Archive of The Funny

Chronically-online child finally stops lurking and becomes active on tumblr, more at 5.

[residentnintendonerd]

So for Health class, we had to make a "tiktok-style video" about mental health and why it's good etc etc.

and thus I decided to make the most unserious video possible using google slides and 2010s powerpoint meme energy

(don't mind the white square at the bottom, that's me trying to censor my name) (also fun fact the third slide originally said "How not to be a sad bitch", but our teacher doesn't like it when we swear so you get [person] instead)

[opossumgirltongue]

do you think anyone has a ytp kink . can only get off to sentence mixed porn

[bedsofrosies]

do yoy think anyoyna hasasas a ytpink. can only get off to BOOBS. can only get off to DICK. can only get off to sentence mixed pentence

[blackpyrefly]

fuUUuf. i'm mumming

[elliespectacular]

Visit Original Link

[tastylemonbread]

imagine youre kris and youre all reserved and cagey and you dont want to tip off your new best friend susie as to how much your parents divorce fucked with you. and then all your adventures take her through divorce themed fantasy lands constructed by your subconscious

[empwnleon]

I mean, I would try to play Beatspell to Third or 4rd Sanctuary.

"Try" being the operative word here.

[universeleads]

I explained the concept of "blorbo from my shows" to my 71 year old immigrant grandfather because I referenced it in passing and I thought nothing of it, until today when he said "I think I'll watch peaky blinders tonight and see my blorbo from my shows" referring, of course, to Cillian Murphy playing Tommy Shelby

[universeleads]

English isn't his first language so he's not super in touch with modern slang, so I've been accidentally teaching him to talk like a tumblr user. His favorite thing to say lately is "me when I'm a little hater" when he's like talking shit about the neighbor's son

[overwhelmedfernfrond]

I explained the “x before gta6” meme to my immigrant father and he, in turn, explained to me how back in his day in Romania, they had the same type of joke, except instead of it being gta6, it was about the imminent death of a singer named Gică Petrescu, who everyone was continuously shocked by because he refused to die. Every time a momentous event happened people would say, in essence: “This happened and Gică Petrescu hasn’t even died yet?!?”

So. He understood the gta6 meme immediately because they apparently had the same thing in Romania when he was young, except way, way more morbid

[venort]

OP are you telling me we got the death of Gică Petrescu before we got gta6

[penumbraphantism]

I DIDN'T THINK IT WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO HAPPEN

[asterism343]

I LOG OFF FOR FIVE MINUTES

[penumbraphantism]

HELP ME PLEASE I'VE BEEN SMARTED

[penumbraphantism]

and i didn't even get an unbanned title for this

[king-k-ripple]

YouTubers Falling for the Exact Same Trap in Kirby’s Return to Dream Land Compilation

[white-wafers-3-cutter-puzzle]

Maybe next time something different will happen. Go on, stand under the platform and cut my rope. You can’t be completely sure the outcome will be the same…

[appleandaria]

There's no way this is a real account.

[white-wafers-3-cutter-puzzle]

Cut my rope

[orteil42]

what could possibly be in there

[orteil42]

[nlog-sama]

i dont know what love island is but from what ive heard its like danganronpa for people that use snapchat

[wajb]

ragebaiting lemonade stand owner with one simple order

[punkrock-bottom]

If you stay up late to hang out with friends I don’t think you should have to be tired in the morning. I think it should be a freebie

[keksalot404]

Messy Sketches: Mostly Flowers Edition!

(WARNING: Story spoilers for Chapters 5, Including Shadow Crystal Boss mention!)

[confessionsofadiabetic]

You know what absolutely boggles my mind? That healthy people exist. Genuinely healthy people. No mental illness, no physical illness, no chronic illness. Just healthy. What a life that must be. 

[thedreamhall]

someone give this man access to video essays

inspo tweet ⬇️

[existencebringsonlypain]

deltarune weird route crackfic where noelle, horrified, tells kris to tell her it didn't happen, it didn't snow, but kris forgets the past tense of snow and the soul ends up having them say "it snew" and then the colors return to normal instantly and noelle's like "what" and the soul's options are "what" and "what" and either option you pick the snowgrave route is aborted

[existencebringsonlypain]

Visit Original Link

[existencebringsonlypain]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67482736

[jaasminttea-archive]

Nemesis wrapped:

You evaded 26 assassination attempts from 3 different people! Congrats!

