#let alone the lore of winged light

[ma1dita]

star crossing

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> a wish your heart makes | next -> to see the chaos through words: 4k summary: (established relationship) The one where both your dreams come to life for a night (crossing the stars for love is easier said than done) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: as always feel free to ask about lore, especially with the dreams they have at the end of the chapter that depict different greek legends. (esp: hero and leander, dionysus and ariadne, cleopatra and antony if you need a quick google search!) posted: 10/25/24

—

It was most definitely past your bedtime.

Checking the time on your watch and kicking off your boots at the bottom of the stairs, you yawn as exhaustion pulls you up the wooden steps like strings for a marionette. 

1:11 am.

A sidelong glance at the twins’ closed doors and the beautiful, sweet sound of silence greets your swaying form; that’s how you know your day as Camp Half-Blood’s head counselor is finally over. The door to your bedroom is wide open, wood creaking beneath your bare feet as your eyes fall upon the scene before you.

And Luke really, really tried to stay up and wait for you.

“Baby, you still awake?”

The sound of your laughter echoes in the quiet of your bedroom along with the soft twinkle of light that filters in through the linen curtains that dance across your window. To complete the ethereal picture is your love in human form, conked out against the floral bedspread like a chalk outline from a murder scene. You stifle your snorts behind a clenched fist, bending down to his winged shoes that hang off the bed, fluttering a hello to you at the brush of fingertips as you whisper, “Maia.” Even they get to fall asleep before you, closing in on themselves and thudding to the floor when you loosen the laces. 

Luke has his cheek stuck between the pages of your weathered copy of Pride and Prejudice—chapter 60, where Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth talk about how they fell in love. You pluck it from his grasp with nimble fingers as you bookmark his page and toss it onto your nightstand. Even watching him sleep has you bubbling with devotion for this boy, and what better way to admit that than to let him know you’ve come home? He still doesn’t stir, even as your knees bump along the sides of his body when you climb over him, slowly sinking into the soft of your mattress and the firm of his midsection. You’ve mounted him like one does a horse, observing his eyes moving under the delicate skin of his lids. 

Usually, this works wonders for Luke Castellan, hero, yes—but first and foremost a teenage boy who gets excited when you even look at him the wrong way (There is no wrong way).

“Mm. Mr. Darcy…” you tease, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to his jaw, then nudging his scar with your thumb as he smiles against it. There’s no question needed, he knows you by touch alone, down to the star stuff you’re made of—with the way his hands feel cosmic against your skin as they slip under your shirt and pull you down into the only fights you like partaking in, of lips and love. You’re smiling hot against his mouth, the kiss of life reviving him even as your teeth clink together sounding like a symphony against the laughter lining the beats of your hearts—so close but not close enough. 

Never close enough.

“Been waiting for you,” he gruffs, tugging at your bottom lip as he kisses you quickly once more. His voice is heavy with sleep, crackling like an open flame. Luke pushes away the hair that drapes against the shape of your face with one hand, the other resting comfortably around your hip, and you sigh. It’s easier to breathe when he’s near, and the weight of the world feels a little less oppressive as you look down at him—drowsy with sleep and a bit drunk on loving you too much for his own good.

“Sorry, Lu. M’gonna change and then we cuddle?”

He nods, watching your body lift off of him and already missing you as you walk across the room. The sounds that come with your night routine are like ASMR to his sleepy consciousness—hearing the rush of water in the shower, the soft sound of you humming to keep yourself awake. Luke lays there with a small smile, wearing a tie-dye shirt of yours that cuts off at his midriff and boxers that have seen better days. A lot of your relationship is like this—domesticity after hours and mostly away from prying eyes (not if Luke can help it). Some might think it’s boring and there’s only so much to do to entertain yourself hidden deep in the Long Island Sound, but love is in the way he spreads your wet hair over his arm so it doesn’t stick to your back as you lie down. Love is in the gasp you let out when you finally look at the ceiling, glittering and glowing just for you.

“You fixed them!”

And yes, there are stars that dot the night sky outside your window reflecting through the glass but they’ve also come alive on the ceiling of your cabin after all these years. They started peeling a while ago, but you haven't had the chance to fix them yourself. Hand-pressed and fluorescent, Luke restuck them up one by one flying up and around in his shoes while you were off doing night rounds. Even in the dark, he thinks he’d find their faint shine in your eyes, knowing the adoration in your eyes is a sight reserved only for him.

“You like ‘em? I tried to do the constellations but I think I fucked up. There might be two little dippers.”

Your hand slaps his chest and he snorts, breaking out into a grin when you shift against him, “They’re really pretty.” He thinks you’re really pretty—and the ugly face you make when he voices his thoughts still doesn’t change his mind.

Soft fingers trace their way up his abdomen, under the worn fabric of your shirt that he’s stolen and you murmur, “Thank you, baby.” The silence that follows is full—it swells in both of your chests like a balloon about to pop. You always feel like this when you’re with Luke, to be honest. Airy and in a whirlwind, left in the dust after he stirs your insides up to rearrange the mess until everything feels right again.

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look of the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

“Hey!” he jokes, “No spoilers, Trouble. I was getting to the good part.” You roll over, leaning your chin onto his chest. He watches your head move on his body with every breath he takes.

“Luke, that is the good part. You’d know if you didn’t fall asleep.”

“I think I like books better when you explain them to me,” he pouts and he’s so stupidly attractive it makes you giggle. Luke likes the way your laughter surrounds his heart, pounding back against his ribcage as if asking to be let in. “Reading is hard. I don’t know how you do it.”

“I like stories,” you muse, tracing the slope of his nose gently and his eyes flutter shut like a drowsy baby, “Maybe it’s because of my dad but words are so vivid to me. I don’t need to figure out what the letters mean, the pictures play in my head like a movie. Stories are what keep me sane, I think.”

Luke’s hand sifts through your hair, cradling the base of your head. He tugs at it in a fluid motion so that you’re leaning up to look at him double chin and all, “I wish everyone could see the world the way you do, Trouble. I think everything would be a lot more…”

“Chaotic?” 

He laughs. It’s a loud sound that comes from his belly and you smack him, afraid that he’ll wake the twins downstairs.

“I’d say fascinating. I’ve never met someone like you,” he smiles thoughtfully, poking the soft of your cheek. You’re pouting now, albeit playfully as you say,” I sure hope not. You’re stuck with me and no one else.”

“May the gods have mercy on us all,” he groans dramatically, the air getting knocked out of him with an oof! when you flop your head back onto his chest, “Fine, I’ll stop. Tell me a story, Trouble.”

“Like what? I can tell you about… What about…” you hum, playing with his fingers, “Hero and Leander?”

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head, curls brushing against his forehead with the movement. Your eyes are alight now, your mind racing with the thoughts in your head and any inkling of sleep is washed away.

“Cleopatra and Antony?”

“You told my siblings that one last week.”

“Luke, you were snoring by the time I got to the part with Cleopatra fleeing with her troops…” you chuckle as he tugs your hair in protest. You both have a way with words—his are smooth, and yours send him to sleep. Not in a boring way—he could never be bored of you. Every word that leaves your mouth captivates him, calms him in a way that makes him forget that anything bad has ever happened. And anyway, he ripped your copy of that tale back when you were 16. You didn’t talk to him for a week and he was frightened and felt so bad that he snuck out and permanently borrowed a first edition from a bookstore two towns over. It sits in its shiny dustjacket on the top of your shelf. The story of Orpheus and Eurydice was one he knew like the back of his hand after the production earlier this year (who else would you make the kids run their lines with), so that one was out of the question too.

“What about the one with my dad and step-mom?” Your boyfriend is silent, and you think he’s fallen asleep again until his hot breath reaches your face as he sighs, “Are there any stories you like that…I dunno, aren’t sad? Or end in death?”

“Luke, they’re all love stories. Lots of them are star-crossed. What does it matter?”

He sits up on his forearms, looking down at the picture you make laid against him—hair framing your face like a halo and cheeks kissed by moonlight. The son of Hermes blinks at you, a finger reaching out to boop your nose, "Because they’re all tragedies, pretty girl. Tell me something with a good ending. Something real.” You sit up, opposite from him as you lean your head against your shoulder and roll your eyes, “Love at most times is a tragedy, baby. The greatest ones are—and those are real stories!” Luke doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer. How could it be that the greatest love stories have endings at all?

He doesn’t dare think you two would be the same. 

There is no conceivable end to his love for you. The Fates would just have to accept that, he thinks.

“I can hear you thinking from here. You’re gonna hurt yourself,” you joke, tugging at his arm. “Angelface. Hey. Just because those stories ended like that doesn’t make them bad.” Luke’s playing with the edge of your quilt and not looking into your eyes. He’s uncharacteristically skeptical, but you’re the daughter of the god of storytelling—you would know better than him. Your expression softens; you’ve never had anyone be scared of losing you until him. It’s always been the other way around. So it must be true then that love is a catalyst because everything changes once you fall deep into it. 

“Luke. I’ll tell you a good story.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles, looking up at you like he wasn’t the one who hung the stars up onto your wood-paneled sky. You lean in and kiss him quickly, and he’d think you didn’t mean to if it weren’t for the stupid smile that graces your face afterward, “I like our story the best.”

You two have been in a relationship for almost half a year now, at each other’s wit’s end for four years, and in love…well who knows when that started? It depends on who you ask.

“Really?” 

A smile splits the scar on his face. It’s one of your favorite things about Luke Castellan—perfect even with what most consider his flaws. But you know he wouldn’t be himself without it, not anymore. He takes it wherever he goes, even with the weight that scar presses down on him most nights—the touch of humility it’s given him since his quest.

Plus it would’ve taken you much longer to fall in love with the egotistical little fuck he was before that.

“No notes, no rewrites,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. Sometimes, you need reminders that life isn’t all that bad at Camp Half-Blood. Even if you’re the daughter of the Camp Director, things could be worse than being in bed and watching stars (both real and fake) with your boyfriend at one in the morning. Your face goes numb at the same time you realize something, “Like Mr. Darcy said. I don’t remember when I fell in love with you. I don’t think I could pinpoint it. I just remember thinking that I didn’t hate you like I thought I did. It shocked me more that I liked you instead of the fact that I was in love with you. Deep down I already knew that.” It was an inexplicable pull—something unspoken between the two of you that no matter what happened next, your futures were sure to be intertwined.

“Hmm. If the greatest love stories are tragedies, then what would ours be?” Luke mumbles, his nose grazing against yours. It tickles with the breath of his question that falls against your lips.

“Well, those are stories with endings, Lu. There’s no end in sight for us. I won’t allow it.”

Smirking at him matter-of-factly, you’re positive there’s no other way. Luke Castellan being in your life is the only thing you’d lay everything on the line for. It’s the only confident assurance you have.

“What are you talking about now?”

“With us, we make anything possible, don’t we? Look. Would Romeo and Juliet be as memorable or good of a story if they lived happily ever after?” He tugs at your necklace, pulling you in with a finger as he whispers, “You’re insane.” And though that’s true, he’s happy about it. 

“Great love stories are tragedies because they have endings. We have so much living to do!” Springing to your feet, you’re jumping up and down as you bounce on the mattress. Luke’s laughter makes a melody with the sounds of the squeaky box spring as he looks at you from below as you whisper-yell, “It’s nowhere near over for us babe! If I’m crazy, and you’re in love with me—then so are you, loser!” You point at him like it’s an accusation, and well, he can’t argue with that, so he hops up to meet you with an earth-shattering grin, “You’re right again.”

The two of you are jumping up and down like idiots in love, the bed squeaking underfoot as you giggle, half spinning, half hugging until Luke murmurs, “But then what happens at the end?”

It’s never been easy, getting to where you two are—trusting each other with the baggage you came to camp with. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always wondering when the gods will laugh at your expense. You’re nuzzled against the shirt he stole from your closet, inhaling citrus and the subtle smell of berries. Luke must’ve used your shampoo again—but the fact is clear.

There is no him without you, or you without him.

“There’s no end if we don’t give up. The people in the stories didn’t,” you say indignantly. Staring up into a sea of amber, he’s unblinking. Luke is actually worried about this—you. “Trouble, all your examples of great loves died.”

“Baby…but until whatever end, they were together. Afterlife, or Olympus—it still ended with love. I just think…” You mumble into his chest, “You and me…we’re crazy enough to brave that. Star crossing.... Even if we’re not gods.” He’s deep in thought now. Luke would go the distance every night even if it meant to see you for even a moment. He’d complete any quest if it meant forever with you, jump ship, and leave all his responsibilities if it ensured your safety, even walk through hell to bring you back. And in that moment, the stars seemed like a cakewalk. Because Luke would do it too, for you.

“I know we are,” he chuckles, “I’m sure of it.”

Soon enough, you’re both tucked under the patterned bedspread, eyes slowly fluttering shut in the silence of the shadows and twinkly stars. The last thing Luke Castellan notices as he tucks his nose against your cheek is that everything from your sleepy eyes to the blinking glimmer of the sky is ultraviolet. The stars are within reach, breathing softly against his neck tonight. He thinks he hears you mutter something just as Hypnos takes him from you, “You’re the first person I ever pictured a future with, you know that?” 

As everything fades to black, he knows one thing— you deserve the world. 

He just needs to figure out how to give it to you. 

—

Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re pretty much sleeping on top of each other, or that even in dreams you want each other there, but there’s a dizzying sequence that takes place in the few hours before dawn breaks. Morpheus, the god of dreams, must be laughing wherever he is—even in his domain you two are inseparable. He allows it just this once; two demigods escaping to a different realm together. 

Even gods break the rules if it means for a good story.

—

Winter air blows through the open window of your tower as you wait for your lover to arrive. You cradle the flame in your palm, struggling to relight the lantern through mist and fog and you’re worried he’s lost his way.  Rain patters against the stone walls of your prison, catching onto the tendrils of hair that frame your face. It’s been so long already.

He should be here by now. He promised.

You always worry—if all you can do is anxiously pray for his safe arrival, you’ll do it every time until he’s in your arms again. He calls you his Hero, but the fear that wracks your body as you wait here is not a testament to bravery. Each journey of love he makes is—no matter how many hours, no matter if the sea nymphs drag him by the ankles—he will find a way to your guiding light. Leaning over the windowsill, your eyes squint in the darkness, watching raindrops pelt the Hellespont like bullets instead of water.

Your light will lead him home to you, as it always has.

Even if the weather changes, his devotion does not. Daybreak spreads to the horizon, and Aphrodite answers your solemn prayer—bringing you your love in human form. The sight of him steals your breath away as the goddess has stolen his. He fought his way to your door, curls and clothes covered in seaweed and sand. But your lover never breaks a promise, lifeless eyes reflecting the color of the flame hanging in your window.

Such luck it is to serve the goddess of love and have her take it from you.

The decision to jump is as involuntary as breathing. He’s at the bottom anyway, ready to catch your fall. The air is still cold in the morning light—goosebumps ravage your body as you take your journey to be with him.

You trust that it will feel like summer in his arms again.

—

Another day brings another battle, and the end of the war is near. Octavian will be knocking down your door and everything you’ve worked for has gone to hell. You always knew the best lies to tell—you knew what to say to make him run across the continent to see you. A courtesan meant to be his queen, he’d give up his empire if meant you were alright.

It doesn’t matter now. 

Your love lays in your arms with stagnated breath and his blood is on your hands, yet still he’s yours. He was yours at the height of the empire, and he is yours as you both hide from the rest of the world in this dusty mausoleum. You are his mortal and unending wound, the biggest loss of his career but his heart’s greatest victory. And you’re breathing—that’s what matters to him; nothing else. Everything he touches turns red and by now, the ocean must be sullied by the blood of his troops.

History will remember you both as villains.

But as the poison sinks its fangs into your system, you interlock your bloodied hand with his with not a single regret.

Love is your undoing, and there is no greater glory than this.

—

The saddest thing about betrayal is that it never comes from your enemies. 

The sand is warm in between his toes and the ship he arrived on is long gone, along with his ex-lover. But in his path to know grief and anger he found you. It was a spiritual awakening in a grove dedicated to your namesake—and from the second he stepped foot into your space, you had to have him.

He’s never encountered a god before, much less one that loved him like you do. You’re made of ichor, sacred, and meant to be untouchable. You believe in him like no other, and he doesn’t think he’s worthy, even if you insist that it’s okay to see eye to eye. Yours are like amethysts on his favorite crown from a home he used to have before Naxos—before he threw it all away for love. 

Now he has nothing. 

Not a coin in his pocket, just the crown on his head. There is no money or titles here on this island, so he doesn’t understand what about him is so appealing to you. The words that come out of your mouth are insane—though that is your domain, he finds it difficult to believe that you are anything but trouble. You promise him a place with him in the heavens when he’s wasted his life away being left behind by the people he loves and the paths he chose to take. A large part of carving new paths is always having an endpoint. 

So he makes one, leaving everything behind again before you can hurt him like he’s been hurt before.

It seems that every path leads to you. Through insurmountable odds, you show up and revel in the pain—you blossom from it, descending into the Underworld and brushing hellfire off your shoulder to save him, a gentle hand outstretched with a promise of eternity and unimaginable riches. He’s been rich before—he had everything in the palm of his hand once upon a time but forever is a path he’s never traveled. 

You toss his crown into the sky until it shatters into starlight and smile at him. There is all the time in the universe to watch the stars together.

—

All the small details in those dreams will be lost to you by morning—an inkling of something that almost was or could’ve been, only marked by the faintest touch of time. It covers your eyes and fades away when Morpheus lifts the haze by the sound of your morning alarm. Luke blinks slowly, waking up with you in his arms and feeling like he’s traveled through different lifetimes without leaving the bed you share. The son of Hermes looks down at you lovingly, face smooshed against his neck, trying to chase an ending to that dream in case the gods feel nice enough to let you have a few more minutes of shut-eye.

Somewhere, everywhere, there is a tug of fate that transcends lifetimes for you two to meet.

But in this life, compared to others, you can only hold onto the truth with a firm hand; that you were there last night under all of the stars—ones you’ve touched and the ones you reach for, dreaming of a life to live together. 

—

"You and I know each other in our bones." - Kurt Vonnegut

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[deesseshesca]

PAC : How can I best monetize my passions while staying true to myself?

Pull up we can do it on the red light ...

Hey Chérie D'Amour,

Sorry for the ghosting but your girl was going trough it with her health and mental. Plus fucking exam week ... can't wait for winter break. Also I am not travelling this holidays ... I am actually waiting for my birthday week so we are sooo onnnn baby ! Christmas advent calendar on KO-FI: Delulu December ! Let's do a deep dive on weather it is worth it or not to bring your situationship next year. Plus until January is all about GIRLBOSS reading on my blog.

xoxo,

I missed y'all so much

SHESCA.

PERSONAL READING (SALE) (LINK)

FIRE TO THE MOON

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DOWN TO MY CORE

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PILE 1

Your heart beats with the rhythm of a dreamer, a soul brimming with untamed passions. But dreams alone are whispers—they need hands to shape them, feet to chase them, and roots to ground them. You’ve been hoping the tides will carry you to your destiny, but the waves are asking you to swim.

