#new moon sanctuary lore

[rotthepoet]

Come Home (Dark!Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

Notes; DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Matty has been plaguing my mind and I need an outlet omg. I lowkey rewrote some lore for this, so essentially the battle of Hogwarts takes place but Voldemort's influence still lives on through Mattheo, who basically runs the new Knights of Walpurgis(The slytherin boys). Everyone is evil, all good business. 

Warnings; again, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Mattheo, Murder/death/gore, stalking, kidnapping, mattheo might highkey be ooc but its fine, dubcon(reader REALLY wants him but like.. morals?), oral(F! And M!), mention of fem masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, spitting, degradation, lowkey breeding kink?, piv, lowkey porn with plot, Stockholm syndrome if you squint, at least he kinda gets a redemption arc

This one goes out to my beautiful @nottswitch i hope dark!mattheo comes to life and fucks us both <3

Word count; 6.3k

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The bitter breeze in the frigid air pricks through my thin shirt as the diner door swings open and shut again as a customer disappears into the icky black of our winter night. I stare out after him, a farewell unspoken on my lips as I cast my gaze towards an orange, flickering lamp post lining the parallel street, and I realize how truly cold it is inside the shabby eatery. 

As I tug the embarrassingly short, mandated skirt I'm forced to wear, I can only think of the comforting and safe walls of Hogwarts, my home only months ago, yearning for the soft crackle of a fireplace and the ambient chatter of portraits lining the walls. The muggles had nothing as interesting, nothing as familiar as the light of the silver moon passing through the large windows of the great hall. Nothing as comfortable as my own home back in England, with my mother and fathers smiling faces. Nothing as comfortable as the safe, unscarred arms of the once-kind boy I loved what feels like so long ago. 

Being on the lam for about a month now, I've been skipping towns and laying low where I can. It’s not often, but when I'm able to stay in a town for longer than a week, I take pitiful muggle jobs, my current being to take orders at a local diner, “famous for their milkshakes”, although fame must mean four regular visitors in this nowhere town. 

Jean, the gray-haired woman who owns the diner I work at, leans over the counter and points at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It reads almost 1:30, and it finally sets in how tired I am. She hums and looks me up and down, standing in the middle of the floor, standing stiff as a board while holding a broom. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, a small smile gracing her aged face. 

“I’m sorry, I zoned out.” I apologize, leaning the non-flying broom against a nearby booth, and smooth out my wind-swept hair. 

Jean just shakes her head, “Go on and head home. You did good today.” she hums in approvement, tossing me my room key that was previously hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “Be careful out there, the papers said another storm is coming.” she warned, but a storm is the furthest thing from my mind as I push open the door. Silver light flashes across the street and my heart nearly stops beating, a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes squint, finally adjusting to the lack of light, catch the face of a mannequin in the window of a shop. I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and relax as I realize the moon had simply caught the silver details on the faux person. I turn on my heel and carry on down the dimly lit pavement towards my motel. 

It’s just as run down as everything else in this town, water stains stretching across the ceiling like swatches of muddy paint, and the hideous carpet crunches underneath my feet. It isn’t much. It is nothing, in fact, but a roof over my head and sanctuary from the ruthless dangers outside. 

I drop each article of clothing from my body onto the yellowing tile of the bathroom floor, stepping into the freezing cold water of the shower. I shudder, goosebumps racking through my body as I allow the water to wash away the grease and sweat, I collected today. I run a baby blue loofa over my skin, suds washing away with the now lukewarm stream. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and the smell of metallic rust from the old pipes fills my nostrils. 

Blood. So much blood. It covers my hands, and my knees, my face, and my clothes. I practically wade through a pool of it, the dark hallways of that god awful manor stretch on infinitely, and the smell of rot and decay suffocates my senses. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as his strong arms wrap around me as I collapse to the floor, and I'm hyper aware of the many motionless bodies lying at my feet. His lips brush against my neck, rough and wet, and I wonder if they have blood on them too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Malicious is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my lover, the man I thought I was going to marry one day, but like many other things before, he proved me wrong. His warm hands caress the soft fat of my thighs, slipping underneath the loose fabric of my shorts, and he leans into my ear. “They’re all gone now… Let’s go take a shower.” 

I release a shaky breath and turn off the water, letting it drip from my head and down my face, mingling with salty tears. Wiping my face with my wet palms, which did nothing in retrospect, I sigh. I can’t go back there; I can never go back there. It isn’t safe anymore. He isn’t safe anymore. Come on, I can’t keep feeling bad for myself. This is ridiculous, and as I step out of the shower and dress myself, I feel a newfound sense of determination. Sleep, for the first time in months, finds me easily with her warm embrace. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

As most things in my life do, my high spirits came to an abrupt end. Smoke fills my lungs, but there's a strange taste to it. It’s not a fire, no, it was tobacco. A smell I was all too familiar with. I sat up in bed, and my eyes met the inky black eyes of his silver, skull mask. My breath catches in my throat, only for me to cough out the smoke from his cigarette.

He couldn’t have found me this easily. It’s a bad dream, it has to be. Merlin forgive me, God save me, tell me this is just a dream! The mask on his face shifts a little, clearly amused at my coughing fit. “Have anything to say?”

Say anything. Stop gaping at him like a fish, you are a powerful witch, almost top of your class in DADA. Almost. Second place, notably. Right behind him.

Mattheo Riddle.

A sob racks through my body, tears falling down my cheeks before I even realize, and I’m paralyzed in place. Half of me wants to crawl into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, to beg for him to take me home. Home to that wretched, dark house, with blood seeped into the wood. With blood-stained grout on the kitchen tile. With blood-stained walls. So, so much blood. The other half of me screams at me to run. To run, to run, run, run, RUN! For god's sake, run! 

I push myself out of bed, fast enough to catch Mattheo by surprise. He flicks his cigarette to the side, letting it roll along the carpet floor. My hand reaches for my wand resting on a table beside the door as I duck out of his reaching arms, and I stumble to my feet as he lunges after me. I throw open the door, pulling it shut in his face as he screams for me.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he screams through the wood, struggling with the now sweat-slick doorknob. 

The door splinters open with the blast of, “Bombarda!”, but I scramble down the wet, cold streets, my bare feet scratch against the rough pavement as I sprint, thankful that it had been just warm enough to not freeze. I duck down another street, pulling out my wand to apparate elsewhere. I rack my brain for a safe location. Hogwarts? I might be able to, but I don’t want to risk splinching. My job? It might separate me long enough to get my shit together. 

Air is knocked out of me as a heavy body slams into mine, knocking my wand out of my hand. A heavy, black boot pins my wrist to the ground, and a silver mask that was not Riddle’s leans over me. He laughs under the mask, but I can’t tell which of his mentally fucked goons had caught me. I reach for my wand, but another set of boots kicks it out of my reach. Leather gloved hands grab my hair and lift me up to face the group now circling me. 

“She looks pitiful, really. Like an angry kitten.” An Italian accent draws next to my ear with a mocking snicker, and I thrash to kick Theodore Nott anywhere I can, luckily landing a solid blow to his shin. He curses in pain, and hisses something inaudible underneath his mask as he throws me back to the ground. The rough concrete scratches against my exposed skin, drawing blood from the soft flesh. I yelp in pain, landing at the feet of someone else. A black, steel-toed boot presses against my cheek, pushing my head to the side as I watch another figure ominously approach. I would recognize my Mattheo’s casual amble anywhere, and he peered down at my stray wand laying at his feet.

I don’t even have time to protest as he steps his boot onto the wood, sparks fizzing out around the magic object as it snaps under his weight. A choked sob escapes me as he approaches, my eyes wide with horror and betrayal.

“Enough of this, love. It’s time to come home,” He drawls, kneeling down to my level and lifting my chin to meet his empty gaze. “Be a good girl and come back to me, I’m tired of this little game of yours.”

“Fuck. You.” I spat on the silver of his skull-like mask, noting the wild look in my own eyes as the saliva slips down its reflective surface.

Mattheo groaned and tugged off his mask, and my breath caught in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t think this awful man who betrayed me, threatened me, hunted me down, can still be attractive. Then again, he was still the man I had loved–part of me still does love– all those years ago. The handsome face I fell asleep looking at, the doe eyes I found comfort in. He looked roguish now, his brown curls were longer than the last time I had seen him, and he had a new scar running across his cheek from our last encounter. My mouth goes dry as he leans into my face, his breath hot against my lips. 

“I’ve missed you, love,” He practically purred, pressing his dry lips against my trembling ones. I whine against him, wriggling my body underneath the heavy weight of whoever was holding me. 

Mattheo groaned, gripping my chin harder, “You used to be so obedient, pet, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you.” he mumbled, kissing my forehead as I felt his wand pressed to my temple. He mumbled an incantation against my skin, and I felt my body go limp before my eyes closed themselves, and sleep consumed me. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

It was cold, damp, and reeked of copper and mold. My body laid on the floor, sore and unresponsive to my will to move. As my senses came back to me, I tried climbing to my feet, but a chain tugged my ankle back to the floor. I tumbled to the stone floor, scraping my hands against its rough surface. I whimper in pain, and only as I go to wipe my hands on my pants do I realize I’m completely nude. Horror racks through my body as I take in my surrounding and own appearance. I know I'm back in that old house, that old, disgusting, horrible house of horrors, and tears fall from my stinging eyes again.

I don’t know how long I laid on that floor, shaking from the cold as I sob into the air, screaming and cursing with conviction, damning Riddle’s name to an eternity in hell. I scream, and wail, and cry until I tire myself out, my voice breaking into nothing but a hushed plea for freedom. 

I fight sleep, sitting myself against a wall near my chain, breathing deep into my burning lungs. My eyes drift closed, but I will them open as the loud creak of a door alerts me. It’s only then that I notice a stairwell, casted in a white light with the newly opened door, and my heart nervously skips a beat as a tall shadow approaches the stairwell. The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to what I can only infer is a basement, and I stare up at his form.

Mattheo wasn’t nearly as scary like this, dressed in black slacks and a loose white shirt. Had he not been so threatening, and the reason I was chained to the basement floor, I would have swooned over the top buttons being undone. Perhaps I still do get butterflies in my stomach, but that may just be nausea. 

He looks down at me with an expression I can only describe as mock sympathy, clicking his tongue softly. “Down here for less than three hours and you’ve already managed to hurt yourself,” he scolded me, shaking his head in disappointment, “My clumsy girl, what am I going to do with you?” 

The smile he cracked made me want to claw his eyes out, or kiss him, and I worry that he may have slipped me a love potion. My ears ring, and my head suddenly aches with a mild pain, and Mattheo smirks.

“Like the shirt, do you?” He teased, kneeling down to my level. I curse under my breath, face heating up with anger (Or embarrassment, I can’t really tell), of course I forget he’s a legilimens. “Drop the act darling, I know you’re going to crack eventually. Save us both the trouble so I can finally bring you back to bed.” His warm hand tenderly caressed my cold cheek, and I fought the urge to lean into the comforting touch. “I hate seeing you down here like this, but you need to remember your place.”

My eyes snap back to his, and I whip my head to the side to bite his hand. He scowls and rips his hand away, reeling it back and back-handing me across the face. It knocks my breath out of my chest, and the rings on his fingers cut my cheek. Metallic blood drips to the floor. 

“Fine. Stay down here and bleed out for all I care.” He snaps, rubbing his sore hand as he turns on his heel and storms up the stairs. The door slams loudly behind him, and I’m engulfed in sudden darkness.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

My cheek and hands had long stopped bleeding the next time he came back, staining my skin red with its slick. My head lifts as the door opens again, and light makes my eyes dilate painfully. Mattheo trudges down the stairs, his head hanging low, and a small white box hanging from his hand. He approaches me and kneels at my level. I meet his gaze, glaring into his soft eyes.

“Darling, you know I didn’t mean to hit you, right?” He mumbled, holding my chin to twist my cheek towards him, his rough actions bringing tears to my eyes. “I was just so worked up, and you were pushing too many buttons, you’ll forgive me, right?” He asks hopefully, but I don’t answer him.

He sighs in defeat, opening the little box and retrieving a cloth and bottle full of a clear liquid. My eyes go wide, and I scramble backwards as far as the chain allows me to. “No, No, Mattheo please don’t-” I plead, heart racing as he looks at me with confusion.

A smile breaks across his face, “Oh darling, no, no, it’s just alcohol.” he laughs a bit, a deep sound that makes pleasant shivers run down my spine and too an embarrassing heat between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? He approaches me again, dousing the cloth with the solution before taking my hands. He shushes my soft whines as he presses it to my scraped palms, which makes me hiss at the burning sensation. “Good girl, there we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes a roll of gauze from the box and wraps each of my hands. He lifts my palms to his lips, pressing a storm of soft pecks and kisses to the gauze and skin. My face heats up at the gesture, and I force myself to look away. He was always so chivalrous for a monster, though it hurt to call him that even after everything.

He presses the cloth to my cheek next, his thumb tracing calming circles into the opposite cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.” He whispered, placing a bandage over my skin. Just like my palms, he kisses my cheek, though much slower and intimate this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?” he promised, leaning over my trembling body. He looked down at me, eyes drifting past my collarbone, and he whistled softly. “A sight for sore eyes… and It’s all mine.” He smirked, leaning down as he supported his weight on his forearms. His chapped lips press suspiciously soft kisses to my neck. A loud thud coming from upstairs makes Mattheo groan and pull away. He looks down at me, wide eyed beneath him, “I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hummed, patting my cheek as he stood up. 

He casts me one last yearning glance before he shuts the door again, much softer this time. I lean back against the stone, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and try to ignore the wetness between my thighs as I drift off to sleep.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I’m startled awake as the basement door slams shut, and heavy footsteps descend to my prison. Mattheo storms into view, and before I can even get a word out, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. He sneers down at me, and my head is spinning from the sudden switch up.

“Incompetent assholes. Have to do everything myself around here,” He mumbled, not really speaking to me rather than himself. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my hair as his other hand tugs apart the button of his slacks. 

My eyes go wide with shock, and he pulls my hair, forcing my chin up to look at him. “Open your mouth,” He demands, his voice lacking his previous warmth, and I'm reminded that this is not my Matty. My lip quivers and I shake my head slightly. Mattheo pulls his half-hard cock from the confines of his black briefs and pulls me by the hair to his tip. “I don’t have time for this attitude, I said open your mouth.”

I don’t even have a moment to react before his leaking tip is pressed against my mouth. He pushes his way past, groaning as my wet lips engulf his mushroomed tip. He pulls on my hair again, forcing himself further into my warm hole. “There you go, not so hard, was it? Now suck.” He orders in a tone I’ve never heard him use in bed before, and as he bucks his hips towards my face, I whine in protest while the ache returns to my lower stomach. My jaw relaxes on its own, familiar with the girth of his hung cock. An almost inaudible whine slips through my throat, and he groans at the tightness. One more tug lets me know his patience is running thin, and I reach my bandaged hand up to stroke the rest of him while I focus on his tip.

Mattheo bites back a moan, his hips stuttering as I descend further down onto his length. His leaky tip presses against the back of my throat, and he holds my head in place while he rocks his hips further into me. My nose presses against his groin as he slips down the back of my throat, and his grip moves from my hair to my throat, feeling my neck bulge with every movement. Saliva drips past him and down my chin, dribbling to the floor in thick droplets. He shudders as my throat tightens around him, nearly swallowing the head. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck baby. Keep going for me, almost there,” He mumbles, rocking his hips faster than before. I whine around him, my own hand slipping down to the ache at my core. My fingers gingerly brush against my clit, and the soft moan I try to let out makes Mattheo’s head roll back. Hot spurts of his seed shoot down my throat and my glossy eyes go wide at the feeling.

“Swallow,” Is all he says, and obediently, I do. He pulls my head off of him, his cum mixing with the drool in my mouth when it drips down my chin. He grips my face between his index finger and thumb, collecting the mess with a swipe of his finger and pushing it back into my sore mouth. “All of it.” 

When I satisfied him, he pushed me back to the ground, and I yelped in pain as I collided against the stone surface. “When I come down here, I want you on your knees waiting for my dick. Understand?”

I nod weakly, and he smirks down at me. “Good girl. Keep it up and maybe I’ll bring you back upstairs.” He says, before pulling back up his pants and running a hand through his hair. 