You discovered 7 new heinous plans!

Your favorite plan was "throw them in the scorpion hole"

Your top scheming month was March

You succeeded in killing your archnemesis 0 times!

[amynchan]

...

So, obviously Ethan is one of them. It wasn't something he knew as such. "Vanquishing the dark lord" doesn't always equate with "assassinate a guy," but that's what being the chosen one will do to you.

That leaves you with 25, since Ethan only tried the once. Penelope's never tried, so that leaves you with 2 assassins and 25 attempts.

So, if you dub "assassination" as "an attempt to take one's life," that's one thing. You could break it down into knowing and unknowing, whole life and partial life.

Well, put in specific terms, Ethan rose a weapon against you, sure, but most of your armies do that for training, and that's not assassination. Also, if you remember correctly, it was that you had to be "defeated in a duel," and Ethan took that at face value.

He never wanted your life at all. Someone else guided his heroism to take up a sword and point it at you.

And there will be repercussions for placing a dagger into the hand of a child who couldn't contemplate the idea that he was being sent to murder someone.

But back to the point, that raises another question. For "assassination attempt," is the perpetrator the one with the knife or the guiding force behind it?

That's a new angle to view this problem through. If this is the case, then Ethan's off the list, and his attempt can be attributed to that glorified gentleman who called him "chosen" in the first place. That one is the one in charge of sending threats into your kingdom. That's, oh... about sixteen attempts? Ethan's the only one who made it as far as you, and he was never going to kill you. Not as tiny, as impressionable, and as scared as he had been.

All right. The Spear is responsible for sixteen assassination attempts. That leaves nine left over.

There's the elder in charge of strategy. He's the one who orchestrated the capture of Gregory's team, and he's the one who ordered their torture. The goal, you know, was to lure you out. Blast you with "holy light" or whatever they decide to call their good magic. There were... what, eight of those this year? Gregory's in recovery, but the fact that your people hurt at all does tick the box for some very deserved revenge.

The Spear has sixteen. The Hook has eight. One left. If Ethan's is considered the Spear's, then...

Hm. Well.... surely not.

...surely not.

The number in front of you ticks from 26 to 27 just as you bring your hand to your neck with a harsh smack.

When you pull your hand away, a mosquito lays flat in your palm.

Well... guess "partial life" can fit in to the criteria of "assassination" now.

You sigh. Time to add one more undead mosquito to your army of villainous, unionized workers.

[writing-prompt-s]

Despite your reputation as a Dark Lord, you have a strict moral code. So when a young girl showing signs of abuse wandered into your realm, you took her in. Now the neighboring kingdom is acusing you of kidnapping their princess. You have to choose between returning her to her abusors or war.

[youngmasterwisdomperson]

You choose war. You have a reputation to uphold after all, and you reason that it’d be good to overthrow the abusive rulers of the neighboring kingdom and put an ally on the throne. For purely selfish reasons of course. Just a means of expanding your empire, nothing more. And luckily for you, you have a guest who will likely be more than happy to help if you were to ask her.

But that can wait. Your guest is tired, jumpy, and understandably in need of time to rest and recover. You won’t need her help for the warfare aspect anyway. You ensure your demonic servants will protect her with their lives and make her feel safe and welcome. Then you set aside some time in your busy schedule of conquest to check on the poor girl. Purely to determine whether she’s in prime condition for manipulating, of course. Your future puppet ruler will be more likely to cooperate if you build a solid foundation of respect and trust, after all.

Years of serving as the Dark Lord have taught you that your minions work harder when you treat them well. So you provide your young guest with everything she requests, within reason of course. She says she hasn’t slept well lately because her stuffed animal was left behind when she fled home. You ask if there are any other things of hers she misses from her old home. With a now completed list, you send your most covert operatives to the enemy palace to execute a most wicked heist of a stuffed animal and the princess’s dog dubbed Sir Meatball, as well as a few books she would read for comfort. You congratulate yourself on how evil it is of you to steal a dog. And just for good measure you have your minions perform reconnaissance on the palace. You’ll have to invade it soon anyway. May as well multitask.

