#and a secret character born moon

[juniper-clan]

how do you avoid burnout when making a big project like this? been thinking about making a clangen blog but i’m worried my motivation will fizzle out before i can get to the parts i really wanna draw

Hyper fixation helps a LOT.

and I think I've harped on this subject every ask: make it something you give a shit about. I love history so it got shoved in. I make mental notes of when everyone is born and when major events are, based off calendars from the 1700s for fun. If I'm ever struggling, I look at other Clangens for inspiration, or information relevant to the fixation.

[wntrswolf]

love mirage

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!secret-lover-betrothed-to-a-bracken

✧ theme/warning(s): slight/implied smut, angst, forbidden romance, star-crossed lovers. — (all characters mentioned are of age!) 18+

✧ word count: 1.8k

✧ author's note: hello! this is my first writing! this one-shot was spontaneously written as it was meant more for self-indulgence but i thought why not share it to others who also has a current obsession with the rising blackwood character, right? :-) anyways, reading fics under the benji tags manifested many scenarios in my head, and gave me inspiration to write something. lastly, forgive me for any possible grammatical errors, i still am an amateur in fictional writing. enjoy!!!

It was the dead of night. The sky had been painted in its darkest hue, the moon stood nearly at its peak, offering its gentle glow along the riverbank. The distant chatter that could be heard during a long day's labor was no longer present, replaced by the solemn silence of nature's symphonies—the flowing river, the rustling of leaves as they danced in breaths of wind, and the lullabies of insects as they clicked and buzzed.

The forest was no stranger to you; befriending the woodland for the passing moons. You often wondered if anyone would, or had, grown an inkling of your periodic disappearance following the hours of supper—what others would think of your father’s only daughter growing a rather sudden interest beyond the walls of your family's stronghold. You always made your way out stealthily, though his words echoed in your mind,

“You are our only hope, daughter. Do not fail us.” A stark reminder of your duty, which would soon bring honor to your family's name.

If it means anything, you knew it was wrong from the start. You had never intended anything as such to happen. For the name of a nobleman was bound to yours, yet your lips would chant whispers of another.

Time became irrelevant right before you met him on this cool summer night. There the young man stood, one hand steady on the hilt of his dagger, ever vigilant should danger lurk in the tranquil embrace of the silent woods; his tense body relaxing upon the sight of your cloaked figure before him—a beacon of familiarity. You had planned to tell him about your betrothal tonight.

Although it was not much longer that you would find yourself a whimpering mess under the Blackwood boy. Your sighs mingled with the saccharine words Benjicot spoke, adding harmonies of moans and gasps of pleasure in the serenity of the haven you both made. You often feared getting caught but Benji assured you in these remote lands, he doubted anyone would be near enough to witness anything— not even the treacherous act you both selfishly indulged in. You still pray to the Gods that they grant you both the favor that no eye spies this clandestine meeting; and the many before.

You never really questioned yourself on why you couldn't confide in your father about your betrothal; had you already envisioned the conversation—mayhem would ensue. It was simple, it was the decision he made—securing your family's position through a marriage pact, a political alliance they called it. Duty, you thought yet again.

You didn't know what, or whom, to shift the blame on—or maybe it was the complexities of guilt. your guilt. You knew the inevitable, yet your selfishness, your greed, your immature desire for love; tainting your rationale. Or that maybe you should feel resentment that your father and the Lord of Stone Hedge, Humfrey Bracken regarded their relationship as close as to being kin. Maybe then you would have the strength to ignore your obligations, this once.

You cursed yourself for thinking the way you did, and you cursed the Gods for the decades-old rivarly between the ancient houses—a hatred and feud born long before either of you were born; beyond your father's time, and his father's before him, yet its roots grew, multiplying the petty divide among those that followed after them.

It made you question what started the war between the two in the first place, as sin begets sin begets sin; however, unwavering was the tryst between you and Benjicot—untouched by the strife and grudges.

He knew. You were aware of his knowledge with the woven webs you had with the Brackens; about your father's bond with the red stallion lord. Your thoughts do not come to a plausible explanation as they endlessly spun in your mind.

And all it took was Benjicot's hips to lower into yours, silencing these whirling thoughts.

Your cloak drapes over you, offering its warmth from the breaths of wind, coming from the riverbank. It spared the watchful eyes of the forest spirits from your unneeded bareness. At your side, Benjicot lays as he adjusts his breeches.

“There’s a war soon to come,” he says as he stares at the sky, hands behind his head, ”And I ought for you to know that given the growing wars, you have not left my mind since.” he nervously confessed.

You hum in response, the weight of his words settling heavily in the quiet of the forest. "I fear what lies ahead, Ben" you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, filled with both longing and apprehension.

He turns to you then, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that spoke of unspoken promises and uncertainties. "No matter what comes, my love for you will endure." he vows, his fingers gently tracing the contour of your cheek.

You turn your head and sit up, feeling around for your discarded garments to dress.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, sitting up, his expression betraying confusion at your abrupt reaction. 

"No, it's not that." you breathed out, your back faced to him. It was this very moment you had feared since the first: the inevitable.

"Well, did you not finish as I had?" he ventured in jest, a playful side of him that you loved. "Or is it because I professed my love for you?", hoping his declaration had not caused you to pull away. "Trust me, I will make sure there's nothing—"

"My betrothal..." you did not let him finish, "it's to Aeron Bracken." you said, still facing away from him as you rose from the ground. You picked on your fingers picked in nervousness of his next response. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air.

At first he thought he had not heard you clearly, as if the world had gotten awfully quiet. It was when you repeated once more, realizing his ears did not fail him as his blood got hot—of you saying the name whom ignited an unexplainable fury in him.

"Aeron Bracken," Benjicot repeated in disbelief of your sudden confession, "The Bracken twat, eh?" — the very same Bracken he encountered in fresh conflict, near the mill's boundary stones. Although he did not show it, the tension in the air was strong enough to burn and linger its flames; his knuckles turning pale as he clenched his fists at his side.

"A craven false king follower... is bound to your name, to you." he chuckles incredulously. 

He paced in the clearing, his footsteps heavy as he turned to you. "And what are you to do about it?" He posed the question, pain plain upon his face, though hope bled through the mask of his composure. Deep down, he already knew the answer. He could scare tell if asking you such question was to self-inflict torment, or just a desperate need to face the harsh reality of your confession— not a difference between the two really.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, "It's my father's decision," you explained softly. "I... I cannot defy it." You stood before him, as your tears glisten in the faint light. Torn between love and duty.

"Ben," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "You know the stakes. It’s my duty. My family's honor—” 

"Fuck honor!" he interrupted, his voice thundering through the forest. He strides towards you, "It was long gone the very moment we first met—" he huffed out. He knew in his heart that despite the love he developed towards you, the tangled web of your kinship with the Brackens would soon unravel the bond you shared— still, he gambled with the odds, just as you had.

He had ever hoped that the old Gods would bestow the blessing of his fervent wishes—that it would be you, not some other maiden, whom he would take to wife. He often dreamed of you bearing the heirs of his house, growing gray together, and watch as your blood flow through the veins that would carry on his legacy. Yet, it was only ever a distant dream.

You reached out to him, to calm the storm raging within him, but he jerked away. "Tell me, then," he challenged, stepping closer with fire in his eyes. "Where do your loyalties lie, beyond this," he motioned between the two of you. "Are you suggesting that your father, and even yourself, are to declare for the usurper cunt of a King?" he whisper-yells to you. “Or is this some sort of arrangement with those Bracken fucks, to get back at us Blackwoods, simply just using me as a pawn, 'cus you know I'm now Lord?" His words spitting at you like venom;

“Oh, you know where my loyalties lie," you spat, your voice filled with heartache, "But I won't stand for you questioning my integrity nor my family's honor to secure a future." You glared at him as your heart stung with hurt, "And to accuse me... I would not dare to commit something so heinous even if i could; I'm not cruel, Benji."

Benjicot's jaw clenched, shaking his head as he stood facing the river, incomprehensible words muttered under his breath.

"I never asked for this," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. "But I have responsibilities. We both do." you sniffled, swallowing the tension of your throat away, "And I know you know..." you wiped your tears, "we know... that this was bound to occur, sooner or later, Ben." your voice was barely audible, even with the deafening silence the forest came to be. "There's a war coming."

The silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and the weight of impossible choices.

Benjicot stood before you, his expression torn between love and anguish. His hands trembled as he gathered his scattered belongings, his movements reflecting the turmoil in his heart. You mirrored his actions, silently picking the remnants of what you felt is to be your last fleeting moment of happiness.

"I swear it," he finally spoke, "would that we were not bound by the enmity between our folks, I would have already vowed myself to you. Long before your father would have you promised to another."

His words pierced your heart with longing and regret, the bitter truth of your circumstances hanging between you like a veil of sorrow. “And I would have gladly accepted it,” you replied with a heavy sigh. "—my Lord."

The Blackwood male nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. With a heavy heart, you both silently acknowledged the futility of your love.

Benjicot turned away first. The distance between you both grew; and his silhouette became one with the dark forest.

You knew that somewhere, amidst the pain and heartache, you would find a way to carry on—a life of uncertainty but fraught with duty. As you walked away from the happiness and love that the forest had given you, the ache in your chest spoke of a love that was lost but will never be forgotten. It would be a bittersweet reminder of what once was, and what could never be again.

[seawing-vibes]

Decided to fill out a template from @/falling-skyzz I feel normal about . The dragons ! List of characters & design & dynamic thoughts under the cut <3

Also If anyone else fills out thus template feel free to send me the post,, I would love to see other people filling this out!!! I love templates !!

Secretkeeper & Moon • I understand theres a lot of reasonable hate for Secretkeeper but!!! I find her & moon to be a very fascinating pair! To make a long ass thought short, I think Secretkeeper is the embodiment of “product of her environment & deeply traumatize & projecting”. I think she genuinely really loves moon but obviously expresses that through being “”protective””. But I think shes genuinely a character with a capacity for change & realizing the autonomy Moon has over her own powers. Also from the perspective of Moon I think her arc around her relationship with her mom could be really interesting, especially as Secretkeepers authority becomes challenged in Moons life & she has to confront the bullshit her mother has put her through. Overall very very interesting pair I think about them a lot.

Design Note: Secretkeeper is duller in color than Moon & has less stars due to lack of moon light on the island! Also the scales around her mouth are almost completely black, making her mouth barely visible, giving her the name “Secretkeeper” as she “has no mouth to tell others secrets.”

Tsunami & Starflight • Just one of my fav siblings! This specific illustration is from the Arena Scene in Dragonet Prophesy! I really really love Tsu & Starflights dynamic of looking up to eachother & their development together just. So neat!

Design Note: Starflight has very few constellation marks in this illustration as he hasnt spent much time under moonlight quite yet!

Shark & Abalone • One of my more out-there ships! I based this on the thought that Shark was once close with Abalone (cough. Husbands.) and that relates to why he was willing to give Tortoise a lunch-break from watching the eggs. He already saw someone close to him die from being overworked to watch the clutch, he didn’t want to watch another dragon die from his sisters selfishness. I could write an essay on these two I swear

Deisgn Note: Shark is based on a tiger shark & abalone is based on real abalones! hes one of my fav designs here

Six-Claws & Ostrich • He’s just a sweet dad! the little we see of him he seems to really love her & vice-versa <3 they’re just neat

Design Note: Six-Claws is based on a king cobra & is a specific sub-“species” of hooded Sandwings ! Burn found his hood mutation & six-claws super interesting

Tamarin & Pike • My fav background friendship! They’re just fun. I like Pike just chillin out around Tamarin & describing flower colors to her to the best of his ability (she just likes to hear him ramble about a shared interest)

Design Notes: I updated how I draw Tamarins eyes to properly resemble a blind-born dragon ! Also Pike’s deisgn got some yellow in it and I really like it <3

Whiteout & Thoughtful • I just think they’re neat!! They just seem like a sweet pair love them

Design Note: none really! Just experimenting with a rando Thoughtful design that I tossed together for my “ships tier list”

Tsunami • Its just her :) my fav dragon <3!!! I definitely dont think she upholds the “princess” title once she gets older, her only link to the throne is by Coral insisting monthly visits but Tsu otherwise wouldn’t be any interesting in royal life I would imagine

Design Note: Shes caught a waaururrghh something im going bonkers I cant remember what fish that is and my reference photo seems to have dissipated into the cosmos

Anemone • I LOVE HER. SO MUCH ! Anemone haters BACK OFF!!!! Her relationship to her powers is so fucked man. Something you’d think would give her power & control is just a key by which others use to manipulate and abuse her like . Man :( shes literally never had any autonomy over her own identity & intermingled her powers into her identity So Much only for that aspect of herself to also be revealed to be a facade for someone else’s desires like. GUH I love her so much I hope shes having a good day I dont care what anyone says she deserves to be a brat and I support her for it

Design Note: none really! The stars in her talons are just metaphorical though

Snowflake & Snowfox • THE OGS!!!!!! MY FAVORITE PROBLEMATIC LESBIANS <3 Ahhh remember in the early days when they were considered the #1 most problematic ship because they were gay and also evil. I love the evil lesbians so much they’re so shitty sorry Darkstalker Snowfox should’ve been queen I would’ve loved to see that go down it’d be so silly

Design Notes: Snowfox is based on an arctic fox shedding into their summer coat!! I know its p . Away from canon descriptors of her but it was sm fun to illustrate so shhh <3 Snowflake is just grey & blueish per-canon but shes sooo fun. love her.

Okay thats all here are the individual illustrations now !!!!! Because why not !!! If these aren’t transparent its all over

[calmariah]

Using Canto VII to Predict Dante's Identity

This theory now has a second part! Please read it HERE!

(major spoilers for the games 'Library of Ruina' and 'Limbus Company' up to Canto VII Part 2 under the cut! you have been warned!)

(EXTREMELY long post ahead!)

SECTION 0: PROLOGUE

Dante. The tenth sinner of LCB. Our Executive Manager Esquire.

Despite being our story's protagonist, Dante's identity and past is a gaping void.

It's very interesting when a story has a character with amnesia, because we all get to make wild guesses at their true secret identity.

I've seen a few predictions. Ayin, Roland, that one random Seven Association Fixer from Library of Ruina of the same name.

The Vermillion Cross, even. The colours line up, as does the Cross carrying their weapon on their back. Biblical imagery makes a lot of sense here.

The character I'm about to accuse of being Clockhead however, is a candidate I have seen no person put forth.

Indulge me for a moment and assume that Dante's identity is possible to reasonably guess at all. That they are a character we have become acquainted with in prior Project Moon works, or indeed the content of Limbus Company itself.

As of writing, the most recent update to Limbus Company is Canto VII Part 2. This theory will assume that you have played or otherwise experienced its story content to completion.

This is because I believe VII-2 has finally delivered us the information we need to make that reasonable guess.

For now though, let's cast our minds much, much further back.

SECTION 1: LIBRARIAN OF DEATH

Curtain call for the Reception of the Black Silence.

Roland lies defeated, and the player is given a choice.

Choosing forgiveness leads to the true, canonical ending of the game. According to Steam achievement statistics, only 10.1% of the player base chose to take Roland's head instead.

If Roland is slain, Angela uses the light of the Library to complete her dream of becoming human.

The Patron Librarians are killed, turned back into books. Angela stands alone atop her ivory nest.

No longer an Impurity, the Library is free to violently expand as a Star of the City.

It would remain that way for thirteen years.

After a fade to black, we meet a new character. One who, at the time, had no name.

???: That was one grand job you did with all these dangerous monsters you've gathered, Miss Librarian of Death.

ANGELA: …Good work.

???: “A monster should behave as one…”

???: I trusted and followed you, knowing nothing.

ANGELA: How many colleagues of yours… the so-called ‘Bookhunters’ have you killed?

???: I’ve lost count.

ANGELA: And countless more people will die in the future.

ANGELA: I know humans. I learned the secrets of mankind that the City had been hiding from them.

???: I’m sure you do… And I know you.

???: Thank you for all your hard work. Please die once and for all.

ANGELA: Thank you for putting me to rest, o child who had no name.

???: Even the brightest star fades someday.

???: It will eventually be felled by man, just like any other star.

???: As tonight, again, the stars

are brushed by the wind.

"The Bookhunter" was the only name we had for this character for a very long time. But you may know them by another name.

Perhaps that name is Bari, the Knight of the White Moon.

Or perhaps that name is Dante.

SECTION 2: PRINCESS BARI

It's extremely common for important characters in Project Moon's universe to share their names with figures in stories, mythology or religion.

Roland of the 12 Paladins of Charlemagne. Emil Sinclair from Demian. Moses, after a prophet in Judaism, Christianity, and a smattering of Abrahamic religions.

I have reason to believe Bari is no exception. I'm not particularly well read on the following subject, so I encourage you to do your own research. Apologies if I make any mistakes, and please correct them if you can.

However, I will lay out the basics here that support my theory.

Princess Bari is an incredibly important figure in Korean mythology and spirituality. Born as the seventh daughter to royals who wanted a son, Bari is banished to fend for herself outside of the walls of her family's kingdom.

There are many different versions and tellings of the story, but most share the central story structure. When Bari's parents fall ill, they learn (through dream, premonition, or any number of reasons) that the cure to what ails them is a water or elixir in a far away divine or spiritual realm.

Learning of her parents' illness, Bari sets off on a journey to cross the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead to find the cure.

When she reaches this divine realm, Bari collects water of life and flowers of resurrection, and returns home.

She learns that she is much too late however, as her parents have passed away and their bodies will soon be buried.

Bari attempts to heal them anyway-- and the flowers she found restore her parents back to their mortal coil, and the water of life cures their ails.

In some versions of the myth, Bari ascends and becomes a goddess after her death. Typically, she is a goddess of the divine realm, and/or a goddess who leads the deceased to the afterlife.

Back to Limbus Company for a moment, Bari tells Sancho the following when they finally introduce themself at the bank of the River of Oblivion.

(I understand that this is Sansón's telling of events. Since he seems to be attempting to accurately restore Sancho's memories, we can assume at least this much is accurate.)

Searching for a flower grown in water.

