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• Name: [Pluto/Lary]
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୧ ‧₊˚ Valkyrie x Evo Executioner fanfic for you guys hehehe ✧˚₊‧
summary: In a tavern following a major victory, the Valkyrie, a master of technical precision, finds herself drawn to the raw strength and serenity of the Executioner in his evolved form. After a tension-filled conversation about their combat philosophies and an impressive display of the warrior's colossal power, their mutual admiration evolves into a game of seduction and challenge.
word count: 1.7k
"The Dance of the Axes"
"Do you really think you can spin that without knocking half the table over?"
The question came from a drunken dwarf, who watched with fascination as the Valkyrie cleaned her axe blade with a linen cloth. She didn't answer immediately, merely gave the weapon a short, precise spin, feeling the familiar weight of the steel perfectly balancing at its center of gravity. For her, that movement wasn't just technique; it was the only thing in the world that made absolute sense, a circular dance where brute force met discipline. She smiled at the dwarf, putting the weapon beside her chair, as the tavern buzzed with the clatter of wooden mugs and loud laughter.
It was a night of celebration. The three-crown victory had been overwhelming, and the group now indulged in exaggerated tales of how enemy towers had crumbled. The Valkyrie, however, wasn't paying attention to the stories. Her eyes wandered through the hall, ignoring the pipe smoke and the smell of stew, until they stopped in a more secluded corner. There he was: the Executioner. But it wasn't the man she usually saw in the training arenas. He was in his evolved form, filling the surrounding space with a physical presence that seemed to alter the air pressure.
He was immense, with shoulders that seemed wide enough to carry the weight of a castle, and he maintained a serious, almost shy expression, as he avoided the spotlight. There was something about him that went beyond tactical competence; it was the way he moved cautiously, despite his size, and the serenity in his gaze that the Valkyrie found absolutely fascinating. She felt a sudden impulse, a curiosity that surpassed her usual reserve, and decided she wouldn't leave that tavern without speaking to him.
Walking with determined steps, she approached, maintaining a smug smile on her lips and a mischievous look that didn't hide her interest.
"Nice performance in the arena today. That final throw was… surgical," she said, stopping a few inches from him, close enough to feel the warmth emanating from that massive body.
The Executioner looked up from the bottom of his mug and stared at her. The height difference was striking, forcing her to tilt her head back, but she didn't flinch. He observed her from head to toe, with a slowness that made her heart pound, and then he broke into a genuine smile, revealing the absence of a few teeth which, far from being bothersome, gave him the air of a resilient veteran.
"Luck of the day, I suppose," he replied, his voice deep like distant thunder. "But coming from someone with the spinning precision you have, I'll take it as a compliment. The next drink is on me, if you don't mind sharing a table with a man of few words."
The Valkyrie accepted the invitation with a snort, settling beside him. As they drank, the conversation flowed with surprising ease. He spoke little, but each sentence was thoughtful, revealing a gentleness that contrasted with the brutality of his role on the battlefield. She, in turn, spoke of the discipline required to balance the axe, fascinated by how this giant could be so restrained and, at the same time, so imposing.
Her eyes, however, couldn't ignore his weapon. The Executioner's axe rested against the wooden wall, a piece of raw engineering, immense and visceral, with a handle that seemed forged for a giant. Curiosity, mixed with a sudden desire to test her own strength, spoke louder.
"You know, I pride myself on my technique, but that axe of yours… it seems forged to bring down mountains, not just troops," she commented, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Can I try to lift it? Just to feel the weight of the balance."
The Executioner let out a low chuckle, which vibrated in his chest like an old engine. He didn't hesitate, pushing the colossal weapon towards her with a slow gesture. "Feel free. But I warn you: it's not as cooperative as yours."
The Valkyrie stood up, planting her feet firmly on the tavern's wooden floor. She wrapped her hands around the handle, adjusting her grip to distribute the force, and took a deep breath. With a vigorous push, she pulled the axe upwards. The metal barely left the ground; there was a dry crack of wood against stone, and the weapon oscillated only a few inches before resisting any further effort. She tried again, tensing every muscle in her arms and back, feeling her face flush and her breath quicken. The axe remained there, motionless, as if it had roots binding it to the core of the world.
She released the weapon with a sigh, her hands slightly trembling from the futile effort. For a moment, she was silent, processing the sensation. It wasn't frustration she felt, but renewed fascination. She looked at the Executioner, who watched her with that serene, almost modest expression, as if he didn't realize he had just disarmed the most disciplined woman in the garrison.
"Impossible," she murmured, with a genuine, admiring smile. "Whoever forged this forgot to account for the law of gravity."
He approached the axe and, with a movement that seemed almost casual, wrapped his hand around the handle. The Valkyrie watched, mesmerized, as he lifted the colossal weapon effortlessly, as if the heavy metal were made of cork. There was no tension in his shoulders, not even a sigh of effort; just the brute, silent strength of someone who masters their own mass. With a short, powerful spin, he tossed the axe high, making the blade describe a perfect arc on the tavern ceiling, then caught it in the air with a dry thud that silenced the conversations around.
The Valkyrie felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn't fear. It was the pure admiration of someone who recognizes technical perfection fused with physical power. She looked at her own hands, still feeling the tingling from the frustrated effort, and then looked at him. The contrast between the devastating force of that weapon and the shyness in the man's eyes was almost mesmerizing. She realized that while she was the precision of the circle, he was the force of the straight line; she was the swirling storm, and he was the lightning that struck the target.
"You hide that power well behind all that calm," she said, her voice now lower, almost a whisper.
He let out a snort, leaning the axe against the wall again with an almost delicate care, as if he knew the weapon could split the tavern in half if he didn't treat it with respect. "Strength without control is just noise, don't you think? I've learned that the heavier the blow, the quieter the preparation must be."
