#a black hole is a death star (Like the Sun)

[ashery24]

If Sophie is represented by the Moon and Josh by the Sun, Marethyu is by a Black Hole

[charyou-tree]

I need people to understand that Uranium is an eldritch horror

I'm not talking about radiation, or nuclear weapons, or anything that you can do with uranium, I mean its mere existence on Earth is a reminder of cosmic horrors on a scale you can barely conceive of.

When a nuclear power plant uses Uranium to boil water and spin steam turbines to keep the lights on, they're unleashing the fossilized energy of the destroyed heart of an undead star.

Allow me to elaborate:

In the beginning, there were hydrogen and helium. The primordial fires of the Big Bang produced almost exclusively the two lightest elements, along with a minuscule trace of lithium. It was a start, but that's not much to build a universe out of. Fortunately, the universe is full of element factories. We call them "stars".

Stars are powered by nuclear fusion, smooshing light elements together to make heavier elements, and releasing tremendous amounts of energy in the process, powering the star and making it shine. This goes on for millions to billions of years depending on the stars mass (although not how you might think, the bigger stars die young), the vast majority of that time spent fusing hydrogen into yet more helium. Eventually, the hydrogen in the core starts to run low, and if the star is massive enough it starts to fuse helium into carbon, then oxygen, neon, and so on up through successively heavier elements.

There's a limit to this though:

This chart shows how much energy is released if you were to create a given element/isotope out of the raw protons and neutrons that make it up, the Nuclear Binding Energy. Like in everyday life, rolling downhill on this chart releases energy. So, starting from hydrogen on the far left you can rapidly drop down to helium-4 releasing a ton of energy, and then from there to carbon-12 releasing a fair bit more.

But, at the bottom of this curve is iron-56, the most stable isotope. This is the most efficient way to pack protons and neutrons together, and forming it releases some energy. But once its formed, that's it. You're done. Its already the most stable, you can't get any more energy out of it, and in fact if you want to do anything to it and make it into a different element you're going to have to put energy in.

So, when a massive star's core starts to fill up with iron, the star is doomed. Iron is like ash from the nuclear fire that powers stars, its what's leftover when all the fuel is used up. When this happens, the core of the star isn't producing energy and can't support itself anymore and catastrophically collapses, triggering a supernova explosion which heralds the death of the star.

What kind of stellar-corpse gets left behind depends again on how massive the star is. If its really big, more than ~30 times the mass of the sun and its probably going to form a black hole and whatever was in there is gone for good. But if the star is a bit less massive, between 8-25 solar masses, it leaves behind a marginally less-destroyed corpse.

The immense weight of the outer layers of the star falling down on the core compresses the electrons of the atoms into their nuclei, resulting in them reacting with protons and turning them all into neutrons, which creates a big ball of almost pure neutrons a couple miles across, but containing the entire mass of the star's core, 3-5 sun's worth.

This is the undead heart of the former star: a neutron star.

If, like many stars, this one wasn't alone but had a sibling, it can end up with two neuron stars orbiting each other, like a pair of zombies acting out their former lives. If they get close enough together, their intense gravity warps the fabric of spacetime as they orbit, radiating away their orbital energy as gravitational waves, slowing them down and bringing them closer together until they eventually collide.

The resulting kilonova explosion destroys both of the neutron stars, most likely rendering the majority of what's left into a black hole, but not before throwing out a massive cloud of neutron-rich shrapnel. This elder-god blood-splatter from the collision of the undead hearts of former stars contains massive nuclei with hundreds to thousands of neutrons, the vast majority of which are heinously unstable and decay away in milliseconds or less. Most of their decay products are also unstable and decay quickly as well, eventually falling apart into small enough clusters to be stable and drift off into the universe becoming part of the cosmic dust between the stars.

However,

Some of the resulting massive elements are merely almost stable. They would like to decay, but for quantum-physics reasons decaying is hard and slow for them, so they stick around much longer than you might expect. Uranium is one such element, with U-238 having a half-life of around 4.5 billion years, about the same as the age of the Earth, and its spicier cousin U-235 which still has a respectable 200 million year half life.

These almost-stable isotopes were only able to be created in the fiery excess of energy in a neutron star collision, and are the only ones that stick around long enough to carry a fraction of that energy to the era where hairless apes could figure out that a particular black rock made of them was emitting some kind of invisible energy.

So as I said at the beginning, Uranium is significant because it stores the fossilized energy of the destroyed heart of an undead star, and we can release that energy at will if we set it up just right.

When you say it like that, is it any shock that the energy in question will melt your face off and rot your bones from the inside if you stay near it too long?

[n0bluev]

The night sky can only be overshadowed by a star (its star.). A star of all things, the one thing that cannot be allowed to see the night of the sky, angled to be hidden away behind dawn and dusk. The night leaves quietly (but is cursed to come back ; avoiding is just like following when an orbit is shared.)

A star can only go off explosively, spectacularly. (Then, collapsed in on itself, away from the world to see (finally part of the shadow the night cast) it seems the bare core is at peace with never bringing day back : darkness soothes.)

Gojo is like a star - bright, hot, shining. Geto is like the night sky - mysterious, deep, endless.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

kiss of death

words: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, alternative universe, soulmates, grim reaper!rafe, talk of death, superstitions, reader kind of dies (its explained in the fic)

you swallow deeply as you step into the graveyard. the darkness is creeping into every corner, but you know it's not midnight, not yet.

you feel a pang of guilt as you walk through the rows of graves, briefly glancing at the names to distract your focus from the anxiety filling your chest.

it's an old superstition, but you're beyond desperate.

you stop at the hole in the ground and the temporary headstone, ready for burial tomorrow.

“sorry mr. crawford.” you whisper. you barely knew him, the town psychologist currently kept in the morgue. you could probably use him right now as you move carefully to your knees.

you recite the words from the local town lure, the promise of your true love showing up to kiss you awake at sunrise if you laid in the grave at exactly midnight.

all your other friends have found love, love that is so pure and beautiful it makes your chest ache with jealousy and wanting.

you look at your watch and let out a sigh. five minutes of looking into the grave until the hands of the clock point straight up, five minutes to change and regret your decision.

the minutes tick by but your resolve only grows. you're beyond desperate and the worst thing that could come of it is you spend the night sleeping in a hole under the stars.

you climb down the second the minute hand crawls to the 12 and lay back in the grave, blinking upwards towards the starless night sky, the bright sunlight reflecting off the moon blocking out any other suns.

you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you're exposed to worms and bugs and whatever else happens to be lurking in the graveyard at night. certainly nothing you want to come across.

soulmate. your soulmate. your one true love is worth one night in a grave as you fall into a deep slumber.

--

you can feel the light against your eyelids, but before you can open them, it's blocked out by a shadow.

you gasp as lips are pressed against yours, cold but soft lips. you want to open your eyes but they feel so heavy as you kiss back, hands reaching upwards but you feel nothing, just pressing into the freezing cold air despite it being the middle of summer.

you finally force your eyelids open and you realize who you have been kissing as he pulls away, more of a black figure then a true human form.

“no.” your voice quivers. “no!” 

“did you not want your one true love to wake you with a kiss?” he smirks down at you, hovering directly over your body.

“my-my true love is not death.” you thought it was just another superstition, the grim reaper, the one to facilitate your crossing to the other side, but when looking up you know that the mans face that looks back down upon you is nothing but pure and utter death.

“then tell me why i was called to this spot only to find you laying here.” his voice is smooth but deep in tone, not what you expected from the grim reaper as you almost find comfort in his soft words.

“this can't be right.” you look around you, realizing that all light from the rising sun has disappeared, along with the walls of dirt around you, replaced with darkness so thick it's like you could reach out and touch it. “am i?”

you can't make the word out fully. “kind of.” the reaper shrugs. 

reality shifts and despite you not changing positions, you can tell in the inky blackness that you're now on your feet.

“come with me.” the grim reapers legs push out from the black mass, appearing and disappearing as he begins to walk, somehow able to find his way, walking with the purpose of a destination that is unseen to you.

“what if i don't want to?” you question, even though your heart is pulling you towards him, telling you to follow and stay close.

“i will give you this option only once.” the reaper turns to you. “you can turn around and walk away, or you may follow me and be with your one true love and rule the underworld as my queen.”

you know your back should be towards the reaper as you begin to walk, but you can't go back to your earthly reality after discovering the grim reaper is just waiting for you to die, for you to take your place.

as you walk alongside the grim reaper, you begin to make out shapes moving through the darkness.

the first one scared you so bad as you whipped your head to the side, trying to make out what appeared to be someone walking the opposite direction.

“what is this place?” you ask, voice quiet, feeling as though you don't want to interrupt the figures pushing through the dark.

“the place between life and death. the farther we walk, the closer we are to death and my-our kingdom.”

“and the people walking the other way?” you turn to look over your shoulder as your feet continue forward.

“some have been revived. by doctors or desperate loved ones. but most made a choice. most got to the final step and realized it wasn't there time.”

“and is it my time?”

“you will not truly be dead.” he states, and you find yourself swaying to walk closer to him, his cold presence comforting as the only thing around you can truly make out. “i will keep you in the state that you are now for as long as you please. you will be in limbo, in status. your earthly body will still be yours.”

“so no one will know what happened to me?” you can tell that your body isn't left in the grave, that you're whole and complete right here, soul included.

“no.” he sounds almost regretful as the blackness ahead of you turns into a swirl of dark grey, making out the rolling hills as you get closer.

“your final choice.” the reaper says, and you don't mention that he already gave you what he claimed to be your final choice before you began walking.

it hits you then. the reaper is in just as new of a position as you are in, and your nerves don't outweigh him.

“what is your choice?” you parrot the question back. “do you want me… to rule with you?”

“i have waited an eternity for you. so long that the memory of how i came to be the reaper is no longer available to me.” the grim reaper pauses for a moment before continuing. “yes. i want you alongside me always.”

you nod and then take a step past what you can tell is the final film, the one separating you from whatever rolling hills of gray grass await.

a weight you didn't realize you were carrying leaves you as the grim reaper steps out next to you, the black mass of his body gone as he appears as a fully realized man, legs and all.

you don't mean to, but you reach out and touch him, seeing if your arms would move through him as they did before during your kiss, but your fingers just press against the soft fabric of his black long sleeved shirt.

“welcome to the underworld.” he says, taking your hand in his and pulling you to continue walking.

you can make out a castle in the distance, and the closer you walk towards it, the warmer the hand in yours gets and the less gray seems to be blotting out the world as the grass turns green beneath your feet.

you gasp the first time you see one, stepping closer to the reaper.

“they won't hurt you.” he clarifies quickly as the large wolf runs past you in the distance, several hills away.

“you control them?” you question.

“yes.” he nods. “and all the wolves on earth as well. they are part of my domain.”

“i thought it was going to be a three headed dog.” you whisper slightly sheepishly as you realize your hand has been intertwined with the grim reaper the entire walk, feeling so natural that you don't question the fingers snug between yours.

“everyone got something partially right.” he says. “the egyptians, the greeks, the christians. they all had pieces.”

“oh.” you don't care to question more, not yet. you're already overloaded with all the information.

you pause as you get to the door of the castle. it's not dead quite like you expected, you can hear voices chattering inside and when you look up you can occasionally see people passing by windows.

“people do what suits them best after death. what would make them most happy. for most, that's reincarnation. for some, that's helping others cross or serving me in other ways. everyone inside this home is dead.”

you like that he calls it a home and a slight smile stretches across your cheeks.

“do not ask them how they died or their life on earth. if they wish to reveal it to you, it will be on their own time.”

“okay.” you nod, looking to the grim reaper, your soulmate. “what should i call you?”

you certainly can't continue to call him the grim reaper, it would just be an upsetting reminder.

“rafe.” he smiles down at you, not the terrifying soulless being you thought he would be. “you may call me rafe.”

--

the tour of the expansive home is long, but you find yourself only half listening as you look at rafe.

his appearance is so different from when you saw him first, he looks less harsh, kinder, more alive.

“are you tired?” he asks as he pushes the doors open to what you assume is the master bedroom. “i know you just awoke but if you need to rest-”

“how does time work here?”

“there's night and day just as there is on earth. it's still morning.” he places a gentle hand on your back, pushing gently to get you to enter the room.

“this is our chamber.” he explains. “you may rest, or bathe, or eat.”

“i…” you look down at your clothes, dirt still covering your pants. “id like to change.”

a maid ushers in, and you try to see if you can get any visual clue that she's passed, but theres nothing as she opens up a cabinet and begins to grab out various jewel toned options.

“i must attend to some business.” rafe says. “ill be back soon.”

you get changed and dismiss the maid, wondering what kind of person chooses to serve like this for all of eternity and actually enjoy it, but you're too distracted with exploring your surroundings to think too hard about it.

you find a sitting room with walls covered in bookshelves, the grand bathroom, and a door that leads to a balcony.

you step out and look over the rolling hills, seeing as they turn to gray the farther away it is from the castle, seemingly encircled completely by the void.

you occasionally see a wolf running, or a figure floating, but you can tell none of them are your reaper. that must be the other helpers he was talking about. despite not being able to see their faces, you know it's not him.

you take a seat on the lush couch on the balcony. they must not have true weather here or it would certainly be ruined by the rain.

before you notice it, now dressed in clean clothes similar to rafes, your eyes are closing and you're falling into a deep sleep.

--

you yawn as you wake up, stretching as you realize you'd been moved to the bed at some point.

you sit up suddenly only to come face to face with rafe who is sitting in an armchair moved from the sitting room to the foot of the bed.

“did you move me?”

“yes.” he nods as you blink, looking outside, unable to tell how long you've been asleep. like he's reading your mind, rafe speaks. “it's the next morning. you were exhausted from the journey.”

“did you sleep in the bed with me?”

“i do not need sleep.” rafe answers, jolting you slightly before you remember who you are here with.

“then why have this bed?”

rafe gives you a pointed look as you replay his words in your head. of course it's for you. he's been waiting.

“come.” rafe stands, imposing his tall height again.

you slide out of bed, only then realizing that your clothes have been changed.

“a maid changed you.” he says quickly. “i will escort you to breakfast and as you eat i will finish my work for the day. then we can…”

he trails off like he doesn't know what the options are. “get to know each other.” you offer. “since you're my one true love i suppose we should… go on a date?”

a smile stretches across the reapers face. “yes. a date.”

--

“what is it you'd like to know?” rafe asks as you're sat in the front of the boat, moving slowly down a river that winds through the hills.

it scared you at first, but rafe certainly wouldn't be taking you anywhere where you couldn't come back.

“uh…” there's a million questions you have about life and death, about heaven and hell, but that's not what you truly want to know. “what's your favorite color? do you have to eat? can you sleep even if you don't have to?”

“well…” rafe chuckles. “i love deep blue. i don't have to eat but i can, same with sleeping. and your favorite color?”

“also blue.” you swallow deeply, eyes turning upward as the invisible force keeps the boat moving steadily in the water. “but sky blue. like on a warm summer day.” 

you're about to wonder if you'll ever truly see the sky again when you can make out a cloud in the distance.

“i-”

“for you.” rafe says as the color of the sky shifts, matching the exact shade you were thinking of. “everything here can be changed for you.”

the conversation flows naturally, you suppose it should between soulmates. every time rafe smiles, you get butterflies in your stomach, and by the time you're back where the river meets the castle, you have a question brewing on the tip of your tongue.

“can we… can we kiss again?” you need to know what it feels like, if it's the same cold lips despite his hands now feeling warm.

the smile comes back to rafes face, and then it gets closer and closer until he's kissing you, deeply.

you almost instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders, able to fully touch him now as he kisses you, warm lips gliding against each other's.

you pull yourself closer until you can't get any nearer without climbing onto his lap, which you do next as you cling to him.

you thought your friends talking about the instant connection with their one true love was ridiculous, but you know what is between you and rafe is complete and real and right.

there's a woosh of air and when you pull away, you're still straddling rafe, but now in your bedroom.

“please.” he said softly, and the word comes out a little strange, like he's not used to saying it. “i need you.”

your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt before you lift and pull it off your body, revealing the bra somehow already in your size that the maid got out after breakfast.

rafes hands stop yours when you go to unclasp it. “let me.” he says.

his hands are large and warm as they undo your bra and push the straps off your shoulders so it falls between the two of you.

“can i-”

“yes.” you answer quickly. “do anything you want to me.”

you take rafes cheeks in your hands as you look in his deep blue eyes. “do everything.”

your reaper transports you again, this time only feet as you're laid on your back, head rested against the pillows as he hovers over top of you.

your clothes as well as rafes are completely gone, and you're both silent, breathing heavily as you admire each other's bodies. if someone would have asked you what your perfect mate looks like, you'd absolutely describe rafe in this state.

“i will spend eternity pleasuring you, but you'll have to forgive me for not being able to wait a moment longer.” 

rafes cock lines up with your entrance, and then he's pushing inside, his eyes shutting as he lets out a moan that makes you surge forward to kiss his lips and swallow the sound as his hips glide all the way in, fitting exactly inside of you like he's been your missing part all along.

“you're so- warm.” rafe manages to choke out. “ive never felt warmth like this.”

it makes you sad to think rafe spent so long as the cold and lonely reaper. you pull him into you, pressing your chests together as his hips begin to move, your moans growing and becoming in sync, creating a beautiful chorus even to your own ears.

you don't know what your future will hold. there will no doubt be ups and downs, hard times and great times, but you will face it all together with your reaper, your rafe.

[alavestineneas]

i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, daddy and sister issues, bald men chapter 1 - chapter 2 word count: 6,5K

author's note: hi beautiful people! this chapter may be classified as a prologue (yes, I am aware of its size, sorry, lol), but it is still integral to the story. we love evil people, especially evil bald people, in this house, so have fun and don't forget to wash your hands before reading! also, if you see things that are not canon, just know that me and the books are two parallel lines and we do not cross. feel free to point out grammar mistakes, though - english is not my first. love you!

