#Onward to new horizons!

[pushing500]

Against all odds, asexual Buckeye and reduced-fertility-gene Magic Man have managed to make a baby! However, because Buckeye is Animakin, she needs to plant the baby in soil... And there is no soil in the ocular forest where Monster's Basin is. Only red sand and red dirt and other nasty red stuff, which apparently doesn't count.

So, we have unexpectedly had to up and move in order to give this new baby the best possible chance of survival! We were hoping to be able to prepare a bit more first, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We'll leave everything behind for the sake of one of our own if we must.

However, moving means it's time for another (rather rushed, I'm afraid) colony tour! Presenting: Monster's Basin!!

Here's the whole thing from above. If I had to describe it in one word, I would say "red".

Here is the central room, the kitchen/dining/ritual room. Next to it, we have two bathrooms and our freezer. Magic Man is already packing some of our human leather kneel sheets, as you can see.

Some bedrooms: Top left is Vasso and Laursen's room, top right is Euclid and Socks' room, bottom left is Dire Wolf and Pro (and formerly Bella's) room, and bottom left is Magic Man, Buckeye, and Dopey the razorjack's bedroom.

We also have a small, utilitarian hospital.

Up above the bedrooms and the main room are our dinosaur museum (we can't go without a dinosaur museum) and our research laboratory. Also a better view of the freezer.

Our farms and a huge stack of red bricks that we'll never get to use.

Here's a nutrient-paste barn that we got from a prefab some traders sold us. Mostly so we could see what it was, but our animals seemed to appreciate it.

Bella's room that she was given when she grew up into an adult, the sauna, and Blackdragon, Duchess, and Night Stalker's room.

The wardrobe, the chemfuel room, the miscellaneous devices room, the hot spring, and the small place where we attempted to plant Buckeye's sapling child before we realised it didn't work in this biome.

Finally, our animal pen/archery range. We were very fond of the moose named All-Powerful (she fell out of the sky), but we'll probably release her into the wild (along with a self-tamed hare and three baby wolfchickens some traders gave us) to help us conserve food on our abrupt journey.

And that concludes the tour of Monster's Basin! I wonder where our caravan will take us. Hopefully, somewhere with plenty of fertile soil for a growing sapling child...

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[butterflys-corner]

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗳𝗮𝗿.. ♤

Summary: The monster trio took your lovers' quarrel just a tad bit too far, leaving you to cool off alone. Until you weren't. [Warnings: Swearing, arguing, established relationships, hurtful words, mentions of kidnapping, angst and sad parts!]

Luffy

Your romance with Luffy was never simple. That's what you liked about it.

One day was a lazy nap here and there, sharing snacks together and an occasional game of tag you supervised. Others were full of adventures with your energetic captain, you and one of the others along side him as he explored a new island.

But today was no such casual day.

For weeks now, you along with the other Straw Hats sailed closer and closer to an uncharted island. Nami, Miss Navigator herself, has never heard of an island being here, but her log pose pointed toward it. So onward you went.

The closer you got, the worse everyone felt.

Luffy was more tired and annoyed, Zoro more unfocused, Nami growing evermore well.. bitchy. Robin and Franky alike argued themselves, Chopper growing more antsy under the constant bickering. Usopp and Brook seemed more skittish if it were possible. Jinbei was more to himself, if it even made sense. And of course Sanji was effected in his way, no longer doting on the females aboard how he usually did.

Today the Straw Hats landed on the strange island, the foreboding emptiness making everyone feel on edge. The usually joyous captain included.

You almost never fought, his more airheaded nature being canceled out by your intellectual one. But as the Sunny reached the shore of the island and Zoro dropped anchor, the unease in everyone grew tremendously.

"Luffy," you start quietly, a tremble in your voice. "Maybe we should go to another island? This doesn't seem-"

"Nah. This one is fine. Hop to it, crew!" Your brows furrow and you sidestep, stopping him from gum gumming his way off the deck.

"No. Really, Cap. I don't think this is a good idea-"

"Are you going against your captain's wishes?"

A deadly silence as everyone stops in their tracks.

Luffy never talked to you like that.

"Excuse me?" You cut through the tense silence, arms firmly crossed against your chest- the way everyone knew you wouldn't back down from the argument.

The resident swordsman and sharpshooter had come to the side of either of you, the latter holding scarred hands in the space between you. They shook, unsure of if he should touch you.

"I'm the captain of this crew. That never changed. We're going." The lack of chipper tone in his voice scratched against the very wrong part of your brain as your upper lip curled into a sneer.

"Hey, Y/n, come on.." Usopp tried his best to coax you back, his rough fingertips creeping around your bicep. But you wouldn't back down. No way.

"Well, Captain," you practically spit the venom onto the deck, teeth gritted as you spoke. "I'm keeping my happy ass here. You die, you die on your own."

You didn't mean it, of course. But you knew that was the only way to get through to the rubber man.

"Fine. Stay here. I don't care."

He... didn't care?

"Fine." You huff and tear your arm away from Usopp in a furious snap. You climb into the crows nest and keep watch, the captain and the others' forms disappearing on the horizon.

Your thoughts brewed as you paced the crows nest. They were so loud, you failed to hear someone sneaking their way on board- into the room with you.

A struggled shriek under a firm hand, black spots lining your vision, and a muffled voice of a man is all you remember.

Everyone was gone- Captain Monkey D. Luffy included, while you and the Thousand Sunny were abducted from the island cape.

Zoro

Everyone has off days. It's inevitable.

But damn if you haven't been having an off week, constantly bickering back and forth with your meathead of a swordsman, Zoro.

It was one thing or the other with him recently. He trained too hard and hurt himself (which was rare), you decided to take things in your own hands and made a mess of your duties, you snapped at your best friend, Nami was upset at the both of you- it was a mess of a week.

So, when you realized that Zoro wouldn't give up the petty stalemate, you thought you would. Or you would at least attempt to.

"Zoro," you started with a small breath. You know he wasn't one to easily discuss arguments, preferring avoiding the topic as much as possible.

But this was too important.

"I know you hate this kind of conversation-"

You already noticed his attention going to polishing the blades of his swords. You bite back grievances, taking another calming breath.

"But this is important. We can't keep-"

"Fighting?" He grumbles, not bothering to look up as he dabs polish onto the metal.

"Exactly," you nod. He always had that way of acutely knowing what would come out of your mouth next.

"Well, I'm not fighting you. I'm just doing my own thing." He dismissed you almost too easily as your heart clenched.

"If we aren't really speaking, that's not really fixing anything either-"

"-because not talking is just as bad."

Another annoyingly accurate finishing of your sentence. Another few dabs of polish on the dark grey blade.

"If you can't take this serious-"

"-usly you can just go."

"Okay, really? I'm trying, Roronoa. More than your stubborn ass has."

"I see no point." He hadn't lied, he really didn't see the point in dwelling on a fight he didn't remember the start of.

Your arms cross over your chest, eyes disapproving as you look down at him.

"The point is figuring this shit out and being able to be in the same vicinity without this.. dumb shit that we're doing right now." You grow angrier, hating when he would do this after fights. Act like nothing happened and just keep to himself until you came around.

"You're the one keeping it up," that was the final straw in the hat. You shriek behind gritted teeth and your arms fall from your sides, hands clenched in aggravated claws.

"You know what? Forget it. I don't want shit to do with you right now."

"You'll come back again," Zoro lowly speaks, dark olive eyes looking over the sword blade as he held it against the sunlight.

"Oh, you'll miss me so bad, Roronoa. I'm going into the village. Stay here with your precious swords."

He grunted in response, half of his brain cutting that out of his ears.

Oh, how true it would turn out to be.

You walked through the village of the island, honestly just wanting to blow off steam and reconcile later with your sword weilder. But you wouldn't make it back to the ship.

"You're Roronoa's woman, yeah?" Some random man had spoken over the busy bar. You sat at the counter, drink glass long since empty as you just held onto the rim.

"Who's asking?"

"You're her alright."

The last thing you remember was your head spinning after the impact of.. you didn't know what it was, it was just hard and painful. Your eyes fluttered shut, your head already starting to ache.

And your stubborn pirate hunter Roronoa Zoro stayed up all night waiting for you to return to no avail.

Sanji

You were never a jealous person, really. You were content with your life, your looks, even your choice in lovesick boyfriend.

Sanji, however, was a different breed. He would glare at other men with looks that could kill. He would roll up his sleeves like one of those boxing types, light a cigarette and step to bat over you.

Normally you love when he does it. It made you feel special, worth fighting for. But right now, you couldn't be bothered with showing your favor toward him.

All you asked was for him to come along on a trip to the market.

That's all. A trip to the market.

Now he's nose to nose with a bigger man, who wasn't even bothering you, because you wanted something nearby and the man happened to be in the way.

"Gods, Sanji, let's go already." You practically begged him, the cook not stepping down from the fight he picked. At least there was that.

"Right after I put this bastard in his place, Y/n." You sigh with crossed arms and look at the bags Sanji carried for you. They better not get messed up.

"Fine. I'll meet you at the ship. This is ridiculous." You didn't really wait for him to answer. If he wants to fight then-

"Oh~ What fine ladies you are! Such delicate curls and eyes as beautiful as gemstones!"

That made you stop.

"Excuse me?" You did a full one-eighty, facing the blond cook again. Sure enough, he forgot about the fight he was just in- over you no less- for some island women that passed by.

Like you thought, the lovesick cook was fawning over two ladies. The man before was gone and your annoyance grew tenfold.

"Sanji." His name left your lips in an angry growl, the two ladies looking you up and down, sizing you up in a way.

Paying them no mind, since well they honestly weren't a match for you, you step closer and grab the cook by the suit collar and spinning him around.

"Sanji Vinsmoke, you better be joking."

"I'm sorry, my love! Those beautiful ladies were just too delectable to let pass me by!"

You did not want to hear that.

"Unbelievable," you shake your head, curly brows only swooning at you with his usual interlocked hands at his cheek.

"Don't follow me." You stomped away and left him in the shopping plaza, another woman catching his attention as you did.

So that hopelessly romantic fool left you to walk to the ship alone, but you never made it.

Before you even made it to the docks, a mysterious figure had nabbed you from an alleyway.

Sanji had made it to the ship, a few gifts to soothe your anger with him. He searched your usual hang out spots for you to no avail.

He realized then that something happened to you, and that the last thing that happened was he paid attention to other women.

He had a lot more than just making you upset to make up for later.

Sanji's was a bit rushed, I apologize. I was just tired of seeing this in my drafts ;^;

[Header credits: @yur1ed1ts @artistslayouts ] If I can find the other art tag I will add it!

[glindauplland]

Onwards. Upwards. New horizons.

DOCTOR WHO | 1X06: ROGUE

[7x0]

FORCED CHEMISTRY ── .✦ ꒰ gojo s. ꒱

SYNOPSIS: You're exploring a foreign planet with the galaxy's-most-renowned scientist Gojo Satoru as his assistant. Or rather, was, until you were both knocked unconscious.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader WORD COUNT: 3.6k ⚠︎ CONTENT WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, omegaverse, dubcon, yandere!gojo, mating bites, breeding, knotting, sex pollen, injections

A/N: minors dni. veeery old repost of one of my more popular fics from 2021 (also crossposted to ao3 so don't be alarmed if you see it under a different alias)! we're so back

Heavy are your footfalls that meet the unyielding terrain of the mysterious planet that’s been on you and your fellow scientists’ radars for quite some time now. You exasperatedly thumb through what’s left of your notes while your lanky boss stretches a foot or so ahead of you, long arms inviting the sky into them. He throws his head back over his shoulder to flash an award-winning smile at you. It drops and forms into a pout when you don’t even dignify him with a look.

“Still mad at me?” he asks.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Yes,” you hiss through your teeth, “Gojo you ruined a significant portion of my field notes with your reckless, thoughtless piloting. Again.”

Gojo’s suddenly in front of you, face leaning into yours. You jump, taken aback at the close proximity in which you can smell the aroma of coffee off of him from the stack of unsalvageable notes you had thrown at his face.

“Y/N.”

“Yes, Gojo?”

“You shouldn’t frown so much. Y’know, they say it takes twenty-six more muscles to frown than it does to smile.” he cheerily singsongs as he pulls at the corners of your lips into a mock smile. You swat his hand away, irritation etched deeply between your brows. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re gonna get wrinkles the more you keep contorting that pretty face of yours. C’mon, follow my example!” Gojo says as he beams down at you. You continue staring at him with such blatant unamusement that he practically deflates and kicks a rock away dejectedly. He mumbles under his breath, causing you to quirk an eyebrow.

“Have something you want to say?” you inquire before he mumbles again, this time facing away from you. 

Whining, he turns to fix puppy-dog eyes on you. “I already said I was sorry…”

You suck in a harsh breath, the irritation rolling off of you in waves. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it you absolute idiot! You knew how important those notes were. I needed those to work off of for Yaga’s report and you just—!”

“What if I told you I already submitted a report for you using the notes you like to just leave around where any old idiot like me can pick them up?” Gojo grins seeing you sigh and rake a hand through your hair.

Before any words could leave your mouth, a bellowing boom shakes the ground somewhere in the distance, acid green liquid spewing high into the air. You both share a glance.

“Adventure awaits, dearest Y/N!” your moron of a boss exclaims before marching onwards towards the source of the booming noise. You follow in his footsteps, trying in vain to match his strides. Why’d the damned bastard have to be so tall?

As you two cautiously approach the area of concern, Gojo quickly throws a set of technologically-advanced headphones at you which you catch effortlessly and immediately wear. Beyond the planet’s flora and fauna that spreads into the horizon, a geyser comes into your line of sight. Another rumble reverberates through the ground as that same liquid from earlier shoots out of the hole. Stabilizing your feet, you continue on alongside your partner.

“Hand me a reinforced test tube,” Gojo tells you in a businesslike manner. “We need a sample of that to bring back to HQ. Stay here.”

You nod solemnly as you place the tube in the waiting palm of his hand, expecting your boss to come bounding back to you excited at the prospect of new material to research.

What you didn’t expect when you went to search for him, was the blow to the back of your head, effectively shutting the lights of your world off, submerging you into total-encompassing darkness.

Your head felt leaden as you tried to raise it with much effort; the rest of your body felt strung out much alike to that of a harp’s strings. It soon clicked that that was due to the spread eagle position you were in, suspended in mid-air, naked, wrists and ankles encircled with sturdy shackles that upon closer inspection (and by that, you mean squinting) seemed to be of extraterrestrial origin. Your senses were overwhelmed with the blinding fluorescent lights that swathed the room you were in, which appeared to be an observational room of sorts if the one-way window is anything to go by. A groan comes from your left, indicating that you were not alone.

You turn to see your superior in a similar predicament as you, his signature high-tech shades nowhere to be seen thus allowing his crystalline blue hues to be bare for all to see. He’s blearily blinking, and just as naked as you are. You couldn’t help the blush that dusts the apples of your cheeks when your eyes trail down his lean body of their own accord.

“So you two are finally awake.”

Your gaze darts around in order to locate the source of the voice until Gojo’s own voice reaches your ears. “Don’t bother. It’s communicating with us via telepathy.”

Bewilderment and puzzlement is soon replaced by anger, and you pull at your shackles fruitlessly. “Who are you and who gave you permission to probe around in my head?” you shout at the glass a few feet away from you.

“Relax, descendant of Gaia. We cannot root around your heads as much as we’d like, however we can translate our thoughts in our own mother tongue into yours within your thick-headed craniums for the convenience of all parties.” The disembodied voice responds, skipping a beat as if to allow that information to be absorbed properly. Your eye twitches at the insult. “We’ll cut to the chase. We have been watching and waiting for you foolish Gaialings to step foot onto our planet and your audacity will not go unpunished. You see, we give you puny humans a new purpose and life here.” Wait— so you and Gojo weren’t the only humans to have attempted to explore this luminous body? Your mind reels with a plethora of questions that get interrupted by mechanical whirrings grating in your ears the louder and closer it comes. You gasp when you see the clawed ends of a robotic contraption clutching two separate syringes of some sort of questionable, red, viscous serum. Gojo remains silent beside you.

“What the hell is this?” you cautiously ask, eyeing the syringe wearily.

“Well, we’re glad you asked,” the mystifying voice coolly states. “That serum will gift you a certain set of new qualities that determine which… class you fall under. You have your alphas— those with either a newfound or amplified domineering disposition and changes to their genitals which may result in a knot at the base, or a knot at the base of a penis that will grow from the vulva when the subject presents. Next are the omegas— the ones who perpetuate the growth of our dearest slaves. They have a tendency to be rare, thus being prized amongst the human population here. Heat cycles affect them greatly, and will accordingly need to be placated by an alpha whose job will be to breed and thus impregnate the omega. The knotting process will ensure a healthy litter of pups to come the next month or so.” 

Gojo pipes up. “Do you know how we would present ahead of time?”

“We do not have a surefire way yet to predetermine what category you will fall under, so this will be as exciting a reveal as it will be for you to us. However, we’ve come to find that most females fall under the omega class while the alphas are typically the males; of course this is not true for every case but it is likely that that will be how each of you present.”

“And could you be so kind as to elaborate on the nature of this society you have cultivated for those of our kind?”

There’s a reverberating chuckle before the response that makes your stomach drops comes. “It’s quite the dog-eat-dog world, we’re afraid to say. Alphas fight to the death over the ownership of omegas, omegas try to find ways to off themselves, so on and so forth. Now enough of the chitchat. Let the procedure begin.”

“Wait—!” you start, only for the next words to die within your throat as the sharp tip of the syringe punctures your thigh. You can hear Gojo audibly grit his teeth, and you bite your tongue to curb the scream that threatened to burst forth from your mouth. The pain was immeasurable, white-hot heat that shot all throughout your body ruthlessly.

Suddenly your restraints release you unceremoniously to the floor, Gojo following as his detached as well. Upon contact with the floor, you both begin to convulse, screams of agony and strained noises escaping from two pairs of lips. You could’ve sworn you could feel your DNA rearranging itself to leave room for the serum’s properties to make themselves at home.

The torment the serum put your body under was much too excruciating; excruciating enough for your consciousness to slip away once more and for blackness to fill your vision.

Red. That was all you could see when your eyes groggily opened, and you ponder if you had made it to hell before it registers in your brain that the red was simply the paint that enveloped the ceiling of the new room you were in. You muster the energy to sit up, bouncing slightly atop of what seems to be plush bedding with a plethora of pillows brimming with down.

To your side, a familiar presence can be felt, especially when the owner of said presence shifts around into a sitting position next to you.

You open your mouth to say something as you turn your head only to be met with more nude Gojo.

“Like what you see?” he cheekily asks while wiggling his brows. Before you can answer with a retort he goes on with flapping his lips again. “Actually wait no— don’t answer that. The answer itself is already written all over that cute little face of yours.”

Your eye twitches but the heat rising to the apples of your cheeks betray any and all notion of annoyance your eye twitch showed and you huff as you look away when your bastardly boss winks at you flirtatiously.

Crossing your arms together to hide your breasts along with pulling your knees up to your chest, you speak after a beat or two of silence, suddenly nervous at the potential of the silence stretching on for far too long between you two. “Don’t suppose you have a plan to get out of here, huh?”

“Babycakes, I literally just regained consciousness.” He looks down at himself. “And so did Gojo Jr. it seems.”

You scrunch your face up, shielding your face with your hands. “Eugh, some things are better left unknown Gojo.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. Care to help out your lonely boss a lit— Mmf!” The heart-shaped throw pillow you hurtle at his face comically knocks him back.

You didn’t want to announce it as proudly as Gojo did (due to his admittedly impressive length), but you felt yourself getting wet. The reality of your predicament hadn’t fully dawned on you yet until you replay what the alien explained to you both in your head. Knotting? Breeding…?

The blush returns to your face with twice the ferocity it did before. Did that mean…?

“It’s exactly what you think.” Gojo comments as if he was reading your mind. “Don’t look at me like that— the dawning realization on your face speaks volumes.” he goes on to say, yawning with his long limbs outstretched.

Unfortunately, you weren’t allowed much time to let the prospect of what was to happen sink in in its entirety as some sort of gaseous substance begins to meld with the air of the room. You frown.

“What’s all this?”

Gojo studies the gas with keen eyes for a moment, and says the words you half-expected and were half-afraid to hear. “It’s some sort of sex pollen and also a way to speed up the process of our presentation, I believe.”

“Shit, Gojo what do we do?” you ask in a rising panic.

“I think—” starts Gojo, who gets interrupted by the gas seeping deeply into his lungs, resulting in a coughing fit that wracked his whole body.

You begin having a coughing fit of your own as the gas infiltrates your hyperventilating mouth and nostrils. Your mind was overcome with a haziness that soon developed into one of a burning desire to be claimed and bred, rationale taking a backseat to libido. With a whine, you can feel slick beginning to trickle out of your opening, slowly increasing in volume; your body temperature significantly rising.

So caught up in the heat overtaking your senses and body you were, that you failed to notice the growing feral presence in the room with you until your half-lidded eyes locked with ones with pupils blown so wide that only a ring of darkened blue was left. 

Panting even more, a louder attention-seeking whine escapes your lips, your lust-addled omega brain becoming more and more desperate for the touch and mark of an alpha. “Pl-Please Gojo… Make it stop…” you plead while you shakily snake a hand to your sex in a futile attempt to relieve yourself. His nostrils flare before he has you pinned against the sheets, one large hand smacking your own away from your core.

A low rumble from within his chest that sounds like a possessive growl has you bucking your hips up to meet his angry, leaky cockhead.

“I know baby, you want your cute little cunt stuffed and overflowing with my seed, don’t you?” Gojo coos as he folds your body into a mating press which effectively puts your glistening pussy on display for his hungry eyes to take in in all its beautiful entirety.

