#oh and his child form in that illusion world too

[ser3nityst4r]

Idia’s Backstory

From birth, Idia's life was predetermined. Born into the Shroud Family, he was destined to be "The Island of Woe's Gatekeeper," a role inextricably linked to their cursed lineage and the unique magical ability to control the Gate to the Underworld.

This destiny overshadowed any other possibility, a weight placed upon his young shoulders even before he could comprehend its implications. Despite this, Idia exhibited exceptional talent, his genius recognized by researchers who heralded him as the future of S.T.Y.X. Yet, amidst the accolades and expectations, a child's simple desire remained: to know what he truly wanted. Like any other child, he yearned for the freedom to dream, to envision a future beyond the predetermined path. 

The echo of a simple question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?", stirred a longing within him. It was a question that highlighted the stark contrast between his innate brilliance and the suffocating limitations of his predetermined fate. A glimmer of hope emerged in the form of a shared dream with his brother, Ortho.

It was all just a blur. Like dreams and stars, they eventually fade away back into the sea of the other side. Such innocent and naive worlds for they envisioned heroic adventures, inspired by the tales of Star Rogue, a world where choices were made and challenges overcome. This shared fantasy, however fleeting, was a testament to Idia's yearning for something more, a desire for agency in a life that seemed to belong to a relentless, external force.

However, their innocent adventure, born from childish curiosity, spiralled into a catastrophic event. Idia's exceptional hacking skills, meant to pave the way for their escape from the island, was wrongfully used for a chain reaction that led to a security breach and the release of a dangerous Phantom. The consequences of his actions were devastating, resulting in the loss of his brother, Ortho, to the Underworld. The weight of his unintended actions crushed him. He was the genius, the future, but he had failed to protect the one person he cared for most.

Oh how he wishes he could’ve been mindful on the disobedience of the barrier. As always, it meant punishment and the universe, the one in his mind, seemingly full of hope and ambitions, unveiled into an ugly tragedy born from cloths of uncontaminated souls. The curtains should’ve fallen ages ago but the show continues. The question becomes if it ever mattered had the memories and past been authentic if the present was everything he ever wanted and something he rightfully earned.

The hero he dreamed of becoming was a cruel illusion shattered against the harsh realities of his actions. The loss of his brother, the consequence of his own choices, became a deep wound that drove him head first into the study of technology and any method that would bring even fragments of his dear brother back. After all, the anguish of knowing the reason behind his own brother’s death, his accomplice in dreams and lost hopes, was unbearable. Enough for the blue flame to diminish and reminisce on the pieces of the past and yet still lock them away in the depths of his heart, just like how the phantom was locked away that night. Far too late for it to even matter.

The tragedy shattered Idia's youthful dreams. The guilt and despair were overwhelming. His inability to save Ortho, to fulfil the promise of their shared adventure, left him questioning his very essence. In the aftermath, a dark resolve took root. If the world wouldn't return Ortho, then he would create a replacement. His genius mind, once a beacon of hope, was now twisted by grief, a tool to rebuild what he had lost.

His final words before the beginning of the spiral towards madness, "Let Big Brother handle this," echoed with a chilling determination, revealing the profound impact his experiences had on his future. The boy who once dreamt of heroism was now consumed by a desire for control, a desperate attempt to rewrite a fate that had always seemed predetermined.

[nomsfaultau]

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 8

Dark SBI AU where Philza’s human children were replaced by monsters. Start of ficlet is here.

Both Tommys held Philza’s hands as he walked into the home. “Wilbur” and “Technoblade” froze painfully to see both imposter and real child side by side. Whorls of frost spread out from “Technoblade’s” bare toes, and “Wilbur” drained of color in a rather literal way, his illusion pooling on the ground in colorful streaks as the changeling stormed towards them. Tommy, frightened to watch his “brother’s” face melt off, tucked into Philza’s side. 

Mistaking the fear for “Tommy’s” apprehension of a tongue lashing, “Wilbur” seized Tommy roughly, “You idiot,” “Wilbur” hissed. Visions of his nightmares bled into the world, illusions of Philza attacking, killing, disowning them pouring into the house. “You’ve just killed yourself, you know that right? What the hell does he need you for if he has his real son?” 

“You’re yelling at the wrong Tommy,” Philza said weakly, trying not to lose all feeling in his legs as he watched his son threatened only minutes after he was finally back. 

Lip curling, “Wilbur” dropped Tommy, rounding upon “Tommy” who claimed, “No Dad’s mixed up! That’s the real demon, not me!” 

Tommy began to question what was happening, and Philza squeezed his hand harshly to silence him. Plastering on a thick smile, he knelt before his son. “These are your new brothers, okay? They’re m- not human.”

Tommy was relieved. “Oh, I thought Wilbur had figured out a next level prank and I had no idea how I was going to one-up melting my face off! Did Techno and Wil get turned into cows too?”

“No. But they’re safe.” Maybe. Philza needed them to be safe. “I’m trying to get Technoblade and Wilbur back, but it’ll take some time.”

“No it won’t,” “Wilbur” snapped from where he was trying to strangle a raccoon. “Wilbur is gone. Accept it.” 

“Tommy” bit his hand, and “Wilbur” shrieked at the lava melting through his skin. “It’s okay,” “Tommy” assured his fellow imposters as his little imp form perched in the ceiling rafters, unflinching at the illusionary spears hurled at him. “You can give them back now, Dad said he won’t be mad.” 

“Tell me the truth,”  “Wilbur” commanded sharply. 

“I’m not getting rid of any of you,” Philza insisted, just barely able to snap his mouth close before the yet slipped out. Of course he couldn’t, not when he still needed his kids back safe and sound first. 

“Wilbur” trembled, his talons curled into painfully tight fists. Then his hollow gaze dropped from Philza. “...I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. The Fae Queen has Wilbur, not me.” 

Philza couldn’t help his hopeful glance to “Technoblade”. But the mouth of the haunted vessel hardened. “You already have Technoblade. He’s right here. We didn’t steal him, like the others did.” 

Philza hadn’t much hope left to be dashed. He squeezed Tommy’s hand, and didn’t stop him as Tommy raced off to explore the monster’s powers. In the eyes of a child, their monstrous natures could only be viewed through the lens of excitement, unable to grasp the unfathomable danger he was in. He pestered them with a million questions. A risky game given the tension choking the room. 

“You have to be careful with them, Tommy. Your new brothers can play a little rough sometimes.” Philza poured his urgency into his gaze, keeping his voice as chipper as ever. Then, his fury turned upon the monsters. “If anyone hurts Tommy you are all grounded.” The trio of incomprehensibly powerful abominations cowered before him. 

—-------------------------------

“Tommy!!” Phil screamed at the top of his lungs. “Come here right now.” He looked at the mess before him, and it had Tommy written all over it by the bite marks on his flowerbed. Only question was which one. A twin pair of golden heads popped through the doorway. “I know it’s very funny for you both to look like Tommy, but I can’t have you looking the exact same. It’s gonna cause a lot of problems. Think about it, what if one of you gets punished for the other ones mistake? If I can’t tell who it’s supposed to be, both Tommys will get in trouble. I don’t care what you decide on, but you have to choose a way to tell you two part.” 

“I can be Tommy one!” the first Tommy exclaimed.

The second Tommy pouted. “I wanted to be Tommy one,” he said grumpily.

“Fine, you can be Tommy one; I’ll be Best Tommy!”  

“That’s not fair! I want to be Tommy one, too!” said the third Tommy. Wait, the third Tommy? Philza whipped around fast and counted the heads of his sons, realizing that somewhere along the way, he picked up a third Tommy. Philza was about to lose his mind. Where had the new Tommy come from? What had happened? Was this a new monster he was supposed to deal with? How is he supposed to fight against a new monster who he knew nothing about???

“Sorry, I’m not sure we’ve met each other before. Would you care to introduce yourself?”

“Dad, you seriously can’t tell I’m the original Tommy!?”

Philza groaned in frustration. “That’s it! Mandatory group hug!” The Tommys immediately scattered, but Philza was quick enough to scoop them all up. They writhed and groaned about cuties as he focused. Tommy one, too was biting him. Which….didn’t narrow it down. Best Tommy was kicking him and making disgruntled cow sounds, so probably human Tommy??? No, he needed more data. Tommy one was slightly feverish to the touch so he was likely the demon “Tommy”. But the other two? That was a little harder to tell. Best Tommy was normal temperature, but so was Tommy one, too. Wait…no. Tommy one, too, was room temperature, lacking his own body heat. Almost like he wasn’t really there. “”WILBUR!”” Philza shouted. 

“Wilbur” glanced up from the book he was unassumedly reading on the porch swing. “Can I help you?’ he asked, faintly annoyed. 

“If you also begin to make illusory Tommys, I will be likewise punishing you any time one of them gets in trouble.” Philza couldn’t afford to be mistaken ever again. He had to nip this problem in the bud before the consequences grew horrific. How was he supposed to defend Tommy if he couldn’t tell who he was? 

The changeling scowled. “Excuse me? I don’t care what those brats get up to, it has nothing to do with me.”

“This is clearly your illusion.” To prove his point, he dramatically patted the fake Tommy on the head. He blinked as nothing happened, then chuckled a little, catching “Wilbur’s” flash of a triumphant smirk. Philza ruffled the hair of the other Tommy, who dissolved beneath the iron of his wedding band like morning mist. ““Wilbur” if you compound on the doppelgänger confusion with your illusions, you’ll receive the same punishment.” 

“If you catch me~” he laughed with a voice like silver bells. 

“Why you little-” Philza began, stalking over to where he sat, only for a loud crash to whip his head around. One of the Tommys had turned into a cow, and Philza really couldn’t tell which. 

“Really now, I know you boys introduced yourself as doubles, but you are your own people with different personalities. Please be yourselves- ah, with the boundaries we established,” Philza warned before “Tommy” could turn into a hulking demon. “Wouldn’t you like to find a nice form all your own? Stop pretending to be someone you’re not?”

“Not when we can cause so much chaos!” “Tommy” cackled, racing off riding a blond cow. “And if you try to ground me I’ll rip your head off!” Philza sighed heavily and sat on the porch swing next to “Wilbur”. Technically he knew he should be following to make sure his child wasn’t eviscerated by a random flare of the demon’s temper…but god was he exhausted from trying to chase the pair around for days. The fact Tommy had survived so far was certainly justification for a five-minute break at the very least. 

With a startled blink, Philza realized the changeling sitting beside him no longer wore the disguise of Wilbur. The illusion puddled beneath the changeling, who was still wholly occupied with his book, albeit in a way where it was clearly just a prop so he wouldn’t have to meet Philza’s gaze. The fae was tense, waiting for a reaction. “...have you decided to be yourself now?” he asked cautiously, knowing how testy the changeling could be. 

“Wilbur” didn’t look away from his book, knees drawn up to his chest. “Whatever. Not like it’s an improvement.” 

Philza smiled warmly. “Of course it is!” It would make it so much easier to be rid of him if he looked like the monster he was. Or, so Philza prayed. He’d grown too familiar with the deadly, reading past the frightening features of the creature before him. The stiff posture not as a creature ready to lunge, but a teen bracing to be mocked for the true self he despised. “This means you’re more comfortable, right?”

“Don’t read into it too much, old man.” Philza’s smile grew a little wider at the way “Wilbur” eased a little. Above all, it meant “Wilbur’s” guard was lowering, regardless of what Philza did with the fact. 

Next>

[pola-rola]

I am the one hiding under your stairs, fingers like snakes and spiders in my hair ~♪ Thank you so much for the templates, @ai-kan1 <3

Based on no character in particular, a ghost that roams the halls, finding joy and solace in scaring new students and "fixing" potions. Although he was orientated by a mirror to Pomefiore, he is not particularly tied to this specific dorm, and sees no harm in regularly visiting other dorms, including Ramshackle, where his three oldest closest friends reside. (Although Ignihyde is definitely his favorite because it has spinning chairs there lol) ___________

June was a self-motivated and confident child from an early age. The absence of a family did not stop him from immersing himself in his studies, so that over time he could proudly show the world the results of his hard work. So the appearance of the Black Carriage in front of him was the happiest moment in his short life. Of course, the coolest, strongest and most responsible Headmage is there! Maybe he will take him under his wing and teach him everything that will help him become just as amazing? Well.. The boy was disappointed. In any case! Pomefiore was not the dorm he was hoping for, but who cares, he will become the coolest in any dorm, and soon he will take the place of the housewarden, right? Overblot. Not his. Some student. Too strong, to the detriment of himself and others. The entire school was terrified of this terrible incident. Luckily, no one was seriously injured. No one, except for one freshman, poor thing, what bad luck…

"He was controlling some black spikes or something… I remember one of those things flying straight towards my head and that's go dark... When I opened my eyes, the sky was clear again and I was surrounded by ghosts. They were sympathizing with me and complaining about how young and unlucky I was. I have no idea where my body is, although I guess I don't need it anymore." ____________

Dom. hand: None "Have you ever felt like both your hands are left?" During life, June was right-handed. As a ghost, both of his hands seemed to stop working well. He could still do the usual things, like hold things and stuff. But writing and doing any neat work became difficult, like… Well, like doing anything with your non-dominant hand. - Dislikes: Awkward conversations "Yeah, I was named after a month." "No, "it" wasn't hurt." "No, I'm not going to tell you what it's like to be a ghost." "No, I'm not going to fly right through you on purpose." "What difference does it make to you how old I am?" "Stop asking questions like that!" - Talent: Change body forms

"Something that makes me different from other ghosts"? Oh, you mean my legs? Heh, the perks of being young. And smart, I guess. Study hard and you'll be like me someday. No, that's not what I meant-"

So, my hc is that ghosts can show their full body form (I think ghosts with legs are creepier, by the way), but they don't see the point in it. It also takes energy, and that's what it takes to be visible to humans. June prefers to show his full form, though he modifies it a bit. You don't want to see his ghost like he looked right after the incident, right? He's not a monster to scare poor students THAT much. ̶a̶l̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶f̶u̶n̶ "I'm not actually changing clothes, it's just an illusion." Ghosts remain in the clothes they were wearing when they became ghosts. However, if necessary, they are quite capable of visualizing the outfit that suits the occasion. Something simple, though. Pomefiore uniform appears on him when he gets to the dorm, but in other cases he either wears a school uniform or creates other, simple outfits. By the way, in more "capey" outfits, his bottom looks the same as other ghosts (like the bottom of Eliza's dress), for example in the Ceremonial robes, because its shape is already quite difficult to maintain due to all these patterns.