The Valkyrie felt the impact of those words echoing within her as if they were a battle command, but of a completely different nature. She leaned back on the bench, crossing her arms over her chest, as she watched the man. There was something in that philosophy of "silence and power" that magnetically attracted her; she had spent her entire life being the loudest force in the arena, spinning like a steel whirlwind, and the idea of finding someone who could anchor that storm was intoxicating.
"Control, huh?" she repeated, her voice laden with a provocative tone. "I'd say control is overrated. Sometimes, the best part of a battle is when everything goes off-kilter and you just let chaos take over."
The Executioner let out a snort, and for an instant, the shyness receded, giving way to a more attentive gaze. He wasn't just a gentle giant; there was the confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was capable of. He slid his hand across the table, not to touch her, but to bring his mug closer, maintaining a slow and deliberate rhythm. The Valkyrie, feeling the electric tension grow between them, shifted her legs, adjusting her posture. The movement caused the leather of her attire to creak slightly, and she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that his gaze followed the movement.
He was no longer looking at the axe, nor at the tavern ceiling. The Executioner's gaze descended, slowly and openly, over the Valkyrie's firm thighs, shaped by years of jumps, spins, and exhaustive training. It was a lingering gaze, heavy like his own weapon, recognizing not only the woman's physical strength but the vitality emanating from every muscle. He didn't try to hide his admiration; instead, he let that silent scrutiny communicate everything that words, in their scarcity, could not.
The Executioner looked back into her eyes, and this time the smile was different—less modest, more hungry. He stood up, his imposing stature casting a welcoming shadow over her.
"I think we've had enough celebration here," he said, his voice now a deeper tone, vibrating in the air like the warning of an impending storm. "The noise of this tavern is starting to interfere with my… control."
The Valkyrie felt a smile spread across her lips, the provocation now mutual. She stood with the grace of someone who masters her own center of gravity, feeling her heart beat at a rhythm no arena combat had ever managed to provoke.
"Are you suggesting we need a quieter place to discuss your philosophy of power and calm?" she asked, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with the anticipation of what would come next.
The Executioner let out a low chuckle, picking up his colossal axe with the ease of someone carrying a twig. "Something like that. My home isn't far, and I have a stock of wine that would make any general in the kingdom forget the strategy for the next battle. Besides…" he paused, looking at her with an intensity that made her hold her breath, "…I think we still have some pending activities to test which of us can truly maintain balance when the pressure rises."
The Valkyrie let out a short laugh, feeling the electricity between them almost palpable. She didn't need any more invitation. With a fluid movement, she picked up her own axe, but not to spin it; she merely rested it on her shoulder, walking side by side with that giant.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ Bandit x Prince fanfic for you guys heheheh ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
Synopsis: When Prince, the eldest of the brothers and self-proclaimed bastion of military discipline, encounters the Bandit breaking into the castle gardens in search of riches, all his convictions about love and distractions crumble. Love at first sight strikes, and he abandons his training, swaps battle-preparation rituals for hours spent choosing capes and perfumes, and begins frequenting the service wing under the guise of "overseeing royal waste"—only to find the white-haired, blue-eyed intruder who conquered him with a single arched eyebrow.
The Bandit, a cunning and independent thief leading her own gang, initially sees the prince as just another source of useful resources: sweets, gold coins, and luxurious gifts. However, as he courts her with genuine sincerity and unexpected vulnerabilities—even commissioning a special sapphire bracelet designed to match the agility of her heists—the bandit begins to feel that something beyond mere usefulness is stirring within her.
With his younger brother, Dark Prince, watching it all unfold with constant amusement and playful mockery, the story follows the gradual dismantling of Prince's emotional armor and the involuntary softening of the Bandit's heart. What begins as a calculated exchange of favors and jewels transforms into an unexpected connection, where the ruthless warrior becomes a clumsy lover and the lawless thief finds herself, for the first time, hesitating before something that cannot be stolen or fled from: a feeling.
The story unfolds with humor, romantic tension, and a dynamic of opposites that attract, balancing royal pomp with an outlaw's attitude, as both discover that the greatest heist of all may be stealing each other's hearts.
Word Count: 4.2k
"Stealing the Heart"
The Prince walked through the castle gardens with the upright posture of someone who had never needed to ask anyone for permission. Beside him, the Dark Prince seemed to be on another planet, distracted and wearing that goofy grin that hadn't left his face since he started dating the Mega Knight. The older prince let out a nasal laugh, adjusting his helmet as he glanced at his brother.
"Look at you," he mocked, his tone light. "Where did that ruthless warrior go? Now you're late for practice because you were picking out which flower to bring for your favorite brute. You've gone soft, bro."
Dark Prince shrugged, letting out a little chuckle. He didn't mind the teasing; he was too happy to get annoyed. He knew his older brother prided himself on being the "bastion of independence," the one who wouldn't fall for anyone's nonsense and kept his focus entirely on military discipline. For Prince, love was an unnecessary distraction that reduced performance on the battlefield.
As they rounded the corner of the service wing, near the royal waste deposits, something caught Prince's attention. Near a pile of old metal cans and rags, there was an agile figure, moving with an almost hypnotic speed. It was a woman, with white hair that contrasted with the grime of the place and blue eyes that sparkled with the mischief of someone who had just found a treasure. She wore light clothing, ideal for a quick escape, and had the attitude of someone who had seen it all in this world.
"Did you see that?" Prince asked, but his voice came out quieter than usual, almost a whisper. He stopped abruptly, feeling his heart lurch against his armor. The woman hadn't noticed their presence; she was too focused on rummaging through a discarded velvet chest, moving with the precision of someone who knew exactly where the royalty hid its golden crumbs.
