this esteemed sir is a god.

I remember that krs/cale au where he eats whatever and everyone's like NOOOOOOO

Im just imagining him tagging along when they go grocery shopping and stuff (maybe the kids wanted to go to the market w Hans and vicross and Ron)

And I'm imagining that the henituse estate has a few guard dogs or smth so they get treats for them right

And it's the equivalent of the original milk bones

And maybe he's just there waiting w the groceries in the carriage BC he's tired or whatever

And everything else is like raw meats and seasonings and stuff .. leaving only the biscuits

They come back to him like half way thru the box and they're just SCREAMING

SPIT IT OIT THROW IT UP , YOUNG MASTER WHAY THE FUCK , THOSE ARE DOG BISCUITS

and Cale's just covering his mouth, trying to chew faster or smth like how when you find a kid or a dog w smth they're not supposed to have

And they're like HOW COULD YOU EAT THAT

And he's like , they just taste like stale saltine crackers.

I'm thinking about milk bone treats 🥰

This just further solidifies Ron's view of him as a puppy ,,

Is there a fic where krs is brought into Cale's body solely for the purpose of defeating WS and after it's all over, his body starts shutting down or he gets really sick?

I'm just picturing a huge celebration that goes on for a week or smth and Cale trying to hide his symptoms..

The ancient powers are just YELLING at him because there's nothing they can do and he's being so stupid not telling anyone

Cale.. losing the ancient powers one at a time :(

They try to hold on as long as they can to stay with him, but they just.. cease to exist.

The thought of that makes me so sad like

Imagine how lonely it must be if hes had them as company for so long?? And then there's nothing... No bickering, no cheers...

They each just... Have a chat w him before leaving...

Like okay I get that you gotta die or smth for them to leave or be passed on but like , lemme be delusional for a hot sec

Cale... Telling people of their stories... So they wouldn't be forgotten... Or him being the last person who remembers them as who they are because everyone just assumed they were JUST ancient powers ...

They know legends, but they don't know.. them.

Either he dies or them leaving him saves him

Posting here as well BC , I can't stop thinking about it , low-key combo of like that terminally ill one and record ?? I thought I had a post abt it from earlier, but I couldn't find it so

But I really want to write a fic where record has this hidden ability where he could choose to take memories of himself with him, but only if he's dying.

I think Ill write it next because it's been haunting me for like. Two days straight .

But.. just, the vibes of Mr. Forgettable - David kushner ... And he just watches as the world forgets about him. Maybe he becomes invisible to them as he approaches death.

But..

Just think about it.

He loses the people he's acquainted with first. Maybe he visits the whales on his own to check and they just eye him with disgust, their hatred for humans returning to their eyes. They don't welcome him like they used to.

He loses more and more people as he marches towards his death. He's sick, and there's nothing that could save him when his body is literally shutting down. The cry baby can only do so much.

So he does what he does best. Sacrifice himself.

He thinks that stealing away the memories of himself would help them. Shoving the thoughts of him into the deep corners of their mind to be outshined by joyful memories with eachother (without him).

He knows that the day would come where the people he's grown to love would come, too. But it still comes too soon for him.

They don't recognize him anymore.

His name is just on the tip of their tongues, but their minds shove it away, pushing it back into the shadowy corners of their brain to be forgotten.

Cale still sticks around though. No matter how much it hurts him to watch as they forget him, he uses it as some sick way to check that it's working.

One day he approaches the kids while they're out in town, giving them a somber yet warm smile. He only give him wary looks in return.

"do you need something, mister?"

"...no, sorry, I mistook you as someone I knew."

They leave him standing in the street, but not without turning back to look at him. There's a small, fragile part of him that hopes that their eyes would flash with recognition... But they never do.

But like anyways, I'd think it's only temporary, and after he dies, their memories return to them.... they have to deal with the grief of losing him AND knowing how they treated him like a stranger in his last fleeting days.

I'm gonna do it. After I update my stuff , it's happening.

I can't... Not do it... My brain isnt letting this go..

Cale really did not want to be here right now, but now matter how much of a ruckus he caused or how many fits he had thrown, his father refused to budge on his decision. So now all he could do was ward off the other nobles with sharp glares and a fake drunken swagger to his step. 

He wasn’t drunk. No matter how much he drank, Cale doesn’t think he could ever get the same sensation as the first time he had touched the drink. The soothing nothingness that the liquor had dragged him into when he had blacked out from one too many glasses had him chasing it again and again.

Cale curses his ungodly tolerance to alcohol that he had developed with a subtle tilt of the glass and the familiar burning down his throat and he curses his father’s diligent servants who always manage to stop him before he can go barreling into that nothingness again.

It was tiring. Everything was so fucking tiring, but at least the drinks could keep him company until he could curl into him in the solitude of his room. 

With each glass, the other nobles grew more and more wary of the red head, scrambling to clear out of the way whenever he took a step in their direction. Cale knew how utterly intoxicated he looked. How the pale tone of his skin was painted with hues of scarlet and merlot from each sip of wine. Luckily, everyone knew how easy it was to wear the little patience he held thin.

So why was the crown prince saddling up right beside him on the balcony he had escaped to? Why was this infuriatingly bright man acting all chummy with the count’s trash?

“…” 

The blond man smiled at him, his eyes closing into pleasant little slits that had the hairs on the back of Cale’s neck rising. He knew. After watching people for years, Cale knew how fake of a smile the prince was giving him. 

So why?

“It’s a pleasure seeing you tonigh-”

“Cut the crap, your highness, what do you want?” Cale stared unabashedly through hooded eyes, his tone sharp, not caring about the difference of status between them.

The crown prince let out a low hum, the well practice smile sliding right off his face to reveal an impassive expression. For a brief moment, Cale felt as though the man was trying to see right through him, but it goes away with a curious raise of the brow.

“Well?” Cale growled out, his night ruining even further with the company forced upon him.

“I was just curious, young master Henituse,” the blond started.

Cale rolled his eyes at the man. The chirping of the crickets were enough company for him, but the crown prince just had to include himself for whatever reason. For the first time in the night, Cale had started to enjoy the party the slightest bit, but that feeling was quickly squashed. 

His mind was blissfully quiet before the prince had arrived. 

“Why do you drink?” Blue eyes watched him, patiently waiting to see if he would be gracious enough to give a proper answer. 

Maybe it was the alcohol in his blood, or maybe it was the way Cale had known that he and the prince were one in the same. Cale had no idea why he answered. 

“It’s quiet,” He said.

“Quiet?” 

Cale let out a frustrated noise at how the prince patiently waited for him to continue. He ripped his eyes away from the other, casting them out to search for anything to focus on in the horizon. What did he do to deserve such patience?

“It- When I drink, it makes being alone with the thoughts in my head more bearable,” Cale stared out into the night, tracking the dark, blurry figures of nocturnal animals flitting across the grounds. 

For years, Cale had bottled everything up, holding the splintering glass together with bleeding hands as he desperately tried to spare others of the monsters that prowled in his mind. Perhaps it wasn’t the wisest idea to quell his racing mind with booze, and maybe he’s shaving years off his life with each glass he brings to his lips, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care.

The crown prince doesn’t answer and for whatever reason, Cale takes that as permission to continue. 

“You know what it’s like, don’t you,” His voice achingly clear in contrast to the intoxicated look he held, “Having to worry your mind thin trying to grasp at threads.”

The veranda railing is cool against where he pressed into it, the chill seeping through the fabric of his dress shirt in a way that had him sobering up much quicker than Cale liked. 

“I drink so I don’t have to think.”