Kaitain, 10176 AG

The violent streaks of light fight with the heavy cloth of drapes to find their way into the small, stifling chambers. The time was slowly crawling towards noon in the heavy summer heat, and the woman lying on the heavily decorated sheets was battling to get a breath in. Whether because of the annoying star, or the poisoning waiting, the patterns of sweat stained her tired face with esculent ornaments. Her lips, formed into a thin line, gleamed with small spots of dried crimson.

''Where is the messenger?'' The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the dancing light filtering through the window. ''The girl is strong; I can't hold her for much longer.''

The black figure on the chair in the corner slightly shifted at words. She was veiled, despite the heat—like a black hole, she seemed to suck the little air left. ''Forbearance,'' her raspy voice cuts through the room. ''The child makes you impatient. Control yourself.''

''I've waited, and waited long enough,'' the woman snapped, her frustration evident in her trembling hands. ''A few more minutes and all that is left of her will be a corpse.''

''Be quiet, Echidna. The child will live. If not, she was never meant to be part of our world in the first place.''

The woman clenched her jaw in a wave of pain and nodded. The girl ought to see the light of this planet today. Deep in her thoughts, she almost missed the rushed steps behind the door.

One of the Emperor's guards burst into the room, his eyes almost frantic. ''Lady Anirul has graced the Imperium with a daughter.''

Echidna smiled in relief, but her expression quickly changed as a beast-like cry pierced the air. The child was coming, with little care for the damage it caused to her aching womb. She tore the tissue down to the individual cells, gnawing her way with fists and elbows, moving the bones aside with brute force. Soon, her own cries were answered by much louder ones, as the head of the girl showed itself, covered in a thick layer of almost black blood. Just for a moment, the woman wished it would not steal another breath from the room, but she sharply composed herself. With a final push, the child left her body forever, leaving it a raw wound.

The small creature shrieked when the black figure approached, and slender, wrinkled arms took it from the warmth of rufous-red liquid. Echidna watched as the figure carried the girl away, resting her hurting body against the soaked pillows. She fulfilled her duty; she granted Bene   Gesserit the daughter they wanted. She is bleeding under a beautiful sun; she is holding the ghost of her child in her arms—the real one was never hers anyway. Echidna knows the Emperor will not come. From now on, it is just her and her never-passing pain. Thus, Kaitain, home to the Corrino dynasty, was warmed by the light of a new sun—Princess Irulan, an heiress to the Imperium—and chilled by the shadow of her sister, born a few minutes later.

-

The calmness of the gardens was disturbed only by the soft strokes of brushes against a thick canvas. YN sighed, her eyes still fixed on the tree nearby, its young branches swaying with the wind. Her body ached from stillness, the tension in her neck from holding her head slightly bowed spreading down to her small back. They posed for a portrait of what seemed like an eternity to a child, and was almost it to an adult who dared to inquire; the painter, while satisfied with the draft, looked at the group of young girls almost in fear—no normal child of that age would be unmoving for three hours. And yet, they were.

YN felt one of her sisters shift even through the thick fabric of her silver dress. Small Chalice turned, her cheeks red from the heat or tiredness, her lips forming a pout—the child was tired, sleepingly rubbing her eyes. YN thought for a moment, debating if the punishment would be worth it, or if her sisters could wait just a little bit more until the man with colours would end the session for today. She noticed how Irulan's face was starting to droop, her eyes fluttering closed and opening just a second later. Their youngest, Wensicia, was already asleep in Irulan's arms; her golden hair spread across her and YN's laps as a beautiful cover, shining under the faint sun.

''I am tired, Master Chen. We should end the painting for today,'' YN finally spoke; her voice was almost a whisper. She did not know whether it was not to awaken her sister or out of fear of the Emperor's anger; it did not matter. The man nodded and left, taking his canvases with him, leaving only a few drafts behind. Then, the sisters were left alone in the garden.

''Thank you,'' Irulan said softly, placing her head on YN's shoulder.

YN only nodded. Her eyes found the paper not so far away, her gaze studying the strokes of the pencil with interest. Wensicia, a beautiful girl of two, was smiling brightly, holding an olive branch in her chubby hands, her small feet peeking under the hem of her white dress. Small Chalice was at the opposite end of her, her curly hair surrounding her head like a halo as she leaned forward, holding a small dove inside her palms. Then, sitting at the bench, surrounded by lush greenery and bushes, they. Irulan and the Other.

YN was placed just a step away from her older sister, her head turned away from the gaze of the viewer. The delicate folds of her silver dress carefully cascaded down, creating an air of mist around them. Her hands were empty; she did not know if the artist hadn't decided with each object to grace her with, or left them hollow intently. She looked like a shadow—a ghost, maybe; her eyes were escaping the viewer as if hiding a secret.

Irulan was different. She was a sun-kissed creature, her head facing straight ahead. Her eyes, as if inviting for a challenge, were made from duty, steel. With a burning star on her regal forehead, crowning the streaks of golden hair, Irulan was water and air, dulcet and ever-bending; her figure held the place and her pose was distinct and commanding.

YN looked at the girl beside her, who was now quiet nearby. Irualn was wise, the wisest of the sisters; her eyes were all-seeing, her heart all-knowing. She was created in the shape of a mother since they could walk, and the small ones bathed in her light, drinking her till the last drop —like flowers following the warm embrace of the sun. The only one who could not enjoy the love was her, the Other. The other sister, the other half. For they have been too close in age, too similar to let each other pretend the burden was not a heavy one to bear.

When Irulan was natural in her all-caring shape, YN had to claw her way to the only role left—the father. An unbent tree, a silent soldier—she was not born to fit as one, but wishing for a different order of things was almost blasphemy. That's how it always was with them—out of two, one was the protector, the other - the protected. "Husband," Irulan humorously called her often. She smiled, and, for a moment, the wave of resentment in YN's soul calmed. She never called her wife in return: Irulan was too whole to be one, too proud to be moulded into. She stood alone, on a higher pedestal than all of them, closest to the Emperor, whom the Other was to call father, and closest to the Truth. No, Irulan was God.

God does not know how to love someone who is not his servant, because there is no one who would refuse to serve him; it is the only way. God guides, despite all one's protests. God gives, and God takes. God demands; Irulan demands—silent obedience without a need to explain or answer. That, she takes from their father. So, the Other takes a blade into her hand without compassion for her dead wishes and learns to wield it in God's name. She is the one little ones turn to when the world is too wicked for their fragile souls when the creatures under their beds lose all of their human form and turn violent. She takes their sins and bears the punishments, for they are not deserving of such cruelty. YN thinks not of her own guilt—what difference would one scourage make to one who counts in centuries? And when the sun shone, and God smiled, the Other almost forgot of the bruises she carried.

-

The first time he saw her, it was not supposed to happen at all. Feyd-Rautha just closed the door to Maester's chambers with such force that it shook against lean walls; the grumble echoed in the long corridors of Giedi Prime's fortness. The ache in his body was muted, but still present; the torn flesh inside his heart howled and clawed, slicing the ribcage in half. He would've screamed, or perhaps beat his hands bloody against the concrete until the dull pain turned into something as sharp as his knife's blade. Maybe he would've drowned himself in a small water bowl by his nightstand and done anything to escape the shame and humiliation that consumed him from within. But instead, Feyd-Rautha stood still, his jaw clenched tight and his breathing shallow. One day, it will pass. One day, he will see the world choke on its own spit.

That's when he noticed a small, shadow-like figure at the end of the hallway staring at him. A girl, not older than him, was in a dress so foreign to him that it hurt his eyes. The daughter of the Emperor, he guessed. One of many—only then would the golden stitching on her sleeve would make sense.

''What are you doing here?'' he barked, caring little for the common courtesy. Of course, she was a guest almost as prized as her father, but she was in his territory and dared to look at him for long enough without averting her eyes. Long enough to notice the bruising on his pale skin and a swelness surrounding his lips. Long enough to hear him cry.

''I was walking with my mother, but then I turned into the wrong hall,'' she shrugged. ''Will you be kind enough to show me the way out? Or should I find it myself?"

Feyd-Rautha ignored her question. What a weird creature she was—with cascades of hair and eyes that seemed to see too much. ''It is dangerous to walk these halls without guard, Princess.'' It is dangerous to be here, alone with him and the weapon strapped to his hip, but he did not add it.

''There is no use of guards if the one who wishes to kill you is their master.'' The girl took a step forward, pointing to the weapon at his side. "I am not afraid."

Feyd-Rautha laughed. It came out more as howling than human sounds, the abrupt nature of it ringing with high notes, tip-toeing down to hysterical; it sounded creaky, like his throat was not made for such sounds; yet here he was, laughing. ''Come,'' he gestured to her, his hand moving quickly, like ordering a slave around. ''I will show you why you should be.''

So, they walked. Inside the grandiose chambers and small rooms, filled with ancient artefacts or the newest technology Harkonnens came up with; inside the green lavish garden inside the dim castle and the training grounds, Feyd-Rautha showed every place that was built to display the greatness of his house and bestone fear inside both guests and people inhibiting it. He wanted to see the horror in the girl's eyes, to make her eyes water and her frame flee. Instead, he listened to her steady breathing just a step behind him, her curious questioning satisfying another need he did not know his heart possessed: reverence.

He was the youngest member of the ruling line, the smallest stone in the castle of power his uncle had built. His title meant nothing within these walls; he was too small in comparison to the Baron and his authority. Feyd-Rautha was feared, despite only being nine; he was the shadow in the corner that grew longer as the sun set, the whispered name that sent shivers down spines. But here, in the hallway he led the girl into, he turned out to be something else.

''Stunning,'' the girl whispered beside him.

Weapons. The walls, from the floor to the high ceilings, were covered in ritual and fighting blades. The pride of house Harkonnen, the tree of their dynasty, black, silver, golden, and steel knives, swords, and daggers gleamed in the dim light. Feyd-Rautha smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Welcome to our burial ground."

They stopped near every one, his voice briefly covering the story of each blade and his owner; barons that came before him; fighters and rules that defined their legacy. Some still have blood on them—the highest honour; some look almost virgin. The small signs underneath them tell the names of people who wielded these weapons, their stories forever immortalised in the cold metal. ''Each Harkonnen ruler is crafted a blade of his own, the one he is to honour in battle.''

The girl nodded, her fingers tracing the shape of the last blade carefully. Her palms danced around the sharp edge, taking in the ancient symbols she had no chance of knowing. ''Will you have to kill Baron Vladimir in order to have one, like he did with his father before?''

Feyd-Rautha paused. Of course, he has thought about it before. The idea he repeated like a mantra in his head for all of his short life, the belief that spread burning flames down his spine. The words left his mouth for the first time but felt almost natural against his cracked lips. ''I dream of the day I have the chance to.''

The pair of foreign eyes that stared back at him held a glint of intrigue that quickly changed with a flash of acknowledgement. Feyd-Rautha held the gaze; not a single thing about it was hard. Still, he was the first to turn away; the burning sensation of being  seen  made him want to tear his flesh apart. ''Let me escort you to your rooms, Princess. The walls grow colder as the evening approaches.''

-

The weather on the planet leaves too few guards out of their breath, Irulan notes. The striking sun burns through the rounded windows of man-built walls, the frankly depressing landscape of huge boxes constructed with little intent for anything else but utilitarianism. She must not fear, while those lands will also be under her power with time, but the dreadful atmosphere of the lonely planet makes her skin break out in hives.

She believes the people here are more terrifying. White, hairless creatures with eyes as dark as the sun above them speak with just nods and courseys, paying little to no attention to the world around them, save for the concrete floors.  ''Tell them to set themselves on fire, and they will,''  Irulan recalls Baron Vladimir telling her father over the banquet. She believed it to be a simple boast at first, but now, after a few days in the strange world, the words make greater sense.

Perhaps, the harsh weather made people here hardened. Perhaps, such cruelty is necessary for survival. What terrorised her more was her sister—the one who now silently reads nearby, her long dress carelessly spread on the floor. Irulan would never allow her dress to wrinkle before the concluding dinner, but she is not Irulan. Despite them being demisisters, they shared fewer similarities than one could guess. Two lambs, as many in court would call them—the white and black ones. They knew one another better than anything else; where one went, the other followed. Where Irulan failed, her sister succeeded. What was allowed for her sister, was fobility towards Irulan. No one was embedded in their small circle; no one could get close enough to understand the bond they shared—together, they were whole.

Yet as they grew older, the bond seemed to thin. The path to the mind of her sister was more often closed to her now, her thoughts veiled by the silence rooted deep into her veins. Irulan knows they are just growing up, trying to find their path in the unknown. But she is scared; what would be of her without her sister? What use would the river have without fish to fill it?

''I shall go,'' her sister says, closing the book. ''The dinner starts soon, and I wanted to return the book before it.''

''Is it the one Na-Baron recommended?'' Irulan voices. Truth be told, she would never touch anything that Baron or his family possessed, even more recommended, but her sister seemed to enjoy the ancient text.

''It is. Rather interesting are the traditions of these people. Did you know their slaves have no tongues?''

Irulan feels sick to her stomach; the thought of having slaves brings the small bits of her recent meal to her very present tongue. ''Can I come with you?'' she asks, instead of answering. Irulan does not want to leave the faint safety of her rooms, but even more, she does not want to be left alone. She feels vulnerable—she is not of power here, despite being the embodiment of it in all of the other corners of the Imperium.

''You know I walk without guards.''

Irulan knows. While she is not able as much as bathe without the presence of someone with fighting knowledge, the rules do not seem to apply to her younger sister; she can move freely, as she wishes. Was it because she carried a thin blade with her and knew how to use it, or because of the lack of care from their father? Irulan was not sure. What she was sure of, was that no woman of twelve should leave her sister alone in the halls of Harkonnens' fort.

''It is just to the reading room and back, is it not?''

''Yes,'' her sister nods.  ''I'll take you,''  it means.

So, they walk. Fortunately, the guards usually waiting outside are nowhere to be found, and they manage to slip away unnoticed. Irulan holds the hand of her sister tightly, with each noise from the outside digging her nails deeper into her soft palm. Her sister says nothing; she steps calmly into the labyrinth of corridors, navigating them without much evident trouble. Soon, they find themselves in front of a huge black door, incarnated with words Irulan hold no knowledge of.

Inside, the chamber is massive; it forms a beautiful, round circle with ceilings so high that the air in it is always chilly. Rows of books and manuscripts fill the shelves out of oxidant, contrasting starkly with the white wall. The black circle table of cold stone is filled with replicas and ancient artefacts, each emitting a soft glow.

Who knew the small, desert planet held such treasures inside? Irulan forgets about her sister entirely—the texts call to her, golden lettering shining under the light. Irulan follows the names on the covers: legends, myths, histories, and art overviews. Some even contained gardening and soil research; Baron likely held those for a good laugh.

Irulan travels deeper and deeper until the voice of her sister addressing the only library keeper almost disappears, consumed by tall bookcases. The section she finds herself in is solely dedicated to martial arts; where, if not here, would the hundreds of books on such a topic be stored? Some of them are used; the spines are slightly older; others look brand new.

Irulan is brought to her senses only when she notices a black figure moving in the corner of her vision. She puts the book back and Listens. Just like the Sisters taught her, her inner ear picks up the faint voice of her sister, and the moving of two sandaled feet—the slave handling the books. She feels something else, too. A presence familiar enough to recognise but not enough to name.

''We have to go,'' she says, grabbing her sister by the shoulder and pressing. ''We will be late,'' she explains to the slave. Not that it would question the whims of the princess.

''Why?'' her sister turns to her, confused. ''I was looking at some other books. Weren't you also?''

''Please,'' Irulan whispers. ''We spent enough time here as it is.''

Just as her sister was about to answer, the atmosphere shifted. The air, sitting in its calmness, heavied. The silent before slave turned on its feet, its eyes burning holes in Irulan's body. It lurches towards them, opening its obsidian mouth to show the blackened void inside—indeed, it possesses no tongue.

Irulan freezes. The void seems to suck her in, the sharp mouth growing wider as its owner approaches her body. The fear paralyses her, planting her otherwise quick feet deep into the ground. Now, her training as Bene Gesserit should awaken—she should oppose, or at the very least dodge, the attack. But the black mouth continues to draw her in, clouding her thoughts with terror.

The body beside her shifts; her sister is quick. With one strong thrust, she pushes Irulan aside. '' Hide ,'' the voice within her head commands, and Irulan has no force to object to the technique. She crawls under the heavy stone, frantically looking for something—anything—to protect herself with.

Despite the long skirts, her sister moves like Adam's wine; she bends and turns, and strikes the man far taller than her, but he seems determined on the idea of killing her. Her sister grunts under the heavy hits; one sits in her abdomen, and another lands on her knees. The slave's nails leave a trace on her skin, rough enough to pierce the young dermis.

Eventually, her sister grows tired; the slave pushes her to the ground, pressing his slender body on top and closing its white, almost translucent hands on her throat. Irulan clasps the found sharp cutting instrument to her chest, desperately trying to calm the wave of fear forming there.  ''I must not fear. Fear is a mind killer,''  she whispers again and again.

She watches as her sister's hand slips under her clothes and emerges an illicit, slender blade—it shines under the light just as lettering did on the books a minute ago. To Irulan, it feels like a year's hundred. ''No!'' she wants to shout as her sister raises the steel and preys it into the eye of the slave, but the words are unable to leave her throat. Like a waterfall, crimson covers her sister's face, staining her light grey dress in hot circles.

The slave falls on his back, his hands leaving their place on her sister's neck.

''Enough, please! Sister, stop!'' Irulan cries, crawling out of her hiding spot but daring not to get closer.