The interesting thing is the hero the enemy sends to fight you. The chosen one it would seem, although it continues to baffle you how young he is. Young and impressionable. He barely knows how to hold that magic sword he wields. It’s barely light enough for him to lift. You send your winged minions to carry him toward your evil castle of dread and terror. You greet him at the landing pad on the roof. He insists on dueling you, even as his sword shakes in his sweaty palms. The prophecy says he will defeat you in a one-on-one duel. Very well, you decide. If something goes wrong you have medics on hand. You wouldn’t want someone to die from a friendly duel. He’s no match for you, you soon find. You humor him for a while. He obviously came a long way to duel you after all, and you can tell he’s trying very hard to hit you with that sword. You give him a few passing tips as you fight, and he thanks you awkwardly.

Then the princess interrupts your duel. “Maximus!” She chides, “you promised to take me dragon riding this afternoon!”

You turn to your dark secretary of doom, Jerry, who squints at the evil schedule of hopelessness and cries out. “Ah! She’s right, my lord. My sincerest apologies.”

“That’s alright, my faithful minion,” you say while holding the tip of the chosen’s sword between two fingers. “This whole duel thing was a bit of a spontaneous thing, and I should have looked at the schedule first.” You look down at the boy. “I’m sorry, child, but it seems I have a commitment to fulfill with the dear princess. Can we reschedule this duel for a later date?”

“Wh-what? No! The duel has already started, you can’t just back out like that!” He says, trying with all his might to pry his sword free from your grip.

“Very well,” you say with a sigh. “In that case, I forfeit, and you win the duel by default. There, that fulfills the prophecy. Would you like a ride home?”

The chosen one blinks with shock. “I-“

“Oh, what am I saying? You’ve come all this way, you must be exhausted. You ought to stay for dinner later. We’re having doom chicken soup of eternal darkness! It’s absolutely to die for.”

The boy looks at the princess quizzically. She assures him it’s just normal chicken soup. You vehemently deny this, saying you’re evil cook of evilness Frederick is supernaturally good at his job, and to refer to the fruits of his labor as “just normal soup” would be an insult to all the work he puts in.

You take the princess dragon-riding, and later that evening during dinner the chosen one breaks down crying. You ask him what’s wrong. He opens up about his confusion. He’d spent his entire journey up on this point dreading the responsibility thrust upon him. He’d barely survived several encounters with monsters and demons and now that he’s here, he’s questioning his entire perspective. After all, he says, you’ve been treating him better than anyone ever did back home and despite the spiky black armor you seem so genuinely kind. He doesn’t know what to do, he confesses.

You reassure him that no one expects anything of him, and that he can stay as long as he’d like, or he could simply go back home in the morning. You won’t stop him. He says he still has to fulfill the other half of the prophecy, freeing the princess from those who would cause her harm. The princess assures him that she is not in any danger where she is, and that if he really wants to fulfill the prophecy he ought to help you overthrow her parents.

And so you adopt kid number two.

[youngmasterwisdomperson]

The morning after the chosen’s first night in the castle, the princess is kind enough to show him around the evil castle of dread and terror while you have a meeting with your generals in the evil strategy room of underhanded plotting and scheming. The enemy is employing light magic to scorch the farmland near the borders of your kingdom, shriveling crops and burning small villages to the ground, leaving destruction and death in the wake of their recently begun invasion. One of your sneaky scouts of nosiness, Gregory, is too terrified to speak at first of what he’s seen, but you provide him with a blanket and a hot cup of wicked leaf-water of deepest blackness so he can comfortably gather his thoughts and process what he’s witnessed. He wraps his tail around his leg nervously, clasping his clawed hands as he tries to form the words.

“Th-the enemy, my lord. Th-they’re using h-healing magic as a t-torture method! I-I was the only one of my scouting party to escape capture, a-and I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t bare to observe for long before it was t-t-too much. I-I panicked, your evilness! The way they made their skin boil and swell with cancerous growths a-and…oh dark gods below, the bones, the protruding bones!”

Your hand rests on the lower right side of your rib cage, where you can still feel the stumps of the bones that grew outward and pierced through your flesh all those years ago. You know from experience what those scouts must be going through, and though you’d never show it in front of your subjects, you’re terrified.