When he leaves again, I’m left with an unbearable, wet mess.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

With nothing else to do in my makeshift prison, I sleep a lot. And when I wake up, I force myself to sleep again. I sleep God knows how long before the door opens again, and Mattheo trudges down the stairs. I scramble to my knees, honestly fearing what might happen if I disobey him, and when Mattheo catches sight of me, he smiles. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” He hums, holding a platter with a bowl of something steaming, a slice of some sort of bread, and a bottle of water. My stomach growls as its divine aroma fills my senses, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. 

Mattheo sits down in front of me and puts the tray between up. He rests his elbow on his knee and leans into his palm. “Eat,” he orders me, gesturing to the platter with the wave of his free hand. “Or would you prefer I feed you myself?” He asks with a smirk, watching how I shift from my knees to rest on my hip. I grab the water bottle first, chugging half of it in one go, before I subconsciously offer him a sip. What’s mine is his. Was his. Was. I look up at him, taking the water and sipping from it. I tore my gaze away before he noticed.

“I don’t want to stay in the basement anymore,” I mumble, dipping the bread into the soup before taking a bite, shivering at its deliciousness. Mattheo sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that yet. You ran away, darling. I can’t trust you won’t do that again,” He explained, reaching his hand across the way to rub my knee soothingly. I sigh and push the tray away, my appetite gone. Mattheo frowned and moved the tray away, leaning over me. “Princess, c’mon, don’t be this way.” he hummed, pushing me onto my back. My heart rate quickened, and he definitely noticed. “But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting you… That’s why you ran away right? My poor girl was lonely and scared.” he hummed, pressing his lips to my collar bone. “Not anymore. My attention is solely on you, I promise.” 

My head rolled back a little, lolling onto the floor as he trailed his kisses down my sternum, stopping at my breasts to gently knead them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached for his hair, tugging gently on his loose curls. He groaned in response, his lips finding my perked nipple and taking it into his warm mouth. His other hand slipped down my soft stomach, dipping between my thighs. Out of reflex, I squeezed them together, and Mattheo parted from my tit. He sat back on his haunches, using his strong, scarred hands to pull apart my thighs and admire my glistening, needy cunt.

“It’s been all about me, huh? Need to show my girls some love.” He mumbled, before dipping his head down. His warm breath fanned across my puffy lips, and I shivered at the breeze. He didn’t waste a second more, drawing a long, needy moan from my lips as he licked a long strip from my hole to my clit. My hands tangle into his hair again, and my mouth falls open with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty–” the nickname fell from my lips without a second thought, and he practically purrs against me. His hands grip my thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he dives nose deep into my pussy. My back arches off the floor as a string of curses flies from my lips. I feel his wet appendage push against my hole, and I clench at the feeling as his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. I tug on his hair again, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” I mewl, my edge fast approaching as Mattheo swirls his tongue over my clit. He sloppily makes out with my lower lips, pulling me closer to the edge with each passing second, and I’m in near tears when there's a loud crash up above us. 

Mattheo practically roars in anger, pulling his soaked face away from my aching cunt, the knot in my stomach loosening at the sudden separation. I whine and sit up, trying to pull him back down, but he stops me with a firm hold on my wrist. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” he ordered, “I need to take care of this, and I promise as soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back.”

Anger flashes through me, and I bite back my cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Riddle.” I snap, and he gives me a warning look that makes goosebumps prick at my skin. He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to my lips, and I can feel him shiver as I lick my own arousal from his lips. “I’ll be right back, princess. Be good for me, and we can talk about a reward.”

And with that, he left yet again.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I was starting to get sick of his mind games, switching up his attitude, finally giving me relief before ripping it away from me. Fuck. What am I saying? I watched him murder dozens of people; I watched lives being taken right in front of me. I shiver at the memory and try to focus on anything else before it becomes too much to bear. 

I hate how he makes me feel. Sometimes he’s my Mattheo, and sometimes he’s nothing but a parasite attached to a face I can’t help but love. My back hits a wall, and I can’t count how long he’s been gone. I miss his warm, familiar touch, but anything was better than the cold, dark basement. I close my eyes, my lip trembling as I reach my hand down, fingers hesitantly spreading my folds. Cold air hit my wet lips, and I gasp at the feeling. I brush my fingertips against my hole, whining softly at the pleasure that coursed through my body. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I hit my head too hard one day on the run and never recovered. Maybe I never really hated Mattheo. 

What is wrong with me?

I don’t move when the door opens again. I glare at him, anger coursing through my veins. This was not ‘right back’. As Mattheo’s black boot lands on the stone floor, my mouth goes dry. He’s weaning that stupid mask again, and that stupid costume, tilting his head stupidly at me. He approaches me in a way that makes my heart race in fear, like I'm nothing but cowardly prey between the jaws of a large wolf. 

He knees down, retrieving his hand from his pocket. Wordlessly, he unlocks the chain around my ankle, and he looks up at me. With another wave of his wand, I’m dressed in a loose tank top and shorts. It’s not much at all, but it’s better than naked. A rush of emotions rushes through my chest, and I almost gratefully throw my arms around Mattheo, but he stops me. 

“Go. Run,” He orders, stepping aside. I stare up at him in confusion, mounted to my spot on the ground. “I said run, little pet, like you want to.” He pulls me from the ground, pressing my cold body up against his comforting warmth. “Run, and if I catch you,” he leaned down into my ear, and through the skull mouth of his mask I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. “Well, I think you know what’s going to happen.”

I still don’t move, wondering if he would be less harsh if I stayed with him, but he only laughed. “Such a good girl, don’t worry,” he pulled his mask up just enough to expose his pearly white teeth. They sunk into the soft flesh just beneath my ear, “I’ll always find you. Go, now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but my feet started moving on their own. I raced up the stairs of the basement and pushed past the door. The house was just as I remembered, dark with walls that were too tall, black cloths hung over the complaining portraits. I was disoriented in the dark, but my feet carried me through the house until I found the overtly large entrance. I pushed open the doors and ran out into the cold, snowy night. 

Frost nipped at each of my limps, and my lungs found it harder to breathe the frigid air. I ran anyway, out towards the woods surrounding the manor. I cast a glance over my shoulder, finding Mattheo staring back at me through the blacked-out eyes of his mask. I ducked into the tree line, just as he started his casual stroll towards me. Cocky bastard. 

I run for as long as I can before my lungs give out. I leaned against a tree, walking slowly into a clearing. I take a deep breath, pulling my arms behind my head to breathe deeper. Just as I find a moment of peace, a branch snaps behind me. I whip my head around, my heart racing as Mattheo approaches me. He doesn’t run, only walks towards me with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ditched that awful mask, and I can see the smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. I stumble backwards, falling into the fresh snow. He continues his pace, unbothered by my racing heart as I scramble away from him and finally back to my feet. I don’t get one leg in front of the other before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, slipping under the loose fabric of my shirt.

“I win,” He mumbles in my ear, voice dark and raspy. It sends a chill down my spine that pools in my underwear. 

Mattheo throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my flailing lips as he walks back to the manor. “Didn’t even get a mile, love. Lost your talent it seems, or maybe you knew you’d miss me too much.” he teased, running his warm hands up my thigh, pressing a kiss to my exposed skin. 

It isn’t long before we’re back at the manor, and I thank every god I'm in good ties with when he walks past the basement. He takes me to his room instead, our room, the room where I've fallen apart under his touch more times than I can count. 

I breathe in his familiar scent as he deposits me on the bed, and I roll over to bury my burning face in the pillows. Mattheo chuckles at me and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him as he grinds his hardening bulge against the plushness of my ass. 

“You’ve been extra obedient, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with a tone I could quite place. Lust? Possession? Love? It all blurred together as he rutted his hips against me. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” he asked, before hooking his fingers at the hem of my shorts. He pulled them down to expose my glistening cunt. He spread me out along his fingers, admiring the way my pussy pulsed around nothing. He leaned in, pressing a possessive kiss to my clit, holding my hips as I try to buck away from him. 

His warm fingers trace along my thighs, sleeping between my legs and collecting the arousal that pooled there. I release a shaky breath into the pillow as his finger circles my clit, and I arch my back to present myself further. He hums in appreciation, trailing his finger further up to my dripping hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside of me. I gasp at the intrusion, not being able to remember the last time something so long had been inside of me. I keen under his touch, gripping the sheets for stability as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me. A moan escapes me as he curls his finger, and his thumb brushes against my needy pearl again. Mattheo adds a second finger, spreading out my tight, gummy walls. I crumble under his touch, mouth falling open and eyes going half lidded as he pulls his fingers from me. 

I hear him dropping his pants, and the bed dips behind me yet again as he leans his body completely over mine. His arm wraps around my neck, pressing me close to his chest while his breath fans across my face. The tip of his cock presses against me, and I whine at the sensation, pushing my hips back against him.

“Needy girl, thought you didn’t need me anymore.” He teased, pushing just the bulbous tip into my hole. It’s enough to make the knot in my stomach tighten, and I shake my head. “Need you, Matty, Need you so bad.” I admit, face flushed with embarrassment as he smirks. “Gonna run away again?”

He doesn’t let me get an answer out before he’s pressing further inside of me, the stretch burning pleasantly while my eyes roll back. His arm around my throat tightens, “I asked you a question, darling.” He teased, licking away the stray tear that fell from my eyes. I gasp as his cock brushes against a gummy bundle of nerves, and my head drops to the pillows. He tugs me back against him, pushing even further until he balls slapped against me. “No! No, never gonna leave again,” I promised, involuntary whines spilling from my throat. 

Mattheo pulls his hips back before drilling them back into me, “Good girl,” He grins as he sets a punishing pace, watching my face contort into pleasure underneath him. “Who owns you?” he asks, and I push back against his hips desperately. “You! You do, God, you do!” I moan, feeling my head go light from the lack of airflow. 

“God isn’t here, Love, It’s just me now.”

He drills into my pulsating hole, my back arching at his every thrust as my brain goes mushy from the pleasure. The arm around my throat pulls away, slipping down my stomach to find my pearl. His fingers are just as fast as his pace, and I can’t fight back the whorish moans in my throat. His lips attach to my shoulder, biting a possessive mark into my skin as he fucks me good, better than he ever had before. 

Tears fall from my eyes, and my hand grips his desperately as I’m worked to my edge. “Matty, Matty please…” I trail off into a string of moans, and Mattheo adjusts himself behind me. He bucks his hips into me once more, and I fall apart all over him. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he rides out my orgasm with a few last thrusts of his hips, before he spills his hot seed deep into my womb. Mattheo collapses on top of me, still deep inside as he pins my body to the bed. He hums into my neck, burying himself in my skin. 

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go take a shower.”

[penguinlop]

Yandere Alhaitham x Reader

/// Ignorance Is Bliss

Summary:

You discover that your new love, Alhaitham, secretly keeps a detailed knowledge capsule about you.

cw: GN reader, spoilers for alhaitham’s lore and sumeru archon quests, yandere themes, stalking, manipulation, implied not-sfw

Alhaitham knows better than anyone else that there's always a price to pay to enter the oasis of knowledge. 

Sanity is the ticket those desert sirens crave to check before you board. 

Enticing scrolls of information wrap around your waist and weary legs, dragging you toward the mirage of gilded wisdom. They dance around, heated faces burned from the whispers of sand. The glistening flow of cleansing texts and books containing forbidden, convoluted details tempts people's thirst. 

It's all for the enlightenment. An intoxicating euphoria of comprehension, to feel the ivory branches and leaves of Irminsul flood their senses. Perhaps it's the glory, that "aha!" moment people desire. They want to fatten their parched egos and satisfy that sinister appetite. They hunger to be better than everyone else by knowing and achieving more, by finding the Holy Grail first. 

Knowledge is the charmer; people are the sinful serpents. 

As with any personal research project for him, it started with discovering the topic of interest

Alhaitham prides himself on being a man with principles rooted in logic. Rationality is the key to clarity. Dreams are mere distractions. They are fanatical fantasies that the mind plays to taunt and deceive. The Sages endlessly speak of how emotions only get in the way of breaking the Samsara and reaching Nirvana. 

Perhaps the moon can only hope to achieve the greatness of the sun. 

That is why it was noon when he first laid eyes on you in the House of Daena.

You smelt of orange blossom.

How could he forget that contemplative look as you searched for yellowing books riddled with dust to pique your interest and aid your studies? It was nothing out of the ordinary, a common spectacle rather. As a fellow member of the Akademiya, you were simply another eager student to him.  

Holding onto such a meaningless encounter wouldn't be rational. He didn't even bother to gather information on you via the Akasha as a testament to his word. 

But one evening, as the lustrous moon wailed in its cage, Alhaitham found you near the beautiful Sanctuary of Surasthana. It was a clear night with a gentle breeze, the perfect time to  contemplate and relax amidst the choir of dusk birds. He was going up there to take a quick breather. There were too many annoying meetings he had to attend.  

With a telescope in hand and a notebook neatly laid on a stone bench nearby, you gazed at the glorious heavens. A faint fragrance of rose water clung to your skin. However, that's hardly what he noticed at the time. There it was again: that contemplative look. They say the scholars of the Akademiya hold the weight of Teyvat by carrying the burden of denying ignorance, the blistering desire to keep on learning. Some seek to know more and more, even as they meet their fated end. It's an addictive, maddening cycle of peeping into the elusive unknown and searching for answers. 

Yet you looked so peaceful. It was refreshing to see. 

Alhaitham couldn't help but reminisce about the words his grandmother left him with. 

"May my child Alhaitham lead a peaceful life." 

"Lovely, aren't they?" you whispered as tenderly as dancing Padisarahs when you noticed his form enter the Sanctuary's vicinity. "Many say the stars are mysterious, but I think they can be quite playful. Every day I unveil more. It's like they ask me to come and be with them" A simple glance nearly made him burn with curiosity. He suddenly felt parched. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I can often get carried away with my studies." You chuckled at the cunning man. Maybe he couldn't even hear you with his headphones on.  

Alhaitham crossed his arms and sighed. "It's fine. I should've known someone from the school of Rtawahist would be up here stargazing. I will be heading off then." Your telescope and blue robes were a telltale sign of your discipline; it was but a mere elementary-level deduction. 

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? I don't want you to feel like I am hogging the place." The fragrance of rose water came oh-so-slightly closer. It was too sweet and enticing. The pragmatic man couldn't help it. He discretely used his Akasha on you. 

After learning of your name and basic information, he came to the blatant conclusion that he needed to leave. Immediately. 

Once again, he thought of his grandmother. 

"You are such a smart child, but you must take care to have a clearer mind than others. You must understand that vain pursuits are but dust."

His mind was fogging up with too many eccentric yearnings. Aside from facts hastily gathered from the Akasha, he knew nothing about you. 

It needed to stay like that.

He nearly scoffed. What was this? That old tale of Layla and Majnun? The man who went insane from love. Give me a break. What use would itching love be to his aspirations? At best, this was but a fleeting attraction. It would go away eventually. 

"Look, I don't think either of us have any more time to waste." Alhaitham reviewed you once more before curtly turning around and walking away. "Now then, goodbye." 

He had made sure to study the contours of your face, your eye color, your height, your posture, how your clothes fit you, and, most of all, that scent of rose water. But, really, it was all to avoid you for future reference. Yes, understanding one's subject is critical. 

You raised your eyebrow as you saw his form grow smaller and smaller. Then, tilting your head up, you looked at the hypnotizing stars and deathly pale moon, trying to read your destiny and find the absolute truth. 

Before he could completely escape your view, you used your Akasha Terminal on him. Perhaps you were also too curious. Sumeru's ideals were fostered by you quite well.

Huh, so his name is Alhaitham…What a mysterious man.  

___

The art of coffee-making is a methodical process. 

Roast, ground, brew, and serve. 

It was akin to the process of learning that Alhaitham used: read, break down, reorganize, and question. 

Depending on the customer's order, it could be embellished with spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, or saffron. In some cases, sugar may be added. 

Alhaitham likes it dark and plain, an afternoon refreshment for the man on the go. While Puspa Café is a common place for social gatherings of people across all walks of life, ranging from lowlife sycophants to wishful merchants, he prefers to be alone. Solitude isn't as vexing as many claim. It allows him to think about his current ordeals. Moreover, it gives him time to read. 

That day, one problem had left him quite disturbed. 

The Dendro user has always been in-tune with his body. Ever since the brief confrontation that night, he had been physically and mentally agitated, with a fluctuating heartbeat, clammy hands, accelerated breathing, and racing thoughts. Coffee was a possible solution he believed could mitigate any troublesome symptoms. But, of course, in moderation. His roommate, Kaveh, could learn about the word moderation. 