You feverishly nod. “Just— Just give it to me already! This is unbearable!”

“I’ll make it all better,” he promises before lining himself up with your desperately clenching entrance; in one swift motion, the tip of his engorged cock meets your cervix, having you howl as you tighten up instinctively.

Gojo’s mouth hangs open and you swipe a slick-coated finger against his bottom lip, to which he graciously licks clean. He moans appreciatively at your taste. “Mmm, fuck— I’m going to cum if you don’t loosen up a little—”

“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” you pant out, the first tendrils of annoyance slithering into you. “Move already.”

“So bossy,” he chuckles. “Your wish is my command.”

He doesn’t waste any time in finding a barbarous rhythm with his thrusts, effectively rendering you unable to do anything but cry out his name and scratch your nails down his toned back, enough so that they left red lines in their wake. Gojo didn’t seem to mind; in fact, it seemed to spur him on even more.

Sweat slid down the vast expanses of both your bodies as praise tumbled out of your alpha’s lips.

“Your scent and taste is so intoxicating—like fresh flowers and vanilla extract—I think I can get drunk off of it alone,” Gojo sighs, cherry red tongue laving up the side of your neck.

You take note of his scent as well, deeming it somewhere between sandalwood and pine. It was heady and stupefying; the type of scent you were sure that would have any omega fall to their knees before him.

He then noses at the junction between your neck and shoulder, and next you’re keening at the scrape of his canines against your flushed flesh. ‘Claim me! Claim me! Claim me!’ screams your mind. You must have said something out loud because Gojo finally stops toying with you and seeks out the perfect spot for a mating bite, teeth piercing and unrelenting even as you whimper over the pain.

Not long after, that pain tangos with the pleasure his cock brings by filling you up again and again. It was a combination of deliciously contrasting sensations that had you seeing pure white— it had your eyes rolling back and your pink tongue lolling out of your mouth.

“God, I never knew you were capable of such a sexy facial expression,” the alpha above you comments in awe as he takes a mental snapshot of the face you were making.

You don’t give a coherent response but Gojo didn’t seem to care. Filth continues spewing from his mouth and you had half a mind to process it all.

“C’mon, I know I haven’t completely fucked you stupid yet. Tell me how much you love this alpha cock.”

“I love, love, love it! Please don’t stop! Gimme more! I want your children!” you babble, incapable of focusing on anything else other than the way your new alpha was breeding you. Your moans only serve to amplify his need to ensure you’d bear his litter the next coming month.

“And who owns this pretty omega pussy?”

“I— Mmmh…”

A slap against your cheek echoes around the four walls you were both imprisoned in, and it clears the fog in your brain just enough for you to answer him back properly when he repeats himself, this time with more of an intense edge.

“You do! You do, Gojo! I need your knot!”

His chest heaves with a growl. “Can’t wait for those teats to fill with milk and that belly of yours to be round and fat with mini-Gojos. You’re going to be such a good mama.”

The alpha before you takes a nipple into his mouth to suck on harshly as a pale hand rises up to give attention and knead at your other breast. “Those little munchkins better share mama’s milk cause daddy has an appetite too,” he makes known after he stops playing with your sensitive bud in his mouth with a ‘pop!’

He then licks his way from your breast, to his mating mark, then to your lips; your mouth was already open so the rutting alpha took the opportunity to shove his tongue into it. His lips merge with yours in a searingly passionate kiss that further stimulates the tightening sensation that rested low in your stomach and was on the verge of coming undone any second now.

And then it happens.

Slim hips stutter in their pursuit to attain their high, their owner quickly pushing the fuller part of the base of his cock into you. It was a mildly burning but not unwelcome stretch that made you definitively lose it.

Your body seizes up as immense pleasure overrides any thought you have made prior to its arrival, and your toes start to curl while your wet walls lock down on the cock that doesn’t cease in penetrating you over and over, coaxing the rest of your orgasm out of you. Stars dance across your vision, your breasts rise and fall with a regularity, and you still find it in you to emit a cry when the bulbous knot inside of you increases in its breadth.

Gojo leans down to rest his forehead against yours, sweat mingling with yours and rosy pink lips agape as he shares breaths with you.

“How do you feel?” comes his concerned voice.

Your eyes flicker down to where your bodies meet, before connecting with his gaze again.

“Satisfied. And full.” comes your answer.

He smiles and gives you a fleeting kiss with adoration for you—his new lifelong partner—shining through his eyes.

You were elated at your union with the alpha being successful, and you mewl at how copious amounts of cum are driven into your womb, making Gojo smile wider as he rocks into you back and forth slowly, making sure his seed takes.

The mating process had taken a toll on your now exhausted body and soon, your eyelids flutter closed. Scenes of domesticity in your near future begin playing in your mind as you think one last thought before a deep slumber engulfs you: ‘Maybe life as an omega here wouldn’t be so bad, as long as I have the universe’s greatest scientist turned alpha—my alpha—alongside me.’

“What’s the meaning of this? We had a deal you conniving Gaialing!”

“Your first mistake was thinking you could negotiate fairly with Gojo Satoru.” states one of the special grade soldiers currently holding the lead extraterrestrial at gunpoint.

“And your second,” another chimes in, “was finalizing a deal with Gojo Satoru.” She grinds the sole of her combat boot into one of the lifeless alien’s faces that lay in front of her.

“Right Gojo?” one more speaks with a shit-eating grin.

The man in question mirrors his grin as he stands with his hands in his lab coat pockets behind the soldiers, pleased that everything went according to plan and that his trusted team of mercenaries triumphed over the natives of the planet that underestimated humans.

He thinks about how you, his now precious omega sleeping soundly in his arms bridal-style, was his first rejection. How you refused his confession, preferring to keep the relationship between you two plainly professional. But he knew. He knew you had feelings for him, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Catching wind of what the aliens on this planet were up to had to have been the best intel he’d ever received, and he’d have to thank Mei Mei for that.

“Give us your word, sir.”

Gojo starts to walk towards the spaceship waiting outside for him and his team, speaking in a commanding tone as he does so.

“Leave no alien behind and meet me outside in five.”

He looks down at you with nothing but love. You looked so serene, and you were at the very least subconscious of your alpha’s presence because you snuggle in closer into the comfort of Gojo’s chest.

Finally, he had you where he wanted you, and the wicked smirk on his face was evidence of that.

[seoulmatez]

𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁

the new farmhand at your grandpa's ranch is trouble, and trouble has taken a liking to you.

• boothill x f!reader ﾉ 2k wc ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ teasing ﾉ soooo many petnames :3 (little lady, darlin', princess, love, sweetheart)

masterlist ♡ next part

The new farmhand at your grandfather’s ranch is trouble.

He shouldn’t be, not with the way your grandpa speaks so highly of him—he’s exactly the kind of help this place needed, he tells you. Starts on time, is thorough in his work, and takes good care of all that your grandfather holds dear. You should love him simply for that—taking a weight off the old man’s shoulders and putting his heart at ease—but you’ve seen an entirely different side of the so-called saint.

Ever since you arrived at the ranch a few days ago, the one called Boothill has been a pain in your neck. It took nothing more than you stepping out of your car for him to label you that city girl, the “little lady” who looks like she’s never stepped foot in mud a day in her life.

From that moment onward, it’s been nothing but sly remarks at your expense. You don’t miss the chuckles he makes no effort to hide as you refamiliarize yourself with the animals and get used to the scent of hay and manure. His not-so-subtle smirks when you’re simply passing by have been the most irking. Your mere presence is seemingly a joke to Boothill.

You’ve made it your mission to steer clear of the man but the task is proving to be difficult. The fact that he’s now living in what you used to know as one of the guest bedrooms coupled with your grandpa’s oblivious albeit innocent nature seems to be enough to throw a wrench in that plan of yours. 

Your trip here was meant to be a relaxing getaway from the hustle and bustle of city life but you’ve only taken on a new role as Boothill’s personal assistant if the tray with two glasses of lemonade is any indication. If it were up to you, you’d be enjoying a peaceful breakfast without worrying about the man bothering you but it’s just your luck that your grandfather caught you before you could make the meal, politely asking you to deliver a cold beverage to Boothill who has been working since the sun rose over the horizon.

Luckily for the farmhand, you can’t say no to your grandpa.

That’s how you find yourself wandering the grounds in your satin pajama set and the boots your grandpa prepared for your arrival. Your legs move in muscle memory as you navigate the vast stretch of land in search of Boothill. Thankfully, you don’t have to go much farther, catching sight of the man at the entrance of the barn.

He’s gone for a simple look today—a white t-shirt and jeans paired with the dirtied boots you haven’t gone a day without seeing him in. His shirt is already stained and is darker around the neckline, dampened with sweat. He’s made an effort to tie back his black and white strands of hair, though, a few of the shorter ones have escaped and frame his face. The hat you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in, strangely, isn’t sitting atop his head.

He must see you approaching out of the corner of his eye because he turns to face you, an immediate grin taking over his lips. It makes you grip the tray tighter.

He looks you up and down as he pulls off his gloves, stuffing both in his back pocket. When gray eyes settle on yours, he tells you, “Nice get up.”

You roll your eyes because you saw a comment like that coming. Everything you do down to the way you dress is scrutinized when it comes to him. Even though you’ve only been here a short while, you’ve come to expect this kind of behavior from Boothill.

He huffs out a laugh at your reaction before his gaze falls to the tray in your hands and the glasses that sit on it. “That for me, darlin’?”

Against your will, your heart jumps in your chest. That, you haven’t grown accustomed to. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to him throwing around pet names at you like it’s nothing, Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. It’s easier to blame the heat blooming in your cheeks on the sun’s beaming rays rather than Boothill's sweet talking.

You hold the tray out to him, hoping the effect of his words isn’t visible on your face. “Courtesy of Grandpa.” You can’t have him thinking this gesture was born from the kindness of your heart. His teasing would be merciless then.

“Of course,” he drawls, grabbing one of the glasses and swallowing a few gulps. The shine of the lemonade is left on his lips when they pull away from the brim, his tongue poking out from between them to lick up the lingering drops. Your eyes remain on his lips longer than they should, long enough to see them curl up into that annoyingly handsome smile. “Little miss city girl wouldn’t be caught dead out here on her own accord.”

He can only stay charming for so long. “Did you miss the whole part when my grandpa told you I grew up here?”

“No, no, I caught that.” He takes another sip of his drink. “It’s just that you strike me as the type who spent more time riding the horses than cleaning up after ‘em.”

You keep quiet and nurse your glass of lemonade because the only other option besides lying is telling him that he’s right. In your defense, what ten-year-old wants to spend their summer hauling hay and shoveling up horse crap?

“Look,” you start, “I’m not some delicate glass figure who can’t get her hands dirty. I’m perfectly capable of helping out.”

Boothill raises his eyebrows, a glint of humor sparkling in his steel irises. You know the look of a challenge when you see it and it almost makes you regret trying to defend yourself. “Oh yeah? Then the princess wouldn’t mind lending me a hand?”

“I wouldn’t,” you tell him. Contrary to your statement, you really don’t want to spend more time with him than necessary, even if that means proving a point and settling some stupid argument. Your mind races to find a believable excuse that’ll let you off the hook. “But I’m barely dressed to do any work. Another time, maybe.”

He waves his hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry, darlin’. What I've got in mind ain’t much work and won’t steal too much of your time.”

You nervously chew your cheek as Boothill takes the tray that’s tucked under your arm, setting the now empty glasses on it and finding a place for them to rest. He nods his head in the direction he wants you to follow and, reluctantly, you do just that. He casts a glance over his shoulder to look at you. “Just help me get this hay inside the barn, will ya?”

The job seems easy enough, a surprisingly straightforward request from Boothill who seems to derive pleasure from giving you a hard time. Too easy, you think to yourself as he heaves one of the rectangular bales of hay from the top of the stack. The task looks effortless when he does it, a short grunt being the only suggestion of exertion on his end.

He disappears into the red building and you take his temporary departure as an opportunity to pick up a bale of your own. You grab a hold of the twine keeping the hay in its shape and immediately grimace at the way the fodder pokes and prods at your palms. You’re tempted to let go and step away but you have a point to prove and plan on doing so. With a groan, you lift the bale, or at least try to. It’s heavier than you expect it to be and the scratching against your exposed legs is uncomfortable, sure to get worse with the distance you’re meant to walk.

You’re about to drop the bale back in place when a pair of arms reach around you, calloused hands joining yours to carry the collection of hay. Boothill’s unexpected presence catches you off guard and the proximity of his mouth to your ear makes your breath catch in your throat. “Having a bit of trouble, love?”

Love? Your skin prickles with goosebumps at yet another pet name. This time, it’s more difficult to blame the heat running beneath your skin on the sun. It takes a moment for you to find your voice and when you do, the one you manage to get out refutes his claim. “I’m not. I told you I wasn’t dressed for this.”

He snorts at your reply as though he can see right through the flimsy excuse. “Right, well, you’re in my way, so why don’t I help you with this one?”

Before you can protest, Boothill is on his way, dragging you along with him. Your steps match his, his bigger boots trailing behind yours as the two of you walk the path to the growing supply he likely started before you interrupted. You’re released from your place between the bale and Boothill when he drops it on top of the other.

You’re free to make a move, to slip away from the charged air and reclaim your personal space. Instead of doing so, you simply turn around to face him. You’re met with his broad chest before you tip your head up to meet his eye. “I could have done that on my own.”

“I’m sure you could have,” he says, but the smile pulling at his lips tells another story. He reaches behind him with one hand to pull the gloves from his pockets, waving them between you as an offer. “These might help.”

You happily take the gloves as he takes his leave, slipping your hands into the protective gear. They’re larger than you need and there’s extra space in them but you don’t mind, not if they’ll help you show Boothill that you refuse to be reduced to some city girl.

And they do help, at least with shielding your hands from the unpleasant sensation of hay against them. The bales are just as heavy and just as awkward to haul but you’re able to get the job done, nonetheless. For every one you carry, Boothill lugs two more past you. His familiarity with the job means the two of you are finished within a reasonable amount of time. 

You drop the final bale with the rest, a relieved sigh pushing past your lips at a job well done. Boothill stands off to the side and whistles as you snatch the gloves off, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “Well, would you look at that.”

“Surprised?” you ask, tossing his gloves back at him.

“Honey, anyone can hoist some hay.” He catches the gloves with ease, stuffing them back in his pocket. You’re almost offended at how easily he dismisses your efforts but you don’t have time to let the annoyance sprout before he’s approaching you, tipping your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him. “Though, I doubt they’d look as pretty as you doing it.”

You can’t tell whether he’s trying to get a rise out of you or if he truly stands by his statement. All you know for sure is that his sugary words and the feel of his skin against your face leave you unmistakably flustered, so much so that you can’t control the erratic beat of your heart and can’t stop the little nagging voice in the back of your head from whispering that you don’t dislike him as much as you let on.

Boothill is trouble, but not in the way you thought he would be.

“I have to go.” You knock his hand away and turn on your heel in a rush to get back to the house, far away from Boothill.

You can escape the sight of him, the feel of him, but not the sound of him as he yells after you. “See you around, sweetheart!”

sua here ( ≧ᗜ≦) thanks for reading! if u enjoyed, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Disembarking

The waters near the port city of Pelagia were strangely calm. The tide was high. Waves washed over the rocky shores below the docks, giving some measure of relief to the small life that nestled within its myriad tidepools.

Already there were workers who were assisting in the offloading of goods. Only a small number of the crewmen and the paladins aboard the Majesty of Twilight were actually disembarking here; the majority of them would sail onwards to a proper deep dock off to the west. Their High Marshal would await them and surely give them new marching orders.

Bishop Llorente Colmenares was one of the first to step from the smaller escort ship onto the docks. His personal attendants offloaded his belongings, and he had them taken in the direction of one of the more opulent local inns. The church was providing their lodgings for the evening before the return to Alta Torrezon. On most occasions, the landing party would simply march on to the city -- it was only a half-night's journey before you saw its walls -- but considering the number of humans that were with them, remaining for the night was required.

Arturo and Lazaro each carried their own things at their insistence. Arturo carried a chest of items over one shoulder, the shield he had requisitioned strapped to his back alongside a makeshift holster for his spear. Lazaro had his own smaller chest full of his usual ritualistic paraphernalia. Arturo put his chest down on the docks, watching as the sun began to sink below the horizon, tinging the skies orange and whisping the clouds with violet.

"Good to be home," he said with a nod. "Now, let's go make sure everyone else is accounted for!"

"I am sure they will be able to find us," Lazaro said wryly. "We should find Koda, however. I want to make sure he is safe."

[anneapocalypse]

So this may not be news to others, but this is the first I've come across it! According to Leonesaurus, who uploaded this capture:

Urianger was being roleplayed by a Square-Enix dev and interacting with players for his first appearance in-game before they implemented him into the story as an actual character. This took place at Camp Horizon on the old Selbina/Ridill server in 2011. Urianger would give players who visited him a 10 min buff for Quickened, Regen, HP and MP increase! Arcanist powers galore! Speaking of Arcanist, you can see on his back the original Arcanist weapon that was intended by the old FF XIV 1.0 team before Yoshida took over and retconned them into wielding books instead from ARR onward.

And here's the key dialogue:

Outside the Adventurer's Guild in Ul'dah:

Alfgar: Hearken adventurers of Eorzea! Ware you the venomous words of false prophets! Alfgar: Adventurer! I ask that you heed not the foul lies of those claiming knowledge of future happenings! Player Character: Who are these false prophets? Alfgar: They appear near aetheryte camps, bedraped in shadowy robes, preaching their untruths to any and all who will listen. Keep your distance, traveler, lest you become tangled in their web of deceit. PC: Are we in any danger? Alfgar: We are all in danger, for fear can drive a man to terrible deeds, and it is seeds of fear that these farls prophets wish to plant in our hearts and our minds. They are not the Archons of legend. They are not our saviors. They only foster unrest.

At Camp Horizon:

Urianger Augurelt: A shadow hangeth o'er the realm, growing blacker with each passing day!

Urianger Augurelt: Darkness descendeth, but surrender not to despair! For the future is forged in the flames of the present!

Urianger Augurelt: I am a mere messenger, entrusted with words of prophecy.

Urianger Augurelt: Awoken but recently to the truth, I come to stir those yet aslumber.

Urianger Augurelt: Ne'er till land consumes sun can sea bear moons. Heavens spew crimson fire, hells seep black dooms.

Urianger Augurelt: The senary sun yields the septenary moon - expelling the Astral, beckoning the Umbral. So saith the eternal wisdom of Mezaya Thousand Eyes.

Urianger Augurelt: Open thine eyes, ye seekers of truth! Stand and bear witness to the path that must be trod!

Urianger Augurelt: Awoken but recently to the truth, I come to stir those yet aslumber.

Urianger Augurelt: To spread word of the coming darkness and stoke the flames in your hearts, that they may light the way.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 15 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇please don’t kill me for this chapter…

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

After days of tireless work, the crew stood back and admired their finished ships. Though patched with a mix of new wood and salvaged fragments from the wreckage, the vessels were sturdy enough to sail once more. Sweat glistened on their brows, but a sense of accomplishment hung in the air. Telemachus walked along the shore, inspecting the craftsmanship of each ship. He ran his hand over the freshly hammered nails and tightly secured ropes, nodding in satisfaction. “It’ll hold,” he said, loud enough for the crew to hear. “You’ve all done well.”

Florus wiped his hands on his tunic, smiling faintly. “Demeter willing, they’ll get us to Skiaphos.”

Cassander, leaning on a newly polished oar, smirked. “And let’s hope the women there are worth all this trouble.”

Eurymachus chuckled. “They’d better be. I didn’t get splinters in my hands for nothing.”

Druses rolled his eyes, tightening the final knot on the sails. “The only thing waiting for us in Skiaphos is a fight. Maybe focus on that instead of your fantasies.”

Antinous, who had been unusually quiet, stood apart from the group, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. “The sooner we set sail, the sooner we can get to her.”

Pisistratus approached, his arms crossed. “We’ll need to pace ourselves. The ships are rebuilt, but they’re not indestructible. Let’s not let desperation sink us before we even reach the enemy.”

Telemachus turned to the crew. “Load up the supplies. We set sail at dawn.”

As the sun rose the next morning, the crew pushed the ships into the water, the waves lapping eagerly at the hulls. They climbed aboard, each man taking his position. Oars hit the water in unison, the sails unfurling to catch the wind. Telemachus stood at the helm, his gaze unwavering as the ships cut through the waves. “Hold steady,” he commanded.

Eurymachus and Cassander took to rowing with exaggerated enthusiasm, teasing each other about who could row faster. “You row like my grandmother!” Cassander laughed.

“At least my grandmother doesn’t need two hands to lift a jug of wine,” Eurymachus shot back.

Antinous scowled at them. “Would you two shut up? Save your energy for something useful.”

Druses sat near the mast, sharpening his blade. “If they’re not going to shut up, maybe I’ll throw them overboard. That’ll quiet them down.”

Pisistratus sighed, leaning against the railing. “And to think, we still have days of this ahead of us.”

Florus, standing near the bow, looked out at the open sea. “At least the ships are holding steady. That’s a good sign.” Telemachus tightened his grip on the wheel, his mind on y/n and Adonis. The crew’s banter faded into the background as the ships sailed onward, each man knowing the battles ahead would be far more grueling than anything they had faced thus far.

——

Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Adonis, her mind drifting back to distant memories of freedom. Her longing expression didn’t escape Raphael as he entered the room. His eyes, sharp and unrelenting, bore into her. “Why do you always look so far away?” Raphael asked, his voice calm but laced with an underlying menace.