Her sister doesn't hear; she lurches towards the man in a slick puddle and takes his life quickly, cutting his throat in one swift motion. The blood from his arteria leaves the body in pulsations; they spatter everywhere, some drops going as far as touching the shelves.

The silence settles in the chamber once again; only the sound of weakly flowing blood disturbs the stillness. Her sister does not shed a tear; she meticulously cleans the blade with the slave's white cloth and slips it back into the folds of her gown.

''What have you done?'' Irulan whispers. Her hands tremble; the sight before her crawls into the deepest corners of her mind and tears everything there down. How can one kill so easily? How can one be so cold and calculating, as if it were nothing more than a daily chore? How could that one be her sister, the one she shared a life with?

''I protected.'' Her sister's voice is hoarse, but firm. There is no remorse in her tone, only weariness. ''What have you  done?'' She turns to face her. Her hair, carefully braided by servants for dinner, is undone; the wet strands of it grip her face like a vice, framing the unseeing eyes.

Like that, she looks like a woman mad. Irulan backs into the safety of the doors, feeling her fear turn into something much greater. ''Do not come near me,'' she commands. Just as the heavy doors close behind her, she sets off running.

-

YN waits until the footsteps of her sister are no longer heard, and only then does she come out of the reading room. She pays the body on the ground little attention; no one would bet an eye on the death of a useless creature like that. It did not intend to kill; rather, someone made it do it. Who, in their right mind, would try to harm the heir of the Emperor? How would they know that Irulan would follow her there?

Irulan. The one who watched as the Other almost gave her life for hers, the one who had the nerve to be repulsed by the blood on her hands—the blood she spilt protecting her. What do you do when you are not allowed to be angry at God? Why does God shame one for the will she herself inflicted on one to bestone? YN would ask the sun, but it hid behind the walls of the fort. She would ask, but no one would answer.

So, she does what she is meant to do—finds her way into the large dining hall, where everyone, of course, is starting to gather. The Emperor would be dissatisfied to find her not there on time; she has no time to fix her appearance. In light of the slight possibility of shaming their House with her muddled hairstyle or suffering yet another punishment for being even late, she chooses the first option.

The guards let her in without saying a word. YNr watches as the shield slides open, revealing a full hall. Rows and rows of tables, filled with foods one would imagine never would have made their way to the Giedi Prime, and laughter not so usual for a harsh realm.

''Princess...'' the servant starts, announcing her arrival, but she shushes him with a slight wave of her palm. She does not notice the crimson liquid staining it.

The Other makes her way to her seat calmly, careless of the way people around her stumble and twist their faces in shock. The only eyes that watch her without fear at the Emperor's table are those of Lady Echidna. Her face betrays no emotion at all—hidden by her veiled black cloth, it only slightly moves when the YN passes her seat.

She holds the angry gaze of the Emperor calmly. He will demand an answer, of course if Irulan has not whispered the truth into his aged ears already. Her sister probably would do no such thing; in that, she would admit to disobeying the orders bestowed upon her. YN is puzzled at the attention directed towards her humble figure—the first thing a Bene Gessarite in training learns is not to be repulsed by the anatomy of her body. Why be grossed out by the liquid coursing through her veins—the liquid she carries all her life? Why be scared of death, when it is always at your doorstep? In the sway of her thoughts, the Other also seems not to perceive the pair of icy blue eyes glued to her figure as she finds her seat and takes her place.

-

"The boy follows you around like a dog." The mother's tone stands not in judgment but rather simply states the truth.

Lady Echidna is not veiled now; her heavy hair is still tightly braided out of her face. Just a small black ribbon highlights her status as one of the Emperor's senior concubines, a position most would bear with honour. To her, it was yet another stain on her earthly body—the body she could not call her to possess. The black sun of Giedi Prime is finally long behind them; nothing but a few light orbs floating around illuminate the chamber, yet her intense gaze seems to pierce right through the girl that sits across her.

"I know, mother. His steps are heavy; his thoughts are even heavier; they follow me much more often."

The woman's fingers stop working on an intricate needlework for a moment, before continuing as it was. "You are to call me Sister, girl," she speaks, her voice low.

YN drags her teeth across her tongue, feeling the anger flow through the veins in her body. She wishes to be far away from this small chamber, to run and never face the woman's eyes again. "The girl has a name, Sister. Or do you fear to voice it?"

Lady Echidna places the cloth on the table beside her gracefully, as if paying no attention to the words spoken. But YN can sense can feel the resentment that burns inside her mother's stomach, spreading its molecules to her throat. "A name holds meaning; for a person to have a name, one must first be of character and substance. You are none."

YN bit the soft flesh inside her mouth; it tasted bitter. It was better if her mother shouted, if she hit her if she did anything to prove YN is still here in her eyes, that she was not just a void the woman spoke her riddles into. Maybe then the pain inside her would have a meaning, would have a reason better than just childish hurt. "Did I not have a beating heart when I left your womb, Sister? Did you not hear it loud and clear? What kind of proof is needed more of me?"

"My daughter died that day, screaming. You took her place. So do not bother me with your foolish talks anymore, for we both know they just waste the air we breathe. Am I heard?"

She was. The tears dried on YN's face before having the chance to spill, and she turned to her studies. Once more, a feeling of ever-lasting cold surrounded her shoulders. The never-leaving vision in her mind appeared once again—her mother's quick steps as she walked away in another corridor of Giedi Prime's fort, her head straight ahead as YN pleaded not to leave her alone, her legs glued to the command spoken. It was a blessing that the boy found her earlier than his uncle.

-

Time has passed since the first time YN's eyes saw the black sun of the foreign planet so far from hers. The Other trained, restlessly, in the tongues of ancient warriors and the most prominent whisperers, slowly earning the right to bear Knowledge in her crown-empty head. She had much yet to learn, but the prospect did not frighten her; with every passing day, she felt power building in her hands and soul. Patience, the greatest virtue of all. She was alone now, without her half of a sister; alone, in her solitude, the heavy bearings seemed not as heavy—she had no one to enlighten about her battles. Still, God was on her mind; YN felt her presence near, her watchful eyes guiding her. Like the tight, dampened cloth on her bruised knuckles, her sister was stuck to her open wound of a soul.

Irulan has grown. Her complexion changed; she no longer looked like a bright-faced girl who left her sister alone in Harkonnen's library; the plump cheeks were gone, and so was fear. At the Other stared a sole statue of power she bloomed into. Silver collars, light blue waves of fabric—the cut is, as always, straight. The Other eyed her up and down, taking in each detail of the painting-like sight. Irulan did the same—a slight disgust at the Other's simple tunic and pants, creased from the sparring. Irulan did not need to be broken in order to be a Sister in the Bene Gesserit; they wanted her Corrino first, and a servant second. The Other, however, held no such value—a child carried not by the lawful wife, a second, a spare. So, there would be no bone in her body left untouched by the lessons, no string in her soul unharmed by the knowledge. They crushed her cartilage in grey sand and forced her to swallow the bitter truths of their ways. Yet, God remains undisturbed—stoic. Eternal.

''Will you not eat again?'' Irulan musses, putting another piece of dish in her mouth.

The Other would take it as a cruel joke from anyone else, but not from God. She shakes her head instead. ''I am forbidden.''

Irulan hums. It was not the first time YN would be disciplined this way; the cycle of punishment and forgiveness was all too familiar to her. The room is silent; there is no one but the two of them. She could offer to eat, and no one would know she did, but Irulan won't offer. The Other does not expect her to; pity is not something a sister can possess.

''How are your lessons going? A fresh knowledge, perhaps?''

YN nods. If she opens her mouth now, her voice will betray her. She could cry all she wanted in the presence of a sister, but it is not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old to behave this way in front of God. The Other is reminded of that with an absence of bruises on Irulan's skin; her hands were never cut by the sharp blades, and her mouth was never starved. ''Why was I summoned from training?'' She asked, directing her eyes to the figure in front of her.

''I am here as a messenger from the Emperor.''

YN's eyes narrowed. ''And what does our dear Emperor desire to tell me now?'' She wishes not to hear anything he has to say; the Other is perfectly content here, amongst her Sisters. Here, she is of cost.

''Recently, Baron Vladimir turned to our House for guidance. He and na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen felt misled by the House Artreidis, and their promise of a bride that did not come. Our father has graciously offered to negotiate the conflict and pay the needed price for the Baron's cooperation.''

''Of course, he did. With all of our might, we are still afraid of the savages that made Arrakis their home. With what advice, may I ask, did the Emperor provide the Baron?''

Irulan's lips turn into a straight line, with the small wrinkle on her forehead appearing. Something that she carried with her through childhood. Something that still reminded of home. ''With the proposal of a woman of our House to na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.''

''A gift? Irulan, I am so sorry.''

Sure, the bridge between them was long forgotten, growing with tall grass and wildflowers, but the weight of their shared history still lingered in the air. Irulan was still her sister, no matter how many times the Other tried to tell herself otherwise. And no woman sane would consider giving her sister to the inhumane brutes that were Harkonnens—the people even Bene Gessarit wished to observe from afar; the people so ruthless mothers told stories about them to their small offspring in an attempt to instil fear and obedience.

Irulan does not answer. She hides her gaze, her eyes following the wooden panels of the quarters.

''What is it, sister?  Speak .''

''The offer Emperor found the most fitting would be of your hand, not mine.''

The Other exhales. As if a heavy stone were put on her chest, she fights to bring much-needed oxygen to her bloodstream. She almost feels the erythrocytes scatter from her face into her neck, hidden by the cloth, and gather there in an attempt to regrow their might. Her throat twists and closes, its muscles compressing until not even an ounce of air can get in. All of her organs, from heart to stomach, made their presence known; one by one, they tensed and burned, forcing the otherwise relaxed hands to grip them.

It was supposed to be Irulan. The first one to marry is the oldest sister; the title high enough to satisfy the ambitious Harkonnes would be hers, no less. Yet, here she stands, not even looking at the one taking her place as she sentences her to an ultimate death. No matter how much power the Corrino name held, on Giedi Prime, she would consider herself fortunate enough if she were to meet her end quickly.

''Why, Irulan? Have I not been a loyal servant to you all those years? Have I not followed every order without question? ''

Irulan is unmoved in her position. ''We can not risk the Harkonnen blood getting on the throne, you know it.''

''You mean we can not risk you? We are not eight anymore, dear Irulan; you can speak truthfully now. Do you really think the Emperor will treasure you more if you say nothing now? We are no sons, Irulan; we are sisters, you and I. Please, spare me this fate.''

''Yes,'' the girl lifts her eyes, taking a step closer. ''We are no sons; you knew that one day we would marry for the peace of the Imperium. Why do you shout now?''

''Married, yes, but not murdered for the sake of the fucking old man who could not hold his promise. They are monsters, Irulan, spilling innocent blood for the fun of it. I beg of you, sister, show me the mercy I know you are capable of.''

''You are worried about blood? What could one more splash of blood mean to you? You have been no sister for a long time; I order you, as an heir of the Emperor and as the messenger of his will here, to comply. Do not make it harder than it has to be.''

The Other smiled—she would not grant the pleasure of tears. ''Very well, then. Someone needs to go first. I'll go; I'll be first, at least here. Tell the Emperor that I will comply with any of his wishes, whether it be to throw me to the sharks or to feed me to the sandworms. As a confirmation of my undying loyalty, you may show him this:''

She slaps her. She slaps her not like a warrior, not like the trained assassin she was raised to be; she slaps her like a sister, bitterly, harshly. For the first time in her short life, YN raises a hand on something she deems holy—the God's shocked face brings a sense of satisfaction to the Other's veins, even if the same blood courses through them. She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving the forsaken room behind. Leaving God behind.

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter XIII. Bleed.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 1.8k

chapter summary: a blanket of darkness covers your soul as it screams for her lover to return.

warnings: character death, chapter goes back and forth in time, very angsty

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

🪻Anemone - abandonment.

Two months later...

The sun kept climbing higher in the sky, the days became longer and the nights warmer, tourists were slowly pouring onto the island, giving you something to immerse yourself in as you created many bouquets with your tired hands.

You buried yourself with as much work as you could, even if your fingers got pricked by the thorns on the roses you touched, you continued, not caring if you bleed.

All the happy smiles around you and the cheerful voices only made you feel even worse.

You had sent a letter to Hyunjin, and you never got one back.

You had tried calling him, but never got an answer either.

Every sliver of hope slowly died every day, even when you walked into your garden, finding that sunny corner where the two of you had kneeled, planting petunias together, your hands dipped into the earth.

They had blossomed fully as you slowly withered.

Hot tears slid down your cheeks, hitting the delicate petals and making them bend under the weight of your pain.

Your worst fear had come true.

Hyunjin had forgotten you.

He had gone back to the big city and replaced you with something or someone else.

The sharp pain when your heart shattered into pieces became a dull ache inside your chest, every single star in your eye has died, only darkness enveloping your soul.

You would wake up and go to work, spending the day in your flower shop and garden, reclusive in your house for the rest of the evening, not even visiting the restaurant anymore since it was lively with people visiting from everywhere.

They took away your cove, your beach, your hill, your forest, even the little island was tainted and you were forced into a dark corner of your mind.

Life had taken away your love, your only hope in this cold world and you were left with nothing, slaving away in your garden just like your mother did.

Lying in your bed at night, you would cry as you stared up into the sky, clutching onto the necklace that Hyunjin gave you, never once taking it off.

Slowly, as you had lost faith that he'll ever answer, you locked away his paintings and the clothes he left, but you couldn't say goodbye to the piece of jewelry that he seemed to adore.

Your tears had dried over the time, replaced with new ones when a knock came on your door.

"Catherine?"- you swallow, quickly fixing up your messy hair.

"Hey, I brought you some lemon lime cake."- she gave you a sad smile.

Pity, that's what was written on her face and you hated being looked at like that.

"Thanks."

"I have some news to share, they're not really good so I'd like for you to sit down."- she says with a serious expression on her face as you walk in and place the cake on the table.

Your heart sinks even further into the black hole inside you and you slowly sit down.

Under the yellow light of the kitchen, Catherine can see your prominent under-eye circles and the exhaustion on your face, the dull pain in your eyes, the tremble of your chapped lips as you inhale shakily.

It only makes it harder for her to be the bearer of bad news.

"Isaac had a heart attack. He died last night."- she says quietly.

You sit there, stunned for a few moments, your mouth going dry.

The constant pain in your heart becomes stronger as your stomach churns.

"W-what?"- you utter, a bitter taste forming in your mouth.

"I'm sorry, y/n. I know you were close to him as was... Hyunjin."- she says his name in a hushed tone and tears prick at your eyes.

"I'd like to be alone."- you stand up quickly.

"Are you sure? I can-"

"I appreciate it, Cath. I really do. I just can't. I need to process, okay?"- you say and she nods understandingly.

"Okay, but if you need us, you know where to find us. Don't hesitate to reach out."- she squeezes your hand for a moment, a sympathetic smile on her face before she stands up and leaves.

You sit in your kitchen, your tears a river as you process all the hurt stemming back from your mother dying to Hyunjin leaving you to someone close to a father figure also disappearing from your life.

You need Hyunjin more than ever, need him to hold you, need him to comfort you, to love you.

Your heart is dying inside your chest and you can't seem to grip onto any ray of hope or happiness.

Now, you feel like you're truly all alone.

Your task is simple yet heavy as your hands weave the thread between the stems of the arranged carnations, the bouquet that will be laid on Isaac's grave after his body gets lowered into the soil to feed the creatures meandering in the dirt.

With tears blurring your vision you finish the flower arrangement and make your way to the funeral together with a few other residents.

The funeral was big, everyone on the island adored Isaac and they came to see him off to another life.

Sad faces and big tears streaming down puffy cheeks were everywhere around you; Barbara was there wheezing as she blew her nose into a napkin, Delmar as he stared off into the distance with wet eyes, Bennet and Catherine as they silently held onto each other while she cried.

All of the other residents gloomy and murmuring how he's gone too soon, how he had more life to live, how they'll miss him making his little sculptures and his signature furniture for them.

As the gravel crunches beneath your feet while you make your way back to your house, you think of one morning almost a month and a half ago.

You've just finished putting up Hyunjin's art, the paintings he left as a gift to you now adorning your walls, replacing your old paintings that you had made years ago.

A knock sounds on your door just as you admire the fresh look of your kitchen and you make your way towards it.

Opening the door, you find Isaac standing there.

"Oh, hi Isaac!"- you smile at him.

"Hi, y/n. May I come in?"

"Of course, I can put on the kettle?"- you say as you close the door behind the man.

"You know me well."- the two of you chuckle.

"So, what brings you here?"

"Am I not allowed to visit you?"- the man laughs.

"No, of course you are. You just rarely come down from your house, is all."

"Well, I can't deny that. I just wanted to see you and bring this to you."- he takes a little wooden owl out of his jacket pocket.

"Oh, did you make this?"- you ask, taking the little creature in your hand.

"No, it's Hyunjin's first sculpture. He left it behind, I found it next to the nightstand. It must've fallen while he was hurriedly packing just so he can spend as much time as he could with you."- he explains and your cheeks warm up, heart beating fast in your chest.

"It's so cute."- you chuckle.

"It is. I wanted you to have it."- Isaac smiles. "Did you hear from him?"

"Not yet, I mean it's been two weeks but I wrote him a letter. I'm waiting for the ship to come around so I can send it."- you smile.

"Ah, a letter. So romantic."- Isaac chuckles, sipping on his tea. "Hyunjin is a really good man, y/n. And he's lucky to have you."- he adds.

"Thank you, Isaac."- you smile warmly at the man.

"Oh no, thank you both. You've made me very happy, like you were my own kids."- he nods as you trace the indents of the wooden owl.