As he finishes his tale, Gregory breaks down into sobs, begging for forgiveness from his captured comrades under his breath. You gently tell him it’s alright, that there was nothing he could have done. At least by running away he ensures that this information got back to you. You make a vow to him that the crimes of the enemy will not go unpunished. Once Gregory has been led out of the room, the door closing behind him, you lean back into your spiky black chair at the head of the map table and rub your temples. You ask Jerry if that was the last of the scouts who returned today. He says yes, that was the last one. You thank the gods below, and begin planning a counterattack on the borders, as well as a rescue operation for the captured scouts. You have faith in their capacity to resist revealing valuable information to the enemy, but with torture methods like that…

You push the thought out of your mind for the time being. You have faith in your evil minions, and the amount of subtle manipulation of impressionable children you have to do per day has recently doubled. Over the next few weeks, you start teaching the chosen one how to properly wield a sword. He’s a quick learner, and though you’re still much more experienced and can effortlessly defeat him in a serious match, you know from experience that minions tend to learn better from positive reinforcement, so you’re sure to point out what he’s doing well just as often as you criticize him. The princess sits in on many of your practice sessions with the chosen one, and though she shows no interest in wielding a sword herself, she does pay enough attention to be able to shout out advice to him mid-sparring match, which the chosen one says he doesn’t mind. The two of them were fast friends from the start, and having lived together for almost a month now, they’ve become quite close. Good, you think, rubbing your hands together menacingly. Strong bonds of trust between your minions makes them more powerful. Together with the two of them, you will conquer the enemy kingdom and expand your empire in all its dark glory.

“Maximush?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Ethan. You’ll choke.” The princess chides.

The chosen one takes a moment to swallow his food. The three of you are having a picnic atop the all-seeing watchtower of evil oversight, enjoying the view of your land from high up.

“Maximus?”

“Yes, Ethan?”

“Everyone’s the hero of their own story, right?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“So why do you go out of your way to make yourself seem evil and scary? Don’t you think you’re on the side of good?”

You take a pause to think how to answer. “Oh, well, plenty of reasons, not the least of which being that it’s amusing coming up with overly complicated titles for all the more mundane aspects of my life. But I suppose it’s just that I decided that I didn’t need to prove myself to people who judge based on superficial things like appearances.”

The children watch you intently as you take a bite of your Dark Ham Sandwich of Broken Dreams. It seems they want you to elaborate. You swallow the bite, then continue.

“In my youth, I was feared and hated just by nature of the type of magic I used. Dark magic, they called it. It perplexed me, the superficial reasons for which they would argue that my magic was inherently immoral. Why was necromancy considered evil? Those people are dead, it’s not like they need their bones for anything anymore. Why do we have all these peasants barely getting by, working themselves to the bone in the hot sun, when we could re-purpose the skeletons of the dead and triple our crop output? And sure, demons don’t tend to be beautiful by conventional standards, but I’ve found that they’re fair to a fault, they follow rules to the letter, they have a strong sense of justice, and they enjoy games quite a bit. It seemed to me that they’d make stellar lawyers and government officials. They punish wicked souls in the underworld, yes, but the key word is wicked! I never understood why people frowned upon creating contracts with them. So, eventually, I suppose I gave up trying to fight their perception of me and embraced it instead. I decided I wouldn’t just use dark magic, I’d be a dark lord, king of demons and commander of an army of the undead! I began reanimating a lot of corpses to help me build my empire, had them work at night instead of in the day so they wouldn’t burn to ash in the sun. I recruited other black magi and taught them what I knew about efficient use of undead for manual labor. I started making contracts with hordes of demons, offering them reasonable pay and homes of their own if they’d come live and work in my empire. 200 years I spent building a nation from the ground up. Another perk of dark magic is that it tends to extend your lifespan. With necromancy, dead tissue can be reanimated, and after playing games with demons for fun for about 20 years you get good enough at it to be able to beat the grim reaper in a wager for your life with relative ease. Not that my dozens of active demonic contracts don’t make me functionally immortal in and of themselves. If I die, my contracts become void and all my demonic servants go back to hell, and I’m told they’d rather stay here for as long as possible if they can help it. No stars in the underworld.”

The children stare at you for a moment.

“Two hundred years?!” The princess exclaims.

“Is that why you never take that helmet off? Is it just a skull underneath?” The chosen one asks.

You laugh. You inform the chosen that no, it isn’t a skull, just rather grotesque. You promise to show them both once they’ve finished eating and you’re out of the sun. You burn rather easily in the day.