Success doesn’t arrive on the wings of wishes; it is born in the quiet rituals of discipline. It’s not about running at full speed or burning out in a blaze of inspiration. It’s the art of showing up when the world is quiet, when the spark feels dim, and when the path ahead looks steep.

Don’t let the weight of waiting fool you into thinking you’re stuck. You’re not. You’re gathering strength, learning to wield your creativity like a blade, and building a foundation that can weather the storms. But you must lean into the effort, the structure, the persistence that transforms a dream into a masterpiece.

Your success is not a question of if—it’s a question of how much love you’re willing to pour into the process. Build slowly. Tend to your passions like a garden: water them with effort, prune them with reflection, and protect them from the weeds of distraction. You’re not chasing success; you’re becoming it, step by deliberate step.

Remember, you are the creator of your own rhythm. Make it a song worth dancing to. ✨

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

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PILE 2

Your fire is a dazzling force, but it flickers, waiting for a spark you think will set everything ablaze. You’ve been chasing the thrill of momentum, the lightning bolt of inspiration that will make it all click. But the truth is, chasing that spark is what leaves you burned out and standing still.

Life doesn’t wait for perfect timing or the rush of adrenaline—it unfolds in the quiet persistence of steady hands. The impulse you crave is fleeting; it’s the ember, not the flame. Instead of waiting for the universe to light your path, become the fire. Stoke it with intention, feed it with patience, and protect it from winds that will only blow it out.

You don’t need a grand sign or a sudden burst of energy to begin. The magic lies in the tiny sparks you create each day, the ones that don’t burn you out but warm you, guiding you forward step by step. Let go of the need to feel ready—readiness is an illusion. What you’re looking for isn’t found in fleeting flashes but in the steady glow of your own commitment.

Take your passions and treat them like a canvas. Add a brushstroke each day, no matter how small. Build something real and lasting—not in a rush, but with love, with care. Success isn’t about speed; it’s about direction. Choose yours, and keep moving, no matter how softly the fire burns. ✨

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK

4) IF YOU BOOKED A PERSONAL READING 6 DEC 2024 ON KO-FI PLZ DM ME ( I TRY CONTACTING YOU BUT NOTHING WORKS)

PILE 3

Your world is brimming with promise, a masterpiece waiting for the final touch—you. Everything is aligned, the stage is set, but the spotlight feels distant because you’ve been holding back, softening your edges to fit spaces that were never meant to contain you.

To reach your ultimate reward, you don’t need to do more, build more, or change who you are. You need to be unapologetically yourself. Peel back the layers of hesitation, the fear of being too much or not enough. The truest version of you is what the world has been waiting for—raw, unfiltered, and vibrant.

Your dreams are not fragile. They’re not asking you to tiptoe; they’re begging you to dance. Pour your quirks, your passions, your imperfections into everything you touch. The path to your reward isn’t about perfection—it’s about authenticity. The world will celebrate you not for fitting in but for standing out.

So stop dimming your light to make others comfortable. Stop shrinking yourself to fit spaces that feel safe. Be bold. Be loud. Be messy if you have to, but let it all come from the heart. When you show up as your truest self, you don’t just touch your reward—you become it. ✨

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) For ALL DECEMBER get 2 readings for the price of 1 : LINK

4) IF YOU BOOKED A PERSONAL READING 6 DEC 2024 ON KO-FI PLZ DM ME ( I TRY CONTACTING YOU BUT NOTHING WORKS)

[koiiiji]

in the shadows

author's note ; just entered solo leveling fandom, and only watched anime, so i don't know lore that much yet, as a result it maybe ooc as hell

tw ; reader described as non!human and a little tsundere. just fluff

Igris x reader

────୨ৎ────

you had always prided yourself on being the one thing Sung Jinwoo could count on — whether or not he appreciated it. from the day you were bound to his system, you were there, guiding him, helping him navigate the endless challenges of his rise to power. sure, you’d complain and grumble, maybe tease him more than a proper assistant should, but deep down, you were fond and proud of this guy.

and, unlike the other shadows, you weren’t just another faceless warrior pulled from the void. you had your own personality, your own quirks — and a lot of sass to back it up. your sharp tongue making up for your questionable fighting skills, but you were here as a system assistant in the first place, right?

small, curved horns sprouted from your forehead, curling subtly and gleaming faintly in the dim light of the shadow world. a thin, agile tail swayed behind you as if it had a mind of its own, a pair of leathery wings carried you around effortlessly as you hovered at Jin-woo’s side, whenever he toyed with the system interface.

today had been brutal. the battle was long and relentless, the air thick with the stench of blood and the echo of falling enemies. Jinwoo stood amidst the ruins, his shirt torn and streaked with blood, beads of sweat rolling down his sharp jawline.

“and why is he staring like that?” you asked lazily, floating around him, propping your chin on your hand as you gestured towards a silent figure sitting on the ruins of a staircase..

“who?” Jinwoo replied, wiping sweat from his chin.

“him. tincan.” you nodded at Igris, the silent, imposing knight who had been watching you with that inscrutable helmeted gaze.

Jinwoo barely spared him a glance. “that’s just Igris. he’s always like that. he never talks.”

“well, it’s creepy,” you huffed. then, louder: “hey, nailhead! what’re you staring at?”

Igris didn’t move, only tilting his head slightly as though considering you. then, without a word, he stood, disappearing in a gust of black wind.

“see? he’s weird,” you grumbled, puffing out your chest smugly. Jinwoo only shook his head, used to your antics by now. he let out a soft chuckle, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “you know, i never feel that stare at me. he only stares at you like that. maybe he’s got a thing for you.”

you froze mid-hover, your tail twitching nervously before you lost your balance and fall on the ground. “what a nonsense!! watch your mouth young man!” then quietly “..like he’s capable of feelings. he’s just a big, hollow suit of armor.”

Jinwoo smirked, wiping his hands on his pants. “suit yourself.” with that, he walked off, leaving you flustered and scowling.

────୨ৎ────

later, when Jinwoo finally left the shadow world, you took it as your cue to reclaim your rightful position as the system’s most important entity. you were the assistant, the navigator, the closest thing to a leader these shadows had while Jinwoo was gone. and what better way to assert your dominance than lounging on the throne itself?

you sprawled lazily across the dark, jagged seat, one leg draped over the armrest and your wings curled comfortably behind you. you fiddled with a shadowy orb in your hands, tossing it up and catching it with ease as you tried to stave off boredom.

still, Jinwoo’s words wouldn’t leave you alone. you found yourself glancing around the room more than usual, half-expecting those glowing blue eyes to pop out of the shadows.

and of course, they did.

you felt it before you saw it — the familiar sensation of being watched. your tail flicked nervously as you froze mid-throw, the orb dissipating into mist as you glanced around the room. your eyes landed on a familiar figure standing in the shadows, scanning the room. there he was, lurking at the edge of the shadows, as silent and menacing as always.

“hey, tin can!” you called, trying to mask your unease with bravado. “didn’t i tell you to stop staring? you’re making me nervous!”

Igris didn’t reply. he never did. instead, the faint sound of metal echoed through the room as he stood up and took a step closer.

you frowned, narrowing your eyes. “what is your deal, huh? why don’t you ever talk? who am i even yelling at?”

he kept moving forward, his slow, deliberate steps making your confidence falter with each sound.

“h-hey! stop! i-i mean it!” you snapped, but your voice lacked its usual bite.

by the time he reached the throne, you had pressed yourself back into the seat, your wings curling around you protectively. but instead of whatever terrifying move you expected, Igris did something completely unexpected.

the imposing knight lowered himself to one knee in front of you. slowly, reverently, he leaned forward, resting the cold, smooth surface of his helmet against your lap.

your breath hitched, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to do. a soft, rhythmic sound emerged from beneath his helmet — a low purring noise that reminded you of a contented cat.

“w-what the hell…” you muttered, staring down at him, utterly baffled.

cautiously, you raised a hand, letting it hover over his helmet. “you’re such a freak, you know that?”

when he didn’t move, you hesitated for another second before finally giving in. your fingers brushed the metal, and then you stroked it lightly, your touch was awkward and unsure at first. his purring grew louder, and you couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped you.

“you’re so weird, nailhead,” you murmured, a small, fond smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

and though you’d never admit it, you didn’t mind the company. not one bit.

────୨ৎ────

[confused-bi-queer]

¿Quién quiere rosca?

¡Feliz Día de los Reyes Magos! A Mexican Tradition with its Mexican fanfic

Hello, friends. I am once again back with my Mexican SnowBaz.

During December, I noticed I could draw and I realized I could make Mexican prompts, so that’s what I’m doing.

Today is January 6th, and here in Mexico, we celebrate something that's kind of the equivalent of Christmas morning for some people, but it depends on the region of the country. For example, most of us don’t believe in Santa Claus (only the north does, like Monterrey which is in the border with US, next to Texas; I don’t know about the rest), but we do believe in “the Three Kings” or “the Magi”, which are entirely from Catholic/Christian lore. Jesus was born during Christmas, so after 12 days, the Three Kings come to give him gifts, so we Mexicans get those gifts today. You’re allowed to ask for 3 gifts (one per king) and we give the letter through a ballon we throw into the sky on the night of January 5th. Kids (and myself as well) are receiving their presents today.

Alongside that tradition, we have something called “la rosca de reyes”, or king’s bread or king’s wreath. It’s an oval orange bread with ate (quince jelly), fig, cherry and sugary bread. We cut this bread with our family and, inside the bread there are a few figurines of baby Jesus (nowadays, people put more things into the rosca, like the Kings or tamales), so if you cut your piece and you get the “niño” (child, baby, kid, whatever), on February 2nd, el día de la Calendaria, you’re in charge of making the tamales. Allegedly. And yesterday I learned why there are babies Jesus in the rosca: it’s a reference of how they had to hide Jesus so he wouldn’t get killed by Herodes. Insane.

This is one of my favorite festivities because it entails so many little traditions and because it’s very Mexican. And I wanted SnowBaz to have this memory because it’s something sweet. I wanted them to enjoy my culture, and I like sharing it.

I wrote something for the art I’ve made, and you can find it here down here:

BAZ

There is nothing that could make being awakened by yelling and the bed jumping a good thing. My eyes are heavy as I try to get them to open, but thankfully there is no light outside.

It’s not even morning yet.

I turn to Simon and hide myself on his neck, searching for his warmth, and shaking him awake.

“Your son is up,” I mumble, closing my eyes, relishing in Simon’s soft body.

“My son?”

“Wake up!” Ángel yells, too loudly for any kind of ears.

“Those early-riser-genes aren’t mine,” I groan.

Ángel lays down on top of both of us, his arms around our heads, and we decide to get up. Much against our wishes.

Simon sits down, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and Ángel grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him awake.

“The Kings came!” he yells, his smile as bright as his dad’s.

I smile as I get off the bed, putting on my dark blue slippers. I grab the closest robe, and as I wrap it around me, I notice it’s Simon’s. I turn back to find him putting my football Watford hoodie over his head, his wings guarded into it.

“I’m going down alone if you don’t hurry!” Ángel yells again, and he grabs Simon’s tail. “Dad!”

“We’re up, we’re up,” Simon says, standing up, letting Ángel pull him out of our bedroom.

As soon as Ángel’s out the door, he rushes to the stairs but doesn’t go downstairs. He smiles at us, jumping in his place.

“Hurry!”

Simon and I walk faster, climbing down the stairs, full of 3 gigantic framed pictures of our wedding, and a smaller one of Ángel’s newborn face with six different expressions in it. I like the one where he’s looking to the side; Simon and I were being silly to make him laugh for the photos.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Ángel yells.

“Look, papá, it’s a sword! Like dad’s!” he screams, throwing himself to the floor.

He grabs the long, thin box with a plastic toy with the figure of a sword.

I turn to Simon, fake-smiling.

“The Magi brought our seven-year-old a sword,” I say through gritted teeth.

Simon smiles without taking his eyes off our kid, desacrating the box of the toy.

“Ángel asked for it,” he mumbles.

“Maybe Melchor should have asked Gaspar and Baltazar about it beforehand.”

Ángel jumps up and starts looking for scissors to get the sword off its container.

“Balthazar couldn’t have brought it to him,” Simon says. “He was too far away in the East.”

“Balthazar brought another gift. The kid has four.”

Simon looks at me then, eyes wide open in fear.

“What?”

It’s at that moment that Ángel notices it as well.

“The Magi brought me four gifts! That’s so cool!”

I force a smile as our kid looks up from his sitting position on the floor, a sword large enough to resemble Simon’s.

“Does this mean I’m getting four gifts every year?” he asks, eyes lit up with excitement.

Simon and I sit down slowly on the floor, next to Ángel.

“Maybe this year you behaved extra well,” Simon says. “We’ll see what they think next year, okay?”

“I’ll be super, extra, mega good!”

Simon kisses Ángel’s forehead.

“I’m sure you will.”

Maybe a kid with a plastic toy can make this day better.

SIMON

While Ángel’s showing Baz everything the Magi gave him this morning (I can hear everything from the kitchen since he's loud), I pull out the lid of the rosca for us three to be able to eat some for breakfast.

I’ll make some coffee for Baz and then I’ll give Ángel milk, and we’ll see who gets the baby. It’s not a rule for us to prepare tamales, but we do have some on February 2nd.

“Alright,” I call out. “¿Quién quiere rosca?”

[ligiawrites]

Your life as an alchemist has been safe and comfortable so far... but when your sister makes you one last wish before passing away, you'll embark on a dangerous journey that might change your life—and the lives of your two companions—forever.

game link || all about the dev

YOUR SISTER HAS CARRIED the mantle of "Peregrine" for more than two decades. Twelve years older than you, she saw and wrote about the lives of common people, the birth and fall of foreign noble houses, the discovery of plants and animals, and the complex politics of your home kingdom. She lived a life of dangers and excitement, of travels, passions, and experiences you can't even begin to imagine.

And now that she's dead, this mantle (and her newborn child) is yours. 

Ghosts, zombies, fantastic animals, arcanes, and criminals. Fool the monster hunting you, the bandits trying to kidnap you, and your own fears while you travel from South Safira to the very heart of Dead Water.

Thank Goddess, you won't be alone. But with a conniving liar at your left and a deluded "Knight" at your right, will you be able to fulfill your sister's last wish? Will you go back to your niece? And will you allow yourself to love for the first time?

Develop your personality, see how your choices build, and change your bond with Yulie and Tobias (and yourself).

Hopefully, you'll also learn to see the world in a new light after this Trek to Dead Water.

🍂 Full game release: Autumn 2025 🍂

If you want to support the development of this game and access exclusive rewards, please consider supporting me on ko-fi!

About the game:

This story is set 53 years before the beginning of Love the Guard, Be the King.

Experience the world of Five Kingdoms in a completely different way, learning the hidden lore of Opala and Safira as one of the most influential (and non-highborn) figures in their society.

This is a game about the power of story, the powers that *change* history, and the impact that fleeting relationships may have in our lives. Enjoy this mix of Visual Novel and text-based Interactive Fiction!

This short game will have three chapters, and I have almost half of it already. :) Right now, you can play one out of three chapters (~9k words), and they are only available for my supporters on ko-fi. 

So, if you're seeing this, thank you for being amazing and for believing in my career! :)

If you have any comments, suggestions, problems, or worries, please let me know on ko-fi or in this forum.

AGE SUGGESTED: 16+ for erotic nudity, non-explicit sexual scenes, and mild violence and gore.

Main Characters:

Yulie of No House - The deluded "Knight" - 27 - She / Her

Born in Safira to a Topazian ambassador and a Safiran barman, Yulie saw her world crumble when she was six and a half, and her mother dared to question the Safiran nobility's interference in Topazian politics. Queen Juliana of House Inara did her best to protect Yulie's life, but there was little the Queen could do for her parents.

Stripped of her family and her surname, she lived under the Queen's care in a secretive palacete in the South, but as soon as she turned fourteen, Yulie knew she needed to leave the care of the people who ruined her life.

Now, at twenty-seven, Yulie's dream and main objective is to become a Knight of the Opalean Dragon Order—but focusing on this might be way harder than she thought, mainly when she manages to hold certain Safiran Peregrine in her arms.

Tobias Cidreira Dasherner - The Conniving Liar- 29 - He / Him

Tobias is a trans man born and raised in the biggest capital of Safira. With an immense talent for the Arcane, Tobias was taken under the wing of Great Arcane Master Domingos of Safira when he was only five. 

The Arcane College of the Balanced Arts is an expensive place, though, and despite the Arcane's great fortune, Tobias changed over the years. Once studious and quiet, Tobias grew tired of the absurd rules in the Safiran College and the kingdom's abusive laws. He tried to do good. He tried to change things for the better. Still, thanks to a grave mistake on Tobias's part, the Great Domingos lost everything.

Now, the only thing Tobias wants is to make enough money for the greatest con of all: a nice tavern of his own, so he can recover at least part of the money his old master lost.

… And YOU! - The newest Peregrine in Safira

Child of a long line of alchemists who lived their whole lives in The Village, you never felt the need to travel. Your sister did, so it felt just and good (for you and for her) when she was chosen as the new Safiran Peregrine. But this happened twenty-three years ago, and now she's dead after giving birth to your first niece.

Your task (for more than one reason) is to travel to the dangerous Dead Water, so your sister's soul will finally rest and stop coming back to haunt you.

Build your Peregrine and your relationship with your companions, and discover the hidden history that brought you to this point.

[the-ferocious-kittyrose]

Hazbin Hotel Ep1 Rewrite

Okay, let’s get the shit I like first out of the way. Animation? Beautiful. Art style? Iconic. Music? Pops off.

Okay, now the fun part…

First let me just say, I adore biblical lore. So when I see something changed from the og lore, where I think the og was more interesting, I cannot let it go.

(I’m gonna focus on the Charlie storyline in the episode)

1. The Backstory

Let’s start with the first scene, the backstory of Lucifer and Lilith. In the show, they got some of the timeline and motivations wrong. I understand that the story is sugar coated, but hear me out.

“Once upon a time, there was a dazzling kingdom protected by golden gates, known as Heaven. Home to beings of pure light. Angels that worshiped good and lived in peace and harmony under the rule of God. The most beautiful of the Angels was Lucifer. He was a dreamer, with fantastical ideas for all creation. But he was restricted by God and the elders of Heaven, for they felt his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world.

Outraged by this injustice, Lucifer gathered an army of Angels, and declared war on the kingdom of Heaven. The battle raged on for centuries, but in the end, Heaven reigned victorious. As punishment for their betrayal, Lucifer and his army were cast out of Heaven. Banished to a crumbling wasteland, where the light of God could not reach. But Lucifer would not wallow in failure. From the barren landscape he rose a beautiful golden palace, crowned himself king and crafted a plan to share his freedom with God’s newest creation. Humanity.”

(I like to imagine that when Lucifer and his army fell, their wings burned up, leaving scattered feathers everywhere. In order to fly to Eden, Lucifer gathered these burned feathers and turned them into a new pair of wings for himself. They were black, messy, and trailed billowing smoke, but they could fly.)

Now for the Lilith part of the story. The more popular interpretation of her is that she is the first wife of Adam, but there is another version too, one where she is Adam’s second Wife after Eve. I personally prefer the latter because I can’t see anyone sinning or getting cast out of Edan before Eve eats the apple.

