I immediately thought of that one video of the plague doctor jauntily walking in the park
I'M HOLLERING
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@kruzchka
I immediately thought of that one video of the plague doctor jauntily walking in the park
I'M HOLLERING

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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"Terms of Agreement."
"Smoke then fuck?" β P
| π½πππππ: 18+ | 1.4k words |
[ READER DISCRETION ADVISED ]
Notes: Before reading, please note that this fanfic consists of: Friends with Benefits / Fuck Buddies (FUBU), Orgasm Denial, Rough Sex, Smoking/Tobacco Use
βThe rain against the high arched windows of the Northland Bank had slowed to a heavy, rhythmic thrum, mimicking the absolute lack of warmth within the room. Pantalone didn't look up when you locked the heavy oak door behind you. He was sitting at his desk, the soft glow of a green-shaded desk lamp casting long, severe shadows across the scattered receipts of the day's transactions. He didn't offer a greeting, and you didn't expect one; any polite fiction would only clutter the precise efficiency of why you were here.
β
βHe slid his fountain pen into its holder with a clinical click, reached into his breast pocket, and produced his silver case. With a sharp flick of his thumb, he popped it open, pulling out a dark, fragrant clove cigarette.
β
β"Smoke then fuck?" he asked casually.
β
βThe question was entirely transactional, delivered with the exact same flat, even cadence he used when confirming the delivery of a cargo fleet or setting interest rates for the lower tiers of the Fatui. It was his version of consentβa baseline verification of the eveningβs agenda, dry and utterly devoid of passion.
β
β"Yeah," you replied, your voice matching his unbothered detachment.
β
βPantalone struck a match against the side of the box. The sudden flare of sulfur illuminated the sharp, aristocratic lines of his face and the chilling vacancy behind his spectacles. He took a long, slow drag, the tip of the clove cigarette burning a fierce, angry orange in the dimness of the study. The rich, medicinal scent of tobacco and bitter clove instantly filled the stagnant air.
β
βHe didn't offer you a drag, nor did he waste time lingering by the hearth. Instead, he stepped toward you, his leather boots clicking softly against the marble perimeter of the room before he reached the thick Persian rug. With his left hand, he caught your jaw, his gloved fingers clamping down with enough pressure to force your mouth open. He took another deep drag, held the smoke in his lungs for a fraction of a second, and then leaned down, exhaling the thick, bitter vapor directly down your throat.
β
βYou swallowed the smoke, the harsh sweetness scorching your lungs and bringing that familiar, heavy dizziness that served as the boundary line between the outside world and this room.
β
βBut before you could even exhale the breath, Pantalone didn't put the cigarette out. He kept it firmly clamped between his teeth, the thin trail of gray smoke curling up past his glasses, obscuring his eyes behind a hazy, indifferent veil.
β
βWith his free hand, he gripped the front of your shirt and violently shoved you backward onto the edge of the heavy mahogany desk. Inkwells rattled and minor ledgers scattered to the floor, but he didn't care. His movements weren't born of a sudden, desperate hunger; they were executed with the brutal, calculated efficiency of an interrogation. He unfastened his trousers, pushing his dark fabric aside, and parted your clothes with a practiced, rough finality. He didn't bother completely undressing you; he merely exposed what he needed, his expression entirely unbothered by the sudden violence of the shift.
β
βWhen he thrust into you, it was a sudden, punishing force. The sheer, blunt size of him stretched you wide instantly, knocking the remaining air straight out of your chest as he buried himself fully inside your heat. Pantalone didn't pause to let you adjust to the deep, invading ache. He immediately locked into a hard, unforgiving pace, his heavy hips slamming ruthlessly against yours with a rigid, mechanical rhythm that made the heavy desk creak beneath your weight.
β
βThe friction was instant and intense, a burning heat building rapidly between your thighs as he bared his length to the root with each long pull, only to drive back in with a heavy, wet thud. But when you looked up at him through the haze of smoke, you found absolutely nothing but ice. He looked entirely separate from what he was doing. He held the cigarette between his index and middle finger now, taking a slow, leisurely drag even as his lower body continued to hit you with ruthless, unyielding force, the slick friction of your bodies echoing loudly in the quiet room. He exhaled the smoke upward toward the ceiling, his face a mask of profound indifference. He was using your body as a piece of machinery, a physical release to burn off the mental stress of managing a global empire, while keeping his mind entirely locked away in his ledgers.
β
βThe pleasure began to tighten violently in your gut, a desperate, sharp necessity taking hold of your senses. Your hands clawed at the polished edge of the desk, your legs tangling around his hips instinctively, trying to force a faster reaction, trying to shatter that infuriating, perfect composure as his thick length repeatedly battered against your deep, sensitive core. You let out a broken, ragged sob, your hips stuttering against his as you pushed yourself directly into the point of friction, desperate to break over the edge.
β
βPantaloneβs eyes snapped down to yours, cold and analytical through the rising smoke. He noticed the shift instantly, his brow furrowing with a brief, authoritarian displeasure. Without breaking his heavy, punishing stride, he leaned his forearm heavily across your chest, pinning you flat against the cold wood, completely paralyzing your movements and forcing you to take the full, deep weight of his thrusts.
β
β"Don't cum yet unless I tell you to," he murmured.
β
βHis voice wasn't raspy or breathless; it was perfectly level, steady, and entirely dominant. It was a condition of the transaction. He didn't want you slipping into the quiet comfort of an afterglow while he was still using you. He required your absolute, agonizing awareness of every hard, heavy stroke, your walls twitching and clenching helplessly around him, suspended at the peak of frustration simply because it suited his timeline.
β
βYou choked back a gasp, your fingers digging into his leather gloves as you forced your body to obey the restriction, your core aching and dripping wet against his thighs as he continued to ruthlessly ride you. The forced denial made the friction excruciatingly sharp, every brutal thrust a deliberate test of your restraint. Pantalone watched the tension ripple through your jaw, a ghost of a cruel, satisfied smirk touching the corner of his lips before he took another slow drag of his cigarette. He continued to fuck you, his pace rigorous, heavy, and entirely detached, the ashes from his cigarette falling onto the dark wood beside your head.
β
βHe kept you right on the agonizing verge for minutes, his movements unhurried and mechanical, until he finally reached his own quiet conclusion. He took one last deep pull of the cigarette, his grip on your hips tightening until his fingers bit deep into your skin, driving his length into you one last time to bottom out heavily against your womb. His breath hitched in his throat for three heavy, deliberate seconds as his body went completely rigid against yours, enduring the sharp spike of physical release, filling you deeply without a single sound escaping his lips. He didn't call your name; he didn't press his forehead against yours. He simply took what he needed and let the tension drain from his spine.
β
βAs his pulse slowed, he leaned over and carelessly crushed the remains of the cigarette into a crystal ashtray on the corner of the desk. He relaxed his forearm from your chest, freeing your lungs.
β
β"Now," he permitted softly, the word a casual dismissal as he pulled out of you without a single backward glance, leaving a heavy smear of slick and heat between your thighs.
β
βThe sudden loss of his heat left you shivering against the cold mahogany as your delayed, ruined climax finally broke over you in violent, helpless waves, leaving you spent and trembling in the dim light.
β
βPantalone was already standing by the washbasin, wiping his hands and his length with a fresh linen cloth. He adjusted his vest, straightened his cravat, and slid his glasses back into their perfect position on the bridge of his nose. Within moments, his appearance was immaculate, the disarray of the past half-hour completely erased from his person.
β
βHe walked back to his chair, sat down, and picked up his fountain pen, the nib scratching against a fresh piece of parchment before you had even finished gathering your clothes from the floor.
β
β"Leave the key on the mantle," he said, his eyes already fixed on his financial columns. "I have a meeting with the Doctor at midnight."
Zandik based on my fanfic:
[ Dimensional Anomaly: #001 ]
Read the Fanfic here: [ I II ]
"Dimensional Anomaly #001" (Pt. II)
π§ͺπͺ | When the two geniuses meet...
[ π¬ π³πππππ πΎπππ π½πππ π π²ππππππ π΄πππππ π¬ππππππππ ππππππππ ]
NOTES: This fanfiction takes place in an alternate universe where a certain genius and his research are accepted rather than condemned by society's laws. The interactions and events portrayed in this story are entirely non-canon and do not reflect the official characterization or relationships of the characters involved.
97%...
98%...
99%...
[ Data Extracted Successfully]
[ Data loaded: 100% ]
βThe early hours at the Herta Space Station were unusually busy. Puppet Hertas scurried through the halls in every direction, hauling equipment and assembling whatever project had suddenly caught The Herta's interest.
β
βZandik emerged from his temporary quarters with a tired yawn. His silver hair was thoroughly disheveled from sleep, and he rubbed at his eyes as he stepped into the living area.
β
βThe moment his gaze landed on the couch, his drowsiness evaporated.
β
βThe Herta sat there comfortably, one leg crossed over the other as she leisurely sipped from a cup of coffee.
β
βZandik narrowed his eyes.
β
β"...How did you get into my room?"
β
βThe question came less from surprise and more from irritation. Somehow, despite the countless security measures scattered throughout the station, The Herta had once again appeared where she wasn't supposed to be as if privacy were merely suggestions to her.
β
β"Do you realize it is 'my' Space Station right?"
β
β"But that doesn't change the fact that youβ tch...forget it."
β
βZandik let himself fall onto the opposite end of the couch with a tired sigh. He dragged a hand through his cerulean-blue hair, pushing the unruly strands away from his face as he tried to wake himself up.
β
βAcross from him, Herta remained silent.
β
βShe took another sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving him. The rim of the cup partially obscured her expression, but the unwavering stare was impossible to miss.
β
βZandik could feel it.
β
βThe way she watched him was almost clinical, as though he were a particularly interesting specimen placed beneath a microscope.
β
β"...What?" he finally asked, narrowing his eyes at her.
β
βShe lowered her cup just enough for a faint smile to appear.
β
β"Nothing. I'm observing."
β
β"Observing what exactly?"
β
βHerta's lips curled into a smirk. Crossing her legs, she shifted in her seat until she was facing him completely. Propping her elbow against the armrest, she rested her chin on her hand and regarded him as though he were the most fascinating thing she'd seen all morning.
β
β"You've grown wrinkles, how old are you exactly?"
β
βZandik scoffed.
β
β"This is an absurd question. If you're going to insult me, I have no time for your constantβ"
β
β"I have a de-aging formula."
β
βZandik blinked, staring at her as though he had misheard.
β
βA de-aging formula?
β
βThe very notion sounded absurd.
β
βHis own Elixir of Immortality, one of his greatest achievements had failed to halt the passage of time on his body. If even that couldn't alter his condition, then there was no conceivable way a mere de-aging formula would succeed where it had failed.
β
βHe let out a scoff, shaking his head.
β
β"Impossible," he said flatly. "My Elixir of Immortality doesn't even work on me. What makes you think a de-aging formula would fare any better?"
β
βHerta tapped a finger against her chin, pretending to consider his argument. In reality, she was doing her best not to laugh.
β
βA de-aging formula wouldn't work on him?
β
βIf only he knew.
β
βShe had been using the very same formula for nearly two thousand years.
β
β"Then try to guess how old I am," she said suddenly.
β
βZandik gave her a skeptical look.
β
β"Hm... thirty?"
β
βFor a moment, silence hung in the room.
β
βThen Herta burst into laughter.
β
β"Aww, now that's the compliment I've always wanted to hear."
β
βStill chuckling, she reached into her pocket and retrieved a small holographic projector. With a flick of her wrist, a translucent screen sprang to life between them, lines of data and chemical structures scrolling across its surface.
β
β"You know," Herta began, leaning back into the couch, "I've never let anyone use this."
β
βThe hologram rotated lazily above her palm.
β
β"Not my colleagues. Not my associates. Not even the people closest to me."
β
βHer eyes shifted to him, amusement dancing within them.
β
β"But you're special."
β
βThe smirk on her lips widened.
β
β"So I'll let you share it with me."
β
βZandik's eyes narrowed as streams of data and complex equations flickered across the hologram.
β
βThe more he examined it, the deeper his frown became.
β
β"...How did you create something like this without the gods punishing you?"
β
βHerta stared at him for a second.
β
βThen she laughed.
β
βShe shook her head, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.
β
βLeaining back against the couch, she gestured lazily with one hand.
β
β"I have a colleague who studies Aeons as a hobby. Another has probably contemplated becoming one at least once. Honestly, trying to achieve godhood is practically a scholarly pastime around here."
β
βHer lips curled into a grin.
β
β"Compared to that, a de-aging formula is tame."
β
βHerta rested her chin on her hand and regarded him with amusement.
β
β"The laws of this universe are very different from the ones you're used to. Things that would be considered blasphemous where you come from are merely research topics here."
β
βShe tapped the hologram, causing the formula to rotate.
β
β"Trust me. If the gods punished every scientist for stepping over a line, half of the Genius Society would've been struck down centuries ago."
β
βZandik blinked.
β
βFor once, he had no immediate retort.
β
βHis gaze lingered on the hologram, though he was no longer reading the formula displayed across its surface.
β
βA place where scholars toyed with concepts that bordered on divinity. A place where challenging the heavens was not met with fear, but curiosity. A place where knowledge was pursued for its own sake, no matter how impossible, dangerous, or absurd it seemed.
β
βWas this what the Genius Society had always been?
β
βMore importantly...
β
βWas this where he truly belonged?
β
βThe thought settled heavily in his mind.
βZandik fell silent.
β
β"I'll give you time to think about it."
β
βHerta rose from her seat as she walked through the door, pausing for a moment as she glanced over her shoulder.
β
β"Oh and Zandik? After you have your breakfast, come outside to the Northern Wing 'kay?"