Later that night, you’re tucking the small princess into bed when she asks you something. She says she was always told back home that light was good magic and dark was bad, but all she’s ever seen light magic used for was to hide any visible bruises before she could make a public appearance, and from what she’s seen, dark magic seems to be the good magic. You pass her her stuffed animal and tell her that in truth there’s no good or bad magic. Magic is a tool, and any type of magic can be used for great good, or great evil. There’s no bad magic. Just bad people. As you blow out the candle and walk out of the princess’s chambers, she calls after you.

“Maximus?”

You pause in the doorway.

“I don’t think your face was that gross.”

“Yes, well I’m sure it was mere coincidence that Ethan threw up his lunch after seeing it. Goodnight, Penelope. Sleep well.”

“G’night Maxie!”

[amynchan]

The weeks pass, and your army of wickedness sweeps through the countryside, taking crops out of harsh sunlight and moving to panicked and frenzied outskirt villages.

When your generals return, it’s with pitiful news of half-dead farmers, ample bones that could have been used as a force for war or for farming instead, and farming equipment that doubled as ineffective and brittle weapons.

“Not one of them had a sword?” you ask, and Jerry reviews his evil notes with diligence. After a moment, he looks up with a shake of his head.

A wave of disgust hits you. You have been taking weeks, far more than enough time to at least equip the fringe cities for defense. Instead, your armies have invaded far too easily. While the peasants are now resting in their homes while the bones of their friends and family help to cultivate the fields and feed them, it should not have happened that easily.

That will change when the princess and her chosen one are on the throne.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!”

You turn to the hall, curious. “Jerry, I didn’t implement anything that should fill the hall with screams of abject terror, right?”

“No, your evilness,” Jerry responds. “Just the two o'clock screams of releasing stress and pent up energy to further fuel the aggressive magic of your armies.”

“I thought not,” you mutter, sweeping out of the war room to check on your minions. The screaming turns into gasps, and you break into a run.

Demon magic keeps you alive, sure, but it also comes with incredible physical benefits. Like being able to run from one side of the castle to the other in less than a moment.

“Gregory? Gregory! Ethan, can you turn it off?”

“I—! I—!”

“It hurts it hurts I can’t I’m sorry oh my hell let me die don’t do that to me oh hell—”

The room is chaos. The room is painful. The room is too bright.

There is a spell that covers an area in the inkiest night, washing all in pitch black and taking away sight and smell. You use it, and everything turns black.

“Maximus!” The three voices ring in relief, in sobs, in panic. You hear Gregory scramble to you first, and at this point he must be driven only by instinct.

It’s the same instinct that saved his life. The instinct to return home, to the holder of his contract. You accept him when he crashes into you.

“My lord,” he shudders, and you can feel him shake violently. “The light! The light!”

“I know,” you assure him, certain of what you saw with your own eyes. You look at Gregory’s eyes, wide and fearful, and cast a spell on them. Very quickly, his pupils, iris, and sclarea are covered in inky dark, and you can feel Gregory go boneless. “I will not let the light touch you again. Stay here.”

Sufficiently blinded to his fears—a temporary measure to provide some calm until he is truly out of the light’s reach—you adjust the darkness of the room.

The princess stands in the center of the room, her arms having dropped from where she was holding Gregory. She’s turned to you, and her face is both grim and determined.

You wonder if your manipulation is coming to fruition sooner than intended. If so, then at least the throne will be secured by an ally. That leaves…

Your eyes catch onto Ethan, and he’s standing on the other side of the room, his skin glowing with pure, unadulterated energy. You know from when you walked in that the darkness is dampening what would otherwise be a blinding light.

Even now, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I…” Ethan’s voice shakes, and past the glow, you can see him trembling just as much as Gregory.

Something more uncomfortable than Ethan having a natural inclination for light magic settles in your sternum. Or what’s left of it.

“I didn’t mean to…” he confesses, and the watery tone in his voice finally cracks. Now that Gregory is away from him, enshrouded in a safety of darkness, he seems to be realizing what, exactly, has happened. Ethan gasps for breath. “I didn’t mean to hurt him! What did I— What—”

The light pulses with Ethan’s panic, and you quickly disregard the notion that you’d have to darken his senses as well. It might hurt him, and you’re not in the business of needless torture.

You take a breath. Knowledge. Knowledge is what he needs right now.

“It’s a defensive spell,” you say, remembering what you learned all of those 200 years ago. Ethan, thankfully, seems to snap out of his downward spiral, looking at you.