Dark Prince looked at his brother, then at the agile figure, and finally back at Prince. He noticed the immediate change in his older brother's posture. The "bastion of independence" now looked mesmerized, his eyes fixed on the curve of that intruder's waist and the confident way she tossed a silver ring into the air, testing its weight.
"That's the Bandit," Dark Prince commented, crossing his arms with an amused smile. "She's fast, Prince. If you even think about trying to catch her, she'll vanish before you can even draw your spear."
Prince didn't even hear the warning. He was too busy processing the image of that woman: the peculiar mix of elegance and rusticity, the sharp gaze that seemed to read anyone's soul, and the way she showed not the slightest respect for castle etiquette. In an instant, all his rhetoric about "unnecessary distractions" crumbled like a stone wall under a battering ram. He felt, for the first time, completely vulnerable in front of someone who didn't even know he existed.
"She's... interesting," Prince murmured, trying to regain his composure, though he was straightening his cape and invisibly wiping dust off his boot. He began walking toward the pile of trash, not with the intention of issuing a detention command, but with a calculated step, trying to look like the most charming man in the kingdom.
"Interesting? You're practically drooling into your helmet, bro!" Dark Prince laughed, stepping back to give the spectacle some room. He watched, amused, as Prince now walked with theatrical slowness, trying to modulate his voice so it sounded deep and imposing, but with a touch of sweetness he had never used with anyone else.
The Bandit noticed the approach and, in a fluid motion, spun her body, sliding behind a pile of crates with the agility of a cat. She didn't look scared; on the contrary, a crooked smile appeared on her lips as she pressed the silver ring against her chest. "Well, well. What do we have here? A lost prince looking for his lost jewels, or just someone wanting to take a morning stroll through the trash?"
Prince felt his face heat up, but he didn't back down. He broke into a smile, trying to ignore the fact that he was, technically, flirting with a criminal in the middle of royal debris. "Just someone who appreciates the audacity of whoever can breach the castle perimeter without triggering a single alarm. You have an impressive talent, Bandit." He paused, gauging her reaction, and then added, "Although I think that ring would look much better on someone who didn't have to hide it in a burlap sack."
The Bandit let out a short, suspicious laugh. She knew royalty usually responded with shouts of "traitor!" or orders for immediate arrest. This treatment was new and, frankly, intriguing. She sized him up from head to toe, noticing the immaculate armor and the way he seemed genuinely fascinated by her, not by the theft. "You know something, Your Highness? I love honesty. But honesty doesn't fill the bellies of my gang."
Sensing an opening, Prince remembered that he had passed through the royal kitchens minutes earlier. Without a second thought, he plunged his hand into his leather bag and pulled out a white linen bundle, still warm, filled with the finest almond and honey sweets from the castle confectionery. "A small tribute for your... 'visit.' And perhaps an incentive for you to tell me where the hideout is for someone with so much attitude."
Dark Prince stood frozen, watching the scene with an expression of total incomprehension, as if he were trying to decipher a secret code in a language he didn't know. He looked at his brother, then at the bundle of sweets, and then at the Bandit, who was now accepting the gift with the look of someone who knew exactly which string to pull. The silence of the garden was filled only by the sound of the metal of Prince's armor, which now seemed to shine with a new intensity, driven by an enthusiasm his brother had never seen in him.
"This can't be," Dark Prince muttered, crossing his arms as he shook his head. "Where is the speech about 'military discipline'? Where is 'love is an unnecessary distraction'? You changed your mind in less than ten minutes, Prince! And look at who you're trying to impress! She literally just stole a ring from our family!"
Prince didn't even look at his brother. He was too busy watching the way the Bandit chewed the almond sweet, with a little corner-of-the-mouth smirk that indicated she was enjoying it but wasn't giving in. "Discipline is fundamental, bro," Prince replied, his voice now carrying an almost hypnotic softness. "But audacity... audacity is inspiring. Besides, who says I'm being distracted? I'm just... expanding my diplomatic horizons."
The Bandit let out a nasal laugh, stowing the rest of the sweets in her pocket and casting an amused glance at the younger prince. "Diplomacy, huh? Is that what you call it when a prince decides to give gifts to whoever breaks into his backyard? You're funny, Your Highness. And generous. I like that." She took a step back, preparing to leap away, but her blue eyes met Prince's for a second longer than necessary.
That afternoon, Prince discovered that his training routine, which had previously been his absolute priority, had become unbearable boredom. He began frequenting the service wing with alarming regularity, claiming he needed to "oversee the management of royal waste." Dark Prince, who could no longer hide his mockery, watched his brother spend half an hour choosing the most elegant cape and polishing his boots just to go for a walk near the trash.
"So, 'waste management' now requires you to wear the white silk cape and perfume your neck with sandalwood essence?" Dark Prince asked, leaning against the stone arch of the service wing with a malicious smile. He watched his brother adjust the collar of his armor for the tenth time in the last two minutes. "Just confess, Prince. Who is the maiden who turned the disciplined general into a vain peacock?"
Prince felt his face heat up but kept his posture upright, though his voice came out a tone higher than intended. "There is no maiden! It's just... the Bandit. And I'm not being vain; I'm maintaining royal standards, even in the face of... external elements." He tried to regain his composure, but the mention of her name made his eyes sparkle. "She's fascinating, bro. She doesn't look at me like I'm just a title or an inheritance. She looks at me like I'm a challenge."