β
βZandik released a long sigh, letting the thought drift to the back of his mind.
β
βBefore he could dwell on it any further, a sudden commotion erupted from the doorway.
β
βHe jerked upright.
β
βOne puppet Herta after another flooded into the room, carrying trays, ingredients, utensils, and appliances with alarming efficiency. Some were setting the table, others were cooking, while a few seemed to be arguing over the proper arrangement of the dishes.
β
βThe organized chaos unfolded so quickly that Zandik could only stare.
β
β"What is all...this?"
β
βWithin minutes, the living room had transformed into a makeshift dining area overflowing with food.
β
βZandik watched the puppet Hertas bustle about, each one focused on preparing a meal specifically for him.
β
βSomething strange stirred in his chest.
β
βThe station was loud, eccentric, and filled with people whose ambitions rivaled the stars themselves. Yet for the first time since arriving here, it felt...
β
βWarm.
β
βHis shoulders relaxed.
β
βAnd before he realized it, a small smile found its way onto his lips.
β
βIt wasn't a smirk, nor a triumphant grin.
β
βJust a quiet, genuine smile.
β
βHerta caught it immediately.
β
βOf course she did.
β
βHer eyes widened for a fraction of a second before a smug grin spread across her face.
β
β"Oh? Look who's smiling."
β
βZandik's expression vanished instantly.
β
β"I wasn't."
β
β"Sure you weren't." Herta snickered into her coffee.
β
β
β
βAfter finishing his breakfast, Zandik barely had time to set his cup down before one of the puppet Hertas seized him without warning.
β
ββWhaβ! Get off me! Where are you taking me?β
β
βHe struggled slightly, but the puppetβs grip was firm and unbothered, as if his protests were nothing more than background noise.
β
βIt marched him through the corridors of the Herta Space Station with unsettling efficiency, turning corners with precise confidence until they finally stopped in front of a sealed set of doors.
β
βWith a mechanical chirp, the doors slid open.
β
βZandik paused.
β
βInside was a laboratory.
β
βBut not just any lab.
β
βIt was fully equipped state-of-the-art instruments lined the walls, advanced monitoring systems were already calibrated, and shelves were stocked with materials, reagents, and tools he hadnβt even requested yet. Every surface had been arranged with meticulous precision, as though the space had been designed specifically around his habits before he even knew them himself.
β
βThe puppet Herta stepped aside as if presenting a finished product.
β
βZandik slowly stepped inside.
β
βEverything he needed was already there.
β
βFrom high-level experimental equipment to rare components, even specialized stations for chemical synthesis and energy testing were all prepared, waiting, as though the lab had been built not just for a researcher, but for him in particular.
β
βFor once, he had nothing to adjust. Nothing to request. Nothing missing.
β
βHe stood still for a moment, taking it all in.
β
βBack in the hallway, the puppet Herta tilted its head slightly, as if waiting for approval or reaction.
β
βThe Hertaβs projection flickered into existence mid-air, static rippling through her form for a brief moment before it stabilized. With a smooth motion, she dropped lightly onto both feet, as if she had simply stepped down from an invisible platform.
β
βWithout missing a beat, she straightened her coat and began walking toward him.
ββWell?β she said casually, her tone carrying its usual blend of amusement and expectation.
β
β"This is absurd..."
β
β"This is magnificent!"
β
βShe spread her arms wide, presenting the laboratory as though it were her proudest creation.
β
ββI designed it myself,β she added lightly, as though that alone explained everything.
β
β"Mm. I can tell." Zandik crossed his arms, forcing his tone to remain even, almost dismissive.
β
βIt was an effort more than he cared to admit.
β
βBecause despite himself, despite every instinct to critique, to dissect, to find flaws or inefficiency, there was nothing to correct.
β
βThe laboratory wasβ¦ perfect.
β
βNot just functional, but understood. As if someone had taken the time to map out his habits, his tendencies, even the way his thoughts wandered during experimentation, and built the space around them.
β
βStill, he kept his expression controlled, refusing to let even a hint of admiration slip through.
β
β"Here,"
β
βHerta handed him a piece of parchment.
β
ββI know you wonβt accept the actual de-aging elixir,β Herta said, her tone easing into something quieter, almost thoughtful. βSo I figured youβd rather make it yourself.β
β
βShe glanced at him from the side, as if reading the conclusion before he even formed it.
β
ββBecause I am, unfortunately, oh so generous,β she added lightly, though the usual smugness in her voice had softened.
β
βFor once, the proud smirk didnβt come.
β
βInstead, she smiled. Small, genuine, and steady.
β
βThere was no mockery in it now, no performance of superiority.
β
βA determination to see him back in his element.
β
ββI want to see what you can do.β
βBONUS I:
β
βpoke.....poke....pokepokepokepoke...
β
β"Quit it!"
β
βThe eight-year-old segment of Zandik let out a low, frustrated growl as the puppet Herta continued to poke his cheek relentlessly.
β
ββI said stop that!β he snapped, swatting weakly at her hand.
β
βBONUS II:
β
β Late at night, the Herta Space Station had fallen into its usual quiet hum. Machines softly whirring, lights dimmed to a subdued glow.
β
β Yet one lab remained awake.
β
β Herta paused outside the glass panel, peering in.
β
β Inside, Zandik hadnβt moved from his workstation since dusk.
βThe lab was lit only by the cold glow of monitors and floating holograms, casting shifting patterns across his figure. His robe had been carelessly discarded over the back of his chair, forgotten in favor of work. He sat forward slightly, bare back turned toward the door, posture tense with focus.
β
βOne hand pressed against his head as if trying to steady a storm of thoughts, the other hovered over the projection in front of him, adjusting, recalculating, refining without pause.
β
βNo sign of fatigue. No sign of stopping.
β
ββHate to break it to you,β Herta drawled from the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame as though she had all the time in the universe. She glanced down at her nails, inspecting them with exaggerated care. βBut I will always be the smartest in the cosmos.β
β
βZandik didnβt look up at first.
β
β Then he let out a quiet laugh.
β
β Turning slightly over his shoulder, he finally met her gaze, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his focus.
β
ββYes, you are.β
β
βΒ Β Β Β Β
"Dimensional Anomaly #001" (Pt. I)
π | Across the cosmos...
[ π¬ π³πππππ πΎπππ π½πππ π π²ππππππ π΄πππππ π¬ππππππππ ππππππππ ]
NOTES: This fanfiction takes place in an alternate universe where a certain genius and his research are accepted rather than condemned by society's laws. The interactions and events portrayed in this story are entirely non-canon and do not reflect the official characterization or relationships of the characters involved.
β97%...
β98%...
βΒ Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Β 99%...
β
β[ DATA EXTRACTED SUCCESSFULLY ]
β
β"Yes! Yes! Yeeesss!!"
β
βThe woman bounced forward to the data machine that she made to extract a human from a different dimension, a delighted grin spreading across her face. Lavender eyes shimmered with unmistakable curiosity beneath her soft ash-brown hair.
β
β"Ratio Ratio Ratio!!! Look!!!"
β
βThe Herta let out an excited squeal and promptly hauled the broody Dr. Ratio out of his seat. Ratio barely had time to protest before she was already dragging him across the room. Behind them, Aventurine blinked at the abandoned chessboard, silently mourning the fact that his opponent had escaped just before delivering what was undoubtedly going to be a humiliating checkmate.
β
β"Heh...the data extraction has been successful!"
β
β"Hm..."
β
βThe Herta stood beside her latest acquisition with a smug smirk tugging at her lips, looking far too pleased with herself for someone who had just extracted a person from an entirely different universe.
β
βAcross from her, Dr. Ratio regarded the bewildered individual from beneath the alabaster sculpture resting atop his head. The marble bust cast a shadow over his gaze, obscuring much of his expression, though the judgment radiating from him was impossible to miss.
β
βSilence stretched for a moment.
β
βThen another.
β
βThe Herta's smirk only widened.
β
βDr. Ratio adjusted the alabaster head with practice ease. To most, the peculiar ornament seemed absurdly excessive. To him, however, it served a purpose: shielding him from unnecessary distractions and, more importantly, reducing the amount of idiocy he was forced to perceive on a daily basis. It allowed him to think, analyze, and strategize with maximum efficiency.
β
β"...You extracted a random person from another universe."
β
β"I did," The Herta replied proudly.
β
βRatio stared.
β
βThe Herta stared back.
β
β"...And your justification?"
β
β"I was curious aaaand not only that. That one is a diamond!"
β
βThe scholar slowly closed his eyes beneath the alabaster head, as if praying for patience that would never arrive. The Herta, meanwhile, looked delighted by his suffering.
β
βGAAAAAASPPPP!!
β
β"He's awake!! We should give him the "Genius Society" makeover! And ugh...I hate that shade of green, get it away...!"
β
β"Hmm...this is the first time that happened here I never thought it would work."
β
βRatio stepped forward and crouched beside the man sprawled across the floor. The stranger had only just regained consciousness, his expression still clouded with confusion from whatever impossible process had torn him from his own world and deposited him here.
β
βWith a measured sigh, Ratio removed the alabaster bust resting upon his head and tucked it beneath one arm. Without the marble barrier between them, his sharp features were fully visible, golden eyes narrowing as he scrutinized every detail of the man's appearance.
β
βThe examination was uncomfortably thorough.
β
βRatio leaned closer.
β
βAnd closer.
β
βThe man instinctively recoiled, shoulders tensing as the scholar's face drifted far too near for comfort. It felt less like being observed and more like being inspected under a microscope.
β
βRatio's gaze swept over him with clinical precision, searching for irregularities, inconsistencies, anything that might explain how an ordinary individual had ended up crossing the boundaries of entire universes.
β
β"Tell me, do you remember your name? What planet did you come frβ"
β
βHerta shoved his face away as she crouched and leaned even closer.
β
β"ON A SCALE OF 1-10 WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT MY SPACE STATION? AMAZING ISN'T IT?"
β
βThe man let out a low groan as consciousness fully settled in. Rubbing a hand over his face, he slowly pushed himself upright, only to find The Herta hovering far closer than any reasonable person should.
β
βWithout a word, he placed a hand against her cheek and gently, but firmly pushed her face out of his personal space.
β
β"Too close."
β
βHis voice came out rough with exhaustion.
β
βThe Herta blinked in surprise, more intrigued than offended by the rejection.
β
βMeanwhile, the man sat up completely and stretched his aching shoulders. His movements were sluggish, as though he had been dragged from the middle of a particularly good nap. Then, through half-lidded eyes, he lazily lifted his gaze toward the two scientists observing him.
β
β"Who are you? And...ugh...where the hell am I? Is this the afterlife?"
β
βThe Herta let out a loud laugh that echoed the room.
β
β"Oh, but it's better! You're in my space station!"
β
βThe man blinked once...twice...
β
β"Your...what now?"
β
βRatio cleared his throat sharply, the sound cutting through The Herta's increasingly pointless chatter.
β
βThe genius in question paused mid-sentence.
β
β"...Oh."
β
βRatio pinched the bridge of his nose.
β
β"At last."
β
βThe Herta merely grinned, showing not a shred of embarrassment for having completely neglected the most important part of the experiment.
β
βTaking her silence as permission to salvage the situation himself, Ratio stepped forward and folded his arms behind his back.
β
β"Since my colleague appears more interested in casual conversation than proper procedure, I shall provide the necessary information."
β
β The man on the floor looked up at him with the same tired, unimpressed stare.
β
β Ratio ignored it.
β
β"You have been displaced from your original reality and transferred into this universe through an experimental extraction process conducted by The Herta."
β
βA pause.
β
β"Without my approval, I might add."
β
β"You would've said no."
β
β"Correct."
β
β"Which is why I didn't ask."
β
βRatio inhaled slowly.
β
βExhaled.
β
β"As I was saying," he continued, "you are currently aboard the space station under The Herta's jurisdiction. Based on preliminary observations, you appear physically stable despite the dimensional transfer."
β
βHis eyes narrowed slightly.
β
β"Though your continued lack of concern regarding your circumstances remains an anomaly."
β
βThe man stared at him.
β
βThen at The Herta.
β
βThen back at Ratio.
β
β"...So you're telling me I got kidnapped across universes because she was bored?"
β
βSilence filled the room.
β
βThe Herta suddenly found the ceiling fascinating.
β
βRatio closed his eyes.
β
β"...That is an oversimplification."
β
β"Is it inaccurate?"
β
βAnother pause.
β
βRatio's eye twitched.
β
β"...No."
β
βThe man sighed and dragged a hand through his hair while The Herta giggled shamelessly in the background.
β
βAt that moment, Ratio began to understand why the alabaster bust had become such an indispensable part of his daily life.
β
β"Actually! I kidnapped you because your intelligence will be much more appreciated here!"
β
βHerta leaned close again as she smirked smugly.
β
β"Tell me, you like clones, do you?"
β
βThe man on the floor widened his eyes before he averted his gaze.
β
β"I can't say for certain but...I deleted them all."
β
β"So, make it again!"
β
β"Excuse me?"
β
βHerta slowly smirked as if she was waiting for that moment to come.
β
β"You can always make it here whether it will be like puppets like my adorable little Hertas, or just make whatever you want here."
β
βShe's pacing the room with her hands behind her back, grinning to herself like she has won the lottery in life.
β
β"Tell me, Zandik, are you willing to contribute your genius inventions to us?"
β
βZandik almost laughed.
β
β The sound died before it could leave his throat, leaving only a faint scoff.
β
β What an absurd question.
β
β Throughout his entire life, his creations had been met with fear, disgust, and condemnation. The people of his world had never looked upon his inventions with admiration. They called them cruel. Unnatural. Heretical. Every breakthrough was treated as a crime against nature itself, every discovery condemned before its potential could even be understood.