I believe there is enough evidence to believe that Bari is based on the mythological princess.

SECTION 3: INTRO WRAP UP

There are four figures to consider from here on out; two versions of each character.

Dante Limbus Company, bumbling executive manager.

Dante Alighieri, legendary Italian poet who features in his Divine Comedy.

Bari Project Moon, Knight of the White Moon and in another time, Bookhunter.

Princess Bari, mythological shaman who crossed between the worlds of life and death to save her family from death.

It's important to keep the distinction between these figures in mind. Adaptation does not need to be 100% faithful. Just because something happened to Princess Bari does not mean it happened or will happen to our Bari.

That said, looking to the original stories can be helpful to understand themes that appear in Bari and Dante's stories, and the ways they might overlap.

Following so far? I really hope so.

That should be all the setup we need now.

We have our two characters, Dante and Bari. Let us now consider the themes they share, to see if they may be the same character.

Each of these examples, considered alone, may appear unconvincing or coincidental. But I think the sheer amount of common links you can draw between Dante and Bari make it impossible to say them being the same character is baseless.

So, allow me. I believe the primary themes we must look at are:

KATABASIS

TIME

RESURRECTION

LITERATURE

THE SAPLING OF LIGHT

Let's tackle these one at a time.

SECTION 4: KATABASIS

Katabasis is a word referring to a journey into the underworld, a reoccurring motif seen in countless mythologies or works of literature.

Katabasis is a very interesting theme here, because it can actually be seen in ALL FOUR versions of the characters we have.

Dante (Divine Comedy) is obvious and simple. Dante and Virgil's descent into Inferno is one of the most famous examples of a katabasis.

Dante (Limbus Company) is similar. They are aboard a hell bus driven by someone named Charon, and the chapter of their story we're currently in is called Inferno.

While not a literal journey into the underworld, it is undeniably, thematically, a quest into Hell. Counts!

Princess Bari journeys across the boundaries of life and death to get the water and flowers of resurrection. Entering the divine realm of death? That's a katabasis!

And the knight Bari is the one that maybe seems the most out of place. But I think this line from Sansón's play might help us understand where they fit in.

Bari's search for the river that grows the flower they seek is leading them deep into the abyss under the Ruins.

They're already a wanderer, someone who travels far across the City and the Ruins. It could be said that they were already on a journey very similar to Dante's.

It's another case where the journey is symbolic-- looking for an object far beneath the crust of the earth, travelling across a hellscape to find it.

Oh dear, that reminds me of someone already.

SECTION 5: TIME

Dante's associations with time are obvious. They have a clock for a head, slowed down time in Canto 6, and are somehow able to 'rewind' the sinners back to life.

They have also been having strange visions where they glimpse the past of the sinners.

That last part is what interests me. Because these quick, unclear glimpses through time remind me of a certain river.

The Mirae-mirae River, which Bari encourages their companion to look into.

And Sancho does.

For Bari to understand how the Mirae-mirae River works, they would need to have looked into it themself.

Potentially, they even sipped from it, though I have no evidence. I simply find it strange that Bari would know the risks of drinking the river water, yet not the river's name.

If they had some other source of information to learn this, wouldn't it have included a name? Who can say? It doesn't actually matter.

What matters is the fact that Bari could see the future. If not by drinking, by looking into the water surface.

This goes a long way to explain this bizarre part of Sansón's stageplay earlier.

Bari arrives to entertain the lonely king with stories, and seemingly two of the stories they tell are the events of Canto V and Canto VI.

Assuming that the Mirae-mirae River shows you visions in YOUR future, not just any random person's, then for this vision to make sense, Bari needs to witness Canto V and Canto VI in the future.

It's my understanding that they might've seen their own participation in those stories as Dante.

"A hero's perilous encounter with an unyielding monster" could potentially be describing Canto III, with Sinclair vs. Peccatula Kromer, but that one's a bit too vague to be helpful.

It's not hard and fast evidence, and might just be an innocent bit of narrative rhyming. "Golly gee, isn't it fun that the stories Bari told were coincidentally similar to the adventure we are on?" Maybe.

Regardless, we have a character who is seeing glimpses of the past in Dante, and a character who can see glimpses of the future in Bari. I find that an interesting thematic connection.

SECTION 6: RESURRECTION

Now this one's a bit more promising. Being able to bring the sinners back from death and mortal injury is arguably the most notable of Dante's abilities.

Princess Bari's katabasis led her to claiming the flowers that allowed her to perform a miracle of resurrection, and she herself became a goddess of life after death following her own passing.

Both are figures capable of resurrection.

Though, that's the obvious part. I'd like to instead speak of Dante's personal death and resurrection. Because it could be said that Dante has died before.

Standing over the bank of the Lethe, Bari shared their concerns with their confidant.

To lose your memories of the life you have lived is much like death.

When the clock replaced Dante's head, their memories quickly washed away into oblivion.

Assume for me they were Bari. Bari died here, and "Dante" woke up in their place.

As Executive Manager, Dante leads the sinners through Inferno, as seen below.

(Thank you Limbus Company .gg wiki for sourcing the text here! I did not want to have to refight GasHarpoon just for a tiny part of this post...)

ISHMAEL: Before I saw that recruitment post... after I boarded the Pequod… even after I joined Limbus Company… I've never taken the helm of my own ship.

ISHMAEL: But… I think I've finally found my compass.

AHAB: Does a mere deckhand dare speak of her own compass now?

ISHMAEL: Yeah. An incredibly annoying compass that keeps getting in my way. But… they're also a compass that, even as they waver, points to where I want to go…

ISHMAEL: So I want to go on an adventure with that compass. A real adventure. To explore and learn this world we live in.

And it's not just Ishmael, either. After Heathcliff's distortion ended, he said the following.

HEATHCLIFF: Oi, Clockhead.

HEATHCLIFF: You wouldn't know this, but... Well, everyone but you would know.

HEATHCLIFF: When I'm starting to lose my mind, when I'm completely blinded and deafened…

HEATHCLIFF: When I feel my sense of self, my very being, slowly fading away into the dark…

HEATHCLIFF: … I hear that faint noise.

HEATHCLIFF: That damned noise of a clock.

HEATHCLIFF: It opens my eyes. Drags me back to reality.

DANTE: Well, that's…

DANTE: Because I'm your manager. Bringing you back to your paths is what I do.

Despite being lost in oblivion-- again, akin to death-- Dante guides their sinners along their correct paths.

Please recall what became of Princess Bari after her death.

A goddess of the divine realm who guided wayward souls through the afterlife.

From Inferno to Paradiso, perhaps.

(Huh. Maybe 'guidance' would've been a better name for this section. By this logic, maybe Bari is Vergilius.....!!.)

SECTION 7: LITERATURE

This one's quite interesting to me.

Other than being named for a poet, Dante has very little association with actual literature. They write notes on their little PDA device, but that's about it as far as I understand.

Bari however has incredible association with literature!

Most obviously with how they regaled (a person who I am comfortable assuming is) the original Don Quixote with tales of adventure and excitement.

Assuming I'm correct about some of their stories coming from the Mirae-mirae River, they would've had to pen some of those tales themself, drawing from what they saw.

In another time they were a person known as a Bookhunter, and personally responsible for executing a library's director.

When they do so, Bari says the following to the dead air.

BARI: As tonight, again, the stars

are brushed by the wind.

The line break is unusual for how Library of Ruina formats narration or dialogue, and it brings to mind poetry. One last short stanza for a dead woman, perhaps.

Literature is a motif associated with extremely important or powerful characters in Project Moon media, such as Angela. The second game took place in a god damn library!

Dante is named after a poet. Bari was a storyteller. I think this can't NOT be important.

Bari = Vergilius theory gains merit...

SECTION 8: THE SAPLING OF LIGHT

As part of Sansón's stageplay, Bari says the following.

BARI (SINCLAIR): It is said that when an efflorescent tree comes to blossom, steeped and nurtured in the waters of many rivers since its saplinghood, it becomes imbued with a special power.

BARI (SINCLAIR): I can't even begin to imagine what powers a tree born from that particular river may hold.

I think it's possible that the river Bari seeks is the river of human consciousness that Lobotomy Corporation Facility X-394 was built over-- and thus the river that the Library was built over as well.

Dante's Sapling of Light abilities correspond with the Sephirot of the Seed of Light project, meaning it's extremely likely they share an origin.

This is hardly breaking news, but the arrangement of the Sephirot and their departments in Lobotomy Corporation form the inverted version of the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, forming instead the Tree of Death.

Dante's Sapling of Light ability menu shows Hokma at the top of the diagram, where as Malkuth was at the top in Lobotomy Corporation.

As Dante unlocks more abilities, we should see the Tree of Life form from each of these connections, this time healthy and upright.

It's possible that Bari's goal was to create that Tree of Life. Find the river that the Tree of Death-- the Library-- grew from, and nurture a healthy sapling in its waters again. One untainted by Angela's ambition.

(It's possible that Bari seeking the river predates the Seed of Light project. I don't think this changes much-- Bari would still be seeking to create what would end up being Dante's Sapling of Light.)

At the very least, this would establish a connection between Bari and the sapling inside of Dante's clock. I don't think it should be ignored.

SECTION 9: LIGHTNING ROUND

Phew. That's a lot of talking! I've established the main points that I feel tie a deep thematic link between Bari and our esteemed manager, even if I haven't proven necessarily that they are the same character.

However, I believe that if we're intended to guess Dante's identity before the reveal, Bari is pretty much the only coherent option.

It wouldn't be much of a twist if I could figure out all the who what when wheres and whys before it happens, I suppose!

One last section for the road. Here's a bunch of stuff that I noticed that probably doesn't matter, but might serve as tertiary evidence for this theory.

STARS:

Stars are a motif that came up a lot for Dante towards the start of the game, in the prologue and Canto 1. Here's some examples.

PANTHER: It's a shame-- I wanted to have a look at your face. I reckon you won't tell us where your star is, right?

DANTE: Like hell I am. I'm taking ■■■'s location to the grave with...

FAUST: You've lost your way in a dark forest.

DANTE: I'm... sorry, what?

FAUST: Yet you were not overcome with fear. Why was that?

DANTE: That's...

DANTE: I could simply... lift my head to find the star.

FAUST: That's right.

FAUST: Now, repeat with the heart what I tell you aloud as you remind yourself of that image.

FAUST: Follow your star.

DANTE: Follow... your star.

It's currently unclear what Dante's star is, and I will make no attempt to figure out what it could be here. Stars are undeniably a motif of theirs, is my point here.

Bari is the one to behead the Library as it exists as a Star of the City in the Librarian of Death ending, and muses on the nature of stars going out in that vaguely poetic nature as the game fades to black.

JUST KIND OF THE WAY THEY HOLD THEMSELVES:

That title's pretty flippant, but this is, in my opinion, one of the BETTER pieces of evidence!

Take a look at these two sprites for me.

The Knight of the White Moon! Hardly raring for battle. Their left hand tucked into their coat pocket, their right arm resting lazily on the scabbard of their sword.

Let's look at Dante's conversation sprite from some of the earlier cantos...

Oh my.

Well, that's not the only position we see Bari standing in. Let's look at that blurry CG from the end of Part 2. Unblurred, of course.

You have to admit, it feels at least a LITTLE bit deliberate!

They also both wear long, coloured coats with full black clothing underneath-- but I will readily admit that "long coat/suit with monocoloured shirt under it" describes 90% of the characters in this game.

PRONOUNS:

Both Dante and Bari have been consistently referred to with they/them pronouns, contrary to what some select few Limbus fans on Reddit would rather you believe.

I personally don't subscribe to the whole "the reason why Dante uses they/them pronouns is because they're intended to be a self-insert character for you, the player!"

I think Dante is a HELPFUL player insert-- for those who have not played Lobotomy Corporation or Library of Ruina. Their unfamiliarity with the City, its people and its customs is an excellent way to ease a new player into the world of Project Moon.

That does NOT mean that Dante IS the player, however. Dante has many characteristics of their own and is no more a reflection of the player than any other character.

It is entirely possible that Dante and Bari both using neutral pronouns is currently just an obfuscation to hide Dante's identity and Bari's general entire thing from the player for the time being.

If that is the case, and we find out they're both men or something... Egg on my face, I suppose.

Either way, it's a characteristic both of them share. Add it to the pile.

(Though if they both turn out to be non-binary or women, I will derive a little bit of O-05-76 from all the he/him Dante defaulters...)

(Thank you the-spoonicorn for the correction! In 7-35, Sancho says the following to Don Quixote.)

SANCHO: Will she be coming today? Again?

(Bari, at the very least, is confirmed to be a woman. This does not disprove that she could be Dante, though it does kneecap the shared motif of having a neutral or obscured gender identity.)

(Thank you again!)

BARI-DEGI:

It's my understanding that the mythological Princess Bari's name derives from Bari-degi, which can mean 'abandoned child' or 'thrown away thing' in Korean.

This is because she was abandoned by her family for being the seventh daughter born to them.

With Bari cautioning Sancho about drinking from the River of Oblivion, it feels strange to suggest they would've willingly cooperated with a plan that would've resulted in the erasure of their own self and memories. It disquieted them enough before.

This isn't me saying it hurts the theory-- I actually think it IMPROVES it.

It would be dramatic and also fulfils part of the original myth regarding Princess Bari, and makes Bari's name a fun self-fulfilling prophecy.

If they craved the power of resurrection so much that they would take their own memories, despite cautioning Sancho against it. That they would throw their old name away, as Princess Bari was thrown away by her family.

It symbolizes both Princess Bari dying after a natural life, and her crossing into the realm of the dead in the first place.

In that dark forest, Bari would've taken a katabasis-- died and crossed into the realm of the dead. And they immediately began an adventure through that Inferno as Dante.

(Side note, perhaps if the Sapling inside of Dante's head was also watered by the River of Oblivion... could that be why Dante's memories are missing?)

Well, I'm not here to prove that.

I'm also not here to prove Bari is Dante. I just want you to think about it!

SECTION 10: IN CONCLUSION, IT WOULD BE PRETTY COOL:

And wouldn't it!? Dante's true identity is a mystery that's been hanging over us for such a long time. If we find out that we've had canonical pre-amnesia Dante dialogue since Canto 7-- hell, since LIBRARY OF RUINA, that'd be incredible!

I think it makes perfect sense that if Bari is pre-amnesia Dante, they appeared in one of Library of Ruina's bad endings. It's an obscure ending to a long and difficult game, and we know that Project Moon plan these projects far in advance.

Why not tease the protagonist of your third game, but hide it under everyone's noses!?

Why not make the protagonist of your universe where everyone's named after stories or folklore a poet and storyteller!?

And why not base that character in an important spiritual Korean myth!?

Gaaagh. At the end of the day, we can't know for sure, and I haven't proven anything. But thank you for coming on this journey with me.

It's a shame that the most we can see of Bari's capabilities and attitude is in the paper fight where they're wearing a helmet and they're so stylised.

If only we could just take that helmet off and

holy SHIT

[prythianpages]

A Court of Shadows & Moonlight

A Court of Shadows & Moonlight | azriel x rhy's sister (OC)

Summary: Daughter of the Night Court's High Lord. Half Illyrian. Half High Fae. Rhysand's little sister. A Dreamer. Only few know her as Valeria and only one knows her truth. She is the moon, a lonely girl cratered by imperfections, and he is her night, the one who helps her shine bright.

-a story in which Azriel and Valeria are mates-

A/N: I am going through ACOTAR withdrawals after finishing ACOSF. Rhysand's sister is a character I think of a lot and I love Azriel so when I saw a theory/imagine of her and Azriel being mates, I couldn't help myself. This was originally just meant to be a collection of imagines but I decided to expand further on the love story between Val and Az. Below you can find “Val’s Early Life,” which consists of stories about her upbringing and early adulthood. It’s not necessary to read them to follow the story but it is a nice backstory and provides context as there is already somewhat of an established relationship between Val and Az. I made another masterlist for the actual story, which you can find below.

I made a playlist for this and you can find it here, if interested.

angst= ♥️ fluff = ☁︎ smut= ☪︎

*the ones that have no symbol are neutral or have subtle hints of angst/fluff and are put at the top of the imagine.

˚*•��̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊Val's Early Life˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

-> The Night she was born

-> The Night her powers came

-> The Night she met Cassian

-> The Night she met the shadowsinger ☁︎

-> The Night Azriel took his first flight ☁︎

-> The Night she made her first friend ☁︎

-> The Night she caught Cassian

-> The Night of their first solstice in Velaris ☁︎

-> The Night she asked about Love

-> The Night Azriel found out her secret ♥️

-> The Night she gets her heartbroken ♥️

-> The Night she met Noctis ☁︎

-> The Night of her 18th Birthday ♥️

-> The Night they join the Bloodrite ♥️

-> The Night they return from the Bloodrite ♥️

-> The Night she left Windhaven ♥️

-> The Night she made Azriel dance

-> The Night she made Azriel lose control ☪︎

-> The Night she played the violin for her father ♥️

-> The Night they all went to Rita’s ☪︎

-> The Night Mor was hurt ♥️

-> The Night the High Lord found out her secret ♥️

->The Night Azriel helped her heal ☁︎ ♥️

-> The Night she decided to join the Bloodrite

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊Val's & Az's story˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[clementinegreye]

the end of love.

pairing: aemond targaryen x wife!reader

words: 1.1k

content warns/summary: infidelity, heartbreak, angst etc. aemond cheating on his wife is not cool - but it can be poetic when he’s filled with regret.

a/n: i actually never actually use any character names so this can be read with anyone in mind, i was just thinking of aemond - as i often do. (if you go on this journey with me and consider that contextually this perhaps could follow a certain scene in season two, ahem) also this is not proof-read and written really quickly but ahh enjoy!

Every tedious beat in her chest shimmered with the glittering shards of heartbreak. It was invisible to the naked eye - but so glaringly obvious that its fragments littered the atmosphere around them.

He stood before her, breaking beneath the weight of her unwavering clemency. The injury of being so entangled with another so closely bonded that the pain he had caused her ended up maiming him too. Bruises blooming across the expanse of his affection.