"Salpa" I'm not Floyd, so it was a bit hard to come up with a fishy nickname right off the bat. Of course, I think "Jellyfish" would suit him better, but since the nickname is already taken, what can you do.. In any case, I dug around on the Internet and found the most ghost-like sea creature IMO. Pretty creepy thing, I tell you…

"Monsieur Badluck"

Cutie-patootie Rook was unshakably convinced that the student from their dorm had fallen proudly in a heroic battle long ago, and not simply died due to his own stupidity and self-confidence. It was hard to talk him out of "Chevalier des Blots" and agree that it was just an unfortunate incident…

His feelings towards Jade is like "Oh, look at that cute smile 😍 Wait, why is he smirking like that 💀 Oh, he's so handsome when he's focused 😍 Wtf of mushrooms is he talking about 💀 You're so cute I love you 😍 What the hell, why are you such a weirdo dude💀"

________ ̶W̶h̶y̶ ̶d̶i̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶s̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶,̶ ̶H̶e̶a̶d̶m̶a̶g̶e̶?̶ _________________________________ phew, that's all. thank you if you read all my chatter here, take a meme („• ֊ •„)

[smolvenger]

The Boat in the Water: A Beauty and the Beast Story (Loki x Stella Ransome, An MCU/The Essex Serpent Crossover Multi-Part) Chapter Four

Summary: Having lost her health and her husband's fidelity and love, Stella has nothing more to lose than her life. Then...she is swept away to another realm, to an enchanted castle. A castle whose master is a god...a god with a striking resemblance to her husband.

Chapter Word Count: 5K

Chapter Warnings: Pregnancy, childbirth, loss of a child, cheating (I play the Will/Cora affair in a negative light, and if that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, this isn't the fic for you), a bit of violence. If I miss something, please alert me so I can add onto it. A cliffhanger bc I choose violence. Some thirst, but no actual smut

Chapter Word Count: 7K (get water and snacks)

A/N: If someone knows or has immediate access or recalls if the Essex Serpent canonically mentions how the two children of Stella and Will died and I got it wrong, please let me know. I just had to guess. Thank you!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @anukulee @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @jijilaufeyson

They continued to sit on the floor. The fire crackled and Stella found her sandwich was delicious. It was a relief. Some of the dinners could get particularly heavy and would make her stomach hurt if she was not careful. Especially since with the consumption healing, her appetite was returning. This one had the right balance of bread and tomato. Not mushy and with the right crunch of the texture. 

Loki looked relaxed. His dark curls had fallen down, they looked as soft as the feathers of a bird’s wings. Or an angel. He tore off the crust and ate it delicately bit by bit. He looked most handsome when he was at peace.

“All of this is hidden with your magic?” she asked him.

“It is the reverse. It is only certain magical elements that reveal it. I managed to control it. It took some practice, but I can open and close the Jotun form. And you think it not frightening? These beings that have done horrible things.”

“Humans have done horrible things too,” she said.

He hated he was right. Hated she was right about everything she said. It made him silently angry. And yet silently awed. He just wanted more. To hear her speak. To know how she came up with this, and what made her conclude this.

“What other kind of spells can you do?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. She set down her sandwich, her eyes dipping down. The nice sky blue ballgown she had on. The skirt was wide enough to balloon around her as they were sitting down. 

“Let me see…”

She began to count on her fingers.

“You can make duplicates, control shadows, change your form...” 

Loki wiped off the crumbs from his leathers.

“I can travel across worlds. Create illusions. Bend things to my will. I can read the memories of people, on special occasions,” he listed.

“Memories?” she repeated.

“Yes.”

“Have you already read mine?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, no- I only watched in my various forms what was happening. It was how I knew about the boat.”

She felt her face burn, but not from the fire. What was it- shame, perhaps?

“I know you must…must pity me. Think me a weak, silly woman,” she added.

“Yet something happened that woman was left to think that was the only action she could take…” he replied.

She looked up. Her plate was already left empty. She didn’t know how she could express it all. Say a word of what occurred in Aldwinter. There were so many words she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to say it in the right way. Or in a way that her weaknesses would get a better hold of her and cloud her judgment. Or say something unfairly ill of someone.  But a memory- that would be a better, more unbiased way. To have him see everything that happened.

“What is it like? I am only curious… and I feel…you would…would understand everything more in-depth than me telling you,” she prodded.

She thought she saw his lips curl up just slightly.

“Oh, you would like me to read your memories, little star?” he asked.

“Yes, yes I would, please. I won’t mind it. But will it hurt?” she asked.

“No, not at all. All I need do is touch your forehead,” he instructed.

“Alright. You may read my memories Loki.” she permitted.

He set down his place. He nudged closer to her.

“Just one? Or any of them?” he asked.

“Whatever you can find. It won’t bother me.”

“And what if… I see you and your Lusty Vicar in a moment that was…intimate, shall we say?” he teased, a little laugh in his voice.

“Then please don’t dwell on it and move on!” she insisted. Her face was a little red.

He laughed.

“Oh, how I love watching you squirm! Alright…let me try…”

With his long fingers, as lightly as if she were the most valuable porcelain in the palace, he touched her forehead. 

Taking a deep inhale, he began to search through. He found not just one memory, but a lot of them. 

He saw Stella was a young woman. A rosebud amongst the clergypeople at church one Sunday morning. He felt her heart racing as she noticed the handsome young curate with curly hair and hints of a beard, and could feel the warmth in her cheeks whenever for a split second their eyes met. She would return down demurely. But when they went back up, he was still staring at her. As if she was the only one in the cold, grey church.

Then another. He bent his head as he stepped into the house. In his vest rather than his black and white. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand, which he offered to her. It was his second visit. And he brought flowers then too. All throughout tea, he still had that gaze at her.Like she that he was a predator and she was prey. She would blush and pretend she didn’t notice.

He then saw the heartbeat out of its cage as he confessed his feelings. “I love you, Stella.” He went on, though she was too astonished to speak. Praising her beauty, kindness, and virtue. She was crying happy tears. He asked to marry her to follow God’s path for them together and how eagerly she said yes.

He then saw an evening in her room. Her mother was behind her on the bed, combing her hair and rebranding it. And talking.

“The first time it happens, you will bleed. He might be large and it will hurt when he goes inside you, which he will want more than anything else to do. That or to have to pleasure him with your mouth. That’s what all men want.”

He could feel the gasp that couldn’t get out of her and how she felt so hot.

“I wish not to shock you,  Stella. But for you to be ready to be his wife. Even if he is a priest,  he is a man. It’s what men are. You cannot close him off. Much less on your wedding night. The one thing all wives must do- we must consider our husband’s happiness, not our own. It was what God designed us to do- to submit. You must think of that, and fulfill your duty to him once he is your husband. It is not for pleasure, but for duty” while combing her hair.

“What if I can’t…please him?” she asked.

“Then…the truth is, they will find someone else who can,” her mother informed her.

He saw a town hall decked with flowers. Saw flower petals being thrown all over. People dancing. A tuxedo and Stella being spun around, laughing and smiling. Will took her arms and spun her in her wedding gown in the hall, almost childishly. But the adoration and laughter on his face made her forget her anxieties about that night.

He saw the aftermath of the night. He was over her, on top of her. His curls over her face. His pants. And then kissing her, asking her if he hurt her. She said he didn’t. But all Stella could think about was how this was the closest she ever felt to being in heaven.

He saw a peaceful evening, Will sitting and reading as she sewed by the fire. It rained and it was very cozy.

He saw her first pregnancy. Their gasps of surprise. The baby forming in her belly. She felt a little sick, a little dizzy, but thrilled. But how it was excused as she had to go and vomit in a washbin.

He saw the first childbirth. The pain splitting her apart. Her tears, asking for her mother who was there, holding her hand. Then the endless joy as the baby was brought out to be held.

He saw the second pregnancy. She was cramping badly. Sighing as she made another cup of tea. Grateful her maternity corset had the laces on the side. There was going to be a meeting with the deacons soon and she would hear all about it. But what should she make for the women’s bible study? She couldn’t decide. She felt sick again- and the baby was still sobbing in the cradle, a red face and hair with chubby arms and legs. 

She felt the cry stir her, but she rocked the child. She hoped the baby wouldn’t cry during church. Eyes would all go to the front row and she would have to excuse herself out to rock the baby as they all listened to her sermon. Whispering about her. Being a vicar’s wife was being a bug beneath a looking glass. Or the audience for a tightrope walker at a circus. Waiting for the moment she would slip and fall and be disgraced forever. Especially for a small, conservative town. One wrong move from her, or even from her children, and her husband’s ministry and position was done for.

The second childbirth. She was scared, there was pain. The cramps, but worse. Pushing, confused. The faces and voices. There was blood. Then a delivery. Relief flooding through her and happy tears poured down her face.

Then later- there were two little girls tucked into their bed from Mama and Papa. As they slept as sweetly as cherubs, Will would wrap her in an embrace. 

“I live for you, for us, for what we have. You are my life, Stella. Before God, I have you.”

She would smile and kiss his cheek, his beard scratching her.’

“And I for you, my darling,” she replied.

The third pregnancy. It was at the church's Christmas Eve service. One where after his sermon, he went down to sit next to her as the choir sang. The baby began to kick for the first time. She put Will’s hand on it and they smiled.

The third childbirth. Pain and blood. It was a long labor. She wondered if she was going to die.

Only it wasn’t her who emerged dead. It was the baby.

Then, the next year, she entered the nursery one day.

The cloth draped over the little bed. The shape of a child’s body beneath it.

Stella nearly fell down. She felt a sound escape her mouth.

They were going to take Julianna Ransome away. Take away the child…only that wasn’t a child anymore. That was a body. The soul was with God. She had already held her…her last moment, the last thing she ever did, her last embrace and moment of earth was in her mother’s arms as she kissed her forehead. 

Will would rush up, and put a hand on her shoulder.

She went up, wishing to kiss the forehead- tell Julianna that Mama loved her one last time, even if she wasn’t here to hear it.

But the men were coming to dress the body and prepare her for the funeral.

She felt one rough hand from a man push her away roughly. Will held her back as she sobbed. They already had a casket prepared. They lifted the little girl and put her in. Stella couldn’t speak. She couldn't go, clutch protectively over the child.

They carried the casket and left the room and the house.

The second her husband’s arms loosened, Stella felt herself crumple onto the floor. Sobbing violently. Sounds coming out of her that weren’t human. Will over her, a hand on her back and shoulder. He then held her as she sobbed for the daughter they had and lost.

The Fourth Pregnancy. She was craving things but fought them. She had to remain slender somehow. She was always tired. Her feet almost were too swollen for her shoes. She was always tired, trying so hard not to doze at church when Will wasn’t speaking.

The Fourth Childbirth. Blood and pain. It was a breech. The feet was coming out before the head was- and that would stifle her and Will’s child. They had to move it in her belly. Then delivery. The little boy was brought forth safely. 

Jo was starting to walk. Will held her hands as she took her first steps. Stella opened her arms as she walked right to her mother. Then she rocked John in his cradle. A healthy, happy baby having his first laugh. She never thought a laugh would sound so beautiful to her.

Another night of coital bliss. Ecstasy spinning in Stella’s system as Will panted beside her in that bed. She was so glad that her mother was very, very wrong.

The fifth pregnancy. The baby was kicking like a horse. She was feeling sick all of the time.  The doctor advised Will to be careful. She needed some rest after this one. It was taking a toll.

The fifth childbirth. Push, push, push. The baby’s head had retracted back in, so she had to push him out again. She was in pain, splitting her apart. This was ten times any cramp she had during her courses.  There was so much blood. She thought this was her end. 

But the baby arrived. He already had dark, curly hair and she loved him more than anything, holding and kissing him. Calling him the name she and Will decided on if it was a boy.

“Hello James, I’m your mama,” she cooed to the tiny face.

Years later. John and James were in the church playing leapfrog after one service. 

Then he saw Jo collecting books and getting bigger. Claiming she was now a grown-up at the dinner table. Saying she wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer at dinner.

Then…the dead body was discovered on the beach- the second one. The horror of the town in their stillness and big eyes. People crossing themselves. Whispers of a Serpent. One that would even abduct children…perhaps one of their own, Stella feared. She could only hold her husband's hand. She remembered those words- “It’s God’s punishment, but we’ll get it through together.”

Then a dinner. She wore her nice pearl earrings and a nice dress for a guest.

“My husband will not judge you,” she assured the guest.

A woman with blonde hair, round cheeks, and squinty eyes, but slim and pretty. Who ate beside a young boy with dark brown hair. In the dim light of the dark house, one could see streaks of red in the woman’s astonishingly golden hair.

Her husband looking at the woman intensely. Hypnotized. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes off. Like she was art.

Once upon a time, he looked at Stella like that.

But she would not say anything. She cut up her meat in delicate, small bites and ate slowly. Listening to the woman discuss science. 

Then another. Will in a tuxedo. He was dancing with that woman. She could only watch from the corner as everyone stared at them like they were a fairytale.

She didn’t matter anymore. And she would learn to accept she didn’t matter anymore. 