Yet this afternoon's refreshment only made it worse.

There you were again. 

A ghastly deev haunting his every footstep. Spreading tendrils of nightmares across his skin to choke his throat, vivisecting his beating heart and rumbling mind to capture any essence of starry wisdom and pragmatic musings. 

Closing the book he was reading, he noticed the color of the coffee that spewed out of your brass dallah. It was so light. Just from the sight of it, he could taste the nauseating sweetness, too lightly roasted, with too much sugar, honey, and spice. Scoffing, he bets you even untraditionally added milk to lessen the bitter taste. Children are the only ones who dream in this nation, yet one quick look at you was enough to guess that you never truly grew up.

As if you wanted to solidify his observation, your eyes glowed and the corners of your lips curled up when you spotted him. You made your way over to his table and asked if he would like to join you with a spring in your step. 

Amidst the overpowering, bold scent of coffee clouding the café, he smelt it the moment you came closer.

Jasmine. 

Were your decisions rooted in spontaneity, or did you cycle through a collection of perfumes? He couldn't help but ponder the answer as you awaited his response. 

"Sure." 

He adored the way you perked up at the sound of one word. A waitress quickly helped to arrange a larger table for you two. 

This was just a way to get more information out of you. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Yes, you could be of use to him. The third time's a charm, they say. 

You quickly got comfortable, too comfortable. "Would you like to share some baklava or maamoul cookies? They are quite delicious, though I can order something else for you if you don't like them. Be my guest!" With a slight, delicate movement of your hand, you gestured to the assortment of sweets laying on a brass tray. 

"No. I'm fine. Foods with such high levels of sugar only leave me restless at night. It's a nuisance to deal with while I'm trying to work. You should know better, too. Thank you, though." 

You awkwardly glanced away. "I see…Well, that's not a problem. The offer is always there if you change your mind." Looking down at your hands nestled in your lap, you maneuvered the dying conversation elsewhere and swiftly began to ask about his job as the Akademiya's Scribe. The dreamy gleam in your eyes never faded

He couldn't get enough. His illogical thirst was growing.

His flesh began to blaze with anticipation. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad to entertain this romantic fantasy for a bit. Things could be tested with you. He was never one to be enthralled with the concept of love. It was too frivolous and melodramatic, but he supposed studious scholars never limit their perspectives. 

"So, what's it like?" you chirped. 

Why must you question him? He wanted to know more about you, everything there was to know. No, he had to know in order to finally get this greedy parasite wishing to feast on every bit of you out of his mind. Such a visceral need was consuming every inch of his very being. All semblances of practicality were withering before his eyes. No amount of bitter coffee was enough to quench the anxiety that plagued his mind, nor his bouncing knees, as you persistently asked him about his work and Darshan of Haravatat. 

Of course. 

How could he be so ignorant? His approach was all wrong. 

Alhaitham graduated with top grades at the Akademiya; his professors commended him for quickly deciphering incredibly elaborate ancient runes and grasping unfathomably complex syntax and structure. 

You were like that. 

You were a puzzle waiting to be unveiled and exposed to him and him alone. The world has no need of getting to view such convoluted beauty. A rare individual you were, indeed. You managed to hold on to such childish ways of wanting to dream while still maintaining a mature air of unmatched wisdom in your research. 

Alhaitham began the next phase of his project. 

Studying the subject.  

He thanked his grandmother for the lessons she taught him. All he had to do was clear his mind, and the path to wisdom was unfolding. 

___

None of it was wrong. 

No sane student at the Akademiya would ever take their exam blindly or be unprepared for a debate. Comprehension and studying are critical components to achieving success. So why set yourself up for failure? 

Before asking if you would reciprocate his feelings, he had to know first. So many calculated scenarios were emerging through his mind as he thought of what would happen if he didn't make sure beforehand. He couldn't possibly let himself look like some idiot. He had to find out the exact percentage of success, no matter what it took. 

After all, Alhaitham's hands were never the cleanest, even if he did like a cushy life. 

That is why he felt no guilt when he asked to walk you home. It was very late at night. You were stargazing again. He just wanted to be useful.  

Each step was seared into his mind. Each item of interest you pointed out on the way left him with more questions. Upon reaching your abode, sparks of pride flooded into his veins. He had guessed you lived in this area. You often walked here during mornings and later hours; it was a straightforward conclusion. Nothing special. 

A tender smile graced your beautiful face. It was brimming with gratitude. 

He ensured you entered safely and locked the door. It was only when all the lights were out did he truly depart, though. He had to see the peaceful expression on your face as you slept. 

Once Alhaitham arrived home, he felt conflicted. Reasonably, there was no chance he could ever forget anything from today. Yet humans aren't without their respective flaws, especially involving memory. He didn't dare to ruminate on what may occur if he were to somehow forget even one piece of information you blessed him with. Every tidbit and morsel you fed him was significant in nature. 

It was all part of his investigations.  

However, he couldn't write such crucial facts in some random notebook. No, no; such things must remain strictly confidential. It was only logical. What if he misplaced it? Or even worse, what if his obnoxious roommate got to it? He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue.

Summoning an empty knowledge capsule that he had obtained when he was ordered to draft more ordinances for the Sages, Alhaitham flooded it with every bit of data he had on you, from your slumbering form to your mellow smile and contemplative look. It was all there. Safe and sound, ready for him to access at any time. 

Before resting, he thought of the way you smelt of orange blossom again. 

___

You next met one morning at the Akademiya. 

You wore no fragrance today. 

Chuckling, you noticed Alhaitham stride towards you impatiently. He was clutching a small, decorative bag. After exchanging simple greetings, he handed it over to you. There was neither a frilly explanation nor a blooming blush on his handsome face. Instead, he had a sharp and clean approach. 

"Here, this is for you." 

Though not one to express his emotions so as to maintain an unreadable body language, you had picked up on a few of his habits. He seemed eager. It was charming to think about how he grew more casual and open around you. To the untrained eye, one may think he wasn't fond of you at all, but you knew. That realization was enough to keep you on your toes. 

One previous evening, the glimmering stars and bygone moon sisters breathlessly spoke of your future. It was challenging to decipher, but you stuck to your beliefs that the stars don't lie, and you were greatly rewarded.

The confirming chill that the divine gales of the night brought to you all spoke of the same fortune. 

"There is a man that treasures every bit of you." 

Despite sounding like good tidings, a hole in your stomach grew.

It started off as a tiny sapling. You suspected it to be anxiety for upcoming deadlines or the usual fatigue from nights spent stargazing. Something that could easily be brushed off. Yet branches and roots ravaged and wrapped around your organs as you heard the consistent sound of soil crunching beneath one's feet. Be it dawn or dusk, such dreadful mirages pained your spirit.

But with Alhaitham, it stopped. Perhaps it was a side effect of being in love. Being so on edge around him had taken a toll on you. Is this why the Sages warn of pursuing things such as love? You couldn't help but wonder. 

Nevertheless, it wasn't an appropriate time to have your heads in the clouds. 

You quickly tore off the patterned wrapping paper and grinned. It was exactly what you needed: more jasmine-scented perfume! Just the glass bottle itself was astonishingly exquisite, encrusted with jewels and detailed with gold. You could tell it was expensive. 

"I can't take this. This must've cost you a fortune! I really can't accept this. Though I did just run out of mine… You should return it and use the money for something more useful. Besides, I'm fine with using the cheaper one I usually purchase!"

Returning the bottle to the small bag, you tried to give it back to the man standing before you. 

Alhaitham hated the way you acted. This was just a quick gift he purchased at the Grand Bazaar. It was nothing. He knew you had run out of your usual exactly the day prior. Alhaitham simply saw an opportunity and decided to strike. Honestly, he only studies what interests him. You should know that by now. Why bother with the inessential? 

"Don't be ridiculous.” His eyes narrowed oh-so-slightly. “It was just something I thought you might like. Anyway, keep it. I have no need for such things." 

Still lacking confidence, you treaded carefully, "Well…If you say so. I will treasure it by wearing it every day! Thank you, Alhaitham." Inspecting the perfume bottle again, you couldn't help but smile. "It's almost like a miracle that you gifted me this because I just ran out of my usual. I really want to thank you somehow…."

Bullseye. 

"Hmm… Is that so? Never mind, we will get to that later." He placed his hand underneath your chin and pulled your face from side to side to inspect you. "You haven't been sleeping well, have you? Your eyebags are much more prominent." 

Twinges of insecurity rang through your bones as he examined your appearance. I suppose that's how he shows he cares? Looking down, you played with the strings of the gift bag and tried to awkwardly collect yourself. "Lack of sleep is common for my studies, but I have been a bit more jumpy than usual when I rest, that's all. Perhaps you were right back then…Too much sugar." Your voice grew weaker. "It's nothing, really." 

"If it's ‘nothing’ as you claim it to be, then you wouldn't be so distressed. Come on, spit it out." There was no need to sugarcoat things. Many of his former classmates gossip that he is a ruthless robot, but he doesn't mind such statements. To him, it's better to clear things away than regret it later. 

Not wanting to look into his eyes, you glanced at the other students in the Akademiya mingling with their like-minded colleagues and friends. Dejectedly, you scratched the back of your neck, then quickly gestured to the door with your head. "Let's talk outside, shall we?" 

Sitting under a pavilion, you apologized for the sudden request to head outdoors. Alhaitham remained unfazed. Rigid and cold, silently awaiting a reply. 

First, you breathed in, then shakily exhaled before speaking, "Okay, then. I think someone is stalking me. I can't give you a proper explanation as to why, but I just know. It really has left me so scared. I won't lie, the feeling disappears when I'm with you...." With a heated face, you quickly looked to Alhaitham for validation as you poured out your feelings. "But, um, of course! You are an extremely accomplished individual. Anybody would feel better with you since you're the Scribe, after all." 

He scoffed, "I think Kaveh would beg to differ about your last statement." 

You laughed. 

It was simply perfect. He just wanted to caress your face and tell you how good you were being for him. Yes, so good. So naive. 

"Let's do an experiment. Why don't you stay at my place for a day or two and see what happens?" He couldn't help but smirk at how you shrunk under his all-knowing stare. "If you don't want to, I can think of another solution. However, I believe we have become quite close, and I'm sure you would enjoy it. Besides, Kaveh is out for a bit. But in the end, it's your choice, of course." 

"Well, if you insist…." You took out the perfume bottle and daintily sprayed it on your neck and wrists; you enjoyed how his keen eyes soaked you in. "Thank you for being so kind. You know me so well, Alhaitham." 

"Yes, I really do." 

___

In Sumeru City, when it rains, it pours. 

Streets flood with incinerating kisses and sensual touches intertwined with a rich, floral fragrance. 

To many, Alhaitham is known as a lunatic. Such a name fits the man whose mind was devoured by jasmine perfume. 

He couldn't get enough. 

Every inch of you, he had to learn about. He needed to properly store and encode such mesmerizing information into the recesses of his gluttonous mind. 

That intoxicating perfume permeated Alhaitham’s room and desperately held onto disheveled sheets. It was akin to the incense that scholars use to clear their minds and focus their bodies to become one with Irminsul. Yes, it was just like that. 

You couldn't help but feel so safe in his arms. The stars really do never lie. 

He loved every bit of you.

___ 

Sunlight peeked through translucent cotton curtains and illuminated the room. 

Alhaitham kissed your forehead and greeted you with a simple "Good morning" as you moved his hair from his face and took in his features. The intense perfume still persistently laced through his sheets. 

The domesticity of it all, from changing together to preparing breakfast, swelled your heart. It had been quite a while since you were last able to unwind like this. 

Alhaitham quickly took notice of your lax movements. Good. You were enjoying yourself as planned. By the time he's done, you won't be able to tell the difference between an innocent Sumeru Rose and a vicious Venus Flytrap.

He looked you up and down again. "How do you feel? Did you sleep okay?" 

"Yes, I haven't felt this relaxed for a while. Ever since I joined my Darshan, sleep has become a luxury. It was especially bad when I was first learning the basics because I would have to stay up all night long to study the stars and keep up with other research. At one point, I developed severe insomnia, but I’m fine now. Anyway… Yes, I did sleep well. This is the first time I’ve felt safe in a long while. Thank you, Alhaitham." 

He nodded and spoke, "That's good. If we are going to continue this relationship, then maybe in the future we can discuss more complex matters, such as living together more permanently."  

Your eyes widened as you took in his statement, but you soon giggled, “A little hasty, aren’t we, Alhaitham?” You poked fun at him. “What about poor Mister Kaveh?” 

He rolled his eyes at your teasing. 

Then he shrugged and bluntly defended himself, "It's only rational to think about these things, especially with your situation. Besides, I'm only putting them on the table—" 

There was a knock at his door. 

He noticed your jaw tighten in fear. Alhaitham pulled the strings of the puppet and played along with you. He muttered into your ear to hide from the front door's view just in case.  

The Scribe loved the way you obediently followed his orders and trusted so wholeheartedly everything that he said.  

When he opened the door, he didn't expect to be greeted by the Grand Sage Azar's assistant: Setaria. 

She told him how the Akademiya lost a knowledge capsule about the divine and how the Grand Sage wished for him to gather information on a certain blonde traveler.

A divine knowledge capsule and a heroic traveler from afar. How interesting. 

He crossed his arms and unceremoniously spoke, "I'll start my assignment soon." With that, he nodded, closed the door, and went silent again. Annoyance ran through his veins as he was pulled along into the Grand Sage's plot. A peaceful life as the Scribe was all he desired. Was it really that hard for the Akademiya to provide that?  

Turning around, the reserved man called for you. Your name rolled off his tongue too well, as if he was made to be the sole person on this forsaken continent to cherish and pronounce it. You carefully popped your head out from behind his bedroom door, the corners of your kissable lips turned down, forming a slight frown. 

"Is it all good?"

"Yes, it was just someone from the Akademiya for work. Speaking of, I have a little surprise for us." Alhaitham seemed to look right through you. "Do you want to hear it?" There was an excitement bubbling deep inside of him. Your stomach began to ache as he cloaked himself in mystery. 

You felt those hawk eyes analyze you again. "Uh, sure?" 

"How would you feel about going to Port Ormos for some academic research?" 

___

Alhaitham convinced you that it would help your situation. You could see if that uneasy feeling would follow you on your journey to the port. 

While the actual job itself is mundane and uneventful, as the Scribe, he receives many benefits. One was being sponsored by the Akademiya to stay in an upscale hotel with many amenities. 

Your shared suite had a lovely balcony with a nice view of the sea. Breathing in the refreshing salty air on a balmy day was energizing after being cooped up in such a stifling city of arrogant wisdom. Mere fool's gold.  

"If you want to go and explore, I would advise you to remain within the hotel grounds or near places that are guarded or populated in case anything were to happen. 

You turned to him. "Thank you for your concern, but I will just stay here. It's a nice room. I'll enjoy the breeze and finish up my papers on the balcony. Perhaps in your free time, we can do something together?"  

He thought about it for a second. "I'll see."

You deflated a bit. "Well, when do you think you'll come back?"

"Not anytime soon."

"Oh..."

"Anyway, I should be leaving now." Alhaitham pecked your cheek before heading out.

After unpacking, you began writing rough ideas for your ongoing thesis in your worn-out leather journal. As the clock kept ticking and the hours passed, you grew bored. Small sketches of constellations were sloppily drawn on the side with little notes as you tried to jot down as much information as possible. Becoming distracted, you began to doodle Alhaitham's constellation: Vultur Volans. You wanted to unveil so much more about him. You wanted the stars to guide you in your journey. 

Yet just as you were about to finish your little doodle, your pen ran out of ink.

You scribbled a few lines and circles to test it out one last time before throwing it in a nearby trash bin. It was nothing. A simple delay. 

Before going inside, you closed your leather journal and placed it on top of the stack of scrap papers so they wouldn't fly away. Going to your side of the bed, you opened your Adhigama wood nightstand and pulled out a few spare pens. However, when you sat down and attempted to use them, they didn't work. It was fine. You just happened to bring a bad batch. That was all. 

You knew Alhaitham brought a brand new set with him. It was still in his luggage, though... He was in such a hurry to start his job here in Port Ormos that he had no time to unpack. You always admired his diligence; it's what got him so far so quickly. He was your age, but you were still far behind. Though you couldn't blame him for tuning the world out and focusing just on his studies, he lost so much at such a young age. He was brave to keep looking towards the future despite his parents being gone. Even if he would say, "It was just the most rational thing to do." 