There was no explaining, excusing or understanding what led him to unfurl the only threads of value in his life. Silver strands stuck in the crevices of his skin where he’d tangled his grip in another.

In pooling sapphire before him she was uncovered, glinting in the vulnerability with her ribs cracked open so he may see the damage he'd done. Every incarnadine bone was soaked with the agony born from the duplicity of his transgression as it leaked from each torn ventricle.

Forgiveness spent on the wind that whistled through the room and flickered the dance between the candles. There was none left to be offered to him, and he had no coin to acquire any having spent it all on fornication. The rain trickled down in secret patterns hinting at the undoubted end of all that was - his own personal doomsday.

Her eyes glistened with the threat of tears, not yet shed but on a dangerous precipice of slipping. That would be unfair - it would be a display of truth and openness that he did not merit. For allowing him to know how he had wounded her would be an outward acceptance that he had ever owned any form of her and that she had offered any attachment to him with open trust.

There was a certain flash of betrayal alight in the air, something archaic and distinguishable - known by women for centuries before her and would be known centuries after.

The way she burnt under his touch sent an ache through her very soul. Someone who had known her so openly and who had fed her poison from his gentle palm that was pressed so delicately to her cheek. The action itself screamed words that would never pass his lips - the violence in being vulnerable something he would never subject her to, no matter how much she craved the punch.

She could stand at the door of his heart and knock with all her might, scrape the wood with her fingertips and embed her DNA into the carvings but it would make no difference, he was bolted and locked with the silver key firmly out of her grasp.

He tasted like metal, leather and smoke. Harsh, abrasive and intoxicating. She couldn't give in, knowing that someone else had tasted what should have been hers and hers alone - in oath and vow.

Clad in black leather as smooth as the surface of the sky, protective and impenetrable it was a perfect representation of him. The moon shone above them, lighting the illicit emotion that curved in the hips he had moved his hands to. It was begging, desperate and false.

There was nothing that could be the unbinding to them.

Except his own actions.

Could there have been a time when she knew the depths of his soul, or was there always the abyss of betrayal waiting to devour her whole? Waiting to sink its darkness around her light and draw her into an inescapable absence. She had been lost in a labyrinth of him, yet he had been lurking in the shadows the entire time waiting to contain her.

Fear was such a powerful sensation - she stood in front of him tracing the edges of his silhouette with tainted eyes - fearing that everything she had given had been for a fabrication.

Sabotaged in the single breath of midnight that passed the moon's lips. There was enough love there for both of them, unevenly split and so easily covered by the presence of another outwith them.

What had possessed him to fall so ungraciously into the embrace of someone else? Did the devil in spirit convince him to ruin and vandalise the pure form of tenderness that flowed from her veins and through her?

His head fell low, burning with the molten heat of regret and the knowing that he was his own undoing. That the blush of her body would now never belong to him, that he had discoloured with disdain any flush of crimson that may have once been mistaken for devotion.

Spring would fall into summer who would dance with autumn who would be killed by winter and everything would still be the same. Change of seasons could not change the knowing that there was nothing monumental enough, not even love that could have saved him from his own demise.

He had seen to that.

Ensuring there could be no weakness from intimacy that was handed to him in front of god herself. He had to destroy the holy and pure form of adoration with a disposition so closely linked to desolation.

One moment in time was all it took.

In the cold hands of another, he had tasted the bitterness of depravity that flavoured adultery. Eschewing the comfort and honeyed sweetness that lay in the milky sheets of his own home. Where sleep could evade him and he could dream of her so safely next to him for something numbing and dark in their caress.

He had held her in the half-light of dawn when the shadows danced on her body. It had looked as menacing as he felt his soul to be and he knew the sweetness of the innocence of her admiration would decay in his macabre hands.

He slipped out beneath the moonlight, the call of motion into the sea of darkness as he pursued his weapon of destruction against the one he called his own.

The ghost of his beloved’s lips haunted his as they flushed with infidelity. The memory of her touch cascading over him in shivers while the harsh hands of that which he sought out bruised the path which they touched. He could savour the taste of her name on his tongue and know he had no right to speak it, not after the sin he had committed.

Had he little thought for consequence? Or was it exactly the outcome he had endeavoured?

That answer lay within the tainted heart of his lover, who stood before him as she uncovered the layers of his deceit and let the waves wash over them - drowning the memory of love from where it had once taken life and started to breathe.

Little disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim to own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters.

[aesteries]

⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 6.6k series' masterlist.

                 CHAPTER 2. 

Court affairs often put him to sleep, hours of incessant complaints and requests from worthless high-born lords and ladies who wanted more than they deserved, but not today. What was unfolding before his healthy eye was just too gripping to ignore, and for once, he thanked the gods that he did not fake an illness to miss the spectacle. His half-sister, Rhaenyra, had been bold enough to bring her illegitimate children to the Red Keep to stake their claim on Driftmark. She was demanding to recognise her second son’s legitimacy, placing him as his apparent father’s heir, amidst opposition from Vaemond Velaryon, who argues that the title belonged to him instead. Many lords in the room nodded in secret agreement with Vaemond's reasonable demand, yet Rhaenyra refused to back down, her determination palpable.

The sudden boom of the throne room doors echoed throughout the chamber as they parted, a loud announcement of the King’s arrival snapping everyone back to reality. Glancing to his side, he saw his siblings straightening up, eyes fixed on their father, King Viserys, as he struggled down the stairs with his body curved over himself. Haera, ever the dutiful daughter, had perked up at the mention of her father’s name, but her clouded vision refused to settle over the fragile man as he began his laboured progress toward the throne. 

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

The room sank into silence, a deafening sound as all eyes focused on the King's pathetic frame. The status of his health was known, but to witness his decay was a shock to everyone, and even the unflappable Otto Hightower had concern etched all over his face, though it did not seem quite genuine as he scrambled out of the throne he had been keeping warm. The air was heavy with tension as the King's slow, agonising approach to the throne seemed to take an eternity, pain burning up his skin with every step.

He trudged up the steps toward the Iron Throne, pridefully waving off the guards' offers of assistance as he stumbled, his legs trembling beneath him. In his struggle and exhaustion, the crown that dangerously balanced over his balding head slipped and fell to the granite floor with a shattering clank of metal. Aemond’s eye locked on the back of his uncle’s head as the man was the only one to act, guiding his older brother on the final few steps and placing the crown on his head. 

“I do not understand,” King Viserys’s voice was frail, breathless as he spoke, “why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

The sight of the bastard-born boy, with his head of brown locks and the whiteness of his skin standing between the rich tones of the Velaryons, triggered a low laugh from the prince’s lips, earning a side glance from his mother. The air in the throne room was thick, an obvious buzz of energy flowing between the Targaryen royalty. 

“As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corly’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena.” Princess Rhaenys’s tone was firm and confident: “A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Suddenly, as if he had finally heard something that interested him, King Viserys’ eyes snapped to attention, rising on his seat as if the weight of his crown had been redistributed to him with full health. The left side of his face, that side that was uncovered by the mask, twisted into a smile of cracked lips. “Very well…” His voice filled the space with anticipation, his tired eyes darting around the faces of his family. "However, I have a say in the matter of the betrothal of my grandson, Prince Lucerys.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted to his half-sister, who was already watching them with an air of confidence, a smirk on her lips with a subtle challenge. Her piercing glare seemed to dare him, to provoke him, to let him know that she knew something that he did not. His stomach twisted into knots, and he suddenly felt the ghost of a noose around his neck.

"I believe in the continued union of our families, those with the blood of Old Valyria," the king declared, his voice echoing through the hall. "And therefore, I have decided to unite my youngest daughter, Princess Haera Targaryen, to Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon, the rightful heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the future Lord of the Tides."

The young prince’s world was shattered, like that night when he claimed Vhagar, the remnants of untouched innocence finally scattering over the floor for everyone to see. His despair must have been that obvious, as Aegon’s worries were evident when he turned to glance at him. Aemond remained statue-still, his gaze fixed on the back of Haera's head as she stood rigidly, flanked by Helaena and their mother. Alicent's grip on the young girl's wrist was like a vice, a desperate attempt to prevent them from tearing her away, her knuckles white with tension.

Aemond’s heartbreak was soon replaced by a raging fire, like Vhagar’s fire, that consumed his every thought as his eye daggered Lucerys Velaryon, who in return dared to challenge him with a subtle nod. Any outburst in the King’s presence would be suicidal, his wrath barely contained as his hand lingered on the hilt of his sword. He was all too familiar with the King's blind devotion to Rhaenyra and her brood, and he knew his powerlessness against it. Perhaps he could take her and rescue her from the toxicity of the court, where her innocence was being sullied by the very presence of the Strong bastards. He recalled the day Lucerys had slashed him, the resentment still festering like an open wound. In this moment, Aemond felt trapped, forced to endure the insolence of his nemesis.

It was only when gentle warmth had wrapped around his fingers that he was brought back to the present from his deadly fantasies. He looked down to find Haera’s tearful eyes welling up with crystal tears, her mind consumed by her future. The quivering of her lips fed the fire in the pit of his stomach. She was likely aware of the implications of their union, of the dark legacy they would pass on to their children, a heritage shrouded in deceit and tainted by the lies that had defined their past. She was meant to clean Lucery’s dirtied Valyrian blood with their union.

Time stopped for them as they gazed into each other’s eyes, the gentle flutter of her white eyelashes betraying the warmth of her adoration. He knew, deep down, that he and she were meant to be; it transcended tradition. It was fate; it was the will of the gods—they made her just for him, everything that he was not. Even if she were to stand before the altar, before that naive boy to exchange vows, Aemond was resolute; he would set things right. His sweetling would not be made to suffer for the mistakes of others. He would move heaven and earth to ensure her freedom from the shackles of injustice, no matter the cost.

A sudden scream cut their moment short.

Aemond’s mind was reeling, struggling to comprehend just what was unfolding before him as the two of them snapped out of their trance that had drowned out the inheritance hearing. Daemon Targaryen’s sword sliced through the air with a swift swing, decapitating Vaemond Velaryon with a deadly motion. In the aftermath of the violence, as the body began to spill over the floor, Haera instinctively wrapped her arms around his middle for protection. He enveloped her tightly, his hand on the back of her head as he held her close to his chest. The feeling of her slender frame pressed against him and his arms cradling her felt surprisingly natural, out of a dream. It was a gesture that brought a sense of calm to the chaos surrounding them; it grounded them, a fleeting moment of solace in the face of Daemon's ferocity.

His heart was racing as he clutched her. It was where she belonged: sheltered in his embrace, secured in his grasp, shielded by his unwavering protection. The half-sister’s eyes were fixed on the pair, intense with the fire of the dragon, her mind reeling with the plan she had put in place. A brother consumed by his passion and a sister who reciprocated those feelings, now a forbidden romance. She felt the danger in the pit of her stomach, not for her claim to the throne but for the future of her second-born son. Persuading her father to accept the match had been easy, serving the young prince an opportunity on a silver platter. Lucerys saw the two Targaryens lost in their own world, and he saw a challenge. 

The air was heavy with tension, thick with the weight of forbidden love and the ominous foreshadowing of strife to come.

The day after the disastrous inheritance hearing, the sun cast a gentle glow on the beautiful gardens of the Red Keep, its rays illuminating the many flowers that adorned the greenery. As she strolled through, a soft breeze caressed her face and tangled her hair, pulling the strands from the intricate braids her ladies had crafted. Yet she was overwhelmed by anxiety and a sense of unease that had settled in her stomach. The company, she was convinced, was to blame for her discomfort. Her mother’s encouragement still echoed fresh in her mind, and she would not let her down even if she had missed the worry behind the Queen’s forced smile.

Lucerys Velaryon had appeared outside the Queen’s chambers; his arm extended in invitation as a way to formally begin courting his promised princess. The young man possessed an unusual charm, an air of innocence one moment, and a sharp tongue the next. Within mere minutes of their stroll, he had dropped too many complaints for her comfort, criticising the alterations to the Red Keep, the gardens, and even the maids’ outfits. The food, as well, was apparently not to his liking, and she found herself on edge, bracing for the next critique to tumble from his lips.

Lucerys droned on about the dragonpit or something about dragons, but her mind had drifted to some of the times she had taken strolls around the garden. Aemond cherished their shared moments. He never complained, never interrupted her, and listened to her. She recalled how he would gently hold her hand over the cracked stones, ensuring she didn't trip and fall. He'd pluck flowers from the nearby bushes, presenting them to her so she could marvel at their beauty up close. In those quiet moments, Aemond always reminded her that she possessed a beauty that rivalled the flowers, making her feel treasured and unique.

As she stood beside her betrothed, Lucerys, her eyes widened in stark realization. Her thoughts strayed back to Aemond as if her mind were trying to escape the present.

The one-eyed prince lingered in the darkness, fixed on every step they took. The torches cast long shadows over him, clouding him from their sight and helping him blend into the darkness with his black leather. His mother had attempted to stop him, claiming that it was for her own good, but he refused to abandon her, especially since she was to be alone with that bastard and Gods knew what he could be capable of. She looked radiant, shining like jewels even under the weak sunlight, clad in an exquisite silk dress with delicate lace patterns. Her beauty, so pure, made his heart ache with jealousy, seeing how her beauty was being wasted on Lucerys when it should be reserved for him alone.

“I was wondering,” Lucerys’ voice finally directed at her shook her from her thoughts. “How come you do not ride your dragon?”

Her brows furrowed, initially confused at his question but realising he had no idea about the tragedy that had befallen her hatchling, Brightfyre, during childhood. The memory of that painful day was still so fresh in her mind, even if she had been too young. It was like an open wound that would never heal, and his question had rubbed salt over it. "My dragon passed away when it was just a hatchling," she explained, her voice laced with a hint of sadness.

As she spoke, Lucerys's face lost its colour, his features contorting into a grimace. "The dragon keepers believed it was due to a malformation during incubation. According to the maesters, I wouldn't have been able to ride for long even if Brightfyre had survived anyways, as my sight would have continued to deteriorate with age.”

She missed the expression, her gaze fixed on the ground as she continued her walk, her footsteps steady and deliberate. Behind her, Lucerys had to consciously relax his facial muscles, shaking off the tension that had built up. Aemond, ever the observer, caught the subtle movement and raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting between the young couple as they strolled through the castle grounds.

“I’m relieved,” she confessed, her tone a stark contrast to the sorrow that had taken over her voice moments ago. “It gives me a sense of freedom, not being bound to one of them... being different from the rest of my family, to make a name for myself and not through my dragon.”

Lucerys's incredulity was palpable as he struggled to comprehend her words. "But you're a Targaryen," he protested, his voice laced with disbelief. "The blood of dragonlords from Old Valyria runs through your veins. Having dragons is the greatest symbol of our power and strength." He couldn't imagine a life without a dragon; it was unthinkable, especially for a Targaryen and for someone like him. Memories of his childhood came flooding back like an aggressive tide of the times he and the others had mercilessly teased Aemond for not having a dragon, only for him to claim the largest one alive. Lucerys swallowed hard, the memory still a bitter pill to swallow, especially when he thought of the Aemond of today.

She halted, her footsteps suddenly heavy on the stone floor, and turned back to him with an unreadable expression etched on her face. "I do not believe that," she said, her voice laced with conviction. "To me, we are more than the blood of dragons.”

Lucerys's response was immediate and firm. "Blood is everything.”

Her eyes, a light shade of purple that no other Targaryen shared, narrowed, and a spark of defiance flashed within them, lighting up like a flame. It was a glint Lucerys had never seen before—a darker, more intense, suffocating as she stepped closer, her shoulders squaring and her chin tilting upward. Lucerys felt a jolt of surprise. The gentle girl he had been introduced to had transformed before his very eyes into someone else. The corner of her lip curled into a faint, mischievous smirk, and for a fleeting moment, Lucerys could have sworn Aemond's spirit had possessed her, imbuing her with his audacity.

Her voice, usually so sweet and feathery, was laced with sarcasm that sent icy cold shivers down Lucery’s spine as she spoke. “Is that so, my prince?” Her tone dripped with irony. “Is your blood that..." Her eyes wandered over his form, her tilted head making it seem that she was speaking down on him. “Strong… that it defines who you are and determines your worth?” The emphasis on the word "strong" was a subtle challenge, a dare to Lucerys to defend his stance.

Aemond smiled to himself, filled to the brim with a sense of satisfaction as he observed the confrontation from his corner, her voice clear as she landed her verbal blow. He couldn't help but feel proud of her, amused by this feisty side of hers that she had never shown. Despite likely dying inside from the weight of her words, she had stood up to Lucerys, refusing to back down. Aemond knew she would learn to defend herself, and their nephew wouldn't easily intimidate her.

Lucerys's face flushed with anger, his ears burning as he understood the hidden message in her words, her intention to offend him clear as day. His nails dug deep into his palms to the point they almost drew blood, a desperate attempt to restrain himself from lashing out and from raising his hand to teach her a lesson about disrespect. He had to find a way to bend her to his will, and despite her venomous words, she had a rather fragile nature, and he was sure that a few swift blows would be enough to shatter her spirit.

“Anything the matter, nephew?” Aemond’s velvety voice halted the conversation between the young prince and princess, as he had made his way out of the darkness and into the light, having decided that they had spent too long together. His voice dripped with superiority, his shoulders tight as he looked down at the boy. 

They turned to face him, eyes wide as they fixed on the intimidating figure with hands clasped behind his back and a smile that froze the prince in place, a smile that seemed to revel in the power it held over others. Lucerys' skin broke out in goosebumps as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. In stark contrast, Haera’s body reacted differently the moment his calming presence washed over her; tense muscles relaxed, breathing slowed, and calmness took over her.

Lucerys, on the other hand, stumbled over his words, his voice trembling as he tried to find an excuse for their conversation that had taken a disgusting turn, eyes darting towards Haera, who seemed to be the only one immune to Aemond's intimidating aura. The prince's courage, once bold enough to consider striking his future wife, now shrank to the size of a timid rat, cowering in the face of Aemond's dominance.

Aemond turned to address his younger sister, his eye intense with adoration that seemed to suck up all the air around them, to the point Lucerys felt bitter jealousy like a kid watching someone else play with his toy. He could not lose this silent competition over Haera; she was his to claim, announced in front of everyone.