“He approached the garden of Edan in disguise, and offered the forbidden fruit of knowledge to the mother of humanity, Eve, who gladly accepted. But with the gift of knowledge and freedom, came a terrible curse. Evil bleed into the earth, and humanity was infected by darkness and sin.

For her disobedience Eve was cast out of Edan, to the dismay of her love, Adam. To appease him, the Angels crafted him a new bride, Lilith. Lilith was beautiful, with a voice so enchanting even Lucifer was mesmerized, but she was strong willed and refused to be subservient to her new husband. She fled from the garden, and rather than chase her, Adam found the tree of knowledge and bit into the forbidden fruit, so he could follow his true love, and be with her once more.

Lilith wandered, lost and alone, until she was found by Lucifer. Enamored by her beauty and iron will, he gave her his heart and made her his queen.”

Then you have the bit about Lucifer becoming depressed while Lilith thrived in Hell. I hate this! I was looking forward to a demonic Mortica and Gomez, not another Stolas and Stella. Plus, I’ve never been a fan of uwu sad misunderstood Lucifer. He is a complex character, but too often he’s over simplified by people who read Paradise Lost in high school and misinterpreted Lucifer as a tragic anti hero who was treated unfairly by the evil Angels. Lucifer can be tragic, even sympathetic. He can be fun and a caring father. But don’t forget that he is king of Hell. He is the prince of pride. He has an ego the size of east Texas and waged war against God himself.

And let’s not forget that in the show he is the head honcho over a strict cast system that encourages violence, allows the worst of the worst to take power, and leaves the hellborn races at the bottom at a severe disadvantage.

In this rewrite, Lucifer and Lilith essentially switch places, except Lilith isn’t a pathetic push over, she’s an incredibly famous rockstar, who’s always busy and not around often, but still has a bigger role in her daughter’s life than her husband, who’s been mia doing king shit.

And the last thing we hear about in the intro monologue is that the exterminations happens to prevent Hell from rising against them, which while that may be the case, don’t have Charlie say it!!! That realization for her would make the entire hotel superfluous! Charlie has to think that the problem truly is overpopulation.

2. Meeting with Adam

Let’s start with Adam himself. I hate this character. Especially as an adaptation of Adam. Yes, Adam is misogynistic. He expected Lilith to be subservient to him, but he wouldn’t be the frat boy type of misogynist, he’d be the old school chivalrous type. Grandpa style sexism. And shouldn’t the father of humanity care about his descendants? It doesn’t make any sense for him to be an executioner. He should be the leader of the guardian Angels or something.

In this rewrite, Adam is not the leader of the executioners, instead it’s the Angel Dumah. Dumah is the angel over the wicked dead, and he was appointed by God to torment sinners in Hell.

I want him to be an actual intimidating antagonist. He rarely speaks (his name means “silence”) and has many eyes (is described as having a thousand eyes)

As for the exorcists, they are Angels, but not actual dead humans wearing mask. They just look like that. Dumah is described as having tens of thousands of Angels of Destruction at his disposal. That’s what the exorcists are going to be, but instead of thousands, I’ll give him five. They don’t speak and are hardly sentient. They stand on top of the tower like gargoyles, until they “come to life” for the execution.

“But it’s a comedy! Shouldn’t they be funny?” No. It’s all about how characters react to them. The Litch in Adventure Time is a good example of this.

So obviously the meeting goes a lot differently.

Charlie gets a call, looks at the number, and excitedly tells everyone to, “shooooosh!” She takes the call nervously, saying, “yeah! Okay! Yes! Of course! I’ll be right there! Thank you SOOO much!!!” She hangs up and happily tells Vaggie that Dumah requested a meeting with her. Vaggie is nervous and says she should probably go with her, but Charlie says that she’ll be fine and tells her to stay and work on the commercial. She leaves excited that the Angels may finally be taking her seriously.

She makes it to the clock tower’s board room, where Dumah sits silently at the end of the table. Charlie nervously starts to greet him before she realizes they’re not alone. The Angels, Gabriel and Uriel have come from Heaven, for a meeting with Hell’s princess.

Uriel remains professional, politely bowing her head as she greeted Charlie. Gabriel on the other hand, threw his arms out, happily yelling, “Charlotte!!!” He wrapped her in an uncomfortably tight and awkward hug, saying how much she’s grown since he last saw her. He’s like a chill but estranged uncle meeting his now adult niece who he hasn’t seen since she was a baby and has no memory of him whatsoever.

Uriel watches the whole thing in embarrassment. She tells Charlie that Dumah had contacted them, regarding some, “interesting,” ideas about the extermination.

Charlie starts with her pitch, but Gabriel insists that they should take some time to catch up first. He claps his hands and summons plates of food for everyone. When we cut back to them, Gabriel is in the middle of telling the story about almost getting his ass kicked by Joseph when he told him his virgin wife was pregnant.

Uriel cuts him off, saying she doesn’t need to hear this story for the eighth millionth time. She turns to Charlie, exasperated, and tells her to get on with the pitch.

Charlie says that she has a potential solution for the over population problem in Hell. Uriel, Gabriel, and Dumah look at her blankly. Gabriel asks, “overpopulation?”

Charlie goes on to explain that she knows overpopulation is a big problem, but 275 sinners were executed this year alone and she just can’t stand to watch her people be slaughtered anymore.

Uriel asks if she’s suggesting an alternative, and Charlie very excitedly pitches her idea for the hotel. Uriel and Gabriel wear a matching “wtf” face and look back and forth at eachother like, “does this girl know what she’s suggesting?”

As Charlie is finishing, Uriel is visibly annoyed. She interrupts Charlie, complaining that this is ridiculous and has all been a massive waste of time as she stands up to leave. Charlie tries to stop her, saying, “please, you don’t understand.”

Uriel snaps back, “no, you don’t understand! They had their chance in life and they earned damnation.”

Charlie responds, “you're wrong. Sinners made mistakes, sure, but everyone makes mistakes.”

Uriel pinches the bridge of her nose (or where a nose would be on a person) “a mistake happens once. It’s an accident, an error in judgment due to naivety. Of course mistakes can be forgiven, but we’re not talking about mistakes, are we? These sinners had a choice, and they chose to live in sin.”

“A choice they now regret!” Charlie defends.

“It takes a lot more than regret to be forgiven.” Uriel says coldly. “It takes remorse.”

Gabriel chimes in, “she has a point, Charlie. It’s easy to make someone regret their actions, but to have them feel true selfless remorse, that is much more difficult.”

Charlie furrows her brow and starts to look defeated.

“But perhaps not impossible.”

Charlie beams with excitement. Gabriel explains that this is a big decision, too big to be made right now, but if she can successfully redeem one demon, they will allow her to come to heaven and pitch her idea to the entire Angelic court. Uriel tries to argue, but Gabriel just says they’ll discuss it later. Charlie gives him a tight hug before he and Uriel disappear.

As she turns to leave, Dumah puts his hand on her shoulder. This is the first time he’s moved in the entire scene. He stares at her coldly and says, “the only reason you’re here is your father has spared you from the executioner’s blade. If I had my way. Each and every one of you would be slaughtered.”

Charlie stares up at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

For context, part of the reason Gabriel and Uriel were initially confused by Charlie’s proposal is because they know that Lucifer is trying to keep Hell’s population as high as possible, in preparation for the second war with heaven. That’s why he and the other princes of hell work to manipulate humanity and temp them towards sin (i.e. succubi and incubi). That’s why he arranges marriages between powerful demons to make powerful demon children (i.e. Stolas and Stella). He needs as many demons possible for his army if he’s gonna have a chance at winning. So obviously, sending sinners to heaven, aka the opposing force, is the LAST thing Lucifer would want.

[marigoldenblooms]

Unica Semper Avis - Chapter 2

Pairing: Cleric!Wanda x Fem!AvianShifter!Reader x MonsterHunter!Natasha

Prompt: Ever since you’ve come of age, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from transforming into a monster. Whenever the sky would dim with a New Moon, you’d ravage the world with a fury unknown by many. Such is the bane existence of your species. This time, however - something was different. Now, you need help. On the feeble doorstep of the so-called ‘Spirit Healer,’ you found yourself both at the mercy of a cleric, and of a monster hunter’s blade. Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

MINORS DNI - 18+

TW/General Tags: No mention of Y/N, slow burn, stranger to lovers (Wanda), enemies to lovers (Natasha), eventual smut (lord have mercy), Swearing, Fantasy violence, occasional descriptions of light body horror during transformation, slight self harm, slight restraint, angst, fluff, will add tags as they appear!

Chapter Warnings: Non-consensual touching (arms/shoulders), slight transformation description, threatening, mentions of pain (burning), intimidation tactics, arguments, manipulation, angst, canon-level violence, mentions of scarring/burnt skin, restraint, we're finally leaving Belmoor y'all

A/N: Holy crap y'all, thanks for the incredible responses on everything once again! We finally get some trio dialogue going in this chapter ^^ Natasha’s interrogation is based within Latin, while R’s occasional text is built primarily within greek. Russian is also here, as expected. I had nothing for Smut Saturday, so I hope lore will suffice ^^' We will see if the writing block ceases, lol

Equally, we’ve got a Unica tag list coming along! Let me know if you’d like to be added to it! 

Word count: 3.9k - Read Length: 14 minutes, 29 seconds. ~~~

You’d never dreamt awake before. 

You could feel your mind faintly, cognition ghostly as you’d blink within your own head. Your transformation’s destruction was never something you were aware of until you rose out of it, covered in viscera from your form’s hunt. Was it really your body, after that? As you’d drift hazily in a river of your own thoughts, you couldn’t separate feathers from skin. You and your monster were one in the same.

You’d try to shut your eyes again, fall back into the painless slumber your molt offered. A part of you knew the horror you’d awake to- perhaps your succession had slaughtered them all, friend and foe alike. You would grieve her as you had the others, the fiery healer with her crimson magic. The knight would become a cliff note to your psyche, a tack onto an endless tally-board. You were used to being hunted. 

It’d be minutes before you realized you weren’t alone. 

Gaze snapping upwards, you’d bare your teeth towards the intruder which marred your thoughts, only to find a translucent figure. You could feel her chill from here, Her feathered speckling like a shawl over her shoulders, the wings behind her blanketing into a beautiful frame. She reached a hand towards you, although her smile was too thin to be kind. She didn’t look much different than she’d appeared days prior within your dreams yet again. The Aegyptius creation deity. Why was she here?

You didn’t shy from her gaze, looking at her with both respect and provocation. She was in your mind, fragmented as it was while your body rampaged elsewhere. If there was anywhere you were dominion of, it was this. “I know who you are now, Matron,” you’d assure, your voice echoing in the dim expanse, rippling along the water of your thoughts. She seemed to catch your words, and her grin grew wider, eyes narrowing. She’d tut, and in a second you could feel her cold, mist-like hands on your shoulders, “I expect something more reverent from my martyr..but you will learn.” 

“Martyr?” Your expression grew sour as she wouldn’t elaborate, toying with your frustration as she’d run her palms down your arms. An uncomfortable shiver would brace through your body, and you could feel your form stretch beneath as if her touch spurred your transformation all over again. She was cruel, a pained sigh leaving you as your teeth would clench. 

Her grasp on you would tighten, feeling the brittleness of pin feathers beneath flesh, “Your mind may not remember, fledgeling…but all my creations know my whims. And yet you wish to rid yourself of me?” Her laugh would be musical, but the bite in her tone was awash with rage, thinly veiled as the Matron stalked circles around you. 

The frustration that had flowed through you prior to your molt was flimsy now, embers against a cold snap. You felt your gut sink, fear bubbling thickly in your throat. You’d stopped looking at her by now, your gaze piercing down into nothingness. All you could manage was a pitiful nod, and you couldn’t tell if her snicker was anger from your lackluster response or joy from how compliant she’d rendered you. They were one in the same with your kind, you supposed. 

“You cannot..although I’m certain you’ve already understood that.” She’d pause in front of your face, ghostly touch icy as she’d claw your chin to meet your gaze with hers. Her phrase would come quickly, as if she was excited to utter it, “And for penance…you must kill that witch.”

“What?” They weren’t dead already? Your molt would’ve torn her to shreds by now. What was happening in the waking world? Even within a dream, the thought of murdering another with your conscious mind churned your stomach, especially one that brought you food. Mercy. “Command my body to do it, then-”  

“No. You must do this as human,” Her smile was dagger-thin now, and you swear sparks flashed from her maw when she spoke. “Not as bird. Your hunger will be your guide.” Her hands would cradle your face now, the chill of her spectral palms almost forgotten as your mind would rush and lurch. You could feel the knaw of famine in your gut, a terrible feeling, all too real. 

“I reject this- she has been kind, I-” The Matron would’ve disappeared immediately, the thawing of your flesh the only reminder.  Your plea would be met with silence, hyperventilation coaxing your heart into overdrive. Thudding in your skull, you could almost feel the weight of bone in your jaws, your throat suddenly parched. You’d rasp, drawing your hands close to cradle yourself as the world grew fuzzy and vague, “I don’t want to be a monster..”

“Oh, my martyr..” She’d murmur, her voice suddenly swirling along the shell of your ear, freezing your hunch in place. 

“That’s what I made you for.”

Your mind would swim, lucidity and unconsciousness blending into tar which filled your brain. You’d blink, heavier than before..and just before you’d wake, you’d feel her touch on your shoulder again. 

“Survivε, mυ μάρτυρας..” 

------------------------------------------

You’d regain your mind halfway through it all. Your body ached and tore within you, the subtle itch of plumage molting from your skin a feeling you couldn’t soothe. You were in the barn. 

Your arms were held back as you’d kneel on the floor, a searing heat plaguing your wrists as you’d fight against its hold- your chains. They’d manage to cage you. If you hadn’t been in so much pain, you would’ve wheezed relief at that. Your tongue was dry, the taste of blood and bone absent on your lips. You hadn’t eaten anyone during your transformation, and yet your body twinged with agony all the more for it. You had no fuel to offer you shifting body, and so it ate you from the inside to power your return to being humanoid. Panting a low whine, spasms would twitch your form as your bones would grow heavier within your flesh, solid all the way through. Even through your strain, a quiet shuffle would draw your eyes immediately- your heightened instincts were always the last things to go. In the recluses of the barn stood your prior attacker, although her attention was focused elsewhere, ghosting over something in the palm of her gloved hand. Thank fuck.

It was only now you could get a good look at her. Her hair was auburn, braided sharply in cascading strands which met the nape of her neck. It had been chilled near its ends, pale and almost wispy, as though something had leached the color from it. Sorcery? Stress? You couldn’t tell at first glance, but the perpetual scoff that seemed to mold into her face signaled the latter. 

Blueish gray irises stared into what she held, and it was only when you growled a restrained snarl at the sight did her eyes lock to yours. She was holding one of your shorn feathers, the visage making your hackles raise. You wouldn’t shy from her gaze as you had with Wanda, even raising your chin higher so you looked down at her with pinprick pupils- you were an adversary. A challenger. You didn’t fear her. Your head throbbed, the heavy burn of your engraved chains a constant reminder. 

She’d approach you with malice- unsurprising given your circumstances, but the prick of a metal blade against your neck was a little more shocking. This early? Damn. You’d grit your teeth but remain steadfast, even as she’d glower over you. 

“Ossifraga, dic omnia quae scis.” She’d spit, her words foreign yet familiar in your ears. ‘omia’ was a word you gleamed in an instant - ‘everything’, yet the rest was butchered in her mouth. You’d bare your teeth at her, grin sickeningly raw even as she’d press her knife’s edge to your nape. “Dic mihi omnia Fraga, ne te interficiam sicut columbam-“ 

Her anger would shatter at the creaking barn door, flinching just as you did. At least one similarity between the two of you. A familiar soothing tone would echo to you, honeyed and thick, albeit strangled from…anger. Anger? 

“I leave you for one second, you глупый козел-“ Wanda muttered harshly, her stomping footfalls sharply rattling in your skull. She’d pluck the knight’s hand away from you, grip harsh as she’d try to wrestle away their weapon- futile, as their shock to Wanda’s insult only lasted so long. From your attacker’s reaction, it seemed they shared a language. Interesting. “And here you are, nicking my patient-“ 

You’d struggle at Wanda’s words, trying to show her your discomfort. Your wrists continued to burn, and you swear their imprint would be branded on your skin if they weren’t taken off soon. And yet, it may be safer if you remain chained. The Matron’s words still throbbed in your ears, a blinding sight locking your gaze onto Wanda before you bit it back down. You’d breathe, ragged, before gasping a sound which seemed to catch her attention. Her nimble fingers would move to start unshackling you, before being caught by Natasha’s rough grip, pulling her immediately back, “What are you doing-!? It’ll kill you-“

“I won’t harm…her..-“ You’d hiss, finding your bearings as your larynx would thrum with your voice again. You’d glare at the hunter, voice steadfast even through your pain, “You’re- a different story, knight..let me go, and maybe I’ll consider.”

You saw her jaw flex at your tone, malice seeping from every beat of her heart. She’d release Wanda with a tight-lipped grumble, your wrists losing their binds seconds later. You’d rub at the tender flesh for a split second, gasping and hiding away as it’d still bubble with scorching heat. You were too late, and soon your wrists would scar over. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as bad next time, perhaps.

You’d sit up, movements sluggish as you’d sync again with a heavier frame. Your glance would be wary, looking to Wanda as if the knight wasn’t there. You saw annoyance flash across the hunter’s expression, and satisfaction bloomed in yours. Let her be upset. “What happened..? You shackled me, I am thankful for it.”

“And yet your wrists don’t look happy..” Wanda would respond with muffled concern, although you’d retreat from her scarlet magic’s attempt to heal- scars proved you had lived, this one above all. This one showed you could trust the healer to protect you when you couldn’t protect her. The slow rumble of starvation proved you wouldn’t be able to protect her for a long time. She’d sigh, but wouldn’t press further. “You’ve been in the barn for three days, we put you here on the evening of the first-“ 

Your expression faltering would quiet her words, a shaky inhale slicing into the room’s air. Three days. “I’ve never been..” you’d grip your hair as you spoke, bending to pull more of you closer. You’d stare at your shorn feathers, brilliant white where they lay unheated, almost ghostly in the thin light of Wanda’s shed. 

“I’ve never been transformed for that long.”

“And why should we believe you? You could feather again as we speak- kill us all.” The knight would glare at you, though there was a chance she never stopped, boring a hole into your skull which you gladly challenged. You’d bark a laugh, the sound uncomfortable in your raw chest and yet you reveled in how she flinched away. The air grew thick and still, “If you hunt my kind with that attitude, you obviously know nothing of the Aegyptius.”

“Then enlighten me, Fraga-”” She said that like an insult to you, and yet it didn’t register. 

  “And why the hell should I-?”

 “Because we have a common goal, you dolts-“ 

At Wanda’s interjection, your voice would sliver and slip away, her face red and scrunched with frustration. It was almost adorable how her nostrils flared with her words, yet the rage in her eyes was something that stirred sorrow inside you. Something clicked in the back of your mind, memories from your brood when you were young, and yet nothing registered in the fog of retorting anger. There was curiosity on the hunter’s face, shoulders squared back at Wanda’s tone, and yet your mind still held what the knight had said before.