Alhaitham is a man with principles rooted in logic. He would understand why you were rummaging through his things. It wasn't an invasion of privacy! You two were a couple now; albeit new, the love was evident already. 

You were just going to borrow his pens, anyway. 

As you unlocked his luggage and looked for his case of supplies, you stumbled upon two similar containers in appearance and weight. Ugh! Which one was it? I suppose I'll just have to open them both… 

Moving your hand towards the zipper, you noticed your hand shake. Perhaps it was just getting cold. You had left the glass balcony door open, only closing the screen. The soft sound of the breeze and smell of sea salt slithered up your spine, invading your ear canals and nostrils. 

You placed your fingers on the zipper of the bag on the left. The sound of it unzipping was akin to the rustles of leaves and branches in a dark rainforest. What you found inside was a knowledge capsule. 

The pens were in the other bag. 

That was all. Alhaitham works under the Grand Sage. Of course you were bound to find certain items only he should be privy to. 

Yet why was it calling you like the irresistible knowledge that spills from the ivory, archaic branches of Irminsul? It was most likely empty, anyway, waiting to be filled with the information he would discover in the bustling Port Ormos. Why was the hollow, ravaging feeling in your stomach and heart returning to once again suffocate your organs and dry up your blood into grains of sand? 

Your journal was waiting for you. Opening the other bag, you got what you wanted. 

His pens. 

That was what you came for. 

However, the sharp pains and shivers ringing through your body reeled you into the infested desert and the pouring rainforest. A peek wouldn't hurt. Alhaitham would understand, right? He was the one that brought you here, after all, to keep an eye out for your situation. 

Yes, he's a man who knows his morals. Besides, how would he even know? It would be alright. He said himself that he wouldn't be coming anytime soon. 

As you gripped the green and gold knowledge capsule pulsing and flowing with information, you felt so conflicted. The unease was growing, yet you felt so sure that you were meant to do this. Opposing thoughts contrasted each other like fields of flowers flourishing amidst dunes of lifeless sand. It truly nauseated you.  

After establishing a connection with it, you felt it. A flash of memories entered into the recesses of your mind. As if two consciousness were merged together to form one single entity, you felt vines and tendrils weaving through your anatomy. Nearly every bit of knowledge you gained was something you already had experienced. Yet it was from a different perspective. Your face, your body, your studies, your smiles, your slumber, your pens, even your perfume. 

It was all there, only from a different angle.

For so long, you saw life from the eyes of a feeble mouse. Now, you could see what it was like to view the world from the perspective of a hungry vulture ready to gobble up its prey. You dropped the canned knowledge. You barely heard the thud it made with the flooring, as it was drowned out by all of the thoughts racing through your mind. 

Your eyes scattered to the open glass door with the closed screen. The breeze and saltiness of the sea were still there. 

It felt so far. 

Running to the balcony, you rushed to lock the glass door and fumbled to close the cotton curtains. 

"Didn't anyone teach you to clean up after yourself?" 

Alhaitham's voice made everything cold. Sharply turning your head, you faced the man who both tormented your life and made it so beautiful. He came back so soon. Too soon. 

"Once the Matra knows about this, you will go to prison, Alhaitham, for what you did to me!" Your hands were shaking as you bunched them into fists and furrowed your eyebrows. Tears were threatening to spill at any moment. 

He merely crossed his arms. His precise, uptight composure never faltered. "You think the Matra will do anything to me? I'm the Scribe. The right hand of the Grand Sage." He stepped closer to you. “Did you know there once was a Rtawahist student who was so desperate for sleep that they went to Port Ormos and looked for knowledge capsules to help their studies and cure their insomnia? The Matra were never able to track down the culprit." Alhaitham walked closer to you. "However, I think today, that could change. The usage of canned knowledge to gain an advantage over one’s peers in the Akademiya is strictly against the rules." He was always one step ahead of you.

"Is it not?"

Cupping your face and forcing you to look at his darkening eyes, he stared into you, drinking up the way you brimmed with fear. Just how he liked it. Everything was falling into place as calculated. He whispered into your ear. "Think of this as the 'thank you' you said you would give me that day." 

Alhaitham embraced you tightly, taking in the exquisite jasmine perfume he gifted you. Trembling in his arms, you felt so small and helpless. Dreams shattered as you thought of everything that you had learned. The stars and wise moon didn't lie to you that night. There's a man who loves you with all his being. There's a man who knows everything about you.  

Seeking what is forbidden will always be the downfall of humanity. 

Perhaps ignorance truly is bliss. 

Thank you so much for reading!!!

(⺣◡⺣)♡*

[ashtarels-archives]

Myths of the High Priestesses

- Headcanon Speculations -

The lore and legend of High Priestesses past have largely been lost to the ages; although scattered findings and enduring myths sweep away some of the dust from the buried tales of Elune’s chosen.

Haidene - Bearer of the Basin

Haidene was the first known chosen of Elune in all of the Kaldorei’s recorded history. It is said that she heard the Goddess’s true voice, and as a child no less.

An unsubstantiated legend tells that Haidene heard the will of the Goddess to make pilgrimage across Kalimdor and create the very first independent moonwell for the burgeoning Kaldorei to thrive across the continent, and that Haidene used the iconic basin as a vessel of safekeeping for the blessed waters of the Well of Eternity. Haidene supposedly experienced dire straits on this pilgrimage; she and her kin on the brink of fatal thirst. Haidene gathered what little of their water remained, enough to sustain her for far longer if she chose to drink from it alone. The others pleaded with Haidene to drink deep and preserve herself, for she was the very incarnation of the Goddess. In a selfless act of faith, she cast the basin skyward and beseeched Elune, that she would give herself in body and soul if only it were filled, so her people could live to see another moon, and press on to the bountiful lands ahead. It is said that for her benevolence, Haidene was granted the title of High Priestess by goddess and kin alike. It was on this night that Elune taught Haidene the sacred artisanry of the ever-flowing moonwell, the very same that still persists in her statues today. It is only rumored, but this moonwell could have been the one nestled in the heart of ancient Moonglade, having since flourished into Lake Elune’ara.

Tales that have only endured by way of oral tradition say that Haidene's blessed waters were shared in the first feast of Lahassa during the earliest epoch of the Kaldorei. There are even theories that the sacred Chalice of Elune may have belonged to Haidene, the relic permanently blessed from this momentous celebration made possible by Elune and the land’s combined bounty.

Elunarian archaeologists claim that Haidene may have established the temple in Desolace, known today as the Palace or Sanctuary of Elune. A place so ancient that its real name has been lost and blotted out by demonic desecration. Many of the relics recovered here are thematically linked to Haidene: The Cup of Elune as a relic of physical and spiritual cleansing, and Elune's Handmaiden as a relic of celebrating victory and sacrificial offering. The embers recovered here from Elune’s Brazier may have indeed been borne from an actual flame, or they could be remnants of Elune’s liquid fire; an apt medium for High Priestess Haidene.

Kalo'thera - Ascended of the Stars

Kalo’thera was the next known chosen of Elune, following Haidene. Her name evokes meanings along the lines of “stellar warrior.” Unfortunately, there are no known depictions of Kalo’thera's true likeness; although some choose to stylize her in darkling garbs and armor reminiscent of the new moon, due to purported ties to Elune’s Night Warrior aspect.

It is said that Kalo'thera “ascended to the stars” at the temple of old Hajiri, though these ancient words have not been elucidated further. None now live who remember seeing Kalo’thera’s ascension ritual with their own eyes, but there are a myriad proposed theories as to what this could have meant.

She may have fulfilled all of her earthly duties as wished by Elune, or proved herself an exemplar through astounding feats; and was rewarded with the status of demigoddess for her service as high priestess. Some believe that Kalo’thera now exists as a constellation in the realm of midnight from this divine act, perhaps other demigods and demigoddesses represented in this form as well.

She may have been slain in battle, “ascending to the stars” perhaps referring to her joining the Night Warrior’s embrace along with the other souls of the valiant dead riding across the night sky. The story of this ascension ritual might then be a widespread coverup by those who witnessed Kalo’thera’s true end.

She may have invoked the ritual of the Night Warrior, subsequently being torn apart in body by the wrath of the new moon. Ancient legends speak of the Night Warrior’s power being used as the driving force for carving out the Kaldorei Empire, Kalo’thera perhaps spearheading the expansion with this dark boon to wrest lands from the myriad world powers of the Pre-Sundering age.

Old myths describe a rare and lost regalia, called nightcloth, almost as if an opposing material to mooncloth. This was supposedly worn during the expansion era to better blend into the shadows of nightfall for battle, some claiming by Kalo’thera and the other Night Warrior witnesses. The exact origins and techniques of crafting nightcloth seem to have faded along with history; however, there are speculations that this fell out of favor within the Sisterhood due to the dangerous associated ritual that ended up slaying the invoking avatars, and even onlookers. Kalo’thera may have been the one to engrave the tablets of Bashal'aran describing the Night Warrior and the other aspects of Elune. There is a deep blue, nearly black, flame in the heart of the Ameth’aran ruins as well. Some Elunarian scholars theorize that perhaps its color owes to the Night Warrior’s midnight powers. This flame was later twisted by Athrikus Narassin using a moonstone seal to bind souls in a spiritual prison; curiously still, souls thought to be under the purview of the Night Warrior. Some say that Kalo’thera was the first to be granted knowledge of the Starshards spell by the Goddess, its namesake partially deriving from Kalo’thera. A superstition of the Sisterhood claims that it is Kalo’thera herself who now grants moonpriests this power, crystallizing pieces of starlight and raining them down from the midnight heavens to her earthbound descendants who call upon the aid of the stars.

Dejahna - Zenith of Conviction

Dejahna was the third known chosen of Elune, following Kalo’thera. She was the mentor and predecessor to Tyrande Whisperwind.

Those who braved the Tomb of Sargeras, once Dejahna’s primary temple in life, claim to have seen her incorporeal form. If her spirit is at all reflective of her appearance in life, then Dejahna preferred dark robes, with silver accents and blue gemstones. It may have been customary for a High Priestess to don specific garbs, as Tyrande replies to the news of her appointment to this position with, “I’ll become high priestess—at least until this war is over—but I will keep my present garments—” (Demon Soul, Ch. 17) Dejahna’s darkling robes could also be due to her presiding over the burial site in the depths of the temple, perhaps a ceremonial garb for rites involving the dead.

Some say that Dejahna’s harshness and austerity arose from Kalo’thera as her assumed mentor; others say that an influx of unfaithful Highborne attempting to join the Sisterhood as a last resort was seen as a mockery of the order. Dejahna supposedly then raised the standards of entry to rigorous heights, some dubbing her the Zenith of Conviction for her high expectations from novices.

Given Azshara’s growing distance from the faith, and attempts to eclipse Elune with devotion from her subjects, old rumors claim that Dejahna held a particular bitterness for the queen by the outbreak of the War of the Ancients. This may have been in part due to Azshara’s appointment of her own High Priestess: Siralen of Vashj’ir.

Dejahna’s temple hosted a handful of templars, perhaps this ancient version of a lunar paladin having once been a prestigious rank within the faith.

An ornate vial was recovered from the Cathedral of Eternal Night, whose glass was said to “bear the mark of Dejahna.” It is unclear what this mark truly is, but it could be that each High Priestess, or even priestesses as a whole, have personal sigils rooted in the Elunarian language similar to a common signature. This vial could have been her personal vessel of moonwater, or one of many that she bestowed blessings upon by way of this mark. Considering its name of "Eternal Moon,” this may refer to the blessing or enchantment on the vial lasting eternally or having a resilient quality to its magick; as it did survive the temple sinking to the bottom of the ocean, being raised again by Gul'dan, and being pillaged by demonic forces and adventurers alike.

The upper levels of Dejahna's temple contained the "Hanging Gardens," which were actually tended to by an ancient named Agronox before he fell to corruption. It could be that because this temple was the heart of night elven worship in the empire, an ancient's service in a temple was a rare sight; or, Agronox's existence here could mean that others of his kind served alongside Kaldorei priestesses in other parts of the Pre-Sundering world as well.

Dejahna fell in battle during the War of the Ancients, and named Tyrande as her successor to take the mantle. This is an interesting development, as it would seem like such a position is granted directly by Elune, as seen with Haidene. However, in Demon Soul, Marinda is sent to deliver the message of Tyrande’s succession: “‘Before her death, she named a successor…’ Tyrande nodded. This was to be expected. The new high priestess had, of course, immediately sent out messengers like Marinda to spread the word of her ascension.” This being “expected” implies that naming a successor was a traditional practice in passing on the mantle. Supposedly as Dejahna was dying, she “insisted that only her attendants would know.” (Ch. 17) This could just be referring to healers seeing to her wounds, or it could be that within the Sisterhood at this time, there may have been a specific rank for tending to the High Priestess; an interesting parallel to the handmaidens of Queen Azshara. Marinda also reveals “…that, normally, there would be a ceremony, a long entailed one that as many worshippers as possible would be invited to see.” Elunarian faithful from all over Kalimdor likely traveled great distances to see such a monumental event. This role in general also seemed heavily involved at the time, “leading this chant and that. The temple also held a blessing each evening for the rising of the moon and the good will of the gods. In addition, the leading nobles always had to have some sort of recognition ceremony for various anniversaries and other events…” (Ch. 17)

A final piece of High Priestess lore we learn from Marinda comes from the reasoning behind Dejahna’s choice: “She was of clear mind, sister. And you should understand, she had made mention of you before this. The senior sisters all understood that you were the one…and no one among them argued the decision.” (Ch. 17) This uncovers an interesting dynamic in the old Sisterhood then, that there was at least a dialogue among the senior sisters, if not a democratic process settled through debate around the next chosen High Priestess.

Siralen - The Contended

“Let this statue stand as an everlasting testament to High Priestess Siralen in the name of all she has done to nurture Quel'Dormir Temple into a glowing beacon of faith. May her newfound service under Queen Azshara herself shine as a testament to the potential of the noble birth nurtured in our beloved, Vashj'ir.”

The case of Siralen is a strange one, as she was not passed this mantle from a High Priestess within the Sisterhood – as was tradition. She was instead granted this title by Queen Azshara, supposedly for strengthening the faith of Quel’dormir Temple in the royal city of Vashj’ir. It is interesting to speculate how priestesses across Kalimdor reacted to this decision: whether they saw it to be just as divine an act as being appointed by Elune herself or a current High Priestess, or if they disagreed with a bestowal that strayed so far from the role’s sacred history. Many of Azshara’s epithets insinuate that she was viewed favorably in tandem with the goddess, such as Daughter of the Moon, Flower of the Moon, and Radiance of the Moon. Although, others lean towards eclipsing Elune’s worship, like Light of a Thousand Moons, for example. In any case, the appointment of Siralen then introduces the question of authority, and whether the High Priestess of the Sisterhood was considered of higher, lower, or equal status.

Noteworthy still that her service is “under Queen Azshara herself,” and it could be that this nurtured faith was actually to the Queen, as Elune is conspicuously not mentioned anywhere in this engraving. It also reads, “a testament to the potential of the noble birth nurtured in our beloved, Vashj’ir,” perhaps alluding to a growing and more obvious class divide between the highborne and common Kaldorei; or at least the boundless arrogance of the highborne caste.