"Our mother has requested your presence," Aemond said, his voice low and husky, like the rustling of leaves in an autumn breeze. "Shall I escort you to her chambers?" He extended his arm, inviting her to take it.

And Haera smiled, the sight so beautiful that it would inspire the finest painters for their masterpieces. She placed her hand on his arm, touching gently and lovingly, and he pulled her away from Lucerys to seethe in silence. As they walked away, Haera's eyes sneakily shifted back to look at the dark-haired prince through a blurred gaze, sparkling like diamonds in candlelight, their secret message clear as day: she knew the game they played, and she would not be swayed. Aemond was the one she wanted, and he was who she was going to get.

The entire family gathered in the grand dining room after the darkness of the night took over the once clear sky, forced out of their chambers to avoid each other since Rhaenyra’s kin arrived. Even the melodic notes of the music could not fill the space between the strained relationships or clear the thick tension of the room as they sat around the table. 

The two sides of the family sat awkwardly in silence until the arrival of the King, carried in by his guards in an ornate chair that allowed him to move with ease. As he was placed in the centre of the gathering, between both sides of the family, Aemond's gaze darted to the far end of the table, where Haera had reluctantly taken her seat beside Lucerys. It had been their mother’s idea, her sullen expression telling him all he needed to know as her pouting lips and folded arms screamed defiance.

The king spoke, his wheezing voice piercing the air, the frail state of his body evident even as he rested in a seated position. He welcomed his heir and her family with genuine warmth between laboured breaths. Aemond’s mind wandered, tuning out the king as he spoke of the importance of family unity. But, as the king began to congratulate the newly formed alliances, he snapped back to the conversation. His stomach churned with disgust as their father praised Lucerys and Haera, his jaw clenched in frustration. He wasn't alone in his sentiment; Aegon, too, seemed put off by the king's flowery words, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the gathering.

Aegon couldn’t contain himself for much longer, pent-up frustration and anger simmering like a pot about to boil. His eyes darted around the room, meeting Haera’s as he looked at the faces of his family. Though her vision was blurry, she could make out the wink he sent her way, tilting his head towards the young prince beside him. 

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” He was a master at pushing his buttons. He took great pleasure in witnessing his reactions, his face reddening with each carefully crafted comment that would leave him fuming and frustrated, like a shaky vial of Wildfire ready to explode. “You do know how the act is done, I assume... like, where to put your cock.”

“Let it be, cousin.” Baela did her best to manage the situation before the two boys escalated it. 

However, Aegon continued; this time he addressed her instead, "I... regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer.” The young man gave her a pitiful look; the drunken joke was clear in his amethyst eyes: “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Everyone was jolted out of their casual chatter as Jace’s fist thundered down on the wooden table, the sound like a crack of lightning, and all eyes darted to the source to find him springing up from his seat. He gave Aegon’s shoulder a tight, almost brutal squeeze but then gave a playful punch to his arm. He then strode around the table with heavy footsteps and offered his hand to Aegon’s sister-wife, Helaena. 

There was a sudden spike in tension, as if there was room for any more, as Jace boldly trespassed into forbidden territory. The King, in agony, remained oblivious to the rift between the members of the royal family, his sentimental gaze fixed on the unfolding drama until his frail health betrayed him, forcing him to be escorted back to his chambers for a dose of much-needed medicine.

The servants emerged from the kitchen with steaming plates of food, momentarily easing the bubbling tension that set over the family, calming their sharp glares at each other. During the bustle, one kind-hearted servant, unaware of the significance of her actions, placed the largest, most impressive plate in front of Aemond—a massive, glistening pig', its beady eyes staring up at him like a haunting spectre from his tormented childhood.

Lucerys did not miss the way Aemond’s gaze shifted momentarily, and he let out a snort, his own dark eyes shining with mockery.

As the room fell silent, Aemond's hand came crashing down on the table to get their attention, the sound echoing through the chambers like a challenge. He rose from his seat with his cup in his hand, holding it up to toast. Everyone turned to face him, their hands tightening around their cups of wine as if bracing for an impact that would rival Vhagar’s powerful landing, eyes fixed on the one-eyed prince as his voice boomed through the hall, "Final tribute."

“To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. 

Each of them handsome, 

wise, 

strong. 

Come! 

Let us drain our cups to these three... strong... boys.”

The fragile vial of wildfire shattered, releasing the fury of the young princes as they jumped to their feet, determined to defend their honour, no matter who witnessed it. Jace moved wildly at Aemond, landing a blow to his face, who barely staggered backwards. Meanwhile, Aegon shoved Lucerys headfirst into an empty plate. The guards hesitated, taking a second too long to intervene and separate the boys, allowing the drama to unfold as the frantic mothers rushed onto the scene, their worried cries piercing the air.

Aemond's voice resonated through the air as Haera rushed towards the group that formed, her grip on her mother's shoulders tight with concern. Her older brothers stood before her, their faces tense with anger but their bodies relaxed. Jace's swift punch had left its mark after all—a small gash on the corner of Aemond's lip, a dark bruise starting to spread over his skin. "I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond said, his words dripping with sarcasm as he gazed at Haera. The real insult, however, lay in his next sentence: "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs, an unlikely match for my sister."

The family was dismissed, and each of them was sent away to enjoy their dinners in each of their chambers. 

The flickering flame in front of Aemond captivated him, his gaze fixed on the gentle rhythm of the dancing fire. Time had passed since the tumultuous events of dinner, and he had yet to return to his chambers, finding himself in Haera’s safe library instead as he tried to ease the disgust that still lingered in his stomach. He waited for a long time to make sure everyone had returned to their chambers for sleep to avoid having anyone see him visit his beloved in her chambers.

But before he could act, the creaking of old hinges shattered the silence, and his eye darted instinctively to the source, finding no other than his girl, Haera, seemingly coming to fetch him. His heart immediately picked up the pace at the angelic sight. 

Her cloud-like hair was elegantly pulled up by a soft braid, and her slender body was delicately wrapped in the rich velvet she was accustomed to wearing to bed. Only a thin, embroidered coat rested over her shoulders, tied at the front of her chest with a delicate silk cord, covering her modestly yet radiating an aura of luxury.

The gentle smile he always saved for her tugged on his lips, the book he had been holding slipping from his hands and forgotten in the excitement of her arrival. "Haera," he whispered, his voice full of affection, as he welcomed her. The young princess sighed in relief, the tension in her shoulders finally released. Her soft eyes caressed the contours of his familiar face. "I was looking for you, brother," she said, her voice tinged with worry. Why did you leave your chambers?” The words hung in the air as if she had been searching for him everywhere, her heart heavy with anticipation.

“I needed some time to myself.” He muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor as she approached him, stopping only in front of the chair where he sat with an air of exhaustion. Now that she had moved closer, she could see the purplish bruise on the corner of his lips more clearly in his swirl of colours, and something shifted in her stomach, stirring of concern. He was leaning back on the backrest, his legs splayed out before him, signalling a sense of comfort. His coat, discarded on the floor next to him, and the leather jacket, unbuttoned and open, revealed his plain cotton undershirt. She had never seen him in such a vulnerable state, somehow so at peace after the fiery argument he had sparked with their family, like a stormy sky clearing.

Aemond noticed how her eyes travelled over his figure, absorbing every detail, and his hand motioned for her to get closer to him to take a step into his quiet world. He would have gladly slid over to allow her some space next to him and enjoy the warmth of her company. Still, she might have interpreted it differently, as she lifted herself over the cushion to sit sideways on his lap instead, her movement sudden and fluid, taking place over him as she had always belonged there.

Somehow, courage had taken over her, building from the adrenaline of dinner; if her brothers were capable of such, she was as well. Haera had promised herself that her secret would remain locked away, especially now that she was a betrothed woman, yet witnessing Aemond’s distress over the impending union with Lucerys Velaryon and the impassioned speech he delivered at dinner had ignited a fire within her. A dormant aspect of her character had awakened, a part she never knew existed. This newfound sensation felt distinct, like the first crackle of autumn leaves. It felt exhilarating and empowering. With deliberate intent, she had taken over his lap, her legs dangling off his side, her side pressed flush against his chest, and her hands settled upon his shoulders, claiming him as her own.

Aemond’s vision blurred, everything around him dissolving into nothingness as his mind came to comprehend what was happening—her gentle pressure against him. The scent of her sweet skin, a blend of flowers, enveloped him, making his senses reel. She flushed a deep crimson, her bold facade crumbling beneath a wave of embarrassment, her cheeks burning. His hands trembled with longing, hovering above her hips as if touching her would shatter her and make her disappear forever. "Sweet girl," his voice was low and husky, his throat parched as the desert. "What are you doing?" The words were barely above a whisper, a struggling sound, as if speaking too loudly would banish the moment's magic.

She responded with silence, her unsteady gaze on him, eyes narrowing to clear her vision. The proximity served them like her magnifying glass, bringing him into sharp focus. She was drawn to the subtle curve of his eyebrows, the slight crook of his nose, and the sharp cut of his chin. Her eyes lingered on the corner of his lips, where the faint imprint of the punch had turned into a delicate purple bruise, barely staining his skin. Without thinking, she reached up, her fingertips lightly tracing its edge. The gentle touch sent a shiver through Aemond's body, and he sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the gesture.

She had touched him before, gentle and hesitating as she searched for his hand, arm, or shoulder to rest her head on, but that was not with the same intensity or intimacy as now. Her touch was a spark, setting his body aflame, a drive that propelled him forward with a motivation that came from the desire to be worthy of her. 

Haera’s skin felt strange, her body shifting from hot to cold and back to hot again while his hands finally came to rest on her waist, his slender fingers digging softly into the thin material of her nightgown. The voices in her head took to a contradictory choir, some screaming at her to feel more of him and the other trying to force her away, but a side was stronger and yearned to feel every inch of him, to be consumed by his presence, and for him to realise she would forever be his. The marriage to another man was nothing for her. She would forever be bound to him in her heart, and no contract or agreement could change that.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing against the corner of his mouth in a hesitant, gentle touch. It would be her first kiss if she had pressed herself fully over his, and her inexperience in the intimacy of her touch was too evident in the way she just pushed against his skin, unsure of how to proceed. The gesture was so sweet and innocent, yet it almost sent him over the edge with a surge of heat, causing his desire to wrestle with his sense of restraint. His mind was a battleground, torn between the purity of her intention and the depravity of his own desires, as he felt the softness of her lips tantalisingly close to the spot where he wanted her to be, to devour her.

But Aemond was a gentleman; he cared for her feelings, so he refused to push her into anything she was not ready for and instead let her take the lead, allowing her to explore and discover the sensations at her own pace. 

Haera pulled back with wide, innocent eyes that sparkled with the surprise of the burning sensation on her lips, covering them with her hands as the tingling was left behind. She looked unsatisfied, her curiosity still burning bright, but she didn't know how to ask the questions she wanted to. So she tried again, her lips finally pressing squarely over his in a chaste, exploratory kiss before pulling back to gauge his reaction. She repeated this once, twice, and three times as she peppered kisses over his lips, each time pulling back to look at him with her beautiful eyes.

He realised she was testing him, watching how he responded to her touch. Aemond smiled, his grip on her waist tightening to hold her in place. “Go ahead.” He muttered, a voice reserved just for her. "You can keep going." The words were an invitation, a permission to explore, and he could sense her hesitation dissipating as she leaned in again, her lips a whisper away from his.

The next time they touched, he leaned in to meet her halfway, brushing against hers with a guiding touch to encourage her to follow his lead and discover the warmth of a real kiss, one between lovers. She immediately mirrored his movements with the soft, tender pressure when his lips danced across hers. As she tilted her head, the kiss slowly gained intensity, and she felt herself becoming lost in the sensation, the heat taking over her lower body as her desire for him grew. Despite her initial uncertainty with him, she felt an innate knowing, as if she had been kissing him all her life.

The kiss deepened, and she felt herself melting into him as the flame grew within her, body moulding to his and pressing heavily against his thighs underneath her legs. Aemond's hand cradled the back of her head, taking control of the kiss, his passion for her growing with every passing moment. His hunger was palpable, and she felt herself responding, drawn to him like a winged insect to a funeral pyre, the world around them fading into insignificance.

His tongue darted out to press itself against her lips, a gentle invitation that she accepted with boldness, granting him entrance to her mouth. He slid inside, his hot muscle caressing hers tenderly as the kiss escalated from their tongues intertwining, sending shivers down their spines as they set into a passionate rhythm with their kiss. At first, her body had stiffened, unfamiliar with the sensation, but he persisted, his gentle prodding wearing down her defences. Soon, she found herself melting into the embrace, her senses surrendering to the intensity of the moment. It was as if her entire being had been submerged in a cauldron of molten lava.

The world around her began to fade, leaving only the two of them, lost in the vortex of their passion. The air was heavy, alive with the promise of what could be, and she felt herself getting swept away by the sheer force of his desire. The kiss was no longer just a meeting of lips but a fusion of bodies that left her gasping for air yet craving more. She started to feel the overwhelming pressure of release, and her body began to sway over him, seeking for something. 

Aemond's senses grew heightened as the darkness within him began to unfurl, a dragon awakening from a deep slumber. With each deliberate roll of her hips, the danger escalated, threatening to engulf him. The thoughts swirling in his mind were primal, raw, and completely consumed by the proximity of her body to his. She had surrendered completely to him, pressing her small form against him on the worn couch, her arms wrapped tightly over his shoulders. The light of the room seemed to fade into nothing as Aemond's focus narrowed to the rhythmic movement of her hips as she began to squirm over him, the gentle pressure of her body, and the sweet curve of her neck as his hands began to travel over her body, feeling her form under his rough palms. 

His mind wandered, consumed by the forbidden thought: could he claim her innocence? The notion sent a searing flame through his gut, fuelled by the knowledge that she was promised to another for political alliances, someone devoid of honour and talent. Another would never cherish her like he could, never adore her like he would. Aemond, a man of substance, could provide her with everything her heart desired. He would mount Vhagar, his majestic dragon, and fetch the moon itself if that's what she yearned for.

Yet he resisted the temptation to take her on that chair, despite the alluring sight of her sitting over him, her barely covered body pressing against him, unknowingly seeking pleasure as she rocked herself over him. She merited more than a fleeting passion; she deserved to be cherished and worshipped. The chair limited him to mere sensations—the feel of her skin, the rhythm of her movements, the sweetness of her taste. He needed to be patient to witness the moment she discovered true pleasure for the first time.

Perhaps if he were her first—the first to touch her, to feel her, to take her maidenhead—he would leave an indelible mark on her soul. She would remember him forever, even on her wedding night and the following nights. Even without the most intimate of touches, she had awakened a deep longing within him that he couldn't ignore. He yearned to be the one to ignite the flames of true pleasure within her and to hear her soft, velvety voice whisper his name in rapturous surrender. The thought of another person claiming the right to shatter her, to push her to the limits, and to witness her stunning features twisted in ecstasy was unbearable. She would see him, not some other man, in her mind's eye. Maybe she would gaze upon her firstborn child and imagine what a child with him would look like—a Valyrian offspring with snow-white hair and piercing purple eyes. The thought tormented him, a sweet temptation that echoed through his being.

He refused to let the beast win—that beast that wanted to break her innocence over a pathetic chair, as tempting as she was in her sheer gown. Instead, he encircled her waist with his arms and drew her nearer, their lips parting with the most lustful sound as they pulled apart to breathe, a translucent string of saliva still connecting their mouths. She let herself fall over him, her head resting on his shoulder as she struggled to catch her breath. The love he harboured for her was a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him at any moment, but having her close and feeling her warmth and weight in his embrace was a balm to his troubled mind. It was as if the world, with all its cares and worries, receded, leaving only the two of them, lost in the silence of their own private universe.

Nothing could prepare them for what would come next.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

i HATE this chapter lol. i feel like it's so much of the show content that i didn't really play around with more stuff, but at least i added an alone moment with lucerys and finally a moment with aemond at the end, to help spice things a little bit before that inevitable chapter where everything goes to shit.

as i think i have said before, this is not a story that will continue with the show or books, so after chapter three there will only be two more chapters remaining and i'm planning for the last one to be almost no-plot smut, since that is what this series was originally. i have added the posibilities to little "spin-offs" one shots in the masterlist and if everything goes right i will go through with them but after i'm done posting other content.

i apologize for any mistakes in grammar or something, i did not have much time for editing but i'm hoping that it gets better by the next chapters! i'm definitely trying to pull my big guns for the last two chapters for sure.

a big question; should i cover blood & cheese completely, or let it be something that happens in the background and is not written down? it will happen, and it will be referenced, i just don't know if i want to write it all going down.

chapter two; Sunday 10th. ╰⪼ thank you for reading!

[truevedicastrology]

🌟✨ Astro Vibes & Cosmic Truths🌙🔮

Get ready for some mind-blowing astrology facts that'll make you question everything you thought you knew about your star sign! 😱💫

�Neptune in the 3rd house? Prepare for a rollercoaster of feels! 🎢😢 These dreamers often feel like aliens on Earth, retreating into their vivid imaginary worlds. But hey, who needs reality anyway? 🌈

🧚‍♀️ Geminis, why are you so obsessed with Scorpios? 👀💘 It's like moth to a flame, but make it zodiac! 🔥🦋 Family background through the 4th house? It's like ancestry.com, but make it celestial! 🏠👨‍👩‍👧‍👦

Mars: Warrior fam, reporting for duty! 🪖

Jupiter: Teacher's pets unite! 📚✏️

Saturn: Politics at the dinner table, anyone? 🗳️🍽️

Sun: Government secrets for bedtime stories! 🕵️‍♀️🌞

Mercury: Doctors writing prescriptions... or the next bestseller? 📖💊

Saturn's serving karma realness! ⚖️✨ 5th house placement? Mess with someone's ego, and watch the universe clap back! 👏😬

Neptune in the 1st house = built-in BS detector! 🔍🧐 Shoutout to all the psychic step-sisters out there, keeping it real! 💁‍♀️💯 '97 babies, where you at? 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♂️ Feeling like the black sheep but secretly slaying? That's the tea! ☕🐑

Scorpio risings and true crime: name a more iconic duo 🔍🔪

Sagittarius: finding the silver lining since... forever! 🌈😊 You could probably find joy in a DMV line, you magical unicorns! 🦄

Gemini sun + Libra moon = instant heart-eyes 😍💖 Like, save some beauty for the rest of us, okay?