It stands on your shelf still and quiet, its eyes and wings closed, reminding you of that evening you sat and talked with Isaac, not knowing it would be the last time ever.

It is sad but true what they say; the heart really cherishes something more once it's gone.

My Jinnie,

I haven't written a letter in a long time so I might be rusty at this but here I am. I'm writing to tell you I miss you, but you probably already know that. It's like a piece of me left on the ship with you, and I need to have it back so I can feel complete. I don't want to make you sad with my letter though, I know you're probably stressed in the city now. Ah, I hope it's treating you better than before. Nothing really special is happening here, except that our petunias will blossom very soon; I wish you were here to witness it. I will send a sketch of them with the letter to you. I also think I wanna put up your paintings instead of my old ones, what do you think?

Well, I'm waiting for you to come back and thinking of you every day. I can't wait to be in your arms again. I love you so much, my lover.

Yours forever,

Y/n.

And you had waited every day since you handed the letter over, checking your mailbox, asking the postman about it, but you never got anything.

You tried to comfort yourself and convince your heart that something must be happening if he's not answering, but you also know that Hyunjin would swim the ocean just to kiss you so you started to fall into despair more and more each day.

You tried calling him from the restaurant's phone but the number he gave you no longer existed.

With the time passing by, and the days bleeding into one another, you started thinking you dreamed him up, hallucinated him, that he only ever existed as a figment of your imagination cause nothing that good ever lasts.

It was too perfect to be real and you were now faced with the hard truth, Hyunjin has left you.

Your thoughts became darker and colder, as you slowly deteriorated, withered and faded away into the shadows, back where you always thought you belonged.

The scared little girl that her mother never cared for was staring at you in the mirror, abandoned once again by someone she loved.

Everything you once held dear had lost meaning, even your flowers and your sketchbooks, the pain that ate away at you was the only thing you felt.

You wanted to scream and tear out the flowers, pluck them out of the ground, burn the sketchbooks and disappear but you did none of those things, only continued existing day after day after day, always the same.

You stopped checking your mailbox at one point.

You stopped crying too.

You had become a but a shadow of yourself.

You thought before that you weren't the girl who gets the guy, the main character of the story and now you were convinced more than ever that it was true.

You found all the little pieces of Hyunjin in your house and locked them away in a box, locked them away in your broken heart.

As months went by, and came to this point, you sitting in your garden in a black dress after Isaac's funeral, you spiraled into complete darkness.

Nothing really matters anymore.

Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @lemonadeboun @eastjonowhere

[darlingdaisyfarm]

just a little sneak peek of my Ford x villain!reader fic I’m working on, never felt so excited to share it 🤞🏻😭!!

You glance at him, teasing. "do you know what it feels like," your voice sounds like stardust scattered in the wind. "to be kissed by a galaxy?"

He doesn’t answer, no, he can’t. How could he? He’s mortal. He’s human. Small human. Bound by rules you don’t care to follow. But you, oh, you can bend the stars, twist time, create new worlds and he’s standing there, wide-eyed, in awe of your every move. 

You smile dangerously and with a simple flick of your fingers, you send him an air kiss.

At first, it’s light, Ford could state it's just a breeze of a thing, barely there. But then it grows, expands. Stanford feels it before he understands it with that smart brain of his, the weight of a thousand stars pressing against him, not just his lips, but whole body. His knees buckle, his breath catches in his throat. This is more than a kiss, it’s a cosmic storm, an embrace from the universe itself. His lungs burn and he swears he feels galaxies spinning inside him, pulling him in every direction at once, like a star caught in the death grip of a black hole. 

He's so lost, but captivated, trying to make sense of it, but he’s drowning in the stars, in the kiss you’ve gifted him. 

Warmth of dying suns, the icy of black holes, the crushing weight of entire solar systems — that’s probably how Ford will describe it in his journal. It's everything. Everything. And it’s all you.

You smile, the matter around you shimmering with the light of nebulae, galaxies swirling lazily in the depths of your eyes. You approach him with one hand on your hip. "Too much, Stargazer? or are you just not used to being kissed by eternity?"

"How—" Ford gasps, the words barely escaping him, caught somewhere between desperation and fascinations. "what are you. . . doing to me?" his hand grips the space where air should be, trying to ground himself, but there’s nothing, except for the weight of the universe pressing down on him.

He’s so lost, so he can’t really hold his emotions. Because then, Ford tries to laugh, but it comes out breathless, more like gasps for air, like a man stranded in the vacuum of space. "Is- is this what it feels like for you? Oh god—" he takes a sharp breath, chest heaving as if he's trying to fill his lungs with stars. "its fascinating, i can feel every star, every galaxy, all at once!”

You laugh, knowing exactly what you’ve done to him. "You’re not wrong, but don’t worry about it, Ford. You’re still standing, aren’t you?"

He can't even nod. Yeah, hell, barely, Ford can barely feel his own legs. He’s trying to hold onto his sanity, but it’s hard when the universe itself is pressing into his skin, seeping into his bones, filling every breath with the taste of stars and planets.

"Is this how you see the world?" there’s awe in his voice. "Is this what it’s like to be. . . you?"

"You couldn’t handle what it’s like to be me, Stargazer. But this—" you gesture to the swirling galaxies around you, to the cosmic ballet you command with a snap of your fingers. "This is my gift to you. Just a taste. Consider it a privilege." 

Ford’s eyes meet yours and for a moment, despite the overwhelming weight of the cosmos pressing down on him, there’s a spark of that insatiable curiosity in his gaze you’ve always admired in him. That hunger to know, to understand the unknown.

"You’re a lot more dangerous than you let on," Ford smiles. "but I suppose I already knew that, didn’t I?"

You chuckle, stepping back. "Oh, Stargazer," you say, shaking your head with that playful but evil spark in your eyes. "you haven’t seen anything yet."

And he knows that he’s at your mercy. Always has been. Always will be.

[shogunish]

𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀.

synopsis. “you made me feel like i was a threat to you.”

contents. a bit of angst, comfort, miscommunication/lack of communication, implied friends-to-lovers, soft! satoru, takes place after the star plasma vessel incident, satoru's trauma response, unedited, something i whipped up on a whim lmao

wc. 1.3k

note. had a sudden urge to write this when i watched dazai edits and i hope i'll find more inspiration to write like..i just wanna be consistent for once 🥲

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! <3

the inverted spear of heaven was no more.

the star plasma vessel incident — mainly toji fushiguro — had carved its mark into satoru’s flesh. after satoru had killed the man, he had made sure to destroy the cursed tool until not even ashes remained of the sharp blade that used to spill the blood of innocents.

it was almost like the sorcerer wanted to destroy the things that could destroy him.

however, he failed to notice how he had almost destroyed his relationship with you, too.

no longer did satoru wrap you up in his bear hugs. no longer did he let you rest your head on his shoulder on movie night. no longer were you welcome in his space.

always were you kept at an arm’s length. satoru was close enough to admire but so far out of reach like the constellation of stars dotting the night sky. what you thought was no more than a phase turned out to be so much more until, in the safety of your bedroom and underneath your blankets, your vision blurred with tears.

if the sun wasn't there, the moon would remain hidden in the vast void of space. and without satoru, you couldn't shine, either. in fact, your smile dimmed until it was almost extinguished by the pain satoru put you through — but it wasn’t his fault. or so you'd like to tell yourself.

satoru had danced with death when he was meant to only protect a girl.

you couldn't possibly blame him.

after all, you could neutralize the only thing that kept him safe.

the ability to nullify any cursed technique upon touch was as convenient as it was, literally, cursed. with zero offensive abilities, you always relied on satoru or suguru to cover for you in case your plans didn't work out. one miscalculation and your head would roll — that much you knew.

among every student attending jujutsu high, you were the weakest while satoru was the strongest.

it was enough to tie your fate to satoru, weaving a web of complicated feelings which usually tasted like those sugary gummy bears the sorcerer carried with him. it was sweet and warm like his embrace, but the blade of toji fushiguro had effortlessly cut through the fine webs. nothing but a cold void remained where laughter and silly inside jokes about digimon danced along the velvety threads.

almost like a black hole that swallowed the constellation in the skies, leaving behind broken galaxies and lonely stars that swallowed moons to fill the loss of their companions.

“he's so stupid,” you muttered to yourself, threw the teddy bear in your arms into the corner of your bed and sat up to blow your nose.

the teddy bear was a polar bear adorned with button eyes and a red bow tied around its fluffy neck. it looks like you, you had mindlessly said during last year's summer festival. satoru had spent the entire evening shooting little rubber ducks to earn enough points to win the silly bear, but it was worth it for your eyes lit up like the fireworks that followed soon after.

the clock read two am when you poured boiling hot water into a cup of instant ramen, ripped open the package of spice and stirred the meal with disinterest written all over your face. not even the scent of cheap cup noodles made your tummy growl anymore. how could it when it was so full of dread, guilt and worry for the sorcerer who stole your heart and refused to give it back? it was an unfair bargain, really.

just a moment later, you heard a knock on your door. you considered ignoring it and pretending to be asleep, but alas, the lights were on and likely snuck through underneath the crack of the door to your dorm. what kind of idiot knocked on your door at two am?

satoru — the only idiot who'd knock on your door in the middle of the night and look like a kicked puppy.

“satoru? it's two am..,” you spoke first, standing between him and the warmth of your dorm.

satoru didn't look like satoru. even through the pitch black glasses of his shades could you see the storm brewing in those sky-blues of his. with a sigh, he rubbed his neck. “why does everyone keep telling me how late it is? ah, no matter.”

you wanted to ask, but decided against it.

“look, i know it's late, but i can't help but think you've been avoiding me for the last couple of what? weeks? months?” satoru shifted his weight from one fuzzy slipper to the other. “was it something i said?”

in that very moment, you realized you were doing the same things as he was. as soon as class was over, you'd go home alone. you'd have lunch alone. you'd spend your weekends alone. all those things once were shared with satoru in your space, but as soon as he avoided you..you avoided him, too out of fear of getting hurt.

“satoru..don't you realize that you've been avoiding me first?” your voice was quiet as you hugged your middle. “ever since the incident and the destruction of that cursed tool, you always kept me at arm's length. you no longer let me get any closer nor do you spar with me anymore. nothing..”

“you made me feel like i was a threat to you.”

a painful epiphany coiled in satoru's stomach like a snake. was he so busy destroying the devil's tools and refining his technique that he..forgot about about you? the person who'd steal his fries and snore on his shoulder on movie night? no, no way. he would never see you as a threat even though your touch could dissolve his infinity like sugar when it touched water.

“[name], that's not..” the words got stuck in his throat. for the first time in his life, he was speechless. “you are anything but a threat.”

“then why..” tears brimmed your eyes until they overflowed, ran down the apples of your cheeks and met the warmth of satoru’s thumb. it was not his stupid infinity wiping the tears away, but satoru himself.

to be touched by satoru felt like the first sunrays of spring gracing your skin. warm, familiar and hinting at the end of a long, unforgiving winter that had taken root in your belly. soft sobs bubbled in the back of your throat, rocking your shoulders and interrupting every word you wanted to say; how stupid he was, how much you missed him, how much you needed him.

“shh..say no more,” satoru whispered and took you in his strong arms so you could sob into his chest all you wanted.

satoru didn't care about the tears or snot wetting his shirt. all that mattered was the feeling of you in his arms, and even though it pained him to know that he caused those tears, this was better than receiving your cold shoulder and dismissive smiles.

quietly, you and satoru went back inside the warmth of your dorm where both of you shared some cheap cup ramen which satoru spiced up with some peppers, egg and a conversation which neither of you would remember in the morning to come. no amount of time seemed to have passed between you as you both laughed, bickered and exchanged glances like lovers-to-be would.

“what are you doing?,” you asked, long comfortable underneath the sheets of your bed — or you would be if satoru didn't hold them up and almost looked offended by your words.

“sleeping with you, duh,” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world and maybe it was.

ignoring your protests and pouts, satoru crammed himself into bed with you, one arm around your waist and the other one underneath your head. his broad chest gently pressed against your back, his warmth enveloped you like a blanket.

“you're stupid,” you smiled to yourself while a blush as red as roses crept up your cheeks.

“and you're lucky i love you,” satoru grumbled underneath his breath, blowing some strands of your hair away from his nose and mouth so he wouldn't suffocate while holding you so tight.

taglist. @torusmochi, @cinnamonmon

[seineko]

lan wangji and lan sizhui's relationship isn't discussed enough!

a-yuan was the reason lan wangji lived and i will stand by it as long as i have to.

i'm not talking about living in a physical sense. he would've done so being the light bearer he is, but the peerless hanguang-jun lost his light the second he knew wei wuxian breathed his last.

hanguang-jun was just that, a light bearer, not the source of it. he was the moon that depended on the sun to provide it to the people, but he already lost his sun.

he probably would've gotten sucked into the black hole that was left behind after his star died that he did not realize there was another sun right beside it until he heard the faint cries of a child.

a-yuan. (he was the sun that the last of qishan wen couldn't even hope to be.)

it's the ways in which lan wangji and sizhui's interactions are so subtly domestic that melts my heart completely.

the relationship they share that of a guardian-ward, of a father-son.

the way sizhui (along with jingyi and a few other lan juniors) scream 'hanguang-jun!' and are able to smile while being held hostage really says a lot about both the trust they have in him and how safe they feel around him.

sizhui saying that feels as if he has nothing to fear or worry about, so long as lan wangji or wei wuxian were around. the bone deep trust that he has that he will be safe if he's around either of them even if he was in the middle of a literal death trap had me pause for a few seconds to let myself bawl out.

it's in the way sizhui so willingly and so enthusiastically interacts with lan wangji while everyone around him (except a few of the lan juniors) are scared witless to even breathe the same air as him. even the lan juniors don't seem to have the ease that sizhui has. (okay, this may probably be me over reading into it, but i really did feel that way while reading.)

and, my favorite interaction, sizhui encountering that lan wangji buried a-yuan in a pile of rabbits will never ever make me stop smiling like an idiot.

they have one of the healthiest parent-child relationship i've seen and i so, so long for it.

it's as surprising as it is devastating how less they're talked about. a crime really.

[daeyumi]

Cycle of the Stars

Prologue I:

Protosphere

***

THUD.

THUD.

A wave of sensation washes over them, vague and fleeting, like light filtering down through deep water.

Colors.

Thoughts.

The impression of someone calling out to them from far away, obscured through the blurry images that whisper across their eyes.

THUD.

Silence. Oppressive and heavy.

It feels familiar somehow, this weight. A long forgotten dream. They feel that they’ve known it before.

They think they feel a sense of self. An identity against the current of infinitum, one blot on a blank sheet of paper. A tangible presence. It dissipates the next moment, rolled away on the tide.

‘Before?’

Not understanding the comparison, they sit alone with the word and it’s implications. More colors spring forth to their eyes, unbidden. A lone figure on a hill, his back to a ruined land. Red and grey and black. The gold-tinted-orange of a dying sun, bleeding out over the empty horizon.

A vast expanse of dying grass, crowned with innumerable gravestones. Grey earth, grey sky, grey stone. An aftermath, a finale. A beginning. A single swatch of green, kneeling before a headstone. Life among death.

A hole in a gnarled tree, leading down, down, into the recesses of the world, swallowing life and soul and self.

A call.

A name.

A word.

Link.

The connection, the void.

Everything and nothing.

The colors swirl before their eyes in an infinite flash of space and time.

THUD.

Memories? Visions? They try to close their eyes against the current of impressions and find them to be already closed.

THUD.

Mind racing, as if fighting through the muddy currents of a storm-bloated river. They can’t understand. Thoughts begin to feel impossible. Even the whirling forms within their mind’s eye start to close in on them, oppressive and threatening. Moving so quickly that the sound deafens their ears, crushing the blunt silence with an overwhelming pressure.

They crack open their eyes and find no relief in the cold darkness that envelops them, somehow moving even faster than the nauseating colors that threatened their closed eyes moments previously.

THUD.

THUD.

Thud.

Thoughts begin to slow, finally finding relief in the void beyond cognition. The intangible shapes and patterns flow languidly now, a comforting caress to replace the constant barrage on the senses. Blue. Like the shallows of a river that stretches to the horizon, through which can be seen the blue sky above, falling off into infinity. Above and below. An all encompassing finality to contain the world. Blue and green and the serenity of the day’s end.

Gradually, they become aware of a clenched fist repeatedly making contact with a thick pane of glass in front of them.

Thud.

A hand. An owner. Belonging. An emptiness to once again overtake the soul, blotting out the essence of the previous inhabitant to make way for new images to stamp their impressions on its walls.

Confinement.

A separation in the everything.

The e v e r y t h i n g

thud.

n e v. e r e n d. i. n g

thud.

thud.

thud

The quieting pulses are forced to one final crescendo as the hand, unbidden, makes a last desparate strike against the unmoving surface, shattering the barrier of the world.

Heavy glass bursts outward from the threshold along with a surge of viscous liquid, pouring out toward the ground; the draining substance revealing a limp, convulsing pile of limbs and torso, frantically coughing up fluids from their burning lungs. The sound of draining pressure coincides with the roaring in their ears and the desperate cacophony of retching and wheezing before falling uncomfortably silent; the only sound the steady ooze of solution falling to the ground far below in steady droplets. Drip. Drip. The solitary rhythm of measured time.

A heartbeat passes and they stir, blue eyes opening slowly as if wading through still water. Weakly, they try to raise their head to the glow of intense light radiating from above; their muscles strain tensely before falling limp again, exhausted.

Trapped.

The walls seem to close in again, threatening their inhabitant once more with darkness and manic imagery that still flashes before them when they close their eyes to blink. Forcing limbs to move, straining for something, anything but the paralyzing numbness that binds them. One motion at a time; but their muscles won’t obey, their mind won’t respond. Pain. Stagnation.