β
β To them, his work was nothing more than a harbinger of suffering.
β
β A source of evil.
β
β Countless times he had presented results, theories, and innovations that could have revolutionized entire fields of study, only to be met with horrified stares and self-righteous lectures from those too ignorant to comprehend them.
β
β Their fear had always outweighed their curiosity.
β
βTheir morality had always outweighed progress.
β
β So hearing such a question now felt almost laughable.
β
β "Nonsense... this is a trap, no?"
β
βHe scoffed.
β
β"You make me invent things, encourage my research, and then what? Cast me aside the moment my work becomes inconvenient? Outcast me like the rest of them?"
β
β His crimson eyes narrowed.
β
β"I've heard this proposal before."
β
β The room fell silent for a moment.
β
βThen Herta yawned.
β
β A long, exaggerated yawn.
β
β"Mhmm, mhmm. Yeah, yeah. Outcast. Heretic. Blah, blah, blah."
β
β She waved a dismissive hand through the air.
β
β"Like that means anything here."
β
βZandik's brow twitched.
β
β Herta, meanwhile, had already begun twirling a lock of her hair around her finger, her attention visibly drifting elsewhere. Listening to his suspicions seemed to bore her more than any lecture could.
β
β"You people and your obsession with labels..." she muttered.
β
β"Do you know how many times I've heard that speech?"
β
β"It's hardly a speech."
β
β"Close enough."
β
β Herta sighed dramatically before finally looking back at him.
β
β Her eyes lingered on his face for a second.
β
βThen another.
β
β As though she had suddenly remembered why she had brought him here in the first place.
β
β"Anyway."
β
β Before Zandik could react, Herta grabbed his wrist.
β
β"Whatβ"
β
β With surprising strength, she yanked him upright.
β
βZandik stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.
β
β"Would you stop doing that?"
β
β"No."
β
β Herta ignored his glare entirely as she dusted off his sleeve with unnecessary force.
β
β"Listen carefully, Zandik. Nobody cares."
β
βThe bluntness of the statement caught him off guard.
β
β"Nobody cares if your research is 'heretical.' Nobody cares if it's 'unnatural.' Nobody cares what some random civilization from another universe thought about your experiments."
β
β She pointed a finger at his chest.
β
β"The only question anyone here is asking is whether your work is interesting."
β
βZandik stared.
β
β Herta stared back.
β
β"And if it is?" he asked cautiously.
β
β Her grin widened.
β
β"Then people will want to see more."
β
β For the first time since his arrival, Zandik found himself at a loss for words.
β
β"Come on Zandik, first! Let's get you off with those boring clothes of yours."

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"An Investment Worth Making."
Dottore x Pantalone x Reader
(π¬ πΈπππππ π±πππππππ π¬π)
[ WARNING: This fanfiction consists of YANDERE THEMES, DARK ROMANCE, STALKING, FORCED PROXIMITY, KIDNAPPING & MANIPULATION ]
"we have every intention of keeping you." β D.
The night was young, and the heart of Bonifacio Global City pulsed with life. Towering skyscrapers glittered against the dark sky, their lights reflecting off glass windows and rain-slicked streets. Music spilled from nearby cafΓ©s, mingling with the chatter of passing crowds and the occasional rumble of traffic. Everywhere you looked, people were enjoying the city, groups of friends laughing over late-night meals, couples strolling beneath the neon glow of storefronts, and tourists snapping photos of the vibrant urban landscape. With the semester finally behind you, this staycation felt well-deserved.
β
β But not until...
β
βΒ Β Β Screeeeeechhhhh....
β
β"HOY PUTANGINA MO! NAKIKITA MONG MAY TUMATAWID DIBA?!"
(HEY MOTHERFUCKER! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M CROSSING THE ROAD?!)
β
βThe man slowed to a stop at the curb, the low growl of his motorcycle fading beneath the city's restless nightlife. For a moment, he remained still, one gloved hand resting on the handlebar.
β
β Then, with an effortless motion, he reached up and removed his helmet.
β
β A cascade of dark hair with purple highlights fell slightly out of place, tousled from the ride. He ran a hand through it absentmindedly, pushing the loose strands back and revealing sharp, refined features that seemed almost unfairly sculpted. Behind them, amethyst eyes swept over the bustling avenue with quiet confidence, as though he owned every inch of it.
β
β"Sorry darling. I'm in a bit of a hurry for my meeting. Are you hurt? Is there something I could do to help?"
β
β"Darling? Did he seriously call me that after almost running over me?! And...look at his smug face!"
"That...infuriating...annoyingly...handsome..."
β
β"NO!"
β
β You slapped your mouth when you accidentally spoke out from your mind. The man chuckled and handed you a card.
β
β"Here, meet me at this place at 9pm. I am meeting a friend there later so I was hoping that you would be so kind to join us. Consider it as my apology for tonight, miss."
β
β A knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He gave you a quick wink before sliding the helmet back over his head. The engine rumbled beneath him, deep and powerful. With one final glance in your direction, he twisted the throttle and sped off into the night, leaving nothing behind but the fading sound of his motorcycle and the strange flutter in your chest.
β
When you arrived at the venue the mysterious man had instructed you to meet him at, an uneasy feeling settled in your chest. The moment you stepped through the entrance, you realized why. Everything about the place screamed luxury. From the dazzling crystal chandeliers hanging overhead to the polished marble floors that reflected the warm golden lights. Soft music drifted through the air as elegantly dressed guests mingled among themselves, their laughter blending seamlessly with the refined atmosphere.
β
β You couldn't help but feel out of place.
β
β This wasn't the kind of restaurant you usually visit. You preferred small cafΓ©s tucked away in quiet corners, casual eateries where nobody cared what you wore, and places where the menu didn't look like it belonged in an art gallery. Compared to the grandeur surrounding you, you felt painfully ordinary.
β
β Instinctively, your fingers smoothed the fabric of your outfit as your gaze wandered across the lavish interior. Every detail seemed expensive enough to make your wallet cry. For a brief moment, you wondered if you'd somehow walked into the wrong building.
β
β Yet the address was correct.
β
β Swallowing your nerves, you took a hesitant step forward, trying your best not to look as overwhelmed as you felt. The mysterious man had invited you here for a reason. Whatever that reason was, you were about to find out.
β
βΒ Β Β Β Β Β bump...
β
β The blue haired man examined you, his breath catching for a fleeting moment as though he hadn't expected the sight before him.
β
β Sharp crimson eyes lingered on your face, partially obscured behind the thin frames of his glasses. In the soft glow of the streetlights, he looked almost unreal. A striking cerulean blue hair, was neatly styled yet effortlessly disheveled, strands falling over his forehead as if he had been running his fingers through it all day. The city lights reflected faintly against the lenses resting on the bridge of his nose, drawing attention to the calculating gaze beneath them.
β
β He was dressed impeccably, an expensive white trench coat layered over a fitted black turtleneck, the fabric accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. A pair of tailored slacks and polished leather boots completed the look, every detail suggesting someone accustomed to wealth, precision, and control.
β
β There was something unsettlingly attractive about him. Not in the effortless way celebrities graced magazine covers, but in the dangerous manner of a man who knew exactly how intelligent he was and had long since stopped caring whether others found him intimidating.
β
β A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
β
β"Hm," he murmured, adjusting his glasses. "Are you the lady we're expecting to meet tonight?"
β
βHe offered his arm to you as he leaned to whisper to your ear since the music inside the restaurant is loud.
β
β"Shall we?"
β
βThe dinner had been a mistake.
β
β At least, that was what you were convinced of as you sat stiffly between two men who looked as though they belonged on the covers of luxury magazines rather than at the same table as you.
β
β The restaurant was far too extravagant. The wine glasses probably cost more than a month's worth of groceries. Even the silverware looked expensive enough to require its own insurance policy.
β
β Across from you sat Dottore, casually discussing something incomprehensibly scientific while swirling the wine in his glass. Beside him, Pantalone listened with an amused smile, occasionally adding a remark that somehow sounded both polite and condescending at the same time.
β
β Meanwhile, you were fighting for your life.
β
β Every passing second made you more aware of how out of place you felt.
β
β To calm your nerves, you took another sip of wine.
β
βThen another.
β
βAnd another.
β
β Surely a little liquid courage couldn't hurt.
β
β Unfortunately, nobody had informed you that the wine being served wasn't the cheap kind you were used to.
β
β By the time dessert arrived, the room had begun to blur around the edges.
β
β The elegant music sounded distant. The lights appeared much brighter than before.
β
β You vaguely remembered Dottore pausing mid-conversation to glance in your direction.
β
β"I believe your guest is intoxicated."
β
β"Already?" Pantalone's amused voice followed shortly after.
β
β You wanted to defend yourself.
β
β You really did.
β
β Instead, what came out was:
β
β"Pogi mo tignan boi..." (You're so handsome to look at bro...)
β
βSilence.
β
βThen Dottore laughed.
β
βActually laughed.
β
βThe last thing you remembered was pointing dramatically at Pantalone and accusing him of looking "too rich."
β
β After that, everything went dark.
β
When consciousness finally returned, it came with a pounding headache.
β
β You groaned softly and pressed a hand against your forehead.
β
β Something felt... strange.
β
β The seat beneath you was soft.
β
β Far softer than your bed.
β
β Your eyes slowly fluttered open.
β
β The first thing you saw was black leather.
β
β The second thing you noticed was the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air.
β
β Confused, you pushed yourself upright.
β
β A luxury car interior surrounds you.
β
β For several long seconds, your exhausted brain struggled to process what was happening.
β
β Then panic immediately followed.
β
β You were in a car.
β
β Specifically, the backseat of a very expensive BMW.
β
β Before you could fully spiral into a crisis, a voice came from the driver's seat.
β
β"Good evening."
β
β You nearly screamed.
β
β Pantalone's reflection stared back at you through the rearview mirror.
β
β He looked infuriatingly composed compared to your current state.
β
β One hand rested lazily against the steering wheel while the city lights passed beyond the windows.
β
β"You're awake."
β
β You stared at him.
β
β He stared back.
β
β"...Why am I in your car?"
β
β The corner of his lips twitched upward.
β
β"Because you were too drunk to stand."
β
β Your soul briefly left your body.
β
β"What."
β
β"You attempted to challenge a decorative plant to a staring contest."
β
β"...I did not."
β
β"You lost."
β
β Dread settled heavily in your chest.
β
β Judging by the amusement in his voice, he was enjoying this far more than he should have been.
β
β"We'll drop you off at your hotel don't worry..."
β
β"...How do you know where I stayed?"
β
β Pantalone smirked as he stared right at you on his rearview mirror.
β
β"...You'll be much happier with us."
β
β A chill crawled down your spine.
β
β The way he said it wasn't reassuring.
β
β It sounded like a fact.
β
β"With you?" you repeated weakly.
β
β Pantalone's smile only deepened.
β
β"Mm."
β
βThe city lights flashed across his glasses, obscuring his eyes for a brief moment.
β
β"You say that as though it's a strange concept."
β
β Before you could respond, another voice cut through the silence.
β
β"Statistically speaking, your current social circle is rather unimpressive."
β
β You nearly jumped.
β
β You had completely forgotten Dottore was sitting in the passenger seat.
β
βHe looked up from whatever he had been reading and regarded you with the detached curiosity of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen.
β
β"Average grades. Average hobbies. Average ambitions. An entirely predictable future."
β
β"...Excuse me?"
β
β"Yet somehow," Dottore continued, unfazed, "you managed to capture our attention."
β
β The knot in your stomach tightened.
β
βOur.
β
βNot his.
β
βOur.
β
β Pantalone chuckled softly.
β
β"You should be flattered, darling. Do you know how difficult it is to watch over you for a week? Making sure you're safe and all?"
β
β"Month," Dottore corrected.
β
β"My mistake. A month."
β
β The two exchanged a look that made you feel as though a conversation had taken place without words.
β
β One that you weren't supposed to understand.
β
β"You've...been stalking me?" you asked.
β
βNeither of them answered immediately.
β
β Pantalone's fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel.
β
β Dottore simply watched you.
β
βObserved you.
β
βStudied you.
β
β Like he was committing every expression to memory.
β
β Finally, Pantalone spoke.
β
β"Because we've invested quite a bit of time into you already."
β
β Your heart skipped.
β
β"What does that mean?"
β
βAnother smile.
β
β Far too calm.
β
β"Exactly what it sounds like."
β
β The car suddenly felt much smaller.
β
β"You know..." Pantalone murmured, his gaze meeting yours through the rearview mirror once more. "You deserve to have a life where you don't get much problems. A life with us. Heh, I wouldn't like it if I saw wrinkles on your pretty face."
β
β His smile softened.
β
β Somehow, that made it worse.
β
β"You won't have that problem."
β
β Beside him, Dottore nodded in agreement.
β
β As though this had already been decided.
β As though your opinion on the matter had never been necessary.
β
β"After all," Dottore said, returning his attention to the document in his hands, "we have every intention of keeping you."
β
β The words were delivered with such casual certainty that they terrified you more than any threat could have.
β
β To them, the matter was already settled.
β
β And for the first time that night, you couldn't shake the dreadful feeling that meeting them had never been an accident.
"Less than an Experiment."
[ NOTES: This fanfic consists of implied male pregnancy and mentions of lab experiments. ]
β It was a day like any other. Dottore stood occupied with him cleaning and polishing a flask, the room wrapped in a heavy, uninterrupted silence.
β"Feofan, a fascinating hypothesis has come to mind. Conventional reproduction requires a fertile specimen and a male contributor. Interestingly enough, I seem to possess the former prerequisite. If a few adjustments were made to my biological framework, achieving the desired outcome should be trivial. An intriguing experiment, don't you think?"