She flinched but didn’t respond. Her silence only stoked his frustration. He strode toward her, taking Adonis from her arms and placing him gently into his crib. Then, he turned back to her, his demeanor growing darker. “You belong to me,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to her feet. “Yet you sit here, dreaming of someone else, don’t you?”

She shook her head quickly, her voice trembling. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Raphael cut her off, his nails digging into her arm as he pulled her closer. Her eyes widened as he dragged her to a chair and forced her to sit. From a drawer, he retrieved a small heated iron nail with a sharp tip. The sight of it made her heart race.

“W-What are you doing?” she stammered, struggling against his hold.

He didn’t answer immediately, instead pinning her arm to the table. His lips curled into a cruel smile. “If you’re so set on forgetting who you belong to, then I’ll make sure you never forget again.” Before she could protest, Raphael’s nails pressed against the tender skin of her forearm. With sharp, deliberate motions, he began carving his name into her flesh. She screamed in pain, tears streaming down her face as he worked methodically.

“Ra-pha-el,” he spelled out coldly, his voice devoid of sympathy as he carved the letters. Then, next to his name, he etched a small heart, the symbol mocking her pain. When he was finished, he leaned back, admiring his work. Blood welled up from the marks, but he didn’t seem to care. He grabbed a cloth and wiped her arm clean, the red letters of his name stark against her skin.

“There,” he said, his voice soft but menacing. “Now you’ll never forget. You’re mine, my little birdie, and no one else’s.” She sat trembling, cradling her injured arm. The sting of the wound was nothing compared to the deep ache in her chest. Her tears fell silently as she dared not meet his gaze.

Raphael leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ll understand one day,” he murmured, his tone almost tender. “This is love, y/n. You just need to learn it.” She sat frozen in the chair, her arm throbbing in pain as blood trickled from the fresh marks Raphael had carved into her skin. Her tears blurred her vision, but she refused to look at him as he returned with a bandage and a cloth soaked in warm water.

Raphael knelt beside her, his expression unnervingly soft now, a stark contrast to the cold brutality he’d just displayed. “Shh, my little birdie,” he cooed, gently taking her arm despite her flinch. “You’re shaking. Let me take care of you. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Sheturned her head away, biting her trembling lip to hold back a sob.

He dabbed at her wound with the warm cloth, cleaning the blood away with surprising tenderness. “Oh, you poor thing,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her wrist just below the fresh marks. “My birdie’s got a boo-boo. But don’t worry, I’ll make it all better.” His babyish tone only made her stomach churn. She wanted to pull her arm away, but the weight of his grip and the fear in her heart kept her still.

“There, there,” Raphael crooned as he wrapped the bandage carefully around her arm. His fingers were gentle, but she could feel the possessiveness in his every touch. “You’re so brave, y/n. See? All better now.”

He tied off the bandage and leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of the dressing with a lingering kiss. “See how much I care for you? I’d never let anyone hurt you, my little birdie.”

She finally found her voice, though it was weak and shaky. “You… you’re the one who hurt me,” she whispered, her tears spilling over again.

Raphael paused, tilting his head as if confused by her words. Then he cupped her cheek, brushing her tears away with his thumb. “Oh, don’t say it like that,” he said softly, his tone dripping with condescension. “Sometimes love hurts, y/n. But it’s only because I care so deeply for you. I just need you to understand.”

He pulled her into his arms, cradling her like she was fragile glass. She stiffened, but he ignored it, stroking her hair as if she hadn’t just been sobbing in pain moments before. “You’re mine, little birdie,” he murmured against her temple. “Forever. And I’ll take care of you, always.”

She stared blankly at the wall behind him, the weight of his words and the suffocating hold he had on her sinking deeper into her chest. All she could do was sit silently as he held her close, humming a soft, almost lullaby-like tune as if he hadn’t just marked her as his prisoner.

——

The crew finally docked on the shores of Skiaphos under the cover of night. The waves lapped softly against the hull as they carefully secured the ship. Telemachus motioned for everyone to keep quiet, his eyes scanning the darkened coastline for any signs of patrols. “Set up camp here for now,” Telemachus whispered, his voice low but commanding. “We can’t risk heading straight into the city without a plan.”

But Antinous, seething with impatience, was already pacing the sands. His fists clenched, and his jaw was tight with barely contained rage. “We don’t have time for plans!” he hissed. “Y/n is in that palace, suffering at the hands of that monster. Every second we wait—”

“Antinous,” Druses interrupted sharply, stepping in front of him. “Do you want to save your sister or get all of us killed before we even step foot inside the city?” Antinous glared at him, his breathing heavy, but before he could retort, the faint glimmer of the palace lights in the distance caught his eye. Without another word, he took off running toward them, his single minded determination blinding him to everything else.

“Antinous!” Telemachus hissed, his voice sharp but hushed. Pisistratus groaned in frustration and sprinted after him. Druses rolled his eyes, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he followed. By the time they caught up, Antinous was halfway up a rocky hill overlooking the palace, crouched low but clearly eyeing the structure like a predator sizing up its prey. Pisistratus grabbed his arm, yanking him back with more strength than Antinous anticipated.

“Are you insane?” Pisistratus hissed. “Do you want them to see us?”

“I’m not just going to sit around while she’s in there!” Antinous snarled, his voice barely a whisper but filled with venom.

Druses grabbed him by the other arm, his grip like iron. “We get it. You’re angry. You want blood. But if you storm in there now, you’ll only bring it on yourself, and on y/n.”

Antinous struggled against their hold, his chest heaving with frustration. “Let me go! I’ll take them all on myself if I have to!”

“Stop acting like a reckless fool!” Pisistratus snapped, dragging him back down the hill. “We need to set up camp, assess their defenses, and figure out a strategy. You charging in there now won’t save her, it’ll doom her.”

Antinous finally stopped struggling, though his body remained tense. His eyes burned with frustration and desperation as he allowed himself to be led back to the others. “You don’t understand,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s my sister. I should’ve protected her. I—”

“And you will,” Druses cut in, his voice surprisingly calm. “But not like this. We’ll get her back, Antinous. I swear it. But you need to trust us.” Antinous didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the palace lights in the distance. He knew they were right, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He clenched his fists, silently vowing that when the time came, Raphael would regret ever laying a hand on y/n.

——

The distant murmur of voices stirred the night air, faint but urgent. A servant girl, carrying a tray of fresh linens, paused in the shadowed halls of the palace, her ears pricking at the unfamiliar sounds. The low growls of argument, the shuffling of hurried feet. Her pulse quickened. She knew the city well—knew the way its streets whispered in the dark, the way unrest often started as little more than a ripple. And she recognized desperation when she heard it. Without a moment’s hesitation, she turned on her heel and rushed toward the inner chambers of the palace.

Raphael traced the swollen skin of y/n’s wrist with a lazy smile, his fingers ghosting over the fresh brand he had etched into her flesh only hours before. The skin was red and inflamed, the raw wound forming the letters of his name, accompanied by a small heart as if this were some kind of lovers’ engraving rather than a cruel claim of ownership. “My little birdie,” he murmured, his tone dripping with saccharine adoration as he lifted her bound hands to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to the fresh wound. “Now everyone will know you belong to me.”

Pandora, silent and hollow eyed, only flinched slightly at the contact. She had learned not to resist, at least not outwardly. Not when Adonis was still in his grasp. He reveled in the moment, savoring his work. But then—

A knock. Sharp. Urgent.

Raphael’s expression darkened instantly. With an irritated sigh, he released her hands, letting them drop to her lap. “Wait here,” he ordered, though they both knew she had no choice. He strode to the door, throwing it open with impatience, and was immediately met with the sight of the wide eyed servant girl. She bowed hastily, her breath coming in short gasps from running.

“My lord,” she whispered, her voice barely containing the tremble of fear. “Strange men have been spotted near the palace. They were arguing… speaking in hushed tones about the queen.” Raphael’s expression darkened further, the warmth in his eyes turning to ice. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

Y/n

So they had finally come.

With a slow inhale, he steadied himself. He had known this day would come, Telemachus was stubborn, predictable, and utterly obsessed with getting y/n back. But this was too soon. He had expected more delays, more obstacles keeping them apart.

No matter.

He glanced back into the room, his gaze settling on y/n. She was looking down, her face unreadable, her fingers twitching slightly against the fabric of her gown. Had she heard? Of course, she had. “Stay,” he murmured, softer this time, though it was no less a command. He turned back to the servant. “Go. Inform the guards. I want eyes on the entire perimeter.”

The girl nodded and hurried off. Raphael exhaled slowly before making his way through the grand corridors of the palace, his mind already spinning through the possibilities of what was to come. If war was on the horizon, then he needed Skiaphos to be ready.

—

Raphael found Endymion in the eastern courtyard, sitting beneath the flickering light of the torches, a goblet of wine in hand. His older brother, ever the picture of effortless control, barely lifted his gaze as Raphael approached. “You’re out late,” Endymion murmured, swirling his wine before taking a slow sip. “Shouldn’t you be watching over your little queen?”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Raphael replied smoothly, though irritation laced his tone. “Not while I have her leashed.”

Endymion let out a quiet, unimpressed hum. “Charming.”

Raphael ignored the sarcasm and leaned against the stone railing, looking out over the quiet city. “We have uninvited guests,” he said at last.

That caught Endymion’s attention. He arched a brow. “Uninvited?”

Raphael smirked. “Telemachus and his men are here.”

Endymion set down his goblet. “And you’re sure?”

Raphael nodded. “A servant overheard them near the palace, whispering about y/n.” He tilted his head slightly, watching his brother’s reaction. “They’re here to take her back. Which means Ithaca is preparing for war.” Endymion was silent for a long moment, his sharp eyes calculating. Then he exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple.

“I told you this would happen,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I told you stealing another man’s wife would bring war to our doorstep.”

Raphael chuckled darkly. “And I told you—I don’t care.”

Endymion stood slowly, his gaze hard. “And yet, you come to me now. Why?”

Raphael’s smirk didn’t fade, but his eyes sharpened. “Because we need to be ready. If Telemachus is here, he didn’t come alone. He’s not a fool, he knows we outnumber him in his current state. That means he’ll be gathering forces, looking for weak points.”

Endymion exhaled, shaking his head. “You’ve doomed us all, little brother.”

“Oh, come now,” Raphael mused, stepping closer. “You love war as much as I do.”

Endymion scoffed. “War I can win. Not this mess.” He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “I’ll have the men prepare. We need scouts watching the city, and if Telemachus and his men try anything, we end it before it starts.”

“Now that’s more like it.” Raphael smirked. “See? I knew you’d come around.”

Endymion shot him a sharp look. “This isn’t a game, Raphael. Ithaca won’t stop. They’re not just fighting for land or pride. They’re fighting for her. That makes them more dangerous than you think.”

Raphael’s smirk wavered, if only for a second. Then he straightened. “Let them try,” he said coolly. “Y/n is mine now. And they’ll learn that the hard way.” Endymion shook his head, but the conversation was over. He turned on his heel, already barking orders to the guards stationed nearby. Raphael, satisfied, took a slow breath before making his way back to his chambers.

Back to y/n.

Back to the only thing worth fighting for.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

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@yuvany

[milkteabinniechan]

♡The Trickster's Treasure - Felix

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: pixie! Felix x afab! reader

summary: In a mystical forest, you venture deeper than usual, drawn by enchanting sounds. Unbeknownst to you, a mischievous pixie observes you from the branches above. He delights in playing tricks, creating illusions and leading you astray with mirages of shimmering paths but soon you become lost...

warnings: hallucinations, mild panic attack, Felix is a little troublemaker

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dancing shadows through the forest, your feet were starting to grow weary. You tilted your head up to the canopy of trees and tried to remember how you ended up here in the first place. Look high and look low, will you find me or find madness? You'll never know!

A small, taunting voice reverberated through the forest. Music. Music had been what drew you to these woods. Some kind of mystical, fantastical melody.

But now the melody has ceased and you were left with only the sounds of the forest. As nightfall consumed the flora and fauna, the once welcoming wood had suddenly taken on a very sinister appearance. Where once sunlight filtered through the leaves and illuminated the forest floor, now moonlight drenched the hardened oak trees and jagged rocks that lined your path.

Suddenly, a darkened underbrush opened up and cleared the way to a small path.

This way! Go this way!

That voice again. A playful, mischievous little voice that seemed to come from all directions. You looked around to find no other path available. Against your better judgment, you decided to listen to this mystery voice and walk down the small path.

As you walked, a new melody started up. A soft, inviting sound of harpsichord and piano keys. But where was it coming from? You quickened your pace down the small trail and the music seemed to grow louder. Slowly, your footsteps hastened to a run as the music intensified. Louder and louder it grew. Your ears pounded with the sound but your feet continued onward, determined to find the source of the sound. You covered your ears from the volume when, without warning, it stopped.

Silence. Nothing but silence all around you. Not even the sound of leaves crunching or birds chirping anymore. An ear-splitting silence that filled your eardrums worse than the music you had been following.

“Hello?! Can anyone hear me?!” You shouted. At least, you hoped you were shouting. You fell to your knees, your hands still covering your ears.

Tears started to coat your eyes as your mind raced with all the possibilities of what your life could be now. You couldn't even remember how you got here. What if a witch has cursed you? Your mother had always warned you about witch's curses. About the music they would play at night to lure small children into the forest to eat them. But you weren't a child anymore. What if you fell and hit your head? You could be dreaming now. But your body aches from running. And your arms were scraped up from tree branches. What if the whole world was silent now? What if you had fallen into a horrible, other-worldly dimension filled with unspeakable horribles that you could never escape from-

Yay! That was fun!

You shook yourself out of your spiral and turned your head to find a small, winged creature resting on your shoulder. He giggled playfully as he floated up in front of your eyesight. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the sight of his wings, their delicate iridescence shimmering in the forest moonlight. You reach out a hand slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal.

“What are you…?”

You kept your hand out in front of him and he perched himself on your index finger. He smiled and tilted his head, seemingly surprised that you didn't know what he was.

“Tell you what, if you play another game with me then I'll tell you what I am.” His grin quickly turned prankish.

“Another game?” Your face twisted with disgust. “I'm just trying to find my way back home.”

The small creature sighed softly, swinging his legs back and forth on your index finger. “Well, that's no fun! You can't go home yet! We were just getting started!” He giggled louder now.

“Don't you remember when I changed the direction of those paths? And you went in circles for hours? So funny!”

Your face turned beet red, your patience now running thin at the sight of this tiny creature and his games.

“That was you?!” You shouted. “Why would you do that?!”

The pint-sized creature held his stomach and laughed heartily. He pointed one finger and continued to giggle and guffaw at your expense, nearly falling off of your finger. Your patience now fraying at the edges, you shook your hand and brushed the tiny man off your finger.

“I'm leaving!” You yelled, stomping your foot for emphasis.

The creature suddenly ceased his laughter and flew close to your face. “Wait!” He waved his tiny arms rapidly. “I'm sorry! Don't go! It's been so long since I had someone to play with!” His eyes were round and pleading. “Just one more game! And I'll show you the way home, oh please!” He pressed his tiny hands together and begged.

You let out a deep, defeated sigh. It was not as though you had much choice but to trust him. There was no way you could find the path towards home on your own. You gave the miniscule creature a firm nod, holding your index finger up.

“First, you tell me your name and what you are. Then we can play a game. Deal?”

“Deal!” He fluttered around your face excitedly. His little wings flapping and vibrating with anticipation. “I'm a pixie!” He said proudly, puffing out his chest as he spoke. “And my name is Felix!”

Your eyes grew large as the realization of your situation sunk in. Faeries and pixies were among the many stories that your mother had told you. You just never thought they would be this much… trouble.

“Alright, Felix. What game shall we play?”

Felix thought for a moment, stroking his chin in deep thought. Then his face split into a devious smile.

“Hide and Seek! You count and I'll hide! Ready?”

You hadn't played hide and seek since you were a child. With work and taking care of your family, there never really was time for games anymore. A smile surprisingly appeared on your lips as you agreed to count while Felix flew off to hide. You start counting, your voice steady despite the urge to rush through the numbers. One… two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight... nine... TEN! You open your eyes and scan the area, searching for any sign of the tiny pixie. You tilt your head back once more, squinting up at the canopy above, searching for any movement among the leaves. You then crouch down, examining the undergrowth and behind logs, your voice growing more playful with each failed attempt.

“Not under here... not behind this bush…” You were actually having fun. You couldn't believe it, you could hardly recognize the sound of your own laughter tumbling out from beneath your own chest.

Felix’s laughter once again echoed through the forest. The sound of his jovial giggling bouncing and ricocheting off every branch and fallen log.

You'll never catch me!

Suddenly you stop dead in your tracks. You feel the stillness of the woods again but this time you are not afraid. Instead you reach your hand back to your left shoulder. You slowly reach back, gently grasping Felix in your large hand. “Ah-ha!” You bring him down to eye level, a victorious grin spreading across your face. “Gotcha!”

Felix laughs playfully once more. His excited squeals make you laugh loudly as well. The sounds mingle together in a perfect childlike harmony that you had forgotten was possible.

“I'll show you the way home now, human. But promise you'll come back to visit me? You're fun to play with!”

You opened your hand and watched Felix flutter from your palm and hover in front of your nose. You smiled and agreed to come back soon. As long as he doesn't trick you again.

“I promise!” Felix answered quickly, his fingers crossed behind his back.

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[lokisgoodgirl]

Changing Seasons: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (1) A long journey with Thor, Steve and Loki ends in a ramshackle country cottage. But really, it's just begun. (w/c 3.8k) Warnings: Minors DNI. Language. Ex-Loki. Smut references. Humour/Mild angst. Recommended Folklore Track: The 1

This is fine.

It’s just five days. In this...cottage. With your ex. You’ll barely see him.

The tiny two story building sat before you, twisting wisteria claiming rough stoned walls. Burnt orange leaves sparked against the morning chill, rooted into windowsills and crumbling brickwork.

It was small. Really small.

You stretched your legs, observing Thor waddle from the car, laden with suitcases.

One fell.

“Watch that!” Steve snapped, on his last nerve after the drive from the Essex compound. A hand flew to his neck, massaging the twinge caused by six hours squashed in the back of a hastily acquired hatchback. “Your collection of personal toys, Rogers?” Loki drawled, letting his mirth-filled eyes slide between the two men. “Yes, brother do be careful. We wouldn’t want the captain to be without an outlet.” Steve’s face flushed, while Thor staggered valiantly onward to the cottage door. “I still don’t understand why we didn’t take the train,” Loki muttered with a theatrical sigh, a single brush down the front of his suit making every well-worn crease evaporate. “The two of you on a train,” Steve spat incredulously, “wouldn’t be great for subtlety.”

Every syllable was laden with frustration as he heaved another case from the trunk. The god nodded. “Even I must admit, this is much more entertaining Rogers” he replied, motioning towards the cottage at the exact moment Thor’s forehead smacked against the low awning.

The suitcases fell in predictable succession. “Jeepers criminey-” Steve gasped, lunging forwards.

You rolled your eyes, smiling just Loki glanced backwards. A wolfish grin ignited. Shit. With narrowed eyes, he began to glide around the Fiat like a day-walker. His hair was slicked back, falling over the shoulders of a black suit more appropriate to fashion week than training in the wilds of the Lake District. You’d tried not to look at him much on the way here. For obvious reasons. He swaggered with resolute precision, infuriatingly erotic as he always was. It was sick, how he looked so good. Like he hadn’t been in the same car as the rest of you, gorging on jelly babies and squished krispy kremes foraged along the motorway. You had practised for this moment, and to your credit; your face remained perfectly straight. Your posture, casual. Unbothered, as Steve and Thor argued further up the path.

‘My slacks were perfectly folded in New York. If there is any rumplage Odinson- then I’ll know who to blame.’

‘Carry your own damn suitcases, then-’ ‘-I would’ve, if you hadn’t been such a dandy-show-off’

You spun away from your incoming ex, steadying your racing heart as you focused on the horizon. Mist hung over the rusted treeline, green and sienna twisting together and dipping down to a sprawling lake about a mile away, you reckoned, spread against the sunrise. Loki’s playful scathing broke the calm. “You haven’t said two words to me in almost twelve hours, Agent,” he purred. “I’m impressed.” There was a time that kind of talk would have brought you to your knees. But not anymore, you lied to yourself, clenching. With your eyes still lowered, you tilted your chin towards him. Defiantly, slowly, you raised them; catching his inscrutable stare like a rifle’s scope. You raised your eyebrows expectantly, lips sealed. Loki scoffed, looking into the distance. His breath was fog. “I don’t know what else I expected,” he muttered quietly.

You stood in silence, backs turned to the domestic carnage unfolding at the cottage door. Letting your gaze roll over the mountains. Early morning autumnal air stung the back of your throat. Fresh pine and wisps of smoke from unseen chimneys, far away. Amber hues spindled along the surface of the lake a mile below, rippling methodically. You fought the urge to look at him.

His eyes would look beautiful in this kind of light. Always had. “It reminds me of home,” he murmured wistfully. It sank into the crisp air, the softness of the tone you still dreamt about curling around your body like smoke. Loki’s scent mingled with the breeze, reminding you of nights spent wrapped around him as you slept in snatches. His hand never far from your own. His love draped over you like a cloak.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You felt him lean in, the warmth of his breath against your skin drawing closer before it retreated. “Asgard,” he added condescendingly. “Although, Asgard isn’t quite as...rustic.” He lifted a foot, making a show of wiping a sole on the wet grass.

You grit your teeth. It never ended. He couldn’t help himself, even after everything that had happened between you. The snake tightened inside your belly, unfurling and poised to strike; regrettable words bubbling behind your teeth. “Let’s just get through this week, shall we?” Loki snapped, before turning away. The crunch of twigs beneath his retreating footsteps was all you heard as the chill stung your eyes. Just the chill.