Leo mercury: making everyone feel like the main character in their own movie! 🎬🌟

Gemini risings be like: "Call me anything but my government name" 😎🕶️

Sagittarius mercury: The ultimate story recyclers! ♻️🗣️ But we love you anyway, you charismatic chatterboxes!

Capricorns strutting down the runway of life! 👠💃 Werk it, cosmic supermodels!

Cancer placements: Team white and blue forever! 👕👖 Looking fresh like a cool ocean breeze! 🌊 Born on 1st, 10th, 19th, or 28th? Congrats, you're basically a cinnamon roll! 🍪❤️

Aquarius placements: Insta-famous without even trying! 📱🤳 What's your secret, you social media wizards? Water signs, unite in your mystical sensitivity! 🌊🔮 Who needs WebMD when you've got zodiac-induced health quirks?

[kindestegg]

"Maybe if I ask her real nice, I won't have to turn her into a puppet!"

So... this line has been puzzling me for a WHILE because it feels like it goes against the idea Collector's go-to default is to just puppet-ify everything.

UNTIL someone in a server I was a part of pointed out that hey, doesn't it seem like Collector is also actively trying to nudge King to play something else? That they're tired of this game?

And I thought about the capture the flag game suggestion.

"What if we switch it up? We could play capture the flag! Us versus... everyone on the Isles!"

Okay, aside from the obvious commentary that Collector sees himself and King against the world (which is. another thing. I need to write up on *biting down on my arm*), it's interesting this implies the people would probably not be puppets anymore, since you'd probably need people who are conscious to actively play in the game, and the whole "people breathing on the moon" discussion doesn't seem like it would happen if they were considering the people as puppets.

It's also worth noting that Collector turning Lilith and Hooty into puppets happens immediately after King tells him The Owl House Game is like playing pretend...

And also, after Collector asks King what role he gets to play, and King presumably tells him, he uh, does this...

Which I'm guessing means he was pretty happy to hear he's going to be the main character. And then immediately after...

... Do you think there's a possibility Collector's go-to isn't in fact to just capture people as puppets, but interpreted this immediately from King's talk of the Owl House Game?

He also lashes out at King for criticizing him over turning Terra into a puppet, claiming he's just "playing pretend".

And considering how, from King's talk with Eda and Lilith, he's only losing his fear of making Collector mad NOW...

It's possible most of this was born out of a misunderstanding. Collector interpreted the game as having "lots of players" as puppets, the whole Isles as King put it, and King was too scared to tell him that wasn't it. No wonder Collector lashes out when told not to do so, to him it makes no sense because this is how the game is played in his view.

If he's getting tired of this game though, it also explains why he suggested not turning Eda into a puppet first, why he wanted to play something that would keep people free from such a spell, and even why he seemed slightly disappointed that he ended up turning Terra into a puppet too by the end, which is another sentient playmate lost, even if she made him angry.

So... if all of this could have been avoided if King had told Collector that this game shouldn't entail turning people into puppets, I think I have a hunch of the narrative purpose of all this.

It's telling the truth. King has to tell the truth. That there was no Owl House game, that he made it all up, that he was a scared kid desperate to save the people he loved and the Isles and that yes, he did use Collector.

King wasn't in the wrong for lying of course, because it was this or losing everything he loves. But things have been regardless severely more complicated because of this lie.

And I suspect he knows this, as he says he wants to talk to Collector to solve things. Maybe this talking is him telling the truth after all. He does say this directly after communicating that he's losing his fear of making Collector mad. Maybe he's finally gotten courage to confess the truth.

It's also worth noting again that Collector... doesn't care that King is lying about some things? He barely reacts with anger or shock at him talking to Eda and Lilith and seeing that they're keeping this as secret from him, he only cares when it sounds like King might want to hurt him.

It sounds silly when you put it this way, but the biggest obstacle keeping their relationship from fully realizing and them resolving things is just a misunderstanding. King wrongfully believing Collector might hurt him and Collector wrongfully believing King is happy playing pretend with him.

Once they actually talk this out, they can finally resolve things.

... the only problem is that I think if King approaches Collector saying he wants to tell him something now...

Collector might just think it has to do with King getting rid of him, and things might turn for the worst.

[bladeweaver-if]

Cut the Heavens.

Link to the demo: here

Orphaned at birth beneath the dim light of a new moon, your fate seems sealed.

In a stroke of luck, you are soon adopted by two Masters of the Bladeweavers' Order - an institution of elite warriors and weaponmasters as ancient as the very cities they are based in. When cataclysm strikes, the Order is left scattered and broken, and you are left aimless, without purpose in a hostile world.

In your search for it, what else will you find?

Bladeweaver is a text-based grimdark fantasy interactive fiction game developed in Twine, focusing on your customizable player character, The Bladeweaver, as they grow up and navigate their way through a crumbling world wreathed in esoteric magic, dark secrets and murky morals, loosely inspired by the late medieval/early Renaissance periods, with a heavy touch of fantasy/steampunk influence.

Grow from child to adult, learn unique skills and master a weapon of Empyrean steel, a unique metal with otherworldly properties. Make friends (or perhaps more?) and enemies along the way as societies rise and fall, as alliances strengthen and collapse, and loyalties are strained to their breaking point.

It won't be easy, but you might just soar. On wings of Empyrean.

Bladeweaver is a mature game with heavy themes and content, including but not limited to violence, strong language, possession, mental issues, drug use, kidnapping and abuse. Due to this, the game is only recommended for those over the age of 18.

Feel free to ask me questions about the game or characters if you want!

Customise your character; their gender, physical appearance and relationships with the cast of characters are yours to change. Choose a unique weapon, with a selection of 6 options available.

Grow from a young child into adulthood in the safety of Sola, a floating city enwreathed in ancient magic. Your skills as a warrior are yours to develop.

Embark on a crushing, dangerous voyage across the fictional continent of Phanol, a land of debts and daggers, and navigate the complex social and political problems that curse this land - and perhaps find their true source.

Romance one of four characters, and develop intimate platonic bonds with any or all of them. Alternatively, shrug them off completely.

Discover your true purpose as the past and present merge when cataclysm strikes.

You, variable pronouns - The Bladeweaver

Hours after you were born, your parents were slaughtered and, in a sequence of rare acts of kindness, you land in the care of two Bladeweavers: Callen Edros and Sonia Wierszy. The three of you make for an odd family of warriors, living in Sola, one of the twelve Risen Cities of the Gods. The relative peace you know will not last. Your unsung song may yet be the most famous of them all - or the most feared.

After your life is ruined and your Order is scattered to the winds, all hope seems lost for you. All that remains is a mysterious letter, guiding you to a place where those like you go to die. Only, you'll not find death there. It just might be worse.

A blood-paved road lies ahead of you; a road you may choose to walk proudly, battling inner and outer demons alike.

Or, perhaps you might struggle, paving your own path in a world that will do its damndest to bestow you with the same fate as your long-forgotten forebears.

Will you lose yourself and the principles your adoptive parents instilled in you throughout your childhood? What else will you lose, or gain, on this road?

Main characters:

Callen Edros, he/him - The Lonely Wolf

Tall, bulky and surprisingly quick-footed, Callen is a Bladeweaver Master of the poleaxe, a lethally versatile weapon.

His presence and weapon of choice are contrasted by his cheery, jovial attitude. He's an excellent teacher, and focuses on mastering discipline and one's fundamentals over all else. He is afforded a good deal of fame in the Order, partly due to his noble background - something he rarely speaks of - and is quite popular, even for a Bladeweaver.

Many who know the man would never have a bad word to say about him, but those close with Callen know there's a deep, enduring sadness behind his laughter.

He is one of your two adoptive parents.

Sonia Wierszy, she/her - The Rising Hawk

Leanly muscled and opting for a brutal combat style, Sonia is a Bladeweaver Master of the falchion, a single-edged blade that favours strong chops over quick cuts or stabs.

Loyal, stubborn, brash, and just arrogant enough for some to find it charming, Sonia will often sneer in the face of propriety despite her conflicting love for the finer things in life borne from a childhood in poverty.

Some would even say that her just being as she is, a woman rising through the ranks of an institution rife with men, is a challenge to the Order. Sonia takes glee in pushing boundaries, in proving herself capable and beyond, and expects a similar ambition from those she knows. As a teacher she is exacting, employing unorthodox methods to help find your special skills as a fighter.

It's not difficult for some to wonder if Sonia's coarse exterior is simply a front, obscuring a deep-seated rage and fear, sparked long ago.

She is one of your two adoptive parents.

???, he/him - The Cargo

He will accompany you on your journey across the land.

Four romantic or platonic options to choose from:

Samuel Alban, he/him - The Boy Next Door

Tall and skinny with curly blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a giddy smile, Sam moves to the same street as you with his father when you're both children, hailing from the disrant but powerful Abrian Empire.

He's endlessly good at making new friends and seems to never lose energy.

Sam comes to struggle with knowing exactly what he wants from life, paired with the difficulty he faces from his own nature. Will you be one of many friends to him, or will you catch his eye in a deeper way?

Caitlin Clary, she/her - The Inventor

Tall, broadly-built and muscular, with ginger hair and wide green eyes, Caitlin is a fellow student at the Bladeweavers' Academy, but she takes a much more keen interest in engineering and gadgets. You meet her in your first year, as she struggles with bullying from other students.

As a girl from the southern warlike nation of Vengard, she is not expected to become a fighter, nor is the practice encouraged among her people. She faces ostracization from her countryfolk, despite having her parents' shared blessing to join the Order.

At odds with what her culture expects from her, and feeling isolated in a strange place with only her elder brother for company, Cait is shy and closed off when she comes to Sola. She might appreciate a source of comfort during this tumultuous time.

Lucas del Varro, he/him - The Prodigy

Lightly muscled and average height, the black-haired, grey eyed third child of the prestigious del Varro family transfers to your academy in your third year. He's instantly popular, but seems to shrug off any and all affections from his peers, although he's not actively hostile to it.

As a fighter the young man moves like water, all flowing moves and poised grace. He favours counter-attacking, turning an opponent's assault on them in a split-second to win decisively. He is a marvel to watch, and a terror to face in a duel.

Lucas seems to be singularly focused on bettering his own skills under the weight of his father's scrutiny, and only accepts your presence if you prove to be a sufficient challenge to him. Will you step up to the call, or even exceed his expectations?

Talia Maren, she/her - The Bastard

Curvy and considered a great beauty yet sharp beyond her years, tales of Talia's venom and scheming follow her when she arrives in the city. She is the legitimised bastard daughter and heir apparent of Lord Darion Maren, a political titan of the nation of Telfrin.

She is known to be constantly at odds with her so-called family, who quite publicly disagree with her ailing father's choice to claim her as part of his lineage, making her, as his new eldest, heir to his estate. He had sired the girl before meeting his wife, in secret.

With few allies in her own home, she seeks them elsewhere. Talia wishes to claw her way to the top of the social heirarchy, willing to step over anyone who gets in her way.

Are you capable of standing the brunt of her vicious veneer? She can't be all thorns like she's purported to be, can she?

Find out more about each option by clicking on the link in their title.

Current size of demo: 242k words

Genre: Grimdark fantasy

Last Update: 21/09/24 (Chapter 2 additions)

Discord server for game discussion and feedback: here

[if-childrenofiona]

DEMO ✧ FORUM

LCOF is a +17 IF with heavy themes of murder, gore, cults, obsessive behavior, etc. Many run to Iona's Temple. Perhaps to escape hunger or the touch of death. You aren't sure why. No one is. All you know is that you're among them.

Play disguised as a Child of Iona, the loyal follower of the moon Goddess, Iona. Kept in the temple by day and let out to serve your duties by night. Navigate the mystical kingdom of Gilhanna. Whether you make rivals or friends, it's up to you. Or risk your life to pursue something more; you swore to remain devoted to Iona and Iona alone. Above all, stay hidden!

Everything was wrong— very wrong. Your father was never one to change his mind. Let alone reveal you to the public eye. And yet, he let you attend the Feast of Xihnir? It was a night of happiness, of celebration. And it'll be a night ingrained in your memory forever.

Especially after witnessing your father slaughtered like a lamb before the Divine Lord of Hexma. Since then, you've learned how deep Xihnir's murderous and twisted fascination with you goes.

Fleeing to the neighboring kingdom, Gilhanna, you find a place to escape the pursuits of your father's killer. Hoping to find peace while masked as a Child of Iona. You've enjoyed seven years of peace now. You're sure more is still to come.

Yet, the sudden appearance of a wounded stranger brings rapid talk of the Divine Lord's armed forces praying upon Gilhannian borders. You can't let yourself be reduced to running, hiding — surviving. Nor will you allow yourself to be caught in Xihnir's crooked grasp. Will you give up the identity of this mysterious stranger to protect your own?

Fully customize MC's appearance, personality, gender identity, and sexuality.

Choose between a variety of given trades to influence your character's nature and story! (i.e., swordsman, musician, scholar, weaver, dancer, or merchant.)

Hone your skills!

Become a genuine follower of Iona or exploit this exalted position for your own gain.

Make meaningful choices that will shape your future and the relationships of people around you.

Forge lasting friendships or begrudging enemies.

Eight ROs total— two secret romances. (one minor, one major)

XHILO ✧ XOLA, HOUSE OF AKTER. Your companion with a short temper and an even shorter attention span. You found them cowering in an alley the night you left and have been hiding from Xihnir's forces together since then. Meek and quiet but sometimes has a lot to say. Extremely suspicious and distrusting of newcomers. You think they may still be a bit wary of you.

SILAS ✧ SHILA, CHILD OF IONA. The mean-spirited shepherd who works with you in the temple. At one point, you both were friends, though you're not sure what made them act so cold towards you. Though, that time is very distant. However, one thing hasn't changed: their love of their flock and slightly awkward disposition around new groups of people.

KNOX ✧ KORA, HOUSE OF YARROW. "Eccentric," as the townspeople like to put it. You've only seen them keep to themselves; they're never seen without a notebook. In daylight, their face is tired and worn. You catch them sneaking over the temple walls at night as if hiding one big secret. Some nights, you catch them singing beautiful melodies before running away after they sense someone's listening.

PRINCE LIROY ✧ PRINCESS LORELAI, THE CROWN HEIR OF GILHANNA. Emperor and Empress Jung's firstborn. They are known throughout the kingdom as the epitome of sophistication and stoicism. You don't know much about the Crowned Heir except their duties to the country come first, and they hold them quite dear. A bit too dear.

PRINCESS DELILAH ✧ PRINCE DION, THE HEIR OF DANCE. The royal Jung's second born. A soft but refined beauty. Most remember them for their carefree and childish behavior. "Iona's dancing muse," some may say. You've only seen them dance once when you first came to Gilhanna. Beautiful, hypnotic. You believe they are everything the people say they are.

PRINCESS CLEMENTINE ✧ PRINCE CLEMENT, THE FORGOTTEN HEIR. The youngest of the Jung siblings. You haven't heard about them in all your seven years in Gilhanna. Nor are they mentioned among the people.

[chaoticallywriting]

☂Death and Her Companion☂

Prologue

Description - And so we meet the girl from the bunker, the hidden away secret. The one to powerful, to fearsome and to quick-witted. How sad it must be to be the harbinger of death and yet have such a kind soul. How odd it strikes the other Hargreaves that this wondrous woman is their 'little' brothers supposed ex. One must wonder what her role is in everything, which chest piece she is on Reginald Hargreaves board. One thing is for sure, to Five she is the all mighty queen.

A/N - Please don't expect much of me, I am dragging myself through work four cans of alani at a time. There are little time jumps throughout their time in the apocalypse. I plan on writing more cute apocalypse bonding moments for them throughout the series.

Warnings - Canon typical violence, use of y/n like twice. Needles, blood, syringes, abandonment issues. Self worth issues. Mentions of skinniness due to lack of food (from the apocalypse my dudes)

Pairing - Five x Reader

Word count - 6k

To tell a story, one must have a character or set of characters to follow. They may not be reliable or entirely likable nor good-hearted or kind, they may not be evil or extraordinary but simply intriguing. Intriguing enough to hold the reader's attention, to keep them coming back for more. And that is Y/N, a girl born on a day where something extraordinary happened and if given any other power she would have been one to marvel over. 

But the babe was born with fingertips dosed in inky darkness and killed her mother during birth. Then her grandmother who held the babes pinky and so on. Eventually she was kept hidden with the help of one Reginald Hargreaves, who agreed that her power was too strong for the world to bear. So said girl lived her life underground with a robot as a mother (to keep her from accidentally killing her too) and eventually a robotic companion that was meant to resemble her age. 

Even through glitches and random updates she didn’t know what normal really was, so she never batted an eye. As she grew so did the darkness upon her fingertips until eventually it stopped at her elbows. She read every book given to her, watched every movie and show and held a strict physical regiment to keep her in shape. 

She learned just about every fighting style known to man thanks to the updates her mother was given and regularly ran in the underground garden. Her bunker was her life and she never thought it odd until she was 14. You see, all those movies and books showed a different life than hers, exciting ones that showed the ocean and the sun, the moon, stars. There was romance and friendships, adventures galore. Suddenly her life which was once fulfilling felt… suffocatingly dull. 

Neither her companion nor mother would let her out nor sympathize with her. They only tried to distract the girl from her growing desires. But such desires only grew and mixed with the rage of a preteen girl came a moment in her life she’d always remember, the moment when the monotony would finally end. They didn’t listen, they tried placating, and they tried deflecting. At one point they tried to make her feel crazy, but her textbooks and ways of entertainment showed proof of a different life. So finally when all that rage and loneliness finished brewing it came time to try to escape.  