β
β
βRegrator froze. He slowly turned his head to meet his masked gaze with an uninterested look in his eyes.
β
β"...Are you suggesting that you wanted to bear a child?"
β
β His eyes twitched at that sheer absurdity of the situation.
β
β"It's not just an experiment, it can be an amazing contribution to science! I will become the first to discover such intelligence."
β
β"That doesn't change the fact that youβ ugh...forget it, do whatever you want."
β
β Regrator let out a frustrated sigh, throwing his hands up before returning to the painstaking task of balancing his ledger.
β
β"I am suggesting that you, my dear Feofan, shall be the male donor to my experiment."
β
β Dottore's lips curled into an infuriating smile, one so disarming that Regrator found himself unable to refuse him.
β
β"Youβ I hate you so much you know that?!"
β
β"Curious. You would rather I acquire another suitable male specimen and proceed with the experiment accordingly?"
β
β Regrator paused. For a moment, he simply stood there with his back turned. Then he looked over his shoulder, inch by inch, a vein pulsing visibly beneath his skin as Dottore's words settled in. The smile that followed was far more menacing than any scowl.
β
β"Try it. I dare you."
β
β The scientist regarded him for a moment before a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.
β
β"Let the experiment begin."
β
β
Weeks became months, and months became a blur of research, revisions, and sleepless nights. Failure after failure was discarded and improved upon until, at last, Dottore obtained the result he sought. The experiment had succeeded. Through his own ingenuity and relentless pursuit of the impossible, he had managed to alter himself sufficiently to carry and bear a child. To him, it was less a miracle and more a triumph of science.
β
β"And that's how you were born Mikhaiel Svyatoslav."
β
β Dottore rolled his eyes and scoffed like it disgusted him.
β"Who? That specimen is named Project Genesis: Z-01β"
β
β"Shut up, Zandik."
β"Shut up, Father."
"Goodbye, Feofan."
"Goodbye, Zandik."
"Til death do us part."
β[ Date: xx/xx/xxxx ]
βRegrator's Notes
β... This is such a stupid request.
β Three months without The Doctor. Nothing strange happened though I've been smoking as usual er...50 packs a day...So far I am doing well.
β
β[ Date: xx/xx/xxx ]
βRegrator's Notes
βI forgot how long youβve been goneβ¦ my lungs are failing, hah. Youβre really unfair, you know. Feels like you even altered them so Iβd die with you. But look at me, I outlived you.
βWith a sharp motion, Regrator closed the journal and struck a match. Another cigarette burned between his fingers as he tried to lose himself in the haze. The bitterness remained, directed at him, at the world, at everyone.
β
β"Regrator, her majesty asked if you have Dottore's journals?"
β
βTartaglia knocked at his door. He never answered.
β
β"...Come down alright? Everyone's been worried"
β
β"Worried my ass..."
β
βRegrator scoffed beneath his breath, smoke curling from his lips. During his absence, Northland Bank had fallen under Tartaglia's care. Six months had gone by, each day adding another layer to the frustration festering in his chest.
β
βAs Regrator wandered through Dottore's abandoned room in the Fatui Headquarters, something unusual caught his eye, a trail of scratches etched into the floorboards. Following them, he stopped in front of a towering bookshelf. Suspicion stirred within him. He pushed against it, and to his surprise, the shelf shifted. Behind it was a concealed staircase spiraling downward into a dark hallway, as if guarding secrets long meant to remain buried.
β Regrator descended the staircase, his brows knitted into a deep frown. A rancid odor lingered in the air, thick enough to make his stomach churn. The farther he went, the stronger it became, clinging to the damp stone walls and seeping into every breath. Yet he pressed on, driven by equal parts suspicion and curiosity.
β
βDeeper. Deeper still.
β
βThe darkness seemed to swallow him whole as the corridor stretched endlessly ahead, the foul stench growing more unbearable with every step.
β
β"Ah...this is where you died eh?"
β
βA bitter chuckle escaped Regrator's lips as he recognized the stretcher at the center of the room. It was where Prime Dottore had met his gruesome end, carved apart by the very segments he had created.
β
βThe sight turned his stomach. No matter how much time had passed, the memory remained as vivid as ever. Blood, steel, and the horrifying realization of what had transpired. It was a memory he would have gladly erased if given the chance.
β
β"This is filthy...smelly... seriously, does hygiene exist in that shallow brain of yβ"
β
βSomething crunched beneath Regrator's boot. Looking down, he found an old journal abandoned among the debris. Curious, he picked it up and began leafing through the pages.
βThe deeper he read, the more unsettled he became. Scrawled across the parchment were detailed records of how Dottore's Segments had been created. Every page peeled back another layer of the mad process behind their existence, as though the journal itself was confessing secrets never meant to be uncovered.
β
β"Soul...parts...self...Zandik..."
β
β Regrator nearly scoffed as he read through the entries. Even in his private journals, Dottore managed to sound insufferably self-important. Every successful experiment was accompanied by paragraphs of self-congratulation, as though no achievement in the world could rival his own brilliance.
β
βTypical.
β
βAs he turned another page, something slipped loose from between the sheets. A folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor and landed at his feet.
β
βRegrator paused, his expression darkening with curiosity as he bent down to pick it up.
β
β[ Prime Segment, fusion of Zandik and Pantalone's soul progress: 80% ]
β
β His eyes narrowed as he read the contents of the paper.
β
βNo.
β
βDottore had never told him any of this.
β
βA knot tightened in Regrator's chest. Had he been conducting experiments behind his back all this time? Was every conversation, every shared moment, every trace of trust nothing more than data to be recorded and analyzed?
β
βHis grip on the paper tightened, crumpling its edges.
β
βThe thought alone made his stomach churn.
β
βWas that all he had ever been to him?
β
βAn experiment.
β
βA subject to observe.
β
βA variable in one of Dottore's endless pursuits of knowledge.
β
βRegrator let out a bitter laugh, though there was no amusement in it. If anyone were capable of such cruelty, it would be Dottore. Yet part of him still resisted the conclusion, clinging desperately to the possibility that there was another explanation hidden somewhere within the pages.
β
βBecause if there wasn't...
β
βThen everything he thought they had shared had been a lie.
β
β[ Required: Pantalone's half consciousness ]
β
β[ Progress: incomplete ]
β
β Regrator nearly crushed the paper in his hand.
β
βRage surged through him at the realization that Dottore had hidden this from him. He already knew about the experiment or at least the vague idea of it. They had spoken of it before, and Regrator had dismissed it as one of Dottore's more absurd ambitions. Impossible. Laughable, even.
β
βYet the document in his hands suggested otherwise.
β
βHis eyes scanned the next paragraph.
β
βThen the one after that.
β
βAnd suddenly, he froze.
β
βThe color drained from his face.
β
βHis fingers trembled against the page.
β
βNo.
β
βThat couldn't be right.
β
βRegrator reread the lines, his heartbeat pounding louder with each passing second. The words remained unchanged, staring back at him with merciless certainty.
β
βHis hands shook harder.
β
βIt must have been the cold.
β
βSnezhnaya had always been unforgiving this time of year.
β
βThat had to be it.
β
βNot the dread curling in his stomach.
β
βNot the suffocating weight settling on his chest.
β
βNot the horrifying implication of what he had just discovered.
β
βSlowly, almost unwillingly, his gaze drifted back to the paper.
β
βAnd for the first time in a very long while, Regrator felt afraid.
β
β[ If I die, rewrite this sequence to a 95% progress rate. If Regrator successfully transfers my consciousness into himself, mark the experiment as a complete success and record the progress rate as 100%. ]
β
β"Hmph! As if I would let myself be a part of your experiment again..."
β
β He was about to crumple the paper in his fist, to destroy it and every horrifying thought that came with it, but something stopped him.
β
βA sound echoed faintly through the silence.
β
βDrip.
β
βΒ Β Β Β Drip...
β
βDrip...
[ Note: Do NOT force this experiment to commence unless it's needed.]
βRegrator lowered the paper slightly.
β
βOnly then did he realize the cold wetness sliding down his cheek.
β
βHe clicked his tongue in irritation, quickly wiping at it with the back of his hand as though denying its existence alone would make it disappear.
β
β"...This is such a stupid request," he muttered bitterly, his voice unsteady despite his attempt to sound composed.
β
βHis fingers tightened around the page.
β
β"When I die, I'm going to punch you in the face in the afterlife. Mark my words, Zandik."
β
βThe insult lingered weakly in the empty corridor, stripped of its usual bite.
β
βAnd somehow, that hurt more than anything else.
β
βRegrator reached for the cognitive transfer apparatus, a grotesque tangle of metal bands, electrodes, and crystal conduits designed to map and extract the human consciousness. He grimaced before fitting it over his head.
β
βThe machine loomed over him like a relic from a forgotten nightmare, its cables snaking across the floor and disappearing into the shadows. Beside it sat the lifeless Segment, motionless and empty, waiting.
β
βThe mechanism whirred to life, faint lights flickering along its frame as it prepared to extract the contents of his mind and imprint them onto the vacant vessel beside him.
β
βAs the machine continued its quiet hum, Regrator turned his head toward the Segment.
β
βThe figure sat perfectly still in the adjacent chair, its chest unmoving, its eyes closed.
β
βIt looked almost human.
β
βAlmost.
β
βFor a fleeting moment, he imagined those crimson eyes opening and meeting his gaze.
β
βThe thought sent an unpleasant chill through him.
β
βRegrator stared at the Segment in silence.
βSoon, if the records were to be believed, it would carry his memories.
β
βHis experiences.
βHis regrets.
βHis anger.
βHis love.
β
βEverything that made him him.
βAnd as the machine's hum grew louder, he found himself unable to look away.
β
ββThere were so many things I never said to youβ¦ not even a proper thank you. I couldnβt sleep after you were gone, as though a part of me had left with you.β
β
βRegrator let out a sigh as he shifted closer. His hand hovered just inches from the Segment's face, hesitant to make contact.
β
βIt was the same face.
β
βThe same sharp features, the same expressionless countenance, the same face belonging to the man he had lost.
βFor a moment, he simply stared, his chest tightening with a familiar ache.
β
β"I understand why you wanted a Segment with our memories and soul fused together, I thought it was a selfish decision but then again, I was selfish too."
β
β The machine groaned to life, its mechanisms stirring with a low, mechanical hum that quickly grew louder. Sparks of electricity crackled through the room, illuminating the darkness in brief flashes of blue-white light.
β
βYet Regrator didn't move.
β
βHis hand remained against the Segment's face, his thumb brushing lightly across its cheek.
β
βHe traced every feature in silence, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his nose, the faint crease between his brows.
β
βMemorizing.
β
βCommitting each detail to memory as though he feared it might vanish the moment he looked away.
β
βThe irony wasn't lost on him.
β
βOf all the faces in the world, this was the one he knew best.
β
βThe face of the man who had ruined his life.
β
βThe man who had infuriated him, challenged him, and left wounds that time had never quite managed to heal.
β
βAnother surge of electricity snapped through the chamber.
β
βRegrator's fingers tightened ever so slightly against the Segment's skin.
β
ββ"Live...damn you...!"
β
β His breathing grew heavier with each passing second. The relentless hum of the machine seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of his own heartbeat.
β
βHis vision blurred.
β
βHis eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
β
βRegrator fought to keep them open, clinging stubbornly to consciousness as the world around him began to slip away.
β
βWith what little strength remained, he leaned forward.
β
βSlowly.
β
βCarefully.
β
βAs though afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the fragile illusion before him.
β
βHis gaze lingered on the familiar face one last time.
β
βThen he closed the distance between them.
β
βHis lips brushed softly against the Segment's.
β
βThe kiss was brief, gentle enough to be mistaken for a farewell, yet burdened with years of words left unsaid.
β
βRegret.
β
βResentment.
β
βAffection.
β
βGrief.
β
βAll of it condensed into a single, fleeting moment.
β
βWhen he finally pulled away, a tired smile touched his lips.
β
β"I still hate you, you know," he whispered hoarsely.
β
βAnother surge of electricity erupted through the chamber.
β
βThe lights flashed.
β
βThe machine roared.
β
βAnd Regrator surrendered himself to the darkness.
β
β[ Experiment progress: 100% ]
β
β[ Segment: DP143: SUCCESSFUL ]
β
βThe machine let out a final hiss as it powered down.
β
βSlowly, it opened its eyes and sat upright, a faint ache running through its body. For a moment, it remained still, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation of being alive.
β It raised a hand and flexed its fingers.
β
β Then the other. Its joints responded without issue, bending and moving exactly as intended. A small rotation of the wrist, a clench of the fist, everything functioned perfectly.
β
β"You've done it Feofan! The ultimate experiment is finally a success!"
β
βRegrator narrowed his eyes at Dottore.
β
βThe silence between them was suffocating, heavier than the hum of any machine still cooling in the aftermath of the experiment.
β
β"... Who's Feofan?"
I SUDDENLY TRANSMIGRATED TO A BLOODY THRONE WAR NOVEL AND I CANβT GO BACK!
Yandere Crown Prince Phainon x Fem Transmigrated Reader
WARNINGS: obsessive and manipulative behaviors, depictions of violence, blood, slight gore, death of minor characters, non-consensual affection, phainon is delusional, parallels to amphoreus' storyline which can be considered as spoilers.Β YANDERE/DARK CONTENT AHEAD, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 11.2k words.
ALSO CONTAINS: Isekai/transmigration themes.
One of these days Iβm gonna put myself on a silver platter and serve it to Phainon.
You typed in your phone, gushing to your friend about the new update from the novel both of you had been following lately.