"I carry the paraphernalia so I shall be first across the threshold thank you very much,” Thor grumped, jostling Steve from his path and shuffling sideways through the frame. Steve grimaced, nodding at Loki to follow his brother. “Thank you,” Loki said curtly; noting the captain’s gaze flicker to where you stood overlooking the lake in a valiant attempt to remain mysterious. “She’s quite well,” he added presumptively.

Steve frowned. “She was quiet on the drive. Even let Thor play his music. Not like her” he said, leaning against the cottage wall before recoiling. “Urgh, it’s damp.” Loki chuckled. “Of course it is. Welcome to the northern hemisphere, Rogers. What you need, is some leather” he winked.

He watched the captain pat his shirt fruitlessly as a stain blossomed through the pale cotton, clearing his throat softly. “She’s still a little...put out... by our parting of ways. Can’t blame her, really. I mean-” He gestured to himself with a consillatory sigh. “She’ll warm up-”

Loki cast a glance around, realising he wasn’t sure if the hallway was colder than the exterior. “-metaphorically, anyway.”

Steve nodded sagely. “To everything there is a season…” he mused. Loki frowned, turning away. He waved a dismissive hand. “You know I do not traffic in colloquialisms, Rogers” he scoffed with his back turned. Entering the kitchen, Loki immediately bumped his shin on a discarded suitcase. He wrinkled his nose.

A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, barely illuminating the cramped space. Ageing wallpaper clung valiantly to its charge, whimsical ducks and geese parading in an inexplicable march. Thor stood hunched over the sink, running spluttering water into the world’s smallest kettle. The ceiling was inches from his head. “Tea, brother?” he chirped. Loki nodded, wondering how the hell they’d ended up here. “Rogers?” he enquired innocently. Steve’s head popped round the doorframe.

“Howdy!” Loki closed his eyes and took a breath. “Rogers,” he repeated. “Remind me why this week is truly necessary?” Steve released a forced chuckle. “I’ll get to that. Hang tight.” He disappeared, shouting your name down the path. By the time the two of you returned, Loki had seidred the suitcases to their respective destinations. He had secured the largest room for himself, of course. Although that wasn’t saying much. Rogers and Thor would be sharing. Loki had the sneaking suspicion that was not the plan – but alas for them – it was their new reality.

Four mismatched mugs of steaming tea sat on the small square table in the corner. Loki sat in one chair, legs crossed. Thor in the other, looking decidedly squashed.

Steve closed the kitchen door while you leant against the counter-top, arms folded. “I made tea,” Thor smiled, pleased with himself as he held it forth like an offering. You accepted. Loki noted the shiver that shook your shoulders as the hot mug entered your cupped grasp. A fleeting smile of pleasure skating across your cheeks. He’d missed that, he found. “Please, take my s-” Loki started, beginning to rise. Habit. “I’ll stand,” you replied curtly. Loki nodded, sinking down. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as an oblivious Steve squinted suspiciously out the window while closing the blinds. “Alrighty then-” he said, turning. His enthusiastic glances bounced to each of them in turn. Thor adjusted himself, rewarded with the malevolent warning creak of a chair leg.

“As anyone who was listening during our meetings will know,” Steve paused, staring at Loki, “it’s come to my attention that our manual outdoor skills are somewhat lacking. Anything happens to our abilities or comms while we’re on a rugged mission and booyah,” he made a burst with his fingers, “pardon my french – but we’re up crud creek without a paddle.” Loki scoffed. “Hardly-” “This week we’ll be getting back to basics. You two-” Steve gestured between the gods seated at the withered dining set, “especially. It’s all magic and brawny shenanigans until you need to skin a rabbit.” He looked to you warily, “Metaphorically, of course. Our resident expert will give us instruction, and we’ll go from there-” Steve nodded to you, folding his arms. Loki rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you understand how magic-” “No weak links.” he continued, un-phased. He had his very serious face on. “And I count myself in this too. We need to be confident that if something happens, and we’re out in the wilds...we can handle ourselves. Survive, until help arrives.” “But why here?” Loki whined, “we have the facilities to simulate the environment back in-” Steve held up a hand. “No one can know earth’s mightiest heroes are out here learning outdoorsing 101, Laufeyson. Imagine the press. No.” He shook his head. “This is absurd,” Loki muttered into his tea.

“Let’s try and have fun. At the very least, it’s a week in the fresh air.” Loki’s eyes rose, your words and tone clearly rehearsed. There was a weak smile on your face, but it didn’t reach your eyes. He’d become intimately acquainted with that look in the final months of your relationship.

Silence hung in the kitchen. “And the two of you will be alright, will you?” Thor boomed, stretching a leg which reached halfway across the floor. He took a sip of tea as Steve’s face went pink.

“I mean, with the breakup. Although I suppose its better than being kept awake by the ooo’ing and ahhh’ing through the walls, isn’t it Rogers?” He began to chortle, “remember...remember in- where was it? Oh, Columbia. Norns, what a-”

“-Brother,” Loki snarled. Hair bristled on the back of his neck. You cleared your throat. “Loki and I have an understanding. There’s no animosity between us-” “Isn’t there? News to me,” Loki mumbled petulantly, running a finger across the plastic table cloth. He could almost hear the grind of your teeth as you spoke pointedly to Thor. “Well I intend on remaining professional. I’m sure your brother is the same.” Loki shook his head, snorting. “Professional?” he spat incredulously. “What need have I to be professional? I am a god.” “And there it is,” you began, temperature rising before Steve patted down the air.

“How about we go check out the bedrooms?” he said. Everyone murmured agreement. And somewhere between Loki cursing his temper, and the babble of his brother’s half-hearted apology- you were gone.

Ten minutes later, Loki found himself staring at the same spot on the wall he had been for the last eight. It was meditative almost. On the other side of the wall at the end of his bed, was your room. Small, rectangular. Barely space for more than the single bed. But Loki had a feeling you didn’t mind.

You had settled on the mattress around seven minutes ago after unpacking, the comforting creak of springs alerting him. What were you doing, he wondered. Thinking. Feeling? He shook the thought from his mind, reminding himself that was no longer his business. But the thought crawled back with the vengeance of a dying wasp. If we were together still, I’d have made her climax twice on this bed by now.

His clothing hung in a drab single wardrobe. When in Nilfheim, he’d surmised. The garments were simple, and perfunctory. All manner of base layers and fleece lined items in vapid shades which lacked even a morsel of style. Not a sniff of leather. And zips in the most unflattering places.

Loki shuddered.

His ears pricked as he heard a wooden board in your room creak, tracking the slow amble of five steps it took to cross the floor from end to end. She’s looking out the window, he mused.

‘Get your hands off my undergarments,’ Thor’s voice was crisp and menacing through the wall to Loki’s left. ‘Well, put them in a drawer like a gentleman.’ Steve snipped in response, barely muffled by the stone. ‘There are no drawers! Why must we reside in such a place, Rogers!?’ He has a point, Loki thought. ‘Because no one would expect it.’ Steve replied smugly.

There was a pause, but Loki could hear the thump of Thor’s boots as he rounded the twin beds, positioning himself for attack. His voice was low, and purposeful. ‘Just like you won’t expect...this.’ The inhuman sound of one of his brother’s legendary farts ripped through the wall.

Loki braced in the silence that followed, relishing the craft of his devious room organisation while Steve, he presumed, got some traction to exit through the window. ‘Jeepers,’ came the choked, disbelieving response of the captain through the wall. Jeepers indeed, Rogers, Loki smirked.

A sudden tinkle of restrained laughter perked his ears. It came from behind the wall in front of him. He froze, savouring each lilting rise and fall as you gave in to full-blown cackle. Wait for it.

He held his breath. You snorted. Loki grinned, letting himself bathe in the warmth of that laughter which used to lace his brightest moments. The nights, when you met after long days apart. He remembered when he would tickle you beneath his sheets in the Tower. When he would slide his hands over your squealing, curled form in apology, crawl on his knees beneath the covers and gently part your legs.

‘I just can’t help myself,’ he’d purr, kissing the smooth skin of your inner thigh. ‘Forgive me?’

And you always did. Until you hadn’t. You would rake your hand through his hair, lovingly humming his name as he ran his tongue up your plump slit; settling in to his long, languid worship. Loki sighed. He looked down in his lap, realising a thumb was digging into the palm of his clasped hands. He pushed it in harder, frowning. Fool.

Suddenly the door flew open. A red-faced Steve gripped the door-frame, breathing heavily. “Swap...with...me,” he gasped. Loki shook his head, heavy with feigned sympathy. “Afraid not, Rogers. Look, I unpacked and everything.” He pointed to the wardrobe. “Like a gentleman.”

Steve’s face flushed deeper, hanging his head in resignation. “Gosh-darnit,” he sighed under his breath. “Be downstairs and ready in five.”

A chorus of Blackcap birdsong fluttered and rolled over the bushes. Final frostings of morning clung to crisped leaves, slowly warming in the blast of breath-fog from three Avengers huddled around a large map. You watched with an amused smirk on your face, laughing inwardly that Steve thought a wardrobe full of Trepass could disguise their presence. Like three bears at a piglet’s tea party.

Thor held the compass, squinting. The rectangular instrument looked much like a stick of gum in his palm as he leant closer to the dial, searching for some unseen clue. You decided to have mercy.

“So you can see here,” you said gently, tracing your finger over the map, “to get to the lake we need to follow a bearing of 79 degrees….and we need to adjust for true North. Remember?” You moved the compass slightly. “Blast,” Thor growled. He was taking this very seriously. A bobble hat was pulled low on his brow, but even then, you could tell he was frowning. Loki chuckled derisively, smoothing a strand of inky hair from his jawline. You watched as it curled behind his ear. His beautiful, perfectly formed ear. “Volunteering for the next marker, Loki?” you asked calmly, watching his smug smirk fall. You switched back to Thor, now measuring points on the map diligently. Steve stood by his shoulder, taking notes on a small pad. “A-ha!” Thor shouted triumphantly. A dozen birds took off from the nearest tree, fleeing skyward.

Steve frowned. Stealth, it chided. The blonde god whipped his face to you in childish glee. “This way!” he pointed theatrically. You nodded, bathing in the pride spreading across the god of thunder’s face. It was Loki’s turn to frown. “Give me that,” he snipped, snatching the compass as Thor began to fold the map and lead the charge towards the next marker. “You’re just jealous brother. Clearly my skills of navigation are unmatched. Isn’t that so, Agent?” he postured loudly, clearing a branch from your path. It wasn’t often Thor truly had the upper hand. So you decided to push it a little higher. “Out of the three of you so far? Absolutely.” You beamed at him, seeing storm-clouds gather in Loki’s eyes out the corner of your own. His brows knitted together, chin pushing down into the thick roll of his scarf.

Thor hummed as you passed beneath his arm. “I always liked you, you know” he chuckled in hushed tones. Clearly, he’d seen the abject annoyance blossom on his brother’s face too.

You nodded conspiratorially, casting a glance back at your dejected ex as he picked his way over a patch of brambles, hands deep in his coat pockets. Steve followed behind, flicking through the pages of his pocketbook.

“Meh, it’s good for him,” you said diplomatically while shooting Thor a toothy grin.

He returned it.

Loki took each step carefully. He would be damned if a tangle of barbed shrubbery bested him the same day as his oaf of a brother.

He wouldn’t have gotten it without her help, he fumed; stepping quickly over a freshly steaming pile of suspicious pellets. His nose wrinkled, glancing up to where the two of you were sharing a moment. Blatant favouritism.

Gritting his teeth, his jaw nuzzled further beneath the coiled wool around his throat. A smile lit up your face as you shared some sort of inside jest with his brother. Loki remembered, all too well, how you used to look at him that way. How it was to bathe in the warm of your affection, the comfort of your hallowed inner circle.

He tried not to let his mind wander to your inner circle too much. The immediate twitch of his cock beneath the ghastly slacks was a timely reminder why. Steve’s shrill caw of warning came too late. “Watch your-” Loki froze, snarling as his eyes fell to the foot now wedged in a pile of shit. “How appropriate,” he sighed as he reluctantly pulled it free. He began to wipe it on the ground. “Just wipe it on the ground,” Rogers said. Loki's stare was daggers as he continued to do just that, cursing the Norns as you began to walk towards them. “What’s the hold up?” you said. Loki raised a hand to stop Steve from speaking, but alas.

“Laufeyson stepped in poop.” “Thank you, Rogers. I’m sure our ‘resident expert’ can see that.” Steve crouched down to his haunches, inspecting the boot-imprinted pile. “Looks like deer poop to me,” he observed diligently. “What do you think, Agent?” “Could be,” you said, matching his serious tone. “Nice spot.” Loki felt his jaw slacken.

What portal has opened and swallowed me to this unending nightmare.

He wiped the defiled heel of his clumpy, tan boot a final time, before marching up the ridge. He should be first. He had the compass, the ultimate instrument of inter-planetary survival, apparently. “Broth-” he started, before rocking back on his heels. “What is your problem?” he heard you hiss as you yanked the back of his jacket. Loki whipped round, every snippy retort that hovered on his lips evaporating as he saw your flushed face; wild with undisguised irritation. Steve was bumbling slowly up the hill, oblivious. “I…” Loki breathed, resisting the unfamiliar urge to tell the truth. You were still gripping a toggle that dangled from the back of his jacket. Loki looked at it, pausing a moment before refocusing with renewed vigour.

“I shouldn’t have to do this. It’s ridiculous, and you know it.” “Well why are you even here? Why don’t you just bugger off at a moment’s notice like you always do? Go whine to Heimdall or something?” Loki heard white noise bubble deep in his mind, rising to a roar as his vision tunnelled to the sight of your pupils blown wide with anger; lip trembling ever so slightly as you valiantly stood your ground. There she is, he thought with bizarre satisfaction. “Because I wouldn’t want to give the impression I’m not a team-player, would I?” he snarled through gritted teeth. You released your grip on his toggle with a scoff. “I’ll believe that when I see it. If you can last the whole trip, I’ll-”

“-You’ll what?” Loki heard himself say. The tone, he noted, was dangerously flirtatious.

You eyed him suspiciously.

“-I’ll be am-azed. The prim prince of Asgard, hacking it for a week out here. It might be good for you.” You see-sawed your palm. “But you know...low expectations.” Loki’s eyes narrowed as Steve emerged hovering over your shoulder. He suddenly reminded Loki very much of the geese parading on the kitchen walls. “I assure you, Agent, I shall pass your tests with flying colours.” He forced a smile. It hurt his cheeks in the cold. A little bow followed. A little flourish of his hand. He paused, baiting you. “I look forward to you proving me wrong, then,” you sniffed, re-adjusting the straps of your backpack.

Your eyes caught his a little longer than you’d intended.

Loki’s gaze fell to your lips, beginning to chap in the unforgiving English chill. How he wanted to capture them with his in that moment, moisten them with his breath and tongue and fiery adoration. To warm you, take care of you. As he should have when he had the chance, perhaps.

At the time, Loki wasn’t sure why - but nonetheless he held out the compass to Steve. “You take this one, Rogers.” “Alrighty then!” the captain quipped obliviously. His knees pumped up in a farcical jog down the ridge towards Thor, having an in-depth conversation with a passing sheep.

“Alrighty then,” you mimicked to yourself with quiet smile. Meeting Loki’s amused gaze, the smile fell. And without another word, you set off down the hill.

The god watched you pick your way gracefully over the autumnal landscape, breeze whipping your hair. He brushed his own from his eyes, pausing to reluctantly admire the rugged peaks and cliffs that curled in on their path. Burnt orange mingled with green, a rolling wave of seasons trickling through the vale. He could feel it all around him; through him – seeping beneath his skin, whether he willed it or no.

Change.

Chapter Two: Sticks and Stones A/N: Thank you so so much for reading this - if you did! I'm having so much fun with these bunch and I'm very excited to share this kind of ridiculous journey with you :) There won't be as many POV switches in subsequent chapters - we just needed it in this one. As always - love love to hear your thoughts. Gooooo Autumn!🍁

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[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us Chapter Masterlist

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try. Pairing: Female MC x Caleb

Spoiler Alert: Potential spoilers for Caleb's Myth's as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers. Warnings:

Unlikely to be canon.

The other love interests will not appear in this fic. I consider this more of an AU where it's only Caleb in this timeline.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be somewhat different from the memories in-game.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Explicit smut (eventually). Chapter 12 onward.

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb - Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions. More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

Chapter 1: Redshift Chapter 2: Tidal Forces Chapter 3: Cosmic Ruin Chapter 4: Dark Matter Chapter 5: Lagrange Point Chapter 6: Ghosts in the Machine Chapter 7: Stellar Crossroads Chapter 8: Breach Chapter 9: Orbiting You Chapter 10: Event Horizon Chapter 11: Between Two Suns Chapter 12: Beneath the Sleeping Sky Chapter 13: Cosmic Entanglement Chapter 14: Constellations Never Tell Chapter 15: Shattered Light Chapter 16: Orbital Decay Chapter 17: Zero Gravity

A story I started for myself because I got inspired to write a more socially awkward MC (like myself, because we can't all be badass) and thought others might enjoy some of the silliness, angst, fluff, and the eventual smutty goodness. A huge thank you to everyone who's read, reblogged, or left comments! Your support means the world to me and keeps me inspired. 💕

[arc-misadventures]

The Noblesse Oblige of Humanity

A young boy was laughing as he played in the field, his smile radiated pure innocence as he basked in the suns golden warmth. His golden locks of hair meshed with a the vibrant green hues of the grass he rolled around in. His laugh only heightened in its intensity, and euphoria as a large hand came down, and tussled his hair.

The boy reached up his hands as his father hoisted him in the air, throwing him at he reached the zenith. A flit of laughter escaped the child's lips as he sored the the air like a bird freed from gravity's hindering restraints.

His father caught him with a hearty laugh as he embraced his son who's emerald eyes shined with unrestrained glee as the boys father, and mother took the child away. As they left the playground his helmets optics zoomed out to see a similar occurrences happening throughout the playground.

Children basking in the warm embrace of a family who loved them unconditionally.

He zoomed out further with his helmet until the idealist visage of a happy family life was no more then blobs of movement upon his horizon, Jaune Ara, B Class, Spartan couldn't help, but wonder the idealistic thought that all Spartans had: If he wasn't born with, Aura would he have been just as happy as that child?

Aura, Spartans, and their Noblesse Oblige towards Humanity: A potent cocktail that started from one step onwards towards the next step. A cocktail that held the key to mans salivation, or if it failed, towards it's inevitable extinction.

It all started with, Aura; It possessed a near limitless potential to all humans, and faunas alike to fight the never ending tide of darkness that besieged all those in their way: The Grimm.

Aura the raw embodiment of the soul, a rare power that every human, and faunas had the potential to unlock, and wield against the forces of darkness. However, only one child born of amongst a thousand other souls had the potential to unlock such a power. Because of the rarity of, Aura, and potential lethality of the Grimm's threat to humanity each , and every child that was born was tested for having, Aura of any level. And, if they unlocked this rare gift of, Aura they were immediately taken away to be trained as, Spartans.

It was seen as a great honour by many to have birthed a child capable of wielding, Aura. But, many mothers saw it as a terrible burden to be placed upon their dear children that often brought many to tears. How else could any mother react to the news that their child would be taken away from them at birth to be raised as child soldiers to fight in an unending war? Children taken from their mothers with scarcely nothing, but a name.

That is what happened to the boy named, Jaune Arc; He was born seventeen years ago to a family of a loving mother, and father, and their seven daughters. But, when he was tested for, Aura he proved to be positive, and carried the burden of having an immense, Aura. So, shortly after his birth he was taken away to be trained, given nothing, but a tearful goodbye, and the first, and last loving embrace of a mother who did not want her child to leave so soon.

That is at least how, Jaune liked to imagine his departure from his parents went. He knew of his family, and their existence, but the plight of becoming a, Spartan made him warry to meet them in the flesh. It was common of those born with, Aura, and trained to be warriors from birth to have a hard time relating, and associating to the common people.

It was agreed long ago by the four kingdoms of, Remnant that the children born with aura should be raised within the tight confines of a specialized learning institution: A Spartan Academy.

Each academy had its own name, and customs that it ingrained in its students. But, there training was all the same: The first few years they were trained on academics, and improving their physical abilities. Then they were taught hand-to-hand combat, the use of a verity of firearms. Each lesson only growing more, and more in its complexity as they grew up up. Their training was once compared to that of an ancient civilization, long lost to the sands of time. A city of warriors that took their young men to be trained as warriors to fight in their wars, these ancient warriors were once called, Spartans. A name that stuck to the, Aura empowered warriors of Remnant.

At the age of twelve most members of a, Spartan Academy started their own personal specialization training. Learning how to master the use of various weapons that best suited to their individuals fighting style, and taste. But sometimes, in a rare few occasions these fighting styles were impacted by something wholly unexpected.

A birthday present.

Jaune Arc remembered his twelfth birthday with crystal clear clarity. He had expected it to be just like any of his other birthdays, one of those rare days off from their rigorous training where he, and his classmates would get to enjoy in a cake. But, this time was different, this time, Jaune had a birthday present.

It was a large white boxed tied with golden ribbons, with a note attached to it. He remembered nervously reaching for the note, and reading it, scared at the possibilities of what laid within it. As he read the letter contents, tears of joy dropped from his eyes. Within it he read a letter from his mother, a woman named, Juniper Arc, telling how she was sad that her lovely baby boy was taken away from her at birth, but she was proud that he would become a warrior of legend that would carry on his great, great grandfathers legacy as a, Spartan. She wrote how she prayed that this gift would serve, and protect him, and others in the future. At the bottom was a list of names; one from his father, another from sisters each written in their own unique way, before reading the last name on the list, a name that was bore deep into his heart as he read the name: 'Love, your mother, Juniper Arc.'