A hand passes through the right side of the eyes’ range of vision. Slender, pale fingers to match the hand from earlier.

Their own hand.

Panic sets in amid a tangle of flailing limbs.

Coughing, gasping for air, the pallid figure claws against the side of the cramped enclosure, hands scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth interior. Shaky fingers finally make contact with the shattered remnants of a glass wall in the side of the tank and grip weakly to the edge of the hole in the room, still dripping a slow current of colorless liquid onto the empty stone floor far below. In between ragged breaths, they start to pull themself desperately toward the edge of the enclosure. Muscles quivering from disuse, chest heaving from exertion. With a final effort, their body clears the opening and slides down to the floor below, landing with a quiet splash that shatters the silence in the cavernous chamber beyond the broken tank.

He lay unmoving for a moment, save for another round of violent coughing.

It takes everything they have to lift their shoulders off the floor, still-bowed head following suit. Hunched over, their weight barely supported by quivering arms. They try to lift their gaze and immediately retch again, a repulsive mix of bile and clear fluid spilling over the exposed skin of their legs and onto the panels of the already wet floor beneath them.

Bony fingers clutch at an emaciated throat.

Can’t—

The room spins and they fall the short distance to the floor.

Unconscious.

Unmoving.

Sodden, pale hair clinging to a thin frame. Skin, and bone, and earth. A birth or a battlefield.

The last gasps of echoing sound die alone in the vast recesses of that empty room, smothered by the endless labyrinth of tubes across the vast ceiling.

***

He woke.

A thick darkness suffuses the room, broken only by the cold blue light flickering through the thick haze that obscures the edges of their vision. The trembling figure pushes himself up on weak arms, bleary eyes surveying the landscape before them. Fallen pillars on the ground, crumbled beyond recognition until they snaked across the cold stone terrain and beyond to the edges of the horizon, starlight glinting off them in irregular patches. Beyond, small shapes protrude from the ground, obscured by fog and distance. Shrines? Homes? Some even show a faint glow of light that cuts through the mist.

Their head spins.

Blue eyes hazily follow the swirling patterns from the base of a row of short pillars up to the top where they meet the sky, seamlessly melding into the azure heavens.

An endless expanse of sky and clouds, above and below. All encompassing. Lightning without rain.

With effort, he directs his gaze to the pinnacle of the sky.

Six identical moons above, surrounded by a myriad of stars, trailing constellations back down towards the earth. Blue. The blue of the night sky, whose weakly blinking stars, too, are never strong enough to illuminate the land below. The blue of the deep ocean, where forgotten kingdoms sleep in disrepair, the same as the dilapidated landscape they see before them. Remnants of a broken empire. An unnatural blue, made worldly only by age and disuse.

Ages of….

A heavy weight overwhelms them, as centuries of water carving deep fissures through mountains; and they collapse to the ground, exhaustion reclaiming its hold on the figure once more. Cold. The void of the cracked tile below shoves daggers into their skin, leeching what little strength they had and reducing them to a crumpled heap on the frigid stone floor; the repetition of choppy, shallow breaths the only sign of life.

Another wasteland, empty as before, piercing white. Scattered glass upon a vast field. The cracks between lead down, down into the black oblivion of eternity, where all things are null, as time itself, as life, as identity, as color; and above, the frozen world. Colorless, unbroken.

Silent.

Melancholy; the soul of the interloper. Convergence. Concurrence.

Passed beyond knowing.

A lone tree in a grassy field.

Faces obscured behind titles and grand deeds.

Stories.

Legends.

“The face in the glass… is that the real you?”

They felt they should know… something. A past, a future. An identity. Surely they’d had one before?

…Before?

It’s empty; like walking a corridor lined with doors made of possibility that turn to dust at the moment of approach. A glass room bounded by mirrors and crystal vases filled with water. Tangible but hollow. Repeating in on itself with every refraction until the thin lines of light and shadow mean nothing to the perception of an observer.

Connections.

Thoughts.

Disorientation as one thought reflects back above the others.

Resonance.

The impression of a name. Link.

They felt sick again, and then they felt nothing.

***

The stars still shine above when they wake, crowned by those too-consistent moons. Not moons and stars, Link realizes as their vision steadily begins to clear. Too perfect to be….

Gingerly, they try to uncurl themself from their position on the floor and find that their body does work, though made none the easier by their atrophied muscles. He stretches out a trembling hand, placing it against the smooth floor and pushing himself upright. The air smells stale and slightly damp as Link looks around, cataloguing the shapes that their eyes hadn’t been able to make out before.

Strange figures in the fog solidify themselves into derelict machinery.

The walls are lined with rounded devices that give way to wide panels above, decorated with carved patterns of lines and circles evoking myriad constellations in a night sky; the points of the stars glowing faintly with ethereal blue light. Most of the light in the room, however, comes from the six identical skylights crowning the apex of the chamber. The “moons” Link had noticed previously. The large round lights form a circular pattern around the top of a singular central pillar in the room. A pillar which was not, in fact, a pillar; but the shaft of the massive incubation tank that, Link realizes with growing horror, they themself had occupied until just recently.

With difficulty, he shifts his position from where he sat on the floor, gradually turning around until he sits fully facing the massive apparatus. It is made of a hard material, more akin to stone than metal, and cool to the touch; an ominous column that bows out as it reaches the floor to make room for the cavernous space inside like a gaping maw. Link shivers as they reach out their hand to place it on the raised pattern of the tank, rough and almost porous in contrast with the sleek underlayer. It reminds him of a stomach, he thinks, or perhaps a tangled mass of intestines, with its maze of uneven lines twisting and curling in on themselves. They feel vaguely sick again but curiosity forces them to keep looking anyway, noting that the center of each circle in the pattern houses a window of varying sizes, some seeming to lead to other tanks, adjacent to the main belly but many times smaller in size. Empty.

Empty, too, is the largest chamber of the incubation tank, looming above their thin frame like a drooling mouth, with shards of shattered glass forming the teeth at the edges of the main window. Link hasn’t the strength to stand and look inside. He doesn’t think he could stomach the sight anyways; flashbacks to the manic fervor of trying to escape already rising to the surface of his memory.

Their eyes drift instead to the base of the structure, where thick tubes as wide as Link’s own torso run out towards the edges of the walls, joining with other machines and even to the wall itself. The tubes glow faintly where patches of the outer material has peeled away to display the translucent membrane beneath. It’s apparent that they would have been used to transport the clear liquid into, or out of, the massive cistern. There’s no current running in either direction, but Link wonders if they house the vile solution even now. They force themself to look away, swallowing hard.

From his vantage point in roughly the center of the stone floor, Link can make out precious little else about the darkened room. More tubes cross the ceiling, traveling again the distance between the walls and the central pillar and meeting it, Link presumes, at the top; though they aren’t going to risk passing out again to crane their head to see. More strange shaped rubble gathered around the corners of the room. Link can’t even begin to guess its source, as none of the constructs nearby seem to be crumbling or missing pieces.

Their wandering gaze solidifies on an incongruous shape sitting amongst the wreckage. Curious, and without any other course of action, they begin to crawl towards it.

The object in question reveals itself to be a small ring about the size of the palm of their hand. It appears to have once been a perfect circle, adorned in symmetry with the same constellation pattern as the walls of the cavernous room; now sharing in its fate. Broken and discarded, dust and other refuse clogging the fine grooves in its surface. A crack runs across the rounded surface, culminating in a sizeable chip missing from one side.

Link picks up the ring with a trembling hand, fumbling it once before gaining a steadier grip. It’s made of a similar material to the tank in the center of the room, but judging by its size must have once been a piece of something larger.

The image sticks in their mind as they continue to scan the room for anomalies among the mess of machines and wires running the perimeter of the vast space. A forgotten tool lying alone in the wreckage of a desolate land, buried with the past.

The parallels to his own situation seem significant somehow.

He finds his fingers curling around the ring instinctively, though his eyes now look past it, focusing on a dark gap in between some of the panels on the wall to his left.

The exit.

Or so he hopes. A brief flash of fear crosses Link’s mind, imagining a passageway closed off with more of the rubble before him. Trapped. Apprehension washes over him, imagining the suffocating embrace of the water inside the tenebrous vessel. Why was he even here? Alone? The rest of the room is empty, the machines deteriorating and, as far as Link can tell, inactive. Is there more to this place? The sheer number of control units along the walls suggest there should have been a sizable number of people to operate the facility. His mind balks at the implications of his solitary confinement to this place. The sole inhabitant of the tank, the sole inhabitant of the room. How long..? Memories of the interior of the tank are replaced by thoughts of a sealed chamber, no doors to be found on the smooth interior; or a narrow exit blocked by collapsed rubble. His breath quickens and new images flash before his mind. Bloody fingernails capping raw fingers, scrabbling at the walls, bruised and bloodied knuckles; and still the harsh, unmoving stone of the enclosure, one person unable to do what only time can accomplish, unable to tear down the boundaries, to free themself. An agonizing death by starvation. He doesn’t want to think about the alternative.

It’s too much.

He tries to fight through the rising alarm, shoving it down to the pit of his stomach along with his nausea. Deep breaths. Clenching his fist further, driving nails and the imprint of a stone circle into the palm of their hand. Forcing themself to lift their gaze once more to their destination.

Link shakes their head to clear it and immediately regrets it, the throbbing in his head only intensifying with the movement. I need to leave this place.

***

The hallways beyond the central tank chamber are more of the same in appearance. The now-familiar constellation pattern decorates the upper part of the walls, while the lower portion is tessellated with the twisting pattern of curved lines in chunky relief, boundaried by a single line of the same raised, rough material running unbroken down the length of the hallway. It is this conformation that Link clings to as they make their way down the dim corridor, leaning their weight on the wall as they half stumble, half pull themselves along the wall with shaky arms; making up the difference for their protesting legs. It’s the fourth hallway like this they’ve encountered, though there had been only one exit from the incubation chamber. The path had split often, at first, and he had needed to retread the same paths multiple times in places as he met with many dead ends in the labyrinthine halls. They had passed other compartments on their quest to find the exit; small rooms bare except for a couple sparse beds with thin shelves jutting from the walls beside them. An impossibly tall chamber with a vaulted roof that seemed meant for storage, but held nothing but dilapidated shelves and crumbled debris. A locked door at the end of an agonizingly long hallway for which Link did not have the key, nor the strength to try to open. They fervently hoped it didn’t lead to the exit. The door had felt cool to the touch, but Link had been forced to abandon it to continue his search down the previous passageways.

This whole place is abandoned.

Though he knew it already to be true; the deafening silence betrayed no signs of life. Link’s own shuffling footsteps, quiet though they are, are the lone sound in the eerie gloom.

He feels more lucid, now, though his head still pounds and his vision still swims even from this slow movement down the corridor. They try to recall anything about themself, but find nothing to betray their past in their memories. Link. He feels that he ought to know something about the owner of that name. About himself. But any attempts to recollect further are met with failure and the feeling of trying to lift water through a sieve. Meaningless, obviously, but they are far too exhausted to feel frustration. And they can feel that their body will need to eat soon, even through the lightheadedness and nausea that still blanket them like thick fog.

A blue aura ahead signals the room at the end of the hallway; too far to make out, but steadily coming into view. Narrow panels hang along the walls, framing the doorway as Link draws near. Smooth and blank, but placed as though a sign to indicate the path. It would have seemed significant if not for the fact that every door prior had also been marked in a similar manner. Link’s fingers catch on the edge of a panel and they stumble, crumpling to the ground as they enter the room at last.

Not the exit.

But this room was different to the others they had encountered previously. Link swallows bile as he raises his head from the floor, dizziness returning in full force while they reposition their legs beneath them and reach for the edge of a low shelf to pull themself to their feet. Rows of glass tanks line the walls at the edges of the room, more uniform by far than the singular pillar shaped tank in the chamber Link had awoken in, with its divots and knobby carvings surrounding uneven windows. These seem almost sterile by comparison, though each window was still rimmed by twisting patterns of stone. They had no apparent function, as they lacked the tubes that had connected the larger tank to the machinery and walls of the huge cavern. There also didn’t seem to be anything inside. It was hard to make out whether the clear liquid contained within differentiated from tank to tank, and even that would have been to difficult to see if some of the tanks had not been cracked and partially drained. A high table spanned the length of most of the chamber, rising up from the ground like a solid plinth.

Having regained his footing, Link starts once more down the rectangular room, supporting his balance on the intermittent tables or walls. They are struck once again by the sheer hollowness of the place; the tables, the shelves, the jars embedded in the walls- even the room itself, he realizes, lacks the network of tubes crossing the ceiling that had so defined other rooms in the labyrinth. It isn’t so much that the room is empty so much as… devoid of habitation? A strange… desolation that they hadn’t registered until now, even despite the layers of dust that coat every surface. He passes a small, round alcove in the side of the wall, housing yet another barren container, this one free standing but otherwise matching the others in the room; the only thing setting it apart being the myriad “arms” that protrude from all sides, each containing a channel that points toward the central chamber.

Trying to combine something? It looks like it was built to fit this space. Or the other way around…. Link shudders again, contemplating the purpose of his presence in this place.

It’s a short enough distance to the other end of the vault, but it takes them several more agonizing minutes to cross the expanse. Step by step, feeling the omniscient gaze of the empty tanks on his back. his legs refuse to increase pace, however; continuing his uneven gait towards the far door, and at last steps into the small antechamber beyond.

Carvings in twisted stone relief completely cover the interior of the round room, only serving to highlight the closed door opposite him. He’s reminded once more of the bowels of a giant beast, the writhing pattern enclosing him, constricted; waiting to be digested. It’s cramped and oppressive compared to the previous rooms, and Link feels the walls start to close in around them. Reliving. Clenching his fist on the circular charm he had picked up from the floor earlier, he focuses on the sole thing keeping him in the room. Fresh air. It creeps in from the edges of the door, fighting a losing battle with the dank, musty scents of the broken down facility. Giving its life to promise freedom to another.

The door doesn’t budge when Link turns the handle so they throw their weight against it clumsily, falling upon the access with a dull thud. They are forced to repeat the action again and again before the door relinquishes its hold and creaks open, heavy stone scraping aside as Link slides to his knees. He is moving forward again almost instantly despite his exhaustion, spurred on by the faint breeze he feels across his skin.

It’s the longest hallway he’s encountered so far. Not even a pinprick of light can be seen ahead; the corners of the wall all converging to a single point in the darkness. The tunnel ascends at a gentle slope that wears on his legs after just a few minutes of walking, though Link already uses the wall to support their weight. they long to sink to the floor and rest, to give in to the deep exhaustion that has plagued them since they awoke. His throbbing head is at odds with the gnawing pangs of his stomach. He feels as though he has been wandering the deserted passages for hours, days. Sense of time degraded and fractured beyond recognition. If he could see what his state of mind looked like, he imagines it would be like the stone lines on the wall. Twisting, sinuous, ever moving forwards but slowly, painfully. Doubling back or circling around before continuing on. None of them connected. Fragmented. His breathing is getting heavy, and they can tell they’re moving slower than before, their movements less coordinated. If he stops walking now, the floor will swallow him whole. Returned to the void.

He walks on.

The dragging of footsteps is joined at last in its lone refrain, accompanied at last by the soft sound of a wayward breeze.

Blue eyes raise once more toward the outlet of the passage, confusion registering with the recognition of an inky chasm past the walls. Startled, their mind summons once more an image of cramped rooms and overbearing machinery waiting beyond, wandering forever; before the solution snaps them back to sentience.

Oh.

It’s nighttime.

Footsteps quicken and they stumble the last few steps toward the exit, relinquishing his grip on the wall as he rushes down the corridor. Frantic. Wind whipping through the tangle of long hair at their back and rushing through their ears, deafening. The slapping of feet on stone is replaced at once with the dry rustling of grass, and he falls to his knees as the world opens up before him at last; vast forest rising up around him as he emerges from the cavernous hole in the ground, long overgrown with flowering vines that herald the changing of an era.

Link feels as though they kneel before the precipice of a dreamscape.

Thick forest, the vast swath of trees forming columns under a vaulted ceiling of branches, starlight pooling off the leaves and filling the cool night air with energy. An infinite expanse of world surrounding. The ethereal made manifest amid the verdant sanctum of possibility.

Freedom.

And survival.

[sasiaucompetition]

Fics Submitted to the Event

Okay, so apparently links count as characters, and you can only have so many characters per block of text. That is why the end of the list looks like that.

This is the list of all AUs entered, with links. Originally I was going to do links separate, but then I realized it would be easier to do it this way.

The AUs I know that are Mature and up have been marked, but please contact me if there are others on the list that haven't been!