“What did you call me?” Your words stumbled as you’d shift to stand, legs frail under the weight of yourself. You wouldn’t see the knight’s bewildered expression until much later, too busy keeping your feet underneath you, “Fraga…do you not even know what you are?” “Enlighten me,” you’d taunt, clipped thin between your barred teeth. Wanda would scoff, shaking her head in your peripheral.

“You are Ossifraga. Bone-breaker, the unclean bird..” Your eyes would narrow, but not in the way the hunter wanted, it seems. These names meant nothing to you. “A mistake upon your feathered kind. A blight-'' Her words would build in strength, low as she’d stalk dangerous steps towards you. You looked towards Wanda, her hands slowly raising as scarlet magic grew to weave around her fingers.

“Others of your kind can be bards, songbirds or doves- even raptors can experience valor as warriors…but you, Fraga, are the mutated husk of your false god.” She spit her tone with vitriol, acidic. The receding down on the back of your neck rose as your blood ran cold- Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, a lump swelling in your throat, but it wasn’t all fear. There was something else, a chill unfamiliar to your waking form, coaxing your mouth open. You resisted, even your back reached the worn wood of the barn’s walls and the knight’s voice swarmed back into focus. 

 “A dangerous monster, consuming the bones of innocents and leaving plague in your wake,” A gleaming metal shone near her wrist, and your stomach dropped all too late. The knife was probably sacred, intricately carved with markings you could hardly make out in the blur of motion, her gloved hand grasping your shoulder while the other swung to pierce your stomach. 

“You’re the infection I must quell-” 

Your maw opened before you could think.  

“Αμολάω-!” You’d shriek, your voice hissing with the inflection of many. You heard the clatter of metal on the ground as your tone echoed forth. The knight would barrel backwards, clutching her head as Wanda flinched behind her, the shockwave of your words hitting her fainter the further it went from your mouth. 

You kicked away the knight’s dropped blade, another command echoing from you, your tone no longer your own, cold and bitter on your tongue, “Γονατίστε, παράσιτα- Θα σε καταβροχθίσω χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη..”

The hunter sunk to her knees before your sentence had finished. You’d gasp a second later,  your lungs filled with air as though they’d never have before. Blinking, you’d feel a tenseness in your body, arms trailing with thin plumage which quickly sunk beneath your skin. You’d watch it leave with a cold numbing shock, jaw slung open with a heavy breath. Your thoughts translated your foreign words after a few moments, ‘Let go. Kneel, vermin. I will devour you without a second thought.’

Your feathers had never grown beyond your molt, confined to the hellish day a month where you were no longer yourself. Your hands tremored, ghosting over the goosebumps that had been left behind. It’s like the feathers had never been there- and yet you could feel your body creak and crunch, as though impatient.  

The hunter stood a few seconds later, gait slow as she’d physically wrench herself from your command’s thrall. She’d brush at her scuffed armor, plagued with the barn’s dirt which clung to the metal, “I know what you’re saying. Your pronunciation is weaker, and yet it is still-” 

“The language of my kind,” You’d mutter without sympathy, scoffing as the knight seemed to take offense to your interruption. “You’ve stripped it of its history..it's what you spoke before.” You’d never learned your own tongue, and yet half your thoughts spoke in it now. A shiver rolled down your spine, a cascading chill that felt like an awaiting grasp. 

“Ah, so it can listen..” She’d sneer, glance harsh as she’d eye her forlorn blade again. Wanda’s interjection would be seen before it was heard, scarlet magic weaving around the hilt before daintily grasping it, pawing it over to her awaiting palm. “And so must you, Romanova..” The way she curved the words had a sense of familiarity, drawing a frustrated huff from the other woman. You’d narrow your eyes, but it wasn’t your turn to speak anymore, “You both listen, or you leave my barn with nothing but a death wish. Am I clear?”

You’d nod slowly, and by Wanda’s sigh, you assumed the knight did the same. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere cozier, shall we?”

------------------------------------------

Wanda’s home would’ve been just as comfortable as it had been the prior evening, albeit more cramped. Between three people in the living room, a thin glow of red magic seeping through the slats of wood that boarded the kitchen up, and the deadly eye contact you and the knight shot at each other every second, the air was never thicker.

“And you tore through the kitchen wall,” Wanda’s words were analytical, the gnawing feeling of guilt settling heavy in your gut. You kept your distance from her, a pang of hunger grinding into your thoughts the second you grew closer to the witch. You chewed at the inside of your lip as her palm waved towards the construction her sorcery partook in. Her shrug was too easy, “Not afraid of remodeling, after Romanova mistook my window for a door-” 

She’d almost bite towards the hunter, a simmering scoff laced between her accented tone. “Is that your name? ‘Romanova’?” The knight would leer at your question, slinging her arm against the heavy metal of her armor. From Wanda’s scoff, it seems she’d gotten the same reaction while you were out. “You butcher my family title, Fraga-” 

“Give me your name and I won’t have to.” You’d raise a brow as her eyes locked to yours, your breath thin and still. You felt the cold in your throat again, creeping like a retch up your windpipe- yet you swallowed it with huskier words, “Since we’re all in the sharing mood. Aren’t we?”

Her sigh was almost palpable, hissing in a low breath, “I am Natasha Alianovna Romanova. Templar of Latrodectus, it’s esteemed widow.” That title meant nothing to you, although your unfitting reaction seemed to knock her down a few pegs. Her reply was less angry than curious, “Did you ever earn a name, Fraga?”

“Earn?” Your snort brought an angry heat to Natasha’s face, perplexed laughter ricocheting through your solid skeleton, “You really do know nothing of my kind. We do not remember names. Unimportant.”

You wouldn’t see Wanda’s furrowed look until she exhaled sharply, looking away from you with crossed arms. Your mind sunk and crackled whenever you looked in her direction, suddenly parched. The flutter in your stomach remained, bringing an uncomfortable nausea rather than burst of curiosity. You kept your eyes on Natasha, expression hollowed, “Why do either of you stay? This..is your house, Wanda, I know-” 

“Because we want to help you-” “She does- mhph-” Wanda’s hand would outstretch towards Natasha, blocking her mouth with a wispy scarlet sheen. You looked at Wanda’s shadow, feeling her sigh as your gaze never met hers. Her voice was calmer yet thin, strained between forces, “Do you want to rid yourself of your feathers?”

“Yes,” Your quick response earned an unseen smile from the witch, although your skin grew clammy at the thought. Natasha shuffled, and when you met her eyes you saw hers were raised, almost in shock, her mouth still clasped closed. “Then we have a common interest. This one can find a method beyond violence- and if your transformation is progressing faster, then it is my role to bring you back to normalcy.” 

You’d meet her glance now, her smile radiating a warmth into you that culled away some of the chill, satiated you. Your palms felt your own, awkwardly poised as you offered your hold to the witch, her touch filling you with an unfamiliar satisfaction. You shook her hand against yours, ignoring Natasha’s silent indignation burning into your skull. Perhaps you could control yourself- you could protect each other, “Thank you, Wanda.” 

“Ah, none of that- you are a medicinal marvel..” She’d tease, your thanks rolling right off of her. You met her grin with your own, her words shushing as she’d lean to you, “Think of what it will do for my prices, to heal an Ossifraga-” 

Your laugh was a startling welcome, filling you with mirth as it was returned. “I will pay you then. How many feathers-?” Her hand patted yours before receding, wiping her palm along her clothed side. “...I’ll keep a running tab for you, Птичка.”

------------------------------------------

The sun had risen into midday, and you basked in its sunlight. Your shoulders felt tense as you hauled supplies towards the wagon Wanda and Natasha had acquired an hour ago from Belmoor proper. You’d hung back, admiring the hazy scarlet tendrils which packed Wanda’s belongings. The two had found you handing random objects to the sorcerous helpers when they returned, although Natasha was pulled away by the witch before she could crow about the non-essentiality of bringing Wanda’s butter churn. 

The mule that was attached to the wagon- Daisy, Doris, something like that- had been chewing on the turf as you’d settled another crate of rations along the wagon’s bed, pushing it into place with a heavy shove. It was a ten days road travel to Arkridge, the capital of this province, as you’d been told. Its libraries held what could be the first of many secrets. The forest never spoke of it, yet its grandeur was palpable even through Natasha’s gruff words. She hadn’t tried to stab you again, although her glare was seething whenever you met it. 

You passed each other by as you’d return towards the house, huffing an unimpressed groan as her haul was much smaller than yours. She’d abandoned her armor for now, and you watched as the musculature of her back shifted as she’d set her barrel down. You could take her if you had to, even without your strength- though the scabbard along her back gave you pause, the longsword’s hilt gleaming in the light. It had been engraved, similar to the leather sheath that bound it, and you’d guess it was the same inscription. Runic and familiar, it brought your thought to your chains, their markings similar yet worn. Perhaps you’d find a way to ask about it, if you could have a conversation without insulting each other.

Your side met Wanda’s as you leaned in her vicinity, your gaze locked onto the knight a dozen meters away. The witch’s voice was smoothed and sweet, honey-like as she’d offer her palm to yours again, inspecting the scarring along your skin as you’d accept. “Your name isn’t Margo, is it?” 

You shook your head, still in her embrace, “No. I just needed something to give to you. Satisfy..”

Your words petered out into silence, her squeeze of your hand gentle, shying away from the raw flesh of your wrists. “You don’t have to do that, Ласточка. I have countless things to call you that you won’t forget.” Her wink made your face flush, shying away from her gaze as her tone wrapped around your thoughts. Her giggle wasn’t lost on you, a fondness in her expression you couldn’t decipher. “Will you tell me what that means?”

She’d shake her head, just before you heard Natasha’s heavy footfalls towards you. The forested grove retreated behind as you three would set forth a few minutes later, silence thick. Bellmoor would be forgotten, in favor of new memories. Perhaps your first night at camp would be more riveting. 

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Tag List: @mousetheorist

[moondustgleam]

Every Armor Description in TDP: Xadia

There will be no accompanying visuals on this post, the designs are already on my blog under the individual character's tags. This is a compilation of all of them for people who don't want to scroll through all the images to get to the juicy lore. I reccomend everyone read Rayla/Runaan's, Callum/Karim's, Claudia's, and Soren/Viren's if you care about the show's lore.

They're organized by order they appear in the hero select menu in TDP: Xadia, region, and type of armor if you were wondering.

Rayla & Runaan’s Armor

Firebrand Wraps - Seize what is yours and burn away the rest.

Firebrand Waistcoat - Meant to keep the heat out!

Firebrand Runners - Let your colors shine in the light of the Sun.

Shadowblade Gloves - An assassin knows she holds fate in her hands.

Shadowblade Cover - An assassin knows she is already dead.

Shadowblade Footpads - An assassin knows we are all, in the end, alone.

Nightsky Grips - The Nightsky Bandit had no interest in the Great Climb, only in its climbers’ pockets.

Nightsky Vest - While the others sought a single treasure, he had his pick of plenty.

Nightsky Buckleboots - Only the Nightsky Bandit ever grew rich from the Great Climb - and his feet never left the ground.

Amaya & Zeph’s Armor

Katolian Gauntlets - “We are the hands of our kingdom…”

Katolian Surcoat -“...we raise blades, we bear shields, we carry the scars of the past…” 

Katolian Greaves - “...but we are the strongest when joined with others.” - Katolian Soldier’s Oath

Nightguard Gauntlets A relic of long-ago warriors who served the Dragon Queen, Luna Tenebris.

Nightguard Brestplate The Nightguard vanished with their Queen, but their spirits remained.

NIghtguard Sabatons Now they roam the Moonshadow Forest, searching for Luna’s heir.

Stormrunner Gauntlets - Maybe you could punch the Eternal Storm in the face!

Stormrunner Cuirass - Armor that really says, “Come at me, Eternal Storm! Bring it on!”

Stormrunner Sabatons - You know what? The Eternal Storm could use a good kick in the butt, too.

Callum and Karim’s Armor

Flamedance Tassels - Dance, little flame, dance to a silent song.

Flamedance Chemise - Warm our hearts and bodies, keep our spirits strong.

Flamedance Sandals - Dance, little flame, dance - for the night is very long.

Illusionist Handwraps - “Most people believe that reality is truth and appearances are deceiving…”

Illusionist Amice - “...but the Moon Arcanum tells us we can only truly know the appearance itself…”

Illusionist Treads - “You can never touch the so-called reality that lies just beyond the reach of your own perception.” -Lujanne

Feathered Wrists - Let nothing clip your wings.

Feathered Jerkin - Let nothing weigh you down.

Feathered Footwraps - Let nothing keep you from the sky.

Claudia’s Armor

Dawnheart Maniple - No shadows escape the wrath of the Sun at its zenith.

Dawnheart Amice - You buried your shadows deep - but the Light sees them still.

Dawnheart Slippers - When the darkness in you burns away, what remains?

Silvergrove Bracers - The traveler told a breathless tale: a village, there one moment and gone the next.

Silvergrove Vest - Impossible, they laughed at him: the forest’s magic has simply played a cruel trick.

Silvergrove Boots - But when the Moon is dark, is she not still there in the sky…?

Daybreak Reach - “I found my lover weeping, gazing up at the night skies…”

Daybreak Doublet - “... I took his hands in mine and said, my darling, dry your eyes…”

Daybreak Walkers - “...the dark is not forever, love! The sun must always rise.” -Skywing Song

Janai’s Armor

Golden Knight Vambraces - Gold, for the Sun’s light.

Golden Knight Hauberk - White, for her radiance.

Golden Knight Treads - Red, for her power.

Moonfire Grips - Some say the Moon is the Sun’s shadow, a pale imitator, a sad reflection.

Moonfire Tunic - Some say the Sun kills the Moon hen she dares grow bright enough to challenge her radiance.

Moonfire Greaves - The truth? The Moon and the Sun are sisters, a fire charred between them.

Empyrean Gloves Some - Great Climbers keep an open mind about strategy.

Empyrean Brigandine - One path to victory is to beat everyone else to the prize…

Empyrean Stompers -  …another path to victory is to beat everyone else with your fists.

Soren and Viren’s Armor

Blacksteel Grips - Something echoes in the metal.

Blacksteel Aegis - Does it sing, or does it scream?

Blacksteel Boots - What did they bury down there beneath the earth?

Ghostfeather bands - “Bit by bit the moon fades away, then bit by bit it will brighten again. That is our cycle.”

Ghostfeather Treads - “...for those who will come after you, think on all you will give them.” - Lujanne

Ghostfeather Tunic - “For those you have left behind, think on all they have given you…”

Skyblazer Vambraces - A group of elves called the Skyblazers were the first to ever attempt the Great Climb

Skyblazer Collar - Their ambition drove them higher, higher, and higher still…

Skyblazer Sandals - …but hubris brought them down again.

[justbelievinginmagic]

ariadne's thread ⎯ pt. 6: the hunter and the hunted.

pairing(s): hyunjin x fem!reader, bang chan & fem!reader, jisung & fem!reader series summary: when tempted by an intoxicating offer by hyunjin the goblin king of the underground, you fight against him to find your own sense of self once more while in his labyrinth. glimpse: the gardens hold the beauty of the labyrinth . . . as well as its horrors. creeping forward without jisung's companionship, you face the roars and growls ahead, alone. warnings/tags: inspired by the 1986' movie Labyrinth, follows majority of the movie's plot points with lore divergence, 3rd person POV, use of Y/N, bang chan is referred to as chris, mild violence, cruel punishment, injuries, blood, fear, fights, strong language, faerie lore!!, world building, hyunsung tension, let me know if there needs to be more tags! word count: 7.8k previous chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

Roars echoed through the Labyrinth, shaking the greenery around her. Some rogue flowers curled into themselves, hiding away like sea creatures returning to their shells. Startled bird-like creatures croaked and crowed as they flew off with leathery-sounding wings. There was a rustling within the hedges like the leaves themselves were crawling away from the frightful sounds. Yet here she crept forward, holding her breath as she finally reached the entry-way, a grand hedge archway shadowing her as it opened into a courtyard.

This courtyard was different from the others. Instead of being encompassed by the hedges, the immediate space in front of her were evenly spaced porcelain columns holding up the large rotunda above them. It was only then she realized she was closer to the edge of the Gardens than she had thought – the false sunlight was still bright overhead, making sweat drip down her neck but, she could also see the rest of the Labyrinth in front of her, maze after maze crawling over large undulating hills. It looked like it was made for an ant, how far away and never-ending the maze felt from this perspective. Looming over it all was the Castle, ever present and ever far away. She swore she saw a light twinkle from the highest tower, like a winking eye. The Runner looked away and peered towards the cacophony filling the air.

There was a maze of columns now, scattered in no exact pattern she could distinguish, but providing cover as she crept forward. The floor was between cobblestone and dirt, uneven and changing in its consistency. Yes, this wasn’t the well-maintained Gardens of before – it felt like she was off the chosen path once more. Creeping forward, each pillar seemed to hide what was happening purposely, shifting to prevent her from moving forward fast enough– growls and roars only increasing but also screeches of giggles from squeaky-goblin voices. The same tones she had hear in her bedroom chanting and snickering from underneath her bed. That felt like ages ago…

In the shadow of one of the columns holding the grand rotunda up, she could see a man hung by his wrists, high above small furry goblin creatures wielding weaponry of all sorts. He was well-built, shirtless, his white linen shirt torn to shreds below him where it soaked in a puddle of his own purple blood and sweat. Injuries and bruises painted his skin like a mosaic of muddy emerald, inflamed vermillion, and bloody purple-violet. His head was thrown back in pain as he bellowed out an animalistic noise, too deep and monstrous to truly be human. It almost didn’t process that it was coming from his chest, yet she could see his human-pecs vibrate faintly with the sound. That was when Y/N noticed the ram-like horns curling out of his temple, framed by messy, sweat-plastered brown curls.

Yes, he was certainly not human. (But what here was?)

The fine muscles in his neck and shoulders strained and bulged as he swung by the iron chains looped around his hands. All his weight on just his wrists must’ve been torture. The fae-man took a deep breath, his stomach concaving and expanding, before he heaved himself upwards as he tried to adjust the weight on his wrists. He only had a moment to breath out a hiss before he slumped down, groaning from the pain of holding his weight. Shoulder bones popped and creaked inhumanely.

Even worse were the goblins surrounding him that took joy in his agony, giggling and cackling with sharpened fangs.  Each one held a different sort of weapon – a spear with a sharpened tip dripping in violet, a javelin with some sort of creature tied atop with millions of fangs and blood-stained claws at the ready, a flower-esque whip with red-thorns lining the long strip of vine, the list went on. One by one, the goblin creatures dressed in miniature knight-wear would approach with giggles and chatterings, egging one another on. They poked and prodded the man, who grunt and struggled.

A particular strong bite to his ribs by the javelined-creature made him roar out in pain. Inhuman noises broke free from his gnashing teeth, bearing chipped fangs at the guards who tormented him.

It wasn’t right.

The horned man was dripping in purple blood, the violaceous rivulets staining his bared skin. His eyes squeezed shut as he groaned out a growl. The clash of a whip went against his bared back, and Y/N flinched back at the sound.