Spartans were trained to suppress their emotions as a means to combat the, Grimm who fed upon their raw negative emotions. Often leading to many, Spartans to become so far detached from normal human emotions that they couldn't understand, nor comprehend them. But, for the first time in, Jaune Arc's life he felt that emotionless mask break, and fall into pieces, and the human boy that long for his mother finally appear. A memory he often fled to when the darkest of times came before him.

Within the box rested a sword of golden hues, bound with blue leather, encased within a sheath of white metal. Jaune slowly pulled out the silver blade, and marveled in it's simplistic elegance. It was a greater shock when he picked up the sheath, and it deployed into a heater shield. Upon it, lay in a field of snow were a pair of golden arch's. When, Jaune asked his instructors what these symbols meant he was told it was his families emblem, that these colours represented his family, and their legacy.

Years had past since then, and despite the fact these old weapons had been improved upon, and made better, Jaune Arc wore it, and his families colours, and emblem proudly upon his armour.

For he was, Jaune Arc, B Class, Spartan, and he would live up to his family legacy, and become a warrior of renown as he fought to save humanity of the scourge that was the, Grimm.

For he was a , Spartan; They were the bastion of humanity against the growing darkness of the, Grimm. It was his, and every, Spartan that ever lived noblesse oblige to fight, and die for the betterment of all of humanity.

A life of a happy little child embraced by their loving parents.

Wasn't that something worth dying for?

///

Okay, this based on an story, based on an idea made by @evenmorefatallyobsessed. Here's a LINK to the post.

This was how I thought to play out this idea. I'll add more to it later on. I've got a few more ideas I want to write out.

Till later then.

[shiorihyugawrites]

The Devil's Bride

Aurora Jaeger, Eren's long-lost childhood friend, was taken from him when they were children. After years of suffering under Marleyan control, Aurora is reunited with Eren while he’s undercover in Marley, igniting a bond neither of them expected. Despite her gentle nature, Aurora breaks her vow of pacifism to save Eren’s life, solidifying their deep connection. Secretly married before the Raid on Liberio, Aurora is swept into Eren's world of chaos and destruction. As the Scouts learn of her existence, tensions rise on the airship home. Mikasa’s heart shatters, and Levi demands answers. And Eren will stop at nothing to protect the only light left in his dark world—his bride, Aurora.

In this journey of love, loyalty, and war, Aurora must reconcile her innocent heart with the brutal reality of the man she loves, while Eren faces the truth of what he’s become. (Eren x OC)

Chapter Fifty

The final hours of the night stretched onward, a silent countdown to the invasion that loomed on the horizon. Shiganshina felt haunted, its quiet streets and solemn walls like sentinels observing the men and women gathered to defend this land. The air carried a stiff chill, and every breath of wind seemed to murmur the urgency of what was about to unfold. Yet, amidst the tension, the soldiers of Paradis stood resolute. They had long accepted that they might not live to see the sun set again, but if dying was the price for protecting their home, they would pay it gladly.

Groups of Jaegerists moved through the district, each soldier double-checking equipment and coordinating with teammates. It had taken weeks of hard training to master the Inferno Blades, those compact explosives that could set nearly anything ablaze with terrifying force. The plan was clear. When the Global Allied Fleet arrived, they would ignite Shiganshina in flames if that meant the enemy could not advance further. To the people here, the old saying rang true: better to sacrifice a piece of home than to lose the entirety of it.

Eren stood on a balcony high above the main square, his hand resting against the cold stone. He stared out at the flickering torches of the soldiers below. In the distance, the tall silhouette of the walls loomed, and beyond them, darkness. But soon enough, that darkness would reveal a sea bristling with warships, the combined might of the entire world. He felt his chest tighten at the thought, but he also felt an odd calm. This was the moment he had been preparing for. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking of Aurora, of the child she carried, of the cabin they had once shared. He remembered the warmth of her laughter, the glow in her eyes whenever she spoke of a future free from fear. It was a dream he wanted so desperately to grant them, no matter the price.

Footsteps approached from behind. Eren didn’t turn around. He already knew who it was by the measured pace of boots on stone.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Levi said, halting a few steps away. His tone was steady, but tension lay just beneath its surface.

Eren took a slow breath before speaking. “I needed a moment,” he replied. “Any news?”

Levi folded his arms. “The Jaegerists finished deploying the Inferno Blades. They’re placing them in strategic points around the main gate, the side streets, and near the rooftops. If the enemy tries to breach anywhere, we’ll torch them. It’ll be chaos, but it’s our best chance.”

A grim smile touched Eren’s lips. “Good. We’re not letting them pass.”

Levi’s eyes flicked toward the moonlit sky. “You realize we might burn half of Shiganshina to ash in the process.”

Eren’s jaw tightened. “It won’t be the first time I’ve watched this district burn. Besides, I’m not letting them set foot beyond these walls. No matter what.”

Levi nodded. He understood Eren’s resolve, even if it weighed on him. Their conversation stilled for a moment, replaced by the faint clamor of Jaegerists below. They were adjusting gear, testing the readiness of their horses, or softly exchanging words of encouragement. The tension in the air felt palpable, like a living force pressing down on everyone.

A slender figure dropped down from the rooftop overhead, landing soundlessly nearby. Mikasa glanced between Eren and Levi, reading their expressions. She sensed the same tension that had pulled her here.

“Everything’s set,” she said quietly. “Hange wants to do a final sweep of the southern perimeter.”

Levi gave a sharp nod. “Good. We should join her soon.” He turned to Eren once more, his voice dropping to a lower register. “I’ve told the soldiers to be prepared for anything. We still don’t know which direction they’ll strike from first, or if they’ll try a full-scale encirclement. You see anything suspicious, you don’t hesitate.”

Eren’s gaze hardened. “I won’t.”

Levi and Mikasa exchanged a look, then left Eren to gather his thoughts. Eren stayed a moment longer on the balcony, listening to their footsteps fade. The still night hung over him like a dark shroud. In a few hours, it would be shattered by the roar of cannons, the screams of men, and the thunder of battle. He wondered briefly if Aurora had arrived safely at the palace. He pictured her expression, the worry that never quite left her eyes, and it pained him that he couldn’t be by her side. But the child she carried was his reason to fight. He would carve a path of blood and fire if that’s what it took to give them peace.

Below, Connie and Jean paced through the courtyard, double-checking their squad assignments. Sasha leaned against the outer gate, fiddling with her equipment, her face set in determined lines. Jean’s loud whisper carried across the open space.

“Still no sign of the fleet?” he asked Connie.

“Nothing,” Connie replied. “They might be approaching under the cover of darkness, or maybe they’re delaying to catch us off guard. Either way, we won’t be sleeping tonight.”

Sasha wandered closer to them, her brow knit with concern. “I can’t help thinking about all the civilians we evacuated. At least they’re safe underground, but… how many of us will be left by the time this is over?”

Jean’s shoulders sagged a little. “We do what we have to, Sasha. I’d rather the people stay alive to rebuild, even if we don’t make it.”

Connie reached out, placing a hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “Hey, we’ll all make it. We’ve been through worse, right?”

Sasha managed a small grin. “Guess you’re right. The trouble is, the world hates us so much. This might be our final stand.”

Jean rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, great. Now you’ve got me thinking about how easy it’d be to just toss in the towel and—”

“Don’t even joke,” Connie cut him off, though his tone was lighter than the words suggested. “We’re in this together.”

Nearby, Armin and Hange were in deep discussion, hunched over a makeshift table strewn with maps and notes. Reiner, Pieck, and Porco observed from a short distance, not wanting to intrude but still very much a part of the plan. Armin ran a hand through his hair, his voice earnest.

“If they come by sea, they’ll likely use their naval cannons to shell the coast first. But we have vantage points set up. As soon as they come into range, we can ignite the Inferno Blades in the shallows, turning the coastline into a trap.”

Hange tapped a finger on the map. “Right, we also suspect they might deploy airships. That’s where the risk is highest. If they bombard us from above, the walls of Shiganshina could crumble in minutes.”

Porco’s arms were crossed, his brow furrowed. “Then we’ll need the Titans to intercept any airships that come too close. My Jaw titan’s speed can handle that. Pieck’s Cart Titan can provide covering fire, but it’s Reiner who’ll probably do the heavy lifting if they drop bombs.”

Reiner stood with his arms at his sides, no expression on his face. He still struggled with a maelstrom of guilt and regret, but he was here, prepared to fight for the island that had once been his enemy. “I’ll do what needs to be done,” he said quietly.

Pieck cast him a sympathetic look, though she said nothing. She understood that Reiner’s heart was torn. They all were torn in some way, forced into a war that none of them wanted yet none of them could avoid. The best they could do was fight to protect what they could.

Hange gestured to the sky, her eyes glittering with a mix of apprehension and excitement. “When it begins, everything will happen fast. We’ll be in constant communication via flare signals. If the first wave hits Shiganshina, we detonate. If they try a flanking maneuver, squads will rotate. Remember, these new weapons can create widespread fires, so watch for the wind direction.”

Armin sighed, nodding. “There’s no perfect plan. We’ll adapt as we go. That’s all we can do.”

Reiner closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of Gabi and Falco. Would they be on the other side of the line? His chest tightened at the possibility. He remembered the day he left for Paradis all those years ago, the naive resolve he had as a child soldier, and how it had slowly crumbled under the weight of reality. Now, ironically, he stood on Paradis’s side, wanting to protect it. Wanting to keep Gabi safe from the same cruelty that shaped him.

Porco shifted, noticing Reiner’s turmoil. “If you see them out there… Gabi, Falco, or  any of the others… you do what you have to,” Porco said. “ We know Magath well enough to know he’s brainwashed them more propaganda and told them how we’re all traitors. The don’t have any shifters left besides Zeke so you can bet they’re planning on using those kids as new vessels for our titans.”

Reiner lowered his gaze. “I know. But I can’t imagine… them turning into Titans and devouring us. It’s too cruel.”

Pieck placed a hand on Reiner’s arm, her voice gentle. “Marley is cruel. We’ve known that our whole lives.”

The wind carried the sound of a distant horn, a signal from one of the watchtowers. It was a reminder that dawn drew near, that the hours were slipping away. Everyone was alert, shoulders tensed as they imagined the approaching fleet just beyond their sight.

Levi appeared next to them, seemingly out of nowhere. “We’re doing a final briefing in five minutes,” he said. “Join us by the main gate.”

Pieck and Porco followed Reiner’s lead as they walked across the courtyard, weaving between rows of Jaegerists checking their gear. Some of the younger recruits looked up at the Titan shifters with a mix of awe and wariness. They’d heard the stories of how Reiner, Pieck, and Porco had once fought for Marley, but they’d also heard about how they’d betrayed Marley to help Paradis. Trust was still a fragile thing here.

Jean and Connie approached Eren, who was standing near a broken stretch of wall. Mikasa was with them, her arms folded, worry etched into her features.

Jean cleared his throat. “We’re ready when you are, Eren.”

Connie nodded in agreement. “Just say the word.”

Mikasa glanced at Eren, studying his face. “You’re sure we can handle this many enemies at once? Marley’s not alone this time. The entire world is coming.”

Eren’s jaw muscles worked as he clenched his teeth, but when he spoke, his tone was resolute. “We stop them here. They’ve all come to kill us anyway. Let them try.”

Jean sighed softly. “I guess that’s all there is to it, huh?”

Connie forced a grin, though fear flickered in his eyes. “We’ll give them hell.”

As they walked toward the main gate, a hush fell over the gathered soldiers. Levi and Hange stood waiting with Armin. Reiner, Pieck, and Porco took positions to one side, separate but included. The tension thickened, like an invisible weight pressing down on every single person.

Levi’s voice carried across the courtyard, surprisingly steady. “You all know what’s at stake. If the intelligence is true, the fleet is massive. They have advanced artillery, bombs, and airships. We have the advantage of home ground, the walls, and the new Inferno Blades. That might not seem like much against the entire world, but it’s better than nothing. We just have to hang on until Eren can make contact with Zeke.”

Hange clasped their hands behind their back, scanning the faces of the soldiers. “Remember your training. Keep calm, stick to your squads, and follow the signal flares. The first sign of an airship, and we shift to long-range defense. The first sign of battleships, we detonate the coastline. Should they try to breach the land, we fall back to the inner lines and lure them into a ring of fire.”

Armin glanced at Eren, who gave him a slight nod. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Armin spoke, “This battle will be unlike anything we’ve faced. But we have one another. We have a plan. We have the will to live. So fight for your friends, for your families hidden underground, for the future we want to create.”

Mikasa listened, her expression calm, though her eyes revealed the storm within. She couldn’t stop imagining the horrors about to unfold. Still, she squared her shoulders. This was the choice they had made.

As the meeting dispersed, the soldiers dispersed too, each squad returning to their assigned positions with hushed determination. Eren lingered near the gate, gazing up at the night sky. The starry expanse reminded him too much of Aurora. He recalled the nights they spent together in the cabin, how she would hum softly while stargazing, how she’d lean into him and share her wild dreams of a world without war. He closed his eyes and silently prayed that his unborn child would know a life free from the same chains that had bound him.

Levi halted beside him, glancing up at the stars. “You’re thinking about her,” he said, not really asking.

Eren let out a hollow chuckle. “Am I that obvious?”

Levi sighed. “We both know you’d rather be with her, but we have a job to do.”

Eren nodded. “I won’t fail her. Or any of you.”

Without another word, Levi left him, going to check on the newest recruits one last time. Eren stood alone for a moment, one hand curled into a fist, the other resting on the hilt of his blade. If the Founding Titan’s true power was what he needed to set them free, then he would claim it. He would find Zeke, make contact, and end this cursed cycle of hate forever.

Reiner, who had been watching from a short distance, approached slowly. He paused, unsure if he was welcome. Eren noticed him but didn’t speak at first.

Eventually, Reiner cleared his throat. “I don’t ever expect forgiveness, but if we’re going to fight side by side tomorrow, I just want to say… I won’t betray you.”

Eren’s eyes flicked to him, unreadable. “I never asked for your word.”

Reiner swallowed. “I know.” He hesitated. “I’m doing this for my family…for Gabi. She’s all I have left.”

Eren said nothing, only gave a slight nod, and Reiner turned away, heading for his own vantage point. The sense of finality weighed on them both.

Across the district, Jean and Connie were finalizing the placement of Inferno Blades. Sasha stood by with a small group of Jaegerists, instructing them on how to handle the smaller explosives. When Connie rushed to check on something near the eastern wall, Jean stepped closer to Sasha.

“You good?” Jean asked quietly.

She offered a tight smile. “Ask me again when this is over.”

He huffed a small laugh. “Fair enough.” His gaze shifted to the horizon. “Tomorrow, everything changes.”

Sasha’s smile faded. “One way or another.”

Nearby, Armin was quietly going over strategies with a cluster of recruits who looked pale but determined. Hange swept by, triple-checking flares, gear, and any other detail that caught their notice. Levi, as usual, oversaw it all with an ever-present scowl.

Above them, the moon slid slowly across the sky, each passing minute bringing them closer to dawn. The calm remained, but it felt more like a held breath before the universe exhaled.

Time felt strange now, stretched thin by anticipation. Some squads found small corners to rest, lying awake beneath the stars, their eyes flickering with fear and hope. Others patrolled the perimeter, nerves thrumming at every shadow. The quiet almost mocked them, as though the world were waiting to unleash its fury in a single, punishing moment.

At last, the faintest glow on the eastern horizon hinted that night was nearly over. Eren stood once more on the wall, gazing out at the sea of darkness. He couldn’t see the ships yet, but he could almost sense them. The entire world had set its sights on Paradis.

Behind him, a soldier approached quietly, offering a curt salute. “Sir, it’s almost time. Captain Levi says we should get to our positions.”

Eren took a last look at the murky expanse. He felt his heart pound, a mix of dread and fierce resolve flooding his veins. There was no going back. He turned, stepping past the soldier to rejoin his comrades.

Every footstep echoed in the cold, silent district. As Eren reached the main gathering area, he saw them all waiting: Mikasa, Armin, Levi, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Hange, Reiner, Pieck, and Porco. Hundreds of Jaegerists surrounded them, eyes gleaming with adrenaline. Together, they formed the heart of this final defense.

Eren let his gaze sweep over them, thinking of Aurora’s face, the warmth in her eyes. He let that memory fill him with strength. Then, in a voice that carried across the plaza, he addressed everyone one last time.

“We stand between the world and our freedom. They want to destroy us, to erase us from history. We won’t let them.”

Silence held for a moment, and then, quietly at first, the Jaegerists began to chant.: “If we win, we live. If we lose, we die. If you don't fight, we can't win. Fight. Fight”

It grew louder and louder, echoing off the stone walls and the battered buildings. Their courage rose like a tidal wave, each voice calling out in unison.

Eren felt his own heart thunder in his chest. He didn’t know if any of them would see tomorrow’s sunrise, but for Aurora, for their child, for the men and women who had chosen to fight—he would become the devil they needed him to be.

In the distance, a horn blasted, carrying through the crisp air. Dawn was breaking. The wait was over. Eren’s eyes flicked to the horizon one last time, his resolve set, his soul hardened. Let the world come. Let them bring their armies, their bombs, their hatred. He would meet it head-on.

He whispered to himself, though no one else could hear, “Aurora… wait for me. I’ll come back to you.”

And with that final vow, the defenders of Paradis scattered to their posts, prepared to face the storm.

…

Aurora rested in a plush chair within one of the palace’s grand halls, gazing at the ornate murals on the ceiling. Beautiful patterns of gold leaf and swirling designs told stories of ancient kings and battles long past, but none of that captured her attention. Her thoughts drifted inevitably toward the distant walls of Shiganshina, where Eren and the others prepared for war. Every now and then, she closed her eyes and inhaled a trembling breath, wishing she could somehow stand beside them. Yet here she was, in what many would consider the safest place in all of Paradis.

Historia noticed the faraway look in Aurora’s eyes and approached with soft footsteps. She placed a hand on Aurora’s shoulder, her tone as gentle as her expression. “Try not to worry too much. I know it’s impossible, but you’ll drive yourself mad if you keep imagining the worst.”

Aurora lifted her gaze to meet Historia’s. “I can’t help it,” she murmured, her ice-blue eyes brimming with concern. “All I can think about is Eren out there, preparing for a fight that may leave him…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

Historia gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He’s strong. They all are. Sometimes I think they’re all unstoppable when they’re together, especially with CaptainLevi commanding the Jaegerists now. I’m sure they’ll do everything they can to come back alive.”

A tight smile flickered across Aurora’s face. She folded her hands over her belly, feeling the weight of her pregnancy as a constant reminder of the precious life she carried. “I know. I just wish I didn’t feel so… helpless,” she admitted. “If I weren’t so far along, if I wasn’t constantly on the brink of going into labor, maybe I could’ve stayed closer. Maybe I could have done something.”

Historia sat down beside her and let out a quiet sigh. “We all have a place in this fight. Yours is to ensure that your baby comes into a world that’s even slightly safer than the one we’ve known. Mine is to do what I can for the people, protect them, and manage the politics if needed. But I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried sick about Porco.” She paused, her cheeks taking on a faint pink hue at the mention of his name. “I still can’t quite believe how close we’ve become. It seems surreal.”

Aurora tilted her head. “You’ve grown so fond of him, haven’t you?”

A self-conscious laugh escaped Historia. “Yes, and it’s so complicated. He ate Ymir and yet somehow, I can’t help falling for him. Maybe it’s because I sense that, deep down, he feels a sliver of Ymir’s memories. Or maybe it’s just the person he’s become. I don’t know. But the love is there, and it’s strong.”

A distant clamor echoed from outside the palace walls, prompting Aurora’s spine to tense for a moment. The noise was only the Jaegerists changing guard. She exhaled shakily, relieved it wasn’t an alarm or anything more dire. The palace was a vision of tranquility on the surface. Stained-glass windows caught the afternoon sunlight, casting vibrant colors across the floor, and beautifully trimmed hedges lined the garden paths. But the tension in the air felt tangible; it was the hush before a tempest.

Soon after, a pair of children from Historia’s orphanage raced down the hallway, one of them being Noah. Their laughter briefly lighting up the solemn space. Trailing behind them were two older Jaegerist recruits, assigned to keep an eye on the little ones. The children paused when they saw Historia and Aurora, offering clumsy salutes and wide grins.

“Is Reiner going to come back soon?” Noah asked, his eyes wide with hope. “He promised to teach us how to do push-ups properly!”

Historia patted the top of his head. “He’ll try his hardest, I promise. You know Reiner—he’s very determined.”

The other child, younger, looked anxiously at Aurora’s belly and then up at her. “And the baby… when are they coming?”

Aurora forced a reassuring smile. “Any day now, I suppose. But don’t you worry about me. I’m just fine here.” She tried to inject confidence into her words, though her heart pounded at the thought of Eren missing the birth.

The children beamed as they ran off once more, the clatter of their small footsteps echoing against the marble tiles. But their innocent questions lingered like echoes in Aurora’s mind, reminding her how deeply everyone was tied to this war, even the youngest among them. These children looked at Reiner as a hero, not knowing the guilt and sorrow that plagued him, not realizing the heartbreak that tore him apart every time he thought about his actions. Aurora swallowed hard, wishing she could shield them from the harsh truths outside these palace walls.

A voice interrupted her train of thought. “Your Majesty, Mrs. Jaeger,” called a gray-haired physician, stepping into the corridor with polite urgency. He gave a small bow to Historia, then turned to Aurora. “I was hoping to check on you again. Given how close you are to your due date, it would be wise to monitor you frequently.”