Then a bed. Her bloody handkerchiefs. Nothing but a room full of blue crosses and her blue bed. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

He was done. There was no doubt where he was.

She could sense it and she would not stop it.

Will told her God wanted him to lie with Cora.

I’ve done my duty, God. I’ve done my duty, mother. My time is done.  God is calling me and I must follow Him without question. She thought.

All as her heart still beat.

Loki let go. He had seen so much. He retracted his fingers and found himself in the present.

She was crying a little.

“- I-I’m so sorry…” he apologized. He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her.

She shook her head, accepting it.

‘No, I’m glad you saw. So you would understand just a little.” she recalled.

“You saw it?” he asked.

“Yes…” she confirmed. She wiped a few tears, doing her best to gather herself.

“I do understand. Everything,” he said.

She took a deep breath. She had purged her memories, her past. Just a mere few of many. She then extended her hand.

“Lok….let us dance now in that ballroom. I’d like to dance a waltz with you, please…”

He cocked his head. His old mischief returned to him. “A waltz? Well, Little Star, we haven’t waltzed before! A waltz is….it has an interesting history of being a little bit scandalous because it involves…”

“I would like to waltz with you, Loki.” she interrupted. 

He led her to the ballroom. There were candles lit around the wide space to make it brighter, the pale, hard floors echoing beneath her steps.

 He wrapped her in an embrace. 

“Loki, I have one more request. Could you do it?” she asked.

‘Why, that depends on what the request is.”

“You’ve seen so much of me, but I have only seen so much of you. Loki…could I dance with you in your form?”

‘I am in it.’

“Your real form.”

“This is my real form. If you wish to dance-”

“Your Frost Giant Form, I mean.”

He transformed. He was blue and with red eyes His skin chilled her touch, sending shivers down her spine but keeping her awake and alert.

With a nod of his head, there were violins playing a song in three-quarter time. They began to move into a square. She kept her eyes down a little to watch her feet. She could feel a stiff silence in Loki- as if she was now afraid of his Frost Giant form. But keeping her eyes away, it made the words pour out of her mouth easier.

“He was my entire life and I didn’t satisfy him. I didn’t make him happy…so he looked elsewhere.… I failed my duty.” she mourned.

Loki tightened his hold on her and nearly swung her into the next step.

“Don’t say that! You never once failed in your duty, Stella!”

She perked up as he said her name. There was an added fierceness that the bright crimson of his eyes made apparent. Though the music was playing, Loki’s voice could easily be heard over it.

“I have seen your life. You are anything but a failure. You never failed the priest. He failed you as a husband, have you ever considered that?”

“No,” she replied.

“You love. Intensely. Fiercely. More than anyone knows. More than anyone I have met. I have nothing but hate inside me, but you have nothing but love inside you. But you shouldn’t let that love allow others to treat you like you’re their servant and not an equal to them…”

“It’s…it could be sinful,” she replied meekly.

“Your mortal ways and faith. Is saying no a sin? Is being angry that you were mistreated, taken advantage of a sin? Is it a sin to fight back? To protect yourself? I can tell you, here there is no such thing!”

“I don’t want to complain or be ungrateful.”

“You never did! But keeping it inside and letting them torment you will kill you, Stella, faster than that mortal illness ever could. Fight. Fight, Stella. Fight back. Be furious. Sob. Scream. But fight.” he insisted.

She stared up at him in wonder, though they continued to move. 

“I was always so ashamed after I cried after I fell to anger…” she confessed.

The music continued. She heard a violin trill.

“I’d rather you feel the pain than not feel at all…do you feel any pain now?” he asked.

“No… I don’t…”

He gave her a smirk,

“Good,”

“Do you feel any pain, Loki?”

“No, because you are an excellent dancer…”

They walked for a few minutes in silence. It sounded like the song was going to end. She leaned closer. There was a last chord in major that resolved, the echoes of the strings melting away. 

“Loki…the music is over, but…hold me. Please. Just for a little.”

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back. He felt cold, yet she held on. She then heard a sound like a ruffle of feathers and from the corner of her eye, there was a green light. He changed to his form with pale skin. How…warm he felt compared to the ice. Soft and comforting.  She rested her forehead on his chest. For a god, he felt so human, so real, so comforting. She felt his long arms wrap around her, envelop her as if they were wings. She nestled further. Enjoying the closeness, the tenderness of his touch. 

She held on as long as she needed to. And then she let go.

“You just wanted an embrace.”

“Yes…”

“I’m glad you asked. Don’t be afraid to,” he said.

“I…I won’t, Loki,” she replied.

He escorted her to her room. 

“Loki I….” the words came out of her. He tilted his head.

She restrained herself. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She’d be as bad as her husband.

“I hope you sleep well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my little star.”

She felt herself blush at “my” as she closed the door.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next morning, Stella woke up. She felt oddly refreshed like a weight was lifted off of her. 

She went down to the piece of paper on the vanity. She began to comb her hair. Looking a the bed, she admitted that last night…the temptation was there. She admitted it silently to herself. She was a few steps away from the precipice, asking Loki to stay with her in her room for the night. Just to hold her, talk to her, and…no, what if it progressed? What if he kissed her? What if he- she couldn’t even name what else her weakness would have let her do! Only glad her strength prevailed.

But…she did like that song from that one time. When the illness attacked her and he sang. If only she could understand the words!

She looked down at the paper.

“Hello there. I know it’s been a minute. But, what were the words of the song Loki sang to me? The night I got sick?”

The words were listed there.

“Which one was the part he sang lower at the beginning?” she asked.

It shortened to the lyrics. Though she liked the two words that read as “Star Mojen.” It sounded like “star maiden” which was a pretty image in her head.

Then…it struck her…the hand kiss. That was the very line he kissed her hand on…

“And what do they mean in English?”

The translation appeared.

““In stormy black mountains

I wander alone

Over the glacier I move forward”

She found this meaning in the line with the star maiden line.

“In the apple orchard stands the maiden, so beautiful.”

Warm tingles appeared all over her. That was the line he dedicated to her! He was making her the maiden in the song.

The rest of the translation of that bit appeared:

“And sings, ‘When will you come home?’”

She looked about the place. Once, she longed to be back in the white house on the marshes again. But now…the longer she stayed there, the more she was home. And the more being with Loki felt like being home.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He only appeared at dinner that time. Wearing a grand cape with yellow on the inside. She noticed how long he had grown his hair. His dark curls were falling down to his shoulders.

“I wanted to thank you for last night,” she began once he sat down.

He conjured himself a glass of wine. “Oh, really I should be the one thanking you.”

“I wish I had your boldness, your confidence, Loki,” Stella replied. She got out her knife and fork and began to politely take small bites of her roast chicken.

“And I wish I had your heart. I don’t think at times I could ever forgive my father…” he said.

“Your father? What did he do?” she asked.

He took a sip as if for liquid courage.

“Well, he was the one who plucked me as an infant from Jotunheim. He brought me to live in Asgard in the palace. As the second-born son to the throne. The runner-up. Second best. But not the favorite, as my dear brother is,” he hissed bitterly.

She spoke no words of judgment. Only wiped her mouth with her napkin before placing it on her lap.

“Well, he was always letting Thor do whatever he wanted and letting him be his heir and me the unequal. Oh, and did I mention, he kept me being a Frost Giant as a secret until I found out by accident!” he vented.

“Oh, Loki, he shouldn’t have,” she commented.

“And do you know what he said? He said my birthright was to die! And that I should be grateful!” his face colored bright red and his eyebrows furrowed.

“A parent shouldn’t say that to a child…” she agreed.

“At times, I wish I could shove him off of the rainbow bridge, I would, and I-”

“Loki, how is containing all of this anger and rage going to make you any happier?” she asked.

He silently fumed. Two hands over his cup of wine.

“You have to talk to him. Tell him that you were hurt. If I hurt my John, I would rather him tell me than silently hate me.”

“All I can think of now is how I will get the throne to be my own-”

“Loki, did you know your brother came by and asked for you?”

He blinked.

“What?! That dolt of a brother arrived here?” he asked.

“Yes! He has been looking for you! He loves you and misses you! And your mother worries about you…Loki, tearing yourself away from people who care about you will only make things worse. If you let your hate for Odin consume you, eat you away…how will you see all the people who love you who are willing to help you?”

“Thor is arrogant and dangerous-”

“You can be jealous of someone and love them too. You can be angry at someone and love them. And sitting down stewing in fury and doing nothing isn’t going to solve a wit of your problems.”

He looked at her. She, who had been through so much, who was loved and thrown to the side like a child’s toy. Yet she still loved people, cared for them, and had hope, had kindness inside of her.

“It…it won’t solve anything…” he agreed.

“You can tell someone how they hurt you. And you can love someone the same, and treasure what love you have in your life…” she said.

“My Frost Giant form though…that is a sight some of them will have to get used to.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said.

He cocked an eyebrow. He then got up. He used magic to conjure his chair to be next to her.

“Oh! A Frost Giant- beautiful, you say?” he asked.

“You’re…well, beautiful in every form,” she admitted, with a shy glance down at her napkin.

He paused. He drank her in. Her ballgown. The soft blonde of her hair and sweet eyes. 

He couldn’t help himself. He added in-

“As are you.”

Her eyes went big. Her hands clenched where they were laying on the table. She looked back down.

“Well, I have, I have marks on me from the pregnancies and I am not Mrs. Seaborne, but-”

He cut her off. He went to her, even closer. She felt her breath catch as he cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“Stella are beautiful in your nightgown. You’re beautiful in your gowns. You were beautiful when you were swollen with child. You were beautiful when you brought each child out. You are beautiful with your hair free and undone. You’re beautiful when you braid it. You are beautiful when your hands and skirt are dirty from the garden. You’re beautiful when you sit and sew without a speck of dirt on you. I will never be worthy to even be seen standing next to you, and anyone who sees us will ask questions about what a great beauty like you is doing being seen next to me. Just because you are alive and here- that is what makes me think of nothing but you, because you are the very stars in your name. Internally and on your person.”

She was frozen for a minute. Processing it all. Her mouth lowered and could only release a little air. She could see the blue of his eyes, the soft elegance of his features.

 Then, at last, she said, “I haven’t been called beautiful for months.”

Loki’s eyes turned shiny 

“What…really? You should be called beautiful. Every day,” he said. 

 Her breath returned to her. She smiled. 

“Loki, if you are a monster…how could you come up with that? You have more goodness in you than you think. I…I…thank you,” she continued.

They danced something other than a waltz. Loki was glad. He didn’t want to hold her in his arms again. Every time he touched her, he wanted more. And every time she got close, he didn’t want to let her go.

“She’s just a mortal. One of a million. Who am I to get involved with some lowly mortal woman? And that’s not to mention she isn’t free,” Loki thought, scolding himself.

Those thoughts dissipated as the music ended and they bowed and curtsied.

He only wished her goodnight. Still…part of him hoped she would weaken. Give into temptation. Ask for him at night. To lie with him, be with him…He felt something stirring in his groin at the image of her naked in that bed. He hated himself for it and increased his pace further from her room. 

But he knew her better than that. Part of him wanted to curse and throw something. Her husband could roll about in the grass with a hundred women and swim nude in the sea and even touch himself in its waters whenever he wanted- but she couldn’t!

He said nothing but clenched his fists tight. He then stormed off to find another room to douse himself in cold water.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Stella sat Writing more letters to her family one afternoon. She set them on the chest in her room and it vanished to be delivered to them.

She missed….she thought she missed them, but she missed people. Having someone, anyone to talk to during the day. It then struck her how lonely she was. Loki had appeared only sometimes during the day. Would he appear before dinner like he sometimes did with the sheep episode? Then they’d eat and dance. Then he was gone. Did he even sleep here? Considering how big the castle was, he might have been in some secret room.

Her life was always busy, for there were three children, a dog, a church, a village, and a husband to keep up with. When it was declared she was sick, everything was so quiet. There was nothing to do but lie in bed and wait to die. She would spend whole days alone in that house, on that bed, with no energy except to sometimes ask for visitors to see them again and to stare out the window at the marshes. And pray for God to prepare her to enter heaven.

Now there was no longer a threat of death. She was due for a visit to the healers today to check on her. But as used as she was to being alone…she felt lonely. If only Loki could be there to conjure some trick or say something to make her laugh or blush. She…she missed him.

And why should she sit around waiting in an enchanted castle like she did every day here? Even cleaning and gardening was getting tiresome. As she looked around, she saw there was a shining golden city. And the carriage was going to take her to the healer's cottage for her appointment today. The city was just outside of it…but the city itself was only a ten-minute walk from their cottage.

What was Asgard like? And the people too…how different were they from Midgardians?

She waited for the carriage. It took her to the appointment in the healer's cottage. They declared she was improving after a few tests. As she stepped out, she looked at the nearby gates and the tops of the buildings peeking out.

Besides, she couldn’t help but be curious. 

She went down to the cottage and sat in it. But instead of asking it to return, she knocked on it’s ceiling and asked aloud:

“I’d like to visit that city over there, please!”

It took her down, further to Asgard. A shining city full of people going about with long robes for clothes and elaborately braided hair. White birds flew about looking for crumbs that grandmothers tossed to them. Children ran about and played without any fear of a serpent lurking anywhere to eat them.

Stella stepped out. She felt a little embarrassed in her day dress of light blue still having puffed sleeves and petticoats compared to everyone else. She noticed a dress shop on one corner and walked to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You…you spoke with who again?! There are too many names, just how many friends did you make?” Loki cried.

She smiled. She sat proudly in her cerulian Asgardian dress she bought. Her shoulders were exposed and her hair in its side braid.