The Era Nova. An action-thriller novel about a charming crown prince thrust into a bloody game of court and throne. The story follows how Phainon, the crown prince with a golden heart, will navigate the dangers of the messy palace life, and how he shall succeed to finally become the emperor of the kingdom.
You were absolutely smitten with Phainon. First and foremost, the author surely did their best job at hiring good artists for the illustrations, because damn did they make justice of the βcharming and handsomeβ part of Phainon's character. Secondly, the gripping scenes of Phainon finally seizing the power from his enemies might've done something to your brain.
[Blue eyes suddenly flashed golden as he raises his sword and lays waste inside the throne room. What used to be regal figures now lie like broken statues, the red on their backs bleed farther than their capes.
Ascending from the blood of past kings, the new emperor, Phainon, has arrived.]
The words of the novel still stuck to your mind like glue, are you wrong for thinking that scene is just,
So hot?
phainon looked so YUMMY in the ending scene like the mask and cloak??? hmmm yes, and he makes even blood look good. wtf ur so real for that tho, but the ending's kinda sad don't you think? he'll be left alone in the palace far away from his people oh-
Maybe it's the way Phainonβs character is brought into the story, but he's this kind-hearted prince who transformed into an imposing ruler. The way his character hardened and developed pulled in your heartstrings. He brings conflict to your emotions, on how you loved his radiant and princely side, but at the same time is swept off your feet by his blinding majesty.
Must be the reason why you loved reading this novel. It seems that the author did a great job of stringing you, the reader, into Phainon's emotions and inner world. It makes you wish for the success of his plans in the story, but it also pains you to see him change as a price.
affected by literal fucking words and pixels, please save me from era nova, why can't i just pick a fav and go??? why do i also have to feel for them like please leave me alone he just wanted to be an appraiser and live normally with his people, why'd they have to do him like that ikr, like noooo phainon my sweet baby :( he succeeded but at what cost? :((((
Phainon ascends to the throne, the end. You saw this coming from a mile away, but actually seeing something that's been a part of your daily life for months finally concluding did hurt you a bit. There's a pang of emptiness, ah, the feeling of finishing a book and never hearing from that world again.
Sucks.
You'll probably get over it and find a new thing to fixate on soon, but for now you'll lament Phainonβs fate and think about the damn novel for a few more hours.
well becoming an emperor so suddenly sounds kinda lonely so if he needs a princess by his side im just here πΒ girl, you'll die from the court shenanigans alone lol oof yeah u right [are you willing to do that?] fuck yeah lol, all in for PHAINON [heh, come here then] ??? it's 4am rn tho
Don't wanna go out yet. You're supposed to type, but suddenly you felt the most splitting headache you ever had the misfortune to feel. Your vision goes blurry and suddenly, everything's so dark.
β
You woke up to the fluttering of softβ¦lace?
Opening your eyes, you are faced with the soft swishing of the lacy fabric hanging up on the bedposts. The fabric dancing in the air caresses your face, the gentle touch of lace rouses you further from sleep. Wait, bedposts?
Realizing the anomaly in your room, you stood up. Well, tried to do so. Because your head suddenly feels like it's groaning in pain and so do you.
βOh no miss! Don't stand up too fast, your head injuries might worsen!β
A brown-haired lady wearing a black dress with white apron suddenly ushers towards you. Her face is frowning, filled with as much worry as her frantic voice has.
White apron⦠like a maid outfit.
You stilled, brain churning for the last bits of the previous night. For one, you are texting your friend about Era Nova, second is that they asked you to βcome to themβ at such an ungodly hour, and thenβ¦ and then what?
βMaster! The lady has awoken!β
What happened last night?
Your head suddenly throbs in pain again, it's akin to a migraine that suddenly surprises you when you least expect it. The difference though from an ordinary migraine is that this one seems to carry something.
A lot of things, memories to be exact, actually.
You are the only daughter of the count of this area. You are currently in your estate at Okhema, and that you had a bad fall at⦠some market?
More and more flooded to your head, some crystal clear memories and some are fuzzy, something bathed in yellowing lights β childhood memories. It doesn't clear itself though, as if it's decided that those are not of importance.
βMy daughterβ¦ how do you feel?β
A voice interrupts your train of thoughts. There enters a man seemingly in his late forties. He's wearing clothes that seem to be out of a theater play you watched back then. His tall stature exudes elegance, something out of a regency drama.
Where are you exactly?
You didn't speak, mind running in different directions, different explanations and reasonings for whatever absurdity you are currently in as of now. Are you kidnapped? Did you get drunk last night and wandered to a TV set? Why would they play along then if that's the case? Is this a new, untapped-by-science side effect of combined lack of sleep and caffeine overdose?
All of your hypothesis sounds like it was spoken by insanity itself. Why would this happen? Is this real? Dozens of questions floated around your mind until it was cleared away by the same voice.
βMy dearest, we have investigated the entirety of Marmoreal market and found no signs of the carriage that hit you. I'm deeply sorry for this news, but don't worry, father is not going to stop looking forβ¦β
Your βfatherβsβ voice droned in and out of your ear, his words seem to be mixing and swirling into your senses.
Except for one.
Marmoreal. Then you also remembered one of the information bits that flooded to your brain, Okhema. You were so distraught earlier that you didn't process the memories itself, the familiar places and names suddenly makes sense, finally tracing back to their origin.
The Era Nova.
Marmoreal is the center of Okhemaβs trade, a place where half of the story convenes because Phainon frequents this place so much. The kingdom that hailed him as one of their crown princes is Okhema.
Maybe it was really insanity who penned these events unfolding to you right now.
βMaster, excuse my interruption, but my lady seems to be in great pain earlier, she may not be ready for that conversation,β The woman who you first saw when you woke up warily said to the man beside you. In your memories, she is your lady in waiting.
βRight, of course, please take care of her and make sure she rests.βΒ
The man leaves, the brown haired maid follows, telling you that she's going to fetch you soup and medicine.
Left alone in your thoughts, you only can look outside the window. Behind the branch where two songbirds are perched, singing a duet β lies the Marmoreal Palace, in front of your very own eyes.
Insanity, yes, this must be insanity.
There's no fucking way you just got isekaiβd in your favorite novel.
β
Of all the things to read before your isekai trip, it had to be this dramatic thriller of a genre.
You sluggishly stood up after your maid left you with the soup and medicine. You walked towards an ornate mirror, something that looks like it belongs to a museum, not in a home.
With that in mind, you found out two things.
First is that your family is rich. Second is that despite being transmigrated into a fantasy, kingdom-themed novel, you still looked the same.
Yes, unfortunately, no waking up in the body of a pink-haired maiden with flawless skin and plump lips.
At least you're rich, right?
βMan, I wanna know what it feels like to have natural pink hair.β You sighed in front of your mirror. You do look a bit more radiant at least, as if you finally scrounged enough money to contact a dermatologist and do something about your eyebags.
Yes, yes, it might seem like you were just put on a dress for some play but at least your face looks clearer. A win is a win.
Going back, you repeatedly consider your familyβs status. Rich and has a stable business? Then it is perfect. An unspoken rule in the isekai world is that, peace comes from not fucking around with the plot. It seems that you're in a lineage of businessmen, not royalty, so there's no reason for you to get tangled up in the bloody βcourt gamesβ that Era Nova is all about.
Gotta thank the plot for giving you some background on who you are in the story at least. Still, you've opted for pretending that you lost some of your memories, much to your family's horror β so that asking painfully obvious questions in case you forget something isn't too strange.
That, and also because you've seen this in many transmigration novels that you wanted to try it.
You probably should've stuck to something along the lines of romance or slice-of-life novels instead if you knew that this is going to happen.
All feels surreal, you never expected to experience being sent into the world of a novel. You thought isekai is just a fantasy genre you only read.
But alas, you're here now. There's no cameras or crew members revealing you're in a prank, a show, or something. It's been too long for that.
β
Crazy thought, but what if I try finding Phainon?
You suddenly think while you're in the bath, a pair of maids helping you scrub your body. It's been a few days since you got here. You did your best in adjusting, using the memories that were given to you and the books which, luckily, you can understand and read.
It also helps that you're proficient about The Era Nova back in the real world. You've been into forums and posts discussing the plot and the worldbuilding of this work. Save for the more innate traditions and customs, your knowledge about the events and how this kingdom came to be is more than enough for you to navigate in your daily life here.
In fact, you might be too proficient, because your butler let out a stray comment telling you that you have the potential to be a historian in the academy.
Your earlier thought about finding Phainon resurfaced again. Now that you think about it properly, it seems to be the stupidest idea you've made as of now.
No, no! Do not get involved with Phainon, he's the most direct, one-way ticket to the plot.
You didn't think further, instead you relaxed into the bath.
β
Thankfully, you have recovered. You think it's because your brain finally conjured all the memories it needed, hence your headaches had finally stopped.
Your father now also reluctantly lets you go outside again, but he strictly advises you to be careful, a long spiel of reminders and shoving at least two knights with you everywhere you go.
Wow, your family had knights.
Today, you're heading to the Marmoreal Market, where you're supposed to have been run over by a carriage before. You shivered at the thought, although nothing concrete came into mind when you tried remembering it.
Maybe it's mercy, who wants to remember that kind of pain?
Your carriage moves along the cobblestones. Estates, parks, ornate fountains and rows of wooden stalls pass by your window. Straight out of a fairytale kingdom. You couldn't believe your eyes, your heart was pounding. It's real, you're really here.
You only went out to have a closer look at the world you got thrown into. You knew what it's like in the novel, but seeing it in person is a whole βnother experience that cannot be replicated.
Today, you're going to investigate, but you guess it wouldn't hurt to explore Okhema too.
β
It's unfortunate that you only have two feet and can only go in a single direction at a time when the Marmoreal Market has a dozen pathways and shops calling your attention.
It's vastly different from the real world, that's for sure.
The colorful tapestries draped into the rooftops of each store weave a grand picture to your eyes. The goods displayed felt magical, even what's supposed to be simple bread sold in the west area looks like it's glazed in gold and the dresses hanging in the southern part all have intricate stitching that make the fabric feel alive.
Your eyes are twinkling in wonder. It felt like you were a kid again in an amusement park, the excitement on each turn of your head palpable. You took advantage of your sizable allowance and picked pastries and trinkets that interest you, those that seem otherworldly that you'll probably never see again once you go back.
Right, what about going back to the real world?
Magic exists in the story of The Era Nova. One of the shops here sells magical items. It's your main objective for the day. The concept of other worlds could still be seen as strange, but it's worth a shot, you think.
When you finally reach the shop, it's unassuming at first, only a crooked wooden signage and an old wind chime greet you when you lay your eyes on its facade, but what's inside is completely different.
Rows and rows of shelves filled with various jars and knick-knacks welcomed you. It's like you stepped into the set of Alice in Wonderland. The line of shelves leads to a counter, a single woman faces you, her little corner filled with hanging plants and more trinkets.
The woman on the counter only stares at you. At first you think it's strange, but remembering that you're inside a novel cuts off that thought. Maybe it's normal here. In most novels, characters that have to do something with magic tend to be a bit mysterious and quirky anyway.
You continued browsing, eyes looking for strange artifacts that could be connected to how you can go home. It feels like a shot in the dark as you have no idea what could be considered βa strange artifactβ because all of these things are foreign to you.
As you collect your courage to just straight up ask the bizarre questions of βportalsβ and βother worldsβ to the woman on the counter, a flicker catches your attention.
A hand mirror, it's embellished with small golden suns and silver moons on its frame. The handle is just the same, with a bigger sun and moon eclipsing at the center.
But the design isn't what catches your attention, it's what's within the mirror itself. Because instead of reflecting the shopβs interior β it's reflecting the inside of your real world bedroom instead.
You nearly jumped towards the glass display it's being held in. The woman on the counter stares at you before giving a somewhat pitied look.
βIt's a great piece, but unfortunately that's reserved for a special customer.β
Your heart drops at her statement. No, no way, this could be the key to going home. You're going to have this one, even if you have to put trade offers that are disadvantageous to you. As you were about to open your mouth to argue, you were interrupted by a chime.
βLord Phainon, are you here for your reservation?β
βYes, thank you for keeping it for me.β A man β no Phainon, walks into the counter. If your heart dropped earlier, it's now currently digging itself lower than the ground. Of all people, it just had to be him.
The woman walks past you and into the glass display. She grabs the mirror and heads into a door hidden by plants. This leaves you awkwardly standing beside the Phainon.
βIt's rare to see other customers here, I'm starting to think that Iβm the only one who knows of this place honestly,β Phainon casually starts off. You shouldn't be surprised at his friendly demeanor as you've read about it a thousand times already, but that friendliness directed to you makes your heart race at a dizzying speed.Β
Snow-white hair that's slightly tousled, the striking blue eyes, like it's twinkling as he smiles. His tall stature is more obvious due to the small space but his stance is relaxed as he watches over you, the differences in your height just perfect enough to display the golden sun on his neck at your eye level. There's no denying, it's really Phainon in the flesh, and the novel did not lie, he's the most charming and radiant person you've seen in the entire time you're here.
Oh dear, he's so beautiful.
You would've gushed about him more if it weren't for the silence that's hanging over you and the current situation about that mirror.
βAhhβ¦ yeah this store isβ¦ really interesting!β The response came as awkward as you can imagine, although Phainon didn't seem to mind as he chuckled and continued the conversation.
βI know, right? The shopβs filled with so many antiques and magical devices that I couldn't imagine how long it would take to appraise them all, they seem endless and that's what draws me here,β His tone is cheery, a smile spreading across his face.
You nearly forgot that Phainon has a hobby of collecting antiques and appraising them.
The lady comes out of the room carrying a box β presumably the mirror with your room in it inside. She hands the box to Phainon, but her stare never leaves you.