“Yes, of course,” Aurora said, struggling to her feet as Historia offered her an arm. “I can’t say I’m particularly comfortable with all these constant examinations, but if it eases everyone’s minds, I’ll do it.”

The physician led them down a quiet hallway, where sunlight spilled in through tall windows. On either side of the corridor were grand paintings of past monarchs, each wearing opulent crowns and robes. Aurora followed him into a small chamber that had been converted into a makeshift clinic, complete with a narrow bed and several locked cabinets holding medical supplies. The doctor gestured for her to sit on the bed, then began his routine examination: checking her pulse, listening to her breathing, and gently placing his hands on her belly to feel the baby’s position.

“You’re measuring as expected,” he said in a reassuring tone. “Likely no more than another few days before labor starts, maybe a week at most. But it could also be tonight. Babies have a mind of their own.”

Aurora released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “That soon?” she whispered. “I hoped the baby would wait a little longer, until Eren…” Her voice faltered, the sorrow creeping in again.

The physician patted her hand. “You’re in good hands here. I’ll make sure you and the baby come through this healthy. Please trust me.”

Historia, who stood to the side, offered a supportive nod. “And I’ll be right here if you need anything. You can use my bedroom for as long as you want. I know it’s big and a little over the top, but it’s comfortable, and you shouldn’t be alone.”

A flicker of warmth spread through Aurora’s heart. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “I appreciate everything you’re doing.” She gently pressed a hand against the side of her belly, feeling a small movement from the baby. The thought that she might deliver in the next day or two weighed heavily on her. The father of her child was about to enter the greatest battle of their time, miles away with no guarantee he’d ever set eyes on their son or daughter.

After the brief checkup, Aurora and Historia made their way to the second floor of the palace, weaving through corridors adorned with tapestries of old family crests. Squads of Jaegerists stationed themselves at every possible entrance, their faces grim with duty. These were men and women Eren personally assigned, ready to defend Aurora and Historia at the cost of their own lives. Though Aurora was grateful, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt that others might die for her sake.

Reaching Historia’s lavish bedroom, Aurora settled onto the bed. It was enormous, draped with fine linens and pillows embroidered with the royal crest. Candles flickered on the bedside table, lending a gentle glow to the wide chamber. Historia paced near the tall window, occasionally peering out at the manicured palace gardens.

“It’s so quiet,” Historia remarked, her voice subdued. “Too quiet. I keep imagining the chaos that must be happening in Shiganshina right now, or if not yet, then soon. Makes it hard to breathe.”

Aurora nodded, trying to calm her nerves. “I know. It feels wrong to be safe in this beautiful place while they risk everything out there. But you and I… we both have our roles, even if they aren’t on the front lines anymore.” She offered a small smile of encouragement, attempting to reassure herself as much as Historia.

Historia moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Aurora’s shoulder. “I wish Porco was here,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “But wishing doesn’t change anything.” She inhaled deeply, forcing her composure to hold. “Anyway, we should get some rest. The doctor said you need it more than ever, and your mind needs a break from worrying.”

Aurora let out a tense laugh. “That’s easier said than done.”

She shifted on the bed, adjusting the blankets around her. She felt a wave of exhaustion, though she doubted she could truly relax. Outside, the sun began its late afternoon descent, painting the sky in gradients of orange and pink.

She glanced at Historia. “Do you mind if I stay here for a while? I don’t want to be alone.”

Historia smiled, albeit with a touch of sadness in her gaze. “Not at all. Stay as long as you like. I don’t really feel like being alone either.”

Aurora closed her eyes, yearning for a moment of peace. Yet, every time she tried to imagine something calm—like the lake near that cabin she once shared with Eren—her thoughts circled back to the war. She pictured the towering walls of Shiganshina, the Jaegerists standing ready, and the monstrous grin of a titan lurking just beyond the horizon. She also remembered the Founder's presence, how Ymir had seemingly come to her in the darkest moments. Aurora whispered a silent prayer, her lips barely moving:

“Please, Ymir… or whatever you are. If you’re listening, keep Eren safe. Bring him back to me. Don’t let our baby grow up without a father. I’m begging you.”

She felt a strange sensation, as though a chill wind brushed across her skin, but she dismissed it as a product of her imagination. Ymir’s nature remained a mystery—an all-powerful presence, or a victim trapped in a realm of endless servitude. Aurora couldn’t know. Nonetheless, she hoped the Founder might grant her prayer.

As Aurora drifted into a light sleep, Historia drew the curtains half-closed, allowing only a soft glow of the sunset to fill the room. The hush that settled over them held an air of uneasy expectation.

Outside the palace walls, the kingdom’s capital bustled, but nowhere near as it once did. Many had already been moved underground. Still, the clatter of distant carts and the chatter of soldiers mingled in the corridors, permeating the serene hush with hints of underlying tension. The world beyond these fortress walls prepared for the cataclysmic struggle that would decide the island’s fate.

All the while, far across the sea, the Global Allied Fleet loomed closer to Paradis. Warships stretched in a vast formation, an intimidating labyrinth of naval might. Cannons jutted from every hull, and overhead soared a battalion of airships brimming with bombs. Countries from every corner of the globe had united under Marley’s insistence. Their objective: annihilate the devil island, reduce it to rubble, and rid the world of its monstrous threat. Soldiers stood at attention on each deck, many gazing grimly at the horizon. Some believed wholeheartedly in their mission, others felt uneasy about the scale of slaughter. But none dared to speak against the plan.

Marley’s officers barked orders in clipped tones, ensuring no detail was overlooked. Among them was a quiet presence that many found unnerving: Zeke. He stood near the bow of a battleship, arms folded, expression distant. When he closed his eyes, he still saw glimpses of that fleeting vision of the Founder, that silent girl with impassive eyes. He couldn’t shake the memory, wondering why she would reveal herself in such a place, at such a time.

On one of the airships trailing slightly behind the main force, Gabi clenched her rifle in white-knuckled hands, eyes blazing with fury. Falco sat beside her, less certain, his gaze flickering to the stormy clouds rolling over the sea.

“They need to pay,” Gabi spat, nearly trembling with anger. “All of them… especially Eren Jaeger. Especially that devil who killed so many in Liberio, who turned Reiner into a traitor, who manipulated Pieck and Porco… I’ll make them pay.”

Falco parted his lips, unsure how to respond. He recalled the look on Reiner’s face whenever he spoke about the people on Paradis, the guilt that mixed with a strange fondness. “Gabi,” Falco said gently, “maybe we don’t know everything about what happened. Are we absolutely sure they betrayed us, or could there be more—”

“Shut up,” Gabi snapped. Her voice trembled with bitterness. “They betrayed Marley, Falco. They got all those Eldian refugees on that ship, only to hand them over to the devils. And then those devils turned them into titans. How else could that have happened? They never came back to Marley. They’re traitors.”

She took a shaky breath, forcing the tears away. “Reiner… he used to be so strong. So determined. Now he’s nothing more than a coward who ran off to cozy up to the island devils.”

Falco reached for her shoulder, but Gabi shrugged him off. The tension in the air felt thick, as though it threatened to choke them. Every soldier on the airship braced themselves for the dawn of the final assault. The entire world behind them stood united in hatred, convinced that wiping Paradis off the map was the only path to peace.

High above, the sun was nearing the end of its daily arc, painting the ocean with bands of orange and red. The Global Allied Fleet pressed onward, sails and steel at the ready, guided by the unwavering conviction that this mission would save humanity from the devils. Ships glided in perfect formation, airships poised overhead for an aerial bombardment. The operation was as well-coordinated as any in recorded history.

Marley had set the standard. They commanded the forces, orchestrating each movement, and the rest followed. Magath oversaw the grand plan, barking instructions that echoed across the decks. The tension on every vessel mounted, hearts pounding as each soldier envisioned what lay ahead.

Zeke, for his part, remained silent, a statue of thought. A single word from him could summon towers of dust and transform Eldians into mindless titans. Marley had decided instead of simply slaughtering the rest of the adult Eldians left in the internment zone… they secretly brought them along, packed in a lone airship and all of them already having Zeke’s spinal fluid running through their veins.

The titans are and alwayys have been a dangerous weapon… more so than any gun, cannon or airship. And Marley intended to use those filthy Subjects of Ymirs down to every last man, woman and child.

But his mission remained paramount. He had to ensure Eren never reached him. He couldn’t allow the Founder’s power to be unleashed through Eren’s will. Regardless of what the Founder had shown him or might attempt to do, he was bound by Marley’s orders and by his own twisted vision of salvation. The euthanization plan demanded it. 

Night began to settle over the water, and the stars shimmered faintly above the assembled fleets. In the distance, the jagged cliffs of Paradis loomed, just visible as dark shapes against the sky. The entire force braced for the final approach, adrenaline coursing through the veins of thousands upon thousands of soldiers.

Yet, on the opposite shore, Shiganshina stood equally ready. Eren, Levi, Hange, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Reiner, Pieck, Porco, and every last Jaegerist readied themselves, hearts pounding at the prospect of what morning would bring. The stage was set for a battle that would shape history—or end it.

Back at the palace in Mitras, Aurora leaned against the cushions of Historia’s massive bed. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment as an unfamiliar sensation pulled her from the edge of slumber. It wasn’t quite pain, but a tightness that made her heart skip. She inhaled, eyes flicking around the dimly lit room. The gentle glow of the bedside lamp revealed Historia reading a book in a chair nearby, too restless to sleep.

“Historia,” Aurora whispered, her voice wavering with a hint of nervousness. “I just felt something. Maybe it’s nothing, but… it felt different from the usual aches.”

Historia rose at once, setting the book aside. “Should I get the doctor?”

Aurora swallowed hard, pressing a hand against her belly. “Not yet. Let’s… let’s wait and see. It might just be nerves. I don’t want to bother him if it’s a false alarm.”

Outside, the night sky stretched vast and silent, but Aurora felt the weight of countless destinies converging. She thought of Eren again. She prayed that, by the time this baby truly wanted to come into the world, Eren would be alive to hold them.

She closed her eyes, ignoring the persistent knot of worry in her chest. For now, all she could do was rest and hope that come sunrise, life would still offer them a chance at a future. And across the ocean, the Global Allied Fleet prepared to unleash its wrath, convinced they were bringing justice, while Eren and the scouts prepared to defend the island with fire and steel.

The storm was mere hours away from crashing upon them all.

A/N: Buckle up you guys because it will only be chaos from now on.

~

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[red-doll-face]

Snow Angel

Chapter 1: elation >chapter two >>chapter three

low to medium honor Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he's alive. He's been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, low honor Arthur, smut, naive reader

WC: 2481

Hi, I’m unwell about him and I needed to post this bc I need people to talk to about it and I probably also need help lmao also may be a bit ooc. New to posting here 😳😖😵‍💫

Tags: innocence kink, size kink, vaginal and oral sex, no TB thank god. Arthur is sweet still but has mean tendencies obviously

Arthur’s new visitor has him hot under the collar.

The snow up here is about to overtake Lucky, the loyal Clydesdale you had known since you were a girl. His legs amble forward, winds whipping his mane and tail about. Hunkering over him; gripping his reins for dear life, you try to urge him further. Your throat is tight with nerves and of course the impending reality that Lucky has been slowing down. That the weather has only been getting worse since you started riding out. The last thing isn’t worth mentioning.

As if he could hear you over the blizzard winds, you clutch tight to his reins.

“Please Lucky, you can do it, boy. You can’t leave me here,”

His hooves trudge through the snow, his big legs managing to stay above the snow fall. He falters a bit here and there, more often as you go on. Grunting and shaking at his tack. You pat along his strong neck. The cold turns the moisture in the air to ice, the heat in his breath disappearing.

“I’m sorry, Lucky…” Shuffling onward, leading him on. Frost gathers over your coat and you would think the landscape beautiful if not for the lethality of it all. You’re not sure if people are meant to survive in places like this. With nose numb and fingers creaky in your thick gloves, you know you have to stop. Scanning the horizon for anything resembling a shelter, imagining yourself curled up in Lucky’s side, you can see the soft glow from a cabin a ways down the road. The only vestige of humanity you had seen for miles on what feels like the edge of the world. Windows glow with the tell tale orange of a warm fireplace. Your foot nudges into Lucky’s side for your last push, your last chance.

“Go!” you slap the reins on his neck, working him up to a trot. You approach and see what looks to be some sort of barn. It’s a small stable, a nice place to put a horse or two, maybe a dairy cow. Another horse lazily sleeps, fresh hay for his bedding. At your entrance, he perks up but stares oddly, easing back. Lucky knickers and snorts, just happy to be inside, you think.

“I’ll be back, hopefully not too soon…” You leave him there while he starts mooching the hay laid out for his new roommate. You pat his flank and watch the ice melt from his lashes.

Braced for the cold, arms crossed over your chest, you pull your legs forward through the snow outside. It’s a fight to get through the piles of snow, clouding around your lower thighs. Finally, you're on the wooden steps of the porch, which creak a bit underneath your feet. Panting, you meekly pat on the door.

“Please, I need help,” you shout, trying to speak over the blizzard. “Is anyone there?” You can hear the crackling fire, feeling like it’s warming you already. Heavy steps come to the door.

“Who’s out there?” A gruff masculine voice answers your call. It grates over your nerves, though if you weren’t alone you might have found it to be soothing. With any luck, he’s the father of a nice family whose heart would be softened by a lone young woman near frozen to death on his front door.

“Please, sir. I promise it’s just me,” your pleading seems to have done the trick and the man opens the door. Finally hitting you with a heat you had almost forgotten. He moves to the side after sizing you up. Hesitating even for a second causes him to dip his head to direct you inside. Forcing your stiff legs to lift. He takes a moment to analyze the gap you left behind. Carefully, he shuts the door and pulls the curtain closed. Maybe he had been robbed before? Lonely homesteads were easy and preferable targets for bandits. Typically neighbors were miles away, if you had any neighbors to speak of or to.

You get a better look at him, tall and strong, chest the size of a barrel. The sleeves of his plain white shirt are rolled up and the top two buttons are undone. Leather suspenders keep his deep brown trousers up. He stands as if unsure what to do with his body besides intimidate you with it, showing not an ounce of uncertainty on his face.

There is no one else here and if there is, they’re in the other rooms of his quiet and moderate home. The house smells of coffee, a disarming smell. Salt pork and boiled potatoes too. Certainly provisions that could last through this harsh winter.

“What the hell were you doin’ out there?” His tone is accusatory and judgemental. He must think you an idiot to be traveling in this weather and maybe he wasn’t all wrong. Instead of talking, your jaw clicks your teeth together. The hard look he gives you melts away and he helps you out of your coat. He's almost surprised to see you, eyes stuck on every piece of you revealed to him. Snowflakes and icy debris are shed from you and you sigh. You try your best to get your natural reactions to stop but they insist on ceasing on their own. The man huffs, stepping towards the percolator on the stove. You watch on, feeling strange that he hasn’t really invited you to sit or do much of anything else.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” he takes a seat by the fire in a big chair seemingly made just for him. He sets down the coffee before taking a match and striking it, lighting the end of a cigarette he retrieved from the table. The coffee steams gently and you take it; seeing as you're very sure he had made it for you. Jerkily, you move to sit as he sets his eyes on you. The couch is soft and warm, homely with a pretty blanket, thick and colorful patterns. While his gaze seems easy and relaxed, he watches you like a hawk.

“No, I… was getting something for my granny. She’s not feeling too good. Ma sent me to get something for her. The doctor, I suppose. Didn’t make it too far,”

He exhales. The smallest noise of amusement.

“I can imagine,” You take a sip of the coffee. Warm and sweet smelling. “What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” You stare, feeling a bit like a child being scolded by this man.

“Oh well, I-”

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed. If it weren’t for me, well…” scratching at the darker scruff that grows on his face. His hair is that same light brown, almost blond. He sucks the smoke out of the slim roll of paper. It's bitter and acrid, a contrast to the warm smoky fireplace. Your brows furrow. Deciding to change the subject before you say something out of turn, you take another sip out of the enameled cup he had given you. The smoke he inhaled releases in a cloud around his features, obscuring the knowing smile he wears.

“I’m sorry mister, but I don't think you gave me your name…” He ashes his cigarette, tossing his legs up on the table in the center of the room. The weight of him and his leather boots don’t rattle the table, he’s careful with himself.

“Arthur. You married?” His gaze is as hot and red as the cherry burning on the end of his cigarette. You almost start to feel uncomfortable. If there weren't a blizzard outside, you might consider walking out. He hadn’t even given you a chance to say your name. Your nervous look only seems to enthrall him more. You only now notice he’s looking at your hands but thick gloves still encase your fingers.

“No, I'm afraid not,” You contemplate telling him a lie but think about when you might have to remove your gloves. You’d rather not get caught in a fib. Though perhaps his rather brusque flirting might have come to an end should you have warned him of a man who would be looking after you. Being out here by yourself seems to have him convinced that no one truly was looking after you anyway.

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself? Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” The butt of his cigarette meets its end in the ashtray on the table. Your face tweaks into a small nervy smile, nodding. “You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Your fingers start to twiddle, feeling your face warm, maybe because of the flames licking at the logs on the hearth. He’s certainly not the ugliest man you’ve ever seen nor the oldest, you frown at such an oddly self deprecating comment. You’re surprised he doesn’t already have a wife and several children running around, reading stories by the fireplace that you sit in front of. You revert back to old tactics.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind too much,”

“Ain’t no trouble,” His hands seem to itch to be doing something, he also seems to twiddle his fingers. One hand propped over the arm of his chair.

“Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He stands, hands on his knees and then he’s going into the next room. It gives you a chance to evaluate the room you're in. The mantle has all sorts of strange little knick knacks, the walls, plenty of… distinctive hunting trophies and supplies. Several gleaming guns in different finishes are displayed proudly. Although pretty, they don’t seem unused. If anything, well loved and worn. You’re starting to feel every bit the lamb in the wolf’s den this man is already treating you as.

He comes out of the room, holding a pair of cotton long johns in a cream color. You’re not sure why he thinks you need them but he has been nothing but hospitable if not a bit too strong on his pleasantries and very blunt. It can be lonely out here in the country, so you offer a small smile. He stares at you, even as you awkwardly side step him and go to his bedroom. You close the door and sigh, nice to just have a moment to yourself. Away from the strange man and the cold. The warm smell of fabric and the natural musk of the wood calm you, along with the faint smell of something distinctive to him. You claw and peel at the layers of your clothing, riding gear and boots. You notice how wet your clothes are from the melting ice. Perhaps he knew better than you did.

You slip into the warm cotton of what must be his long johns. They’re nice and feel almost new. Far too big for you. That man, Arthur, did seem to be quite big. Here in the quiet room, you can remember the wind, the cut of the cold air against your cheeks, hear the wind rattle the glass. You're glad to be out of all of that.

It’s a rather modest room, a bed, an armoire, a nightstand, a cabinet. Cigarettes and a few cigars, several empty bottles of bourbon. Some old faded photographs but you're not so brave as to pick them up. The room is severely lacking in the touch of a woman department, bed pushed up against the wall. The smallest mirror adorns the wall, dusty and plain. You turn to the door and see him, standing there.

You startle and put your hand to your chest.

“You scared me Mister…” no last name to utter has you confused, he had never given you one. Your smile isn’t forced but it fades a little when you see him looking at you.

“Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” he’s really giving several once overs that feel like thrice overs, drinking you in like those bottles of bourbon. Your face feels hot again. He stares at the junction between your legs, up to your chest and then finally your face. You don’t think you've ever seen a man look at you like that; not that you spend very much time around men. The type of men at the saloons in town were no good for you, or at least that’s what Ma would say.

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” he puffs up in pride a bit, you tilt your head. Hopefully he hadn’t been watching you snoop around, or even worse, changing. You nod, a small gesture.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” he makes space for you to exit down the small hallway. You try not to brush against him but he’s so big, fills up the sparse room between you and the wall. He drops his arm on the door frame, making you pass underneath him. Looking up at him, you can make out the color of his eyes, a pretty summer blue. His shirt and suspenders smell clean and wintry. He makes you feel minuscule, a mouse and cougar. His features; squared and rugged from weathering the elements, are set in a stony expression but there’s excitement in his eyes.

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” he says. His hands twitch again, the one in the door is a tight fist. You know that you can’t leave. And you wouldn’t beat him should he chase, you doubt you’d even make it to Lucky. Especially now that he insisted you put on his underclothes. The temptation to be in dryer clothes has trapped you here. You flinch as his hand descends to rest on your neck and collar, rubbing. His body moves forward, taking your silence as acceptance.

“Please, I-“

“I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman,” his hand squeezing at your shoulder, you don’t dare to move. Broad chested, he seems to block out all of the light from the meager lamps and the fireplace.

“Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He eases off you and guides you down the hall, your heart thumping out of your chest. Certainly not because of the romance but the claustrophobic feeling of being alone with a man such as him, big and very strong in his advances. Thankfully, not too strong. Yet, a voice in your head warns.

If you made it, thanks for reading and pls send feedback 💝😭 I have split the chapter into 2 parts because it was way too long. I will be posting a "chapter 2" but chapter 3 will be chapter 2 for people who read the long version. I was just too excited to post it and didn't think about this LMAO

[bestworstcase]

THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN it's a draw let's talk about the principles.

In the rulebook for The Lady Afterwards, these are defined as "the most fundamental elements of reality; or, the various natures of the Hours; or, a post-facto invention of scholars of the invisible arts." Mark that third note in particular, because the aspects we discuss herein are—expressly—only an attempt to taxonomize the occult forces at work in the world and thus necessarily an imperfect and imprecise model thereof.

Keep this in mind. There are no clean dividing lines between the principles, and what we label (for example) 'Lantern' and 'Forge' are not, in reality, discrete individual forces but rather a cluster of interacting forces, patterns, rules et cetera which may be expressed or called upon in different ways at different times. Many seeming contradictions or inconsistencies are thus resolved.