She had to help; she just wasn’t sure how. Glancing about she tried to find something to defend herself with. The goblins were small but there were five of them and only one of her. Five armed, one unarmed.

“Take this,” she heard a voice squeak out as a spear prodded the fae man’s chest and he let out a wail, head thrown forward now. As if he could somehow protect his chest. Breathing heavily, he glared at the little creatures, struggling against his bonds once more as he twisted and swung in a slow circle. Eyes wild as he spun and spun. She thought for a moment, their eyes locked. But he soon was groaning out in agony.

The Runner glanced at the jewels on her waist. Would one of these be large enough to throw or cause damage? No, not truly. Perhaps—

She felt a nudge against her shoe. Holding in a yelp, a hand over her own mouth, she looked down to see… a rock. Nothing magical about it. Not a bauble of light, a bubble she had seen the King tempt her with time and time again. Just a sandy-looking rock, large enough to be a softball size. It nudged her again slowly and intentionally. It kept a snails’ pace but it nudged and nudged and nudged. Insistently. As if called to her. It took her a moment of awe before she heard another cry of anguish, and her eyes flashed back to look at the captured fae-man.

Her heart squeezed to see tears drip down his cheeks as his teeth gritted into a scowl. This wasn’t right; she had to try something. Squatting, she grabbed the rock that inched forward slower and slower, and brushed her thumb over the rough edges; it didn’t look magical, or living, but this place had made her question things before. The Runner glanced back up to see all five of the ‘knights’ count down, preparing to rush forward the weapons ready to strike the poor trapped fae. It was now or never!

It was then she aimed and threw the rock, aiming for one of their heads. With a clank, she hit her target. The rock bounced off of one of the guard’s helmets, swinging it around almost comically until it covered their eyes. With loud squeaking words in a language she couldn’t decipher, the creature spun about with their weapon tilted before it pierced through another guard’s chainmail. Shrieks of chaos, bickering and moans of pain came from their pile of fur and claws.

“You hit me!”

“No, you did!”

“I’m reporting this to our commander!”

“No, you won’t!”

They spoke over one another in a hurried mess.

Most goblins weren’t clever; they followed their instincts and forgot things. Like their prisoner and the rock that had hit their comrade in the first place. Off they marched, babbling over one another still, until the prisoner and the Runner were alone.

Y/N let out a breath.

That was surprisingly easy. What wasn’t easy was finding out how to get the injured man down now! Rushing forward, she heard a low growl shake the ground.

She slowed, hands rising as she took in his appearance. He was huffing and puffing, his ribs expanding and decompressing rapidly. He had finally stopped swaying in the wind, but it only seemed to trap him more. His body huffed and puffed, eyes wild as they eyed her and snarled.

He looked uncanny in this moment – less human than he had been a minute ago. His mouth too large for his face as he let out a menacing growl, rows of fangs as if he were a shark were visible as he glared at her. There were far too many sharpened fangs for her to feel comfortable and yet she still tried to soothe him.

Those goblin guards had been torturing him for fun.

She wouldn’t.

(She surely hoped that would mean he wouldn’t hurt her in return.)

He growled again and she paused – doubting herself for a moment. She met his eyes and saw how they were shaking. The irises were trembling, jumping from her form to the environment around them. Maybe he was just… scared, overwhelmed.

She offered a gentle smile, hands held up in defense.

“I won’t hurt you!” she called out softly. “I promise.”

Before she continued forwards carefully. He jolted backwards and growled. His movement made him spin from his wrists once more.

He was afraid – that was the only explanation. But she could feel his pain as he spun once, twice, three times. He squirmed and tried to readjust again only to swing wildly. His chest heaved and there was a whine of pain escaping his throat.

“Oh no,” the Runner rushed forward quick, hoping he’d be facing away and not startle too badly as her hands rose to stop him from spinning. Two small hands resting on his broad back with care, sliding to settle on his ribs to avoid any of his wounds. His body was cold as stone and sturdy as rock. She felt his muscles jump as she minded his injuries the best she could. He stopped swaying and she took in his restraints from up close for the first time. Far too many chains of iron curled around his form. There was a shackle around his neck, a chain looped around his lean waist, wrapped chains around each of his biceps and finally a myriad of overlapping chains around his wrists from which he hung from. She gently turned him around, trying to keep it slow and gentle.

She met his eyes, grey and stone-cold. They were piercingly heavy and she couldn’t help but stare. His face was all masculine angles, sharp jaw, rectangular face. His nose was broad and bore a large scar, like an animal scratch starting from his right cheekbone traveling across its bridge to the other cheekbone. His teeth were snarling at her, perpetually stuck in this growl. His bottom canines were sharpened and chipped in places as if he had used them to fight before. Her eyes flickered back to his eyes that seemed to speak for him now. It was commanding but not in a way that was magical – it was a brute strength, cold-stone glare.

“Down,” he finally spoke to her, more like growled out to her; his tone still edging towards animalistic still.

She nodded agreeing. “I’m trying.” She reassured, her hands leaving his form after a moment. “Trust me.”

“Before they get back,” he rumbled.

“I know. I’m trying to find how they strung you up,” she relayed as she followed the chains high above them. Like his own bonded wrists, the chains linked and overlaid one another in a patterned mess. They stretched up across the columns, criss-crossing like a spider’s web. She could even see some bird nests in between the chains, making their home there and weighing down sections. Her gaze went one way and then another. This way and that, that way and this. Twisting around columns, decorating it in intricate weave work. Until they came to the end. Which was thankfully not too far. The last end of the chair curled around a column like ivy before hitching over a hook in the rockwork.

Rushing over to the end of the lead, she quickly released it, unwinding it and letting go as it tugged ferociously. The man crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. He hissed out but remained still on the ground for a moment. Huffing and puffing.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she cried out, rushing over to him and falling to her knees beside the fae-man.

She watched, cautiously, as his body heaved and huffed. His muscles finally had a break, his joints cracking loudly as he shifted this way and that. He pressed his forehead to the ground beneath him, his horns digging into the soil. Skin to raw earth, he seemed to relax. His shuddering stopped as he took in deep slow breaths.

“Are—are you okay?” The Labyrinth-Runner queried. She didn’t touch his bare back nor move from her spot beside him.

He breathed in before nodding.

“Yes,” he replied, sounding different. More whole now. His voice was no longer a rumbling growl but instead it was shifting into something far softer. He cleared it gently.

“Thank you for helping me.”

Rising up onto his knees, his hair fell over his forehead in mussy natural curls with leaves and twigs from the ground tangled in his locks and dirt clinging to his forehead, but what caught her off guard was his eyes. They were no longer stone-cold but instead a gentle grey. Sparkling and gentle as he took her in. He leaned back onto his legs, matching her kneeling position as he blinked owlishly at her.

“I’m… I’m Chris,” his voice was careful, soft. Tinged with an accent Y/N couldn’t place but felt far different from the others’ she had met so far. But what had shocked her so far was his sincerity.

Despite everything - the mussed curls plastered to his sweatied forehead, the overwhelming chains wrapping around his form, the claw marks, goblin bites, and cuts oozing violet-purple blood across his torso, the layered scars up and down his arms and shoulders, the prominent slice across the bridge of his broad nose, the dirt across his brow – his grey eyes felt soft and real. Honest. His lips twitched into a careful smile, far from the uncanny rows of fangs she had sworn she saw while he was trapped.

She would take this in stride she thought. Not everything is as it seems but… if she was honest, he seemed to be different from what meets the eye.

“It’s nice to meet you, Chris,” she greeted, a hand slowly going to pick the leaves and sticks from his chocolate hair carefully. He flinched away at her movements at first, his overcast eyes dilating before focusing back in on her like a big cat as he froze and allowed her to pick a pine needle from his hair carefully.

“I’m Y/N.”

He repeated the name with a softness. “I’ve never heard of a Y/N in the Labyrinth before.” Chris murmured.

“Is there only one person for each name here?” she queried as she continued her picking and fluffing of his curly hair. He blushed an otherworldly purple, the color high on his cheekbones.

“Names are special here. No one is ever named the same,” he informed her.

If he had been even more honest, he’d mention that names held power. (There was a reason Jisung never gave her his, nor did Hyunjin. Learning names from other sources gave them less power than someone giving it to them but it was still power. Naming a fae was entering a pact with them.)

She hummed in acknowledgement before taking the final loose leaf from his hair with a satisfied smile.

“I’m trying to beat the Labyrinth,” she told him, hands going to her knees. “I’m trying to get home. Do you know the way to the Castle?”

There’s a glance towards to the looming image of Hyunjin’s castle – it somehow was able to look so close yet so far away in one blink, as if it were an optical illusion. Chris pressed his lips together and swallowed, looking away from the centerpiece of the maze.

Despite his strength, in that moment, he looked small. Hand going to scratch at a wound on his arm as he shook his head softly. Eyes downcast, almost child-like. Frightened, she realized.

Maybe it was due to the King’s cruel guards, or maybe the King had declared this sort of punishment.

It made her blood boil – the King was frightening. A tyrant king. She had yet to meet one person with a positive view of him. It was guards long forgotten at posts deep in uncared for mazes, remains of Runners scattered in the Labyrinth like forgotten toys, trolls left to rot in oubliettes, power-lusting goblin guards torturing a man. All away from the castle and yet shadowed in Hyunjin’s power.

She glared up at the Castle she was trying to get to. What would become of her if she fails? If this is how he keeps his Labyrinth’s order? She knew he wanted her to be his – but if this was his Kingdom, was she to become nothing but another ghost in the many twisted paths of his Labyrinth?

“Okay,” she buzzed. Too much energy in the word to sound calm. But she didn’t push him, not when he winced after grazing over a wound too closely. Her gaze settled back on Chris, taking in the way the iron chains wrapped around his body. They cut into his skin harshly, his wrists dripping with deep-violet blood, and even his biceps had rivulets of blood running down his arms with every movement. That had to hurt.

“Let’s try to get these off, okay?” she changed the subject, hands moving from her lap to brush tenderly over a chained bicep before fingering the ones around his wrists. The chains were heavy and criss-crossing like snakes around his wrists. She couldn’t see where one chain started and ended.

Chris couldn’t help but let the awe in his eyes gleam as she touched his shackles with ease. (Iron is cursed to fae – remember this. Iron-metal burns with a thousand suns to weak faeries; why do you think the human realm is made up of it?) Chris had grown used to the ache and sizzle where the metal laid but every push and pull made his eyes water in agony. But she touched them easily.

“It’ll hurt.” Chris rumbled - eyes wide as he pulled back from her grasp. His hands going towards his chest protectively.

“But, doesn’t it hurt now?” Y/N asked, eying the cuts carefully.

Chris visibly gulped as he tried to shrug.

“It’ll be over in a second,” she promised. “We’ll tug them over your hands and figure out what to do next.”

The horned man shook his head, eyes wide like a pup’s. “No, no way; it’ll hurt!” he pleaded.

“Trust me?” she asked. “Like before? I helped you then and I want to help you now.”

He swallowed. “I do trust you. . .”

“Good, here let me see,” she soothed as she took his hands once more in hers.

The chains wrapped over and over around his wrists, weaving in and out. They were made slippery with his magenta-hued blood. It took time and each time she unwound it further, each time she found a new give in the chain, she’d apologize quietly. The push and pull of metal had to hurt against his irritated skin.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts; it’ll be better once its off,” she apologized once more as she tugged and tore at the shackles from his wrists. He whimpered, the sounds escaping from his clenched fanged mouth.

As they continued to unravel, the iron digging into his skin became more and more rusted and sharpened. There were odd-crystal structures of rust piercing into his skin, like thorns, and it made her only gasp in horror as she continued to pull at the irons.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured softly as she saw how torn up his wrists were. It only made her want them off quicker. He sniveled, eyes shutting tightly. She quickly continued onwards, flinching as these crystallizations scratched her own hands up. But they were almost unraveled, more and more bare skin visible. Puffy and inflamed, deep-violet and navy spiderweb bruises bloomed where the chains had rested.

“I’ve got it I promise.” she quickly slipped the cuffs away.

His violet and her ruby blood mixed together on their skin as she dropped the cuffs to the ground.

“There,” she smiled proudly before looking over his hands. “Oh Chris, are you alright?”

Only, he was staring down at her own hands, covered in red and purple.

“I’m okay.” his voice was strained. “You’re bleeding, Y/N.”

His nostrils were flared. His chest rose and fell harshly as he smelt the blood billow into the air.

Her hands stung but she simply shook her them as if its rid them of the pain. Chris’ large hands went to grasp hers, his touch harsh at first as if he wasn’t used to his own strength. Her furrowed brow, soft gasp, and clenched teeth were cues enough and he held them gentler, tenderly. His eyes were sad, almost like a kicked puppy dog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“I’m okay,” she reassured. “Just some cuts and scrapes.”

His fingers brushed over some of her wounds with the carefulness of a parent, not wanting to cause her any more pain. She squeezed a finger gently, trying to let him know it was fine.

“Let’s get these off too,” she nodded to his arms. They looked easier to wiggle off, less wrapped and more like a singular chain that dug into his skin. With some effort and Chris flexing and twisting his arm, they too fell away to the cobblestone floor.

His biceps were ringed in irritated-inflamed violet while remnants of magic-infused blood, sparkling and shimmering like amethysts in the Gardens’ light, dripped down his tanned skin.

“Do you want us to try to remove the neck and waist chains?” she queried, wiping her hands on her pants (luckily, they were dark and wouldn’t show the blood that now painted her fingers a pinky-purple color.) Each brush of fabric made her flinch.

Chris looked down at his bound waist, long chains of iron wrapping around him and draping to the floor, tumbling around his legs.

“No, let me try; I can move my arms,” he tested the strength of the chain, gripping it by his sides. Gritting his teeth, he held the shackle’s chain in his hand and pulled. Pulled, pulled, pulled until the link shattered. The shackles fell from his waist like it was a paper chain.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the display of strength.

“Wow.” She murmured. “You’re really strong.”

Chris smiled, his eyes squinting into half-moons as his cheeks flushed.

“You're strong too," he complimented, because in his eyes, she was.

"I was a Hunter before this,” he admitted to her.

“What happened to get you caught up in this?” her chin nodded to the shattered remains of the chains and his shredded shirt on the ground beside them.

He frowned. “I failed a mission set by the King,” he replied. “He cursed me to a hundred years of imprisonment.”

“That’s horrible,” she replied. “What was the mission? Nothing is worth a hundred years of imprisonment if it was just a task he gave you.”

“I was sent off to destroy a beast – a monster in the desert sea, but when I found it—him—I realized it was just living peacefully,” he commented. “He hadn’t caused any destruction or deaths. So, I spared him.”

Her brows crinkled. “So, the King punished you for mercy?” she queried.

Her blood boiled. Hyunjin was becoming more and more unsavory to her. How dare he! How dare he punish someone for mercy!

“He wasn’t himself after—I thought maybe a courtier had planned it, made the plot to blame the destruction onto someone else – he didn’t believe me.” He murmured, fingers brushing over his no-longer aching wrists. “The Prince had tried to help me.” Chris admitted after a moment, head tilting in acknowledgement. 

Prince… King… wait. Y/N’s eyes widened.

“How long have you been captured, Chris?” she asked.

“I can’t remember—maybe a few years.” He admitted. “Minutes can feel like days.”

She feared it had been much longer if there was a Prince when Chris was put into chains and now there were none. Unless Hyunjin had a son running around in the looming Castle but there were never any tales of that in her storybooks.

“I’m sorry that you’ve been stuck for so long – especially with those goblins looking over you,” she nodded in the direction the ‘guards’ had scurried off to. Her eyes flashed over his bared skin, the cuts and bites and bruises looking gnarly on him.

“I’ll heal,” he promised, smiling at her kindly. “The pain will leave soon; thanks to you.”

She smiled gently. At least she helped him in her quest. He seemed kind. There was a warmth to him and bigness that felt like he was sturdy and true in himself. Confident but quietly so. Comforting like the way mountains were comforting in their ever-presence.

“I need to keep going now,” she admitted. “I need to make it to the Castle – will you be alright?”

His grey eyes widened, soft pouty lips pursing into a frown.

“Without me?” he murmured. “Can’t I go with you?”

It didn’t feel like a ploy. It felt like he was genuinely sad you were parting.

“I mean, we will be going against the King,” she told him. “I don’t want you to get into any more trouble, Chris.”

He shook his head firmly. His lips now falling into a disapproving line rather than a pout.

“Nah, nah, nah,” he said. “I can help you – like you helped me.”

Her own eyes were soft and gentle as she looked at the hulking man before her and yet his words were gentle and kind.

“Are you sure?” she clarified.

“I can’t let you leave without me,” he insisted. “We—I’m here for you now.”

It was insistent and genuine. Not insistent and obsessive. It felt like for once… she had someone truly on her side. Not won over by prettied jewelry or by loneliness in the middle of a maze with only their lover. But for her and her actions.

Her smile made her cheeks ache with how large it was.

“Okay. We’re friends now,” she told him sincerely.

“Friends,” Chris beamed back as he took her hand in his giant one.

His hand encompassed hers easily, but he held it with care of a gentleman.

“So where to?” he asked.

The path onwards felt counterintuitive. They were led away from the Castle, their backs to it as they settled on the now-dirt path. Light from the rotunda above them still glared down but now felt more like a sunset’s rays rather than a noontime sun. Perhaps it was due to them being so close to the edge of the false sky-light.

They had walked only for a short time before Chris queried.

“Why do you want to get to the Castle?”

“I’m a Runner,” she said. “I’m in the middle of a deal with the King.”

He shivered faintly from the corner of her eye. “I’m surprised he took upon a Runner.”

Her brows crinkled. “Why?”

“His Champion-Queen fled to the human-realm a few years ago.” He hummed. “He hasn’t been the same since.”

“That’s interesting,” she mumbled, glancing around and winding around a column.

There was now just a large bank to her right and the Gardens and their large columns to her left. The gorge was dark. Misty and shadowed as the light of the garden’s rotunda failed to reach it. There were no fantastical floating lamps and no fire pits in this part of the Labyrinth. Just darkness. Trees seem to sprout into existences as they continued onwards, large piney trees that crept higher and higher, growing denser and denser. This shadowy darkness spilled over onto the path like an oil slick leak.

“Can you tell me more about the royals?” she asked after a moment.

Chris offered a bashful look. “I don’t know them that well,” he admitted scratching his neck. “I grew up in the Shadow of the Castle; I know the Royals by face not name; I doubt anyone really does. There’s the Goblin King, the Heir Prince, the Queen-Consort. We all know of the Champion-Queen but I’ve never seen her.” He shrugged a bit.

“I don’t know what else to say – they are the rulers of the Underground? The Prince loves celebrations; the King loved the Labyrinth once.” He tried to find anything else to say but it seemed to be difficult. Was it the topic or was it something more?

“Tell me about you then,” she conceded, hoping maybe she’d grasp some more information about this world.

Her eyes stayed locked on their surroundings, watching as the dark shadow-like trees of the forest beside them shifted and bent in the wind.

“I was the King’s Hunter – my father was their Hunter before me. My brood will be their Hunter after me,” he said easily, shrugging. “I’m tasked with maintaining the peace in the Kingdom when it comes to unrulier creatures.”