The Other Side of the Mirror - @/Frejennix and @/Lalijinx (ao3)

Chessboxing AU - @/arealsword (ao3)

What you need - @/Anxiousgaypanicking (18+) (tumblr)

Happily Ever After Universe - @/edupunkn00b (ao3)

Never Met You - @/Nad98 (ao3)

Archduke of Demonic Cultivation - @/ThreeCrowsInATrenchcoat (ao3)

One Coffee, Morally Gray - @/Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R) (ao3)

A Dragon's Treasure - @/TypicallyUntipical (ao3)

Fairies in the Forest - @/Ended_Flames (ao3)

Ghost Janus AU - @/SoDoRoses (FairyChess) (ao3)

Logan Accidentally Steals Two (2) Children - @/the-panmixxia (ao3)

The Stowaway's Heart - @/thesympatheticvillain (ao3)

They Share A Kitchen - @/BuddyBuddyPalBuddy (ao3)

100 Seconds to Midnight - @/never_the_rose (ao3)

Touch Transcends Language - @/IfFoundPleaseReturnToJanus (18+) (ao3)

Flores Facets - @/Whiskey_With_Patron (ao3)

Life's A Drag - @/infawrit10 (ao3)

Crown Princes And Butterfly Wings - @/Ended_Flames (ao3)

Where the Lovestruck Bleeds - @/Fangirltothefullest (ao3)

Banding With You - @/glacierruler (tumblr)

Through Hades and Back - @/glacierruler (tumblr)

Deja Vu / Hero Worship AU - @/Greenninjagal (ao3)

Eucatastrophe - @/arealsword (ao3)

Side by Side in the Mindscape - @/edupunkn00b (ao3)

Beside Me - Dee - Thrall - @/edupunkn00b (ao3)

Plea for my New Self - @/VoidDragons (ao3)

Stray Hearts Are Subject To change - @/Queen_Whovian (ao3)

How the Angels got their Wings - @/SunRey1116 (ao3)

don't paint wonderful lies on me (that wash away) - @/codevassie (ao3)

How to Fuck with Humanity 101 - @/Jungle321jungle (ao3)

What You Can Stand - @/ManyFandomsOneLog (ao3)

All of These Stars (Will Guide Us Home) - @/lucernis (ao3)

Virgil’s Guide to Avoid Accidentally Falling In Love With Your Boss’ Boss - @/Jungle321jungle (ao3)

Hidden In Shadows - @/Kaysigns (ao3)

Labeled - @/AdrianaintheSnow (ao3)

Dreaming While I Wake - @/VoidDragons (ao3)

Painful Death - @/VoidDragons (ao3)

Lost & Found AU - @/rollthewhatever (tumblr)

Monsterous Roomates - @/Willowanderer (ao3)

Between Light and Darkness - ORPHANED (ao3)

Pumpkin Spice - @/VoidDragons (ao3)

Pick A Side (i love you and everything is beautiful) - @/arealsword (ao3)

Is there anything left of Patton - @/AdrianaintheSnow (ao3)

if you're going my way, i'll go with you - @/iclaimedtobethebetterbard (ao3)

one chance to change your fate - @/iclaimedtobethebetterbard (ao3)

A Moment with Potential - @/Midniteblue (ao3)

KNEE DEEP - @/plumcat (ao3)

House of Tarot Cards - @/FlowerMeat (ao3)

The Long Road Home - @/warcatscat (ao3)

Punks, Poets, Parents - @/edupunkn00b (ao3)

Flightless Bird - @/AvoSunflowerTea (ao3)

A lesson in practicality - @/ResidentAnchor (ao3)

Endless Sides (Sandman AU) - @/sometimes-love-is-enough (tumblr)

The Ghost and the Reaper - @/thatonelesbianfander (tumblr)

A Bug in the System - @/AwLawdItComin (ao3)

Syzygy - @/arealsword (ao3)

lavender for luck - @/lovelylogans (ao3)

The Starlight Universe - @/iclaimedtobethebetterbard (ao3)

59. Pieces Verse - @/SoDoRoses (FairyChess) (ao3)

60. (Un)Wanted - @/TheAsexualofSpades (ao3)

61. Black Hole Sun - @/coconutcluster (ao3)

62. Vanished - @/red_imeanblue (ao3)

63. Space and Everything In It - @/Greenninjagal (ao3)

64. You Can't Go Back - @/delimeful (ao3)

65. Ghost AU - @/tsghostau (tumblr)

66. Live Without You - @/stormsofstarlight (ao3)

67. Janus Sanders and the Cassandra Fallacy - @/arealsword (ao3)

68. Short Sides AU - @/nachosforfree (tumblr)

69. Plant Parents Dukeceit - @/ThreeCrowsInATrenchcoat (ao3)

70. For the Record/The Sanders Archive - @/VillainVogue (ao3)

71. The Other Side(s) - @/VillainVogue (ao3)

72. genius loci - @/oldkamelle (tumblr)

73. unsympathetic patton au - @/aidensm8 (tumblr)

74. cat virgil - @/its-the-cat-queen (tumblr)

75. murder mystery - @/thecrowslullaby (tumblr)

76. guilty tears - @/not-exactly-laborious (tumblr)

77. ride the cyclone - @/purplecrayonismine (tumblr)

78. Pingverse - @/SoDoRoses (ao3)

79. Spirit Complex AU - @/casart (tumblr)

80. A Series of Silly Questions - @/SoDoRoses (ao3)

[luveline]

if you are taking suggestions, I would love to see a steve zombie!AU blurb!!

for you my love, steve zombie au — the college collapse and the fallout afterwards. fem!reader, 5k words tw for zombie apocalypse typical violence and gore, cuts/bruises, mentioned extreme violence/death, mentioned sexual assault (implied to have been attempted, no graphic description), hurt/comfort

You can hear people crying from the quad. 

You don't blame them if they look anything like you right now. Your hands are crusted with blood, your knees more cut than skin. Evidence of the dead marrs the floor, and evidence of the living stains the walls, black gore streaks across the linoleum and bullet holes like inverted stars in the walls, backlit by the bonfire lit in the centre of the quad.

There hasn't been a shot in hours. Still, you hide, and still, you bite your tongue to stop from crying. Crying isn't going to help. 

A familiar sound echoes from the east. A geek, the undead monsters that haunt what's left of the world, groans and sputters somewhere you can't see. Your skin crawls —sounds bound off of the tiled floor and walls, and in the dark you fail to pinpoint the exact origin. The smell of carrion is pervasive. You can't stay here. When the sun rises, you'll be plainly visible to foe rather than friend; raiders and geeks are waiting for morning to find you and whoever else survived. You have no choices, no weapons, nothing more than the clothes on your back. 

By now, the dormitory that you called your bedroom will have been seized, your meagre possessions gone. Each precious gift, every book and blanket. You'll never get to see it again. All those memories–

You bite your tongue again. The pain doesn't count for much. You're already in agony. Your lungs ache from screaming, from running harder than you've ever run, and you've been cut from head to toe by shards of glass. You're in the worst state you've ever been in minus one risky head injury, but you're far from hopeless. 

You've prepared for this. You know what you need to do. You'll do more than crawl across glass if it means you can reach the rendezvous point by morning. 

Taking quick, terrified breaths, you bounce to your feet and hold out an arm. It's a bad strategy. If you get bit, you can't fix it. You don't have a knife, and if you did you don't have the nerve to amputate yourself. But your choices are to lead via hand or face, and hand seems wiser. You step over slippery tile in your ill-fitting shoes until you find a wall, your panting echoed back at you. 

The sobbing has stopped. An eerie quiet takes its place. Something bad has happened. 

Something bad already happened. Something is over. 

You freeze when you hear chuckling. It's quiet but unquestionable. 

Who could laugh? After seeing the carnage of the cafeteria? The bodies lining the east gate? 

The pitch blackness wanes the closer you get to the door. A rogue tear races down your cheek as you squint against the flickering firelight. There's a herd of men standing at the pit of the quad, warming their hands with the spoils of the lives of the hundred who found shelter here. You hide your body behind the wall, the glass door of the gym you'd been secluded in stuck half open. They likely hadn't meant to, but the raiders tripped the electricity, and it hasn't come back on since. It likely won't come on ever again. 

You squeeze through the door, so afraid of being out in the open that it makes you physically retch. 

You rag your body through the door and wince at the deep gouges it feels like it leaves behind. Your knees don't want to bend, they're so shredded, but you've no choice but to sprint to the side of the gym, and then the fallen gates, and the treeline behind it. 

You step over the heavy metal gates that once protected you slowly. Each grind of fence into the asphalt below feels like a siren call. 

The only light is the orange flicker of the fire cast between the trees like grabbing fingers. You step in the shadows, flinching at every snapping branch under your feet, every dry leaf. You don't look back —you can't. You're terrified of what you'll see. 

Please, you think, over and over, a prayer if there's ever been one, please, please. You're so afraid of not getting what you're asking for that you can't finish the sentence. Your head is a loop of pleading, begging, offers to someone who isn't listening. 

I'll never complain. I will never wonder why. I won't cry, or ache, or so much as sigh. So please. 

It happened at dinner. The entire community, what felt like every member of The College gathered in one place for 'thanksgiving dinner'. There was thanks to be said, sure, but nothing that aligned with the original celebration. Thank you for a place to call home. Thank you for the meal. Thank you for a safe haven. Thank you for– 

But a shot rang outside. 

Heads bobbed. Adults and children alike shifted at the cafeteria tables to try and see which of the patrolling gate guards had needed to fire. 

It was like rain after that. Pop pop pop. 

You grip the present like a bouy and hold on tight. You can't think about what happened while you're still in it. The fear will paralyse you. 

Your shoe steps onto something soft. You look down though you don't want to, and it's too dark now to make it out. You bend at the waist and let out an involuntary whine at the pain that lances up your abdomen. 

It's a blanket. You don't think it's one of yours, though you had so many you can't be sure. It's green and rough and the best protection on offer. You wrap it around your shoulders and keep walking. 

You know where you are only because it has been drilled into you so thoroughly. 

I'll meet you at the bottom of the hill… Do you remember, we ate vegetable soup and dumplings cold? It was the best meal we'd had in months. 

"Oh, fuck," you say, losing the strength in your legs. You grasp at the rough trunk of a tree and gasp for air. You can't breathe, you can't think. "Fuck." 

Your sniffling whispers are lost in the wind. 

"I don't think I can do this," you mouth. 

I promise I'll meet you there. 

"I can't." 

But you have to. You can see it all laid out in front of you. Eating sour cherries on the floor, bare-legged and brimming with love, his hand on your straggly knee. His hand on your back, guiding you through doorways and under tree branches. His hand on your cheek, your shoulder, your thigh. 

His hand in yours, a hundred miles of highway behind you. Pulling you along. 

You walk for what feels like hours but can't be so long. Your shoes are doing more harm than good, blisters like pebbles on your heels and toes. You step out of them and carry them down the hill, grass sharp under the soles of your feet. The socks you wear are threadbare. 

You hadn't realised you'd have to do this, and that was a mistake. You could've been prepared for this; you should've been carrying a knife in your belt everywhere you went, and you never should've left yourself open to the elements. How many jackets do you have under your bed? 

The convenience store beckons like a beacon. The night is heavy but the moonlight strives to lead you, and you follow it to the white walls one exhausted step at a time. 

You circle the building. 

There's no one waiting for you. He isn't where he promised. 

You try to open the door but can't find the strength. Everything hurts more than anything has ever hurt before. Your hands are immobile now, your shoes falling to the concrete beneath with a dull thump. One springs away too far to reach. 

You sit down against the back of the convenience store, drained of everything you have. If he isn't here, he's dead. If he's dead, you might as well die. He was everything, and he's gone. 

You fall asleep sitting up against the wall, face smashed to your shoulder. Let whatever comes across you first finish you off while you sleep… 

There's a pressure around you. You wake in a struggle, still too tired to move, to flail, completely encompassed. Your first thought is that you've died, but the pressure tightens, and you feel all your hurt reawaken. 

"I know, baby," Steve murmurs. You must've made a sound. "I know. It's okay. I got you." 

You really have died if he's here. 

You grab limply at his back, trying to pull him away so you can see his face. It's a geek chewing through the juncture of your neck, and whoever's looking down on you feels sorry enough to let you see him before you go. It's a raider, tying you up and hanging you from a pike, the ropes constricting your blood flow. It's not Steve. 

"What fucking happened to you?" he asks, his voice shaking. "What happened? Did someone–" 

"Steve," a familiar voice says, "come on, man, she can't understand you." 

Steve pulls away from you and it's him, his face, his pale cheeks and almond brown eyes, one ringed in a purple wine stain, the white bisected by an ominous red. 

"What…" Your mouth won't cooperate. A cold hand grabs your face. It can't be Steve's, his hands are always so warm. Water is tipped into your mouth, the majority of which runs down your neck to your clavicle. 

"Do you have, um, do you have that bottle of malt still?" Steve asks. 

"She'll pass out–" 

"Maybe that's best," Steve says. 

"Not if she doesn't wake up again." 

"She's gonna turn septic, no doubt. I have to go back, I can get antibiotics." 

"You can't go back, are you stupid?" 

You groan, their words rushing in one ear and out the other, indecipherable from the whooshing that feels like it's originating behind your eyes. 

"Y/N," Steve says gently, "can you understand me, honey? Do you know what I'm saying to you? Can you nod?" 

You nod as best as you can. 

Steve puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gingerly. "I'm going to make everything better, I promise. I promise." 

You try to say sorry, you should be really fucking sorry, he has to save you all over again, but the only thing that wants to come out is shattered breath. 

Things are spotty after that. You have the sense of being moved flat on your back and dragged. It's not pretty, the distinct memory of a hand over your mouth, and then, when your bearings are coming back, you remember that you'd been screaming. 

You have your head in someone's lap. You don't fall asleep or wake up, it's like you're treading water and your head's been under. Now you're breaking the surface, and it's to the tender touch of a fingertip climbing up and down your nose bridge. 

Something crackles. It takes you right back to the bonfire in the quad, is it the bonfire? You try to lift your head and the person holding you startles. 

"No, stay still," Steve says gently. 

"Steve?" 

"Who else?" He says, still gentle but a hint of his usual derision peaking through. "Do you let other guys treat you this way?" 

"Steve," you mumble, tears pricking your waterline. 

He can't hug you from the way he's laid you out, but he leans over slightly as though he's shielding you from the grey above. You try to turn your neck and find the white hot pain a quick deterrent. 

"Look at you. Fuck, look at you," he says. 

You cry a little, unsure if you can speak. Tears sting an abrasion beside your eye. 

"Don't upset her, Steve," says a girl's voice. Your heart skips a beat as Robin Buckley comes into view, lip split and without a jacket but otherwise unscathed. "Hey, Y/N. Don't worry, you're not stuck solely with him." 

You laugh, but you're crying so you cough, and pain zips up and down your arms and legs. 

Robin kneels down beside you and hugs you lightly. Her hair, scraped back into a pony tail, tickles your cheek. 

"I love you, I'm so glad you're okay," she says. 

"Me too," you mumble. 

Robin pulls back and smiles at you. "You gotta eat something, killer." 

"I don't really think she can move, Robs," Steve says quietly. 

"She won't be able to if she doesn't eat." 

Steve sighs and helps you up painstakingly slowly, his hands under your armpits. He sits forward rather than pulling you back, supporting you like a Steve-shaped chair.

You realise for the first time since you woke up that you're inside, rather than outside. 

And there are lots of survivors. 

Jonathan and his mom are standing across the room. Jonathan has two little kids in his arms, and you're so shocked you actually try to ask about it. "Did he have babies while I was out?" you croak. 

Steve hums near your ear. "He saved nearly all of the kids all by himself… Most of their parents are dead. I think he feels responsible." 

"Most of them?" you ask. 

"Yeah." 

Lots of survivors doesn't mean all. It doesn't even mean the majority. The College had almost four hundred people living in it. This room houses what couldn't be more than a fifth of them, and there's at least a dozen children. You don't say it aloud, but you feel it thick in the air like an electric charge. 

This is not good. 

"Don't worry," Steve says, hands crossing over your stomach. "Please, honey, just– just think about yourself for now." 

"I can't believe it." 

He shushes you. 

"Steve, all those people…" 

"I know." 

You use him as impromptu furniture and Robin returns with a can of peaches and a fork. She loves you enough to feed you. It makes you want to cry again. 

You're relieved to be far away from what happened, but there's a feeling of unreality that won't cease. You keep looking at the corners of the room like the light will dim and the blood caked to your hands will reappear. Someone wiped them clean while you slept and bandaged them with care. 

You feel sick after the peaches. 

"Throw up if you gotta," Steve says mildly, his nose resting against the back of your head. 

You fall asleep again. 

When you wake up, it's night. You feel stronger than you had as soon as your eyes open, digging your elbows into the blanket tucked beneath you and hiking up to look around. Steve's asleep to your left, his hand screwed in the bedraggled fabric of your shirt, and Robin's asleep to your right, her hand touching your elbow. 

A woman you couldn't name from the back sits in front of the door. The muzzle of a long gun sticks out over her shoulder. 

The room isn't big enough for this many sleeping bodies, and so the group sleep toe to toe and hip to hip. The only people with blankets are the children and the badly injured. You have two. You have no idea how Steve managed it, one under you and one over your legs. 

Or, you don't think you know how he managed it until you slide the blanket down and realise you aren't wearing any pants. Underwear that aren't yours have been pulled up your thighs and cinched with an elastic band. 

Poor lovely Steve. He always does the gross stuff. 

You pull the blanket back up for the sake of decency and swallow. You swallow again. You're thirsty and in an insane amount of pain, the intensity increasing the longer that you think about it. You don't want to wake him, but you know it's what he'd want, and he's saved your life for the millionth time, so. He should get what he wants. 

You try to be sweet. You can barely breathe, your chest hurts that badly. 

"Stevie," you whisper, tugging his fingers from your shirt and squeezing them imploringly. "Stevie, please, are you awake?" 

It's Robin who rouses. 

"He–" She yawns and her jaw clicks. "He might not wake up, I made him take a quarter of an oxycontin." 

"Yeah? What for?" 

"He wrecked his knee, and he made it worse carrying you up the stairs here." Robin scratches her eyes with her hands. "Not that it's your fault, it's not your fault. Just what happened." 

"Oh." You pull Steve's hand to your lips and kiss it. Wincing, you turn onto your side to face Robin, pulling his slack arm over your tummy. He doesn't hug you closer in his sleep, and it feels wrong. "I know you look after him 'cos he's yours, too, but thanks." 

She smiles, her cheek appling against the hand she's using as a pillow. 

"Do you want a quarter of an oxycontin?" Robin asks. 

"No, you should save it." 

"I know you need it. It's not all superficial. Jonathan's mom gave you stitches, did you see?" 

"Everything sort of throbs right now." 