She didn’t make it past the second steel door before a syringe was put in her neck. She awoke, she tried again, she was kept locked in a more secure room, no longer allowed to roam her bunker. So when her mother and companion came to visit on the 5th day she used her upbringing to her advantage and killed them. Twitching metallic limbs were scattered about the padded room, oil seeping out instead of blood and the sound of frying wires filling the air. 

Finally, from doing this, she met the man who built her bunker. He kept himself protected behind a wall of plexiglass, staring her down through his monocle with a disapproving glare. “You have caused quite the mess.” 

The young girl was sobbing, she had just killed the only people - no things she ever knew. She was a monster, a murderer. “I just want out, please let me out!” 

“I cannot do that child, your power is beyond my control. You were able to suppress the medicine I tried to give you and are not fit for normal ways of living.” 

His voice was cold and stern, in her already fragile state his lack of empathy only made her feel small. He only seemed to validate her worst fears. 

“I can offer you something though, a way out from this life. All you must do is step through those doors and into the chamber I’ve built for you. It will let you out, I promise.” 

The young girl, having never seen him before, didn’t know how this man was full of deceit. With barely anything else to do, she simply nodded through her tears. Whilst sniffling the girl followed his instructions and clambered into the small chamber. As she turned to face him, she realized how tiny it was and began to panic, but it was too late. Before she could even open her mouth to protest, the chamber door slammed shut and a gas filled the space. 

It seemed like only seconds before air flooded the chamber, ragged gasps escaping her cracked lips. The pain she felt was overwhelming, it flooded her body and felt as though she was being torn in two. As her eyes rapidly blinked, she found the glass of the chamber had shattered and all around her was clouded by smoke and dust. As the terrified girl tried to move, that sharp pain halted her movements, causing her to crumble onto the floor. 

Her hands and knees fell against the ground, shards of glass embedding into them and as the metallic taste flooded her mouth the young girl found a sharp metal stuck within her abdomen. Her once pristine white dress now drenched in blood and covered in smears of charcoal gray from the soot surrounding her. Blood dripped from her lips as she started to wheeze, her body falling the short distance onto the surrounding rumble. The icy grip of death was squeezing her and in her final moments she saw a pair of small and childlike leather loafers appear before her eyes. 

Seconds turned to minutes as a confused and heart wrenched Five watched the young girl die. The only living being he’s seen since arriving in the future a mere eight hours ago, has perished within seconds of being within his presence. His confusion only heightens as he takes in her hands and forearms, then stares at the science fiction esque chamber she seemed to have fallen out of. It looked like something out of the comic books his brothers read- or well-used to read now that they are dead. The thought only hurt him more, causing tears to fill the pubescent eyes. 

This odd looking girl had been stored in their family home, for how long? Five doesn’t know. But what he does know is his family is dead, and the world has ended, he’s seemingly alone and all he wishes to do is mourn his siblings. He takes a step backwards, planning on going back to their remains, (where he had spent the last six hours, sitting numbly among them) when a finger of hers twitches. 

At first, he thinks he must be hallucinating from all the fumes and exhaustion due to all the tears he’s cried, but then it happens again and then her left arm jerks inwards, curling around her stomach. He’s stunned as he watches the young girl begin to slowly lift herself into a sitting position, the large piece of metal once lodged in her abdomen just… falling onto the ground, drenched in her blood. 

The gaping hole begins to slowly mend itself as she wheezes and groans. Even all the tiny scratches across her body from the glass begin to heal and Five is left standing before some undead fourteen-year-old in a mixture of shock and awe. His siblings would probably be horrified and while he won’t say it out loud there is a small part of him that is; but that morbid curiosity of his kicks in and overpowers the dull horror ebbing through his brain. Suddenly it makes sense on how she survived an entire building collapsing on her and her near indestructible pod, how somehow whatever killed everyone else around him didn’t harm her. 

“What are you?” He utters in a scratchy (he has been crying and screaming for hours) and awe filled tone.  

Her nose scrunches, bloodied features full of fear and offense at his question. Those inky hands lay flat against the rubble as she pulls herself to stand, all wounds once leaking blood now closed and scabbed over. Her tone is soft and barely audible, as if almost scared to speak. “I’m just Y/N.” 

The duffle slung over her shoulder is threadbare and has millions of random holes across it that have been half hazardously stitched back together. The uncomfortable strap digs into her shoulder as the weight of her valuables bogs her down. Their last source of shelter ended up collapsing not too long ago and so the sixteen-year-olds are once more on the hunt for a new place to call home. So they walk along a road cluttered with trash and rubble, dilapidated buildings lining both sides and the scorching sun beating down on them. 

“What do you think we’ll find this time?” 

He huffs, “I don’t know, something with a roof preferably.” Five has a duffle too along with a cart full of heavier items like their jars of food they’ve collected, jugs of barely drinkable water and makeshift tools. 

The heat from the sun has made the girl drenched in sweat, body glistening and dirty, misshapen clothes stuck to her. Perhaps if she took her gloves off she’d feel a little better, but ever since discovering them she’s kept them on no matter the weather. 

A year into the apocalypse they found a department store, one where Five became rather enamored by a mannequin. As he spent the better of twenty minutes simply staring at that torsoless thing, she hunted for any clothes they might need. Anything that didn’t seem within their size she set aside to eventually make a blanket out of it and began to softly hum to herself. 

Finally, Five abandoned the mannequin and tossed something at the girl. A pair of elbow length black gloves. “Try those on,” he said as he began sifting through her pile of maybes. These were on the mannequin, she realized. The whole time she was worried about him losing it, and he came back with these instead of a new “friend.”  

The gloves were a bit big but not enough that she had to worry about them slipping off. The inside felt silky and due to the size they went just passed her elbow instead. “These will be nice when winter hits, I won’t have to worry about potentially freezing any fingers off this year.” 

“You should try touching the next rat we catch before we kill it… I have a theory that may help.” 

And they did help, tremendously. The girl was shocked all it took to stop her powers was some cheap fabric. Her heart squeezed with appreciation as she finally began feeling less terrified of being around anything living. It felt ironic in the beginning how she finally felt free from not only herself but the chains that she was metaphorically born with, after the world had ended. Almost everyone was dead and she was finally at peace. 

Now at sixteen she wears the same pair of gloves which now fit perfectly. There are holes and tears that have also been stitched with random thread that they scavenged throughout the years. Despite the fabric containing her undesired power, she finds herself hardly ever touching anything she wouldn’t want to kill. Anything that isn’t Five is food and well Five isn’t a very tactical person. There are a few nights each winter that they’ll huddle together for warmth, which he always makes a face about; but beyond that it’s more of a safety precaution. A ‘just in case I bump against you or need to grab you before you fall’ kind of thing.

As she stares at the dirtied gloves, a thought that’s always drifted through her mind bubbles to the surface once more. While they usually scavenge in silence to keep them focused for danger, today feels like an okay day to break that. There haven't been any accidents in a while, and typically they tend to be some sort of problem with herself. She’s fallen on rebar and been bitten by rabid rats, caught deathly flus and been the taste tester for water since the very day she fell out of what she can only assume was some type of cryochamber. 

“Why do you think he never thought to do this to me?” 

He eyes her for a second, brow raised. They both step over some debris, worn shoes knocking small rocks out of the way as he speaks. “What? End the world?” 

A cockroach skitters by and for a brief second they both watch it in concentrated silence. There’s a silent debate between them, eyes locked, on whether they should hunt it and kill. Five makes the first move of ignoring it and moving on. They have jars of food, and it’s not that big. Plus they don’t have the necessities to pickle it like they did in the past. 

“No dumbo.-“ He glares at her, “-give me gloves, so I couldn’t harm anyone. He could have saved so much time and money and I could have been one of you guys! One of the umbrella academy, going on missions and having a real family.” 

“What we had wasn’t exactly a proper family,” he starts. The girl sighs, thinking of what her family was. While his wasn’t normal either, it wasn’t as insane sounding as hers. “I’m guessing you can’t really make a toddler or even a young child keep the gloves on, no matter how much you stress the importance of them.” 

“Then he should have just killed me when he adopted me.” 

He stops all together which she doesn’t pick up at first, too busy surveying their surroundings for anything useful. So far it’s just more collapsed buildings and dust. Sometimes she thinks of the old westerns Thomas (her childhood companion) liked, and imagines a tumbleweed lightly dancing across the street ahead of them. 

“You think so?” Finally, she turns, noticing the distance between them and the girl just shrugs. He eyes her, gaze critical. They’ve been at this whole apocalypse thing for a while now and a major part of staying alive has been having one another. Yes he has the motivation of seeing his family again to help keep him going, but it’s been her that’s helped keep him off that delicious looking precipice of madness. 

“I do, if he couldn’t trust me to simply keep some gloves on then he should have killed me. Obviously I was too dangerous for the world, and yet he wouldn’t just do the one thing that was probably best for everyone involved. I mean do you think he adopted me, realized my power and just shoved me in the bunker? Or do you think maybe he tried alternatives first?”

He rubs his face which is already smeared in dust and dirt, his hair is tangled and long and beyond greasy. She knows hers doesn’t look any better. It’s been a while since they’ve found anything sharp, the last sharp thing they had was a broken bottle that they used as a makeshift knife. It didn’t last long. 

“I think despite his cold nature, killing a baby was too heartless of a task even for the old man.” He finally walks again, stopping at her side. Neither move, simply staring at one another. “I don’t know why he kept you in there, maybe we can figure that out when we get back.” 

Despite his insistence of them returning, she finds herself hardly believing it. She’s never told him how she doubts him, worried it will cause a rift between the two. The idea of rocking the delicate balance between them has always been at the back of her mind. Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night from a horrible dream of him abandoning her, claiming she’s too much of a liability or something. 

“You have caused quite the mess.”

It loops in her brain like clockwork, constantly there to remind her of the life she once lived. Even if they were robots, she killed the only two companions she ever had, and she wonders if Five has ever judged her for it. 

“Yeah,” she says in a slightly dejected, half-hearted tone. “Maybe.” 

Around her twenties, something happens. She’s not quite sure how or why, but she stops aging. Five continues to age as time drags on and she stays relatively the same. They theorize that it must be because of her whole ‘not dying’ shtick which then just springs forth a new panic inside her. She’s always worried about Five somehow dying but now no matter what she’ll end up alone. Because even if she wraps him in bubble wrap and always takes good care of him, he will die and she won’t. There is no old age for her and there most likely never will be. She can do everything in her power to keep him alive but one day he will die, and she will be eternally alone in this fiery hellscape. It’s befitting, she guesses, due to his nickname for her being Death. 

Death will be stuck in hell completely by herself because death always takes from others so why should it be given something in return. Why should it have companionship or a happy ending of some sort? 

They’ve grown closer recently, it’s odd and comforting all at once. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that they’ve managed to make a somewhat stable makeshift shelter. They’ve spent two and a half years there and just recently have come across a small packet of potato seeds. There’s little hope anything will grow but that small piece of happiness has caused them both to briefly stop thinking of what needs to be done next to keep from dying. 

They’re thirties now, or well she’s still physically twenty, and have recently been reading together at night. They huddle by their fire as the autumn chill sets in, and he reads a few passages before the flames die down. Shoulders bump and sometimes their heads lean against one another. He’s grown to be handsome in her eyes, and she wonders if she’d still think that if others were around. 

One day, after the embers dwindle and a cold breeze drifts through the cracks within their makeshift home, something odd occurs. Within the darkness she makes out his eyes still open as they huddle together, surveying her features. When they make eye contact he clears his throat and shifts to look at the metal sheet ceiling they’ve concocted. 

“What is it?” Death whispers. It’s not great to be loud at night, as time went on the rats got bigger and as did the roaches. They’ve become a sort of predator for them and while both are excellent fighters neither wants to deal with some sort of altercation this late at night. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he coldly responds. Ahh, so she gets to deal with defensive Five. The one who deflects and tries to turn it around on her. It’s funny and kinda cute that despite all the years that they’ve spent together, he still thinks he can lie to her. 

“You were staring at me,” she turns to her side to face him, trying and failing to hide a smirk. Her hands are flat underneath her head to act as a cushion against the flattened pillow she’s been using for the last six years. 

“You have dirt on your face.” 

“I always have dirt on my face-“ 

“Yeah well,” he drawls, “you have more than usual.” 

In a flash she turns to the other side, hand digging into the dirt nearby and smears it across his face. His mouth is gapping open, and she can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out. He clamps a hand over her mouth and for a moment, they stare into each other's eyes in silence as they wait to hear for any nearby creatures. His eyes are wide with anger and his grip against her mouth is rough, but she’s not scared. She could never be scared of him. 

They stay like that even once it’s clear they aren’t in danger. His grip on her mouth softens slightly but neither diverts their gaze. It almost feels like a contest on who can wimp out first. 

“You have beautiful eyes,” he mutters, his voice so soft it’s almost lost to the howling wind. “That’s what I was looking at.” 

Deaths mouth drops open as his hand falls away. 

“Oh.”

Her bravado is lost, and she feels something tighten within her chest. Her heart is beating rapidly, like whenever they're in danger, but they aren’t. She vaguely remembers watching heroines in romance movies describe this type of thing, this sort of rattling within her abdomen and sudden clamminess of the palms. 

“And your lips,” he starts- 

“What about them?” She whispers, far too nervous to let him continue without responding first.

“They suit your face perfectly.” His thumb comes to rest on her lower lip, and he slightly pulls at it. The woman’s breath hitches and unconsciously scoots closer to him. Their chests are touching as they lay on their sides, due to the closeness her hand comes to rest on the forearm of the hand that’s now moving to gently cradle her face. 

“And I can’t stop thinking about them. Even when we’re in danger, I’m not focusing on the task at hand because all I can think about is your lips.” 

She surges forward, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips against his own. He tastes of dirt and the saltiness of his sweat, but she doesn’t mind, she’s sure she tastes the same. It’s awkward and their teeth clash against one another, saliva dribbling down their chins and their touching each other everywhere they can think of. It’s messy and not romantic at all, holding this sense of life ending urgency. Like if she doesn’t kiss him until she can’t breathe then she’ll finally experience true mortality. 

Eventually they reluctantly pull apart, both gasping for breath as their noses bump against one another. He’s still cradling her face and her grip on his forearm is bruising, as if worried he might pull away with regret. 

“Esattamente come immaginavo” he whispers. She can’t help the smile that breaks out across her lips, nor the happy little sigh that escapes her. She kisses him again, and again and again. He indulges each one. 

She breathes the words against his lips, his fingers now gripping her hip to hold her close. It’s hard to concentrate with his thigh pressed against her. “Come lo hai immaginato?” She finally breathes out. 

“Perfetto.”

More years pass, that same shelter still works as their home, even if it is quite rickety. There’s a makeshift shelf lined with pickled roaches or rats and there’s new support poles throughout. With Fives age she does most of the intensive work now, which he hates and there’s always an argument about it. They are as close as can be though, despite everything and despite the wrinkles littering his face or the slight graying of his hair. She loves him, and he loves her in their own twisted little way. 

One day someone appears and breaks their routine. A woman who goes by the title of “The Handler,” explains the commission to them and its mission. Then she pitches a cushy contract to them and while Five hymns and haws over it, Death is about ready to sign on the dotted line. It’s not that she doesn’t understand the risks or thinks it’ll be enjoyable, but it’s out of this apocalyptic wasteland, and it gives Five a chance to live longer. If they get out of here they can retire in their original timeline and get the medical care he may need in his old age. 

Eventually, he concedes, and they leave behind what they’ve known as home for more than half their lives. It’s weird, being part of society again. At least for Five. Death was never fully part of society to begin with so it’s more of a whole panic inducing experience for her. They are given a small living space which consists of a queen bed and an en-suite bathroom. There’s a kitchenette against one wall with a small metal table that has two chairs pushed underneath it. Five says it looks like a motel straight outta the ‘50s. The Handler tells them that’s the current decade they are in. 

Proper clothes and toiletries are given to them and the first time she showers since before her cryochamber is an experience. The hot water hits her back and seemingly melts her hair, turning it from a ratty mess to complete wetness that hangs down her back. The woman hasn’t had a hair cut since she was a child and as she climbs out of the shower she realizes how much hair she currently possesses. A towel is wrapped tightly around her when there’s a knock on the bathroom door, and she cautiously opens it to let Five in. 

He whistles as he takes her in. Beads of water trail down her body and for once there’s not a speck of dirt on her. She spent forever scrubbing at every crevice and callous on her body, trying to rid herself of decades worth of dirt and survival. Her hands tightly grip the towel, afraid to be near him without her gloves. The commission took their old clothes away, claiming they were just trash now. She was promised new clothes and new gloves, but it hurt to part from the hole infested pair gifted to her by her partner. 

“You look like a whole new woman,” he states. She looks down at her body, all skin, and bones from feasting on scraps for so long. She can’t hold back the chuckle that leaves her. 

“I guess so,” she claims. He’s clean now too, even his beard is gone and all that’s left is a mustache. She’s shocked, he’s had one for so long. They’d try to cut it whenever they could to keep him cleanly but even then it’s not like they could do much. She grabs a pair of scissors from the counter and carefully hands them to him, holding her breath as she watches him take them from her. “Will you cut my hair?” 

Five is shocked, it seems the idea of her cutting her long mane never crossed his mind. But if they are going to be assassins then she needs to be practical and there’s no need for such excessive amounts of hair now that they have access to proper scissors. It’s quiet as he cuts, there’s the faint sound of some old song playing in the background, most likely from the little radio on their dresser. She can hear the snip of the metal each time he cuts away a chunk of her past, the weight slowly lessening. It’s symbolic in a way, as if it’s him shutting the door on that part of their life. 

Time drones on, many songs pass and neither of them speak. Eventually he turns her to him, careful to keep her away from the mirror. She watches him with bated breath, realizing now that maybe he won’t like her with shorter hair. It never crossed her mind, it’s only ever been them so the idea that he may suddenly lose interest just seemed… impossible. 

He snips at a few strands close to her face, her initial reaction being to jerk away which he just tuts at her for. Finally, she stays still, and he finishes his work with a few more snips. After slowly setting the scissors down he takes her in, a smile slowly creeping into his thinning lips. “Bellísimo“ he whispers. 