βMiss if you'd like, we have more hand mirrors and other displays-β
βOh, is the lady over here interested in this mirror too?β Phainon suddenly interrupts the lady, who answers his question with a nod.
βActuallyβ¦ I really wanted to check this specific mirror,β you softly said, might as well whisper with how quiet it went out of your mouth.
βMy, I didn't expect to make a lady sad today. Unfortunately, I did reserve this a week agoβ¦ and Iβm kind of expecting this piece β but! If you'd like, you can join me in appraising this, you said you wanted to see it closely right?β He offers, his smile widens as he turns to you, seemingly proud of his solution.
Oh no, he has such a nice smile.
Who could say no to that?
You take his offer.
β
In the first place, why do you still want to go home?
You woke up in a world filled with magic and whimsy, a world that looks like it has your dreams for its foundation. From a fantasy novel to a daily occurence.
So why?
Maybe it's because despite being physically here, you never really belonged. The monotonous voice that calls out to your βparentsβ, the practiced greetings, and the feeling of disconnect from your very self.
It's like you're just playing a role.
A role you cannot take seriously. Because back there, you have a life, a pretty boring one but it's yours. You're wondering if your cat is fed back home, you're thinking about your friend who wanted to meet up that day, and is your family worried? What about your real body? And your phone.
Oh you miss the glorious internet even for all its flaws. Maybe you wouldn't be as lost here if search engines existed.
The thoughts barrage your supposed peace of mind again, which is why you broke your promise of not getting involved with Phainon.Β
You need to see that damned mirror.
Isn't it funny how things are progressing just like an actual isekai novel? Because you do remember a few titles that had the protagonist promising to stray themselves off of the plot only to get plunged right in the middle of it moments later.
You mentally swatted the thought.Β
Because unlike the romance novels you've seen, the main driving force of this story is violence and revenge. Phainon succeeded in the story by removing all that tried stopping him. If you make a mistake β get too entangled, you might just get yourself extremely hurt.
There's a hypothesis that if you were to die in an isekai, your soul might just go back to reality. It's a hypothesis that you wish to not prove by looking for alternative paths instead, but if all comes crashing down, you'd rather have your death not by a weapon.
But⦠there's the alternative already right? Maybe getting a bit involved with the main character is a small price to pay for that. If the mirror proves to be the way of going home, then your involvement with Phainon would have no way of going any further.
So here you are, meeting the very man himself. The Sun of Okhema and the star of The Era Nova, Phainon.
You're not one for lying to yourself, you're a little too excited about seeing Phainon again. Heβs totally your type, and if you're as headstrong as those female leads in isekai, you might've even risked it for him.
Well, you're not, and you want to go home now.
βOver here, my lady!β A loud voice beckoned you. With how cheery it sounded, you knew it's definitely Phainon even without looking.
He's wearing casual attire, too casual. White dress shirt thatβs a little too sheer, and plain black slacks that go straight down to his leather shoes that's studded with small golden bits on its straps (which you found out are small suns as you walk closer to him). For all the straightforwardness of his outfit, the black choker that wraps around his neck stands out.
You see, you have no qualms about his clothing choices, but the sheer fabric is quite literally framing his muscles to all its glory and youβre a teeny tiny bit flustered. The choker isn't helpful either, as that leads your stare on his neck and jawline instead.
Ah self, pardon my bullshit just this once, not everyday you see the man of your dreams.
You swallow your embarrassment and approach him. You've opted to just a simple wave, but Phainon had other plans β he grabs your waving hand gently kisses it, his eyes never leaving you.
Well, shit.
βOh? Was that too direct? Apologies, it's a common courtesy here so I just got used to it,β Phainon suddenly retracts himself when he sees your half open mouth.
βNo, no, it's fine! Don't worry about it,β You responded almost too quickly, βAnyways, soβ¦β
βThe mirror, yes?β
βYes, yes, the mirror! Can I have a look at it?β Now that you listen closely, it seems weird that you're so eager to ask for someone elseβs personal belongings, but for the sake of your trip back home, you're willing to just swallow your pride for now.
βHmmβ¦ no?β Phainon playfully answers, the smile on his face growing.
βAh?β You could only utter that syllable. Did he finally catch on how weird this entire thing is?
βWhat I mean is not yet, we have to appraise it first.β
You could only stare at him dumbfounded before laughing it off. Phainon has a hobby of appraising antiques, this is one of his most highlighted quirks in the novel as he wishes to finally break free from his royal duties and work as a full-time appraiser.Β
Unfortunately, he has to let go of that dream after bearing the crown in the ending.
So as an avid reader and a fan of Phainon, you just let him talk your ear off about the intricate carvings of the mirrors and what tool could have been used in making them.Β
Just this once Phainon, because in the upcoming years, you'll have bigger worries than telling me the approximate age of this hand mirror.
You smile at how enthusiastic his voice sounded, but as he got into explaining the mirror itself, the entire thing started to feel off.
The mirror, which showed you your old bedroom, now suddenly feels⦠too normal. Plain. Nothing.
Back in the shop, it's eye-catching. Not only because it showed your real world, but also because the object itself seemed to be calling out your attention.Β
But right now, as Phainon traces his fingers on the embellished grooves, it feels nothing, like the magic sucked out of it. The suns and moons are now just ordinary embossing on the thingβs surface.
You and Phainon are currently sitting on a bench just right outside the palace. The two of you might've sunk too deep in conversation that the lamp posts that towers you are already lit up. The skies are blurring into orange blue tones.
βOops, I got carried away. But I hope the lady is satisfied with my appraisal? Hopefully I was able to give you the closest look to it.β
Phainon moves closer to you, before gently putting the hand mirror to your lap.Β
βIt's yours now, a gift, you're the only one who listened this long,β He grins, before standing up and offering his hand, βIt's nightfall now, so I will walk you to your carriage.β
The two of you walked across the streets that's starting to liven up. Stalls are being set, with vendors hanging up lights and signages. The kids are running around, the adults sighing behind them. It seems like a bazaar is being set up.
A bazaar?
[As night befalls, the festivities rose. In between the hanging lights and the rows of wooden stalls, lies a plot turned against Phainon.
The assassin waits, a rifle at hand. The people flow until they fill the crevices of the bazaar. In the mind of the hunter, a flock of panicked sheep will cover the fallen prey long enough for him to get away.]
βFuck was that today?β You whispered to yourself, which earned a curious look from Phainon.
Assassinations. This is what you're talking about as danger and Phainon go hand in hand. Of course, one less royal is one less contestant to the crown.
And now, you might've gotten yourself involved at just the perfect timing to be right beside him when he's supposed to be shot from above.
Phainon did survive this in the novel, but you're not quite sure if you would. The two of you are heading closer to the bazaar when you decide to do your last-ditch effort at distracting him.
You ran towards a little girl selling flowers and bought whatever flower catches your eye, it so happens to be a bunch of hyacinths.
You didn't even collect your change from the girl when you walked back to Phainon and handed him the flowers. βUhh.. I just wanted to give these to you, thanks for today, Phainon!β
Right, he wanted to buy flowers in the bazaar that day.
βOh and also, let's just take a detour, the bazaar lights kinda make me dizzyβ¦ unless you need to buy something there?βΒ
βNo, I don't need anythingβ¦ thank you too.β Phainon answered. Thank god it worked.
Right in front of you, Phainon is smiling softly, staring at the bunch of hyacinths that are now in his hands. He has the prettiest smile, wish he could keep that.
As the two of you walked to your carriage, it started to slowly sink in that maybe Phainon is not just a character, at least not right now, because that smile felt real.
You hope the assassin gets tired of waiting.
β
When you sat down in the carriage to collect your thoughts, you noticed a few things that were a bit wrong.Β
In the flurry of your thoughts and emotions earlier, there's one thing you'd miss β the honorifics. Despite him being a complete chatterbox, he's still a prince, and never once in your entire conversation had you referred to him as such.
Oh god, does he now think Iβm disregarding his status like the other nobles and royals that are against him?
You've known that your family are businessmen, but you only recently found out that you're prominent ones. Your nobility goes far and wide in Okhema, your family's influence in trade could certainly be used as leverage to the likes of Phainon.
Oh no, I hope Iβm not on his hitlist yet, I didn't mean to disrespect him.
Now that you mention it, you might've acted suspicious because of your fixation on that mirror. And now, you also feel bad for trying to claim something he technically owns, knowing his background in the story.Β
You comforted yourself with the fact that it's his idea to meet like this though, also his idea to let go of the antique, but you now can only hope that it's a genuine meeting and not some sort of test for the weird daughter of the biggest business man in the city.
Right, he did give me the mirror.
You propped up the thing that led you in this situation. An antiquated mirror, which now should've shown you your real world, if your hypothesis was right.
But just like earlier, it doesn't even feel magical or even interesting, as if the mystique that led you to it was knocked straight out of it.
βFuck, don't tell me that I was only hallucinating back when I was in that shopβ¦ to think that I might've made Phainon uncomfortable and pressured him into giving this up, ugh.β You buried your face in your palms, sighing deeply.
A thought popped into your head β the Academy. The Grove of Scholars do have a few mages in their ranks, they're the teachers of magic in this world. Maybe they could help you identify whatever's in the mirror.
Alright, let's make use of this thing, sorry Phainon, but it's a gift now isn't it?
β
The academy in this world is bizarre.
It sits atop of a ginormous tree that towers the entire field. Its branches envelop the surrounding area, in them, different buildings are encased, which can be accessed by the winding pathways that wrap around the trunk.
The tree isn't really the most bizzare thing to you though, it's the stairs. There's special devices scattered that could bring you to the various facilities of the grove, but stairs are still the predominant way of moving around here.
βI'm not built for this thingβ¦ is this why they always make the art for those scholar characters bulky despite them claiming they're feeble?β You sat down on one of the staircases. You checked back on your bag and saw that the hand mirror was still there, you breathed a sigh of relief.
βAre you new here, miss? Haha, yes the grove has a lot of stairs, but once you enroll here, you'll get used to it!β A bubbly voice suddenly comes beside you.
βOh, hello! Yesβ¦ it's embarrassing I get tired this easily, I'm not here to enroll though, I'm just here to inquire about an antique.β You answered the pink-haired girl.
Her smile brightens and she shows you a badge, it's the same as the academyβs.
βOh, I'm a student here, miss, rest assured that I'm knowledgeable enough though. If you want to tell me about it, maybe I can save you from climbing further up there!β
You take her kind offer and tell her everything you've noticed about the mirror you're holding. She asks you to put it in her hands, and after a few moments her answer comes to you.
βThere's not a single trace of magic in here.β
You should've known, but you still felt quite disappointed. What was that back in the shop then? Delusion?
βOhβ¦ I see, well good thing you're here, I might've gone up there only for nothing.β You can only laugh softly at her.
βWell, my professor's lab is there, so even if the mirror turns out to be a fake, you can still ask him about your theories regarding the portal. Don't worry, he won't think it's weird!β
βAlsoβ¦β The cheerful voice suddenly turns into a whisper, βIf you're planning to sell this thing, it might not be worth much.β
βOh, uhm, Iβm not going to sell itβ¦ but why wouldn't it be worth much?β You looked at her slowly.
βThe mirror is tampered, or probably recently restored, the glass is new. It's not entirely an antique if there's new parts right?β
β
[Broken, bloody pieces of what used to be a fair hand mirror lie messily on the carpeted floors. The golden eyes staring at it only blinks.
The eyes move back onto the table, the metal that used to carry the glass is facing him. The manβs bloody hand, one where some shards are still buried in its skin, carefully caresses the embossed suns.
He then picks up a round piece of mirror, the crafting skills he picked up from his adventures made it so that the foreign piece would fit perfectly in the hollow space the old one left.
If not for keen eyes, it would've looked like it belongs there just fine.]
β
You just woke up, but you feel like going back into the darkness of your sleep.
And stay there for a long, long time.
Because in front of you is a maid. She's an ordinary maid, if not for the blue and gold envelope in your hands.
βHis highness Phainon wishes to formally meet you in his estate. Today. Should I prepare your bath and clothes while you eat breakfast?β There's a hint of a smile on her face.
But not yours.
Because you think that this might've been your end. The words his highness sting you. Ah yes, the royalty and their titles, what could go wrong.
But the envelope is already there. For a split second, the idea of just chucking it down the fireplace and running to the countryside like those villainesses sounded good in your head, but you soon came to realize that declining a royal might just pose more misunderstandings.
Let's just hope he lives up to his novel persona and I'll be able to plead with him.
β
You're kind of disappointed in yourself.
For someone who's a βself-proclaimed The Era Nova specialist,β you judged Phainon way too quickly.
It feels more awful seeing his closed-eye smile directed at you.
No, he didn't execute you or put you under some royal decree. What he did do is literally thank you for buying him flowers that night and served you the most fragrant (and probably expensive) tea you've ever had.
βSorry for the sudden invite, I was just excited to finally have a friend here.β
βAhβ¦ yes, of course, I'm happy to have met you too, your highness-β This time you made sure to not forget, but he only frowned at this.
βSo formal now, aren't we?β He looks at you with what seems to be puppy-dog eyes and your heart flips.
βDid Iβ¦ have I offended you that night? I'm sorry-β
βOh no! No you didn't, I don't care much about titles like that anywayβ¦ plus even if I do, it's not your fault, you're not used to it, right?β He quickly exclaims, trying his best to prove your thoughts about that night wrong.
Used to it?
βAnyways, please don't think of this meeting as anything else aside from a simple chat with a friend.β He smiles again, βOh, the biscuits ran out, let me fetch some more, if you excuse me.β
He saunters to the door, leaving you alone in his office. You suddenly feel smaller when you realize where you are. Is it really okay for him to bring a stranger to such a place?