She pulls a half of a pill from her pocket and apologises that you have to bite it in half. She can't give you the full half because this is the full capacity of painkillers and she's lucky she has that. 

"It's okay," you say, accepting the water she offers. 

"I really don't know what we're gonna do, Y/N." 

"I don't even know what happened, I… don't even think I want to know. I remember the beginning." The gunfire and the shattering windows. The shouting. "I don't remember where you went." 

"We didn't know where you went." 

"Sorry. I don't know." 

"It honestly might be better if you don't remember any of it," Robin whispers wryly. "I wish I didn't." 

You grab her hand with your free one, pretzelled between her and Steve. "I'm sorry, Robs." 

"Me too. But we'll be okay. We're together."

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

Robin blows a curl of her hair from her face. She looks young, sun tanned and freckled as she is, and scared, which isn't her style. She acts like nothing ever gets to her. It's a privilege to be let in. 

"I was terrified that you were dead," Robin whispers. "And then I thought me and Steve were gonna die anyways, and he got into a fist fight with a geek and Dustin almost died." She stops abruptly. 

"Is that how he got the black eye? From a geek?" you ask. 

"No. There was a man," she says, "trying to pin me down. I don't know what he… Steve pulled him off of me." 

You rub the back of her hand with your thumb. "He hurt you?" you ask, eyes burning with heat. Angry and sad tears at the same time. 

"Nah, Steve saved me. He's good at that." 

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry. You really don't get how bad you look, I shouldn't be telling you anything. You need," —her voice takes on a saccharine but not ingenuine pep— "to get better, and to worry about yourself. I'll be surprised if you ever walk again."

"Really?" The oxycontin must be working (if a quarter even works), 'cos you're not nearly as disenfranchised by this possibility as you should be. 

"No. But think about how much that would suck and this is almost the winning situation." 

"Sorry, Buckley, I swear I'd laugh…"  

"But everything sucks."

"Yeah." 

You have one hand full of Robin's cold fingers and another woven between Steve's warm ones. You have two whole blankets, you're mostly fed, and there's a lady guarding you with a gun bigger than your head. You can rest easy, if only for an hour. 

Robin falls asleep gradually, quiet snores growing louder by the by. 

You try to sleep, but every time you close your eyes you can see shapes like bodies standing over you, or hear a disembodied groan as it echoes in the shower room. You regretfully remove your hand from Robin's and turn back to Steve. There's a twinge in your thigh as you that reminds you about Joyce's stitches. You wonder how many there were. It feels like a lot when it pulls. 

You put you hand on Steve's cheek. Thinking you might cry and actually crying are surprisingly far apart. He deserves to have some tears shed for him, your poor boy, defending his friends, hurting himself, almost losing you, losing his home, and watching the community he loves die all in one night. He deserves so much more than he gets. 

"I love you," you say under your breath. 

The mantra. Please, please, please, let him be waiting for me. 

— 

Your hand is like a hummingbird in Steve's, twitching twitching twitching. He rubs the back of your hand and tries not to wake you. The pain you're in now while sleeping will feel a thousand times worse when you wake, and he has nothing to give you for it. 

He woke up to your fingers twined in his. You must've done it in the night. 

Robin's sleeping curled up next to you, his two favourite people in the whole world getting a well-needed break from the horror of it. Horror doesn't even feel like the right word, it doesn't encapsulate the grimness of your situation. There's no potable water, barely any food, and a lot of months to feed. Steve knows they need as many people out looking for resources as they can get so they can move on, and they need to do it fast, before someone comes looking to pick off the rest of them, but he just can't do it. He can't leave your side. 

He tries to think about how he got separated from you and every time it's like a kick to the chest. He looked to his left in the bloodshed and you just weren't there anymore. 

Things got messy in between. 

When he finally had the choice he tried to backtrack, and Chris and Robin had to forcibly drag him to shelter. 

He told you and Robin the same thing, meet me at the store, though thankfully Robin hadn't been out of sight for longer than a minute, and he'd been able to protect her. He wasn't the only one to pick a familiar place. A small crowd of people had been waiting inside the convenience store, a gun aimed at the door.

He'd wanted to go back for you. He would've if he could stand, his knee a twisting hot pain, an agony —he tried anyway. 

They stayed like that, kids hiding behind the shelves, the adults at the door like a barricade, waiting for a sign as to what to do. Waiting to be put down like animals by the monsters who invaded the community, geek and human alike. 

There was a thump by the door. Steve realises now that it must've been you, but they'd been convinced it was a geek, and so nobody stood. It had his nerves aflame, because what if you were huddled somewhere unable to move? What kind of boyfriend, what kind of partner, would leave you vulnerable? He'd rather put himself in moral peril trying to save you than leave you to that fate. So he stood on his fucked leg and he eased open the door, Christopher beside him because he's a good man, and together they stepped into the dusk. 

Steve did not have to look very far for you. You'd been laid out against the wall like you'd been thrown there. 

He collapsed to his knees as soon as he realised it was you, scared to touch you, your clothes more blood than fabric and your eyes scrunched closed in pain. 

"Holy shit," Christopher said.

Astute. Steve felt for your pulse, found it fast despite your state of unconsciousness. A wound on your leg was weeping furiously, and Steve ripped off the bottom of his shirt bare-handed to wrap it up. 

He hugged you even though it would do nothing. It was selfishly all for him. 

Steve had thought for a moment, Fuck, I cannot keep doing this. The level of adrenaline, the sharp spike of fear thinking he might have lost you. I can't keep doing this. 

But he can, and he will. 

They carried what food they could with them to the block of apartments they're currently taking shelter in, but Steve had carried you with help, and so he hadn't managed to grab anything at all. He relies solely on the charity of the community to feed you today, and he promises he'll make it up. 

"Y/N," Steve says, a can of soup in hand, not knowing if waking you is the right thing to do, but his hand on your shoulder anyways, "wake up, I have something for you." 

You mumble into the floor. 

He hums. He could heat the soup up. He'd need to go outside, which would be exhausting, and he'd have to start a fire, but they'll be starting one soon enough to boil water while the sky is still dark enough to hide the smoke. Maybe he can call in a favour. 

He limps over to Joyce. She's been great since the attack, considering what happened to Hopper. 

"Hey, honey," she says. "What are you upto?" 

"Can I be a total dunce and ask you for a favour?" 

Joyce takes his can of soup. He limps back to your side and looks you over for a while, peeling back your blanket to check that the big cut on your thigh and the tens on your knees aren't visibly infected. He's been given a tube of antiseptic and applied it to you generously, but he worries it won't be enough. Your legs are fucked, really fucked, cuts and bruises on every inch of skin. He has no idea how it happened and you haven't been lucid enough to ask.

He tucks the blanket back around your legs to ensure some privacy and moves onto your arms. He thinks you must've fallen onto debris, if the scratches near the base of your forearms are any indication. 

He puts your arm down gently and his eyes flick to your face. You're looking at him. 

"Oh, hi," he says, breathless with relief. 

"Hi Stevie." 

"Hi." He covers his eyes with his hands. 

"Steve…" You murmur, your fingers ghosting his elbow, stretched as far as you can reach from your position. "Baby, please."

He scrubs his eyes until they burn but successfully pushes away any waterworks. 

"You have to stop doing this to me," he says, practically begs, nodding with each word like it might drive the sentiment home. 

"I'm sorry." You sit up, clasping his elbow. "Really sorry." 

Steve exhales until he's completely empty of breath. "God, I know. It's not your fault." 

"Hey, Steve, stop using my mom like a catering service," Jonathan says suddenly, interrupting your moody conversation.

He's holding a camping bowl with a rag underneath it, pretending to be more pissed than he is. He smiles down at you. "Hey, how are you?" 

"I'm fine." 

"Well, eat up. Get better. I need friends that aren't fourteen years old or Steve," he jokes, lowering the soup into your lap. "I'm glad you're okay." 

"Thanks, Jonathan." 

He smiles and leaves, accosted by little kids as he goes.

Steve puts his hand under the soup despite the rag, worried you'll burn yourself. You protest, and Steve's actually happy to hear it. It means you're feeling more like yourself. 

"Are you sharing with me?" you ask. 

"If that's what you want." 

"Yes, that's what I want."

Steve lets you have the soup dumplings, hot and sweet, the best part. He doesn't bother eating even one. You take turns drinking from the corner of the camping tin, thigh to thigh, Steve guiding it to your lips whenever you look ready for another sip. 

It's actually him that cries, to his surprise. He thought for sure he'd hold it together, but he's just so grateful that you're here and in one admittedly battered piece, eating soup and warm against him, they start of their own accord. You rest your head wonkily on his shoulder, seemingly unaware. He tries not to sniffle.

"I love you," you whisper, dropping your hand on his thigh. 

He puts his cheek on your head. His tears seep into your hair. "I love you too." 

"Are you crying?" you ask, sounding heartbroken as you turn to him. Your eyes widen in shock. "What's wrong? Is it your knee?" 

It's not his knee. It couldn't be further from it. 

"We lost everything," he says, everything coming out in a rushing whisper, "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to take care of you anymore. You almost died, again."

"I didn't almost die, I was tired," you say gently. "I wouldn't have died." 

"That doesn't mean I can still do this." 

"Steve, I'm not asking you to do anything. I know I was hard work–" 

"No–" 

"But this time it's different. I'm not saying you don't look after me, I'm not even saying you won't have to again, but I don't need a bodyguard this time around. And we aren't alone. You're not alone. I need you to be my– to be mine. That's it." You put your hand on his cheek. It's heavy, rough, but you try to be kind and he knows it. You're uncoordinated, stroking under his eye. "I'm sorry, Steve, I am, I'm so sorry, please don't–" 

His turn to interrupt a ridiculous notion. "Please don't what?" he asks, not unkindly. You take your hand back. Your face crumples, your head dipped toward your shoulder. "Don't what? You think I'm going somewhere, really?" 

"Please don't blame yourself for everything," you say. 

It's not even that. He isn't blaming himself. He isn't blaming you. He's just mind-numbingly terrified to be back on the road.

"We're together," you say, nearly shy. "Isn't that okay for now?" 

"...That's the only thing that's okay," he says. 

He scrubs his face with his hand, scratching through his limp hair. He rolls his shoulders, and, after a deep breath, he takes your hand and pulls himself together. 

Steve doesn't know what to say, and he suspects you're facing a similar dilemma. 

"Don't get it twisted," he says eventually, his voice rough with earnestness, "you're the only thing that matters to me. But…" What do you say? After all those people have died? When your sweetheart can't stand, she's so cut up? All to get back to you and nothing good promised? "I wanted more than this for us." 

We had more than this.  

"This is the world now," you say, tired. 

"Remember that phrase? 'I'll give you the world'? I'd say that to you, but I don't think you want it," he says, trying to lighten the impossibly heavy mood. 

You laugh under your breath. "I do, though. I want it with you, handsome, so just… don't give up yet. Okay?" 

"I'm not giving up." 

"Thank you." 

Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders. "Don't say thanks, you don't even have to ask me for that." 

He rests his face against yours, mouth to your temple, his eyes slipping closed. He doesn't have it in him to unpack everything that's happened. Maybe he never will. 

But he has his girl. 

—-

ty for reading! requests for this au are open so let me know what you wanna see if you’d like to<3

[mylonelylittlestar]

XAVIER: THE SUN

Xavier is the sun, but not in the way people think. People hear "sunshine character" and think of clear skies during spring. Of flowers and beaches and singing birds. But that's not Xavier. Xavier is the sun in a different way.

(This is all based on my own knowledge/memory of stars, and it's probably not perfectly accurate because I tend to forget things quickly. I'm also oversimplifying and heavily romanticizing this. This is not an academic paper. It's a silly little post about Love and Deepspace!)

The sun is an average size star compared to other stars in the universe. There are billions of smaller stars and billions of larger stars. Compared to stars like Rigel and Betelgeuse, the sun is just a speck of dust in space, and stars like Teegarden's Star and other red dwarfs are grains of sand compared to the sun. It's not particularly special in size.

It's classified as a yellow dwarf star. Yellow dwarf stars don't "go supernova". They don't turn into black holes or neutron stars. They are simply too small.

They burn out of their hydrogen supply over millions of years, collapse, then expand, turning into "red giants". They stay that way until they become unstable, shedding their outer layers in form of large clouds made up of dust and gas (called planetary nebula).

What is left afterwards is the core, a white dwarf. White dwarfs are very dense and do not produce heat. Instead they spend millions of years slowly cooling down. When they completely cool down they turn into black dwarfs, but we will never see one because the universe isn't old enough for a white dwarf to completely cool down and actually turn into one.

It's not special. Even its death will be slow and anticlimactic. It won't collapse into a supermassive black hole after a giant supernova. It will just fade away slowly and quietly after its life as a red giant is over.

What makes the sun special is not itself, but its perfect proximity to earth. The sun makes life here possible because its mass and distance to our home planet gave us a chance to exist and observe it. Nothing else. It is perfectly average in its size, luminosity, and mass.

The sun is also lonely. More than half of the stars that we have observed share a solar system with at least one other star. They orbit each other as they travel through the universe. We can also observe triple star systems (the nearest star to the sun, Proxima Centauri, is part of a triple star system as far as I remember), quadruple systems, and possibly even septuple star systems (Nu Scorpii and AR Cassiopeiae). I've even seen things about possible octuple and even nontuple star systems.

But the sun is alone. It has a lot of planets surrounding it, but no other stars accompany it. There's a chance that it has siblings though, stars that formed in the same nebulae/gas cloud, but we have trouble finding them because we don't even truly know in what nebulae the sun was "born" in.

We have theories, but it's hard to do anything except guess because our sun is quite old and therefore far away from its birthplace (which has probably stopped existing by now). We're looking for stars with similar compositions and ages as our sun, and we look at their orbits and compare them to the orbit of our sun to see if they could be related, all in hopes of finding out more about our star through them, but the search takes a lot of time. We might never find its siblings. Maybe they're just too far away. Or there are no siblings. Maybe the nebulae only gave birth to one star, our sun, and no others.

Maybe our sun was always destined to be alone, from the very beginning of its life to its end. And maybe Xavier is destined to be alone too.

[defty-picklez]

If Scar was to win (ScarsweepScarsweepScarsweep) I think he should be the Earth. Grian and Scare are so Sun and Earth coded. The Sun and the Earth circle around each other, Sun will kill the Earth eventually but he stays. The Sun flares but he stays.

The Sun gives warmth, the Sun burns. The Earth is charismatic and beautiful, the Earth kills and consumes. Scar-Icarus parallels from 100hours fits so well too.

He has green eyes and Convex based of of vexes are blue and ofc the brown hair. It's also a funny to think that the guy who symbolizes the Earth is a capitalist. Cub can be Kepler and should be in my opinion.

Mumbo could be Black holes. No explanation.

I think Tango would be Comets, the visual of his fire hair fits and I feel like there's probably some symbolism but I don't watch Tango that much sorry.

Joel needs to be Jupiter because of his inspiration from Zeus. Bigbeans being the biggest planted is also funny.

Also, if Grian is the Sun then how about Bdubs? The next best thing I could think of is either Time or Light. Personally I think he should be Time, it's thematic. If I remember correctly, he's killed people because of clocks, the moment he gets the clock someone's death is inevitable. Time makes death inevitable.

So Etho is the Void right? Like canonically if I remember correctly? I'm not sure. So like the Void/Space? Etho and Bdubs being Space/Void and Time is cool.

Cleo is fit to be Death, no explanation too.

Bigb being Mercury would be funny because Mercury is the god of communication and he gaslights gatekeeps and girlbosses. He's also closest to the Sun so blud gets burnt like a cookie.

So like- Neptune the god is related to Jupiter the god but we're NOT PUTTING that in the symbolism here. Anyways, Lizzie could be Neptune because of her being the blue axolotl in Empires season 1 because Neptune is related to the sea.

Maybe Gem could be Pluto because she's new?

Jimmy, canary boy, he was fated to die so maybe that's his thing. Fate itself was Fated to die. Also, fortune telling by using the stars, Astromancy, is a thing so Flower Husband fans there you go.

Ight, hear, me, out. Skizz. As Venus. Because love island. Think about it.

Sorry I really don't know what for Ren and Impulse. Please tell me if you have any ideas, I would love to hear them.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Start Again

An In Stars and Time postgame retrospective that revolves around everyone's favorite star. Bigtime "secret ending" spoilers below the cut!!!!!

It’s the oldest story in the book. Evil squirms up from the shadows. A hero rises to quell it. She goes on a journey, gathers allies, gathers strength. The party climbs the tower. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They—

[you give up you GIVE UP YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE]

The most infuriating part is—

Well, no. The most infuriating part is the colossal cosmic insult of your existence. Having to know that there’s some snot-nosed little fetus who can count his deaths on two hands toddling around wearing your face like a party mask. Trying and failing and hiding and lying and grinding your nose in every blinding stupid thing you’ve ever done.

The fact that your pathetic little protege clocks you on their first guess is just the icing on the cake.

(“A gentleperson never tells,” you drawled, when Siffrin asked you who you really were. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

But of course the stupid little freak could never just be normal about something. They only stared, unblinking, drowning you in the black hole of their silence. Galaxies scattered and shattered and bloomed while you waited for an answer.

“Um,” they said at last. “Well. You’re… me, right? You’d have to be.”)

Of course. Of course!! You’d have to be!!!! Who else could be such a pathetic blinding shambles of a total blinding failure of a—

Ha ha!! Ha ha ha!!! Oh, the irony!!! Oh, the theatre of it all!! What else could you do but laugh!!!!!

*

* * *

* * * * *

* * *

*

[you breathe in, and out]

For a few months, it feels like your little family will be together forever. Traveling by foot or covered wagon; fording rivers and cresting mountains and chasing the sun past the horizon… How could anyone tire of this?