He always flirts with her in Italian, it causes her to flush. With all the dirt gone and the lights of the bathroom shining down on her, only a towel covering her naked frame, she suddenly feels insecure. She’s never felt that around him, never felt the need really. It was never about being pretty, there wasn’t time for pretty. But now there sort of is and there are the resources for it too. 

He turns her to the mirror and the woman before her isn’t apocalyptic Death. This is the new her, fresh into society and ready to kill anyone necessary for her. She hopes that she comes to like who she sees in the mirror, or at least recognize her. Right now it seems like a hollowed out stranger with bags under her eyes and a bony form. But she will admit, Five is a good hairdresser. 

The commission is smart, that she will give them. They hardly ever assign her and Five on missions together. They become ships passing in the night, barely seeing one another for an hour or so at a time before they are rushing off in a new mission, after a new target. Furthermore, they give her new silky black gloves and The Handler has dubbed her “The Belladonna” because she’s stealthy like a poison and quick like one too. Efficient and always out of sight. She loses count of the people she’s killed, at this point it’s instinctual to take off her gloves and just touch whenever need be. The horror of watching someone drop-dead mere moments later soon wears off, and instead she’s left feeling emptier each time. 

Five has always been trying to figure out how to get home, but now with the technology of the commission he’s really started cracking down on it. She tries to help when she can, offering insight and even solving one of the various problems. It’s late one night, a rare one where they are both in their room together. 

He’s got a drink in his hand, and she’s in one of his shirts with her gloves on. They’ve got papers scattered across the floor with various formulas and her brain hurts from all this thinking. She just got back from a mission, having successfully killed eight people who were at risk of disrupting the timeline. It was easy until the end, one slipped away and a chase began. She eventually got him but had to pull her gun on him which has always been her least favorite way to do it. It’s not like she’s bad at it, quite the contrary, but it’s messy. It’s brutal and suddenly it seems more impactful. With a simple touch they choke and freeze, then fall to the ground and boom! Dead. With a gun there’s a struggle and so much blood, there’s gasping and wheezing and pleads for a second chance. She feels less human every time she pulls the trigger. 

“What about your age?” She randomly asks. He’s sat on the edge of the bed and her question has his gaze whipping away from the papers to her pacing form. “I mean, if we can travel to the correct time to fix the apocalypse from happening then maybe we can do something about your age.” 

“What’s wrong with my age?” a white brow is raised and she sighs. She’s never really voiced her fear to him, worried he might end up becoming offended. In all honesty old age suits him, he’s always acted like an old man. Crotchety, opinionated with sarcasm dripping from his tone. He’s the kind who’d probably sit on his porch and yell at kids to get off his lawn. 

Death walks over to him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. They lock eyes, and she knows it’s time to finally tell him. “You’ll die in a couple of decades, and I’ll most likely still be a twenty-something year old woman. If we manage to get back to your family's timeline and retire then… Shouldn’t we be given the chance at a proper life together?” 

“What like kids and a house? I didn’t peg you for the whole suburban life.” 

She scoffs, eyes practically rolling into the back of her head. “No, I’m not talking about the whole white picket fence shebang.”

“I’m talking about us building a home together, finding a place with big windows in the living room that we’ll place two armchairs by so we can read in the sunlight. We’ll buy enough books to fill up a whole wall with them and a bar cart with your favorite spirits always stocked up.”

“We’ll get serious business-esque jobs and on the weekends we’ll lay in bed for an extra hour, cuddling or making love. You’ll get more time with not only me but your whole family too. Don’t you want that?” 

It’s quiet for far too long as he contemplates her words, his eyes scanning over her features before looking at the mess of papers behind her. She can tell he’s doing the logistics in his head, weighing the pros and cons. His hands rest on her hips, and she gently straddles his lap, her arms linking around his neck to keep him close. 

“It’ll complicate the formula even more,” he softly observes. “We’re so close to finishing this. I can tell.” 

Her hands slide up to cup the back of his head. She can’t help but frown as he lets her down, her heart squeezing as she thinks of what’s down the road. “Please, we’re both smart, and can easily figure it out. It’s just a couple extra numbe-“ 

“Death-“ 

“Please,” she practically begs, her hands tangling in his hair and slightly tugging. “I can’t go live a normal life if you aren’t part of it.” 

“I miss them, they’re my family, and they need me.”

She’s losing him, the wall is slowly going up, and she’s desperately trying to jump over it before the finality sets in. “What about me, don’t I need you too? Don’t we need each other I mean we survived the apocalypse together for fuck's sake!” 

“And I spent the entire time thinking about getting back to them. Surviving for them.” 

He doesn’t mean too, she knows that deep down, but his words cut her deeply. A wound on her barely beating heart is forming, and he’s just staring at her with a hardened expression. 

Her eyes well with unshed tears, voice quivering as she speaks. “What about me, about us? Didn’t you survive for me too?” 

It’s silent for two beats, then three and then four. They just stare at each other waiting for one to relent. Both of them are so stubborn and so set in their plan. She knows this is a pipe dream, but she was still holding out hope until this very moment. He thickly swallows and she just knows.

The wall is fully between them now. She couldn’t make the jump. His mind is made up, and she’s scared to hear what he’ll say. “I think I should go alone. There are less numbers if it’s just me.” 

And that scratch, that wound, only deepens. It’s a crater now, and she fears there’s very little of her heart left functioning. She’s died a million times, been stabbed in every place imaginable, contracted various deadly illnesses, died from fire and hypothermia and yet now, this hurts far more than all of those combined. She climbs off of him like his touch is hurting her and aggressively wipes at her eyes. 

“I didn’t realize I was hindering you so much-“ 

“I didn’t say that. I’m just sa-“ 

“I heard you loud and clear. If my presence is such a bother then I think I’ll request a different room.” She pulls on a pair of pants and quickly slips her feet into a pair of slippers. He just watches her too, doesn’t jump up to stop her. All this time she’s worried about what would happen if she voiced her thoughts, and it turns out her fears were warranted. All it took was her asking for something for once, begging for something even, for him to shut her out. 

Five is selfish and cold-hearted, and he doesn’t love her like she loves him. He’s a man obsessed with one mission only, and she bets he won’t even like his family once he gets there. He just wants to be some kind of hero to them, to prove to himself that he can be the savior. To make up for his absence all those years. 

With the click of the door, she severs the only love she’s ever known and changes the course of her life. 

[peterman-spideyparker]

Celebrate (Marc Spector x fem!Reader, Steven Grant x fem!Reader, Jake Lockley x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! So, I have had this done for a while and just never posted, so better late than never, amirite? And besides, we can all always use more Oscar Isaac and the Moon Boys in our lives. Enjoy! :)

Summary: The boys realize that they've never celebrated your birthday with you, despite being with you for well over a year and you celebrating their birthday. When they find out when it is, nothing will stop them from giving you a birthday for the record books.

Warning: Fluff (established couple with all the Moon Boys, super sweet affection, kisses, a very important question), angst (negative emotions about birthdays), implied smut

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 3,348

Steven, Marc, and Jake love you. They loves everything about you, from how you talk, to how you have a ‘lucky’ something for every category of item you own, to how big your heart is. But there is one thing about you that particularly irks them.

In the year and a half that you have been together with them, they has yet to find out when your birthday is. For all they knows, they could have missed it twice! Hell, you’ve remembered theirs twice and have done incredibly loving things for both.

They have tried everything—Steven even tried to sneak a peak at your license once, but turned out to be in a different wallet. Steven only knew his lack of knowledge wasn’t by virtue of him not trying extremely hard, because Marc and Jake couldn’t find out either.

Jake enjoyed playing around with the fantasy that you were a secret spy or assassin who stepped away from the action to lead a normal, quiet life. Steven and Marc were ready to quickly dismiss it when they remembered that they served as an avatar for the Egyptian God of the moon. In all honesty, there was a chance that Jake could be right. 

“Did you know that in Ancient Egypt, Pharaohs didn’t celebrate birthdays on the actual day?” Steven asks as he hands you a dish from the suds. “They celebrated their coronation day since it was when they were born into the role of ruler.”

“Interesting,” you respond as you use the towel to dry the plate.

“It’s a bit sad, though, innit? That other people didn’t celebrate their birthdays. It wasn’t a common thing.”

“Well, I mean, I guess people make a big deal out of birthdays and place a lot of pressure on them. Maybe the Egyptians had it right.”

“But it’s an important day, you know? Someone fantastic was brought to the world, that’s worth celebratin’.”

You have a feeling you know what he’s getting at. You choose to remain quiet.

“You’re worth celebratin’, (Y/N).”

You feel tears sting at your eyes, and you suck in your bottom lip to prevent yourself from crying.

“Why haven’t you told us when your birthday is?” he pleads softly.

You dip your head and shrug. “My birthday . . . I don’t know,” you mutter. “I have a lot of mixed feelings about it, and I don’t know how to say them without sounding whiny.”

Steven tilts your chin up with a sudsy finger so your eyes lock onto his.

“We’re all ears,” he says tenderly.

You let out a sigh, but Steven’s finger refuses to let your gaze leave his.

“No matter how old I got or whatever new friends I made, my friends and colleagues and even my exes always forgot my birthday. I always made it a point to remember theirs, get a gift, a card, whatever, because—it’s the friggin’ day they’re born! And then I always had these small, wistful expectations there’d be something done for me like a surprise, but it was always nothing. Once I got into my college years, I’d have these hopes and expectations of what I’d have done by that birthday, and most of them never came true. My ‘have a first kiss’ goal was deferred for eight years until I was 25.” You close your eyes and give your head a little shake. “I’m just always disappointed by my birthday with other people and myself. Never a real reason to celebrate.”

Steven dries his hands and wipes away yours tears with the pads of his thumb as he pulls you in for a loving hug.

“Will you tell us when your birthday is, love?” Steven whispers into your hair. “Please?”

Unable to resist his tender embrace, you tell him the date, and he pulls back to scan your face. “That’s Thursday,” he states.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It is.”

You don’t expect him to cradle your face in his hands while he kisses you deeply. “Boy, do we have some idea’s stewin’ in our brain,” he beams as he gives you another kiss. “And you know what? Since I missed it last year, you’re gonna have a half-birthday celebration that is gonna knock your knickers right off of you.”

“My knickers?” you laugh, your hurt feelings quickly leaving your body.

Steven whistles and moves his hand like a plane to emphasize the absolute absence of panties you’ll have before he hops up and rubs his hands together in excitement. 

“Oh,” he says as he holds up a finger. “This is why we couldn’t figure out your birthday, right? You’re not secretly a spy or assassin?”

You laugh at the implication, the sadness rolling off of your body. “Jake’s idea?”

Steven nods. 

“Well, I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you, and I’d hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. And then there’s the issue of getting rid of the body, and we’re on the fifth floor—.”

“See, I know you’re jokin’, but part of me is actually a little spooked right now,” Steven says.

“No, hon. I’m not a spy,” you giggle, moving to kiss his cheek and push his curly hair back. “Sorry to disappoint Jake.”

Steven breathes a sigh of relief and dips his head as you hold onto him. "Oh, thank the gods!"

You’re vaguely aware of the shifting on your mattress as you continue to enjoy a cozy slumber under the comforter with your head on the pillows. After a bit, you feel another shift on the mattress along with the warmth of another body whose smell you know all too well. 

“Happy birthday, my love,” Steven whispers with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You let out a tired moan as you roll into Steven’s body, wrapping an arm around his middle and burying your face into his chest as you try to pull yourself back into a deep sleep. 

“Come now, I’ve made you your favorite. And I have a nice big mugga mornin’ Joe with your name on it,” he encourages.

You unbury your head slightly, looking up at him with still heavy eyes. He smiles as he looks down at you, kissing your forehead.

“I knew if the kisses didn’t do it, the coffee would,” he chuckles.

As you sit up in bed, Steven twists his torso and places a breakfast tray on your lap, presenting you with waffles, fresh cut fruit, and veggie sausage.

“Thank you, hon,” you tell him, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Anythin’ for the birthday girl,” he hums, placing a kiss on your neck that sends goosebumps throughout your body. “I still wish you could’ve taken the day off.”

“Trust me, if I didn’t have these big meetings, I’d probably just stay in bed with you three.”

“Don’t give Jake any ideas—he’d find a way to make those meetings cancelled,” Steven chuckles, stealing a strawberry for himself. You know there’s nothing particularly aphrodisic or phallic about a strawberry, but watching Steven’s lips move around the red fruit and how his tongue licks away the juice sends your head spinning. Steven catches you looking at him and smirks. “Yes, love?”

“Oh, nothing,” you blush as you move to take a bite of the waffles in front of you.

“Mm, likely story,” he hums as he licks his lips once more, bringing his lips to your pulse point for a chaste kiss.

“I don’t know that I’m gonna be able to finish these, hon,” you chuckle as you take a closer look at the stack. “You made eight?”

“I’ve seen you devour a stack of waffles with no issue before.”

“Yeah, on a weekend where I don’t have to go do a full day of work later.”

“Then lucky for you, I am here to help,” he smiles, stealing your fork to snatch a bite of waffles for himself. “Bloody hell, I’m a good cook.”

We continue to sit in bed and eat the fluffy breakfast food until you have to get ready for work. As you fix your hair in the bathroom, Steven takes care of the dishes; he finishes drying them as you move from the bathroom to put on your clothes. As you slide on your sweater, Steven shuffles into the bedroom.

“Let me walk you to work today?” he whispers as he lifts out the hair tucked into the collar of your sweater. 

“I want to say yes, but then I wouldn’t want to go in or have you leave,” you respond just as quietly. “Especially after a morning like this one. It’d be the bed predicament on the sidewalk.”

Steven brings his lips to yours slowly as you wrap your arms around his waist. The kiss is tender and lazy, much like how you wish you could spend the day with one another. Steven lets out a defeated sigh as his lips part from yours, resting his forehead against yours.

“Text me when you get there?” he asks as his fingers play with your hair.

“Of course,” you tell him. "Love you."

Steven hands you your purse, letting you adjust it on your shoulder before he places more quick kisses on your lips, murmuring a "Love you more," as you attempt to make it out the door.

“What?” you chuckle as you put your purse on the table by the door. Jake is leaning on the kitchen table like a puppy that needs to be let out.

“I can’t wait for my girlfriend to do part two of her birthday?” Jake smirks as he suavely moves over from the wooden surface and meets you at the door, his hands on your waist as he plants a passionate kiss on your lips.

“And what would part two be, exactly?” you smile as you bite your lip, keeping them just out of reach of his so you don’t spend the rest of the night making out in the kitchen—although, you wouldn’t be opposed to it.

“I can’t give away all of the details, mi corazón. Now, go to the bedroom, put on what’s laid out, and then we’ll go to part two.”

You smirk at him and scrunch your eyebrows playfully as you try to figure out what he has planned. You do as he asks, nonetheless. Lying on the bed, you see a beautiful sky blue satin dress with an asymmetrical hemline and silver strappy heels. You slide on the dress and it fits like a glove—so much like a glove, you can see the line of your underwear underneath the fabric. Lightly chuckling to myself, you slide off your panties and take off your bra. Usually, you’d be opposed to going full commando, but when you see yourself in the mirror, everything looks better—the dress was made to be worn on your body without undergarments. You slide on the heels to finish off the look and quickly comb your hair to revitalize it from the day. When you meet Jake back in the living room, he licks his lips and smirks as he looks at you, giving you bedroom eyes as you move closer to him.

“Now will you tell me what we’re doing?” you coo as you run your hands up and down his chest.

“No,” he smiles as he pulls you in for a searing kiss, squeezing your ass for scientific reasons, you’re sure.

“You’re not wearing anything underneath this, are you?” he breathes against your lips.

“Not a stitch,” you hum as you move his hands off your rear, taking a step back and opening the door with your things in hand. “Lead the way, Lockley.”

He gives you a bedroom smirk and mutters a string of Spanish curses and erotic notions under his breath—something about not realizing how sexy you’d look and what he’d rather be doing to you.

“Don’t worry, babe, I think all of you boys will be able to do those kinds of things later,” you assure him as you pull him down by his tie for a kiss. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Not when vice looks as good as you in satin.”

Jake captures your lips in a passionate and lusty kiss that still maintains an air of chastity to it—his mind on the mission of the surprise, but his heart veering towards your shared bed.

“Come on, cariño,” he rasps as he takes your hand and leads you out of the apartment and down the stairs.

“I don’t even get a hint?” you try again as you walk along the sidewalk.

“Tell me what you think we’re doing.”

“Really? Twenty questions on my birthday?”

“Play along,” he chuckles.

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically as you lace your fingers with his. “It’s definitely somewhere fancy?”

“Is it, though?”

“I’m dressed to the nines. I don’t see how it can’t be somewhere fancy.”

“Or I wanted to show you off.”

“Okay,” you say, processing Jake’s cheeky remark, thinking of all the possibilities. “Well, dinner would be too obvious, so it clearly can’t be that.”

“Clearly,” he chuckles. “Come on, cariño, I thought you knew me better than this.”

“Ouch, gut punch!” you say, poking at it side. “I’m still thinking. You are an expert at being sneaky, I’m trying to process my options.”

“Well, you should come up with one soon. We’re almost there.”

Knowing the area, you scan through all the storefronts you can bring to your mind, when something clicks with your ensemble.

“Jake Lockley, are you taking me dancing?” you hum as you look over to him, his eyes sparkling in the dim London light.

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” he chuckles as he guides you to the left into a little courtyard that is all done up where other couples are waiting to start the lessons. “We’re gonna put those hips of yours to a different kind of work. Just for a short while, at least.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything fun or culinary up my sleeves,” Marc says as the two of you walk hand in and through the quiet park, the path lit by beautiful old street lamps.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” you tell him. “I know how much effort you all put into today. It’s nice to wrap it all up with dinner and a little stroll.”

A gentle breeze begins to pick up, and Marc immediately shrugs off his bomber jacket to place on your shoulders. You want to protest, but you love having things that he wears on your body—the warmth form his frame, the smell of his skin and cologne, the silent gesture of love.