With that out of the way:

The interaction most visible to the player is of course the Cultist Simulator 'subversion' mechanic, but I think it is also elucidating to consider 1. differing categorization of certain books shared between Cultist Simulator and Book of Hours, and 2. the principle aspects associated with each of the nine parts of the soul in the latter.

Before we dive into that, a note on 'Secret Histories' and 'Rose':

History is the scar on the world's skin. [Secret Histories describe the unknown complexities of the world, and its many pasts.] vs 'The rose which encompasseth all'. Nine directions to new horizons. [Exploration? Enlightenment? Hope?]

It is evident that Secret Histories and Rose have some relation and may even be synonymous to an extent—for instance, Dr. al-Adim is interested in the former in Cultist Simulator and the latter in Book of Hours—but Secret Histories notably isn't treated like a fully-realized principle in its own right, whereas Rose is mechanically indistinguishable from any other power. What's going on here?

Well, if Rose is the aspect 'which encompasseth all', then we might describe Rose as the skin; and therefore what we call Secret Histories are the scars or the flaws which inform the principle called Rose, in effect making Secret Histories not a principle in its own right, but rather an aspect of Rose.

So for the purpose of this discussion, I will refer only to 'Rose', even with regard to entities and things with Secret Histories aspect in Cultist Simulator. I believe the relation here is comparable to the relation between, for example, Heart and Dances.

Onward!

I have made a series of diagrams. First:

We begin with a wheel representing the order in which the Cultist may subvert lore and influences from one principle to the next, beginning with Lantern at the top and proceeding clockwise; into Forge, into Edge, into Winter, into Heart, into Grail, into Moth, into Lantern. Knock, placed at the wheel's center, cannot be subverted and subverts every other lore except Rose into itself.

Note the larger gap between Moth and Lantern. My reason for arranging the principles this way will become apparent shortly.

For ease of reference, here is a spreadsheet comparing the principles associated with every text that appears in both Cultist Simulator and Book of Hours. In cases where the text's mystery aspect does not match the lore fragment(s) it yields in the first game, I've noted the skill and memory as well.

This is a simple way to demonstrate the 'fuzziness' of the principles, noted at the beginning of this post.

In cases where the principle lore yielded by texts in Cultist Simulator differs from the text's mystery aspect in Book of Hours and the mystery aspect is not one of the newly-introduced aspects, generally speaking, the lessons the Librarian learns will match both; for example, 'The Six Letters on Memory' yields Forge lore in CS, but has Moth as its mystery in BoH, and the Librarian learns a lesson in Transformations & Liberations, a skill whose primary/secondary aspects are Forge and Moth.

The one notable exception is Sunset Passages. In Cultist Simulator, this text yields Winter lore; in Book of Hours, its mystery aspect is Forge, and it provides a lesson in Sacra Solis Invicti (Lantern/Sky). In order to understand the re-categorization of this text, we must consider its subject matter: it is a "miscellany of the funerary prayers, ceremonies, and hymns of the Church of the Unconquered Sun," which "schismed during the Intercalate, when the Sun was divided." It is thus concerned primarily with pre-Intercalate worship of the Madrugad, whose aspects are Winter and Forge, and the skill the Librarian learns from it pertains to those rituals.

Sunset Passages thus serves as a useful illustration of how and why certain texts may be categorized differently between the two games. It is not arbitrary. It's a mechanical representation of the taxonomic 'fuzziness' in that the Cultist can read a certain book and conclude that it's a volume of Winter lore whereas the Librarian can read the same book and categorize it as a book of mainly Forge lore with some relevance to Lantern and Sky, and both are correct, although the Librarian, being a scholar rather than an adept, takes a more nuanced view.

The point being that we can look at those texts which have been reassigned to one of the four/five aspects introduced in Book of Hours as a rough approximation of common relations between those aspects and the ones in the earlier game.

We'll use Moon as an example.

Kanishk at the Spider's Door — Edge lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Sharps (Edge/Moon) — Memory is A Stolen Secret (Moon/Knock)

Larquebine Codex — Heart lore -> Moon Mystery — Lesson is Sea Stories (Moon/Grail) — Memory is Gossip (Rose/Grail)

Morphy Codex — SH lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Tridesma Hiera (Moon/Grail) — Memory is Beguiling Melody (Grail/Sky)

Viennese Conundra — Moth lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Wolf Stories (Moon/Scale) — Memory is Fear (Scale/Edge)

Voyages of Ferninshun of Oreol — SH lore -> Moon mystery — Lesson is Sea Stories (Moon/Grail) — Memory is Salt (Knock/Moon/Winter)

Tally up the aspects associated with these texts: Grail: 5, Edge: 3, Rose: 3, Knock: 2, Scale: 2, 1 each Sky, Moth, Winter, Heart.

& secondary aspects for skills with primary Moon aspect: Grail: 2, Scale: 2, Edge: 1, Heart: 1

& primary aspects for skills with secondary Moon aspect: Winter: 5, Rose: 2, Edge: 2, 1 each Grail, Heart, Nectar, Sky, Scale.

& other aspects on Moon-aspected memories: 4 each Rose, Edge, Winter, Knock, 1 each Sky, Moth.

Keep in mind that this is only an approximation, because we're not taking into account any context for when, why, or how these conjunctions may occur. But we can identify certain patterns just by looking at the frequency; the two most common conjunctions are with Edge and Winter (10x), followed by Rose (9x), Grail (7x), Knock (6x), Scale (5x), Heart and Sky (3x), Moth (2x), and Nectar (1x).

Rose and Knock are both unusual in how they interact with other principles, with Rose being all-encompassing and Knock all-opening. So we're somewhat less interested in them for now. If we consider only the frequency of Moon's associations with the seven 'regular' principles present in Cultist Simulator, where might we position Moon in relation to the subversion wheel diagrammed above?

Well, the most intuitive way to decide its placement is to first put it in between Edge and Winter, then move it a bit clockwise to reflect its significant overlap with Grail and minor associations with Heart and Moth. Right?

In the interest of brevity I won't go through the tallies for the other three 'regular' aspects introduced in Book of Hours, but after going through this same process (and making some aesthetic adjustments, because this is only an approximate representation)...

What we have here is the Cultist Simulator order-of-subversion wheel with the four new aspects plotted onto it as the corners of a containing square; Sky in the juncture between Moth and Lantern, Scale between Lantern and Edge, Moon between Edge and Heart, and Nectar between Heart and Moth. I propose that:

These four principles subvert each other clockwise around the outer wheel, Sky into Scale into Moon into Nectar into Sky, and

The principles in Cultist Simulator, including Knock and Rose, all emerged through division of these older four during the striving and conflicts of the Lithomachy.

Any serious discussion of the Lithomachy is well out of the scope of this post (BUT WE'LL GET TO IT SOONER OR LATER BECAUSE HOO BOY) so my argumentation on this second point will necessarily be rather thin. Sorry. The remainder of this post will concern how well the above diagram holds up to more substantive investigation, and to that end here are the definitions of each principle aspect as per Book of Hours, in order of subversion:

Rose. 'The rose which encompasseth all'. Nine directions to new horizons.[Exploration? Enlightenment? Hope?]

Sky. Wind, storm, echo, song; the intricacies of mathematics and the principles of flight. Law's touch is lighter than we sometimes think.[Matters of balance, harmony and necessity.]

Scale. Hard without, hard within, hard to rouse, harder to subdue. [What is left of the crude powers of the deep earth.]

Moon. Secrets are soft; night is softer still; the sea speaks. It is not always wise to listen. [The nocturnal, the forgotten.]

Nectar. The green wealth in the world's veins; the pulse of the seasons. [Long ago, some called this principle Blood.]

Lantern. 'Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible Sun within us.' - Thomas Browne [Lantern is the principle of the secret place sometimes called the House of the Sun, and of the light above it.]

Forge. 'Fire', I once read, 'is the winter that warms and the spring that consumes.' [The principle of the Forge transforms and destroys.]

Edge. All conquest occurs at the Edge. One who dwells there is blind, and cannot be wounded. Another is strong, and grows stronger. [Edge is the principle of battle and of struggle.]

Winter. ... [Winter is the principle of silence, of endings, and of those things that are not quite dead.]

Heart. The Heart Relentless beats to protect the skin of the world we understand. [The Heart is the principle that continues and preserves.]

Grail. Hunger, lust, the drowning waters. [The principle of the Grail honours both the birth and the feast.]

Moth. I knew a man who captured moths in a bell-jar. On nights like this, he would release them one by one to die in the candle. [Moth is the wild and perilous principle of chaos and yearning.]

& Knock. The Knock permits no seal and no isolation. It thrusts us gleefully out of the safety of ignorance. [The Knock is the principle that opens doors and unseams barriers.]

And while, as I said, we are not going to delve deeply into the subject of the Lithomachy in this post, I do want to make a brief note of the gods-from-stone and their probable aspects. The Horned-Axe, we know to be both Knock- [Liminal Evocation] and Winter-aspected [Winter veneration]. Her attestation in 'On the Winding Stair' is also quite interesting:

Gregory evidently succeeds in opening a way to something he calls the 'Moon-Hall', but here his account becomes erratic. He insists that in the Moon-Hall the Horned-Axe is still an Edge-power; he hopes for an 'eternal rival', but cannot find the one he needs. The narrative is increasingly interspersed with chess notations, and ends abruptly.

Here we have an implication that the Horned-Axe was and is no longer an Edge-power, but within the House of the Moon she still is Edge-aspected (or possibly a cross-gender mirror-twin of hers retains an Edge-aspect that she has lost or discarded). The similarity here to the recurring idea that the Wheel still turns in the House of the Moon is striking. Her altar beneath Hush House accepts Edge, Scale, Winter, and Knock aspect.

The Horned-Axe is one of the three Hours of the Chancel alongside the Meniscate and the Sister-and-Witch, of whom the former has obvious associations with the Moon and the latter with the Sea. I submit, then, that before the Lithomachy, the Horned-Axe's aspects were instead Moon and Scale, and that she was—in some way—divided or bifurcated in the course of the Lithomachy into two halves, both with Knock aspect, one Winter-aspected and the other an Edge-aspected reflection.

(<- I will note, as an observation, that there is a vague and rather tangential precedent for such an occurrence; the Wolf-Divided is the product of the division of an Hour, and likewise has Edge and Winter aspect. The common factor would seem to be the coincidence of an ending, hence Winter, with the emergence of an entity driven by an unfulfilled need, hence Edge.)

That is our only living god-from-stone. The others are the Wheel, the Flint, the Tide, the Seven-Coil, and the Egg Unhatching. We know that the Wheel was usurped by the Moth (and that its blood, shed on the roots of the Wood, birthed the Velvet); that the Flint was shattered by the Forge; that the Colonel and the Mother of Ants conspired to slay the Coil; and that the Egg Unhatching fled to the Glory by unknown means and with uncertain outcome.*

[*The Unwise Mortal brought it through the Tricuspid Gate and then it hatched into the Sun-in-Splendour. This is how he ascended to Hourhood as the Watchman. I can't get into it right now or we'll be here all day but: TRUST.]

So, the Wheel was replaced by the Moth and the Velvet (aspects: Moth, Heart—& I submit, also Moon). When the Medium paints the endless memory: "With each turn its cilia pulse and wriggle and its body flushes translucent to crimson. It might be ugly but it is beautiful like the withdrawing of blood from the labyrinths of glass. It does not cease and all its involutions are infinite." All of this locates us firmly in the neighborhood of Moth/Heart, emphasis on Heart given the imagery, and given that the aspect now called Nectar was once known as Blood, this one is easy.

The Wheel's first aspect was Blood. I believe it may also have been Scale-aspected, due to its association with serpents. (On this see Serpents & Venoms. Note that the Secret Histories wiki identifies the 'low red sun' as the Egg Unhatching mostly on the basis of the Medium's glorious memory, but this plainly incorrect. The 'low red sun' was the Wheel, and the Egg Unhatching was a moon, before it hatched. We'll talk about this in more detail in my next post.)

The Flint was 'eclipsed and then shattered' by the Forge. In nearly all of its attestations it's associated with the earth in some way. When painting the golden memory, the Flint is described thus: "This is only a stone, though it is smoothed and sharpened to a midnight point, but look closer. Each of its facets shows a single point of light. It might be the glint of firelight. It might be each a different Star."

As with the Wheel being a Blood-Hour, it seems quite straightforward that the Flint's aspect was Scale; and given its connection to the Wheel through the line of Antaios, an argument could be made that it had a minor Blood aspect as well, making the Wheel and the Flint reflections of each other (Blood/Scale | Scale/Blood).

Next, the Tide, which the Red Grail drowned and consumed. Its usurpation by the Grail and association with the Sea would suggest Blood (the primordial precursor to Grail) and, obviously, Moon. Painting the luxurious memory offers the description: "In a night-blue Mansus-haze swims a coral palace-crown. At its fore-edge it absorbs the lesser Names, coating them with its minerals and juices, and at its rear edge it expels some of them, polished like jewels. The others go to feed its thorny Tide-heart," which reinforces the 'Grail-precursor' angle pretty strongly.

Further, the Tide being Moon- and Blood-aspected offers an elegant explanation for the unusual frequency of Moon-Grail conjunctions in comparison to the other 'precursor' aspects (Heart-Sky is also a common conjunction but otherwise conjunctions with aspects outside the precursor 'quadrant' are quite rare); consider the Sea as the world's blood, an ever-churning life-giving liquid, and the Moon must figure as the world's heart, as the engine of the tidal forces which keep the waters circulating. Heart is the connection between the two, but Grail having supplanted Blood (now Nectar) as the principle most strongly associated with the Sea, it remains closely entangled with the Moon.

Like the Flint, it seems fairly straightforward that the Seven-Coil was Scale-aspected: its monstrous serpentine form and present associations with earthquakes both unambiguously point in this direction. Contra the Secret Histories wiki, I actually do not believe that the Seven-Coil had Rose aspect itself. The events leading up to its slaying are (notably) recounted in much greater detail than the death of any other god-from-stone, and unlike the others, its defeat came not at the hands of a god-from-blood but what seem to have been the first two human* gods-from-flesh; it follows that the death of the Seven-Coil occurred much later than the usurpation of the Wheel, the Flint, and the Tide...

[*I believe the Elegiast and the Beachcomber may be much older, but neither of them were mortal humans as the Colonel and the Mother of Ants seem to have been prior to their ascensions. Jury is out on when the Vagabond ascended to Hourhood exactly, but she's of the Cross. Probably.]

...and indeed, 'The Deeds of the Scarred Captain' places the slaying of the Seven-Coil immediately prior to the founding of Mycenae, which occurred around 1350-1200 BC—well into the Bronze Age and not remotely prehistorical.

The Coil itself wasn't Rose-aspected; I believe its slaying is the inciting incident for one of the Histories—most likely the Third. The massive proliferation of Worms in that History, the loose association between Worms and the Coil, the origin of the Seven-Coils' Temple in the Third History, Sparrow's paranoid conviction that this History is "overrun by Coils," and even the aspects of the Third History's encaustum Nillycant (Winter & Edge for the Colonel; Scale for the Coil) all seem to point in this direction.

That leaves only the Egg Unhatching, vexing little enigma that it is. In the Medium's painting it appears like this: "A faded pale white-gold seen in certain patches of the sky, when the mist is clearing but the sun might be mistaken for the moon. We hold our breath and watch it brighten, until each colour divides from the next like a new-minted alphabet." Despite its having been a moon, I'm not wholly convinced that it had Moon aspect; that it hatched into the Sun-in-Splendour (you'll have to trust me on this for now) might suggest it was Sky-aspected, although this doesn't feel quite right to me either.

The other Lantern-precursor it could have had is Scale, and I am fairly confident that the Egg Unhatching was Scale-aspected. The Seven-Coil is described as 'the nest' in a certain ending and there are some hints toward a connection between the Sun-in-Splendour and the Scīmafectra-kind of the Carapace Cross; it would not be unreasonable for the Egg Unhatching to have been laid or incubated in the Nest—that is, the Seven-Coil—during the era of the Carapace Cross, and thus to have Scale aspect. The Scale determination may loosely support this as well. Furthermore, the Unwise Mortal "learnt the shaping arts of the Flint" and later "ascended to the shadow of the Egg Unhatching," which is suggestive of some degree of similarity between the Flint and the Egg. So we'll put this one down as Scale and a 'maybe' on Moon/Sky.

...and that's my 'brief' note on the probable aspects of the gods-from-stone. TO RECAP:

Horned-Axe: Moon/Scale -> Knock/Winter + Knock/Edge

Wheel: Blood/Scale

Flint: Scale/Blood

Tide: Blood/Moon

Seven-Coil: Scale

Egg Unhatching: Scale + Moon/Sky (?)

Lastly—and this is more a footnote for a future post, really—notice the absence here of any gods-from-stone with clear, unambiguous signs of having been Sky-aspected. An argument can be made for the Wheel and the Flint to have had Sky aspect, the Wheel having been the old sun and the Flint being associated with starlight, but there is little in the way of supporting evidence (and neither Sky-Nectar nor Sky-Scale are common conjunctions, although Heart and Sky are frequently conjunct in matters of weather, so the argument for the Wheel to have been Blood / Scale / Sky is a bit stronger than the one for the Flint).

Right. So.

Let's talk about the nine elements of the soul.

Here, I've marked how different aspects are connected through, or by, each part of the soul. Where two aspects are not adjacent, the connection is represented passing through the simplest juncture, such that the aspects of Ereb, Wist, and Trist connect to each other through Knock; the Moth and Rose of Fet pass through Sky; and Moon is the joint between Health's Nectar/Heart and Scale.

Depicting the elements this way reveals some interesting patterns:

Other than Health, which is unusual in other ways, every non-adjacent pair here is joined through its juncture at a 135° angle (and if we were to route the connection from Heart to Scale through Knock rather than Moon, this would be true of Health too; however, I believe that Moon is the more appropriate juncture in this case for reasons I will outline in a bit.)

The two paired aspects that are adjacent around the inner wheel, Forge/Edge Mettle and Heart/Grail Chor, are stronger in the principle subverted when these aspects interact. In theory, this suggests that Sky may subvert Lantern—and this in turn would be a small point in favor of interpreting Sky / Scale / Moon / Nectar as precursor aspects whose division created the modern principles, on the grounds that Sky subverting Lantern then obeys the Sanguine Exception.

(which holds that every door must open both ways.)

Chor, "exuberance, rhythm, and instinct," has Heart aspect with a lesser power of Grail; when subverting Heart lore or influence into Grail, the project description is "what does not cease will succumb, at last, to temptation," and the action "all that moves must succumb to hunger." This conjunction is also reversed in Memory: Satisfaction, which has Grail aspect with a lesser power of Heart, so it doesn't seem like a stretch to conclude that Chor arises from hunger in moderation; that is, the need for sustenance and meaning in life, absent the wilder hedonism of Grail.

Chor's malady, Duendracy, is a lapse in concentration brought on by what is described as a quite pleasant but very distracting (or perhaps inspiring) "possessing presence from the Mansus." It has Heart aspect only; but notice how afflicted Chor seems to be stilled as the Grail aspect is lost to the pleasant distraction—even though Heart is defined as the principle of relentless motion! Similarly, that Duentratic Chor must be roused by a sufficient power of Moth, the "wild and perilous principle of yearning," suggests the best cure for Duendracy is a nameless dissatisfaction which reawakens the Heart to its hunger, and thus restores its balance with Grail.

Ereb is "pride, compassion, hatred, fear" and "the shadow in the soul's cellar." It has Grail aspect with a lesser amount of Edge; so, we might call it an expression of passionate desire bringing about, or brought about by, strife. And while Ereb itself lacks Knock aspect, the way its Grail-Edge conjunction is expressed does resonate with the principle of Knock for much the same reason that one facet of Knock is wounding.

What commonality unites the qualities of pride, compassion, hatred, fear?—here I will note that Book of Hours (and Cultist Simulator, in less unsubtle ways) incorporates a number of Jungian concepts into its storytelling; the Archaeologist in particular is more or less explicitly tormented by their projected Shadow, in Jungian terms. The Shadow is an unconscious aspect of the personality composed of traits that are unwanted, that do not align with the aspirational ideal image of oneself, and which are therefore both repressed and projected outward, driving conflict both within and without. Confrontation with the Shadow is inevitable and may lead to either possession by it (which produces confusion, distress, emotional paralysis) or assimilation of it (which acknowledges and integrates the Shadow into the conscious self, a spiritual awakening).

The word Ereb derives from ἔρεβος (érebos), the ancient Greek for the darkness of Hades; and it's "the shadow in the soul's cellar," the intersection of Grail's "drowning waters" with the conflict and conquests of Edge—it is the Shadow, and so it is hidden or buried but must, sooner or later, be encountered. And so we might say that the Shadow will eventually, inevitably, perhaps violently, Knock. Note, also, the descriptions when strengthening Ereb with either Bosk ("the Wood is filled with shadows") or Skolekosophy ("...will unchain my Ereb"), and more generally Ereb's association with the unwritten, instinctual lore of the primaeval wood and the study of things that should not be studied. The Shadow comes Knocking, etc.

(I find Ereb especially interesting in relation to both Calyptra and the Corrivality, and will get into a deeper dive about this at some point in the future. For now: Westengryre is the affliction incurred by provoking the Mare-in-the-Tree. Sleep softly!).

Fet is "that part of us which walks in dreams," and its first aspect is Rose, its second Moth; and, as noted, I propose that the juncture in this conjunction is Sky. Why?