Well, if he can look at you with such raw hope, then your manipulation must still be working. Thank the darkness.

“It’s also the first spell that demonstrates a person’s inclination towards light magic. The light wells up inside until it can no longer be contained, and it typically results in a soft glow. The longer a person holds their magic inside, the stronger the glow when it finally escapes.” You remember just how bright the room had been when you came in, and your stomach drops. “You must have been holding it inside for, perhaps months.”

You watch as Ethan gulps, and tears run down his face. He buries that face, that expression of loss and despair and regret, in his hands.

“I didn’t wanna hurt anyone,” he sobs, his shoulders shaking. “Light magic hurts people! It hid her majesty’s scars! It hurt you! I hurt Gregory!”

This image before you looks too familiar.

“I didn’t wanna hurt anyone!” Two hundred and eighteen years ago. A young magic user. Alone. “Dark magic hurts people! It tripped grandfather! It hurt you! I hurt—”

The similarities pain you more than the light itself could ever. You leaned into being evil. It was what you could do. You no longer care for the affirmation you never got.

But Ethan does. Ethan cares so, so much. It makes him malleable.

It makes him human. As you all are, at some point.

“Ethan,” you call, your voice commanding and velvet-soft. Enshrouded in darkness, used typically for sweetening deals, this is a call of comfort and a beckon to trust. Ethan falls into it with ease, weeks of having heard it preparing him to trust you. “I will not turn away from you for this. You cannot change what you are, as I cannot change what I am. Our magics will interfere with each other at times, and there are those uncomfortable with light magic, but it does not make you a different person.”

“Yes it does,” says Ethan, a mournful note in his first act of resistance. You might be proud if you weren’t so heartbroken by it. “I hurt Gregory.”

“Other light magic users hurt Gregory,” you correct, gently but firmly. “The memory of it pains him, and he can no longer be around light magic, but you have never lifted a hand against him, and you would never cause us harm because of our dark magic.”

“I’d never!” Ethan cries out, passionate as a burst of light tries to emphasize his words. It fluctuates with his emotions, and you know that he must be taught.

Like he should have been.

Those fools didn’t train him with a sword.

It figures they’d never teach him how to use his own magic either.

Fools.

“I know,” you say, “but now there is the matter of teaching you how to use light magic. I remember some lessons, but they are very old. I can teach you basic control, and after that…”

You know what it’s like to only be taught to control your gift instead of how to use it. However, for all of your power in darkness, light magic… it isn’t your specialty. Perhaps you could abduct a tutor for him, but how to ensure that this tutor wouldn’t undo all of your successful manipulation—

“I can take over from there.” The princess speaks up, and both you and Ethan turn to her. You raise an invisible eyebrow.

“The kingdom I ran from was filled with light magic users,” she points out, and you nod. It is most certainly true. “If I was going to lead them one day, I had to understand how the magic could be wielded and used. Since I don’t have light magic, they never taught me the foundations, only the flashy things that could be done by those who had the gift. If you can teach him control, I can teach him how to make it his own.”

“But…” Ethan pipes up, “what if I hurt someone else? What if I can’t do it? What if I don’t want to?”

And here is the crux of the matter. Self-rejection. The cruelest of enemies. More sinister than whatever lay in the dark. More cruel than whatever machinations the light may come up with.

Wicked.

However, you cannot force Ethan to love every aspect of his being, just as no one could do so for you.

“Then you will simply learn to control the light magic and no more,” you say. “The magic you have is a magic that is inherent to you. It is part of you, and you are now part of it. However, it does not own you. It is yours to choose what to do with. And if you choose to simply control it, then that is a choice you will be supported in.”

“And if you choose to use it, you’ll be supported there, too,” says the princess, and you nod. “There’s no bad magic, Ethan. There are only bad people, and you aren’t bad.”

Ah, the lesson you taught. It comforts your heart to see it used when it’s needed most.

It takes more convincing, and it takes much talking, but you believe, by the end of it, Ethan is reassured and ready. You rise to take Gregory away, ready to spend as long as you need to reassure him and provide what he needs to heal from the shock of seeing light magic in his own home, when another thought occurs to you.

This definitely explains why Ethan puked when he saw your face. Inherent light magic. Huh.

With a chuckle, you guide Gregory out of the room. It looks like your two allies are more powerful than you thought.

It’s good that you’ve manipulated them so well. Good job, Maximus.