“Thanks, baby,” you tell him softly as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Did you have a good day today?” he asks, matching your tone. “I know you mentioned your meetings—.”

“Yeah, the meetings from hell,” you sigh as you roll your neck, the mere thought of them bringing tension to your body. “Not only could they all have been emails, but they were ridiculously long and were so unproductive that we knew less by the end than we did at the start. Debbie led both.”

“Oh no, not Debbie.”

“Mmhm. Don’t get me started with that one.” You let out a long sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. “But it’s all worth it, because I get to come home to an amazing system of men who love me.”

He rests his cheek on top of your head. “We love you, too, baby.”

“How about we go home and take a bath? Wind down from the day. Get naked and wet together.”

“Mm, two of my favorite adjectives.”

“Maybe we can add some other adjectives you like to that mix,” you chuckle, lightly checking his hip with yours.

Taking a turn off the path of the park, you hop on the sidewalk and make the short walk back to the flat, snuggling close in the old elevator as it drags its way up to the top floor. 

“You want me to put on a kettle for tea or coffee or something?” you hum as you unlock the door, tossing your keys into the dish as you make your way in. “Or are we going to save all the warm water for—what are you doing?”

In your living room, Marc is perched down on one knee, a little open box in his hands as he looks up at me with his rich brown eyes.

“We were actually gonna do this next week,” Marc starts, his voice soft, the edges brimming with emotion. “But we thought this might be a really great way to end your birthday.”

“Baby . . .”

“(Y/N), I don’t think I need to begin to tell you how much we all love you. If I did, we’d be here for a hell of a long time, I’d loose feeling in my legs from the knee down, and you’d offer to help me walk over to the bed, just like how you are always there to help me and Steven and Jake with whatever comes up. You see us as whole people. You make us feel whole. You have the biggest, most caring heart that a person can have, and you love so selflessly . . .” Marc sniffles and furrows his brows as he tries to keep his cool. You take a few steps toward him, kneeling down and wiping his tears away with your thumbs. 

“Marc,” you say softly, his name on your tongue dripping with emotions.

“We can’t imagine our lives without you in it, and we never want to,” Marc continues. “Will you marry us?”

“Of course,” you practically sob, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. He holds you back just as firm, neither of you saying a word. Marc is the one who eventually breaks the embrace, moving to take out the ring out of the box to slide it on your finger slowly.

“It’s a pink sapphire, but it looks purple, and you love purple—,” Marc starts.

“—and gold jewelry looks so lovely on your skin, cariño—,” Jake continues.

“—and it’s a vintage settin’ so there’s no ill-environmental effects,” Steven finishes. “Happy birthday, my love.”

“You guys are sure?” you sniffle, your teary eyes frantically scanning their faces. “Are you sure you guys love me? That this is what you want?”

“Mi corazón, where is this coming from?” Jake asks softly, brushing tears off of your cheek. “Of course this is what we want. We’ve never felt this way about anyone before. We only want you, amore.”

“It just doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream.”

“It’s very real, love,” Steven says, gentle hands on your shoulders as he leans forward to place a sweet kiss on your forehead. “And you already said yes—there’s no take-backs.”

You let out a wet laugh as you move back in to kiss Steven—he always knows just what to say to bring a smile to your face.

“Well, I guess if there’s no take backs.”

As Steven leans forward to kiss you again, and you feel distinct shift just before we part, and you’re met once more with Marc.

“Is it still a yes?” he asks carefully.

“Of course it’s still a yes. I’ve got the three best guys in the world—why wouldn’t I want to make it official?”

Marc smiles brighter than you’ve ever seen in your life. He leans forward to kiss you once more, his arms wrapping around you tightly and picks you up, much to your surprise. The two of you continue to kiss as he walks you to the bed and lays you down on the mattress, only briefly parting from you to brush some stray hairs off of your face.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, his forehead resting on yours, allowing you to feel his eyelashes brush your cheeks. 

“I love you all so much,” you whisper. “Thank you for choosing me.”

Marc gingerly kisses the tip of your nose. “Forever and always.”

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[lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Wrote a lil something awhile back with this premise (link here) but as I'm catching up with the recent updates on diasomnia chapter, I thought "why not write this with them?", thus this idea was born. Though I haven't writed for the whole diasomnia before so lemme know if you think they're too ooc!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Here in Brazil when we met someone new or just as a form of greeting, it's customary to give them a hug and a kiss, or a polite handshake. And in general we are really affectionate with our friends. So I was thinking how some of the characters would react.

Malleus is touch-starved, plus he doesn't know much about the world and the customs of humans. So when you, a little human, constantly greet him with warm hugs and ask him to lean in a little so you can kiss his forehead and cheeks? Mal-Mal here is over the moon, wanting more of that affection he doesn't get so often, he wants to hear you making that high pitched voice while you hold his face and while you pat his head and stroke his horns. By seven, you certainly don't know what fear is. And little by little he returns your affection, laughing at your surprised expression when he kisses your forehead and smiles full of mockery.

Always so mischievous Lilia tends to use his powers to levitate you next to him every time you hug him as a form of greeting, at this point this is already a little tradition of yours. He loves receiving your kisses, pink adorning his cheeks every time, but he prefers to cup your face and pepper it with slow kisses, and sometimes sway and twirl with you from side to side as if you two were dancing. Lilia loves your small gestures of affection, even if they are just deep-rooted customs from your culture, they still mean a lot to him. I also feel like he would be the type of friend to create a secret handshake, something unique just for the two of you.

Sebek feels his cheeks flush, he tries to lecture you but only low murmurs and strangled screams leave his lips with every kiss you leave on his cheek and every hug offered. He's like a child who received the gift he's been waiting for his whole life and now he's so excited that he can't express himself, although he doesn't need to shout how he feels when his eyes express to you how much each of your gestures means to him. He will deny everything and try to act like he always does, but he is much softer on you after receiving your daily kisses and hugs.

Silver smiles, imitating your greetings as a sign of respect for you and your culture. Every kiss, handshake and hug exchanged leaves him warm inside, the other students are not as warm as you and he finds this change interesting. He likes to wonder if everyone in your country is as warm and welcoming as you, and he would love to hear you talk about where you come from. He would love to ask you to hug him while he takes a nap, but the idea is embarrassing enough for him to put into words, but maybe one day it will come true.

[heyitsmeyourfavoritechick]

⋆♱ 🕸 Scorpio observation 🕸 ♱⋆

𖤐 Pluto in scorpio had a rise between 1985-1995 of test-tube babies (my bf born in 87 was a test tube baby himself and had a surrogate mom.)

𖤐 1984 AIDS was discovered and announced by the health services.

𖤐 1987 the first heart-lung transplant and successful surgical operation of a separation of twins.

𖤐 1983 mobile genetic elements was discovered by Barbra’s McClintock (her moon is in Scorpio.)

𖤐 Scorpio has extreme intense emotions that aren’t for the faint of heart (aka air signs) only other water signs can hang and earth signs are they’re safe heaven.

𖤐 They’re emotions are the underbelly of the moon if we’re looking at all the water signs as a whole. But they hide it well keeping they’re true feelings hidden from everyone and everything.

𖤐 Like the shell of a scorpion they can bend and almost go flat and you could never shift them if they’re character. You could never fold them.

𖤐 Scorpio are ruthless about getting they’re “own” way.

𖤐 Usually moon in scorpio have a square face. At times scorpio are know to have direct eye contact and intense eyes, very piercing. Defined sharp face features, high nose or cheekbones, strong eyebrows or defined brows. Hair usually straight or dark.

𖤐 If a Scorpio women hair is normally dark and if she goes blonde, watch tf out, she WILL eat your heart out.

𖤐 Known for the intensity of their eyes but if they have a crush on someone they can’t look at them fully, but if they’re in the same room as them they take looks at they’re crush all the time. (Trust me, we notice as the crush)

𖤐 If your Saturn is in Scorpio you are a force of personality and you can easily control other to “join your side” and the the “leader” of your own team/group. (Very cultish of you.) but you can only unlock this if you stop being shy and gain confidence, break all those internal walls and show people what you’re all about!! (I’m routing for you!)

𖤐 But within Saturn in Scorpio this placement can create love affairs or affairs in general, scandals and tons of secrets you keep or other keep of you.

𖤐 Don’t be surprised if you had rumors or gossip about you at one point. (The talk of the group chat)

𖤐 You attract secret love affairs that are prone to your downfall and with backstab you or betray you at some point.

𖤐 When they were young they had some kind of health problem or visit the ER once in they’re life or maybe had a near life death experience.

𖤐 I don’t know why a Scorpio feels so alone with a lot of people want to be with them, or be them or be on top of them (;

𖤐 Without them there wouldn’t be pain there would be the feeling of sorrow, they feel what we don’t want to feel. And that within itself is powerful.

[bethelighthalazia]

Chapter 1 - A journey´s beginning

Summary:  Y/n witnesses a fight on the village´s market and things start to get stirred up in her life. Who are these strangers and why does she feel that something about them will decide her fate?

Genre: adventure, fluff

Pairing:  ?? x fem!half-siren!reader

Additional Characters: ATEEZ, Stray Kids

Word Count:  2014

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of weapons, fighting

Networks: @mirohs-aurora-society

Notes: There might be an explanation ‘chapter’ for some things, only if you all want/need it. As for now, ‘mother rain’ is just a name that y/n has given her parent. The being itself does use any pronouns, but is feminine appearance wise, which is why y/n calls them mother.

additional links: << PrevCh Masterpost Next Ch >>

© by bethelighthalazia. Do not repost, copy or translate. Unless stated otherwise, those works are mine and born from my own ideas. I don't have any claim on the mentioned real existing Idols whatsoever.

“When the red moon rises, And paints the land in its fiery shade. A child shall be born to land and sea, Its’ heart's voice with the power to unite. The path will be torn,  But a heart's melody will lead. Clawed embraces like a thorn, The one eyed’s Illusion offers a home. When the child gains powers,  Land and sea their witness and friend. Deep ocean's bell calling home all sirens, To gather under one heart's voice. A new queen will be raised to her throne,  Her call heard far and near. Friends won't shy, fighting for her to rise, When blood is against her, seeking demise.”

It had been eons since the last red moon hung in the night sky, so the excitement rose high when the birth of y/n fell on the day of this very rare lunar event. Highly anticipated amongst the sirens of this clan, since the child born on this day would become the ruler of their entire species, even though y/n was only the outcome of her mother being bedded by a human pirate. Excitement was replaced with disappointment the moment y/n took the first breath of air and water, because even though she looked as if screaming from the depths of her lungs, no sound was heard. The girl was born without a voice. How could this thing become their queen one day? This had to be kept a secret, the child disposed of very quickly. So, in the dead of night, one chosen of the clan's warriors was sent to bring the child to the highest mountain of the nearest island, so it would not be able to touch the sea and soon starve and dry out. 

Fate had different plans for this half siren though, and even if left for its death, the child survived thirteen days without food or water before she was found by none other than the soul of the sea itself. Disguised as a human being, they took her in and raised y/n, naming her after a mythical remedy that had long been forgotten. The child's youth was filled with warmth, wonders and love, protected and sheltered by the incarnation of the sea itself, yet living in a small hut on land.

Years went by and the little rainbow scaled half-siren rose into a beautiful young woman, her white hair shimmering in all the colors of the light when swimming in the water. While growing older, she learnt to hide her scales from human eyes, so she could walk through the nearby village, sirens have always been feared and often hunted. Every time she'd leave home to visit the market, y/n had been told to be careful. “Remember, my child. The wolves control these lands, do not cross the crescent moon pack.” The sea always told her and, once again, the young woman nodded with a smile. Y/n had heard these words often enough that they have carved itself into her mind by now. The basket for goods from the market in hand, her flute and a bag with some coin attached to her belt, the young half siren walked over to her parent, kissing their forehead.

‘Do not worry, mother rain. I will not stray from my path. My friend will accompany me again.’ Y/n communicates, using her hands and a language without words for this. Not many people understand her, nor do they want to, most of them call her way of communicating a work of magic and don't want anything to do with it. At the name y/n had given them, the sea let out a melodic laugh, shaking his head. “You have yet to explain to me why you call me that, my little tadpole,” they hum, cupping the girl's cheek for a moment before sending her off to the market. 

Why does y/n call them mother rain? She doesn't quite know herself. Mother, because they always have been there for her as far as she could remember. They're her mother, it's that easy. Rain, because - well, why? Walking down the dirt path to the village, y/n kept thinking about an explanation and before entering the market, she found it. The falling rain always has been soothing for y/n, the feeling on her scales, the sound it makes when hitting the ground, it just made her feel safe and calm. Mother rain had the same effect for the young woman. And she never learned her parent’s real name, nor is she aware that they are the sea itself.

“Y/n! Over here,” a familiar voice called out when y/n neared the village, drawing her attention to the young male, who's crouched on a boulder. His ashen brown hair falling into his face didn't hide a new scar under his eye. Her eyes wide and brows furrowed in worry, y/n pointed at the scar when she came closer, causing the young man to chuckle. “This? Oh, it's fine, don't worry.” He hummed, jumped off the boulder and stepped closer to y/n, so she could inspect the scar. “Wolves do cry sometimes. I just had to be reminded of it.” Now that y/n was able to see it up close, the scar reminded her of tears trailing down the man's face, causing her to huff out some air. “Don't be upset, please. It didn't hurt…well, not badly at least-” His words drew another huff from y/n, who shook her head. Her best friend often misjudged the gravity of some of his actions, so he got into trouble a lot and therefore got punished by - well, she's not sure by whom. Although, now that she thought about it - he usually referred to himself as one of the wolves. Y/n always downplayed this as him joking around, but what if he really is one of the feared pack controlling these lands?

A tap on her nose pulled her out of her thoughts, causing her to look up at the face of her friend. Jeongin never judged her, nor did he ever harm her or get her into dangerous situations, so why should she judge him? Even if he was one of the pack, she would never want to lose him as her best friend, one of the only people in this village who liked her and talked to her. “Did Rain send you to the market again?” The young man asked, gesturing towards the empty basket and when y/n nodded, he took her hand to walk with her to the village. Jeongin never cared or minded that she was mute, he didn't need to hear her talk to understand her. Being dragged after the young male, y/n gave a silent chuckle, but then stopped, holding Jeongin back from walking further. She could sense something familiar, something that sent a shudder down her spine; she felt the presence of another siren. 

“Huh? What's wrong, y/n? Are you not feeling well? I can bring you back to Rain, if you like-” Jeongin stopped, his head snapped towards the market, because sudden shouting and other noises came from there. Both of them looked at each other before the young male started running towards the commotion, y/n stumbling after her best friend. It only took them a few moments to reach the market and both could see what caused the noises. People hurriedly put away their wares and tried to get their market stands out of the way, while others were standing around the entry to the tavern.

Eyes wide, y/n let go of Jeongin's hand when the young male hurried towards the commotion to talk to one of the people around. The young half siren also stepped forward, freezing in place when she saw what's happening. A young man with dark hair and one eye covered by a bandage was fighting with someone else. 

“Hyung! What happened?” y/n could hear Jeongin's voice and she walked over to him, grasping the young man's arm with a frightened expression. “Jisung, why is your mate fighting that man?” The one Jeongin spoke to was trembling slightly, looking worried to the fighting people before turning to the younger male. “This man shoved me, I- I accidentally bumped into that man's friend-” Y/n could sense that the man Jeongin called Jisung was nervous, maybe even scared, so she put a hand on his arm gently, trying to calm him down.

A collective gasp drew the young woman's attention, her hands going up to her mouth when she saw what happened to cause this. The black haired one, who was wearing the same clothes like Jisung, had managed to cut, or rather claw, the other's chest. However, the other didn't seem to give up, despite the begging of his friend, a white haired male. “Hongjoong, please! Stop it, or this wolf will kill you!” The man pleaded, causing y/n to freeze, her eyes widened in realization. That white haired person was the siren she sensed, another half siren! 

“Minho, stop!” Another man walked onto the marketplace, but he didn't seem in a hurry. He looked intimidating, a scar across his face and the fur vest not covering much of his torso, which also was scattered with old and some seemingly newer scars. His voice actually made the fighting male stop, it had something like an echo to it, as if he wasn't the only one speaking, yet no one else had opened his mouth. What seemed off to her, was that Jeongin and Jisung also cowered at this voice. “Chan, he attacked Ji-” “Stop! We do not start fights with guests of the village, Minho!” The man, Chan, hushed the other quickly, none of them noticing the movement from the one eyed one called Hongjoong.

Y/n did notice though and before he could attack the others again, she rushed between them, stomping on the ground hard once, which sent a little shockwave of water across the area, a faint ring of a bell sounding through the water. This not only calmed the people in the area, but also revealed the rainbow scales on her legs for a split second. Despite that, Jeongin and his friends, as well as the white-haired one and Hongjoong saw it before y/n was able to hide them from view. “Seonghwa, she’s-” Hongjoong gasped and looked at his friend, the white haired guy, but the friend just shook his head. When the young woman looked at Jeongin, she got a glimpse of his shocked expression, but even though he was surprised about this revelation, he spoke up quickly, approaching the injured Hongjoong with y/n. 

“We have to bring him to Rain, they can help.” Jeongin spoke calmly and helped the white haired guy to pick up Hongjoong and support him. Chan watched the scene cautiously, gesturing to Minho to follow their youngest. “You go with him and make sure he comes home in one piece. I'll clean up your mess here, Minho,” the oldest of the wolves hissed, wondering how none of them had noticed a siren living close by. Minho already wanted to protest, but one look from Chan silenced him. 

Leading them down the path to Rain's hut, y/n was thinking about what happened, how shocked the ones who saw her scales were. “Y/nie, Stop worrying-” Jeongin's voice got cut by Seonghwa, who sounded curious rather than upset or scared. “You're a half siren, aren't you?” He asked in a calm manner, still supporting his friend while walking. Y/n merely nodded, her head hanging low. She remembered her parent's words, that most people despise sirens and are afraid of them. The group stayed silent the rest of the way, only when they reached the small hut, y/n got more lively again, hurrying inside and dragging the others with her. The only one who stayed outside the hut was Minho, who was very suspicious of the whole situation around this young woman.

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