Sky concerns "matters of balance, harmony, and necessity." Moth is an unpredictable, wandering principle of chaotic yearning; Rose is "exploration, enlightenment, hope." Now think about Fascination: 2 Moth, THE HIGHER I RISE THE MORE I SEE; and if the Cultist succumbs to visions with three Fascination, this is their ending: "First it was the dreams. Then it was the visions. Now it's everything. I no longer have any idea what is real, and what is not."

Fet, the part which walks in dreams, which traverses the Mansus, has Moth aspect commingled with the aspect of enlightenment and exploration. Its malady is Gisting, the Rose aspect absent the Moth, and described thus: "As my concentration fails, a part of my soul flutters away, drawn by a distant half-imaginary light. [...] My fet is gisting - too loosely tethered to me - so that I glimpse the Mansus even in daylight hours. [...] In dreams I have visited the House behind the world... and some part of me is trapped there now, even when I wake." Whence does the Cultist's Moth-aspected Fascination derive? From the unmooring of Moth from their Fet.

To maintain one's Fet in good health—to walk the Mansus in dreams with the dangerous impulse to wander tethered safely to the skin of the world and the ways beneath it—what is required most of all is balance; harmony between the peril of Moth and the Rose which anchors the dreamer to the Wake. This is a matter of Sky.

(& of course, Rose and Moth together represent the nine divisions of the wind itself: the eight winds of the compass rose and the directionless, chaotic ninth.)

Health—Health is unusual in several ways, the most obvious being that it has three aspects rather than two. It is not a part of the soul per se but rather the dwelling-place thereof; its aspects are Nectar, Heart, and Scale. I believe that the reason for this is relatively simple. The aspect now called Nectar was once instead named Blood, and so we might consider that the first aspect of Health, the body, is the Heart-Blood, or the Blood-in-the-Heart. Or we might conceptualize this combination of Nectar-Heart as within-without, the lifeblood moved by the heart beating to protect the skin.

Then why Scale?

Well... Scale is the aspect of what is left, of what remains, of the old forgotten songs asleep in the depths of the earth which might yet be roused; and the Cross died not but passed within. Health has Scale-aspect because that is the last trace of the Carapace Cross, long-buried and forgotten but never quite gone. Hence my choice to route Nectar-Heart's union to Scale through Moon, the secret and forgotten things, rather than through Knock and Forge. Either is cogent, but I think Moon is the better fit.

Next! Mettle. Mettle is easy. Mettle is the "will; self-discipline; that part of us which makes the right choice" and "the capacity for meaningful choice," and it has Forge aspect with a lesser power of Edge. When subverting Forge lore or influence into Edge, the Cultist invokes the Lionsmith's rebellion at Issus: "The Hour called Lionsmith shattered his own sword to escape his master's dominion. All things can be overcome, with sufficient force. [...] I've shattered what I believed before. Thus have I subverted my Forge lore to Edge."

A small—but important!—detail I want to underscore here. In shattering his sword at Issus, the Lionsmith enacted a teaching of the Forge of days, that "the artisan may achieve their highest goal only by destroying their most precious tool." That is to say, the method used here to subvert Forge into Edge is not to conquer the Forge with the Edge but instead to reforge the Edge using Forge-techniques. One principle subverting another doesn't necessarily imply an adversarial relationship to each other; they are instead complements, or united opposites, or both. Forge-into-Edge is the clearest demonstration of this.

Thus, Mettle encompasses not just fortitude and conviction but specifically the will to change oneself—to break and be reforged—in pursuit of the highest goal. I would also submit that it is the part of the soul most in conflict with Ereb (the ego-ideal of the superego, if you want it in Jungian terms; that aspirational sense of self and identity which suppresses the Shadow). The drowning waters of Grail versus the consuming fire of Forge, the birth-and-death, end-and-beginning of Grail vs the metamorphosis and shaping arts of Forge; opposite and the same, passion striving against self-discipline, willpower striving to give form to unconscious desire, and so conflict arises from the Edge between them.

Phost is "the light within: sight, perception, inspiration" and "all the Glory's gifts." Its first aspect is Lantern, its second Sky. When afflicted, its malady is Fascinated: "My inner light gutters, then flares - I am snared in a dangerous fascination. [...] Phost is the brightest part of the soul - sometimes it can grow too bright for safety." Unlike the Cultist's Moth-y Fascination, Fascinated Phost has a small degree of Lantern aspect. It does, however, appear to be the same condition, hence "the HIGHER I RISE the MORE I SEE."

The discrepant aspect here may come down to a simple difference in temperament between the Cultist and the Librarian; one imagines that an adept must have a greater inclination toward Moth than a scholar—otherwise why seek what lies above and beyond the Stag Door? Thus Glory entices the adept but blinds the scholar. Or else, for the scholar, the danger of Fascination lies in what perilous yearnings might be enticed toward you, as Daymare insinuates, although whether the advice she offers Gwen is applicable generally or not is, given Gwen's particular circumstances, unclear.

In any case, Phost is the part of the soul afflicted by Fascination, and it seems reasonable to conceive of it as a counterpart or perhaps the fulcrum of Fet. Consider the Watchman's Paradoxes, a Lantern-Sky skill which can be committed either to Illumination or Nyctodromy:

From Light (Phost) Our dreams are shadows cast by the Watchman's light. So we perceive him even in our shadow. This is Illumination. From Change (Fet) We recognise the dream-places that the Watchman shows us, though we have never seen them before. Perhaps we were something else when we saw them. This paradox is fundamental to Nyctodromy.

If a dream is the shadow cast by the Watchman's light, or a place thereby illuminated, and Phost is "all the Glory's gifts," and the Fet is the part of the soul which walks in dreams, then it is—perhaps—Phost which illuminates the way, as an inner semblance of the Watchman's light, and keeps the balance between Rose and Moth.

Shapt is "eloquence and understanding; the door opens both ways." It has Knock aspect and a lesser power of Forge. It is words. It is speech: the first wound, the first sword, the first key. When afflicted, it develops the malady Acusis, "in which the door, Shapt, cannot be closed. [...] Every sound rings like a bell - every word scratches at my eyes or skin." Knock, absent Forge, soothed only by the silence of Winter. I get very excitable about Shapt and this is already a quite long post, so I will leave it at: Ebrehel is the Shapt of an Hour.

Trist is "the change and the longing," and its first aspect is Moth, its second Moon. Its affliction, Despairing, has Edge aspect instead: "Trist is already half a hand trailed in a river of deeper sadness. [...] Melancholy is the mist on the soul's waters. Despair is the wolf that prowls the water's edge." Trist is also implicated in the existence of what seems to be the most dangerous of the 'great shadows' that can be found in tombs—as described in 'The Barrowchild's Elegies':

The Barrowchild warns particularly of the 'avidity of trist', where a remnant-shadow's longing for change survives its sense of self and even devours its wist. That longing may draw the curious into the tomb, where the remnant-shadow changes so that it cannot be distinguished from its visitor - or that the reverse becomes true - and that it is never again possible to say whether it is the shadow or the visitor that exits the tomb.

ahem. Conceptually what this 'avidity of trist' describes is, in Jungian terms, possession by the Shadow. In Secret Histories terms, I believe that Ereb (fear) overtakes Trist, which turns to despair; the Mettle (will, choice, the determinants of self) is eroded or forsaken or otherwise lost, whereafter the despairing Trist provokes a complete obliteration of everything else that remains in a violent, agonized desperation to destroy the Ereb. & that's what a Wolf-Splinter is.

So the Moth aspect needs no explanation. Moon, however, is interesting, as is the juncture through Knock and Winter. Trist, the change and the longing, is melancholy... and Moon is the aspect of secrets, of nocturnal and forgotten things. Trist, I believe, is specifically the longing for what has been lost, after the changing, after something ends. Hence the danger of its avidity.

Last and not least, we have Wist; "the soul's memory, the true name scratched on its cornerstone, what remains after the rest has passed." It's the memory and the remnants. Its aspects are Winter and Lantern, and its malady, Shell-Crossed, has the aspect Scale, expressly because it's a surfacing remnant: "Memory crossed, hatched, lined, snapped. My thoughts are tangled and unfamiliar to me. Something of those who came before - the Carapace Cross - has always lingered in humankind. It's risen now in me."

The Winter-aspect is of course straightforward, given the Wist's role as memory-keeper for the soul. The Elegiast comes to mind, as does the nowhere-Hour called Snow (for death alters; Snow endures).

But why Lantern? Lantern is not an aspect frequently associated with preservation or endurance—quite the opposite, it purifies and it blinds. It begins to make sense if we consider this Lantern-aspect in relation to the Scale-aspect that emerges when Wist becomes Shell-Crossed, and that is, I think, the closest we have to a smoking gun in terms of Scale being a precursor to Lantern. What remains of the Carapace Cross now? Only light. This is why Shell-Crossed Wist is cured with Lantern; its Scale aspect is purified and therefore forgotten, all but the very last, inextinguishable trace.

(We'll discuss that more in another post.)

So!

All of these conjunctions of principles within the soul track quite well with the positioning of Sky / Scale / Moon / Nectar at the corners around the 'inner wheel.' I think the elements of the soul provide a more comprehensive look at the way the principles interact with each other than do Cultist Simulator's subversion projects, which we turn to now. Briefly. (she says, lying.)

Lantern into Forge: "The magus Julian Coseley claims the Forge of Days split the Sun. Perhaps he was right. [...] Light yields to Heat."

Something interesting to note is that there is a recurring if rather subtle motif of the Sun's light—the light of the Glory, Lantern—being cold. Or at least, not very warm. Besides the Meniscate, whose light is that of a reflection because her domain is the Moon, all of the extant Solar Hours have Winter aspect, which is not particularly unusual in and of itself given the influence of the Intercalate. But the Medium's splendid memory implies that the Sun-in-Splendour, although brighter than the Madrugad or the Sun-in-Rags, was likewise chilly: "The Sun was brighter once - no warmer, but its light held colours we no longer see."

This contrasts the Wheel, as described in, for example, the Inks of Revelation commitment to Hushery: "...since the dawn times when the sun hung red and low and we felt its warmth like autumn." But even that suggests only a little warmth.

Lantern and Forge are similar in myriad ways—light purifies, light blinds; fire gives light and consumes knowledge; one is unmerciful, the other inspires unmerciful change—but one key enduring difference does seem to be that Lantern-light is cold, unyielding, whereas Forge-light burns, desires, consumes, destroys. In this specific way Forge holds more similarity to Moth and Grail than it does to Lantern... and indeed we do see Forge-Moth or Forge-Grail conjunctions here and there. Notably, Transformations & Liberations (Forge-Moth) and Numen: A Merciless Alteration (Edge-Forge-Grail).

Forge into Edge, we've touched on already.

Edge into Winter: "I am acknowledging the victory of patience over strength. [...] Patience defeats strength."

Just as the method for subverting Forge into Edge recalls the Lionsmith, Edge into Winter may—arguably—call upon the Colonel's understanding of victory through the cunning borne of experience. Or we might interpret the operation from the perspective that even the fiercest conflict must end in time, whether in victory or defeat; that even the strongest warrior must fall. The White waits west of the world, but she will not wait forever. In all likelihood both are true, or at least can be true. I would imagine there are different techniques drawn from either viewpoint. (& this, too, is Edge.)

Winter into Heart: "Winter's coming must yield at last to spring."

This operation, I find most interesting in conjunction with the description of Forge as "the winter that warms and the spring that consumes." On its face, it is reasonable to interpret Winter and Heart as opposite forces—silence and stillness, striving against the drums and motion of life—but... but. Winter is the principle of endings, of silence, and of those things that are not quite dead.

Consider the Winter-Heart skill Quenchings & Quellings:

Arts which quench fires and bring solace to the troubled mind. 'A true adept is never troubled by fire, nor by fever, nor by restless spirit'. – Ambrose Westcott Safety in Silence (Trist) Unwise words are dangerous. Mourn them, remember them, speak them not. This is Hushery. Safety in Oblivion (Health) Let the flesh forget disease, let the smoke forget the flame, let the troubled mind forget its pain: Preservation.

Ambrose Westcott was a metallurgist, an alchemist, a pyrographer—his area of specialization pertained to Forge, not to Heart or Winter. But Quenchings & Quellings is first and foremost a skill interested in regret and forgetting, and therein lies the connection: Regret is a Winter-Forge memory. "Every choice has its shadow."

I do not think Winter and Heart are opposing forces at all, but rather two sides of a three-sided coin. (If you'll pardon the tortured metaphor.) Winter ends and Heart renews. Winter remembers and Heart preserves. What's missing from these pictures? Forge, which destroys; Forge, which transforms. Not for nothing are these the principles of Calyptra; the Black Flower's Heart-aspect, the White's Winter-aspect, the Red's Forge.

Heart into Grail, we've already discussed.

Grail into Moth: "Even the Red Grail falls prey to the buzzing in the brain."

Obviously, little daylight exists between hunger and yearning; both are a form of desire. Moth and Grail are similar in their hedonism, their wildness, their violence; the Moth flayed the Wheel and the Thunderskin was flayed at the Grail's behest. (Much is made of the confounding question of whether the Moth or the Grail came first, feasted first, arose first. There are no end of contradictory answers, but the truth is really very simple. They are twins—triplets actually but we don't have time for that—born together.)

But do note the specific phrasing used here—that the Red Grail falls prey to the Moth. The Hour called Moth is a hunter. This is described, for example, when committing Horns & Ivories to the Bosk. So the Red Grail is an Hour which hungers and consumes, presiding at births and deaths in equal measure, and sometimes she falls prey to the hunter-Moth; there is some notion here of reversals, of the hunter-becoming-hunted, of hunger being what is preyed upon.

Here I will draw your attention to the Moth-Grail skill Resurgences & Emergences: "Birth and death are only directions. Between the two we find a crossroads." When Grail is subverted into Moth, this is the crossroads they approach.

& into Knock: "Place pressure upon a weakness, and rend the skin of the world." Any aspect studied with Knock becomes Knock.

Knock is a power of opening, of wounding, of breaching; but I think it is also—perhaps even more importantly—a principle of intersection. It is the joining-together which dissolves all boundaries. The reason it subverts everything is less that it's a cosmic skeleton key and more a question of Knock being the principle that understands everything to be connected to everything else, because it is the principle which connects all things. Nothing is truly separate, and nothing can be divided unless it was first joined.

It's the aspect of the Mother of Ants, who encircles, who arises from wounds, who spares those who are already harmed. Knock is the principle that both wounds and heals by wounding, the venom that is also the antivenin. If you've ever wondered why Sacrament Ascite is brewed from Glassfinger Toxin, this is why.

Now—finally—let's discuss my proposed operations of Sky into Scale, into Moon, into Nectar, back into Sky.

Sky into Scale: This one is actually quite open-and-shut. We'll start with the Ithastry commitment for the language Kernewek Henevek:

The Stars (Wist) A smiths' proverb in Brancrug: 'What starts in the sky, ends in the earth.' A story goes with it, that the village smith's anvil in the time of the Dewulfs was hatched from a meteor stone, and so every plough in the village knows something of the stars. Not many remember the story, but everyone remembers the proverb. It would probably count as Ithastry.

From the sky to the earth; as above, so below. Sky is "wind, storm, echo, song... matters of balance, harmony, and necessity." Scale is "hard without, hard within, hard to rouse, harder to subdue; what remains of the old powers of the earth." What's an earthquake if not a storm within the stone? Or is it a song that still echoes beneath the earth?

Both are precursors to the modern principle of Lantern; Scale, the principle of the Flint, is very closely associated with Forge—and in Lightning we find the conjunction of Sky-Forge.

There is also a whole tangent we could go into here about the birds and the serpents and the birds-of-a-scale, worms-of-a-feather. But I won't belabor the point. Next!

Scale into Moon: One could make an argument, too, for Scale into Nectar, on the grounds of stone-and-soil, fossil-and-seed, antecedent for the Winter-Heart relationship. However, that becomes more difficult when the relationships between the precursors and the modern principles is taken into account, and I think the similarities between Scale-Nectar and Winter-Heart are more accurately represented in terms of Scale-Moon-Nectar preceding the triad of Forge-Winter-Heart.

The Scale-Moon subversion also has Hill & Hollow going for it, in particular the Preservation commitment:

The ways of the hill-children and the gods-from-stone. Old paths, old secrets, the songs that still echo beneath the earth. How They Endured (Health) In the beginning, the Carapace Cross served the first Hours, the gods born from stone. When the gods-from-stone were defeated, where could the Cross go? Into the hills; into the Bounds; and into us. This is how humankind came to be, and in our most secret hollows, the Cross endures. This is a matter of Preservation.

(Note that 'the Bounds' seems to also encompass the House of the Moon, as per the Nyctodromy commitment for Hyksos.)

Scale is what sleeps, remains, what might be roused, while Moon is what is secret, what is hidden, what is nocturnal, and what has been forgotten. Scale endures and fades from memory; Moon remembers what was forgotten. The old songs that echo under the earth become the secrets whispered by the waves beneath the moon.

Like Forge and Winter, Scale and Moon pair the violent destruction of Scale (as a shattering earthquake) with the softer, gentle endings presided over by Moon (as the sea erodes stone). Next!

Moon to Nectar: Here, of course, the dual nature of Grail—the drowning waters but also blood—is worth noting. Both Nectar and Moon are far more strongly tied to Grail than to Heart. And of course, the Wheel, the low red sun, once had the aspect Blood; and it still turns inside the House of the Moon.

Speaking of the Wheel, while Serpents & Venoms is a Scale-Moon skill, it undeniably concerns the Wheel (which may, as we discussed earlier, have also been Scale-aspected), and its Hushery commitment has some interesting implications regarding the relationship between the Wheel and dreams:

The Last Sun (Trist) In the dawn times the sun was lower, so we gave it our blood. From our blood it knew us, and so it was kinder. Its serpents brought us its poisons to drink, and so we died. But we only died a little, and so we dreamed, and returned the next day to give it our blood again. Those times of peace persist in the lessons of Hushery.

In the Mansus as it exists now, dreams are shadows cast by the Watchman's light, or else illuminated by his light, but of course this could not have been true in the dawn time when the Watchman didn't yet exist. The Moon-Knock memory A Stolen Secret, "Something I overheard in dreams?", together with Moon's associations with secrets and nocturnal things, at least circumstantially supports the conclusion that dawn-dreams were illuminated instead by the Moon.

Thus, this interplay between the blood-drinking Wheel whose serpents opened the way each night into dreams beneath the light of the Moon, speaks to the interaction of Moon with the old principle Blood, and what traces of that remain between Moon and Nectar.

Blood drinks of life and gives death and the Moon heals in dreams; Blood brings the dawn and Night yields to day. Nectar is the principle of germination and of poisoned thorns and of renewal, and the Moon still remembers what it was.

Also, the Velvet. Just... the Velvet. Next!

Nectar to Sky: We return to Kernawek Henavek, but this time it is the Bosk commitment that interests us...

The Roots (Health) A farmers' proverb in Brancrug: 'What starts in the roots, ends in the sky.' A superstition goes with it, that before a child's first birthday you should leave her for a summer night sleeping in the roots of an apple-tree, to make sure she grows tall and straight-backed. Not many pay heed to the superstition now, but everyone remembers the proverb. It would probably count as Bosk.

...along with the Birdsong commitment for Leaves & Thorns:

Looking Up (Chor) The gardener's first lesson is this: look up. What starts as weather ends in the world, what starts as sky ends in the soil. This is what the birds know, and the birds know most things first.

As beneath, so above. What is a tree but a throne to birds, and what is Sky but a crown for birds? What begins in sky ends in soil, and so the first lesson of the gardener is to look up.

Nectar is the pulse of the seasons, the ripening, the wild vigor of new life. Sky is the principle of balance and harmony, mathematics and law—moderation, but also music. The wind in the branches, the bird in the nest, the lightning-strike that fells the tree and lets in the sunlight so that new flowers can grow. I rest my case.

& Fin. (ominously) for now.

I would apologize for the sheer amount of things I've glossed over things to the tune of "but we don't have time for that now" but in my defense, 1. I'M FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE (this post is 8.2k words long) and 2. I have half of a far more comprehensive disquisition regarding the various shadows-under-the-boat we carefully ignored in this post sitting in my drafts; perhaps a quarter of it is complete; it is pushing forty thousand words in length, so 3. It Will Happen Again.

Tune in next time for: VAMPIRE SUN, EGG MOON, & ...THAT GUY.

[umlewis]

lewis hamilton is interviewed after the race, japan - april 6, 2025 (transcript under the cut)

Interviewer: "Lewis, you obviously ran long and maybe hoped for a safety car. A little bit of rain, it looked, on the horizon, but ultimately didn't come. But overall you couldn't really have done anything much more without that safety car or something." Lewis: "No, I know. I think I did the best I could today. Generally lacking performance compared to all the cars that are up ahead of me, particularly Mercedes and McLaren; obviously the Red Bull. We've found something on the car that's been underperforming for the last three races, so we're hoping when that's fixed I'll start getting a bit better results. But yeah, I mean, I'm losing just over a tenth a lap with this issue we have, so I'm hoping in the next race it's fixed. And then otherwise, clearly it's really important to get a good qualifying, and I'm not extracting the best out of the tires, so that's something I'll work on." Interviewer: "Yeah, just in terms of that issue you're wrestling with, is it something the team are very confident they can sort out, and once it is, will it project you up amongst that front…" Lewis: "I think it's just they're aware of it and they don't know why. And so, as I said, when the new component comes, hopefully it'll be gone and it'll be the same across cars. Considering that, I'm relatively happy with the race pace that I did have, given what I had, but yeah… But otherwise, good performance from the team, and I think myself and Riccardo I think did a really good job, and the engineers and mechanics all did a really great job, so yeah, hopeful. Onwards and upwards." Interviewer: "Thank you."