Meanwhile, hidden behind a low stone wall a few meters away, the Bandit rolled her eyes. She was crouched, watching the scene while chewing on one of the pistachio macarons Prince had "smuggled" out of the kitchen the previous week. To her, Prince was the most predictable and absurd creature she had ever met; he was like a huge, strong horse who, curiously, acted like a domesticated kitten as soon as she arched an eyebrow. However, there was something about that genuine enthusiasm that was starting to disarm her.
"He's a fool, but he's a useful fool," the Bandit muttered to herself, stowing the last crumb of the sweet. She knew she should have stopped accepting the gifts as soon as the first bag of gold coins—"to help with the maintenance of the gang's equipment," as he justified—went into her pocket, but the prince's kindness was addictive. She wasn't used to being courted with sweets and compliments; usually, the only interaction she had with royalty involved shouts of "stop that thief!" and guards running after her with spears.
The Bandit waited for the metallic click of Dark Prince's armor to echo down the hallway, confirming that he had finally abandoned the room, before slipping inside like a shadow. She didn't enter through the door, of course; she preferred the window, balancing on the stone ledge with the precision of someone who ignores gravity. The prince's room was a monument to excessive organization: spears lined up to the millimeter and capes folded with geometric precision. However, the Bandit wasn't there to admire the decor, but rather to deliver the response to a small, perfumed note that Prince had "carelessly" dropped during the last trash inspection.
She nestled into a dark corner, watching Prince, who was now pacing back and forth, gesturing frantically as he rehearsed what to say to her at their next meeting. He seemed to be fighting an internal battle between royal etiquette and the desperate desire to look "cool." The Bandit let out a muffled giggle, imagining the scene: the man who commanded legions of soldiers was now battling his own reflection to decide if that shade of blue matched the "rebel aesthetic" he thought she might like.
"You're ridiculous, Your Highness," she whispered, leaping from the shadows and appearing before him with a provocative smile.
Prince jumped, nearly knocking over a porcelain vase from the royal dynasty. His eyes lit up instantly, and he completely forgot the commanding pose he was trying to rehearse. "Bandit! You... you shouldn't be here! If my father finds out there's a thief in the royal chambers, he'll... well, he'd probably be impressed by your discretion, but it would still be a scandal."
The Bandit let out a loud laugh, approaching him with slow, deliberate steps. She noticed he was holding a small velvet chest, and the gleam in his eyes betrayed that it wasn't just some more kitchen sweets. "What is this now? More 'humanitarian aid' for the Forest Gang, or something you actually want me to see?"
Prince opened the chest with an almost ritualistic slowness, revealing a fine silver bracelet, studded with small sapphires that reflected the evening light filtering through the window. It wasn't a crown jewel, but something he had commissioned himself, asking the royal jeweler to create something that was both elegant and durable enough not to hinder the agility of someone who needed to jump walls. "I thought it would match the color of your eyes," he murmured, his voice losing all its military pomp and taking on a tone of vulnerability that he would never admit to in public. "And, frankly, I think it would look much better on your wrist than sitting in a dusty safe."
The Bandit looked at the jewel and then at Prince's face. She felt a strange tightening in her chest, something that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of a successful heist. His generosity was ceasing to be just "useful" and becoming something dangerously sweet. She took the bracelet, sliding it onto her wrist with a quick motion, but her eyes never left his. "You're terrible, Your Highness. Are you trying to buy me off with shiny things so I won't steal your pillow while you sleep?" She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, her smile now softer, almost tender.
Prince let out a sigh, feeling himself float. "If you stole my pillow, I'd have the perfect excuse to go to the Forest Gang hideout to retrieve it." He laughed, a genuine, light laugh, feeling that near her, the heavy armor he had carried his entire life finally seemed less oppressive. For a moment, the world outside—with its lineages, military duties, and rigid laws—disappeared, leaving only the complicit silence of the room and the electricity emanating from the accidental touch of their fingers.
However, the bubble of intimacy was interrupted by a sharp whistle from the hallway. "Attention, lovebirds! The royal dinner is served, and dad is in a bad mood because the boar stew took too long to arrive!" Dark Prince appeared at the door, arms crossed and a look that said he had seen it all. He wasn't surprised; in fact, he seemed to be enjoying the situation. "Prince, if you keep this up, you'll end up forgetting how to hold a spear and start reciting poetry to the walls."
The Bandit, with the speed of lightning, retreated into the shadow of the curtain, but not before kissing the prince and whispering, "See you at 'trash management' tomorrow, fool." With an agile leap, she slid out the window again, disappearing into the dusk of the garden before any guard could notice her presence. Prince stood there, frozen, his heart beating like a war drum, staring at the spot where she had been.
can you please do a story of Electro being vary sick to the point he can barely think straight and Night witch taking care of him🙏🏾(please I'm starving)
Ewiz x Night Witch cute scenario for you my friend
The Electro Wizard had a peculiar habit of organizing his screws by size and voltage, aligning them in millimeter-precise rows across the scorched wooden workbench. He would spend hours admiring the symmetry of the metal, moving a single screw one millimeter to the left just to feel that the balance of the universe depended on that adjustment. To anyone watching from the outside, it seemed like nothing more than an obsessive hobby, but for him, that order was the only thing keeping his mind from racing in every direction at once, like a short circuit in the middle of a storm.
Currently, however, not even the organization of his screws could contain the energy vibrating through his fingers. He was hunched over the core of a dismantled Tesla Tower, his eyes wide and eyelids trembling. Tiny sparks leapt from his shoulders, snapping through the air and illuminating the workshop in bluish flashes. He hadn't slept in three days, yet he felt he was at the peak of his power, fueled by liters of strong coffee and the constant discharge of electricity coursing through his veins as though it were blood.
"You're starting to glow in the dark, Electro," a soft voice said from the doorway.