He even personally fetched snacks for you, as in the novel, he's used to doing things on his own. It's because he grew up to do so, because he's raised to be alone.Β
But he never brought that up against anyone, instead he just considers it as a way of showing sincerity to those around him, personally attending to them and being βa friendβ. These things about him make him such a warm character. You feel the worst for being distant to him.
You should've known that he probably never had anyone listen to his long-winded explanations about his antiques or just have a simple chat that doesn't involve royal politics. He's always been described in the novel as a free-spirited and cordial fellow after all.
But hopefully, he doesn't blame you for putting up walls. He was at the center of all in this novel, all the good and the bad. You just wanted to enjoy your stay here and go back home. You cannot risk being tied to him.
All these thoughts had you fiddling your necklace that's made with a rare pearl only found in the deepest parts of the sea. The thing is incredibly expensive. So when the pearl suddenly detaches from the chain, you pray Phainon takes longer and crawled to the floor to retrieve it.
You think you've hit an all-time high stress level when you feel a sharp pain in your palm. As you're skittering around the sofa, you manage to feel the pearl underneath it, what you didn't notice is the shard of glass sitting beside it.
It was too late when you felt it after unknowingly pressing down on it to catch the pearl. You sat back down on the sofa, carefully dropping it to your purse.
You held onto the glass shard though. The piece emanates a strange sheen to it, as if it's glowing.
Suddenly, the mirror flickers, a bright light reflects on it for a few seconds before disappearing.
No way⦠are all the mirrors in this world weird?
βHey I'm backβ¦?β You turned your head towards Phainon, who's carrying a plate of various biscuits and sweets. You hurriedly shove the shard in your purse too.
Phainon's stare darkens and you gulp. Shit did he see me crawling around in his office right after he trusted me to be left alone?
βWait, so-β
βYour hand is bleeding, what happened?β Phainon quickly ran towards you. He set down the plate and pulled a snow-white handkerchief from his pockets. He gently wiped the blood which you hadn't noticed, had trickled to your fingers. He also patted closer to the wound, which made you wince.
βWait, my pendant fell and I went to retrieve it, but I must've pressed my hand on a sharp edgeβ¦ thank you for wiping it, I didn't notice the blood.β You alter the story a bit, not wanting to alert him about you taking something from his home, even if it's a mere mirror shard.
βI seeβ¦ there's a washroom down the hallway, let me bring you there.β He stops dabbing at the wound, he then helps you up, the worried look on his face now lightened.
β
If you hadn't known, you would've thought that Phainon's estate is the Palace itself.
What's supposed to be a simple walk into the washroom turned into sightseeing for you. The hallways are magnificent, something you thought you'd only see in movies. The interior of the entire place is entangled in gold. There's also sculptures and antiques, which you're guessing are a part of Phainon's collection.
The washroom is covered in dark blue, which makes the marble of the sink stand out. As you dip your hand into the basin, you unconsciously looked into the mirror and met with Phainon's stare.
βYour estate is magnificent, your hi- ah, Phainon.β You mentioned, trying to stave off the awkwardness of him staring like a hawk while you clean your wound.
βHmm, family passed it down to me, gift from the emperor.β Phainon continues. His body leans to the doorway, eyes still in your hands.
βI seeβ¦ Do you live alone? Sorry if it seems prying, but I haven't seen another soul ever since I got here.β
He lives alone. You think. In the novel, while Phainon is presented to be this outgoing boy, he actually leads a secluded life. He chose to live alone in an estate to distance himself from the palace. But it would be weird if you acted like you knew.
βNo, it's not prying, and yeah, I live alone, quite lonely if you ask me.β He walked towards you when you finished, grabbing your hands and gently drying it with a wash towel. He then wraps your palm in thin gauze, the actions making your cheeks heat up.
βApologies if it seems sloppy, I haven't really done this to anyone aside from myself.β He murmurs.
βNo, no, it's fine! Thanks a lot, Phainon.β
The two of you walk back to his office, there's still biscuits to finish and stories to tell, after all.
β
[For all he could remember, he's always been alone.
A child born from a loveless marriage, only brought to this world to fight for a piece of embellished metal. There was a time when he had friends and such, but it's a time long gone as what's only left now is a hollow manor he calls his home.
It's a lonely gift, devoid of anyone who cares. It's a cage in a sense that what's only keeping him here is the promise of a crown. If he could, he would've left in a heartbeat, but all he ever built up will be left in waste too.
So you cannot blame his anguish when he found out that his hardships were only written for entertaining an otherworldly audience. That one fateful evening where his magic uncovered the reality of his sad, lonely world.
But there was someone.
Who kept flipping the pages of his story, the one who laughed when he did, cries when he does. Curiosity led to observation, and suddenly, he didn't seem too alone.
He kept track of you in the reflection of waters, in dreams, in mirrors. Sometimes your words would be heard in his head, sometimes you're like an apparition in his walls.
But all that's important to him is that you're his devoted reader. A dedicated audience to this woeful farce.
He saw the ending, the bloodshed in the throne room, the crown and the new reign. He laughs, because it was framed as a victory, it's ironic β because all the nights he wished he was just born an ordinary boy ultimately ends up with him being farther away from it.
Heβs not going to stray away from it though, he doesn't think he can, he's too deep to ever go back up. But he's still a lonely man, so when his magic finally transcends barriers, he couldn't help but ask you a question.
βAre you willing to do that for me?β
Your agreement is all that mattered, as he's hurriedly scribbling in the tattered book he found somewhere. The book lists itself as βThe Era Novaβ, but Phainon did not care about what anomaly made him aware of the universeβs truth, all he could care about is your new identity written in frantic scribbles.
Your soul feels nice. It's the only thing he could come up with when you came to him. It's like you truly loved him.
It's dark in his office. He couldn't believe a few hours ago you sat within the same room. He thanks the assassin sprawled out dead in the dungeons of this estate, his foolish plots gave him a reason to bring you here.
And a reason for you to save him, to show him you truly care for him. The handkerchief in his nose smells of faint iron. He could only apologize in his head for leaving you to hurt.
But he hopes you'd understand a desperate manβs attempt of making his predetermined ending feel better.]
β
You made it this time.
This time, you didn't whine about the academy's preference of stairs, instead you ran as fast as you could to a laboratory, in hand a broken piece of mirror. Your mind being more focused on the questions that lingered after your discovery at Phainonβs estate probably helped in obscuring the effects of running up at around five floors (to your estimation, at least).Β
When you reached the metal doors of the lab, you didnβt even knock, you only barged in, meeting the gazes of the pink-haired scholar who helped you last time and her so-called professor whoβs sporting a peculiar eyepatch. The man did not seem to mind though, as he only sighed and mouthed a βtold yaβ to his student. The said student only awkwardly smiled and ushered you further inside the room.
βWhen my dear student told me about your small predicament last time, it honestly piqued my interest. I had always heard of theories about portals and such, but this is my first time actually hearing about it as an experience rather than a hypothesis. Well then, I presume whatβs in your hand is the experiment sample then?β The professor with the dead stare did not even spare that to you, his eyes are only trained towards the shard thatβs nearly piercing through your skin.
βDonβt mind his bluntness, my teacher is a reliable scholar first and foremost, you can entrust him with studying about this seriously, especially since heβs very interested in it. I will also be sharing the progress transparently, so donβt worry. Now, if you donβt mind, you can loosen up your grip on that broken glass, it might pierce youβ¦again.β The scholarβs eyes trail on your bandaged hand, her gentle words made you drop the mirror into the table, your fingers pushing it towards the professor.
βIf my deductions are on the right track, alchemy might be able to replicate this kind of glass. If you would give me time to construct, Iβll be sure to leave your name into the papers I will produce about this. Hehe, imagine the looks on those foolsβ faces once they realize that I am, once again, correct.β He muttered, attention now more focused on assessing the shard rather than in your conversation, with that in mind, you relent from asking further questions and just trusting their words.
βIf anything happens, youβll be the first to know. Thank you for this new knowledge, kind lady.β The pink-haired scholar assures you, escorting you out of the room, itβs probably because her mentorβs starting to open five cabinets at once now. Yeah, Iβll leave that guy alone too.
βIf all of these end up right and the mirror or whatever portal is made, please give me a chance to use it.β
βOf course! I thought Iβll have to drag some poor scholar down or myself in that but itβs nice to know that someone is willing to play guinea pig in this experiment.β A voice from the inside suddenly rings out.
The two of you outside the door chuckled at that.
β
Just like in the real world, learning facilities at nighttime are eerily quiet and give off a strange chill the longer you stay.
The leaves surrounding the grove are rustling along the windβs howls. Youβre starting to regret your decision of not waiting until tomorrow morning to visit. You couldnβt blame yourself though, it was the closest lead you had to going back home, but running here at nightfall wasnβt the brightest idea you had for the day.
All the scholars are probably within their dormitories now or have already gone home. The likes of that professor are stuck within the highest floors that contain their laboratories.Β
If anything were to happen, nobody will be fast enough to get you out.
What the hell? Shut up. You reprimanded your unnecessary thoughts. In fact, you need to tackle a few questions that are plaguing your mind first.
Why did Phainon have this kind of item, a broken one at that, just littered on his floors. Wasnβt he a bit fussy of his collection in the novel? Why wouldnβt he notice if one of them is broken?
More popped up in your mind, unfortunately, itβs all questions and no answers.
If Iβm correct, this glass belongs to that mirror he gifted me. But itβs intact, is this from another item? Another magic portal item or something?
Then, the scholarβs words rang loud and clear; βIt's tampered.βΒ
Did Phainonβ¦break the mirror? Did he restore it because he was too embarrassed? Or was he someone who doesn't mind alterations on his antiques?
A stupid sounding thought broke out at the back of your mind.
Did he break it because he knew something was up?
Suddenly, a breeze passes by your shoulders. At first. At first it was only a breeze, but when you looked to your side, you suddenly felt something on the other. A fabric, just brushing close enough to feel in your skin but light enough to make you question if it's real.
But now you're sure it's real, because a few moments you hear pieces of metal clanging. You looked in front of you, and just like those apparitions in horror movies, there's a figure at the end of the dimly lit hallway.
A tall figure, donned in a black cloak and armored in swirling metal plates. A mask sits inside its hood. Its fingers covered in plated claws and its chest appear to be hollow.
He looks familiar.
You stop in your tracks, senses on high-alert. He's probably the one who brushed past you and if that's correct, then he's extremely fast. No use in outrunning him then, better just keep an eye out on his movements or sources of help.
The figure also stops and stares at you. Your stand-off lasted for a short while until it tilted its head,
And waved.
At least that's what you think it did before it suddenly vanished before your eyes, nowhere to be seen or felt again.
β
Phainon has developed a habit of sending you random letters and various trinkets he got from his travels.
He also loves to initiate meetings and tea times with you. At first, you're happy to attend each and every one of them, but as time goes on, you start to question his fondness for inviting you at least every other day.Β
Not that you doubt him, at least not too much β you knew his tendencies to latch on to things due to his upbringing, but you can't help but question his true motives when he just invades your personal time as if you're not an acquaintance he just met recently.
You learned to decline his invitations. You really liked his character, but you're unsure of whether you can handle being involved with him as a person. He's on his way to becoming the ruler of this vast kingdom and you're supposed to be on your way home, so not much should happen.
The invitations thinned out, albeit gradually. He still sends a lot of trinkets β such as small woodworks of cute animals and magic lamps, which are now starting to pile up on your work desk, but the letters and requests to meet do not overflow from the holder anymore. He appears to have gotten the message.
You want to go home. Sure, you loved this place and the magic it has, but the gnawing anxiety of the life you left back there is haunting your days here. If you're going to get yourself thrown into another world, you want to at least make amends in your previous one.
Speaking of going home, you're currently staring at a letter. The pale green envelope stares back, proudly displaying the logo of the academy on its seal. You take a deep breath and brace yourself for whatever the results will show.
Greetings, My Lady
Iβm pleased to inform you that I was able to recreate the material you brought here last time. It was truly a magnificent experienceβ¦
The light in your eyes sparkled. I can finally go home. Your cheeks hurt grinning. You looked up to your ceiling, mentally saying farewells to the place that took you into this world.
You continue reading.
β...but unfortunately, a huge accident happened within the academy. A cloaked assailant sneaked within the grove and hurt a few scholars, aside from that, it seemed to be targeting this specific experiment. I saw with my own eyes how it shattered the mirror, almost pulverizing it. I was able to retrieve a few samples and escape but I am not sure if I'll be able to recreate it as fastβ¦β
Now, this is why they say never celebrate too early. Disappointment eats you up, causing you to just chuck the letter away. Not time for farewells yet, you suppose.
But one thing caught your attention. Cloaked figure. That night, you also saw a figure with a similar description.
Blackβ¦cloak?
Phainon.
Many scenes of the novel involve Phainon disguising himself in a black cloak. When he assassinated the other royalty in that throne room, he was wearing a black cloak.
βShit, why didn't I remember that sooner?β You uttered, almost inaudibly. You've been focused on going the past few days that you have forgotten the details of the novel.Β
Phainon might just be the reason you're failing your attempts at returning home, and you just let yourself be too involved with him.
β
Lately, instead of you, only letters of your declines have been reaching his doors.
Phainon is growing frustrated at the replies he received. Just as when he thought the two of you were getting closer, you just had to start distancing yourself.
Did you find out something?
He laughs sardonically, his hands covering his right eye that's now turning golden due to the sudden influx of magic. He looks down at his table, the paper now ruined, too much ink seeped into it. Of course you denied it again, and somehow managed to send it to him as he's writing another invite.
He can feel it, your soul wavering. When he first brought you here, all he felt was pure amazement and curiosity from you, but now he can feel doubts and fatigue too.