“Oh, Audur!, she’s delightful. She is a new mother and I was glad to give her some advice and help her with the baby- she had the sweetest little boy, he hardly cried and he’s so small! Oh, and there’s the shop Seigfriend owns- I felt odd going about in these clothes, but I find the Asgardian fashions fascinating. He managed to give me this one on sale. Oh, and I also saw a temple and was curious- your people do make offerings and they vanish! How fascinating! A priest named Tristan said he would explain more to me. I was invited to a little book club and sewing circle by Brunhilde and a few other ladies who sensed I was new and wanted to welcome me-Oh! And these!”

She reached into her pockets and pulled out the pebbles, pure dark blue with sparkles inside them.

“I found these just on the ground! They’re beautiful! Like gems! Isn’t it like the night sky?” she boasted.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Why aren’t you amazed?” she asked.

“Little Star, They’re ordinary! They’re everywhere in Asgard!

“Oh, but you can find so much beauty and meaning in the most ordinary of things, Loki. You just have to look…conjure my box, please.”

He did as she requested. She opened the lid on the table, digging about. Then she brought out a seashell. A conch that curled into itself with a hole. She held it over to him. He felt the edges.

“It’s beautiful. Like a piece of art,” she said. “Do you see the little edges? And how smooth it is. And this was not made by man…nature made it. It did that naturally. Why is that not amazing?” she asked.

‘It is..” he admitted.

She then handed him the blue stone.

“And this one…we have the whole sky above our heads. But here, we can just hold it in our hands easily. Isn’t that beautiful in itself? I know you’re a god, Loki, but when I merely cup this, I feel like a goddess myself. I feel what it is like to have a whole thing, a whole existence just in your hand…”

He ran a thumb over it. And then he returned it to her hand. Their skin brushed against each other.

“Could I invite Brunhilde and a few others over to the palace?” she asked.

Loki grinned. A mischievous light in his eyes. 

“I tell you what- we should throw a ball!”

“A ball?” she repeated.

“Would you like that? To invite your friends? You will be in charge of invitations! I don’t think you’ve ever been to a grand ball before, Stella. I’ll make sure everything looks up to par and that there’s enough food and your friends can all enjoy themselves?”

Stella’s eyes beamed. Then she released her hands from his. She set the pebbles in the box and closed the lid.

“I will on one condition…you be there. You go too, as a guest. You are the first I would like to invite.”

Loki put a hand to his chest in fake surprise.

“Why! I would be delighted! We should take a bit of time to plan, and then we can set a date. Until then, we better brush up on our dancing, don’t you agree,  little star?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Will knelt down to pray that evening. He couldn’t sleep. He was still clothed, pacing about the bedroom. Everything suddenly felt empty- as if she was dead and buried already. His mind reeling.

He knelt next to that bed.

“Dear Lord…bring her back to me. Keep her safe.” he prayed.

Whoever this “Loki” was as he called himself, he was keeping her safe and had apparent access to a cure. He wasn’t sure if this was the man he saw. He wasn’t sure how he and Stella managed to vanish in the blink of an eye or how. Or even where this city called Asgard could be found…or if she would return. He could only pray and wait.

Then, he jumped. His jaw went slack, for there was something there he had never seen before.

A portal opened. The rim was green and had golden light glowing from it. He heard music and laughter. Inside, he thought he saw a ballroom and a crowd of people.

Crossing himself, he walked through.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Meticulously as they planned it, the ball began smoothly. Stella’s friends in Asgard invited their friends and then their friends. For they heard of an enchanted castle and wanted to see it, as well as hear and see the famous trickster god reappearing among them.

Stella wanted to somehow invite the royal family. But the guards would not let some puny mortal pass as much as a letter through their gates. Perhaps there would be another time.

The Aesir in their robes were all gasping at the sight of the palace. It had an older, even Midgardian style to the place. Audur went up and greeted Stella. Saying how glad she and her husband found a babysitter for the night. Brunhilde embraced her as if she had known her for years. Music was already playing, not that it stopped all the chatter.

The violins had settled. Loki appeared before her. His curls were washed and looked soft and beautiful. He dressed in his finer robes. He wore no cape, but his black and green had hints of golden armor. Stella herself was wearing a gown that was more Asgardian in its longness and simple sleeves, its exposed neck. It was a pastel blue as if she was the day sky melting into the night.

“You are radiance itself today,” he said.

“My, how gallant of you!” she replied at him.

There was a starting cord.

“I must tell you, I asked them to give us the first dance…shall we do it together? Or, would you rather the others partner up?” he asked.

He held out his hand.

“Oh, that is nothing I cannot take. We can dance, Loki,” she replied.

She touched her hand on his. With a grin, he led her onto the floor. There was a clearing and here they were in the center. 

They got into position. He lifted her hand up in the air, their fingers intertwining.

Loki saw Will out of the corner of his eye. There in the crowd. Stella was clearly oblivious to him, for his plain vest blended amid the Asgardian colors.

Loki put his hand on the small of Stella’s back and pulled her in tighter.

Stella was starting to shiver again. She nearly forgot the steps. Something about Loki being close…and everyone watching, watching them embrace. She clutched onto his arm as if he were a raft keeping her above the water.

The music began and they waltzed.

He was smiling. And for once, a large, happy smile was on her face as well. She didn’t want to look away. He was so beautiful. So real. And there.

They covered more ground. Going a little faster. She kept up with his steps well. She felt like she was truly flying, her blue skirt swishing about.

She looked at him, and she broke into a smile so big, she bared her teeth. She felt a small laugh break out from her in her happiness.

Loki relaxed his posture and smiled softly at her too. That look on her face, the pure joy on it…

 She was all that made sense. All that was real and true and good in the world. He could have held her and danced for eternity.

Stella went to Loki and locked eyes. It was a waltz. They did it before. But he held her tighter. 

Will stood there, watching helplessly. People smiled as they watched. He could only see the look of adoration in Stella’s eyes to this man. Her eyes were so bright, her happiness beaming across the room like light. This was not a smile she would reserve for anyone.

It then hit him, His wife was dancing with a man she was in love with.

Loki couldn’t help but force a smirk at bay as he felt Will’s presence in the crowd. His portal worked as planned. And the vicar was there to seep in the rich, rich irony of it all of his own medicine being fed to him in a big, hearty dose.

As the music rose to a crescendo, Loki then grabbed his hands around her waist. Stella gasped. Then easily, he lifted her up and twirled her around, her skirt flying around her like a water painting. But she only laughed in delight. He then set her down as the final chord resolved.

The crowd applauded. There was going to be another dance in a few minutes. But Stella went away to talk to some friends. They led her off to the table to enjoy the delicacies that was served. Excitedly chatting away as they went over, blending into the crowd.

Loki was catching his breath when he heard a voice. A voice just like his own say-

‘Pardon me, sir!”

Will went forward to him. Loki felt his whole body tighten. Loki wasn’t sure to be excited, miserable, angry, thrilled all at once. Despite the similarity in their features, people hardly glanced at them. For one had dark hair and the other auburn-blonde-brown, no one would notice their similarities unless they looked closer and heard the voices.

“Sir- where is Mrs. Stella Ransome? Do you know where she went?” Will asked.

Loki frowned. He glared down at the man with as much intimidation as he could. He responded with the same voice. 

“Then answer me this- why should I take you to her? Why should I let you in the same room she is in?  Why let you look at her and hear her voice when you aren’t worthy to as much as kiss the ground she walks on? Why should I let you as much as lay your filthy hands on one hair on her head? Why should I give her to you?” the god demanded. 

People were starting to turn heads. There was silence, for the music could not even play as people quieted to watch.

Stella turned around. Her eyes took in long, curly hair. A wisp of a goatee. A vest. High cheekbones and blue eyes.

She dropped her plate to where it dropped her salad onto the floor. She began to tremble. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. 

Will held his ground. He looked directly into the god’s eyes.

“Because she is my wife.”

There was a pause. Only a flicker of a second too long for anyone to intervene.

Loki got out his dagger and stabbed Will.

[captainjacklyn]

Malleus Draconia x Dragon!Yuu Part 2 :

Context : Yuu wakes up to see a strange raccoon with a very much irritating voice. They are absolutely confused and unsure of what to do, looking around they need to figure out where they are. During the exploration they end up bumping into a masked individual.

Tag List : @candlewitch-cryptic

Warning(s) : none really, grim being a little bundle of annoyance, if I missed anything, please notify me.

Prologue [A new world ?!] - Episode 1 :

"AH- ! WHY ARE YOU AWAKE ?!" the moment Yuu opened their eyes, the weird tanuki-like-creature was startled, including them. "A room with...floating coffins ?!" yuu exclaimed, shocked to find themself in an environment completely different to their previous one, their eyes darted all around the room searching for signs of some sort of illusion. It took them a second to realize that their horns, scales and tail were missing as well, [I..I'm in human form ?! But- who could've done this..]

"HEY ! DON'T IGNORE ME !"

[!!] they instantly turned around, only to see nothing until they slowly looked down.

"The weird raccoon !" pointing at it in an accusing manner, it was possible for this thing to be responsible for the dragon's situation.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY ?! I'M NOT A RACCON !" the bizarre beast snapped back, it went against the statement, posing a prideful pose as they then threatened them again. "I'm the amazing grim-sama human ! Don't underestimate my power."

[....]

[Well that thing certainly is weird.]

"Anyways, I don't have much time now so give me that coat or else I'll roast ya !" it snapped back and with one big puff, grim was about to summon his infamous fireball but Yuu quickly countered it with one of their own before the fur ball could blow out any flame. "Crk- aah what was that~!"

"You couldn't fight a baby dragon without losing, I'm too big of an adversary for you." they walked over to his somewhat burned and dizzy form, crouching down to pat his head as a comforting gesture before getting up.

"Now...Where is the exit ?"

______________________________________________________________

It had been more than five minutes and Yuu was already starting to consider the option of burning down the establishment to get out. [If I were from the chaos faction, I would destroy this place in an instant..] they groaned as they opened yet another door which wasn't the way out but the toilet instead. Another loud sigh.

[However...I am not, so even if it takes me a hundred years, I will get out at some point...]

"Ah, I found you at last ! Are you the new student ?" another voice came out of nowhere just as yuu entered the library. [Oh in the name of Thor why-]

"You shouldn't do things like that ! Leaving the gates on your own." the bird masked man placed his hands on his hips like he was scolding a mere child. Yuu was about to explain their situation until they were cut off by the sight of the strange man holding Grim.

"Not only that, you have yet to tame your familiar which has broken a number of school rules." he held the feline by the neck and handed it to them. Grim, annoyed with every single person calling him anything but Grim-sama, talked back to this stranger as he tried to wiggle out of his grip, "Let me go ! I'm not their freakin' familiar !"

He wasn't having any of it, but so was the man, "Sure, sure. The rebellious ones always say things like that. Just quiet down for a moment." he placed a hand over its mouth and his attempts at snapping back were now muffled. It almost felt like Yuu was forgotten as they stood there looking at this random guy.

"My goodness..It's unprecedented for a new student to leave the Gates on their own." he whispered to himself in disbelief prior to turning around and facing Yuu. "Now..we're wasted enough time, let's get going to the entrance ceremony !" he grabbed them by the shoulder and began to drag them out of the area until : "Just a second ! Where exactly am I ?"

He stopped midway to look back at them, "What's this ? Are you still dazed ? Maybe the teleportation affected your brain in a certain way.." retracting his hand and placing it on their chin in a thinking manner he took a deep breath in and smiled, "Well then I will explain everything to you on the way there. For I am gracious !"

[...]

[Ok...]

Part 2 done, Part 3 on its way.

[your-queen-shuri]

Its like my first post here and im already have something controversial to say

I need to summon Bartseq and Howl's moving castle fandoms

How about Bartimaeus trilogy and Castle in the air (moving castle) crossover

Soldier and Abdullah's mission but it's kinda loser magician/rude jinni dynamic

Me and chat literally jump from one trilogy to another ten times a day so crossover was only a matter of time

(don't expect me to have structure or something, it's just an draft of idea, and i don't even know english that much)

Abdullah, an apprentice of magician, first time summoned someone more powerful than foliot. He needs help with search of Flower-of-night, and he think sm stole her, like many other girls in town

But this jinnie don't seem to be helpful.

Demon named Justin do everything but help

First he was summoned he wasn't scary, creep, or any word that you imagined when hear ab demons, nah

Jinn looks like a soldier in an old-fashioned gray uniform, his eyes glowing an inhuman blue. Not only did he light up the room with a green ghostly glow, he still looked as if he had just been pulled out of the field.

Abdullah was rather confused than scared, and then, spirit, in a form of man, begin to talk in this throbbing, polyphonic voice.

He's bragging about how many wars he won, how many battlefield he go through and how much well-known generals he spoke to.

And i think he don't want to anyone call him by his name bc "on the war we don't have names until we dead. Only titles, I'm just a Soldier."

(if you even care, author of idea described it like

WHAT DOES A KID NEED FROM THE SPIRIT OF WAR...U NEED ME TO FIND YOUR LOVER? AM I LIKE CUPID TO YOU, OR WHAT? LOOK CAREFULLY: BEFORE YOU, THE HERO OF COUNTLESS WARS!!!! INVINCIBLE MILITARY POWER!!!!! I HAVE WENT THROUGH SO MANY FIELDS OF BATTLE THAT YOU HAVE NEVER DREAMED SO MANY DREAMS IN YOUR LIFE AND WILL NEVER DREAM, SAY YOUR TRUE ORDER, I KNOW THAT YOU HAVE SOMETHING BETTER FOR ME )

He talks too much, Abdullah thinks. And little bit even thankfull for that bc last day were wild, he needs a minute to breathe and calm down. So he listens demons comments on everything

On his stupid order, bc he clearly doesn't expect some child summon him to find a girl. He expect another war. Even asked who we fight against this time. All his life he was called only for such tasks. he emphasized that battles were his specialty, and he would not accept any other assignment (actually i think poor man needs to learn how to live outside of war but it's just me)

An place. He looks out of window and goes "dammit don't tell me it's Ingary. Ugh, I've hated this place since the war against Strangia" or something

"yes, oh most rustless out off jinns, it's actually Kingsbury" Abdullah answer. Soldier only made a annoying noise with tongue and decided don't try to scare a boy with illusions of screams or image of running against him monsters

***

Now im gonna throw up takes without explanation

- Justin Soldier being like the worst servant in the world. Abdullah pissed, bc he often can't force him to do simple tasks. Physical punishment didn't help because 1) Abdullah almost never really do ant, but often threatens 2) Jinn don't care

So. Boy should find damn food for Jamal's angry dog himself, ashamed of how his demon unable do such a order. (Soldier bring a wrong meat for pet on purpose. He'd like to watch how boy run from him.)