He didn't even turn around, his fingers moving with frantic speed to slot a high-voltage capacitor into place. "Just one more adjustment, Nighty! If I can stabilize the resonance frequency, the towers won't just repel troops—they'll predict the opponent's movement by milliseconds!" His voice was racing, leaping between high pitches, while his eyes darted in every direction, processing the wiring as though he were reading an invisible binary code.
Night Witch stepped forward, her movement fluid and silent, contrasting with the electric agitation that filled the room. She needed no words to see that her husband was at his limit; his aura was so unstable that the papers on the table had begun to levitate, drawn in by the static charge. With a precise motion, she reached out and, without him noticing, slid the coffee mug—which was already cold, with dark residue at the bottom—out of his reach, setting it on a high shelf.
"The world won't fall apart if the tower waits until tomorrow," she murmured, stepping up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the intense vibration emanating from the Wizard's skin. The moment she pressed her face against his back, a tiny arc of electricity leapt from his neck onto the dark fabric of her cloak, but she didn't even blink. Her touch was the only thing capable of anchoring him, serving as a grounding wire for all that chaotic energy.
Electro let out a trembling sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the embrace. His resistance began to wilt; the adrenaline that had once felt infinite now gave way to a deep exhaustion he had been deliberately ignoring. He tried to look at the Tesla Tower one more time, but his vision began to blur, and the blue sparks dancing at his fingertips dwindled in intensity, fading into a soft, tired glow.
"I... I almost had it," he whispered, his voice now hoarse, as he leaned back, allowing Nighty to support him. She smiled, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his head, and began to guide him slowly away from the workbench. Silence finally began to fill the workshop, broken only by the metallic sound of a single screw that had, at last, rolled out of its perfect line—but this time, Electro didn't care enough to fix it.
"That screw..." he murmured, his voice nearly fading away, while his eyelids grew heavy as lead. He tried to take a step back toward the workbench, but his legs trembled and he wobbled. Nighty, with quick reflexes, tightened her embrace and guided him firmly to the worn velvet armchair in the corner of the room—the one spot in the workshop that didn't smell of ozone and hot metal.
He sank into the seat with a long sigh, his head lolling to the side. The electricity that had once arced from his shoulders now manifested as little more than a faint tingling, as though the storm within him was finally settling into a gentle drizzle. He looked down at his own hands; his fingers still trembled, no longer from excitement, but from sheer exhaustion. The silence of the night, now that the workshop's frenzy had ceased, seemed to wrap around them like a heavy blanket.
Night Witch knelt before him, carefully removing the tools that still dangled from her husband's leather belt. She said nothing about his obsession or about the absurd amount of coffee he had consumed; she knew Electro's mind, knew that his curiosity was an engine that never quite shut down completely. Instead, she began to massage his temples with the tips of her cool fingers, applying a gentle pressure that seemed to drain the last drop of tension from his nerves.
"Can you feel that?" she asked softly, her voice a comforting whisper. "It's the sound of nothing happening. And it's the most beautiful thing you'll hear all day."
Electro let out a nasal laugh, which ended in a yawn so deep that tears welled in his eyes. He tried to formulate a technical response about how "nothing" was, in fact, the absence of detectable auditory frequency, but the words dissolved into an incomprehensible murmur. His mind, which moments before had been processing a thousand calculations per second, now felt like an old radio losing its signal, finally tuning into the channel of rest. He closed his eyes, feeling the pressure of Nighty's fingers on his temples as though they were tiny lightning rods, drawing away every last residue of tension that still insisted on vibrating through his skull.
With a slow motion, Night Witch rose and retrieved a thick wool blanket from a nearby chest. She draped it over the Electro's shoulders, tucking it in carefully so that he wouldn't feel cold as his body temperature dropped, now that the constant electrical discharge no longer served as an internal heater. Electro curled up inside the fabric, suddenly feeling small and safe. He looked up and saw her face shaped by the dim workshop light; she had that serene gaze, the patience of someone who knew that, for someone like him, stopping was the hardest task of all.
Did yk about golden knight and ice wizard? These two gays are frying me so bad
୧ ‧₊˚ Golden Knight x Ice Wiazrd for you lil' bro *.✧
synopsis: In a realm where magic dictates destiny and battles are fought with elemental might, the reclusive Ice Wizard finds his solitary existence challenged by an unexpected visitor: the charismatic Golden Knight. Known for his defiant smile and effortless charm, the Knight stumbles upon the Wizard's frosty abode with a peculiar proposition: to transform his formidable ice magic from a weapon of war into a source of delight.
What begins as a whimsical experiment—turning pure ice and new moon essence into a delectable treat—soon blossoms into an unlikely partnership. As the Ice Wizard meticulously crafts new flavors, each one a testament to his burgeoning creativity, the Golden Knight becomes his most ardent, and unpaid, connoisseur. Their shared venture, an ice cream business that unexpectedly sweeps across the kingdom, brings them closer than either anticipated, melting the Wizard's icy demeanor with every shared spoonful.
words count: 2.1k
"Ice Cream"
"Have you ever thought about using your powers for something other than freezing enemies?" The question came out of nowhere, just as the Ice Wizard was twirling the ice crystal between his fingers. He looked up slowly, surprised. At the doorway of his small wooden and ice hut, the Golden Knight was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a defiant smile.
Ice Wizard frowned. “And what else would I do?” He brushed imaginary dust from his blue-tinged clothes, as he always did when he was nervous. Golden Knight entered without ceremony, walking past him as if the house were his own. The scent of the golden metal of his armor mingled with the cold air of the room, creating a strange combination that Ice Wizard couldn’t decide whether he hated or loved.