But Vaugaurde isn’t frozen anymore. Change is a part of life. So, one by one, they do.

When Mira gets the letter inviting her to consult on the experimental re-org of the House of Dormont’s academic curriculum, Sif hugs her, beaming, and tells her that she’s going to be amazing.

When Odile admits that she needs to pay a visit to her father—(“alone, please; the old bastard wouldn’t know what to do with you kids and all your feelings”)—Sif smiles and nods and scurries off to “rustle up some dinner” before returning, more than six hours later, with an entire glittering midden of freshly caught trout.

They don’t really fall apart until Petra announces that it’s time for Bonnie to enroll in an actual school.

“They’re twelve,” she says fiercely, glaring around the campfire as though anyone had been dumb enough to argue. “Travel is informative, but it won’t give them a sound foundation. They need perspective. Context. Maths. And none of us are qualified. Don’t argue, you already know that it’s true.”

Of course Isabeau is quick to agree—mostly because she’s right, but also because he’d prefer to keep his head attached to his shoulders, thank you very much.

Siffrin, of course, is all smiles. They smile and nod and smile and nod and agree at every turn, always smiling smiling smiling. And then they disappear for six days without leaving a note.

Isa tries not to worry. He even mostly succeeds. Sif gets skittish sometimes, but they always come home in the end.

###

It’s the middle of the night when a very warm body with very cold hands wriggles into Isa’s sleeproll. There’s a slow exhale, the smell of wet stone and warm sugar. Isa’s toes curl in his socks. This is his favorite part.

“Mmh,” he hums gratefully, and then yelps when Siffrin slips their hands under his shirt to warm their icy fingers on his belly.

Sif doesn’t answer right away. They just breathe into his shoulder, shivering. Then: “I don’t want them to go.”

Oh, yeah. “Yeah.”

“I was alone, before,” Sif says quietly. “I guess forever. As long as I remember.” They fall silent for a moment, hesitant. “It was. Worse.”

Isa hooks a knee around them and pulls them in closer. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles.

“Now, or before?”

“Mh… Dunno. Both?” Isa’s past self flashes in his mind, gangly and twitchy and totally ruled by fear. Even half-asleep, he can’t help cringing. “…You wouldn’t have liked me before.”

“I would’ve liked you,” Sif says scornfully.

“I was. Rrrrreally quiet.”

“Are you stupid?”

Pffft. Fair. “Sif?”

“Mh?”

“Do you wanna buy a caravan?”

Sif pulls away just enough to shoot him a baffled stare.

“Like… a storefront.” Isa’s been thinking about it since Sif disappeared. Probably he could do a better job explaining if he wasn’t at least 80% asleep. “For clothes? But. It moves.”

What he means is, Our family lives all over. What if we could too?

Fortunately, Siffrin is a peerless genius and almost-always knows what Isa’s trying to say. “Oh. Yes.”

“Love you so bad,” Isabeau mumbles.

“...Sorry.”

Isa flicks them on the ear.

“(Ow.)”

“M’not sorry,” Isa mutters.

“I know.”

“So don’t be either.”

“Okay.”

“Mrmhhh,” Isa grumbles. “Lying?”

Sif snickers. “Only sort of. Or, I mean—I’ll try.”

“Don’t leave me behind.”

“I won’t.”

“And then I won’t either.”

Siffrin doesn't answer, but he can feel their smile against his shoulder.

###

(When they’re both a little more awake, he walks Sif through the whole pitch.

“See? See?? That way, I could work with artisans all over the continent! I’d been hoping to collaborate with more designers from Ka Bue; they’ve got a totally different aesthetic when it comes to textiles and, and silhouettes, and— And it’s advertising, too! Showcasing my stuff to folks all over Vaugaurde!”

“Hm,” Sif hums, frowning. “Is this just so we can see everyone whenever we want? Without it seeming needy, or… pathetic?”

“Yeah, of course!! What else!!”

Sif’s eye creases fondly. “Yeah. Of course. What else.”)

###

The caravan was a good idea. It’s not just a way to see their family more. It’s a way to see everything. To carry their home around on their backs, like a cozy little snailshell for two. A snail duplex. And besides! Sif has always been Isa’s favorite model.

###

By the time Isabeau is finished making adjustments to the signature set for his new line, the sun’s already set.

Sif frowns down at one long, drapey sleeve. “I don’t know. I feel a little… obvious?”

“I think you mean glamorous!!!”

“Possibly,” Sif concedes. “I think they sort of feel the same.”

Isabeau laughs. “You know—and heads up, ‘cause this might blow your mind—but a lot of people want to be seen.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!! Some people even want to look cool!! Or rad!!! Or cute!!!”

“Can’t relate.”

“Only ‘cause you look so cool already,” Isa assures them. “So you don’t even hafta think about it. For most people, looking that cute is hard work!!”

“Sounds fake,” Sif sniffs. “But I guess you’d know. You do have an a-cute-ly honed sense for this stuff.”

“Pfffh—HAH!!!! Yeah!!! Yes!!! And—And as soon as I can buy a new sewing kit, you’ll be looking just as sharp! Ehh???”

“I guess that’s something we have in common,” Siffrin snickers. “We could both use some new material.”

Before Isa can come up with a retort, there’s a sharp knock on the caravan’s front window.

The both of them flinch around, surprised. They’re kind of in the middle of nowhere. And it’s already past dark.

Isabeau hesitates. “Umm…”

“We’re closed,” Sif hisses.

“Ohh, I’m not a customer,” the stranger says sunnily. “Not really my style—no offense meant, of course. No, I’m just looking to make some change.”

“Hey, no problem!” Isa’s already leaping into action, slipping out of Sif’s reach so he can pull open the till. He’s never had it in him to turn anyone away. It’s extremely inconvenient, and also one of his best qualities. (Siffrin loves him so much.)

“Wow, that’s sooo~ nice of you,” the stranger purrs. They’re willowy and lean and almost alarmingly good-looking, with laughing eyes and one bone-white braid swinging past their knees. Their long, flowy skirt has been Crafted to shimmer subtly, like sunlight over morning dew; and their cropped shirt is strung across their back with an intricate web of spidery threads. Flecks of seaglass clink from the chains on their shoulders and the rings on their fingers, drawing attention to the criss-cross of vivid burn-scars striping their hands and arms. “I do hope I’m not interrupting. I’d just hate to be an inconvenience.”

“No trouble!” Isa tells them cheerfully. “What are you looking to break? A tenpiece, or—”

A silver coin plinks against the counter.

“Oh,” Isabeau mumbles, a little off-balance. “Uh. I’m not sure we have anything smaller than a halfpiece…”

He glances toward Sif for confirmation—Siffrin forgets a lot of things, but they’re very, very good at keeping track of an inventory. But when he sees the look on their face, he can’t help flinching. Siffrin has gone utterly still. Unmoving. Unblinking. It looks like they’re not even breathing.

“S-Sif?” Isa whispers. Then he blinks and suddenly Sif is already behind him, having flicked across the caravan in such a violent blur of motion that he never even saw them move. (They do that sometimes. But not usually when there’s anyone looking.)

“You,” Sif breathes.

The stranger bats their eyes. “Oh, Stars, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Do I, perhaps, bear some resemblance to—”

“Stop that.” Sif has come a long way, but they’re still pretty jumpy about touch. So Isa almost does a spit-take when they vault over the counter and hit the stranger, hard, square on the shoulder. “Why are you doing that? What’s wrong with you? What took you so long???”

Before Isa can step between them, the stranger lets out a tinkling little giggle. “Ohh, Stardust. You were always soooo~ dramatic. It’s been no time at all!”

“Six months!!”

“Barely a blink of an eye!”

“I thought I’d never see you again!!”

“Aww,” the stranger purrs. “Were you, perhaps, worried about me?”

“Yes!! Obviously!!!”

“But of course I wasn’t going to disappear forever. I super duper promised! Besides…” They roll the coin between their fingers and then, in a startling blur of motion, pull another from behind Siffrin’s ear. (Sif’s lucky coin, Isa realizes. The one he helped them Craft to a brooch so they could wear it over their heart.) “We are bonded, after all.”

They have the gall to wink at Isabeau when they say it.

“You’re—huh??” Isa sputters. “What?? Sif???”

Sif looks embarrassed. “That’s… not exactly how I’d put it.”

(So it’s sort-of how they’d put it????)

Of course Isa knows that there are things Sif doesn’t tell him—things that Sif doesn’t tell anyone. But a secret bonded partner is a pretty big thing to leave unsaid. “Um????”

“It’s not romantic,” Sif says, defensive.

The stranger smiles slyly. “It’s a little bit romantic.”

“Hah!” Sif scoffs. “In the—the literary sense, maybe!!”

“Like a beautiful stageplay!”

“A Poterian tragedy.”

“But tragedy is always sooo~ romantic.”

“UM,” Isabeau says, a little too loud. “I—don’t really know what’s happening. Which is fine!! Totally fine!! But it sounds like you guys have some stuff to catch up on, so maybe I should… give you… some space? Do you want space? Should I not give you space?”

“Teehee! Be careful, now! Keep thinking that hard and you’ll sprain something!” The stranger leans across the counter to pat him on the shoulder. “Take a hike, big guy. I’ll take them from here.”

“You can’t talk to him like that,” Siffrin snaps.

“Yeahhh, I’m pretty sure I can.”

Sif shakes their head. “He doesn’t know that you’re—um. You know. So it’s… meaner? I think.”

To Isabeau’s surprise, the stranger actually seems to consider that. “Oh. Hm. I’ll… think about it.”

Sif nods at them before turning to Isa. “But—yes. We do sort of need to talk. And space would maybe help. Sorry. Is it okay?”

“Of course!! I’ll just, um, get out of your hair!!!”

As Isabeau sidesteps past them, Sif catches him by the hand and squeezes. “I really will explain. I just sort of wasn’t sure I was allowed? Or I already would have.”

Isabeau relaxes a little. “Okay. Um. I love you.”

This time, it’s unmistakeable. For just a second, the stranger’s face goes taut with fury.

“Please leave now,” Sif says quickly. “But, um, yes. Talk to you soon.”

###

…There’s a long silence.

Isa doesn’t want to listen in, but there isn't really anywhere to go. It's a moonless night, almost lightless, and this part of the country is crisscrossed with narrow streams of deep, fast-moving water. Isabeau has many talents, but he still can't breathe underwater. And it would be pretty stupid to survive the King only to trip into a river and drown. So he can’t help hearing when the stranger clears their throat.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” they mutter darkly.

“Okay.”

“I was just planning to make some friends first. And then grind them in your stupid ugly face. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But it turns out that, in spite of my scintillating wit and ethereal beauty, people find me immensely unlikeable. Me!! Can you even imagine?”

“Yes,” Sif says promptly. They take a moment to think it over before adding, “Easily.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” the stranger sniffs. “Really, though! I thought hardship was supposed to build character! But it’s almost like countless eons of torment actually made me worse!”

“Um,” Sif says. “Yeah.”

“And then when you still wouldn’t stop bugging me—“

Isabeau chokes on a breath.

Unexpectedly, Sif does, too. “—Wait, what?”

“What do you think?” the stranger demands. “All that wishing, wishing, wishing!! Yanking on my brain all day and night like a needy toddler! I mean, really! Get a hobby or something!“

This time, Isabeau can’t just bite his tongue. “Sif!!” he gasps. “You were doing Wish Craft???”

“I wasn’t!!”

The stranger peers around the caravan to give Isa a judgmental glare. “I thought you were giving us space. Not very honest, are you? Is that a new personality you’re trying on? Being a big sneaky liar? Because, if I can be honest, it doesn’t really suit you.”

Isabeau blanches. “Y-You guys were being really loud!!! And I thought we agreed—“

“It wasn’t Wish Craft!!” Sif cuts in. “I was just— If I saw a shooting star, or a pretty leaf or something, I just… hoped I might see them again! That they’d get to keep their promise, get a chance at something better! That’s all!!”

“Aw, Stardust~~” the stranger coos. “What are you, like, obsessed with me?”

“No!! I just feel horrible about it!! Obviously!!”

“Well! Well… good!! I mean. You did steal my only chance at happiness.”

“I know!!”

“And condemn me to live out my days as the punchline to a really mean-spirited joke.”

“Obviously!!!”

“And you’re literally soooo embarrassing. Can you even imagine? No, really, think about it! Having to watch all the worst mistakes you’ve ever made play out in the third person, over and over and over again?”

“Yes!! I pretty much constantly imagine it!!!!”

“Teehee,” the stranger giggles prettily. “Well! To be honest, I came looking because I wanted to make you feel bad. But it looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of it all on your own! Nice work, Stardust!”

“No it isn’t,” Isa groans. “Sif, we’ve talked about this! Beating yourself up doesn’t help any—“ A beat too late, the neurons finally connect. Stardust, the stranger said. Where has he heard that before? “Waaaiiiit. Wait a second… You’re that star, aren’t you? Loop, right?”

He’s not expecting to see both of them flinch.

“Stop,” Sif blurts out, the word clipped with panic. “That’s not— You don’t know what you’re—”

“Yup!!!!” the stranger says brightly. “Haha!!! That’s me!!!! Everyone’s favorite star!!!!! I’m a person now!!!! Isn’t that just a shocking turn of events!!!!”

“Um. Uh. Yyyy….yes?”

Siffrin turns to the (former) star, looking pained. “That’s— Are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“HA HA HA!!!!!” Loop almost screams. “What a fascinating notion!!! But, just for the sake of argument, consider this counterpoint: eat shit and die!!!!”

“I just don’t think it has to be like this,” Siffrin mutters.

“Well!! You wouldn’t, wouldn’t you!! You don’t have to think about anything!!!! You don’t even need that eye!!! You can just go limp and let everyone lead you by the nose toward the next stupid blinding monument to your achievements!!!!”

Siffrin listens calmly, nodding. Then they ask, “Will you travel with us?”

“Wh-What???” Loop sputters.

“Uhhh,” Isa says. “...What?”

“We’re on our way to pick up Bonnie. And then we’re meeting Odile outside Dormont. Mira’s giving a speech.”

“Okay???” Loop says defensively. “I still don’t see—”

“You said you couldn’t make friends,” Sif explains. “But I don’t think it’s ‘cause w— ‘Cause you’re unlikable. People are just… confusing. Mostly. Our friends are… less hard.”

“B-But,” Loop stammers. “But—even if that was true, the last thing they’d want is another weird little freak hanging off their coattails.”

“They don’t mind,” Sif says firmly. “They keep saying so. And you’re not even little. Why are you taller than me?”

Kind of a weird question, if you ask Isabeau, but the former star just snorts. “Must be all that character I built. Maybe it leant me a little more ~gravitas~.”

They startle violently when Siffrin reaches out and takes their hand.

“Please,” Sif says seriously. “It was so unfair. All of it. But it doesn’t have to be like that forever. Not completely, anyway.”

Loop flicks him off like a spider and flashes a bright, glassy smile. “Ohhh~, Stardust. You really don’t get it, do you? It’s much too late for that sort of thing. I’m already ruined, hehe! I can’t ever go back.”

“So go forward.”

Loop’s pale eyes widen. Seemingly against their will, a nervous giggle slips out of them. “H-Haha… Just like that, huh?”

“Only if you want,” Siffrin shrugs. “But... well. I do.”

###

“…Sif?” Isa mumbles, when they’ve finally turned in for the night. He’s pretty sure he only sounds a little bit pathetic. “Um… how do you know them? And why do you know a star? And why do they look so different?”

Siffrin sighs. “If they’re not telling, I shouldn’t either. But. Um. I guess I can probably say that… we’re from the same country.”

“What!! Really??” 

Sif nods. 

“Like the King???”

Another nod.

“Is everyone from your country some kind of… weird eldritch demigod?”

Siffrin’s face shutters. “I wouldn't know.”

Oof. Yeah. Obviously. Is Isabeau ever going to learn to stop putting his foot in his mouth? “R-Right. Um… duh. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sif sighs, softening. “Sorry. I’m just. A little overwhelmed. It’s… a lot to take in.”

That makes sense. Isa feels that way, too, and he only ever met Loop once. “Um. Um… Y-You don’t have to answer right now; I totally get it if you need some time to clear your head, but… I guess I was just wondering… You don’t have any more secret partners, right? I-It’s okay if you do!!! As long as you’re still mine, too. For as long as you want to be, I mean. It’s just… It might be nice to know…”

Sif’s smile softens. They reach up and curl one hand around the back of Isa’s neck, pulling him down till they can bump his forehead with theirs. “Like I said. It’s really not like that. (I don’t think.) But, no. No more. …That I remember.”

It’s not the most reassuring thing that Isa’s ever heard, but he’ll take what he can get.

this story is technically part 3 of a series, but it's more of a triptych than a trilogy! (i.e. all existing chapters stand on their own, but exist as pieces of a larger picture). if you wanna read the rest before i wrap the last chapter, feel free to swing by AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52448152/chapters/132681694

[oberorka]

Speaking of black holes idk why but to me falling into a supermassive one feels like it would be... a divine experience. The concept of plunging into an abyss formed by the sheer distortion of spacetime itself feels so surreal that it's actually unlike anything else. You don't just die, you leave reality altogether.

But it also feels special. Like the way the universe intends for you to disappear. By leaving.

Black holes are just these things... I honestly think they're the closest thing we have to real-life deities. They transcend everything we know, they might have been here since the very beginning and they'll outlive everything else. Stars, which are the reason life exists, become these deities after their death if they burn fiercely enough. And neutron stars & white dwarfs are like angels, the souls of less furious suns.

idk im weird i doubt anyone will understand wtf im talking about

tl;dr black holes are gods, long live Sagittarius A*, proud to be a part of Her great kingdom the Milky Way