[bisupergirl]

missing my babygirl so here's things from previous continuities that dc should bring back for kara:

her convertible. i don't care that she can fly, her convertible was fun and sexy.

her having safe houses all around the world (when she wants to move she can pick her convertible up and carry it somewhere else). i think she should semi-permanently stay in one city (san francisco, new york, i'd even accept national city at this point), but she should want to travel around the world and learn about different places and cultures.

streaky. they already brought him back but kara needs to regain custody of him.

her having friends in kandor. in pre-crisis she had a few unnamed friends that she would hang out with and i think this would be a fun way to reincorporate thara ak var or even tali zar (her friend from kandor in her new 52 series).

her passion for the arts!! she was a performance artist... she was a painter... i think she should carry a little sketchbook with her and draw landscapes of all the places she visits and portraits of the people she meets. she should also get involved in theater again.

her wig.... miss her </3 and relating to that she should get to have a fun wardrobe again. she doesn't even wear anything other than that stupid jacket anymore </3

she should have her own private space for her supergirl-related business. in pre-crisis she had her own wing of the fortress of solitude (and the basement of the danvers home where she kept her laboratory) and then in her new 52 series she briefly had sanctuary. considering that the fortress keeps getting broken into and destroyed lately, her space probably shouldn't be there. i'd be fun if she had a lab that orbited the earth, or if it was on the moon or something.

it'd obviously be different than their dynamic in sgv5 but i miss her relationship with lana </3 they should be close again !!

needless to say they should bring nasty luthor back. lena as well of course.

relating to nasty, i think they should bring back a lot of kara's forgotten villains and finally let her have a revolving gallery of people who fucking hate her like other heroes get to have. lesla lar, black flame, reactron, psi (although i wouldn't make her a villain), you could even bring back selena since orlando put her in his sg run.

the relationship she had with the amazons and diana in particular <3 she should visit themyscira to see her amazon friends every so often like she used to

and finally they should bring back her post-crisis dynamic with cat grant. if they're just going to copy/paste her cwsg dynamic with cat then i don't want it !!

i might add more if i think of anything else but in conclusion: society if supergirl comic writers read supergirl comics and incorporated past elements of her lore into her modern stories:

[tomorrowxtogether]

TXT Debut a Sparkling New Chapter — and Reveal Which Previous Era Their New Album Is a Throwback to (Exclusive)

PEOPLE spoke to Soobin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun and Hueningkai about making "The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY"

Tomorrow x Together's latest release is an evolution and a nostalgia play all at once.

The Star Chapter: SANCTUARY (out Monday, Nov. 4), is officially the start of a new era for the K-pop group's five members — Soobin, 23, Yeonjun, 25, Beomgyu, 23, Taehyun, 22, Hueningkai, 22 — who spoke to PEOPLE ahead of its release.

They're moving out of "The Name Chapter" — two albums that reveled in the freedom and occasional chaos of youthful indiscretions — and into "The Star Chapter." Represented by a bright, shining logo rebrand, it carries messages about finding true love and lasting happiness.

“To some extent, I think it really reflects us growing up,” says Hueningkai.

"In our past installments, it was more of those magical moments, like ‘Run away together with me,’ or something that could be a little bit less responsible," adds Taehyun. "But this time around, it's romantic, but in a sense that it's grounded and more realistic.”

Sonically, SANCTUARY has a sweetness that recalls some of the group’s earliest releases.

"I think you're spot on about talking about how you thought of The Dream Chapter when listening to this album," Huengingkai confirmed while discussing their influences with PEOPLE in October. "It's something new, but it's something that also provokes nostalgia as well," he adds.

The lead single, "Over the Moon," is dreamy pop but includes some very grown-up themes with lyrics about living under one roof and planning for the future. Other tracks, like "Danger" tip into funky Bruno Mars-like territory, or in the case of "Forty One Winks," more upbeat R&B.

While there's no real rock or pop punk moments (something they've leaned into with great success in the past with songs like "LO$ER=LO♡ER"), "Higher than Heaven" does have a romping pop-rock bent.

The album's sound isn't just a reflection of the group's shifting tastes. “We have this big narrative that overarches every installment in our musical journey," Hueningkai explains.

Their discography, and the larger lore of the group, incorporates a sprawling fictional backstory that can feel intimidatingly complex for the casual fan. But the themes — the pains of growing up, the reality of facing adulthood, and the heartbreak that so often goes along with it — are universal enough that they come through easily in their earworm singles.

While TXT has shared in the past that their music is often informed by personal experience, they often keep a distance from speaking about their own relationships, instead telling the song's stories of crushes or lost loves as the tales of a “boy” (representing all and none of them) directed at “you,” an embodiment of their fans.

Explaining the meaning of their latest album, for example, Beomgyu says, “It’s a chapter where the boy finally recovers his name and remembers the promise he made with you. And they finally reunite in this album. So it's the rejoicing that they all feel with this reunion.” 

All five members wrote lyrics and music on SANCTUARY, something they've been increasingly passionate about over the six years since their debut.

Taehyun admits to doing most of his writing in the car and on planes, amid their busy schedules. They still find space for collaboration though. "We tend to work separately on lyrics, but when we get stuck, we ask for help from the other members," says Soobin.

Seemingly non-stop promotions can be draining, but they're candid about how they keep their minds and bodies healthy. "Sleeping well is the best thing you can do for yourself," says Beomgyu. Adds Soobin, "We eat a lot of supplements, too, and try to work out a lot so that we can stay healthy and keep up our stamina."

That work ethic has gained them a mountain of accolades in relatively short career.

In 2023, they headlined Lollapalooza in Chicago, then performed at the VMAS in New York, where they also took home the award for Push Performance. Their last album debuted at No. 3 on the Billboard 200, making them only the second K-pop group to enter the chart 10 times, with the only other being their label mates BTS.

Asked if that sort of accomplishment is exciting or intimidating, Yeonjun explains, "We feel both. We feel both elated, and also we feel a sense of responsibility. And I think both are needed, because only when we feel that responsibility can we grow as artists and evolve as artists. So because so many people are giving us love and support, It's our duty to grow and evolve, and show new sides of ourselves as artists."

Adds Taehyun, "We are eternally grateful to Global MOA who always provide us with a lot of love and support. And with this album and the albums going forward, we're going to pay back to them by providing really good music and performances."

The Star Chapter: Sanctuary is available to stream now.

[merwgue]

A SNEAK PEAK INTO MY NEW FANFIC

In the heart of Prythian, the Spring Court was a place where the magic of nature itself ran through the veins of its people. It wasn’t just a court known for its greenery or the eternal spring that wrapped its lands in soft warmth and vibrant life—it was a living, breathing entity where every fae held an intimate bond with the land, the creatures, and the cycles that shaped their world. The Spring Court wasn’t a place where nature was tamed; instead, it was honored, revered, and allowed to flourish freely.

From the youngest fae child to the oldest elder, their lives were intertwined with the rhythms of the earth. It wasn’t unusual to see children running through fields of wildflowers, their laughter echoing as they learned the old ways from their parents and grandparents. These fae were storytellers, and their lore was rich with tales of the first bloom, the Great River Spirit, and the first animal companions who roamed the world with them. Stories were not just meant to entertain but to teach the values of harmony, respect, and the delicate balance between all living things.

When spring arrived, the air would hum with life. Festival preparations began the moment the first green shoot broke through the soil. I imagine their largest celebration, Primaveralis, marking the true beginning of the season. The fae would gather in fields, dressed in clothes adorned with intricate embroidery of flowers, vines, and animals. Woven into their hair would be garlands of fresh blossoms, symbols of renewal. The Primaveralis was more than just a festival; it was a sacred ritual of thanks, where they would offer a part of their harvest to the earth in gratitude for the bounty it would provide. They danced until their feet ached, the music mirroring the flow of rivers and the rustling of leaves in the wind. In the Spring Court, to dance was to connect with the heartbeat of the world.

And then there were the gardens—vast, sprawling sanctuaries where rare plants were cultivated and protected. It was said that every noble house had its own private garden, each one a reflection of the fae who nurtured it. Some were wild, left to grow untamed and free, while others were meticulously cared for, with each petal and leaf carefully pruned. The garden of the High Lord, Tamlin, was rumored to be the most breathtaking of all. No one knew for sure what lay behind the ancient, ivy-covered gates of his private retreat, but whispers spoke of trees that touched the sky and flowers that could bloom only in the light of the full moon.

The bond between fae and nature was sacred, and no one embodied that connection more than Tamlin himself. The High Lord could shift into a beast, a physical manifestation of the untamed power of the land. He was the protector of the Spring Court, and his very presence was tied to the land's prosperity. When he walked the borders of his territory, the flowers stood taller, the trees whispered their thanks, and the animals watched him with a kind of reverence. He wasn’t just their ruler; he was their guardian. And in return, the Spring Court was fiercely loyal to him.

But the Spring Court was not just about nature—it was about the bond between its people. Family was at the core of their traditions, and the fae of the Spring Court were bound not just by blood but by the shared values of protection and growth. Births were joyous occasions, marked by the Ceremony of Roots. In this ritual, a sapling would be planted in honor of each new life, and as the child grew, so too would the tree, symbolizing their connection to the land. Weddings were similarly sacred, held beneath the ancient boughs of the forest, where vows were whispered to the wind and witnessed by the spirits of the earth.

Death, too, was honored. The fae of the Spring Court understood that death was simply another part of the cycle. When a member of the court passed, their body would be returned to the land in the Rite of the Earth, where they would be buried beneath the roots of an ancient tree. The people believed that in death, they would continue to nourish the land they had protected in life. Their legacy lived on in the flowers that bloomed and the trees that stood tall long after they were gone.

I imagine the Spring Court having its own language—one that was soft, flowing, and filled with words that described the beauty of nature. Their language would be rich with metaphors, where love could be expressed as a blossoming flower or a tree’s roots reaching deep into the earth. While they spoke the common tongue of the fae, their dialect would be unique, shaped by centuries of living so close to the land. And perhaps, for their most sacred rituals, they had an ancient script—runes carved into the bark of trees or drawn in the earth during ceremonies, connecting them to the ancient spirits who had watched over the land since the beginning of time.

The fae of the Spring Court were known for their artistry, their creativity inspired by the world around them. Their tapestries were woven with threads dyed from the petals of rare flowers, each one telling the story of their ancestors or marking a significant event in their history. Their clothes were simple yet elegant, adorned with floral patterns and symbols of the seasons. Jewelry was crafted from the stones and gems found in their rivers and mountains, each piece imbued with the magic of the land.

But at the heart of the Spring Court was its music. Songs were passed down through generations, each one telling the story of the court’s history, of battles fought, love found, and the eternal cycle of life and death. The music was always present, whether in grand festivals or quiet moments of reflection. Instruments made from wood and bone, their sounds mimicking the calls of birds or the rustle of leaves, were played by skilled musicians who had learned the craft from their ancestors.

Tamlin, despite his flaws, was deeply tied to these traditions. He carried the weight of centuries of history on his shoulders, and though the events of recent years had taken their toll, there was no doubt that the Spring Court’s spirit still lived within him. He had made mistakes, yes, but the people of the Spring Court saw him as more than just a ruler. He was a symbol of the land’s strength and resilience, a protector who had stood against darkness for fifty long years under the curse of Amarantha.

And while his court was healing, so too was he. The fae of the Spring Court believed in second chances—in the possibility of growth after destruction, just as the forest regrows after a fire. They believed in Tamlin, not just as a High Lord but as one of them—a fae bound by the same traditions, the same love for the land that they all shared.

In the end, the Spring Court wasn’t just a place. It was a feeling—a deep connection to the world around them, a respect for the cycles of life and death, and an unbreakable bond between its people. Despite the hardships they had faced, their hearts still beat in time with the pulse of the land, and their hope for the future remained as strong as ever.

TELL ME GUYS IF I SHOULD CONTINUE IT, thank you so much for reading this, i really appreciate it🥹❤️

[a-sunset-outside-my-window]

hullo friend, do you have any wolfstar fanfic recommendations for remus going through the lunar cycle? something like hurt/comfort but not only, just him dealing with all the things that come from being a wolfy

oh boy do I ever! I'm wiggeling in my seat because of this question

(disclaimer, I've been kinda busy the last few weeks so I might come back to this ask later with some more recs lol)

The 39 Steps by gilbertsdoor

Remus hated having to lie, but he could see no other way around it. Closing in on Sirius, he gripped him by the fabric of his t-shirt, pushing it up towards his throat. ‘Alright then. You’re alone in the muggle countryside, wandless, in the dark. You’re manacled to an evil, murderous werewolf, a known killer who doesn’t hold an ounce of pity for your pathetic human life. If that’s what you would rather believe, then by all means,’ he hissed, ‘be my guest.’

One minute Remus is between jobs, isolated, and thoroughly disenfranchised with life, the next he is on the run for murder, being a werewolf-at-large, and for knowing far, far too much.

One minute Sirius Black is a bored auror in training, the next he is caught up with Remus in a mess of secrets and dark magic.

Their lives intertwine, but how long can they keep running from the Death Eaters, and how long can they keep running from themselves?

Harry Potter and the Dog and the Wolf by thewholeofthemoon I live and breathe for this series!) it's very much focused on lycanthropy especially the latest work wich is still a wip but so so so good!

Scent of the Moon by Quietlemonhush this is a little different but very much lycanthropy focused even if it's not always the source of the hurt

Not content to only disown the wayward heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Walburga calls in back up. Bellatrix has all those new friends with their good ideals and their sharp, sharp teeth.

Sirius Black returns to Hogwarts with a bite in his side and a fever he can't shake.

they also have some more smutty wolfstar fics wich feature the lunar cycle if that's more what you are looking for

Dunes and Waters by MarigoldWritesThings ( @marigold-hills ) this is probably the fic most focused on lunar cycles and just the magic theory behind lycanthropy and I also just can't reccomend it enough

Remus is sensitive to changing tides, a part of the moon always with him, and Black is like the sea. He can smell it on him, the way his magic builds up and crackles about the fingertips.

***

A werewolf, a convict, and a riddle.

The W in Weasley stands for Werewolf by gonzoclock this one is mostly here for fun werewolf lore I'm not gonna lie

When a werewolf comes out of nowhere and attacks nineteen-year old Arthur Weasley, he thinks his life is over before it's even really begun. He's wrong, of course, and now all of forty years later the Weasley family is thriving, happy, and healthy- and every one of them is a werewolf.

Things are going really well for eleven-year old Ron... except for the part where he has to get through school without anyone finding out his family's secret while simultaneously keeping his new brother alive. Easy-peasy. Right?

(Pay no mind to the one-eyed beast that seems to be lurking in the shadows- it's almost certainly nothing to worry about.)

Features the entire Weasley family adopting Harry Potter practically the second they lay eyes on him (or before that, even); Ron Weasley finding himself being altogether far too nice too slimy gits who don't deserve it; Percy Weasley doing his best; Harry deciding that being enemies with this Malfoy kid is too much work actually; Hermione Granger being as smart and ruthless as ever; Severus Snape who did not, and I repeat, did NOT sign up for ANY of this; and much, much more

By Moonlight by Eiiri this one, as well is mostly here for the werewolf angst, not nessecarily between wolfstar

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus recognizes something familiar in Draco Malfoy and offers him sanctuary. With nowhere else to turn--his parents in prison, his home a crime scene--Draco reluctantly accepts and becomes a tolerated, if not welcome, member of his schoolyard rivals' and wartime adversaries' family of choice. As pages of the lunar calendar turn and the summer wears on, Draco and the others begin to see each other in a different light.

but definitely check out these authors! <3

sorry for bad grammar it's late

[animatedjen]

Which already canon planet (appeared in films/series/games) would you love to see in the next Jedi game? Also, is there any lesser known planet in the lore you'd explore?

Ah anon I'm so sorry, you've outed me as a fraud 😭 I actually don't know many of the different Star Wars planets - but I've loved exploring both familiar and new places throughout the Jedi series. Each game has included two well-known locations (Kashyyyk and Dathomir, Coruscant and Jedha) balanced by brand new places (Bogano and Zeffo, Koboh and its moon) so it's possible that pattern will continue for Jedi 3.

There's a few Reddit threads out there with a similar question: Dantooine, Korriban/Moriband, Nar Shaddaa, Naboo, Onderon, and Umbara pop up pretty often. I could see Jedi 3 balancing its planets between Empire-controlled territories inside the known galaxy and other places inside the Koboh abyss besides Tanalorr. Like previous games, there's a focus on an ancient culture and uncovering secrets from the past that help shape the present.

What I really want to explore is the final chapter of this Sorc Tormo/Haxion Brood storyline. They've been chasing Cal since his escape from Ordo Eris and I don't think the Mantis Crew wants bounty hunters tracking down their new Hidden Path sanctuary. Whether that means going back to the space station or confronting Sorc somewhere else, I'd love to take down the Brood once and for all. Running into Caij and freeing her in exchange for rocket boots wouldn't be a bad deal either 👀

[whiterosesforher]

dark moon pantheon series ; ii

warnings: mentions of war/rebellion, pregnancy (hera's pregnancy)

genre: (dark) fantasy, au, romance, drama, action, fanfiction, historical, royalty

word count: 1,912 words

chapter synopsis: venus' questions remained unanswered as her and her sisters are kept in the dark about this raging issue around the ethereal realm, and she's determined to know everything for once.

a/n: this is an oc (named reader) x enhypen fanfiction based off of enhypen's current lore, there are some parts of the story where it's accurate to the greek lore but there are also some that are just purely fiction. i am so sorry it took me 3 days before posting the second backstory chapter. again, english is not my first language so please be nice. :3

masterlist.