She nodded slowly. So, there was supposedly order here and Chris was once their enforcer, which felt like he was higher than the guards that were poking and prodding him.

“What will you do now?” she asked.

He nudged her playfully with his shoulder, having to dip to nudge her with his muscular shoulder. It made her smile.

“I’m with you now!” he chimed. “You got me, Runner, in your graces. I’ll travel with you and make sure you are safe like you have for me.”

(Blood for blood. Life for life. He was here until his debt was paid.)

“But… after I leave. . . “, she wondered. “What then?”

Chris pursed his lips, looking off into the distance. There were faint hazy orange-light over the horizon – from what she could only assume was the entrance of the Labyrinth, the way she came. It looked so far away now. She couldn’t help but feel optimistic that they were making progress even as they approached where she came while following this path.

“I could go back –”

There was a scuffle in the brush. Chris’ hand reached out to grasp her shoulder. She wished he had a weapon but his bared teeth reminded her that he always had a weapon with him.

“Y/N,” he began before there was a hissing sound and flash of color in the dim light.

He shifted her to the side, pressing her behind him as his large arm blocked an attack. There was a loud thud as the creature was tossed aside. It thudded to the ground, a pile of red. Another flash of light was to its right.

It didn’t look humanistic. The way it shivered and shuddered with technicolor light, too bright and too flashy to really grasp onto its features. It was more of a shifting, shimmering light leak.

Chris grunted as he stood fully in front of her as a screech escaped the creature on the ground. In a blink, all she could see was red dripping down the creature- with its long talons and dripping crimson rivulets down his forehead. Large antlers pierced through its skull and his eyes gleamed a burning red.

Meanwhile, the entity of light danced this way and that, around the crimson creature, around Chris, and around her. Like it was dancing in a waltz amongst a battle. Chris hissed.

She shifted this way and that as she batted off the tendril of light and color. It didn’t harm her, didn’t even touch her, but it was almost observing her as she backed into the hedges of the Gardens. It hovered beside her and she tried to maintain a distance while keeping her eyes on the fight.

A low growl rumbled from Chris and the creature shifted low on the ground. Her back pressed against the leaves of the Gardens, ivy scratching at her ears and neck as Chris’ posture shifted.

(Faeries all had glamour. Some wielded it; some didn’t. Some wielded it quite well.)

Chris seemed to have great control over his glamour as the same uncanny features appeared. Larger mouth, his form felt larger even if was the same height as before and there was a fearful aura around him as he dug a hand into the ground.

The crimson creature jumped and jittered about, long limbs cracking inhumanly as it crept forwards. Its gaze was locked on Chris before they rose to linger on her. There was a deep chuckle, humming through the threads of existence.

Chris rumbled again, a warning hiss. There was a jolt and movements too fast for her human eyes to follow. In a blink of an eye, the creature was gone from her vision. Chris turned and swiped towards her; the crimson creature far too close to her now. The entity of dancing-lights seemed to swerve in front of her, an inhuman type noise pushing out of its existence. She stumbled back as the two grappled one another. Antlers against horns, their feet slid in the dirt and mulch of the path. She shrieked as her feet fell deep into loosen soil by the bank and she yelped, trying to escape the cave-in of their path along the gorge. Nails dug into the remaining solid rock, her head only above their path now.

“Chris!”

Chris’ muscles strained, wounds dripping purple, before he grabbed both creatures and tossing them aside like they were nothing but a leaf.  He turned to find her amongst the concaving dirt.

Mud and mulch kicked up into the air and a blur of color rushed towards her. Chris quickly leapt into action, pushing the creature away as the Runner was shoved to the side, out of breath. There was only a moment of calm before she was slipping off the path. The bank crumbling from her weight and becoming nothing but mulch and loose dirt beneath her shoes. She scrambled, trying to grasp onto something as the crimson creature roared from overhead. The entity of dancing technicolor light swirled and whirled as it danced in and out of existence until it was gone.

“Chris!” she screeched out. “Han!” the name left her throat in fear. “Help – please! Jisung!”

A barking noise, like a creature whining and running off, pierced the air before there was a huffing puffing Chris in her vision.

“Y/N, I’m here!” he cried out, reaching a hand out.

There was no time for relief as her shoes sunk into the dirt and she slid further down the gorge. Hands scrambling against tree roots and dead brush as she tried to climb towards her friend. But the dirt was too loose, too damp. She kept sliding down and falling. The wind was knocked out of her as a log buried in the dirt nudged her stomach painfully. It dislodged her from her clawing, making her tumble onto her back.

“Chris!” she screeched out as she fell, her feet gripping nothing as she slid fully now.

She tried to grasp onto something, a root, the dirt, but everything was so fast and the fall was so steep she was soon tumbling down faster and faster until she was far below the Gardens in the darkness of a forest.

-

“She’s so dumb – I can’t believe she’d- just,”

Jisung was wandering around the last of the Gardens’ hedges – huffing and puffing about the Runner and her stupidity. His clothes were clearly ruffled from maybe, possibly, probably forcibly-pushing his way through the hedges to get back onto the main path. His curls were messed with twigs and flower petals. He stomped a bit as he passed into a new part of the Labyrinth.

The cobblestone had faded back into a dirt path. There were destroyed arches of stone, large sculptures that were tumbled over, and cobwebs casting a haze of fuzz across near everything. Old trees and barren hedges of rot framed this place. A dried fountain ached for water in the nearby courtyard of an abandoned castle. The Old Castle. This was a place for ghosts and dust. Dust sprites huddled together by a barely lit fire. In the corners, abandoned shadows clung to concrete columns and broken hunks of fire-eaten wood.

There was a large sculpture of a familiar face – strong jawbone, pout familiar, and a glowering brow – half destroyed as if by a blast of magic. Jisung passed by it without a second glance.

“Running towards roars – she isn’t going to last long; why would she do that?” he grumbled and muttered, fussing with the bracelet on his wrist. “Why would she do that?”

He didn’t understand it; he didnt understand her. But he wanted to, itched to. He couldn't help but feel so so...

“Han!” he heard her cry in the distance and he froze, jeweled eyes widening. “Help, please!”

It felt like liquid ice was injected in his veins. She needed him. She was hurt or in pain or about to be in pain and he left her. Left her. He left her alone in a place that was just built to prey upon her. His only friend. . . 

“I’m coming, Y/N!” he breathed, turning to race back to the Runner only to run into a sturdy chest. The smell of fire-smoke and honeyed-mead flooded his nose. 

“Where are you off to, Jisung?” the King hissed.

“Hyunjin,” the goblin-fae breathed out, startled by his appearance.

Dressed in a white silken shirt that was lazily open to reveal his chest, leathered pants, and a dragon-scaled purple cloak. He wore a fine halo-like crown of kingly-gold, intricate and delicately embellished with rubies. His face was one of annoyance, his lips drawn into a line and his brows furrowed.

It was a surprise to see the King in a place like this. Even the solidarity shadows hid away from their corners and pillars of stone, far away from the King of the Underground. Hyunjin glanced aside, looking over the ruins with a curled lip.

“Jisung, what did we agree upon last time we spoke privately?” he queried, remaining ever close to Jisung even as the goblin-fae continued to back away until his back hit the statue’s remaining face.

Hyunjin’s gaze flickered over the half-desecrated face of the King of old, his eyes squinting in disdain before settling back onto Han’s pout.

“Lead the Labyrinth Runner away to the beginning – which-which I was going to go do, like you told me to. She simply, uh, escaped me. Got too eager.” Jisung replied. “I’ll go lead her back right now!” He wiggled against the press of the King’s body. Hyunjin held Jisung’s shoulder down harshly, digging him into the sharp cheekbone of the Old King’s statue.

“I see; I thought you were running off to help her,” he mocked.

Jisung snorted out, the sound forced as he let out a strained smile. His shoulder-blade ached with the way Hyunjin pinned him to the stone. 

“No, no,” he smiled, pleadingly. “Not me, Hyune.”

There was almost a look of fondness in Hyunjin’s eyes at the nickname. His hand rose from the other’s shoulder to squeeze Han’s cheeks. The metal claws that Hyunjin wore pricked his skin and Han grimaced. There was a beat before Hyunjin pulled away, a glaring smile on his lips.

“Of course,” Hyunjin hummed before letting go of the goblin-fae with a rough hand. “Not after my warnings, no.”

Jisung stumbled away as he rubbed at his cheeks. His gaze flickered upwards, looking at the other through his messed curls.

“Poor, poor Jisungie,” the King condescended, sighing out. “I noticed your jewels are missing,” Hyunjin noted.

Jisung’s hand instinctively went to wear they usually weighed on his waist. They were absent; his bracelet thudding against his belt with a plastic scrape.

“Oh, oh.” He stuttered.

“Jisung!” there was a distant cry from the Runner, so far off in the distance it was barely audible. She needed him. Hyunjin was quick to speak over her and her following yells.

“How’d that happen? After all you went through to obtain them, you’d think you’d be more… careful with your treasures,” Hyunjin commented.

The goblin-fae’s hand rose to itch at the back of his neck, fiddling over the raised scales that resided there. “I—You’re right—something must’ve—I’ll have to look for them,” Jisung stumbled over his words.  “But, first, I’ll go and whisk the Runner back to the beginning!”

Jisung bowed slightly as he began to back away, step after step, heading towards Y/N. Y/N needed him. He had to find her. His fingers fiddled with the charms of his bracelet, rubbing one charm back and forth as he tried to sneak away only to feel the world stop. Birds shushed; the brush ceased to shift in the air; sounds and squeaks of the world tumbling along quieted. The air chilled to a freezing temperature and he froze.

“Wait, Jisung.”

It was an odd thing – a power only the High Fae had with their pure-connection to magic, blessed by the Underground to be able to control time and reality at whim. Hyunjin didn’t do so often, and only when it benefitted him.

It had been a while since Jisung had felt the effects of his power. Time stopping was useful when you wanted to avoid something or prolong another thing. He has memories of forever parties where time refused to tick forward, air frozen cold from magic being warmed by his body pressed to Hyunjin’s and other courtiers, and paused moments around the Castle, just him and Hyunjin, locked in embraces and pleasantries beyond Time’s eye.

Jisung’s eyes shut before he turned and falsified a smile to his King.

“I have a better plan.” The King mused. “Give her this.”

Hyunjin commanded with a flare of his fingers. Suddenly, a fruit was daintily perched in between his clawed fingers before he tossed it to Jisung quickly. The goblin-fae reacted and caught it easily.

“What is it?” He hummed, holding the thing carefully.

“It’s a present,” Hyunjin’s voice was sharp as he paced a few steps forward.

He didn’t like that he had to stoop to such levels, but she was progressing far too quickly. He couldn’t help the rise of defensiveness. He had expected her to be cowering in his shadow by now – he had expected her to be at his knees, sweet and pliant. 

“It won’t harm her… will it?” Jisung queried, quietly.

The peach was abnormally heavy for such a small thing. It reeked of magic like honey-suckle with a sour-undertone, like something was fermenting within it.

“Now, why would you care?” Hyunjin paused, glancing over his shoulder at the goblin-man.

Jisung’s lips pressed into a fine line. Silence struck him. He was truly a coward after all that has happened. He couldn’t say what he truly thought even now. If he did, what if it hurt him – what if it hurt Y/N, too? It was odd feeling care for someone else after all these years. It made him swallow roughly.

Hyunjin’s smile was sharpened fangs and rolled eyes.

“Don’t tell me – you like the girl?” the King mocked.

It was foolish but expected of Jisung. He always wanted what wasn’t his. And the Labyrinth-Runner was his. Not Jisung’s. His.

Jisung’s voice was a stutter as he glanced towards a nearby shimmering tree and avoiding the King’s gaze. His throat felt dry as he swallowed. His hands fiddled with the bracelet – her bracelet he was reminded cruelly by a voice in his head. Her bracelet she gave him after he promised to help her. But here he was… discussing her with the King. Betrayer, betrayer, betrayer. Coward, coward, coward. His thumb brushed over the charm he favored the most – the smoothness easing his rising anxiety as he felt a roil of bile climb in his throat. He felt like he was back to the dunes outside the Labyrinth, banished and alone, with only the sands of time as his company and the taste of dust on his lips. He licked his lips – it didn’t taste of grit or death. He wasn’t there.

The King made him anxious and ever-cowardly. A long while ago, he was believed to be the King’s favorite – but it is true that Hyunjin’s blood was cruel, and no one knew that more than Jisung.

“Do you love her?” Hyunjin pressed on, turning fully to look at Jisung.

Head tilting like a predator sizing up his prey, he took slow steps with his long legs. His deep purple coat didn’t dare touch the dusty ground – it was as if small dust sprites lifted it just enough so it wouldn’t tarnish the fabric. It made him look more unearthly, more slowly unhinging at the thought that Jisung wanted her. His Runner.

“Do you think she loves you?” he commented, voice deep and low like a tiger’s growl.

It held an air of warning but also ridicule. As if the idea was fictious – unbelievable. Hyunjin’s eyes stormed as Jisung’s gaze rose at the other’s words. At the sight of the hurricane building, Jisung glanced aside once more as he found his voice.

“She’s my friend,” Jisung finally murmured, glancing down at his feet. “I don’t want to harm her.”

His eyes focused in on the bracelet that jingled lightly. The metal didn’t burn him – despite its iron and silver appearance. He liked that. It made him feel powerful. His other hand’s thumb brushed over a different charm.

“Oh Jisung,” his true name was like a dog’s lead around his throat. His head snapped up to meet the King’s gaze. He was oh so very close now; his smell of fire-smoke and honeyed rosemary burning Jisung’s nose.

“We were friends once, too,” Hyunjin reminded the shorter man.

And he had hurt the King was unspoken but loud and clear. Betrayal bit at the lesser-goblin’s spine. There was a hum in the King’s throat, a soft tut before, with the polished specter, he tilted Jisung’s chin up.

“Jisungie, if she ever kisses you,” Hyunjin was close, the king invading the space of his once-Gentleman-In-Waiting, his estranged best friend, “I’ll make you a Prince.”

Jisung couldn’t help the glow of wonder from sparkling in his eyes. Confusion and awe. He was a greedy soul through and through. Perhaps his blood was of dragon-fae long passed considering how he exceled in green envy and the need for a hoard of pretty things.

If he was a Prince of the Underground, he’d have all the jewels and finery and wondrousness that a fae like himself deserved. Even more than when he was a Gentleman-In-Waiting. All because of a human kiss? No, no, not just a human’s kiss – it was Y/N. Brave, stupid, charming Y/N. She’d probably like him more and--

“The Prince of the Land of Eternal Stench,” Hyunjin finished with a cruel smirk. He loved to watch the awe fade from his subject’s eyes – how Jisung’s Adam’s apple stuttered with a swallow. Hyunjin’s fingers rose to pinch the fair goblin’s chin. “Don’t make me do such a thing, my pet.”

Jisung trembled as he nodded. “Yes--yes, your Majesty.”

“Good boy,” the Goblin King hummed before letting go of Jisung’s chin and stepping away with a scowl.

“Give my gift to the Runner; she’s making too much progress.”

[m1d-45]

constellations

summary: some words on the characters’ thoughts on their constellations, or lack thereof. here are my thoughts on how constellations work in sagau btw

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: spoilers for character lore, names/titles of places and people. based on my team, my characters, and my constellations.

-> gn reader (you/yours) ft. barbara, thoma, heizou, collei, kujou sara, sucrose, candace, n ganyu, in that order

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24

< masterlist > || bonus >

barbara takes great pride in her job as deaconess, a feeling that only grows as more of her stars are lit up. the small blue lights are typically hidden, tucked behind her vision and inlaid within her holy book, but she knows they’re there.

she knows, in some quiet part of her subconscious, that she wasn't meant to be wished upon. she knows that the stars cast were meant for another, that they’d brushed by their intended destination and landed in her palms instead, but she doesn't mind. what matters is that her stars glow brightly, lighting up the wings of her vision's frame, six blue stars denoting the highest level of trust from her god.

they weren’t meant for her, but yet they didn’t go to another. she wasn’t intended to be blessed, and yet she was still chosen as a recipient of heaven.

to her, they are a symbol of her devotion nonetheless. to her, little things are truly accidents; maybe her intuition is in fact her insecurity, or maybe even gods miss their mark. maybe it’s neither. maybe it’s both. who is she to decide the intentions of the divine?

whether made for her or not, at the end of the day she was still chosen. and for barbara, this is enough.

thoma wears his one star with immense pride, a smile crossing his face every morning when he sees it glitter in the dark of his room. the sun hasn’t even risen, but he doesn’t need the light to brush his fingers over the extra glow to his vision.

yes, there are others with more, but he never expected to be a vessel at all, let alone to be gifted another star. he sees the unlit lines upon his lord and lady’s vision and wonders why he was chosen instead of them, he sees the slight envy whenever they ask where his travels have taken him.

he sees, and he understands. he’s a housekeeper, not the head of the yashiro commission. he’s thoma, not the shirasagi himegimi. but still, he didn’t make the choice, so it was useless to feel apologetic for it. it wasn’t his fault, and neither was it theirs.

he clipped his vision onto the knot at his side, continuing to get ready for the day. perhaps he’d go into the city today, get some of the shopping done. as housekeeper, this wasn’t technically part of his duties—there were other servants able to do so at the estate, but none were quite as popular as he was.

and if some of his notoriety was from the extra glimmer at his hip, thoma kindly pretended not to notice.

heizou treasures each lit star within his constellation, sometimes tracing over the barely-there outlines of them when he’s thinking. everybody praises his intuition—himself included, on occasion—but it’s comforting to know that somebody has genuine, heartfelt faith in him sometimes. to know that even when he slips up or acts too rashly, there’s a net for him to land in.

he knows that he’s the star detective, the brilliant doushin of the tenryou commission, but even he doubts his own abilities on occasion. yet, every time he tries to hint at asking for help, hes met with the same thing every time.