“Something useful,” Golden Knight replied, playing with his blond hair and letting it fall over his shoulders. “Something people will like.” He was looking at the shelves filled with shiny vials, each containing different types of magical ice. Ice Wizard followed his gaze, trying to figure out what he wanted.
That was when Golden Knight picked up one of the smaller vials, shaking it curiously. “This here… looks delicious.” Ice Wizard nearly fell backward. “Delicious? That’s pure ice with new moon essence, isn’t it—” But before he could finish, Golden Knight had already opened the vial and licked the contents. His eyes lit up as if he’d discovered a treasure.
"You’re kidding me," Ice Wizard muttered, but Golden Knight just laughed, tossing the empty vial back onto the shelf. "No, I’m completely serious. You could sell this. Call it... I don’t know, ice cream?" The word sounded strange coming from him, but Ice Wizard couldn’t help but smile slightly. The idea was ridiculous. Absurd. And, somehow, irresistible.
The ice cream became an obsession. Ice Wizard would never have imagined that his icy magic, once meant only for battlefields, could create something that made Golden Knight’s eyes sparkle like that. It was almost annoying how the knight showed up every afternoon, knocking on the door with that carefree laugh and a “anything new today?” slipping out from between his white teeth. Ice Wizard pretended to be annoyed, but he already had an entire shelf reserved for the jars Golden Knight liked best.
The first week was the worst. Or the best—it depended on your point of view. Ice Wizard spent sleepless nights tweaking formulas, testing textures, adding touches of lunar magic here and there just to see Golden Knight’s reaction. When the knight tasted the first batch with raspberry essence, his moan was so indecent that Ice Wizard almost froze him on the spot. “This is… perfect,” Golden Knight murmured, licking his lips in a way that made Ice Wizard look at the floor, suddenly interested in his boots.
The business grew unintentionally. First came the other champions of the kingdom, hearing about that “icy delight” and showing up at the cabin with coins in hand. Then came the villagers, then merchants from distant kingdoms. Ice Wizard never wanted to be a pastry chef, but there was something about it—the way people smiled when they tasted his ice cream, the way Golden Knight stood by his side, tasting every new flavor before anyone else—that made his chest ache in a strange way.
Golden Knight, of course, never paid. “It’s my right as the official first taster,” he’d say, scooping another spoonful from the pot of vanilla with mint stars that Ice Wizard had just made. Ice Wizard would roll his eyes, but he never stopped him. Especially because, secretly, he liked those moments. He liked the way Golden Knight tilted his head when the flavor was especially good; he liked the silly comments about how “this would melt even the Golem’s heart.”
One afternoon, while Ice Wizard was stirring a new batch with magic sugar crystals, Golden Knight arrived earlier than usual. His hair was wet, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower, and his armor was a little looser than normal. He leaned against the counter, watching in silence for a while. “You never admitted that you decided to do this because I told you to,” he remarked, grabbing an uninvited spoon and dipping it into the pot. Ice Wizard almost protested—that batch wasn’t ready yet—but something in Golden Knight’s expression made him hesitate.
Ice Wizard held the spoon in the air, frozen mid-motion. Golden Knight’s smile was unbearably smug, as if he’d uncovered a secret that not even Ice Wizard admitted to himself. “I was just bored,” he lied, turning his face away to hide the blush rising to his pale cheeks. “And you talk too much.”
Golden Knight laughed, a sound that echoed through the cabin like golden bells. “Sure, sure.” He licked the spoon slowly, deliberately, and Ice Wizard felt a chill that had nothing to do with his powers. “It’s just that I noticed you started adding cinnamon after I mentioned I liked it. And that batch of strawberry with rose petals? Right on my birthday.”
“Coincidence,” Ice Wizard muttered, but his voice came out weaker than he intended. He tried to focus on the ice cream bowl, but Golden Knight was too close now, the heat of his body contrasting with the icy air of the kitchen. His fingers, without the gloves of his armor, were too close to his own as he took another spoonful.
"You know," Golden Knight murmured, leaning forward until his blond hair almost touched Ice Wizard’s silver hair, "I never told you what else I like about this ice cream."
Ice Wizard swallowed hard. “What?” The word came out as a hoarse whisper.
Golden Knight’s smile widened, the corners of his lips curving upward as if he knew exactly the effect his words had. “The fact,” he began, scooping another spoonful from the tub between them, “that you make each one with me in mind.” The spoon glinted in the dim light of the cabin as he brought it to his mouth, his eyes never leaving Ice Wizard’s. “Even when you pretend you don’t.”
Ice Wizard felt the heat rise up his neck, so intense he almost expected to see steam rising from his own skin. “That’s—” He tried to protest, but the words died on his lips as Golden Knight licked his lips, leaving a shiny streak of ice cream at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, Ice Wizard reached out, his thumb almost touching the knight’s face before hesitating in midair. “You… have a bit of—”
Golden Knight seized his wrist before he could pull back, guiding Ice Wizard’s hand to his own face. His skin was warm against the wizard’s icy fingers, a contrast so jarring it almost hurt. “Show me,” he murmured, and there was something in the tone of his voice that made Ice Wizard forget how to breathe.
The touch was gentler than he intended, just his thumb brushing the corner of the Golden Knight’s lips, wiping away the ice cream with a motion that felt too intimate for something so simple. Ice Wizard could feel the heat of the knight’s breath against his fingers; he could see how his eyes darkened as he watched every tiny movement.
“You’re trembling,” Golden Knight observed, his voice low as if sharing a secret. Ice Wizard hadn’t noticed, but now he felt the small tremors in his own hands, so strange for someone who controlled ice with such precision. “It’s not from the cold,” Golden Knight continued, his fingers gently closing around Ice Wizard’s wrist as if it were something precious.