Months passed in the ethereal realm after the first time of ever hearing the rebellion plan among the whispers of the gods around, the tension still palpable in the air. Yet amidst all of this, a booming announcement reverberated through the heavens, and that is Queen Hera is pregnant again, now carrying their fifth child. The news brought hope to those loyal to the throne that still sides with Zeus, that this joyous event might be what they need to calm the brewing storm.

The palace that was once filled with laughter and light, was replaced with hushed conversations and wary glances. The realm itself seemed to hold its breath, teetering at the edge of chaos. Venus, Thana, and Artaemia felt the change acutely, their once carefree days now shadowed by the weight of their father’s impending fate. The three girls are worried for their baby sister Halimede's safety, and for their incoming sibling that is still in their mother's womb.

Despite their queen's pregnancy, that should have been a time for celebration, the ethereal realm was divided instead. The gods and demigods found themselves split into two factions: those who still sided with Zeus, holding on to the hope that his rule could be redeemed, and those who supported the rebellion, tired of his tyrannical leadership.

The rebellion was led by formidable gods like Athena, Apollo, and most shockingly, Zeus’ own brothers, Poseidon and Hades. But the children, have no knowledge about the most influential and powerful gods that are leading this rebellion.

They're not even aware as to why this rebellion is the right thing to happen, how their father is so unjust and evil on the inside. Countless of lives have already suffered under his hands, and Poseidon is just putting an end to it.

Especially Venus, the poor girl still thinks that Poseidon is on her father's side.

The cause of this rebellion is just and powerful, fueled by the desire for fairness and balance. Athena, the goddess of wisdom, had long opposed Zeus’ harsh methods. Apollo, the god of light and prophecy, had foreseen the unrest and knew that change is clearly necessary. Poseidon and Hades, once a close ally that respected their brother so much, had turned, convinced that Zeus’ time on the throne should end for the greater good.

Venus watched as the glory of the palace now seemed overshadowed by the looming threat. She felt the weight of her father’s legacy and her family’s future pressing down on her young shoulders. She saw the worry etched into her mother’s face, the tension in her siblings’ eyes. The garden, their sanctuary, now felt like a distant memory to her.

The population of the gods overwhelmingly sided with the rebellion. They were tired of living under the king's heavy hand, longing for a leader who would rule with justice and compassion. That would once again bring balance in this world. Even among the demigods, their support for Zeus dwindled, loyalty shaken by years of oppressive ruling.

Even Thana knew that the odds were against them. The numbers alone made it clear that the rebellion had the upper hand. She could sense the unease among the palace staff as she passed by them on her way to the garden, the way their eyes darted with worry, their voices hushed in fearful anticipation. The demigods who serves the palace couldn't even look her in the eye when she walk passed.

As Hera’s pregnancy progressed over the months, the palace prepared for the arrival of the new child at any time now. It was a time of great expectation and everyone is anxious about this.

The loyalists prayed that the birth of a new god in the family would be a sign of renewal, a chance to restore balance in the realm. The rebels, however, saw it as a potential pawn in their fight, another reason to push harder for change. If only this rebellion isn't led by Hades and Poseidon, then all the other rebels would've already included and inflicted harm on Hera and the children.

Venus sat at the chair behind her desk, her eyes scanning the pages of a thick book. The words blurred together in her vision, her mind too distracted to even focus. With a heavy sigh, she closed the book and leaned back in her chair, staring at the detailed ornate ceiling of her study room. The tension inside the place that she once called home was now suffocating, and she needed a reprieve.

Quietly, she slipped out of her study, ensuring that not one soul noticed her departure. She moved swiftly through the corridors, her footsteps echoing faintly in the halls.

Venus made her way to the entrance, slipping out into the open without drawing any attention. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the horizon. The ocean, just half a mile away from the palace, had always been her sanctuary, so it was the first choice in her mind to run to in these times. It was where she felt closest to her uncle Poseidon, the god of the sea, who had always been a source of comfort and wisdom for her, the one she sees as a father instead of Zeus.

As she walks closer to the ocean, the soft white sand gently enveloped her feet, each step bringing her closer to the sound of the waves. The ocean stretched out before her, it is vast and glowing under the sunset. The gentle breeze caressed her face and played with her hair, giving a momentary sense of peace.

"Uncle Poseidon," she called out, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves. She looked around, hoping to see his familiar form rising from the water. "Uncle Poseidon, it's Venus. I need you."

Her voice echoed back to her, the only response she got was the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore. She called out several more times, but the ocean remained silent. Disappointed by this, she sat down on the soft sand, pulling her knees to her chest. The breeze continued to play with her hair and flowy dress, but it did not soothe her troubled mind.

"I really need the comfort of my father right now," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper and her expression sour. "Your comfort, Uncle Poseidon. Since my own father has never been actually a father to me."

The admission hung in the air, carried away by the wind. Venus stared out at the horizon, the endless blue meeting the sky. The ocean had always been a place where she felt understood and safe. Without Poseidon's comforting presence, the weight of her worries only seemed even heavier.

She drew patterns in the sand with her fingers, her thoughts going on a whirlwind. The news of her mother’s pregnancy should've lifted her spirits up but no, that did not happen. The rebellion, that are led by those she had once considered allies, threatened to tear her family apart. The palace has turned into a battleground of ruined loyalties.

Venus closed her eyes, allowing the sounds of the ocean to wash over her. She imagined Poseidon’s deep and kind voice, guiding her through all of this. She missed the times they had spent together, learning, laughing, and bonding in each other’s company.

He was her best father figure, and she wonders where he is now that she needs him the most.

For a moment, she let herself believe that everything would be alright, that her family would find a way. The ocean, with its timeless beauty and power, reminded her of the strength within her, a strength she would need to draw upon in the days to come.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Venus took a deep breath and stood up. The sand clung to her legs, a gentle reminder of the place she had come to for peace. She took one last look at the ocean, hoping that her uncle would sense her need and come to her soon before she takes the path back to the palace.

Poseidon on the other hand, stood at the center of their gathering. The meeting was held in a secluded grotto beneath the ocean, where the gentle lapping of waves against the rocky walls created a calming backdrop. The rebels, gods and demigods alike, were seated in a semicircle around him, their faces a mixture of determination and anxiety.

Poseidon, his blue eyes intense, raised a hand to signal for silence. The murmur of conversations died down immediately, and all attention are on him.

He took a deep breath, before speaking, "We are gathered here today because we share a common goal, we seek to end the tyranny of Zeus. He has brought suffering not only to the gods but to the mortal realm as well. But let me make one thing clear: we will not harm the innocent. Our actions must be just and honorable. The children, especially, are to be kept out of this conflict."

The gathered gods nodded in agreement, their expressions serious. Poseidon’s gaze softened momentarily as he thought of his nieces, especially Venus. She had grown up under his care, and he felt a deep, paternal affection for her. The idea of her being caught in the crossfire of this rebellion was unbearable for him.

Athena, seated to Poseidon’s right, leaned forward. "We all agree, Poseidon. The children must be protected. But we cannot ignore the fact that Zeus' actions have affected everyone, even his queen, Hera, that has been tolerating and shielding his actions over the years. The mortal realm is in chaos because of his interference. He breaks his own rules and favors his chosen few, disrupting the balance."

Apollo, his golden hair gleaming in the dim light, spoke next. "Humans dominate the earth, treating other life forms—vampires, werewolves, mermaids, sirens, and everyone else—with disdain. These beings are forced to hide, to blend in as humans, fearing persecution. Zeus' favoritism has only made things worse. He abuses his power, meddling in mortal affairs, and Hades is not receiving the souls that rightfully belong to him."

Poseidon nodded, his expression grim. "Zeus’ actions have caused untold suffering. He has favored certain mortals, granting them powers and protection, while others languish in misery. He disrupts the natural order, and the balance of the world is at stake. We must act, but we must act with honor."

As the discussion continued, the gods shared stories of Zeus' cruelty and the injustices faced by those under his rule. Poseidon listened intently, his mind racing. The situation was dire, but he is determined to protect his nieces and all innocent beings from the fallout of this rebellion.

After hours of deliberation, the meeting concluded. The gods dispersed, each with their own tasks and plans. Poseidon remained behind, staring out at the ocean through the grotto’s entrance.

Poseidon’s thoughts turned to Zeus, his brother, who had once been a leader of immense power and wisdom, an older brother that he once looked up to. The transformation into a tyrant was a tragedy, one thing he never expected, but it cannot be ignored. The balance of the world depended on their actions, and Poseidon must restore it.

Deep in his thoughts, that he failed to notice the call of his niece that has been going on for several times now. Calls of Venus remained unanswered.

[luminous-jinx]

Hello!

I've posted the link to the first chapter of my Solas x OC fanfic, but I decided to post the first half of it here for everyone. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: What's your name?

The melodic strains of her singing reverberated throughout the courtyard and garden, a serene symphony that danced in the night air, its audience silent save for the vigilant guards. Sitting by her open window, she gazed upwards, beholding the twin moons casting their radiant glow upon her, while her voice drifted softly into the stillness, its ethereal tones meant for no one in particular. This nightly ritual was her solace, a private communion with the heavens.

In her chamber, surrounded by an array of musical instruments left at her disposal, she indulged in her nocturnal pursuits, whether it be song or the delicate caress of strings or keys. The night belonged solely to her; a sanctuary away from the prying eyes of the world.

Her master, ever keen to display her talents, would parade her at gatherings, a prized possession to be admired but never touched. "Behold my exquisite crystal doll," her master would declare, before compelling her to perform pieces that stirred envy and longing in those who beheld her. Yet, the true nature of her existence remained shrouded in uncertainty, a beautiful anomaly born of clandestine experimentation.

There existed no memory of her origins, only whispers of a deity meddling where mortal hands dared not tread, ultimately bringing her into existence. This supposed god, in their hubris, tampered with forces beyond comprehension, birthing her into a world where she stood as a solitary anomaly. Despite numerous attempts, the god failed to replicate their initial success, each subsequent experiment yielding naught but failure, some dire enough to necessitate the extinguishing of demonic entities.

“I'm a perversion of this world; I am not natural. I should not be as I am ” she would ponder on occasion, grappling with the existential weight of her existence. Yet, despite her misgivings, she found herself tethered to this world, an unwilling participant in the grand scheme of creation. With the realization that she was immortal and immune to the ravages of time, she resigned herself to a life of solitude, perpetually ensconced in the quiet routines she had cultivated over the passing years.

She couldn't fault the care she received, though it came with a heavy dose of isolation. Her quarters, secluded from the rest of the mansion, were furnished to her every whim, equipped with an assortment of instruments to satiate her creative impulses. Three square meals a day sustained her, and occasional strolls through the manicured gardens offered fleeting moments of freedom, albeit under watchful eyes.

Her master, though possessive, kept his distance, revering her like a precious artifact. "My pure crystal doll, untouched and sublime," he would remark, his words falling upon deaf ears even as he would fiddle with her hair. She remained indifferent to his affectionate moniker, her emotional landscape barren save for the echoes of her music. It was through her compositions that she found solace, allowing her emotions to weave into the melodies, transporting her to realms beyond the confines of her reality.

In the realm of her dreams, she found a profound sense of liberation, an inexplicable freedom that transcended the confines of her waking reality. Each night unfolded like a new chapter in an ethereal adventure, whisking her away to realms both fantastical and serene.

She wandered through landscapes that defied imagination: sandy shores kissed by the gentle lapping of waves, expansive meadows adorned with a kaleidoscope of blooms stretching to the horizon, and verdant forests teeming with vibrant life. Here, in this dreamscape, she encountered creatures of myth and lore, their presence evoking wonder rather than fear, as if drawn to her by some unseen connection.

Amidst the verdant depths of the forest, she often stumbled upon a hidden clearing, where a piano crafted from the resplendent ironbark awaited her touch. Though unconventional for musical instruments, its beauty captivated her, its melodies resonating through the tranquil stillness of the woods. With each note she played, she felt a deeper connection to this dream realm, a place where her spirit roamed free and unencumbered by the constraints of her reality.

In the tranquil sanctuary of her dreams, the forest creatures gathered around her, their presence a silent testament to the beauty of her music. They nestled among the verdant foliage, their eyes fixed upon her with a quiet reverence as she poured her heart into the melodies that flowed effortlessly from her fingertips.

Among her cherished audience, a solitary figure stood out—a majestic black wolf, its imposing presence tempered by a sense of gentle curiosity. Positioned on the outskirts of the forest clearing, it observed her with a cautious yet unwavering gaze, as if hesitant to intrude upon the serenity of the moment.

Despite its enigmatic demeanor, she harbored no fear of the wolf's presence. On the contrary, she welcomed it as she did the other creatures, sensing a shared connection that transcended words or gestures. With each passing dream, the wolf returned, its silent vigil a comforting presence amidst the symphony of her music.

As her performance drew to a close and the tendrils of wakefulness began to tug at her consciousness, she would cast a lingering glance toward the wolf, only to find it vanished into the depths of the forest once more. Though its departure signaled the end of her dream, she carried with her a sense of peace, knowing that in the realm of her imagination, even the most unlikely companions found solace in her melodies.

As the anticipation of encountering the mysterious wolf in her dreams tonight took hold of her, she found herself contemplating whether to craft a melody tailored expressly for its ears. "Should I select a tune just for you? " she mused softly into the night, her voice carrying a hint of intrigue.

Yet, her reverie was abruptly shattered by the distant clamor that pierced the tranquility of her chamber. Shouts and the echoes of strife reached her ears, drawing her attention to the turmoil unfolding beyond the confines of her sanctuary.

Unfazed, she remained steadfast, her gaze unwavering as she continued to cast her eyes skyward, seeking solace in the familiar embrace of the celestial expanse. Though the sounds of conflict threatened to encroach upon her serenity, she refused to be swayed, a bastion of calm amidst the storm.

Amidst the crescendo of battle cries and the encroaching chaos, she remained steadfast, her ethereal voice weaving a haunting melody that seemed to echo through the night. With each note, she felt a strange connection to the music, as if it were a part of her very essence, an echo from a distant past she couldn't quite recall.

As the sounds of conflict drew nearer, she closed her eyes, allowing the music to envelop her in its embrace, seeking solace in the ethereal dance of her song. Even as the clamor of battle reached her very doorstep, she continued to sing, her voice a beacon of defiance against the encroaching darkness.

When the attackers breached her chamber, their urgent voices imploring her to flee, she remained unmoved, her gaze fixed upon the celestial bodies that watched over her in silent vigil. Though they pleaded with her to escape, she remained inert, her thoughts shrouded in a veil of introspection.

"Why have they not just killed me as well? " she pondered silently, her mind awash with questions that remained unanswered. Despite the chaos that threatened to engulf her, she found herself paralyzed by a sense of resignation, her existence tethered to a world that had never fully embraced her presence.

And so, she continued to sing, her voice a lament for a life she never asked for, a melody that echoed through the night as the world around her descended into chaos.

As the palpable presence of another figure infiltrated the room, a ripple of anticipation coursed through the air, prompting swift movements from the men at arms. From their urgent exchanges, she deduced the arrival of another authority figure, their commander perhaps, a harbinger of uncertainty amidst the chaos.

Ending her song, with a measured breath, she allowed her eyes to drift towards the source of the disturbance, where an elven man with long dreads and shaven sides awaited, clad in attire that mirrored his position of authority. He wore a commanding suit of armor, meticulously crafted with interlocking plates of metal that provided ample protection while allowing for agility and ease of movement. Adorned with intricate designs reminiscent of elven craftsmanship, the armor bore symbols of his leadership and wisdom.

Draped over one shoulder was a regal wolf pelt, a striking contrast against the metallic sheen of his armor. Meticulously preserved, it bore the proud markings of a wolf, its fur a mix of silver and gray. It was a symbol of both his connection to the wild and his position as a leader, embodying the strength, cunning, and loyalty he exemplified.

With every movement, the wolf pelt swayed gracefully, adding an aura of majesty to his presence. Combined with the imposing armor, it created an image of a leader both formidable and noble, ready to guide his allies through the trials ahead.