- yea. In most of cases it's Soldier decide what they need to do. Not his master.

- he always tries to lead a guy astray from saving the love of his life, distractin him like maybe sometimes point on some girl

"look, such a beautiful mistress out there, see? Much closer than that your stolen princess huh, maybe try a shot?"

- ALSO. almost forgot. Justin favourite form it's that form of this random old fashioned strangian soldier (that Abdullah asked him to change bc it's capital city you know noone wants to see someone like that here. He don't care.) and black blue-eyed cat. Always one of this two looks. Yes, in this version Abdullah still have annoying cat that always sits on his shoulder. It's now just his jinn.

- Abdullah has much less professionalism and he don't have a library in his head like Nat did. Actually, by magician standards he like kinda below average. Although, surprisingly, he has one of the most powerful magicians as mentor.

- we decided. Princeses are opposition. Flower-in - night just run away from her violent and crazy mentor to girls to plan throwing a government. They all kinds of girls from magician and commoners family's, some of them are listed as missing (or as stolen. Stolen girls from all the town you know, like princesses), some are here in secret from their families, god they even have policeman on their side

- you have three take to guess who's Abdullah's mentor.

Yes. It's a damn Ben Suliman. He's one of ministers. We just don't decide minister of what he is.

(all the credits to @jutenium for this precious idea)

So. What do you think, folk.

We have more drama, i can make part 2

Bc we NEED to talk about Hatter sisters here

[vivi-the-goblin]

Oh hey I actually made a thing again, who would've thought. I've been making some stuff for a new adventure, trying to make the monsters in both 5e AND PF2e. Gonna start doing that from now on, best of both worlds I guess. It's my first ever PF2e monsters though, I hope you like! Here's the associated video first.

The Priest I think has the most interesting abilities despite relative simplicity for a spellcaster. The area I'm putting him in has an effect that randomly swaps the party members around every round, which combined with his ability to swap with other party members will make for a fun fight. I know some of his spell list isn't divine, and there's a reason! He's a devout of Sivanah, whose domain is all about secrets and illusions and tricks. In 1e her illusionist followers were said to mimic divine healing using Shadow Magic. Shadow magic's gimmick is that disbelieving it makes it barely real. I wanted to reference that here, he's actually an arcane caster able to mimic Divine Magic. This includes his "Belief Manifest" ability, basically allowing him to replicate any spell as long as the target believes he can do it.

The Oilslick Spiders you may remember from last year, I touched them up to be a bit more interesting. Nothing too special though, I was mainly just practicing using a monster I'm familiar with.

And here's Amy, the wildfire witch! She was kicked out her town as a child for being an uncontrollable little wild magic sorceress, but now she's back and out for REVENGE. On the first version, the "miraculous escape" is for lore reasons and help her reach stage 2 later in the path. Originally when the priest tried to kill her, her wild magic kicked in to warp her away at the last second. So she developed magic to recreate that moment if neccessary.

In the big version, the "new enchanted form," she's all about that AOE and burning difficult terrain. I really like wildfire primal mages if you haven't noticed. The 5e version is focused more on slowing the party, the PF2e version is focusing her efforts on setting everything ablaze. Less outright danger, but good luck if you go down with that persistent damage. Did mention I got the idea of this adventure from Aviator's Scarlet Vow? Inspiration can come from anywhere! Especially from Aviators, an artist I've followed for...11 years now, holy shit. Somehow still hasn't made a song I didn't like.

[secret-smut-sideblog]

What The Water Gave Me

Gale x F! Tav (named)

(Child Of Dawn part 12, final)

18+ grief release, mentions of death, domestic bliss, threesome (in a sense), improper use of simulacra, rough sex, restraint, dom/brat, fingering (f!), oral (f!), p-in-v, unbearable levels of tenderness and joy, set just before the epilogue

Freshly returned to Waterdeep, Aurum starts the tender act of opening herself to the world. Luckily, she knows an excellent teacher...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

Endless ribboned sky of lavender above her, Aurum laid on her back on her iridescent sailboat. Arms flung above her, she let out a contented sigh.

"Oh, same feelings then?" She smiled at the spinning sunburst as it vibrated a little happy thrum, runes playfully swimming.

She let her eyes close again, drifting blissfully on the astral sea. A sailor of the heavens and soon, of the Sea of Swords.

As the warm spread through her limbs, she felt her throat raw, tears that she instinctually blinked away rising in her vision. A thought she finally allowed to fully form in her mind.

This was how it was supposed to feel. If this shard in her chest wasn't forced inside. If the hands that guided it did so with love. If this gift hadn't come with an illusion of choice, if it was given purely with the grace of the gods.

Meeting Dame Aylin had been a harrowing lesson in perspective. Seeing a holy figure who's god truly imbued with unconditional power. Who basked in the light. Light that renewed, not ate away, not hollowed.

Letting her body pull along the tide, she released to the tears. Flowing down her temples, sobs hitching in her throat.

She had spent so long smothering, it felt good to grieve. Bloodletting the wound clean, still a deep gouge but no longer seeping infection through.

How unfair it all was. That she was doomed from the start. Born to experience subjugation through divinity. Her father not loving a child, not holding a daughter, but purely designing a false diety. Only fit to be put far above in holy indifference. Grieving how much had been carved away from her. Placed in a gilded bell jar, to be nothing more than a siren calling faithful to his side.

"I'm glad you're dead." She hissed.

Taking a deep breath to finally say it, to make it real.

"I'm glad I killed you."

The astral sea offered no response to her hushed confession other than carrying her onward. Peaceful hands cradling in her journey.

"Ms. Orndeir! Gale has returned!" Tara's pleasant voice picked up in her peripheral.

Raising her arms to encircle over her chest, she twisted them counterclockwise. Closing her eyes as the plane melted away, body floating back down to the floor. Caught by a plush cushion, she blinked her eyes open. Rising slightly too excitedly to feet, wobbling back with a giggle.

"Really, you must be careful, dear." Tara tutted. "I know you're regaining strength, but you are still in recovery."

"Oh, please." She smiled, tying her robe. "I've lived with a sun burning in my chest since I was thirteen, I can handle myself."

"Ah, let me fuss over you. Such a lovely woman to brighten this dusty old tower."

Aurum winked cheekily at her, turning to pad down the stairs. Picking up speed when his form revealed at the doorway.

Gale barely had time to set down his satchel before she was on him. Leaping onto his chest, hand coming up to cushion the back of his head as she tackled him to the ground.

He let out a delighted laugh as she rubbed her face into his beard. His arms coming up to tightly wrap her waist to him.

"Well, hello!" He chuckled, taking the barrage of kisses along his face. A lovely blush rising to his cheeks at her affections.

"Husband...husband..." Aurum remarked playfully, as if giving him a title with each kiss.

"Very nearly." He sighed, thumb rubbing across her engagement ring. Touching it absentmindedly as he did when they would walk together in the garden at night. Abiding her leaving his side to bound over to say hello to Astarion in his temporary home in the sidehouse.

He caught her mouth above him, breathing in deeply through nose as he kissed her. Wide warm hands pressing her back.

"Gods, I don't know why I leave this tower." He sighed, cupping her face in his hands.

"To enlighten young minds?"

"Ah, I'm sure they can get on with it themselves. The enlightening." He waved his hand impassively, staring up at her with love blown eyes.

His fingers trailed her still tender tight eyes. "How are you feeling, my love?"

"Good. Better." She kissed the tips of his fingers. "I had a good cry."

A 'Mmrp?' chirped out above his head. A small figure leaning over his face curiously.

"Hello, Myshka." He smiled up at the little white cat slow blinking love at him.

The cat purred loudly, settling into a curl above his head.

"Oh! A hat!" Aurum marveled.

Gale laughed, letting her pull him up. Aurum scooped up Myshka to settle on her shoulder, his preferred perch.

"Come, I'll start you a bath." She pulled him along by the hand. His hands already smoothing over her swaying hips.

"So sweet to me." He sighed.

Gale waved his hands as he regaled her with the trials and tribulations of the first week of class. Her hands lathering lemongrass and lavender soaps into his long hair. Bath water steaming up around his wide shoulders. Humming her remarks at his retelling, tutting and sighing along.

"And not one of their sources were cited!" He turned his head to connect his eyes to hers.

"Truly a horror, baby." She smiled, gently turning his head back with her fingers. "But I'm going to get soap in your eyes. Here, lean back."

He slipped into the water, leaning his head back into her palms. Eyes closing as her newly shipyard strong hands kneaded into his scalp.

"Oh, Rosa..." He sighed, melting into her touch.

Her fingers splayed under his neck, feeling a knot in the curve of his shoulder.

"Relax your neck." She whispered, knees coming forward to support his head.

He released to her, smiling with eyes closed.

Her hands led up his neck in waves, pulling his muscles gently open. His eyes fluttering in lids as a soft groan left him.

She pushed into the knot, feeling smaller strains that could be unwound along with it. Kneading into the small torment.

"Gods, that's heavenly..." He hushed, quieted in his pleasure.

"You were saying...?" She led, smiling down at his blissed out innocence.

"Oh, yes!" His eyes opened, arcing up to meet hers above him. "Well, I'm griping, but I must forgive my students. Afterall, if the forecast is proven true, it will be Auril's Blesstide any day now. Nothing like festivities to stray young minds."

Ah, yes. The festival of the first frost of winter. She had watched the gathering from on high in a gilded tower year after year. Watching the wild debauchery of the foot race through giggling fingers until one of the priestesses pulled her away from the window with a tutting of tongue.

Her mouth spoke honest words before she could consider them.

"I want to do the Cliff's Run."

He tilted his head back, a mischievous smile slowly spreading his face.

"Yeah?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath out. Another truth rising to her lips.

"And I want to visit Spires of the Morning."

He turned under her hands, water gently sloshing as he raised up level to her.

"You're sure?" He whispered, hand sliding along her cheek.

"Yes. I think I could do it if you were there."

His deep brown eyes took up her vision as he leaned into her, other hand pulling her waist to him. Her damp robe falling away under his unraveling fingers.

"All of the heavens nor the hells could stop me from being at your side."

She shivered at his words, the deep winding warmth his voice weaved them with.

"Fuck, has anyone ever told you how amazing your voice is?" She sighed, head leaning back as his lips ghosted her throat.

"Certainly not." He hummed, pulling her along into the water with him. "Do go on, tell me more."

She lowered into the near scalding water, almost letting out a laugh. He often complained of the cold, praising her constant heat with his pressing body. Letting out a little contented sigh to his personal sun.

"Your voice is so comforting, like a warm blanket. That's the best word for it, warm. I could pull it around me and never get cold."

He paused, leaning back from her neck.

"That's the most beautiful compliment anyone has ever given me."

His eyes got misty as he cupped the back of her head. "Gods, I never had a chance with you, did I?"

"Oh? Have you fallen for me already?" She smiled, sliding forward to straddle his lap.

"Deeply. Irreversibly. With every fiber of the weave of my soul."

The water they shared glowed a soft gold, light encircling them.

He stared down in brow furrowed wonder. Eyes rising to meet hers in a reverent spark of realization.

"Aurum, did you just make holy water?"

She stared down, a gentle shock pulling through her. Dipping her fingers into the dimming water.

"I haven't been able to do that since-" Her hand rising unconsciously to the the base of the tattoo at her clavicle. "I thought that had been lost."

His hands rose to splay along her ribs, his favorite prayer. Staring up at her so full of love, it rose from his fingers in blue magic. A deep bliss caressing from where his Weaving fingers held.

Her eyes fluttered shut, falling into his touch. Arching into him as his warm mouth met her slick skin.

A second pair of hands slid to thread over her. Identical in their wide caress. A twinned broad body pressing into her back.

She smiled, not needing to open her eyes to see his magic. Fingers rising back to feel long hair carding between.

"Well, hello stranger." She hummed, pressing into the body along her back, leg looping around his true form at her front. Two pairs of hands pushing pleasure along her.

"Can you feel me through both?" She rocked her hips into his hard cock under her.

"Yes," He moaned, throbbing against her teasing.

"So, if I...?" She leaned over, rising onto knees on the ledge of the tub. Pressing her backside into the hips behind her.

He shuddered under her, reaching up to grip her hips above him.

"So, which one of you is going to take me first?" She grinned, grinding her hips into his simulacrum's hard length.

His eyes flashed, rising up to circle behind her. His second form taking his place between her legs. Identical in the dark intensity of his eyes. Desire near danger arresting in his gaze.

"Don't tease. I'm too competitive to keep a straight head with you." He breathed into her ear. Hands rising around her front to roll her nipples in his fingers.

She groaned, the ghost of his breath fanning across her cunt. Pulling her hair over her shoulder to lave a salacious tongue up the side of her throat.

Gods, she knew she was already dripping. The deep groan beneath her confirming for her. But still, his mouth did not approach.

"Hmm... I don't know. What if your mirror makes me cum first?"

His hand wound into her hair, twisting it back over his knuckles in a tight ponytail. Bending her neck open with a gasp. Cunt clenching hard.