βCan't youβ¦ just- ah.β He slumps his head, turning towards the small figurine he carved earlier. It's a figure of two lovebirds, perched on a small throne while nuzzling each other. Both of them were wearing a tiny crown on their heads.
Really, he tried carving your likeness more times than he'd like to admit, but there's something about you that makes it so hard for him to be satisfied with just carvings. Whatever he makes doesn't live up to his image of you in his head β feels fake, feels cold. So he just opts to present your likeness as animals and things he's fond of.
Nowadays, Phainon has been fantasizing about you joining him on his journey.
So when he felt your soul trying to break free from this world, he couldn't help but silently beg you to stay and not leave him to be alone in this world again.
β
Please, be my partner. There is an upcoming ball to the palace, you're the only one I can trust.
You never expected such a heavy statement coming from him, especially not after you just tried to keep him at an arm's length. You've even reached a point of telling him off. There was stirring conflict within you, Phainon clearly appears to be invested in your friendship, but at the same time, you're uncertain of what kind of plot he'll bring into your already bizarre situation.
However, if you keep declining him time and time again, it'll appear unusual. The two of you started on good terms, suddenly abandoning him could be seen as rude and might just make him ask more questions.
And frankly, you're running out of believable reasons for declining him.
So you push yourself up and ask the maids for help. You'll humor him this time, maybe even get to ask him why he's so dead set on sticking close to you.
β
The carriage ride to the palace is a peaceful little thing.
You looked out to the town square, the awe of being in another still hints at you, but you've gotten used to the sights by now. All your attempts at steering away from the plot ironically ended up with you driving right through the center of it.
Everything with the palace screams imposing, it's a marvelous place, but it does a good job of making you feel small. Luckily, not a lot of guards are stationed to stare down at your minute existence. But the few ones who were are staring at you oddly.
You went through normal procedures and you're escorted to the grand doors. It's closed.Β
On your way here, there have been a multitude of red flags raising left and right. Firstly, it's quiet, not a single peep, not befitting of such a proud place. And for all the palaceβs vanity, there's no other visitors of the same caliber, in fact there's no other visitors at all.
There was no ball.
That's your final observation. You don't know what you did so, so wrong in your stay here, but Phainon has reached a new point where he straight up lies to get your attention now.
What was so important about meeting you? When all he talks about when the two of you have your little tea parties are idle topics not worth making a palace this grand deserted.
The guards opened the door, and you're right, it's absolutely empty. There's supposed to be an option to go back, but the men outside had conveniently closed it off before you could say anything.
He really, really wants to talk, huh?
You march down deeper into the building, hoping that guesswork and acquired knowledge from the novel could bring you towards the princeβs quarters.
But before you could even reach the third set of winding hallways, you heard a loud scream coming from the central part of the floor. You froze, cold sweat forming in your temples. No, it couldn't be today right? Your heart pounds loudly, you can feel the beating in your ears.
Too early, it's years too early.
Phainon ascending to the throne couldn't be today, hell, it couldn't be this year. Because he's not yet prepared. He bought support from various kingdoms before the ascension, it's an integral part of the novelβs worldbuilding. From what you've heard from him, he only traveled within Okhema the past months.
So it shouldn't be today right?
One scream, two screams. Screams interrupted your silent denial of what's happening. There's too many, and it just got louder after the sound of a door being thrown open boomed.
I need to get out.Β
You tried navigating the hallways, hunching down when the screams got louder. It died down soon though, and you managed to find yourself in an open area that looked similar to the lobby you went in from.
It's not the same lobby though.
βGoing to decline my invitation again?β A voice suddenly emerges from behind. You turn towards it and you see Phainon, holding a bloody greatsword and wearing an uncanny grin on his face.
Oh his face. It's a shame that his beautiful face is so fucking bloody right now. It's dripping, some clinging to his white hair. And his white regalia β might as well be red, with how drenched it is in blood.
The scarier part is that none of it is probably his blood. He's unscathed against this many royals, they didn't stand a single chance.
So not a chance you would. He makes way towards you, you can only step back mere centimeters before finally freezing up. He stops when he's close to your form, the smell of iron almost suffocating you.
He leans down, βYou're going to leave me again, aren't you?β
βWhatβ¦?β
βThe people you're so afraid of ruining your life, these stupid royals, I killed them all, so you don't have to be afraid.β
βHow did youβ¦ fuck, you're insane-β Your words are caught in your throat when Phainon suddenly grabs you and carries you in his shoulders. You tried hitting his back, but he only holds your waist tighter and snicker at your feeble attempts of breaking free.
He walks past the dead bodies of what used to be royals. You remember the scene from the novel, the fallen figures. You only tear up, your hands fall limp, refusing to hold onto Phainon's damp attire, lest you want to squeeze out royal blood from it.
βAll of these blood flowing out of them and converging into one, this might just be the purest form of the royal blood they keep prattling about!β He suddenly mentions in passing, you feel his shoulders shake from laughter.
You shuddered.
You reach the throne room, which aside from the throne, just contains multiple portraits and statues. And the bodies of the people behind those, probably.
He settles you down the grandiose throne. It feels foreign, the velvet clings to your skin, while the metal feels too cold for comfort. He kneels down, arms clamped to your waist as he leans his head down on your thighs.
βPhainon.β
βCan you say my name again?β He looks up, putting his palm on your thigh and setting his chin on top of it, his manic, golden eyes just laser-focused on yours. The color just pops out more in contrast to the red around it.
βWhy are you doing this?β You didn't entertain his request, which put a slight pout on his face. He removes his head on your thighs and lifts you up again, earning a yelp from you. He then settles down to the throne and places you on his lap, his arms locking you close to his chest.
βYou said, that if I needed a princess by my side, you'd be willing to take that place,β Phainon whispers, now putting his chin up on your shoulders, his head slightly leaning towards yours.
Your eyes widened, βAll this time, you're aware-β
βI am. What I didn't expect was you finding those anomalous portals fast, I tried breaking them all but they kept reappearing.β He sighs, sulking a bit.
That's why. That's why he seems so relaxed about you forgetting his titles, that's why he treats you as if you're not used to the customs of Okhema, your supposed birthplace.
Because it's him that plunged you right into this world.
βWhat I also didn't expect is that after all your declarations that you love me and that I am your favorite, the first thing you do is to try and leave me.β He continues.
Phainon made it a point to bring you entirely here, and not just stuff your soul on some poor extra. He altered the story not for himself, but to drag you along with him into this world.
βI am not from here, Phainon, and that was clear as day to you. I have a life back there! And the love I had for you, it's because you're a character I loved reading about-β
βWhat I had for you was real!β Phainon suddenly exclaims, he flips your positions, hands on your shoulders as he pushes your form to the throneβs backrest. βI've always observed you, you always appear to me when I feel so down. I've known you longer than you think!β
You're speechless. He can see you? All this time.
βYou love me, don't you? So why leave?β Phainon leans his forehead on your shoulders. He's now straddling you, which makes it harder to move and the smell of blood more nauseating.Β
He lifts his head up, bringing his face close in front of yours, βWell it's not like you can, because yeah, it was me. All of it was me. The hand mirror? I broke it. The scholars, I just gave them a little scare. I did it all, for youβ¦ so you can't leave, not after you said you love me.βΒ
βI don't-β He interrupts you.
βI will kill you.βΒ
If there's still anxiety and fear left pent up within, it finally spilled out now. Your breath hitched at his statement, your entire body tensing up.
βMy power grew to the point where I found out someβ¦ things. Did you know that if you leave your other body for too long, it'll cease to- hm, operate?β Phainon caresses your face before continuing, βIf your body died there, then you'll have nothing to return to right?β
βI'm not going to kill you here, Iβm killing you there, so that you'll be able to live here.β
βYou're sickβ¦ You're the fucking worst, what did I ever do to you.β You broke down. Phainon responded by cradling your form and running his fingers in your hair.
βNothing, you don't have to do anything. It's because I love you. Ah! I almost forgot,β He suddenly reaches out under his vest. He pulls out a blue velvet box and hands it to you.
His stare is expectant, so you opened the box, inside was a wooden figurine of two birds, perched on a throne that looks like the one the two of you are sitting in. You hate it. Not because it's badly made, no, actually the opposite β it's such a chillingly accurate representation of the scene you're currently in right now.
You hate what it's insinuating, you'd love to deny it, but underneath the figurine is a ring, a silver band, with a blue and yellow gem opposite of one another. The blue gem is enclosed in a moon, while the yellow one is within a sun.
Stop denying it, it's no use.
βI learned it from a jeweler whoβs been working here since I was a child,β Phainon loosens his hold. He gently puts the ring on your finger. On his own is an identical one.
And as if noticing that something is missing when compared to the bird figurine, Phainon leans down and plucks something off of the floor on the throne's side. He grips the armrests as he does, caging you in, but his lowered form gives you a clearer picture of the bloodbath in the room. Gold and blues all intermingled with red.
Phainon straightens his posture again, in his hand are crowns. Two crowns.
You feel cold metal on the top of your head, in front of you Phainon also puts a crown on his. He smiles at you, so sweetly, before leaning down and sealing your fate with a passionate kiss.
That fateful day, the two of you are crowned Emperor and Empress of the kingdom.
Phainon had ascended the throne, this time, he isn't alone.
[The end.]
[seraph's note]: AWOOOOOOGH PHAINON. i am utterly devastated with 3.4 but at least brought the peak gameplay and character of my GOAT phainon. i've been enjoying on bringing him to just about any available content in-game lol.
this took waaaaaay longer than it should, i was supposed to upload it on the day i got him but i got writer's block lol. if it wasn't obvious, this is heavily based off of those isekai manhwas (that i will always eat up despite having almost the same plot everytime). the delay hopefully paid off as i channeled my inner yap god to this 11k word piece lmao. thx for reading if you managed to get to the end, love you for that, mwah.
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'Tomas Santiago' π¬ (Thomas Shelby Filo/Modern AU)
(note: F/N means friend's name) spotify link:
You and your friends decides to go to BGC after a long day at work. Your mother already warned you and your friends about a certain gangster group in BGC who's always wandering the streets at night and cause trouble. You were curious about this certain group because their faces haven't been exposed to the television due to the reason that the police never once catch one member of the group.
"Uy pre mag gagabi na ano na? Di pa ba tayo uuwi?" (Bro, the sun is already setting, should we go home now?) Your friend F/N asked worriedly about you. "Yeah, your mother already texts me that we should go home now" Your other friend replied. You stopped your tracks as you turn your head to them with an excited expression painted on your face. "Guys...what if we wait until the famous gangsters showed up? I mean bhe, what if kamukha nila katulad na katulad dun sa wattpad!" (what if they look like those gangsters in wattpad!) Your friends stared at you in disbelief. "Bhe...di masamang maging delulu pero kailangan na natin umuw-" (Bhe, it's not bad to be delulu sometimes, but we need to lea-) Your friend's sentence got cut by a fairly tall man that bumped into your friend's shoulder that looks like its an intentional bump "Ay sorry ha nabangga kita di kasi ako tumitingin sa dinadaanan ko..." (oh sorry, I bumped to you because I'm not paying attention where I was walking...) Your friend said in a sarcastic tone as she scoffs at the man. Meanwhile the man remained silent, puffing the air from his cigarette as his eyes were fixated on you. His eyes weren't the usual that you often see everyday. You find yourself drowning into his beautiful ocean eyes. Your friend looks at you in confusion and she quickly glanced behind her as she was absolutely starstruck by his appearance. "You, what's your name" "Putangina..." Your other friend hang her mouth open as she glanced to you and at the man who was still staring intently at you. "Y/N L/N po..." "Y/N...Did you come here often? Well, now you should..." The man sounds too demanding which makes you feel a little irritated. "Huh? Bakit sino ka ba?" (Huh? Who do you think you are?) The man chuckles as he waved his cigarette. He tilted his head on his head as he points the cigarette to you. "Thomas, Thomas Shelby...Remember that, darling since starting tonight, at this very place where I reign, you're now my property."
Neil Lewis Filo AU
this is my way of coping, knowing damn well I couldn't find a man like him </3 (I even made a playlist about him send help- https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0uVzSTlpBhXwl9N51zu7j6?si=895c4a883b3f4ed4)
"Tanginang yan..." (What the fuck is that...) You said in an unamused tone as Neil proudly showed off his new attire. Black leathered jacket with his usual sunglasses and ripped jeans. "Angas noh?" (Cool right?) Neil chuckles as he puts his hands on his hips while striking a pose. You just dead stared at him with a glint of disgust in your eyes. "Gago, ano ka si Robin Padilla?" (The fuck are you? Robin Padilla?) You burst out laughing while Neil watches you laugh with an unamused expression. Neil's gazes softens since seeing you laugh is enough for him to complete his day. "Grabe ka naman sakin mahal..." (You're too harsh, love) Neil said in a fake hurt voice. You wiped the tear from your eyes from laughing as you wrapped your arms around his neck making him stumble a bit. He tucked your hair behind your ear as he kissed your forehead while giggling. "Bakit?" (Why?) You giggle as you look back at Neil who was being starstrucked by your smile. "Wala...ano kasi.." (Nothing...It's just..) Neil hides his blushing face as his heart starts racing. "Napakaganda kasi ng iyong mga ngiti, aking mahal..." (Your smile is absolutely beautiful, my love) He said in a whisper as he averts his eyes from you. Your eyes softens as he wrapped his arms around you. You can hear your hearbeat and his beating in sync. You closed your eyes as you melt into his embrace.
Araki pls get a grip
PoV: you're Eleven

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crush reveal ππβ¨
Going absolutely feralΒ every time I seeΒ Jamie Bower like itβs my job.