Unblinking, she turned her head back towards the sky and stared up at the moons. Suddenly, the man she saw before sat beside her on the windowsill. She turned to look at him, her expression neutral. She could see clearly now that his man had beautiful gray-blue eyes that showed a hint of violet, and freckles that seemed to lightly kiss his face on his cheeks, over his nose, and up the way between his eyes. She tilted her head as she noted the small indent on his chin and the faded scar on his forehead, near his right eyebrow.

He offered her a small smile, his tone gentle as he addressed her. "Dareth, Da'len. I come in peace."

Her response was one of stoic contemplation, her gaze meeting his with an unyielding resolve before she offered a subtle nod, returning her attention to the outside world.

"Do you not desire to depart from this locale?" His inquiry was laced with a gentle earnestness, suggesting a genuine yearning to comprehend her innermost sentiments.

Her response was steeped in resignation, delivered with a quiet resolve that belied the weight of her words. "It matters not where I traverse. From one master to the next, my fate remains immutable—a mere object to be showcased, unless, of course, you deign to indulge in the fantasies the guards so fervently discuss, yearning for an opportunity to partake."

As she spoke, she detected a fleeting moment of tension, almost imperceptible, emanating from him—a telltale sign of inner turmoil momentarily laid bare. With a soft exhale, she allowed her eyes to flutter closed, her head angling slightly in a gesture of contemplation. In that brief pause, she swore she caught the faint whisper of an elvhen curse, a subtle indication of his frustration before it vanished into the ether.

His response was measured and sincere, devoid of artifice or deception. "I harbor no intention to ensnare you further," he affirmed, his words imbued with an earnestness that resonated with her on a visceral level. "Instead, I extend to you the rarest of gifts—freedom. The autonomy to shape your destiny according to your own desires, liberated from the confines of servitude. You need not entertain another soul unless it is your heart's fervent desire."

In his earnest declaration, she sensed a glimmer of hope, a flicker of possibility amidst the darkness that had long enveloped her existence. And though uncertainty still loomed on the horizon, she couldn't help but entertain the notion of liberation, a beacon of light illuminating the path to a future unfettered by the chains of bondage.

Her gaze shifted to him, a flicker of hope illuminating her features before fading into the shadows of uncertainty. As she contemplated the prospect of freedom, a myriad of doubts and fears clouded her mind, casting a pall over her newfound optimism.

"I would very much want that," she began, her voice tinged with a mixture of longing and trepidation. "But I am ignorant of the ways of this world—the intricacies of survival and self-defense elude me. Without such knowledge, I fear that my liberation may be short-lived, leading me once more into the clutches of captivity. Can you truly claim to have freed me if I remain vulnerable and dependent on the mercy of others?"

Her words hung in the air, her gaze unwavering as she sought reassurance in his eyes. "If I depart from this place, can you offer me the assurance that I will never again find myself ensnared in the chains of bondage?"

He met her gaze with a steady resolve, his expression inscrutable as if attempting to convey his response through the silent language of his eyes. For a fleeting moment, he closed them in contemplation before meeting her gaze once more, his countenance softened by a glimmer of understanding and compassion.

"I can offer you sanctuary and guidance in navigating the intricacies of life beyond these walls," he offered, his voice imbued with a sense of conviction. "I will teach you the art of self-reliance, including the use of magic in combat, though the path will be arduous."

Leaning forward, he sought to convey his sincerity through proximity, his gaze locking with hers. "Should you choose to accept, I will personally oversee your instruction. And know this: at any point, you retain the freedom to depart. You are not bound by chains of obligation, but rather empowered to chart your own course."

As he leaned back, a subtle smirk graced his features, hinting at a confidence born of experience. "Your decision holds weight, for our circumstances may change swiftly," he cautioned. "Rest assured, your choice will be honored, regardless of the path you choose to tread. However, time is of the essence, for we may soon find ourselves in the company of unwelcome guests."

As she pondered the myriad of possibilities that lay before her, a cascade of thoughts flooded her mind, each one bearing the weight of uncertainty and hope. The prospect of freedom beckoned to her, offering a chance to explore the world beyond the confines of her captivity. Yet, amidst the turmoil of her deliberations, a singular question lingered, casting a shadow of doubt upon her newfound optimism.

"What of my music?" she mused silently, her thoughts drifting to the cherished melodies that had long been her solace and sanctuary. "Would I be permitted to indulge in the joy of creation, to lose myself in the symphony of sound?"

As her gaze returned to the man before her, she posed her question with a sense of trepidation, uncertain of the response that awaited her. His surprise was palpable, his expression momentarily taken aback before softening into a gentle smile.

"If that is your desire, Da'len," he replied, his words a soothing balm to her apprehension. "You shall have the freedom to pursue your passion, to immerse yourself in the melody of your soul."

Her heart swelled with gratitude at his affirmation, tears of joy glistening in the corners of her eyes as a radiant smile graced her lips. In that moment, she felt a surge of liberation unlike anything she had ever known, a sense of boundless possibility unfolding before her.

"Okay," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she embraced the promise of a future unbound by the shackles of oppression.

The man's expression softened, his gaze filled with warmth and understanding as he beheld her newfound resolve. With a small cough to conceal his own emotions, he returned her smile, his demeanor a testament to the genuine compassion that resided within his heart.

As Solas gently clasped her hands in his own, a sense of warmth and reassurance enveloped her, grounding her in the present moment. "Now that our course of action is decided, it is prudent that we make proper introductions," he began, his voice calm and measured. "I am Solas, known to some as Fen'Harel. And you are?"

Her smile waned, replaced by a furrow of confusion as she regarded him with uncertainty. "I do not possess a name," she admitted softly, her tone tinged with a hint of resignation.

Solas' expression betrayed his disbelief at her revelation. "How can it be that you have no name? What have they called you all this time?" he inquired, his tone laced with a mixture of concern and incredulity.

Her solemn gaze met his, her expression tinged with a sense of melancholy. "I have been known only as the Crystal Doll," she confessed, her voice carrying the weight of years spent in anonymity. The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, a stark reminder of the dehumanizing label that had defined her existence for far too long.

As Solas' features momentarily hardened before softening again, he let out a sigh of resolve. "We shall not be referring to you as such," he declared firmly, his voice carrying a note of determination. "It is imperative that we bestow upon you a name befitting of your true essence."

With a nod towards his companions, Solas directed his attention to the room at large, his expression inscrutable to her. She sensed a subtle undercurrent of concern in his demeanor, tempered by a patient understanding of her plight.

When his gaze returned to hers, she felt a reassuring pressure as he tightened his grip on her hands. "I believe I may have a suggestion for a name, if you would entertain the idea."

Her curiosity piqued, she awaited his proposal with bated breath. "Already?" she exclaimed, her eyes widening with anticipation. "What have you come up with?"

Solas' smile was tender as he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Eralin," he murmured, each syllable infused with meaning. "Dreamer of Music."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you enjoyed that, you can read Solas's POV which is also part of Chapter 1 on my Ao3 account, here.

Thanks for reading! 😄

[chameleonspell]

HTDC commentary - 9: sanctuary & 10: outside

[Looking back at HTDC after nearly ten years: comments on lore, character notes, influences, art, whatever. May contain spoilers for later chapters.]

chapter text: 9: sanctuary & 10: outside

So, evidently Iriel had an opportunity to go collect mushrooms for Ajira and be a good little Apprentice, but he's doing drugs with Tsiya, instead. What do we learn about Tsiya?

Tsiya was an asshole

Immediately, Iriel's already prejudicing the reader against her, with his opinion. Admittedly, Tsiya is kind of the worst. She's been an addict far longer than Iriel, and no longer has any illusions about the sort of person it makes you. She's lost everything and everyone she ever cared about, and she certainly has no energy or inclination to be nice to Iriel. Honestly, though, why should she?It's easy to side with Ire because we know what he's been through, and Tsiya is a blank slate with no visible redeeming qualities. But just... take a moment to observe the actual power dynamics, here. 

From Tsiya's perspective, a strange elven man forced his way into her house. He could easily overpower her magically - or even physically! Iriel has more than a foot and a half on her in height, and she's even more weak and emaciated than he is. She can't leave, or she'll be arrested, but he can move freely, and could report her to the guards whenever he chose. She's in skooma withdrawal, and probably starving. Iriel doesn't realise it, because he can't fathom not being the victim in any given situation, but Tsiya is completely in his power, and for her part, she is fully aware of this. No wonder she can't stand to be polite, no wonder the most she can manage is occasional forays into transparently sycophantic wheedling.

a common-or-garden asshole, to borrow Reu’s favourite term.

HTDC is presented in an all-new, modern and colloquial translation from the Tamrielic! Which is to say, that when I include different types of slang, it's because I am attempting to represent different regional dialects and vernacular colloquialisms. Iriel saying "fuck" a lot is actually an Altmeri speech feature, a translation of an uncouth term from his Lillandril docks background. Honest.

OK, OK, so I just vary up the types of voices and swearing habits because it's fun, but I do try to keep it vaguely culturally consistent. So, when I wanted to call Tsiya an asshole, I had Iriel blame Reu, because he's an Imperial street rat, and he talks like that. I was having Ire be more British-influenced, language-wise, but "arsehole" just didn't feel scathing enough.

“Of course the annoying High Elf did not. If he had found it, he would never have returned.” Ire didn’t even try to contradict her. I’m an asshole, too, these days.

Iriel is not kind to Tsiya. Sure, he could have done worse things to her, but let's be real: he only didn't, because he didn't want to. He's only interested in her moon sugar, and he would have stolen that, if he thought it was worth it. For now, she's more use to him as a connection.

“Iriel’s share. Now he goes away.”

With Tsiya's grammar, I had her use third person for everything, because I felt it emphasised her total lack of connection or direct contact with anyone. She no longer has relationships, even grammatical ones.

She grinned, unpleasantly.

Tsiya is not a nice person. She "doesn't deserve" kindness. But if she doesn't, neither does Iriel.

Ire sat on the stone bridge, and watched the stars reflected in the moving water. Sometimes he felt that such beautiful reminders of his own cosmic insignificance were the only thing that calmed him

Ire's little existential rebellion against Altmeri culture, which doesn't much encourage thoughts of personal insignificance. You're a scion of the divine, act like it! That said, Altmer do really like the stars, the stars being doors to Aetherius, left by cosmic beings lucky enough to escape Mundus in time. So maybe Iriel's not being that unorthodox. Certainly, his pa would have taught him respect for the Stars.

“Heeeeeeey n'waaaah” A mocking, drunken sing-song voice rang out, and others joined it.

I'm trying to think of something clever or witty to say about these men who police public places in groups, scanning for victims, looking for those they can mark as acceptable targets for violence. But I just get too choked with homicidal rage. I don't understand them, and I don't want to.

He’d long ago given up trying to figure out what he was doing to make it visible.

And it's always the victim who ends up asking themselves what they did wrong, to make themselves a target. As if there was ever a way out of the trap, save total annihilation of self.

But... how is it that the bullies at school can always pick out the queer kids, even before those kids know themselves that they're queer? What's the blood in the water they sense - someone's buried sense that they don't fit, somehow? Or is it only the ones who fail at their gender roles who get the target on their backs, do some people manage to go under the bullies' radar?

Iriel feels he has no control over the ways he broadcasts his failures of masculinity to others. He is bitter about the fact that certain physical traits seem to provide others with free camouflage for similar failures. Specifically, he has a rant about how his ex Hiranel could spend all day in the forest picking flowers and petting small animals, being a sweet, quiet, utterly passive healer who wouldn't say boo to a goose, and yet never have his sexuality questioned or his masculinity doubted, because he was tall, broad, strong-jawed and generally looked the part.

Back in Summerset, Ire at least understood the rules of the game, the acceptable contours of Altmeri manhood that he was expected to emulate, centred on magery and nobility, rather than physical force. He used to be better at it! Until he got found out. In Cyrodiil, he thought he could have a new start, and maintain a proper academic, masculine scholarly image. But just when he thought he was succeeding, he found Imperials viewed him as feminine purely due to being elven. Not that they seemed to mind. Ire's youth, inexperience and brief time in Cyrodiil meant he didn't fully grasp the ways his elven gender was fetishised there, by some Imperials. Still, he found certain remarks and attitudes... uncomfortable.

And now he's in Morrowind, where even the most macho of Altmer would be seen as woefully effeminate by the local daggerlads, these ash-covered, ebony-veined, Daedra-licking Dark Elves.

He got the Sanctuary spell on the third try.

I wanted to have chapters named for, and dedicated to, different Illusion spells. I got quite a lot of them, eventually, even if I had to adapt a couple of the names. Here, we have Sanctuary, which makes the caster harder to hit. Question: do we assume that this is due to an applied visual distortion effect? Or could it be affecting the subject's actual tangibility? It's probably the former, but how Illusion spells might affect the sense of touch is going to be significant, later. Perceived qualities vs. physical qualities. How do they affect one another? How do we control them?

If he can't control how others perceive him (and has missed the chance to control whether they perceive him), then Ire can at least control whether they can touch him.

I have a lot more to say about visibility, identity and gender, but I want to come back to it in a later chapter. So for now I'll just say that this spell might someday have been the culmination of Iriel's research into illusion magic:

In the meantime, he'll just have to live in terror, like the rest of us.

At this point I don’t care if it’s a gay bar, a skooma den, or a gay skooma den.

I think this is the first time Iriel uses the g-word? And some people had opinions about that. Specifically, some readers can tolerate all kinds of technically-anachronistic terminology in a fantasy story, but as soon as you use a "modern" term for a queer identity, their immersion turns to ash in their mouths.

And they are entitled to their opinion, and I totally agree that it's silly to have characters talk about themselves in 21st century tumblr micro-labels, when they're supposed to be medieval goatherds or something, but ALSO... (and I have a way longer version of this rant in the replies to this comment)

Writing Fantasy is Translation.

We always have to assume that the language of a fantastical world is not actually English (or any Earth language). Because Earth languages have our cultures and histories baked into the words.

In translating a foreign word, you have to choose from a range of words in your language, all of them imperfect, all of them bringing new associations, some of them wrong, some anachronistic, all of them adding something and taking something away from the original text.

I don't think there is anything wrong with choosing a modern, colloquial term for a fantasy character's identity, if it's the closest, simplest word for the task, if it fits their linguistic register, and occupies roughly the same place in their brain.

For some reason (I know the reason) fantasy writers are happy to use all sorts of anachronistic modern language, in low fantasy, except when it comes to queer identities. Suddenly, then, it feels weird, so characters start spouting all these awkward, euphemistic phrases, or not talking about it at all. And I was just... really sick of that!

It was a conscious choice to Let Iriel Say Gay, to let him have a way to describe himself, and not fall into that boring trap of being a queer character who just never refers to their sexuality ever, because the writers are too scared of using Terminology (*cough*everydragonagecharacterever*cough*).

a brunette Nord woman leaning on a barrel

IT'S TILDE!!! OMG HI TILDE!!! I had no idea, at this point, how central she would end up being. I hadn't got her voice, yet, in the first version of this chapter, and I had to come back and fix it later, to make sure she sounded like herself, and said proper Tilde things like "dickmaggots".

Tilde is mine now, my OC, go away, Bethesda. You didn't write her, she's just a generic Nord NPC with no personality, who exists to have a code book you can steal, for a quest. So that's all I had to work with, really: Nord, Thieves Guild, knows secret codes.

��Extra-High Elf doin’ OK?”

It took me far longer than necessary to realise the obvious joke I had walked myself into, with my very serious Altmer character with his very serious drug addiction subplot.

He cast surreptitious glances at the other inhabitants of the bar’s lower room.

I did a bunch of brief characterisation of the other Balmora guildmembers, because I thought I might do more with them, but in the end, it was the Sadrith Mora guild where Iriel ended up getting force-found-family'd. Apart from Sottilde and Habasi, we barely see most of these people again, before I eventually... um, y'know. Murdered them all off-screen for drama.

He had, oddly, enjoyed his evening in the South Wall. He had sat by himself, watching other people’s lives go by.

“Thank you,” he said. “Really. Thank you for taking care of me, but I can’t join. I’m sorry.”