"You're playing with fire, my love." He rumbled. His mouth below biting into her thigh. Hand above snaking around the front of her throat. Cock pressing hard into her lower back.

"Then burn me." She hissed.

His hand tightened around her throat, a slow dangerous laugh pressed to her hair.

Snapping his fingers, the body below her went astral, all iridescent outline. Mouth finally meeting her cunt in hard lapping pulls, two fingers arcing up into her. Hooking and pulsing thrusts up to the hilt of fingers. Already fast slamming into her.

She lurched forward, the burst of pleasure nearly toppling her. Hands instinctually reaching to steady on the astral head.

His arm wound behind both of her elbows, locking her arms behind her back.

"No sanctuary for you there." He hissed into her ear. Angling his hips back away from her in warning. "No, you stay up here with me."

She nodded, desperate whimpers muffled in her throat.

"Good." He purred, arm locked around hers pulling her back to him. "Very good girl."

Her cunt clenched around his astral fingers, soaked to wrist.

"I felt that." He smiled, aligning himself below her. Poised to push inside. "But it's much better around me."

Before she could consider how, he pushed fully inside her. Stretching her cunt in one strike of pleasure.

"Fuck!" She cried. Looking down in astonishment as the ghost of his hand below still pulsed up into her. Astral in nature, able to exist between spaces. Fingers mirroring the opposite beat with his thrusts.

He pulled up on her hips, finding her g-spot with his cock. A low sigh leaving him at her deep tremor.

"Ah, there it is." He smiled, astral body below pulling out to be fully focused on her clit. Holding her hips up as he latched on with a waving tongue. Sucking wet and merciless.

"Gods! Gale!" She cried, orgasm nearly at her throat. Thighs clenching, eyes rolling up into sockets. Rocking forward with each thrust.

"You don't cum until I say you do." He commanded, his arm pulling her up to him. Mouth crashing into hers.

She whimpered, realizing he was keeping his mouth busy on purpose. Trying to pull away from his kiss.

"No, not yet." He growled, snapping his hand around her throat. Mouth demanding into hers again.

It was reaching near unbearable to hold back, her fingers tapping up onto edge of his wrist to speak to him.

He released his grip far enough for her to slip her hand inside his.

Please. Please. Good. Girl.

He chuckled into her mouth, pulling back only far enough to rumble out against her ear.

"Cum. Now."

Her body crumpled in pleasure, high keening cries leaving her. Water lighting again in brilliant light as she tremored out agonizing bliss. Spreading through her body in near aching strikes.

He rocked into her, slowing into a sensual wave. Astral body disappearing below. Just his reverently pulling hands.

She smiled, knowing he wanted to cum when she was all soft again. Rising to lean back into him, tilting up to press tender kisses to his throat.

"Is that better?" She hushed, hips rocking into his increasingly desperate thrusts.

"Yes- Oh Gods," He shuddered when her tongue pulled his earlobe into her mouth. "Don't stop-"

She cupped the back of his head to her, nibbling down on his ear. Moaning hot up into the shell.

"Ai armiel telere maenen hir."

She nearly giggled as he paused, focusing on the quick translation in his head. Then gasped out against her back, buckling forward into her. Gripping desperately around her front as he flooded her, burying his cries into her shoulder.

Her legs still weak, but his sure to be far weaker, she turned under him. Catching him under arms, looping them around her neck. Urging up on his thighs around her waist.

He followed, allowing her to lift him out of the bath. Carrying him out into their bedroom.

He sighed, pulling her down with him onto the bed. Settling into the bliss of tangled limbs. His arms looped tightly around her back.

"You hold my heart forever... Gods, what am I going to do without you here in this bed with me?" He sighed, resting his cheek on the crown of her head.

"Gale, it's only a short voyage. Two weeks if the weather gets choppy."

"Two weeks?! You're killing me."

She smiled, turning her head to kiss along his chest.

"You've only just learned to swim, too..."

"And I had an excellent teacher, I'm sure you've heard of him. A professor Dekarios?"

She leaned her head up to look into the sweet worry in his eyes.

"I'm going to do great, baby."

He sighed, smiling down at her. Fingers gently twirling her hair behind her ear.

"I know. You are so very exquisite, my love. Let your husband fuss over you, he's earned it."

She bit her lip in a smile at him, the love in his eyes mesmerizing her. The softness of his gaze something that used to terrify her. Now, she cupped it into her hands. Lifting it to her mouth to drink.

"I am so lucky to have you." She whispered, words swollen with honesty.

Climbing up to bury her face into his shoulder. Sliding her arms under him to twine around his back.

"You are the sea and the stars. You are the rising ivy and the wind in chimes. You are every small beautiful thing I see, and I am so terribly in love with you, Gale."

He was quiet, hands stilled on her back. Heart pounding against her chest.

A hitching breath rose his chest, the crown of her head dampening. His hand rose to cover over his mouth, muffling a sob in his throat.

"Let it out, baby." She hushed, turning her face to nuzzle into his neck. Kissing softly into the curve. "I'm right here. It's okay."

He released into his tears, choking out big heaving sobs. Body trembling with the effort. Grasping her to him in great armfuls.

"I know, I know." She hummed to his half formed words, made muddy in the deluge.

When he broke the surface, gasping through near coughs, she rubbed into his chest in warm circles. His wonderful healed chest.

"Those had better not have been your vows." He gasped.

She smiled, raising her head. Propping her hand under her chin to stare down at him. Wiping his tears with the pad of her thumb.

"Oh, you're not getting off that easy."

-

"You're sure?"

"Yes, you sweet worrier." She smiled, kissing along his jaw. Cupping his precious face as sacred water in her hands. "I'm ready."

He looped their fingers, kissing the curve of her thumb. The quiet chatter of the crowd dimmed in the adoration of his brown eyes.

I love you.

She rushed him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Kissing his perfect warmth in the sharp chill of approaching night.

"I love you, Gale Dekarios." She sighed, pressing her forehead to his.

His eyes danced over her shoulder at the people gathering, some in the white robes for the race.

"Seems it's almost time."

Smiling back down at her, turning her out to the crowd by her hips. Leaning into her ear to rumble his warm voice.

"Go on, then. Show them my girl."

Aurum took one steadying breath between pursed lips, then dropped her hood. The rest of the cloak falling back into his arms.

Already heads turned, faces lit in intrigue. Hands rising to mouths at the sunburst of light. Reflected back in mesmerized curious eyes.

This is an effect her visage had on others her whole life. She used to believe it was because she was chosen by her god. The doctrine she had been fed, hand to tongue.

"It's cause you're special." Ih'ara used to whisper as the curious and devout came to witness the little golden girl. Squeezing her hand as she led her in her ceremonial blindfold, not needing to see her to hear the smile in her voice.

"You were woven in gold dalharil, give those who come to your splendor some patience."

Aurum smiled, stepping forward. Her white robe trailing behind her feet.

Several people stepped forward as well, the hush fallen over gently broken by sounds of good-natured chatter.

One woman came up, hand naturally rising to hover over her chest. Eyes bright in awe.

Aurum stepped into her hand, a calloused palm meeting her chest.

The woman stared down in wonder, then smiled up at her.

"I remember you." Her eyes creasing up in a warm smile. "Welcome home, high priestess."

"Thank you." Aurum cupped her hand over hers. "I'm so glad to be back."

Others came up to press their palms, smiling down at her light carding between their fingers. Whispering their gratitude in that hushed way the reverent did.

"Good luck on the race." She whispered back.

The first horn rung the air, everyone lining up. An excited giggling on the air, a few people already shedding their robes to mischievous whistling and whoops.

A group had formed around Aurum in fellowship. Those she had met standing shoulder to shoulder with her, a few eyes meeting hers to smile their alliance.

She smiled unabashedly, gathering the hem of her white robes in preparation.

Ih'ara's voice at her back. Watching her sprint through the high grass, calling around a mouthful of fruit to laugh.

"Yes! Yes! Run as the driven rain Rosa'sune!"

The horn sounded, and she took off like a shot. Robes whipping behind her, legs pumping in gliding strides. The world falling away from her as she ran. A wild joy filling her chest.

She let out a shriek of excitement, hearing several other running voices rise to echo her call. The boisterous silly comradery of strangers running in the street. A bliss uncommon to her raising her heart so high she swore she was flying.

Seeing the sea approaching down the long hill, she threw her robe over her head. Running in her underclothes, the cold of the first night of winter goosebumping blissfully over her heat. Feet pumping along cobblestone to rise to sea fragrant wood of the dock.

She took a deep breath and, without slowing, dove into the sea. The chill of the water enveloping her whole.

Pumping her legs up against the cold, she felt other bodies break the surface around her. Streaking invisible into the sea alongside her.

Gods, she was home.

Rising out with a gasp, she was met by a mage hand. Gale standing on the shore, beaming smile and fingers lit in blue light.

She smiled at him with the same brightness, taking his hand. Treading water as she was led back to warmth.

"Hey, professor, how much love makes a whole sea holy?"

~

~

~

genuinely thank you so much ya'll who have stayed with this story and been as invested in these sweeties as I have been. it means the world to me and I'm so glad to share it with you lovely people! mwah!!! ❤️

[sunny6677]

Small drabble—unsure of if this would actually happen? This is just something cute I thought of lol

@rebootgrimm

"Oh!" The winged God exclaimed, with such a softness in his voice as he tilted his head to the side. A sweet grin spread across his cheeks, his unknown eyes hidden by the shadow of the helmet. "Ahah.. I almost forgot."

"Forgot what?" I uttered in response. I'd been so focused on having so much explained to me was we walked through the forest that I hadn't really thought he'd forgotten anything. I'd been so focused on the softness of his voice, the comforting grasp of his hand, and the more gentle reassurances he told me that I hadn't really expected anything more for him to say before he left.

The grin softly turned into an actual smile. Hermes suddenly bent his knees foward, not letting go of my small pale hand. Lifting his other hand near my head, and resting it on the side of my scalp. I hadn't realized what I was doing—until I saw the sight of his face getting closer, and realized how his lips were beginning to near my forehead.

Oh, right. He had been real, so.. every bit of affection he gave me was.. real. It had actually come from him. It wasn't my brain just trying to comfort me. It wasn't my brain being selfish or arrogant, and coming up with some illusion to feed into my ego. He was a God. A God who had apparently known me for a very Iong time. And a God who cared about me. A God who saw me as his own daughter.

Instinctively, my eyes fluttered to the ground. I knew what was coming. He usually did it before he left me somewhere, or before I gave him a farewell after one of my visits to the forest he stayed in. So it shouldn't have felt so.. embarrassing? Or.. nicer than it usually did? I don't know. I wasn't used to the idea of someone caring about me that much. Much less apparently loving me enough to see me as a daughter.

I gently frowned, briefly shutting my eyes as I felt the press of his lips against the skin of my forehead. My frown would have twitched into a smile, but I was still processing this. I was still processing the fact that what I had seen in the forest near my neighborhood hadn't been some lie or trick that my mind came up with.

His lips remained pressed for a moment, before they slowly loosened, and he gently pulled back.

"..mwwwah..!"

That sound made it feel more.. ugh.. like I had just been an embarrased teenager bear hugged by my mom in front of my friends or something. Slightly, I felt an uncomfortable feeling of anxiety well up in me, even if it did feel nice.

"..Her—Hermes.."

That was all I could say, not even managing to sound like I hated it enough. He looked briefly puzzled, before laughing gently—as if I had been some silly child for him to coo over.

"What, darling?" He asked, teasingly, "Can't I at least let you know that I care about you before I go?"

"I already know you care about me." I whined barely. Well, I didn't already know. I didn't even think he was real until.. until now.

"Oh, come now.." He grinned. "Is it wrong to at least want to remind you?"

"..no, but—"

I had no protest. It felt nice to know that he cared. Really.

I sighed, unable to form a response. He giggled.

"Hahaha! You're funny, darling." His laughter died down, and he grinned with a slight pause. I felt his fingers on the side of my scalp began to gently scratch. "I love you."

I felt any embarrassment I might have felt fade into nothing at the feeling of his fingers massaging my head. My eyes closed again. And a calm feeling welled up in my chest.

"I love you too.."

Another name that I hadn't yet called him before, but almost wanted to call him nearly slipped out. I stopped myself. And forced his name to slip from my mouth instead.

"..Hermes."

In response, with a smile so warm I couldn't tell if maybe he knew what I was gonna call him or not—he only looked upon me as if I were the most wonderful thing in the world.

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Hey, Mar! Since you've reblogged my post about the ask game, I thought I'd give it a shot.

I've read a lot of your amazing fics, but the first one was Echoes in Eternity and I will always love it, so I wanted to ask numbers 2,3 and 17 about that one.

Answer what you're comfortable with and have a nice day!

Hi!

Oh my god Echoes in Eternity my beloved first jump into fanfiction as an adult. My hiatus child. My forgotten baby in the corner. Actually this might bring me back to it. Let's go have a snoop!

2- What is your favorite paragraph from EoE? Is there a reason it’s your favorite?

I actually got a little stuck with this story a while back, and introducing Panville gave me so much energy and passion. This passage (the first paragraph, but the entire thing actually) is still vividly imprinted in my brain. I would write it very differently now, but I think you start to see my special voice come through here, and it’s really special to me 🥹.

3- What is the most amount of research you’ve done for the smallest detail? What was the detail and how much time/effort went into researching it?

For EoE, I planned so much. I have 2 entire notebooks of information about gladiators and gladiators fights and working in the roman army. I read Gladius: The World of the Roman Soldier, The Gladiators - Historical Novel: A Tale of Rome and Judea, and I read a book about ancient fighting techniques. I’ve never really used much of it, because I ended up not expanding in the way I thought I might do, but the entire gladiator/werewolf system was fully fleshed out before I even started the story. I started researching in June and started writing in September. I have… so many notes on the Hogwarts Gladiator system, I could write a “The world of EoE” sidefic.