Ice Wizard tried to pull back, but his feet seemed rooted to the cabin’s icy floor. “It’s just… a side effect of the magic,” he lied, feeling his pulse quicken beneath Golden Knight’s fingers. The knight didn’t seem convinced, his smile taking on a softer, almost tender edge. “Magic, is it?” He pulled Ice Wizard a little closer, until the space between them was just a breath of cold air. “Then explain to me why it only happens when I’m here.”
Ice Wizard’s heart leapt against his ribs, a movement so violent he feared Golden Knight might feel it. His fingers were still pressed against the knight’s face, the tip of his thumb now resting lightly on his lower lip. It was minimal contact, but it seemed to burn more than any fire spell he’d ever faced. “You—” his voice faltered, and he cleared his throat, trying to regain control. “You’re exaggerating.”
Golden Knight laughed, a low, warm sound that made Ice Wizard clench his teeth. “I never exaggerate,” he murmured, tilting his head until his blond strands brushed against the Ice Wizard’s silver forehead. “But you… you avoid it.” His breath was sweet, still carrying the taste of vanilla ice cream, and the Ice Wizard felt inexplicably drawn to that sweetness.
For a mad moment, he imagined what it would be like to close the distance, to taste the ice cream on Golden Knight’s lips instead of on a spoon. The idea was so shocking that he let out a small sigh, his eyelids fluttering like butterfly wings. Golden Knight noticed—of course he noticed—and his smile deepened. “Ah,” he said, as if he’d discovered something monumental. “That’s why you never look me in the eye when I taste your ice cream.”
Ice Wizard felt the heat rise to his ears, so intense that he feared his silver hair might begin to melt. “You’re making things up,” he protested, but his voice came out weak, lacking conviction. Golden Knight released his wrist only to run his fingers through his, intertwining them with a naturalness that left Ice Wizard breathless. “Making things up isn’t my style,” he replied, his thumb gently rubbing the coldest part of Ice Wizard’s hand. “But I admit I’m… curious.”
Golden Knight’s curiosity was like a flame that Ice Wizard didn’t know how to extinguish. He could freeze entire rivers, but those golden eyes burned through his defenses as if they were made of something stronger than magic. When the knight’s fingers squeezed his with that unbearable confidence, Ice Wizard felt the ice in his veins begin to crack.
“What kind of curiosity?” he asked, and his voice sounded strangely hoarse, as if he’d swallowed snow. Golden Knight smiled, that slow smile that always left Ice Wizard with the feeling he was about to lose some game he didn’t even know he was playing. “You know very well,” he murmured, leaning forward until their noses almost touched. Golden Knight’s breath was sweet, warm, and Ice Wizard closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could hide from that closeness.
And then—
It was like being struck by a spell he hadn’t been able to foresee. Golden Knight’s lips met his with a gentleness that contradicted all the knight’s usual arrogance. It was hot, it was sweet, it was everything Ice Wizard had feared and secretly desired. His icy fingers clenched around Golden Knight’s, not to push him away, but because the world seemed to have turned upside down, and those hands were the only thing that felt real.
The kiss tasted of vanilla and something deeper, something Ice Wizard had no name to describe. He was about to surrender completely, about to forget that anything existed beyond those lips and that warm hand intertwined with his, when—
The cabin door burst open with a crash, nearly torn from its hinges by the impact. Ice Wizard and Golden Knight pulled apart abruptly, their lips still tinged with the taste of the other. Standing in the doorway, the imposing figure of Berserker blocked out the sunlight, his double-bladed axe slung across his back and his red hair billowing like flames in the wind.
“By Odin, what is that smell of cheap romance?” she roared, striding in with heavy footsteps that made the floor shake. Her iron-brown eyes darted from Golden Knight—his fingers still intertwined with Ice Wizard’s—to the ice cream tubs slowly melting on the counter. “I came for the ice cream, not to interrupt… whatever this is.” Her upturned nose wrinkled in disdain, but there was a barely concealed curiosity in the corners of her eyes.
Ice Wizard released Golden Knight’s hands as if they were made of lava, wiping his own on his blue tunic with a movement too quick to be casual. “We weren’t—” he began, but Berserker cut off his protest with a grunt.
“Spare me, Ice Wiz. My mother has told me stories of love goblins more subtle than the two of you.” She snatched a random jar from the shelf—strawberry with pepper—and plunged her stubby fingers straight into the mixture. Ice Wizard swallowed a comment about hygiene while Golden Knight, damn him, just laughed and leaned back against the counter as if the situation were the funniest thing in the world.
Miner had never been one to think much about the consequences. Maybe that was why he always ended up in strange situations—like now, lying on his back on the stone floor of his room, staring at the ceiling while trying to piece together the fragments of the previous night in his head.
The last thing he remembered was the party at the Arena. Everyone drunk, that idiotic competition of who could withstand the most humps from Mega Knight without passing out, and then… Well, then things got a little hazy. He felt a strange weight in his stomach when he tried to turn onto his side, and a dull ache throbbed in his back.
"Are you alive in there?" The Princess's hoarse voice came from the doorway, accompanied by the strong smell of coffee. She was holding a steaming cup and looking at him with an expression somewhere between amused and worried.
"More or less," Miner grunted, rubbing his eyes. "What the hell happened yesterday?"
The Princess smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Oh, nothing much. Just you losing badly to Mega Knight, drinking until you forgot your own name, and then... well, let's just say you two decided to 'end the night with a bang.'" She made air quotes with her fingers, and Miner felt the blood drain from his face.
Miner swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat trickle down his back. He looked at his own stomach, which seemed a little more... rounded than usual. "Wait a minute," he murmured, pressing his hands against his abdomen. A sharp pain made him shrug. "This can't be real."