Iriel isn't ready to trust another bunch of thieves just yet, so he's ignoring his instincts, for now. But of course he feels more comfortable with a group who are inherently outsiders to society, of course that feels safer and more accepting of difference. Ire knows he's on the verge of finding his people, but that's still scary, because PEOPLE.

next: 11: books & 12: silence previous: 7: choice & 8: simple

[legacieswcrp]

LORE DROP: THE PATRON OF MEDICINE

Before Chicory brought her Fallen and their terrifying ritual to bear upon StormClan, before Rotstar reinstated the Law of the Land, StormClan cats traveled freely as they pleased, some covering great distances in the spirit of their nomadic ancestry. In these wayfaring days between the Fallen's expulsion and Antlerstar's migration, the Clan made a reputation for itself as a meddling power in the Tallrock territories, medics especially prone to embarking on far-flung missions to help strangers and neighbors alike.

While many agree that the tale is not about her, Honeyglow was one such medic, hailed as the mother of gardens and the Patron of Medicine for the revolutionary techniques she brought back to her Clan.

Within the span between the triumphs of Snowfall and Hornbreaker and the horrors that drive Antlerstar to move the Clan away from Tallrock, the cunning Stingstar secures for StormClan moons of quiet peace. The same can not be said, however, of the cats living in Twolegplace, far to the south.

The little burg of Lislone is quiet enough for most who live there. Once a monastery, the community there is tight-knit and conservative, the people there keen to stay afloat on the fruits of their own labors where they can. The changing times have not, however, been kind to the people of Lislone, as enterprises in other places grew more lucrative and the demands for subsistence heavier in a shifting political climate. The introduction of trains - the high-speed rail to the east being what StormClan calls the Thunderpath - made life easier for some and harder for others, travel suddenly more accessible than ever before. Between the long-standing tradition of working cats and the deepening troubles of their caretakers, then, housecats facing neglect and abandonment was a growing problem. One of those cats, a tom named Hunter, thought to address it with his own claws by establishing a sanctuary, pulling his neighbors together into a community that looked after its own like the wild cats on the mountain. For a while, it worked; in the decaying walls of a long-abandoned and unfinished cinema, a project started by some hopeful artist who moved on before it was completed, Hunter and the town cats he inspired built a name for themselves as the "Cinema Club".

The Club thrived for a few seasons before the Twolegs caught on to what was happening. One report too many of kittens wandering around the theater windows, of scruffy strays scratching up would-be explorers, and before long a different order of Twolegs came to the cinema, armed with steel traps and collars appended to long poles. The Club cats couldn't have known the reasons for the invasion of their home, and the incident was remembered as only a tragedy, a punishment for daring to organize, punctuated by Hunter's name among the abductees. News of the event traveled, as it often does, and when the senior medic Honeyglow caught wind of it, she decided to do what many StormClan cats would have in those days: she packed up and went to help.

The Club had already dissolved by the time she got there. The remaining cats had scattered as soon as the coast was clear, as soon as the monsters had sped off with their friends and family inside, convinced that if they stayed at the Cinema, the Twolegs would come back for them. Of the precious few who remained was Hunter's mate, a loner named Mouse. In Hunter's absence, the remaining cinema cats turned to him, but Mouse was at a total loss; where could they possibly go?

This was where Honeyglow found them, a pawful of loyal found family seeking sanctuary wherever they could find it, never staying in one place for too long, and deeply grieving their stolen family. She became a pillar of support for them, helping them treat their wounds - though medicine was something Mouse himself had a remarkable skill with, even if the methods he used were in many ways utterly unheard of to a Clan cat - and encouraging them to try to find another sanctuary. Honeyglow spent most of her final seasons before retirement in Twolegplace, to the point some back home believed she'd joined the cats of Lislone entirely.

Mouse, Honeyglow, and their fellows put their heads together to seek a solution that would provide the cinema cats with the security they needed to rebuild, and after moons of experimenting, exploring, and debating, they settled it: if the cinema cats kept moving, the Twolegs wouldn't have the chance to come after them again. From there the task became a matter of scoping out the camps and hide-aways they would rotate between - the cinema on the east side, the disused park to the northeast, the scrapyard to the south, and a decaying barn in the northwest.

What came next was out of Honeyglow's aging paws, but she was deeply honored to be included. Mouse, finding his own confidence as a leader with time, championed all manner of novel strategies to make the lifestyle work. The cinema cats - park cats now - started borrowing from the Twolegs in all sorts of ways. They foraged nuts and berries to feed the birds and mice they hunted; they stripped the seeds from their medicines to plant in the ground; they pilfered all manner of tools and trinkets discarded by the Twolegs to repurpose for their homes. Honeyglow watched and marveled as they made stretchers, boiled water, started stitching their wounds. She lent her own knowledge of wildcraft where she could, but by the end of it, Honeyglow knew they didn't need her anymore.

What secured her legacy was not her part in helping the cinema cats rebuild and thrive, but in what she carried home with her. StormClan didn't take well to many of the things she'd learned by watching them in Twolegplace, but there was one practice that stuck: gardening. In the years that followed Honey's retirement and eventual passing, the green arts she had brought to her Clan made the difference between life and death, prevented permanent injuries and terrible infections for countless cats. Though it did not come until well after her time, Honeyglow was before long the name on the lips of gardeners throughout StormClan's future as they prayed for her guiding paws and nourishing touch to their crops, as they still do today.

[tewwor]

NEWEST MUSE LIST 07-25

*** doubles as an interest check so like this and i'll cook up a starter! highly suggest specifying muse(s) for this one! i will be focusing on them more between drafts!

THE FRINGE — SAUL'S LIMINAL WORLD .

the knowing

the second host to be shunted into the fringe as a last ditch effort for safety. ended up becoming the keeper of knowledge; to the point where it’s debilitating. happened upon the abyss and was given the cruel gift of knowing by concentration, and by touch as of late. burdened by the mind splitting headache of retention and hunger to learn more. pigeonholed as the devils advocate.

the peril

meant to embody the very gravity within the fringe. within the space, their influence is shown by lands turned upside down or sideways and the visceral sense of falling without stop. outside of it, their presence manifests in deep rumbling storms and pressure — sometimes to the point of vertigo. when encountered, the manner of which they impact another varies person to person. some will experience the falling, vertigo, threat of imminent thunder, or even allure to gravitate closer. confused as a double agent of good and evil.

THE MARKED .

shrike 'choi siwoo'

Civilian occupation: blacksmith . Marked position: weapons dealer. Ability: physical restoration. Part of The Marked ( lore here ). Cares more about his craft than anyone. Get enraged when his weapons are treated like shit ( even though he can restore it to perfection ). Leaves his hovel of a home once every blue moon, while also somehow hosting the most at home parties ( ?? he's not sure how that works either ). Incredibly good host but will beat you with your own shoes if you don't take them off at the entrance. Has a fairly popular online shop and big Youtube/Tiktok following regarding his blacksmithing.

HARBORVIEW .

barbara davies

crocodile sea creature . all grin, all bite. big lady, big energy. harborview's very own local radio host. would rather not get into how she's come to know oram / how she was changed. not sure if she's the town's Mother or Fun Aunt just yet — most likely both. has #throwndown to protect at least a few other sea creatures / locals. will always do it again.

ha aera

waho employee near the outskirts, because of course there’s one. who else is going to witness the weird shit that happens? no, it’s not like the baga yaga’s hut — you can’t even prove it relocating anyways ( it 100% moves across town on giant chicken feet ). often has to deal with whatever bullshit happens out in the parking lot. does not enjoy this despite it making for good stories.

natori kato

seagull shapeshifter . steals everyone’s fries, sandwiches, any finger foods all the time ( mostly near / on the beach ). 10000% close friends to the other two bird shapshifters ( yunseo & chinmae ) except she doesn't bestow anything. just takes food and yaps away. clearly homeless, but she never mentions it — gets a little weird if it is brought to light ( usually sleeps as a seagull elsewhere on the shore ). only way she pays for food or lodging is by whatever washes up on the beach.

spencer aka suspenders

kelpie wangler / hippocampus protector????? yeah, the town’s infested with weird sea creatures, but the uptick in disappearances not from them caused lior to outsource someone to help with the herd of kelpies. none were harmed in the fruitless relocation ( they keep finding their way back ), so his residence became permanent and he set up sanctuary. if you see a stunning resemblance between him and holt ( holster under fantasy section ), he'll deny it till’ he's blue in the face.

ini shaw

sea witch that primarily sells knots and charms for sailors. most of the time they're filled with good luck. be nasty to her and you'll get a nasty surprise back amidst your stupid voyage. maybe a fanatic over oram, but who’s to say?

jinae 'jenny' cho

there's a new hot wife in town and she's married to the mayor ( that hasn't been eaten by the sea creatures finally )! does she know her high school sweetheart turned husband is a sea creature? no! so pretty and so scrappy. definitely has traits of a survivalist for reasons she'd rather leave in the dark.

[goodvibesatpeace]

Distant Lands

In realms afar, where shadows dance and gleam,

Where ancient mysteries stir and secrets teem,

Lie distant lands, enigmatic and grand,

Enticing souls with an allure so unplanned.

Across the misty veils, they shimmer and beckon,

Uncharted territories, a tapestry to reckon,

Lush landscapes bloom with vibrant hues untold,

Where nature's wonders, their stories yet to be unrolled.

Beneath the moon's ethereal glow, they awaken,

Whispering tales of civilizations forsaken,

Legends whispered on the wind's gentle breath,

Of long-lost empires and forgotten depths.

Forgotten ruins, weathered by time's caress,

Crumble amidst tangled vines, a silent mess,

Their hieroglyphs etched in ancient, sacred lore,

Echoes of civilizations forevermore.

Amidst the valleys, where rivers flow unbound,

Echoes of spirit voices gently resound,

Guardians of the land, their presence felt,

Invisible threads weaving, a timeless pelt.

Through verdant forests, where sunlight barely sifts,

Ancient trees stand as guardians, their presence uplifts,

Their gnarled branches reaching for the heavens above,

Whispers of wisdom, unspoken and devout.

Beneath the starry canopy, a cosmic ballet,

Celestial bodies in a celestial array,

Guiding wanderers lost in the vast unknown,

Illuminating paths where new adventures have grown.

In distant lands, dreams unfold and wonders gleam,

A sanctuary for souls, a surreal dream,

Mysteries unravel, secrets come to light,

A tapestry of wonder, woven in the night.

With each step taken, a sense of awe profound,

The rhythm of the land in ancient beats resound,

Distant lands, enigmatic and sublime,

A symphony of wonders, transcending space and time.

[diavolo-is-babygirl]

(So since so many of you have been unbelievably kind to me about my Obey Me/Diavolo x MC lore, and I was hyped about sharing it anyways, here is some more.)

In the heart of the Devildom, a prophecy unfolds as the Exalt, beloved of Diavolo, steps into destiny's path. Chosen to command the Prince's Knights, they confront an ancient and elusive adversary threatening to plunge their world into chaos. With Barbatos and Solomon by their side, an unlikely alliance forged in the crucible of danger, the Astrals rise to defend the Devildom—and protect Diavolo himself—from unimaginable peril. Empowered by arcane forces long dormant, the Exalt and their loyal band of knights wage a courageous battle against foes unseen for eons.

As ancient powers clash and destinies intertwine, the Exalt leads the charge, their courage and love igniting a heroic saga that will determine the fate of the Devildom. In their thrilling adventures, they must confront not only external threats but also the shadows within, forging a path that defies the odds and secures their place in legend.

Instead of having all of the MCs related to Lilith, I’ve had them all secretly blessed by Lilith’s spirit. Allow me to explain.

Even though a certain arrangement between Lucifer and Diavolo had her begin a new life, a part of her spirit remained behind. Out of undying love for her family, she sealed a part of her spirit inside of a celestial jewel. Tasked with awakening special guardians in the event of unspeakable peril, the jewel was laid to rest in a sanctuary she knew wouldn’t be disturbed. Lilith wanted to make absolutely sure her brothers would be protected, in the event she would no longer be able to protect them herself.

Even though the Exalt is intimately linked with Diavolo, Lilith extends her blessing to the Exalt as well. Because all of the Astrals forge close, unbreakable bonds with her brothers. In a role similar to Queen Serenity’s role, Lilith’s spirit guides the Exalt and Astrals throughout their adventures.

Does anyone recognize the spirit as Lilith? No. Except for Barbatos but he knows everything anyways. Lilith doesn’t reveal herself to anyone, let alone her brothers, because she doesn’t want to reawaken old wounds. She doesn’t want anyone, especially Lucifer, to mourn the way things happened.

(In other words, I have a team of MCs that transform into celestial soldiers because I’m a Sailor Moon nerd. So they pretty much transform and fight like this. Male MCs included.)

[rionas-path]

Chapter 12

Such Solitude

CXVIII. A soothing wind of silence surrounded her as she wakened. Curled up in the corner of a hallway wrapped up in hides, She blew a breath into the wind, sending fire through flow’s guides Towards the firepit; igniting it with embers hastened. The vivid scenes of last night’s altercation were cleared skies In her mind’s eye, and so much work did her stay now comprise. Howbeit; firstly, she would cleanse the corporeal, sacred Remnants of holy blood on her bare body emblazoned.

CVIX. She stretched out her arms and gathered her bloodied attire Which was haphazardly thrown about. Soon after she washed Them with a rush of rainy wind, wholly with water bedashed While they levitated in midair. Lazily, she’d hire The flow for most of her work, since there was so much about; It’d be a shame if she were to toil hard and work without Relying on the magick’s abundance. She’d only require A lesser amount; this once succumb to her itching desire.

CXX. Donning her uniform and cloak of fur, which was adorned In dazzling tribal marks of her kin; she went undismayed Into the perilous room where the Tsar’s remains still laid Unmoving, empty. Thinking of fighting the tears, to have mourned The passing of her kin-in-kind, yet finding her solitude Too comforting. This ‘loneness granted her with such certitude. She moved him outside and neatly lowered his body malformed Onto the soil; enclosing him in the snowy and icy ground.

CXXI. Tradition dictated a quarter’s moon of wait before The ritual of last rites. Thus, the first stage was put to sleep. Now she would go onward with the cleansing of the tower’s keep. Rushing the lake’s water in a current from the very shore Towards and through the gate, splashing and cleaning off the remnants Of blood which were splattered on the floor, and walls, while wary droplets Bounced off in midair, preventing them from harming the scribe’s lore Or putting out the fire, as it blazed in great, dancing ardour.

CXXII. Alas, this place was still no safe haven or sanctuary; Therefore, she chose an elevated spot as her stronghold. However, the rotting wooden stairs would easily infold She reckoned, and thus, chose to make a decision voluptuary. Taming the flow yet again and forming steps of windy force, Which would act as skipping stones upon a river’s winding course. Leaping between the gusts of wind, she soared up to her new eyrie, Giving full trust into the magick’s muse without need for worry.

CXXIII. A darkened, unilluminated hallway awaited her, With sunlight pouring in flat streams through the leaky rundown walls. With a twirl of her digits, she brightened the abandoned halls, And found a pair of doors on each side of the interior. Without much thought, she chose one as her impromptu bedroom; To boot, she found a ladder stretching upwards in the gloom. In curiosity’s grip, she wandered up. No reason to defer Her exploration of the keep, her indulgence to pamper.

CXXIV. Mountains parted the valley in splendour before her eyes, As the lake below slumbered on, by the Guardians warded. Wind whirled about with the poignant essence of the flow uncharted, Which glanced along one’s senses, even seen make dancing strides In the rising light of the morning sun. The trees that dotted The slopes gently waltzed about, as their pearly gowns fluttered In the breeze. Every so often, she spotted a rustling guise Of lone deer which dug beneath the snow in search of a prize.

CXXV. In a moment of foolish wonder among this reserve Of flow abundant, she pressed her fingers upon her temple And gazed at the lake’s winding tale. Magick gathered with a gentle Sweep about her, instilling a vision into her nerve, Into her mind. Flow whirled in a pulsing, jerking motion On one beat and soothing on the next. She gazed at the formation, The glacier’s recede and advance in the same pulsing swerve Which enraptured the flow and beauty of the peaks did preserve.

CXXVI. Breathing in and out. The blooming of flowers, the falling of leaves, The nature’s cycle. Tears welled up in her astonished eyes As she was faced with the land’s radiance in all its dyes. Alas, the sad melody which all of Outerworld bereaves, Did mark the descent into a darker time. The ice and snow Came down one day and left nevermore, shrouding the world in woe. Still, she remained a maiden fair in her white-blazoned weaves, Though elegant, her solemn and sombre state worn on her sleeves.