I think I really had this illusion of grandeur when I started, that it would be a book in 3 parts, and I just didn’t think that I’d… lose interest? I easily read big fics (150K+) and kind of thought that EoE would be that, and that I would spend a LOT more time in the Dome having Hermione really get into the ranks and the entire system. But then I just wasn’t really… I could tell I wasn’t going to be able to finish, that I would lose interest too fast, so I made a few changes. I still plan on finishing the last 2 chapters, half of one is already written. But it’s hard to wrap up a story you’re no longer fully involved in, especially when you know there are a lot of people waiting for that update. I don’t want to disappoint, so I’d rather take my time.

17- What does your editing process look like?

I have a lot of flaws as a writer, but my two main ones is that I don’t know how to write a satisfying ending (finishing anything is not a habit of mine), and that I don’t know how to write a scene either. 

I often tend to write the entire dialogue, with the most basic, boring stage direction “he looks”, “he shrugs”, “he turns”, and then I go back and try to make it bearable for you guys. 

Green and I also tend to send each other bits and pieces of stuff and go “does that even make sense”, because we tend to get lost in metaphors.

I also put a lot of placeholders because I’m French and can’t always remember the word I’m looking for.

And sometimes I have stuff like this and it’s up to me to then remember what the hell I was talking about:

Scene : “You think I didn’t know about your sneaking into my library?” “Library?” “Books.”

But generally speaking I’ll sit down, write the entire draft of the next chapter in one go, and then spend either hours, days or weeks adding in the forms to make it pretty.

Thank you for the ask and for bringing me back to Echoes 🥹 my beloved forgotten child.

[sassykattery]

Rites and Rituals, Pt. 7

Uh oh.

CW: MC is afab, uses she/her pronouns. MC is a demon and poly. This part is intense. Please heed my warnings; use of needles, and injections of substances. Talking about pysche-altering substances. New demon forms. Graphic depictions of murder and bloodshed. Fight scenes. Profanity.

Themes: Action. Drama. Experimentation.

Characters: MC, new oc's (witches), Diavolo, Lucifer, Mammon, Satan.

Minors and ageless blogs DNI

18+only

Masterlist

"Let's try this again," Canary said, hovering beside you as you laid stretched out on a table, restrained by the same kind of binds that burned when you struggled too much. You were still kept blind with a blindfold, but you were starting to get a hold of the situation. Your captor was experimenting with you, and wouldn't tell you what she was doing, only that she would stop if you agreed to her terms.

"I'm not making a pact with you," you seethed through the pain. "You would be wise to stop this madness before you regret this, or one or both of my fiancés show up."

"Mm, I'm patient, MC. I know what I want, and you're how to get it."

"And how is having a pact with me getting you what you want?" You asked.

"Well," she said, prepping your arm for another dose of her experiment. "For one, I would be one of the most powerful witches in the three realms, something my sister failed to do with Diavolo. However, if I can't make that happen, killing you will help me all the same with some rituals I have planned. You're quite powerful, you know."

She then stabbed you again, and you felt the excruciating pain coursing through your veins as she injected you with whatever disgusting liquid she curated. It felt as if your heart was going to explode. Your demon form phased in and out of the material plane, and you felt yourself slowly losing control with each dose she administered. Two. Three. Four. It was hard to remain lucid.

Suddenly, on the fifth round, you felt something in your mind snap, and your body felt as though it was splitting in two. Your screams rang out, but they no longer sounded your own. That wasn't your voice that flooded the room, it sounded inhuman, monstrous, demonic.

"Shit–" Canary swore, trying to back away from the table. "You're not normal, are you? Fucking shit."

It was unclear to you as to what was happening, but suddenly, it felt good. You felt both icy and hot, strong yet agile. Sitting up, the restraints broke with ease, and you clawed at the blindfold to finally see your surroundings. You were in a darkened room, your head, well, heads, almost bumping into the surgical light above you. It was set up like a doctor's office in the human world, if it was set into an abandoned concrete cave. Hearing a rustle of fabric, you snapped to see your assailant, who screamed at your horrid appearance.

Canary was a little waif of a human compared to yourself. She shrunk back into the corner, screaming her head off. Her blonde hair was tied back into a short ponytail. She seemed so small and delicate in this moment, her small round face and petite body making her seem like a child.

You're right, I'm not normal. And you're going to find out firsthand what I can do, you worthless piece of scum that belongs with the dirt under my shoe, swine.

Your thoughts were able to penetrate her mind, and your wings flushed open as you turned your body to face her, sitting on your knees, looking at your prey.

Canary, what a fitting name for my first taste of blood, little bird.

"NO!" Canary screamed as you lunged at her.

----

Diavolo, Lucifer, Mammon, and Saran then traveled to Italy, hitching a heliocopter ride to Mount Blanc under the guise of geographic research. It took a bit of coaxing from Satan and Mammon with promises of money and favors to local witches, but eventually they found the nearest coven in the area and found themselves at the door of what seemed to be a base leading into the mountain.

"Right, let's start the illusion," Lucifer stated. Satan snapped his fingers, Lucifer took the form of Astera, and the other three demons took the forms of the other witches from the now-slain coven.

Lucifer knocked on the door, and was met with a voice.

"Astera? Strange of you to come all this way, what is it?" The voice inquired.

"I need to inquire about some somnum powder," Lucifer said in Astera's voice.

"Ah, right. Come in," the voice said. The door opened and all four were let in.

"You came with Diara, Fawn, and Paimon? How odd of you," the other witch said.

"I'm looking to move and expand the coven, so I wanted them to see where I get my ingredients at," Lucifer replied.

"Oh! Congratulations," the witch beamed. "Well, Canary is this way, she might be busy with a patient."

Internally, they all shivered at the word "patient" wondering it is who could be Canary's victim. But when they heard your screams, they all stopped dead in their tracks.

"Who..." Lucifer as Astera started to say, until there was a loud crash and mangled screams coming from someone else, or rather, something else. That wasn't normal.

"Oh shit," the witch said, running down the hall. Immediately, the illusion spell was broken by Satan, and all four pursued the noises until they saw a monster exit the now doorless room. Its gaze rested on the witch running up to it that let the demons in, and it immediately grabbed her in its claws, slowly lifting her off the ground as it squeezed the life out of her. A sickening crunch came from her neck, and she dropped to the floor.

The four stared at the creature before them. It was at least thirteen foot tall, towering well over everyone else. The body was of a human woman, curved and voluptuous, but covered in white feathers that glistened a sky-blue sheen minus the large streaks of blood covering the arms, legs, and hands. It had three heads, one of a peacock skull to the left, one of a dragon skull to the right, and one of a human skull in the middle, all of which had blackened eyes watching the four ahead. The feet were similar to a velociraptor's talons, and the hands were large with long slender digits that curled into pointed claws, dripping with crimson liquid. The wings were reminiscent of butterfly wings, in a blackened blue state and covered in bristling feathers, along with familiar horns adorning each head.

The monster was actually a demon, and that demon was you.

"Oh. My. Fuck," Satan rasped.

"Is that...?" Mammon whispered.

"MC, oh heavens," Lucifer muttered.

Diavolo looked at the three transfixed by you and then looked back at you, and slowly, he approached, shifting to his demon form.

"MC? Darling?" He called out. Your heads tilted with bird-like movements, robotic and staccato.

"Diavolo, I don't know if that's wise," Lucifer whispered, not able to tear his eyes away from you or move. Truly, even Diavolo's true demonic nature didn't compare to yours in his mind. This was the first time that all four of them felt any real fear toward you.

"Did they do something to you? Are you hurt?" Diavolo asked, stepping closer to you.

Suddenly, more witches rounded the corner, and you whipped around so quickly to enact your bloodshed, never letting them even have the chance at landing a hit or casting a spell. You tore into their delicate flesh, ripping lips to shreds. What was most eerie to your family that watched, was you did so in a silent manner. Your movements made no noise, as if you were in a vacuum, and to be honest, your presence felt vacuous in nature.

After no one was left, you stood straight again, turning to the demons behind you.

What is this?

"MC?" Diavolo heard you, as did everyone else. He walked up to you and stood just a few feet away. "What happened?"

You stared at the demon prince, unable to formulate anymore sentences as more pain coursed through your body again, causing you to sink to your hands and knees, heaving. There was a weakened laugh coming from the room you were with Canary in, and she stumbled out, barely alive, or rather, she shouldn't have been with how mangled she was.

"Stupid brat. You should have just listened to me," Canary berated you. Lucifer was at her throat in a flash as Diavolo knelt down to console you.

"What did you do?" Lucifer snapped, lifting Canary off the floor by the shirt collar.

"Gave her triple dose of the psychotic I was working on," she said with a lazy, sadistic smile.

"Fix it," Lucifer growled.

"There is no fixing it. She either suffers through the effects, which I should add are rather painful and lethal, or she dies," she said sleepily, succumbing to her injuries. Lucifer dropped her, dead as soon as she hit the floor.

"We have to get her home," Diavolo said, caressing your skull's jaw.

Back. Up.

"MC?" Diavolo looked at you. He saw you bristling under his touch and immediately jumped back on his feet. Your mind started swirling with images of your bloodshed, feeling the urge to do more, the whispers of delight in tearing them limb from limb, to watch the light leave their eyes as you tore into their bodies and devoured their souls.

In a fit of fury, you clawed at the concrete floor beneath you, as if it was as soft as sand under your claws. Screeches so loud, everyone had to cover their ears, erupted from all three heads, and you seized as the fight between your mind and the effects of the psychotics started again.

"We gotta move!" Mammon yelled, grabbing Diavolo by the shoulder to put some distance between them and you. Lucifer went the opposite direction to where the witches had come from.

Satan managed to dodge around you into the room Canary kept you in. He started sifting through the documents left behind on a cart next to a table covered in, well, someone's blood. He found records of your reactions to Canary's experiments, and finally found the concentrations of what she used on you. He realized what would have to be done, and he ran back out to find you inching closer to Mammon and Diavolo who were backing up to the entrance of the base.

"Don't let her leave!" Satan yelled. "We have to put her to sleep!"

"With what?!" Mammon shouted back.

"I'm not sure yet! But keep her inside and distracted while I figure it out," Satan replied, running around the complex, leaving the two demons.

Diavolo looked over at Mammon and sighed. "You may want to step back for this. Help Satan if you must, but I'm afraid you're no match for her," the prince stated, rolling his neck and shoulders.

Mammon nodded and found himself scarce from the area, looking for Lucifer.

"Darling, I don't enjoy this," Diavolo said.

You spurted something out that sounded neither intelligible, or human.

"I'll take that as you understand," he replied, unfurling into his true demonic nature with vapors enveloping him. When he shifted into his ultimate form, he stood as tall as you, his own hands and fingers elongating to black claws. His tan skin became red, rough with scales decorated with a gold sheen as the lights bounced off of them. A floating fiery crown danced above his head. His own face was replaced with a dragon's skull, the rest of his features clearly displaying his draconic state, like his feet and legs becoming more reptilian. You lunged first, and the fight began.

Elsewhere, Mammon found Lucifer running down the halls of the complex, calling out for Barbatos.

"In here!" Barbatos barked out, finally hearing voices he recognized. The last things he heard were your screams followed by something he didn't recognize.

The two brothers stopped, opening an iron door, finding Barbatos still bound and blind, sitting on the floor.

"Barbatos," Lucifer muttered. "We have a problem," he said, unfastening the restraints. "MC is in there right now, fighting Diavolo in their ultimate forms. Canary injected her with something."

Once free, Barbatos stood, pondering. "I never saw this in MC's future, so I'm not sure what the outcome could be," he stated.

"Canary said she either has to survive the effects of the toxin or she'll die. Satan recommended we put her to sleep," Mammon said.

"Very well, we'll have to find Satan," Barbatos said, and all three left.

Satan found himself in an office, rummaging through all the papers he could find, listening to the bumps, growls, screams, and slams you and Diavolo created nearby.

"Satan," Barbatos said from the doorway, running in to help search. "What do we know?"

"The psychotic she was injected with has no cure, but we can either counter it with an antipsychotic, or we put her to sleep until she can overcome the toxins," Satan replied quickly as he threw useless folders onto the ground as he continued to rummage through a desk. "If we just let her run rampant, she'll hurt someone or herself in that state."

"We don't have time for an antipsychotic, how do we put her to sleep?" Lucifer snapped, looking through and speed-reading books on the shelf near the door.

"That's what I'm trying to look for. A normal agent may not work in her current state, it'll be enough to make her yawn, if that," Satan replied, tossing more documents. Mammon paused.

"Why don't we just do a sleeper hold?" The second born asked. Just then, the walls rattled, dust falling from the ceiling as someone nearby shrieked, followed by a thud.

"As if anyone can get close enough. If she can fight off Diavolo for this long, no one can take her down like that," Barbatos replied.

"Then Barbatos and Lucifer will have to help," Mammon stated. "She couldn't take all three of you at once, right?"

Lucifer was the one who hesitated. Mammon watched his older brother, and his eyes went wide. Quietly he walked up to Lucifer and muttered. "I know, I'm terrified of her, but would you rather she be dead?"

The eldest turned his head, unable to reply. Barbatos placed a hand on Lucifer's shoulder. "We have to try," he said.

"Go on, and I'll see if I can find anything," Satan said. "Mammon, go through that cabinet and see what you can find.

With high reluctance, Lucifer and Barbatos left the office and eventually you and Diavolo in an all-out brawl, with you holding the Demon Lord in a winglock.

"It's now or never, Lucifer," Barbatos murmured, letting his demonic state materialize. Lucifer did the same, uncertain of himself for the first time in his long, long life.

"I suppose it is," Lucifer replied quietly.

---

Thanks for reading!