The Princess took a sip of her coffee, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, it's very real. Even the Barbarian King is betting on whether a mini-Miner or a junior Mega Knight will be born." She tilted her head, examining his stomach curiously. "Looks like it's growing fast already, huh? Must be Mega Knight's accelerated DNA."
Before he could answer, the bedroom door burst open, and Mega Knight appeared in the frame, his armor scratched and with a look that mixed pride and guilt. "Are you... alright?" he asked, his voice echoing inside his helmet.
Miner almost jumped out of bed. "What did you do to me?!"
Mega Knight raised his hands defensively. "Look, I was just as drunk as you! I don't even remember exactly how it started, I just remember it was... intense." He hesitated, then added: "But I'll take care of you. And the... the baby." The last word came out somewhat choked, as if he still couldn't believe what he was saying.
Miner opened his mouth to protest, but another sharp pain in his stomach made him double over with a groan. The Princess chuckled and stood up, passing the coffee cup to Mega Knight. "Looks like someone's jealous of the attention," he commented, patting Miner on the shoulder before leaving the room, leaving the two alone.
Mega Knight hesitated, then awkwardly knelt beside the bed, his armor creaking. "I... brought this for you," he murmured, extending a tray with burnt toast and orange juice. "They say it helps with nausea." Miner looked at the food, then at the face hidden by the helmet, and something in the giant warrior's tense posture made his own resentment lessen a little.
"I don't know anything about that," Miner admitted, taking a piece of toast and biting cautiously. "About... pregnancy. I didn't even know it was possible." He frowned, feeling a strange movement under his skin—quick, almost imperceptible.
Mega Knight tilted his head, as perplexed as he was. "Me neither. But the Mage Clan has already been notified. They have books... ancient things." He hesitated again, then added, more quietly: "You don't have to do this alone."
we are wayyy past due for reference updates on the Retyrement AU; December of last year was the AU's 4th anniversary, hard to believe i've been drawing these old people for that long lmao
if you're new to inscryption or my account, this is my AU where all the scrybes are retired humans living in the same old folks home; they still play cards, but mostly get into various petty interpersonal dramas and spend time with their families with varying degrees of enthusiasm
my buddy @squid-hug made the original textpost that birthed this concept because he's the funniest guy alive, and i've been both drawing art and writing an accompanying fanfic for it ever since; the fanfic's on its 29th chapter and counting and i'm bafflingly flattered every day by how many folks seem to enjoy this wild soap opera as much as i do haha
The Miner's evolution represents a significant mechanical transformation in Clash Royale gameplay. 🔗Miler🔗, a dedicated young miner, emerges from the ground with his spectral guardian 🔗Lenin🔗, creating a unique combat dynamic where two characters act in synergy during a limited activation period.
Core Mechanic: Emergence and Activation
When Miler emerges from the ground, he triggers an area-of-effect damage event that affects all nearby enemy troops, while simultaneously summoning Lenin, his ghost guardian. During this 30-second activation period, Lenin remains active and engaged in defensive combat, protecting Miler from ground troop damage; spells can still directly affect Miler and Lenin can't take any damage.
Activation Characteristics:
Duration: 30 seconds
Miler's Immunity: While Lenin is active, Miler only takes damage from spells and towers.
Emergence Damage: Area-of-effect damage upon emergence (values to be balanced).
Active Protection: Lenin interacts with enemy troops throughout the duration.
Combat Statistics
Miler (Tower Attack)
Damage per Attack: 52 damage
Attack Speed: 1 attack every 1.3 seconds (0.7 when speed buff)
Damage Rate: ~74.3 damage per second
Lenin (Troop Combat)
Damage per Attack: 250 damage
Target: Exclusively enemy troops
Function: Defense and field control
Combat Synergy
The central mechanic of the evolution lies in the division of responsibilities between the two characters:
Phase 1 - Active Protection (0-30 seconds): Miler focuses his attack on the enemy tower while Lenin defends against troops. Miler receives high damage immunity during this period, allowing for an accumulation of tower damage without interruption. Lenin, simultaneously, neutralizes enemy offensive threats with his 250 damage attacks.
Attack Speed Buff: While Lenin is in active combat against enemy troops, Miler receives an increase in his tower attack speed. This buff amplifies Miler's damage rate, allowing him to maximize damage during the protection window.
Potential Damage Calculation:
Miler's base damage in 30 seconds: ~2,229 damage (74.3 dps × 30s)
With attack speed buff: Value increased proportionally to the buff's magnitude.
Lenin's damage against troops: Up to 250 damage per target, with potential for multiple targets depending on attack speed.
Tactical Dynamics
The Miner's evolution introduces strategic decisions for both players:
For the Offensive Player:
Maximize tower damage during the 30-second window.
Position additional troops to support after protection expires.
Manage Lenin's attack sequence against multiple threats.
For the Defensive Player:
Anticipate emergence and prepare troop defense.
Avoid sending high-value troops during Lenin's activation.
Prepare counter-attack after the 30 seconds of protection expire.
Limitations and Vulnerabilities
After Expiration (30+ seconds):
Miler loses immunity and begins to take normal damage.
Lenin deactivates and no longer protects.
Miler becomes vulnerable to coordinated counter-attacks.
Defensive Counter-play:
Troops with area-of-effect damage can be effective after expiration.
Control troops can isolate Miler after Lenin deactivates.
Critical defensive timing to minimize damage during the 30-second window.
Furthermore, Miller is vulnerable to air troops, tower damage, and any type of spell.
Technical Summary
The Miner's evolution represents a temporary protection system with amplified damage, rewarding strategic positioning and precise timing while creating clear vulnerabilities for defensive counter-play.