“but you’re detective shikanoin! surely you’ve got it handled.”

it’s… tiring, to say the least.

but at the end of his shift, when he can lock his door behind him and allow the mask of confidence to fall, he always pauses when taking apart his uniform to stare at his vision.

the brilliant detective, doushin shikanoin, names and titles hes remembered and lost… but to you he’s simply heizou. heizou, who slips from the station during lunch to eat at a food cart instead, heizou who’s overconfident and yet still unsure.

your heizou, the one you granted six teal stars. heizou, who can lean on you and know he won’t fall.

collei has a nervous habit of playing with the cloth leading off her vision, twisting and threading it around her fingers until the glass of her vision is pressed tightly to her palm. her thumb outlines the glittering stars of her constellation, having long since memorized the lines between them.

she doesn’t know what she did to deserve them, not when tighnari didn’t have any extra stars and cyno’s constellation wasn’t lit up at all. she wasn’t particularly smart or helpful, typically delegated to tighnari’s assistant due to her eleazar. even after, when the traveller came and went, when she’d been able to take on more tasks… one star she could understand, but six?

her attention is drawn by another forest ranger, waving her over with an important looking paper in hand, and she quickly slips her fingers from the cloth, letting them hang at her side.

collei doesn’t know what she did to deserve so many stars. she doesn’t know why she was chosen over tighnari, or even the other watchers with visions.

but as she gives her advice to the ranger, as his eyes light with understanding and she’s thanked with a smile…

maybe it didn’t matter what she did to get them, as long as she used them for something good.

kujou sara knows she shouldn’t be resentful. it’s not her place to decide what a god should and shouldn’t do, it’s not her choice where the stars of heaven do and don’t fall.

but seeing the six glittering stars on heizou’s vision, shining in the sun as he tucks away his baton with a flourish… had she done something wrong, to not have so many? was she lesser?

her hand lifts to the vision tied tightly to her hip, to the one star she knows is lit up on it without even having to look. she should be grateful for it, she knew she should, she had no right to complain when the raiden shogun herself had yet to have a star cross her skies. she should be thankful, yet…

sara watches heizou walk into the police station with his regular flair, dropping off yet another solved case, and her eyes sink back down to her paperwork.

she shouldn’t let this distract her. worrying about the mechanics of the divine would only lead to headaches and prayers unanswered. she has responsibilities, ones she can’t let down, and trivial things such as jealousy won’t do anything but distract her.

sara picks up her pen once more.

maybe, if she works hard enough, she'll earn another star.

sucrose wasn’t sure why she had an extra star, not when albedo didn’t have any and he was firmly her senior. she wasn’t as dedicated to the art of alchemy as he was, and applied herself to biochemistry instead of his research in ley lines. he was older, more knowledgeable, had far more patience with timaeus than any other knight could; yet she was the one with a bright blue star.

still, speculation would get her nowhere. she had if, and she knew she had to work hard to prove herself worthy of it. even though she was still relatively young and inexperienced compared to some of her colleagues, she was determined to make her mark on the world of alchemy.

even if it meant she didn’t understand when albedo complained about unstable flows beneath the earth. even if it meant working entirely at nighttime for weeks on end to see if her lamp grass alterations paid off.

on one of these late nights, she pulled her vision from its clasp, flipping it over to admire the gleam of her extra star. maybe it was just a fluke, in the end, a star twisting for another but missing. or maybe she had done something, maybe some experiment of hers warranted reward in a way she didn’t understand.

either way, she was determined to make the most of it.

candace was perfectly content without her constellation lit up.

she’d heard, through one way or another, of tighnari’s newfound abilities. how his arrows were sharper than any blade, how his affinity for dendro had grown, the withering zones that once took a whole fleet now only required him and collei, fungi falling easily when faced with their twin bows.

but life in aaru village was simple, the days spent tending to the plants and people in the village, and the nights watching for dangers. she didn’t need to go on epic journeys or to slay devils, she just needed to protect her small oasis.

she didn’t…

but she couldn’t deny the exhilaration that coursed through her during her trial, the glimpse of divine power driving her polearm with more strength than she’d ever witnessed. hydro swarmed around her, more than she could need at her fingertips, leaving her with more questions than answers once she was let back down into her village.

candace didn’t need that sort of power. she and the rest of the village had been and would be fine without a blessing from the stars. they’d managed before, and they would be again, and she told herself that while that would help, it wasn’t a requirement, and she shouldn’t spend her time wishing for something that may never come.

…but on particularly clear nights, when the moon sang bright and she was out on watch, who could blame her if she was caught in a memory?

ganyu tells herself she is fine without being chosen. that the blank lines on her vision don’t mean anything, that they don’t say anything about her or her work ethic.

they don’t, not really. keqing’s vision, as tight to her neck as it is, hides a bare back. if she, the yuheng herself, can have no glow to her constellation, then surely it doesn’t mean anything that ganyu doesn’t either? yes, the tianquan was gifted an extra star atop her shimmering constellation, but that didn’t mean anything about her, did it?

maybe it was selfish to think like this, to judge herself against a metric assigned to another. but no matter how hard she tried to drive out this line of thinking, it persisted.

was it because she was half-qilin? no, yanfei was chosen, and even occasionally utilized as a vessel. was it because of her form of worship? no, because that harbinger had inexplicably been gifted immense strength—though thankfully his bloodlust was kept in check by the frequency with which he was used as a vessel.

that detail had made her pause, when she found out. did her god pick people who were led astray or had fallen from favor, as a way to correct? did that mean she was doing something right, then, by not being chosen?

but the crux fleet has been more prosperous than ever, but the tianquan’s notoriety has only grown after the receival of an extra star. but wanmin restaurant was still flourishing, but yaoyao, as young as she is, was still praised and blessed.

whatever divine criteria there is, ganyu has failed to meet it. yet, despite the conflicting emotions in her chest, she still tells herself she’s fine without recognition from the stars.

(if she had the chance to ask her god one question, what would it be?)

[shamanfox]

A Hymn of Gratitude (Part II)

The dawn unfolds, a tender glow,

A canvas brushed with winter’s snow.

The air, so crisp, it seems to sing,

Of new beginnings each moment brings.

The echoes of the past remain,

Not as burdens, but as refrains.

A quiet hymn, a sacred lore,

That whispers, “Grow, become, explore.”

For gratitude is the soul’s embrace,

Of fleeting time and boundless space.

A quiet vow to honor here,

The simple joys that persevere.

The sparrow’s call, the robin’s wing,

The silent peace the still woods bring.

Each subtle gift, each quiet tone,

Is ours to cherish, ours alone.

As midnight strikes and years entwine,

The stars align, a sacred sign.

The path ahead, though yet unseen,

Is softened by the light between.

So let us walk, both bold and kind,

With open hearts and quiet minds.

Each step a prayer, each breath a seed,

Of gratitude in word and deed.

For in this moment, pure and clear,

The turning world draws us near.

To love, to live, to give our all,

In gratitude, we rise, we fall.

And as the year begins anew,

With skies of endless, boundless hue,

Let gratitude, a steadfast flame,

Illuminate the path we claim.

[mouseycometz]

Ask and ye shall receive!

Polaris is Starscream's sparkling in my TF: Aftermath Lost Light campaign.

He's basically an excuse to show what how I believe sparklings grow and develop, as well as introducing Seeker culture to my players (cause I love all my little headcanons for that)

The way I imagine seeker sparklings develop is similar to birds, where they go through a "fledgling" phase before they develop all their colors and armor.

They start off small, like, fit in the palm of Starscream's hand small. Hold them gently like a burger. They gradually grow, being born with 9-ish? main armor plates that grow soon after birth. These plates develop into intricate armor and even their wings as they grow.

In my campaign, it takes 1000 years for a cybertronian to mature, Polaris is 100, so he's only about a 1 year old.

And Starscream would *kill* for his baby.

He's the most protective parent. He had to pop the poor thing out alone, by himself, stranded on Earth with no clue where the Sire or his friends where (they thought he was dead due to past campaign stuff) and learned to grow some self-confidence to care for his bitlet.

His parenting style is protective but also kind of "fuck around and find out"

he let's his baby explore, and get hurt at their own curiosity, but not too much. But if there's somebody who he knows might hurt his sparkling? He'll death-glare you till the sun explodes and if you come close and try to do anything with his baby he'd rip you limb from limb without a second thought.

He's very protective over who he lets hold his baby. At the start when my group finds him, he'll only trust my NPC Atlas (an OC who's known Starscream for a while) and the sire, Megatron.

Megs in this universe is not abusive to Starscream, but was in the past (cause of his Unicron Lean addiction) and Starscream is healing from that trauma, so their relationship is strained but he's healing not just for himself but his sparkling now too.

It's a very self-indulgent side-plot for my players. But I'm a self-indulgent fuck and Starscream literally is just me soooo

Yeah that's Polaris!

Once Starscream trusts the Lost Light with his bitlet, almost everyone will be taking turns babysitting, playing and coddling the little thing. Polaris will have no shortage of love, protection, affection and care with the crew and his momma who loves him more than life itself <3

Aw, Polaris is the perfect candidate if you wanna show off your seeker sparkling HCs! How cute!

"Hold them gently like a burger." I'm plagued with the thought of Starscream holding his little bab so gently! HELP!

YES! PROTECTIVE DADSCREAM IS WHAT I LIVE FOR! I EAT THAT SHIT FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH, AND DINNER!

Atlas sounds like a pretty cool OC, too! I'm not a fan of MegaStar, but your take sounds interesting!

Aw, and little Polaris aboard the Lost Light is just what the crew needs, a bouncing bitlet of joy!

Thank you for sharing your lore with me! It's so awesome! What you have going on is very intriguing, and I would always love to hear more from you about it! So, don't be shy to reach out!

[anemiaanemona]

Rye Catcher.

Character: Boothill.

Warnings: SFW, gn reader, reader is sick with unnamed lung disease, Boothill lore in its worse way, established relationships, angst, character drama, little man problem, guilty feeling, good ending.

Picture: Leonardo AI, Meitu.

He didn't have any news for you.

He tried to write at least a single line, but he neither had any mood nor desire to do it. His thoughts were all about vengeance and the exact way he would execute his filthy plans.

How long would you wait for him? How many winters were you ready to spend alone waiting for someone as craven as him to knock at your door? He thought of himself as a beetle, crushed by the bottom of someone's shoe: his wings were all broken and he was left laying on the ground, looking at the sky and living through a never-ending moment in which he fell asleep and woke up, fell asleep and woke up time after time…

Fell asleep and woke up…

He was thinking about you only. He knew you worried about him, and it pained every cog of his mechanical heart. He couldn't keep calm with you being so far away from him, yet he felt relieved that you couldn't see him playing the main role in the masquerade of sins he got involved into against his will. 

He was watching you through every star and moon that you could see from your planet. He was touching you with every raindrop and sun ray, taking care of you with every breeze of zephyr. He was killed by his thirst for revenge. He couldn't recall the last time he smiled. He missed the sound of your laughter – lighthearted, childish, and naive. 

His worthless, rotten, mendacious lips were blaspheming the Aeons as they let his family perish, they put him through all the horrors of loss, they left you fighting your terrible lung disease, the name of which you withheld from him. Even in his dreams he was doomed to see you hunching in stifling cough and spitting blood, your teeth and lips always painted with pinkish shade. Even in his dreams he was doomed to press the little body, that felt like a rag doll, to his chest, as if all the might he had put into his farewell hug was able to revive it. 

Hatred took its toll. The civilization was corrupted. Wolves lived with sheep, tormented, and ravaged the Planets. He tried to eliminate the evil root, but he could see it growing and prospering with every day. 

He lost his meaning of living. Greed took over officials, the Space was enraged by irrepressible hunger for treasures. They inflicted violence over others, preyed on those less fortunate. 

Did you remember how the two of you used to lay in a field of rye next to each other, engulfed in the moment of tranquility and appreciation? Did you remember how your fingers used to play with his hair, light from the mighty and torrid Sun? Oh, the laurel and the gold of his life, he didn't have any news for you. He promised to bring you white lilies once he came back home. In exchange, he wanted you to bring him joy of your recovery.

A soft smile touched his exhausted lips, and zephyr caressed his pale face. With a bouquet of white lilies in his hand, Boothill knocked at your door and heard a familiar, lovely bustle behind it. 

[desultory-novice]

...UH OH...

Just kidding as this is all very good stuff, Mechalor Anon! Can't draw it, because it's a lot, but I will drop some corresponding text/lore on you, based specifically on your "The HWC misguidedly brings Zero Three back in Planet Robobot" concept (with a touch of the sword/brush thing) because it did latch onto my brain!!

(This is the LAST major event I do in this doomed timeline though)(1)

[Planet Robobot] [Apologies AU "Snowflakes" Timeline] [Secret Boss Fight - "NULL v0.3"]

:Kirby enters the room: :There is no one there: :Suddenly, the whole building shakes: :A horrific scream, overlayed atop itself, is heard:

:A door opens and Susie rushes out: :It shuts behind her, then shakes with a thud: :Eyes downcast, she murmurs to herself:

Susie: "...What is that machine thinking...? Why would the Mother Computer...ask for something that awful to be...?"

:She finally sees Kirby is here and puts her business face back on:

Susie: "Ahem! You're back! And you've found our secret lab."

Susie: "Clearly, you don't appreciate the miraculous wonders of science and technology as much as some of us..."

:The door bangs again, interrupting her: :There is another piercing dual scream:  :Susie flinches at the sound and begins shaking:

Susie: "...I can't do this anymore." 

Susie: "Listen, think what you like about us being here, but I just need a little more time. I can't let anyone interrupt this!"

Susie: "My original plan was to distract you with our latest in wide-area suppression, fresh off the assembly line but..."

Susie: "...I can't go back in there... We excavated this dreadful THING out of your planet, so YOU handle it...!"

:The door behind her opens as she flees the scene: :Slowly, white sludge begins to spill out from the open door: :It rises into a burbling bubble with a single slit of a closed eye:

:The bubble then cracks right down the middle where the eye sits: :The split orb unfolds into two limp halves each with a smaller, half-lidded eye: :Inside each of the sphere halves one melted-looking half of two figures, a boy and a girl: :Each vaguely familiar figure has a single wing (one dark, one light) made of grasping fingers:

-

[BOSS: NULL v0.3] - Pause Screen

Of all the biological data the Haltmann Works Company unearthed from this planet, the Mother Computer seemed especially interested in this. However, it found it could not fully analyze it to its satisfaction due to the "unknown bond" sustaining the creature's core. It would ultimately deem the project a failure.

[IE: Star Dream is trying to understand Zero for its own purposes but cannot and could never understand the deep "love" that ultimately brought about Zero Three; just like it could not understand Haltmann's love and would delete it]

[BOSS: NULL v0.3 EX] - Pause Screen

Though Susie always tried to follow the mother computer's directives faithfully, she deeply questioned this particular project. When the directive came to "use" the creature in spite of the unhappy children's souls inside, it strengthened her conviction that Star Dream had to be separated from her father.

[In EX form, the sibling-goo is dark matter black instead of snowflake white; Noir's wing is blood red instead of corruption purple; their eyes remain the same]

-

NULL v0.3 plays out as a very unusual boss fight. It is somewhat timed, because v0.3 will damage itself with its "attacks," thrashing about. And if you leave it alone for long enough, it will kill itself. Or you can defeat it with regular copy abilities. Both of these lead to the "normal" boss fight ending, where v0.3 rips itself apart, both sides screaming as the white bodies melt away into nothing. 

However, like in Super Star, this boss will provide you with special, unique battle-limited Copy Abilities if you inhale the right attacks from it: "Dark Sword" and "Light Painter."

Attacking the "swordsman" side of v0.3 with the Dark Sword ability will make it attack you more aggressively. However, if you try to turn Dark Sword ability on the "painter" side, you will be met with a vicious, un-blockable counterattack from the swordsman side that will knock the ability out of you and cause it to swap sides again.

If you try to use Light Painter on the swordsman side, it will cower away in the background, ...guiltily... keeping its distance, however you can lure the painter side closer to you and reduce its aggression levels again by attacking the painter side with Light Painter.

If you succeed in the task of defeating v0.3 with proper use of the two copy abilities, you are rewarded with a different end fight cutscene, where the white body coalesces into a giant sphere once more before melting away, revealing Adeleine and Noir, looking as they did before, who then dissipate peacefully into sparkles...

--

...Man I want to make video games so bad...

AHEM! Here's Mechalor Anon's uncropped asks that inspired this!

Thanks for the appreciation and glad you liked what I did with Zero Three! Sorry I couldn't include Bandee in this more. I really did dig the idea of him using the paintbrush like a spear though!

-

PS: NO MORE HURTING THEM, OKAY? ^^ ; < message to myself

-

(1) I say this again to myself because after the "good" ending, someone out there is going to suggest, "Well, if they were purified they could come back in Star Allies! Maybe each of them sporting white hair! They could be a swap character, like the Mage Sisters. It would make King Dedede happy..." which... okay, sure, maybe yes!

Bu~t I have a huge backlog of stuff INCLUDING other Apologies stuff to do so I'm still declaring Snowflakes to be a "failed Noir" timeline!

[ant1quar1an]

Different kind of Avians, and lore

Simplified :]

(Avians = Violence Mentioned)

Lore

Humans are dumbasses who wanted to kill all of the Avians

Thing called "The Unsettling" forced the Original Avians (Ancestors?) to flee.

Different Avians went to different places, since they're a highly adaptable species.

Humans burned Avians with fire.

Original Avians - Also known as "Ancestors"

Rumoured to have been completely massacred and/or fled and changed to become a different subspecies

Is actually still a genuine species- they're just far more stealthy, and far stronger.

Wings and tail and resemble different birds.

Live in flocks, with a Pastor as their leader.

Ignis - Fire Avians

After The Unsettling they left to an island that humanity has not touched

Can control fire to a degree

Are practically made of fire- their SOULs let off flames

Higher-than-normal body temperature

Extremely territorial

Live alone, but are stronger than Ancestors.

Cosmos - Space Avians

After The Unsettling they broke all possibilities and left to the stars

Mainly solitary creatures

Made up of literal stardust

Very pretty

Wings and tail covered in stars and nebulae

Have their own magnetic fields, gravity, and atmosphere.

Their SOUL is their CORE- and is referred to as their "CORE"

Different Cosmos have different kinds of atmosphere- not all are human-inhabitable, so don't get too close until they've told you you'd be fine

Break through other planet's atmosphere when they enter it, often letting a small amount of solar radiation peek through.

Can fly faster than the speed of light on the "Stellar Currents" of space

Tend to live around the edge of black holes

Also uh. Are technically immortal. Murder-able, but won't die until something takes them out.

.... at least 13ft tall

Aquavian - Sea Avians

After The Unsettling they went into the sea

Seawing (WoF) kind of wings and tail

Webbed hands

Territorial, live in schools

Can still fly

Has some degree of water manipulation

You don't see them until too late

"Ancestor" Sanses:

Classic - Carrion Crow

Red - Golden Eagle

Axe - Harpy Eagle

Killer - Australian Magpie

Dust - Peregrine Falcon

Blue - Blue Jay

Milord - Black Swan

[lura-valentine]

Dabi - important question - Fanfic

Note: This fanfiction's originated from an RP conversation of Twitter/X. That's why the age of the characters is not correct. In this fanfiction, Kaji is 16 years old, the same age as his uncle Shoto. Dabi himself is just 24 years old and you can tell that something is wrong😅

In the real OC lore of Kaji, Dabi was 25 years old when he became a father. His mother Rain was 21 years old.

Let's just say... On Twitter/X there is a time paradox that made Kaji slip into the past...

Please note that English is not my first language. So forgive me for mistakes.

Dense streams of people rolled through the streets of Tokyo. The lights of the neon signs dazzled in bright colors, the traffic moved slowly, and the voices of the people mingled to form a steady hum. The big city was alive, practically vibrating, and even among all these people, Kaji stood out. With his black hair, streaked with a single white streak, his intense turquoise blue eyes, and his large, jet-black wings, he attracted a few curious glances. But Kaji was used to this and did not let it deter him. He walked calmly through the crowd with a steady gaze, as if his goal was right in front of him.

"Hey, Kaji!" A familiar voice made him pause. When he turned around, he saw Shoto Todoroki standing in his typical, serious posture that made him seem a few years older. His heterochromic eyes looked at Kaji with a slight, curious sparkle.

"Kaji, what are you doing here alone in the city?" Shoto asked, taking a step closer, looking carelessly at the people around them.

