscience-killer @constant-sinner @astarkey @xstrawmari @blainesebastian if ya like! (sorry if you've been tagged before!)