Shoto nodded slowly and tilted his head slightly. "Really? Is this... something urgent?" He hesitated, as if he already knew the answer, and looked at Kaji carefully. 

Kaji let out a low laugh that sounded almost like a slight growl. "Urgent enough to search half the city," he admitted before pausing for a moment. Then he turned his gaze directly to Shoto. "Would you like to come along? Who knows, maybe something... interesting will come up."

Shoto raised an eyebrow and took a moment to examine Kaji's face. Finally, he shrugged. "Why not. I wanted to walk around the city a bit anyway." A crooked, slightly challenging smile crept onto his lips. "And who knows what will happen."

A grin crossed Kaji's face. "I thought so," he said, and started moving again. Shoto fell into step with him, both of them standing next to each other, both in silent agreement as they snaked their way through the crowd.

After a while, Shoto looked at Kaji from the side. The people hardly moved back, and the crowds required a lot of patience. "Do you even know where we should look?" he asked at last, with half-closed eyes, almost in thoughtless expectation.

Kaji nodded curtly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes," he said. "My mother once spoke of an abandoned industrial site... it's just outside the city. A remote place, perfect for someone like him." His voice sounded dry, and a hint of tension vibrated in it.

Shoto just nodded and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as they continued to move through the crowd. Just as they made their way through the crowd, Kaji accidentally bumped into a passerby, a young man who was so engrossed in his phone that he seemed to completely block out the world around him. The collision nearly caused the phone to fall from his hand, and the guy stared at Kaji in surprise, as if he couldn't imagine in the slightest why anyone other than himself existed on this street.

"Hey!" Kaji growled, fixing him with a sharp look. "You better watch where you're going before you run into someone else!"

The young man stuttered for a moment, then raised his hands in apology as he took a few steps back. Obviously not expecting to be yelled at like that, he mumbled something incomprehensible before quickly walking away.

Shoto watched the scene with a slight smile and couldn't help but snort quietly in amusement. "You really are like your father," he remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow as he eyed Kaji with a slight grin. "It seems like insulting people is in your blood."

Kaji shrugged and gave Shoto an unimpressed look. "Sometimes you just have to make it clear who's boss." Then his face broke into a sharp smile and he turned back to making his way through the crowd. "Come on, otherwise we'll be stuck here forever." 

Shoto let out another small laugh and followed, hands relaxed in his pockets. He followed Kaji's lead, curious about what would await them at the industrial site, and could barely contain an amused grin.

Small time-skip

The industrial area stretched out before them, enveloped in a heavy, almost suffocating silence. Dilapidated halls with collapsed roofs, abandoned office buildings with shattered windows and rusty machines lined the path, which was overgrown with wild herbs and weeds. The abandoned area was permeated by a strange atmosphere - something dark and mysterious hung in the air, as if the place had been waiting for people like them all these years.

Kaji and Shoto entered the compound cautiously, their footsteps muffled on the brittle asphalt. Kaji surveyed the dilapidated buildings and craned his neck to take in the entire expanse of the compound. From here, you couldn't see where it began and where it ended; it seemed as if the compound was endless, the dilapidated structures lost in a silent, eternal desert of rusting steel and concrete.

"Where should we start?" Shoto finally asked, his voice quiet but determined, looking at Kaji with a hint of skepticism. "The area is large and it might take a while before we find him. If we're unlucky, we'll run into other villains as well."

Kaji nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the buildings ahead of them. "Yes, you're right. It's a risk to walk around here looking for someone. But I really need to ask him one thing." He shoved his hands in his pockets and then looked at Shoto. "We should approach this systematically. Search together, one building at a time."

Shoto tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow at Kaji's determined expression. "Okay," he finally said. "But... what could be so important that you have to find him now? Couldn't you just wait until tonight?"

Kaji reacted immediately, as if he had been waiting for Shoto to ask that question. "No way," he said sharply, his voice almost shaking with determination. "My mother must not know about this."

Shoto blinked in surprise and looked at him carefully. "That sounds mysterious if Rain isn't allowed to know about it," he said, more to himself, but Kaji's dark expression answered everything before Shoto could add anything else.

Kaji gritted his teeth, his hands clenched into fists. "Yes," he said shortly. "And it's not something I can put off until later." He looked around the area, then nodded in the direction of a large building that was half buried under wild vines and collapsed concrete. "We'll start there. If he's hiding somewhere, it'll be in one of the larger buildings."

Shoto nodded wordlessly and walked beside him, eyes alert as they slowly moved toward their destination. The building looked like a colossus, a relic of another time, and the wind carried the metallic creaking of loose sheet metal past their ears. They entered and found themselves in a wide hall where rusty machines and abandoned shelves stood like silent witnesses to their surroundings.

"If there are villains here, we'll find out quickly," Shoto whispered, his voice barely more than a low murmur that mingled with the silence.

Kaji gave him a tense look. "We're here together, remember?" He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around, his eyes sharp and alert. "Just be ready in case someone shows up."

Shoto returned the look, then nodded and looked around as well, sensing the tension in the air. "Understood."

It was quiet in the large, dusty warehouse - so quiet that even the smallest noise seemed like an echo. The only sources of light were a few narrow cracks in the ceiling, through which weak rays of sunlight occasionally fell, bathing the room in a pale, deceptive light. Kaji and Shoto walked slowly across the dusty floor and let their eyes wander carefully through the hall. The rusty machines and the dilapidated shelves had an eerie aura, as if they were guarding secrets from times long past.

Finally, Kaji stopped in front of a heavy metal door that looked half dented but was firmly locked. He put his hand on the handle and tried to pull it open, but the door didn't budge. "Damn," he muttered and applied more force, but it didn't help. He cursed quietly in annoyance and let go of the handle. 

Shoto stepped aside and put his hand on the door, just to try it himself. But he soon shook his head. "It's locked tight. Looks like we're out of luck here."

At that moment, both of them heard a faint scratching sound that seemed to come from the shadows behind them. Shoto flinched slightly and looked around carefully, his muscles tense, his eyes alert. "Did you hear that?" he whispered softly, and Kaji nodded almost imperceptibly, his gaze directed towards the corners of the room where the light barely reached.

The noise grew louder and was now a strange clanking and rattling, as if something metallic was rolling across the floor. They both slowly turned around and looked in the direction the noise was coming from. Suddenly it became deafeningly loud and a whole stack of rusty metal bars crashed to the floor. The sharp bang echoed through the hall and made their hearts skip a beat. They both jumped back a little and Kaji instinctively held up his hand as bluish-white flames wrapped around his fingers. The icy flames flickered like glowing coals, cooling the air around them.

"Who's there?" Kaji shouted firmly, his eyes sparkling with determination, and the icy flames burned more intensely.

The two waited tensely when suddenly something came strolling around the corner where the metal bars had fallen over. It was... a cat. A small, disheveled animal with grey fur that looked at them with an indifferent look and then began to calmly lick its fur. For a moment, Kaji and Shoto just stood there before their tense faces turned into a mixture of relief and incredulous smiles.

"A... cat?!" Kaji let his icy flames disappear and looked at Shoto, who suppressed a quiet, amused laugh. "Well, that wasn't the opponent we expected," he muttered, running his hand through his hair to calm his own nerves.

Shoto grinned slightly and shook his head. "It seems so. The animal put on quite a show for us." He raised an eyebrow and looked at Kaji, who was looking at the cat with an almost insulted expression. "Scared of a small cat? I didn't expect that to upset you so much."

Kaji laughed briefly and patted his chest ironically. "There you go. We would have expected anything - except a damn cat." He crossed his arms and looked around the hall again, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Maybe it won't do much good to stumble around like blind chickens. What do you think, should we just try... to call?"

Shoto turned to him and frowned slightly. "Call? How do you imagine that?"

Kaji grinned mischievously and put his hands around his mouth as if he was about to shout something out loud. "Well, how about... 'Brotherheart, where are youuu?'" He tried to make his voice sound a little teasing and couldn't help but grin.

Shoto stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and rolled his eyes. "That's... not a good idea at all." His voice dropped a little, and he sighed. "In case you've forgotten, Touya hates me. If I called him 'Brotherheart', he would probably kill me without hesitation. Trust me, I speak from experience."

Kaji just laughed and patted Shoto lightly on the shoulder. "Oh come on, it won't be that bad. Maybe he'll even find it funny."

Shoto shrugged his shoulders and snorted slightly. "Very funny. You know how dangerous this is, right? Maybe I really should have thought twice about accompanying you on this search."

Kaji crossed his arms and looked at Shoto challengingly, a wide grin on his lips. "Well, if you don't dare, then I'll take care of it." He took a deep breath and called out loudly into the hall: "Hey, Dad! Are you around here somewhere?"

His voice echoed through the vast room, bouncing off the rusty metal walls and creating an eerie echo. The two boys waited tensely, their eyes wandering through the darkness, but nothing moved. The answer they expected - perhaps a growl, a sneer, an exhausted sigh - did not come. Instead, only the cool, eerie silence surrounded them.

Kaji sighed and looked at Shoto. "See? No answer. I guess he's not here after all. But hey, you can still try. Maybe he'll respond to you." A cheeky sparkle flashed in Kaji's eyes as he nudged Shoto, almost challengingly.

Shoto frowned and exhaled irritably. "This is ridiculous," he muttered quietly, but Kaji's gaze remained fixed on him. Finally, Shoto reluctantly rolled his eyes and gave in. He straightened up, swallowed briefly, and then called out somewhat stiffly into the empty room: "Touya! Are you here?"

The echo of his voice crept through the deserted hall like a dark whisper, reaching into every corner and making the atmosphere seem even more eerie. A shiver ran down Shoto's spine and he felt his muscles tense involuntarily. He shook his head slightly and murmured quietly: "I hate this echo..."

But at that moment, a harsh, irritated voice echoed through the darkness, hissing like a menacing growl. "What the hell are you doing here, Shoto?"

Shoto froze, and Kaji's eyes widened in surprise. Slow, heavy footsteps sounded from a corner of the hall, where the shadow was thickest and an old, broken door led into another room. The two boys looked expectantly in the direction where the sound came from. The silence became thick and oppressive again as the footsteps slowly approached.

Then a dark figure emerged from the shadows, familiar but equally intimidating. The flickering lights in the hall caused Touya's face to light up briefly - he did not look particularly pleased. His turquoise eyes fixed on Shoto, then his gaze coolly wandered to Kaji. His lips twisted into an unwilling growl, he shook his head slightly.

"So what do we have here?" he said slowly, his voice dripping with irritated composure. "Shoto and my damn son... traveling together in this... dump?"

Touya put his hands in his pockets and looked at Shoto with a piercing gaze. "Say, Shoto, what are you doing here? This is not a place for budding heroes. Or do you just want to be buried here?"

Shoto raised his eyebrows slightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I followed Kaji," he answered dryly. "And to be honest, this place is not suitable for anyone. The hall could collapse at any moment, and then..."

He cast a meaningful glance at the crumbling walls and the rusted metal framework that occasionally creaked threateningly. But before Shoto could continue, Kaji took a step forward and looked steadily up at Touya, his eyes full of determination.

"Dad, I have to ask you something important!" His voice sounded serious, almost dramatic. "Dad... can I get a piercing too? Mom doesn't allow it, so... I need your permission."

For a moment, a confused silence fell over the three of them, then Shoto's eyes widened in disbelief and Touya's face took on an expression that fluctuated somewhere between bewilderment and pure anger.

Shoto raised his hand to his forehead and looked at Kaji in horror. "You seriously... looked for your father because of that? Because... your mother said no?"

Touya, on the other hand, closed his eyes briefly before slapping his hand over his face in an annoyed facepalm. "Kaji... those aren't piercings." His voice sounded irritated, as if he had to pull himself together to say the words slowly and clearly. "They're staples holding my damn skin together."

Kaji blinked in confusion and frowned. "I don't mean the clamps! I mean the three piercings on your right nostril!" He pointed energetically at Touya's face and fixed him with a stubborn, determined look.

Touya dropped his hand from his face and stared at his son. "No," he replied coldly. "If your mother said no, then my answer is no. And as for you... you're grounded. For trying to play us against each other." A sharp smile stretched across his lips. "Call it... a lesson in respect."

Kaji furrowed his eyebrows and his expression became defiant. "Why do you always stick together like that?" he asked with undisguised anger in his voice. "No matter what I want, you always agree, and yet... I'm your son too!"

Touya folded his arms over his chest and leaned forward slightly, his Turquoise-blue eyes fixed firmly on Kaji. "Because we agree on your upbringing, Kaji," he explained in a cutting tone. "And maybe because I know that your mother only forbids you from doing things that... well... Let's say they're not good for you."

Shoto crossed his arms and looked at Touya with a slightly annoyed look. "Don't be so hard on him," he muttered and rolled his eyes.

Touya snorted, a dry, condescending smile crossing his lips. "Would you rather I be like our father and just hit him?" His voice was cutting, his gaze icy. "I don't think that would be a better alternative. But he still has to learn that there are consequences."

Shoto let out a slight sigh, looked from Touya to Kaji and then back again. "How long is he under house arrest? A week?" he asked, looking at Touya skeptically.

"Yes, a week," Touya replied without a moment's hesitation. "His mother told him no, and yet he tried to force a yes out of me behind her back. For me, a week is the least he deserves."

Shoto shook his head and sighed again, this time a little more exasperated. "Wouldn't it be... easier to ground him for a few hours? You know, to make the point, but without seeming... over the top?"

Touya narrowed his eyes, his voice becoming quieter but sharper. "No. A week. Shoto, I'm not in the mood to discuss this now."

Shoto, however, was not so easily dismissed and leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. "A few hours, Touya," he said firmly, his eyes narrowing. "I'm sure that would be... more effective and... considerably less overdramatic."

Touya let out a warning growl and raised an eyebrow. "No, Shoto. I promised him a lesson, and he'll get that lesson. If I say a week, that's it. And if you continue now, you'll only prolong his punishment."

Kaji stood silently, his eyes wandering between the two of them. You could almost feel the tension in the air, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he had to suppress a grin. "Um... I'm still standing here, you know?" he finally interjected quietly, a hint of irony in his voice.

Touya shot him a dark look. "Not helpful, Kaji," he murmured and turned his gaze back to Shoto. "So... do you want to continue arguing, or do you accept that I've given him a week?"

Shoto crossed his arms, his gaze becoming firm. "No... I was planning on going to my favorite soba restaurant with Kaji today. And I'm not going to let you ruin that."

Touya just shrugged his shoulders in boredom and replied dryly: "Too bad. He's under house arrest. So you'll have to go alone."

Kaji snorted in annoyance. He couldn't take it anymore; his eyes flashed angrily as the ambient temperature around him dropped noticeably. Blue-white flames danced on his arms and flickered dangerously close to Touya, who immediately recognized the challenge in Kaji's gaze. With a cold determination on his face, Kaji tilted his head back and looked his father straight in the eyes. "Leave me home alone," he growled, "and I'll turn it into a winter wonderland."

Touya's mouth turned up into a dangerous grin. "You know what, for that alone you're under house arrest for two weeks."

Kaji opened his eyes wide, his flames flaring up more intensely. "Forget it! I'm going with Shoto, patchwork dad!" he provoked, his gaze flashing challengingly.

Shoto raised his hand and clapped Kaji lightly on the shoulder. "Good! That's the attitude! I already made a reservation at my favorite soba restaurant!"

That was the moment when Touya's patience finally snapped. "I'm going to kill you, Shoto!" His voice was a deep, menacing growl, and without hesitation he spread his own flames, an intense, glowing blue that bathed the entire hall in an eerie, flickering light.

Shoto took a step back and held both hands up in the air defensively, a nervous grin on his face. "Kaji, come with me before I burn to ashes." His tone was sarcastic, but the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

But before Shoto could take a step, Touya fixed him with a razor-sharp gaze and stepped towards him menacingly, the flames thicker and hotter than ever. "You think you can just leave after interfering in my upbringing?"

Shoto swallowed hard and slowly backed away, whispering to Kaji, "Hurry up! We have to run faster if we don't want to get grilled."

But Kaji stepped between the two, his gaze fixed on Touya. "Leave Shoto alone!" he shouted, his voice urgent and his icy flames seeming to gain intensity as he stood protectively in front of Shoto.

A sinister laugh escaped Touya, his expression becoming challenging, almost amused. "Oh! Haha! You finally decided to take responsibility, huh?!" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "You want to fight me? Fine, then I'll do you the favor."

Kaji grimaced in determination, his flames swinging around him with impressive force as he prepared for the confrontation. Shoto stood beside him, slightly trembling, his eyes widening as he sensed the tension between father and son. "Kaji..." he whispered, but Kaji was determined.

Kaji grinned challengingly, letting the air around him cool. "Fight?" he asked with a slight smile on his lips. "I see it as training. Show me what you can do, Dad!"

Shoto watched the encounter with slightly tense eyes, his brow furrowed in concern. "Just be careful, Kaji," he said in a warning tone. "Your father is a strong man, and I don't want you to get badly hurt." Then he turned to Touya with an emphatic look. "And Touya Nii, don't use all your strength, ok?!"

Kaji gave Shoto a reassuring nod, but his gaze remained fixed on Touya. "Don't worry, Shoto," he murmured firmly. "I inherited something from my mother that my father doesn't."

Shoto sighed and couldn't help but smile, even if he was still worried. "But still, be careful! Like I said, I don't want you to get hurt." Then, after a moment of hesitation, he added, "And... you can call me uncle if you want. But you don't have to!"

Kaji gave him a mischievous look. "Uncle Shoto," he said, winking cheekily.

Shoto looked at him as if he was embarrassed, and only managed a small, shaken laugh. "This is... too special for me," he muttered quietly.

At that moment, Touya raised an arm, his eyes narrowing menacingly. Suddenly, he let his flames fly to the ground in front of them, creating a brief, blazing inferno that sent sparks and heat flying - a clear warning shot that let them know he was ready.

Shoto seized the moment quickly and grabbed Kaji by the arm. "Let's get out of here now!" he shouted and pulled him with him without hesitation. "Come on, Kaji!"

Kaji got carried away, stumbled briefly, but caught himself and couldn't help but laugh happily. "Let's run, Uncle Shoto!" he shouted exuberantly, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

The two of them ran out of the hall together, their footsteps echoing in the darkness, the echo of their hurried steps ringing through the silence of the deserted grounds. Shoto laughed involuntarily as they hurried through the corridors that were lost in shadows and dusty light. Kaji stayed close to his side, laughing as he kept looking back to see if Touya was following them.

Touya stopped and watched the two flee into the darkness. He shook his head in annoyance, watched them for a moment, and muttered quietly to himself, a sarcastic but almost amused snort in his voice. "Those two... worse than Laurel and Hardy."

He took a deep breath and finally turned away, his steps slowing, a hint of a proud smile creeping onto his lips as he retreated back into the darkness of the hall. Despite everything, he was proud. Kaji had stood up to him, had shown the courage to stand up for himself - perhaps a little rebellious, but that was a part of him that reminded him of himself.

"Next time, Kaji," he murmured quietly as he disappeared into the shadows, "next time you'll have to fight if you allow yourself to do such a thing." A faint, almost satisfied smile remained on his lips as he disappeared into the silent darkness.

Hint

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