Just a heads up, this next coming upload Saturday/Sunday will be the chapter and season finale. I will have an announcement on that upload, so stay tuned! I hoped you've enjoyed everything thus far.

Post made by sassykattery. Do not repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated.

Tags: @delphi-dreamin @bite-sized-devil @itsmeninerz @flemmingbamse @themythicaldisaster @obeymediasimp @frozengoldie @dajitm @bontensbabygirl

[lumenfall]

VERSES .

✤ verse — of girlhood and grandeur

canon . Heavy the mantle of expectation lies. Young Maria proves athletic and fearless, rejecting opulence, refusing to be tempered by more leisurely and feminine pursuits. As her limbs lengthen and she hovers on the cusp of womanhood, her visage is oil-painted in shades of oyster shell and duck down, her miniature portraits shared with potential suitors. Make no mistake, an only child of noble birth is an asset. The walls of Cainhurst Castle loom tall and suffocating, her dream of knighthood far out of reach.

✤ verse — the love of nature is a kind of religion

canon . Stall tactics and a desire to learn bring Maria to Byrgenwerth.  Curiosity, too – not only for her subject of botany, not only for those whose blood is not considered vile, but for the former groundskeeper.  The first of his kind, he of humble beginnings and a grand cause.  Maria distances herself from Cainhurst and takes her place at the beast-hunter Gehrman’s side.

✤ verse — every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered

canon . Oh, but Maria thrives under Gehrman’s tutelage.  Although not the gilt-edged knighthood she imagined in the days of her youth, it is beautiful and horrifying and righteous.  Blood is in her veins, in her hair, in the treads of her boots; it drips from her leather clad form and she is unshackled.  Until the illusion shatters, until the hunt morphs into a massacre and it becomes clear that the means do not justify the end.

✤ verse — the sea slides back / the mirrors are sheeted

canon . After the butchery in the fishing hamlet, Maria retires from the hunt.  A ghost of her former self, she withdraws from those she loves by degrees, and seeks redemption in the echoing chambers of the Research Hall.  Comfort is all she has to offer the world.  In the end, comfort is not enough, and there is one final beast she must slay – but self-destruction does not expunge the stain on her soul.

✤ verse — i like to call myself wound / but i will answer to knife

canon . Condemned to the Hunter’s Nightmare, Maria resides in the Astral Clocktower.  She shows no sign of beasthood or blood sickness, her only disfigurement are those self-inflicted wounds that ended her life.  The weight of her sins is clear to her, and now she guards the fishing hamlet, the body of Kos and her orphan.  Gentle, violent, determined.

✤ verse — when i die let the wolves enjoy my bones

ancient greece . A verse inspired by but not limited to Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey.  Maria is a member of the Daughters of Artemis, a tribal society of female warriors who worship the goddess of the hunt.

[star-spacer]

Green with Envy

Adashino x reader x Ginko (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Oh dear half-child, how do you feel? Does your sharp teeth scare away mortals with softer features? Is your too-human face too unlike that of your spirit friends? Oh if only you knew how loved you were.

Yokai and humans.

They were both different.

       Though you spent a fair amount of time among the yokai, intrinsically familiar with the customs of a world that laid parallel to the human world, the daily company you kept cemented you deeply into the world of mortals. So long spent among them made you maintain a constant front, dulling down yourself to appear palatable. Thus, it wasn’t hard to forget that you were not fully human.

But then there’d be inevitable moments that remind you of what you were and what you weren’t. Claws not fit to be on a normal person that would leave scratches on Adashino’s precious dark wood doorways. A stamina level surpassing even that of Ginko, the ever-wandering man asking to take a break long before the effects of traveling hit you. But nothing reminded you of your otherness as much as watching Adashino and Ginko interact with others.

Sometimes you loved to punish yourself by forcing yourself to watch things as they unfold.

(Because that was what you did, ever since you were a kid.)

(Watch. All you knew was how to watch)

(Even as your family house went up in smoke and flames and your mother died protecting your father in front of you, all her Yokai glory forever stained by dirt and blood.)

(Even as your father perished, too, at the hands of the village he called his own when trying to get her body back.)

Your throat itched with the sensation of phantom smoke and screaming and you knew that today would be a bad day. A day without words as they would stay locked up tight in your throat no matter how much you tried. Bad days like these used to be common, back when wounds were fresher. But since the arrival of two humans in your life, they’d become few and far in between.

(Few but not gone. And today was going to be one of them.)

The sounds of brass bells being rung and cheers rising up from the streets drew your attention from the dark musings of your thoughts and outwards. From your viewpoint up in the trees and surrounded by their foliage, you had a bird’s eye view of the bustling town market from where you sat. A small festival, that’s what it was. A child had just won a prize for successfully scooping up a turtle with his net. Now the parents cheered as the vendor gave the child a sewn turtle animal. Your gaze stayed locked on the idyllic scene, of a precious family moment.

Oh, how you envied them.

If anybody were to look up at your hiding spot at the moment, they would have seen the golden gleam of slit-like eyes and a dark, blurry shadow among the leaves and nothing more. The weak illusion spell that you managed to cast ensured that they couldn’t see you, despite being so near to others. Festivals like these were rare, the village too small to host frequent ones so when they happened it was a special treat. Both you and Ginko had traveled back for this occasion to be able to help out the townsfolks and enjoy it too. But as the days approached it only got busier and busier. You, when not helping out with the village these past few days, had taken up the mantle of talking to the local forest Yokai. A few liked to mingle among humans during this time, taking in the sights and sounds, and a few appreciated the warnings of more frequent traffic occurring in their zones and it was your job to let them know. 

On the other hand, Adashino, being the doctor and honorary member of the village council, was pulled in all sorts of directions. Budgeting, setup, deliveries form the incoming boats. Even now, he was off helping oversee any problems and keep the peace. And Ginko—

Ginko was passing right in front of your line of sight, deep in conversation with Io.

Ah, Io, the girl who swam with the Suiko. The girl who was saved by the collective efforts of the village. You remembered seeking out the Yokai remedies in the forest to help reverse the effects. A kind, kind girl. Sometimes a bit too selfless, but always eager to help. She had felt indebted to you all, even though all of you had seeked no payment except for her good health and happiness. Despite Ginko’s insistence that he didn't want to take anything from her, she still stopped by Adashino’s to occasionally drop off catches of fish when she had some to spare.

Your eyes tracked the pair as they stopped in front of a stall, Ginko helping Io lift up a case of ice. The slick surface of stray ice under his feet made him slip, almost sending him tumbling down, case and all. His limbs flailed for a moment before he steadied himself. The sight of the usually composed man flustered made Io and some of the locals break into well-natured laughter. Ginko ducked his head, rubbing the nape of his neck in embarrassment as he chuckled.

An ugly feeling flared within your chest at the joyous scene, the longing for closeness making your chest ache. On a normal day, you would’ve been down there already, flitting among the stalls and indulging in the treats. But the work the last few days had forced you to expend more magic than you realized. It didn’t hit you how bad it was until this morning when you nearly ripped a crate apart after getting spooked. Thankfully, only Adashino noticed before you quickly excused yourself to slink away before you could hurt anybody. Even now, as you had dropped the exhausting human mirage in favor of the much easier hiding spell, it still made you twitchy and tired.

Such was your hand deal in life, not enough Yokai blood to wield magic extensively like your brethren but with just enough in you to irreversibly put you apart from all mortal men.

The sounds of goodbyes rose up and you watched Ginko and Io depart back to where they came from. Your feet itched to hop down and pursue them, to join the streams of people moving through the village.

But you were tired.

Tired tired tired.

***

Sometimes, Adashino regretted stepping into such an influential position in the village. Despite there being the officials and the elders who made the major decisions, many of them relied on him for aid. Especially with big events such as these when all he wanted was to spend some time in his archives and organize his collections with Ginko, listening to you chattering their ears off with your tales. 

Don’t get him wrong, he loved where he was now, and if given the chance, he would have done it all over again. He loved being able to contribute his knowledge to the people and help them with everything he could. But he just wished they didn’t make him out to be such an important figure. He was just a humble doctor who liked to collect the unusual, after all.

Well–compared to you and Ginko, he wasn’t exactly humble. But he tried to live an honest life. A life that his parents would be proud of too. It was why he moved out to this village in the first place.

(A desperate fisherman coming to the family apothecary. The village was just beginning to pop up then and was hoping to be able to have a physician who could manage the sickness that had fallen over the town)

His mother had encouraged him to go. Sent him off with a small fortune in his hands left behind by his father. She had reassured him she’d be alright. His father’s time as the most successful physician in their town ensured that landed the family with good graces and good fortune, covering for his wife and two sons even after his death.

(Even now, she continued to send parcels, bigger than before ever since he started mentioning two other individuals in his mail.)

But the responsibilities heaped upon him made it impossible to seek you out after he saw what occurred that morning. It happened so quickly, not even the roughhousing boys who crashed into you realized it, but for a second Adashino’s sharper eyes caught the flicker in your appearance as it slipped to reveal snapping teeth and slitted eyes. He saw the way the crate in your hands began to splinter but as soon as it happened you had shut everything down under tight lock and key, expression freezing over like ice over a winter pond. Nobody noticed as you finished, laughing a laugh with no joy in it towards a joke before you slipped away.

Nobody except him.

And he wasn’t able to grasp a moment with you before you slipped away like mist through his fingers.

A voice called out for him and Adashino cursed his altruistic nature, wishing he had his tobacco pipe in hand. “Coming!”

“....ut it here, Ginko. Thank you for your help, I don’t what I’d have done without you.”

“Anytime.”

The familiar tenor made Adashino stop in his tracks, heading whipping back to seek out its owner. Seeing the white mop of hair, the doctor quickly adverted his course and headed straight for the Mushishi. He skidded to a stop in front of him, monocle nearly falling off. “Ginko! There you are. Please tell me you have a moment.”

Ginko tilted his head, blinking slowly through the haze of his cigarette smoke. “Sure do.”

“Okay good, good. Have you seen–” His eyes flitted to the left as he thought he saw you, uttering your name. “–anywhere?”

“Can’t say I have. Why? Dodging responsibilities?”

Adashino shook his head, worry surging back to the forefront of his mind. Why were you not there? Usually, you’d be among the streets already; if not, Ginko should’ve spotted you in the crowd. But to not see hide nor hair of you this entire time? 

It must have shown on his face because Ginko stepped forward. “Is something wrong?”

Despite the responsibilities weighing down his shoulders, he grabbed the man’s arm and began dragging him to the side. “Come on give me a moment and I’ll explain to you. Can you do me a favor?”

***

Ginko was troubled.

The worried look on Adashino’s face as he left the doctor to resume his responsibilities stuck with the white-haired man as he set off to take a lap around the town, looking for you. Now that the doctor brought up his concerns about you, Ginko couldn’t help but re-analyze the entire day so far, recalling a very distinct lack of your sharp laughter and crimson kimono that you loved to wear for festivals. The entire time he attributed your absence to you being busy helping Adashino but when the doctor had asked him if he had seen you it threw him for a loop. And then the short explanation that entailed, Adashino’s concerns about your appearance–which you usually kept under lock and key–nearly being shown in the middle of the market.

So there he was, trying to seek out a flighty little half-spirit like the way he seeked out Mushi. It reminded him of the first time he met you when you both were younger and less experienced in life. It was a Mushi report that turned out to be a Yokai, one that you were also in the region to deal with, and he had accidentally tracked you down instead of the actual issue. Luckily, you were agreeable enough to aid him in finding the Yokai, and your help was crucial in asking it to move out from the river the village used. The rest was history.

Through the length of time that the three of you have known each other, there were things that were shared among you three that no outsiders knew. Moments reserved only for each other and no one else. You had seen him at his worst and he had seen you at yours and thus he was adept at spotting when you were running yourself ragged.

Usually.

Ginko muttered a curse under his breath as he thought about you in the past few days. The ozone smell of your magic fluctuating wildly when you three spent time with each other at home, how your appetite had waned despite it usually increasing when you used a lot of powers, the way you were tenser around open fires lately. But because of the work occupying you all, he had missed all the signs.

His feet picked up the pace as he scanned the area around him. He knew you were smart and capable enough to care for yourself but he didn’t want you to spend your time alone with your thoughts.

(And Adashino would have his sorry hide if Ginko didn’t find you before the end of today.)

An inquiry from a local made him stop as they roped him into a conversation and he tried his best to entertain it without drawing it on for too long. Thankfully his practice in patience paid off and they soon excused themself to send him on his way. Pulling a cigarette out, he lit it up and inhaled the calming smoke. While the festival was entertaining, he couldn’t wait until it was over so he could actually spend some time with you and Adashino beyond hurried conversations as you guys carried stuff past each other on the street.

(Though he lamented that he’d have to leave very soon after the festival, lest he attracts any unsavory Mushi close to people he held so dear.)

With a sigh, the man took another drag and moved on. 

Now… If he was his sneaky little fox spirit, where would he hide?

***

The sun had shifted to shine directly on your face in the time you woke up from your daze and now your skin felt flushed and tacky. Hot and feverish with heat. Despite your state, you still managed to pick up the sounds of a throat clearing at the base of your tree. You shifted, an eye peering down through the fringes of your hair.

“You’ve been here the whole time?” Ginko asked, hands tucked in his pocket and face upturned to smile at you in his small, signature smile. “How long have you been up there, huh? ‘Shino’s been searching around for you.”

You didn’t answer–couldn’t answer as words refuse to give way–but a deliberate shift making the leaves around you rustle was enough of an answer for the man as he let out a good-natured sigh, stepping up to under where you were sitting and extending his arms out to beckon you.

Ginko called your nickname, short and sweet as it fell from his mouth, arms beckoning you. “C’mere. Let’s go back before it gets dark and Adashino decides to lock us in his shed. I’ll catch you.”

There was hesitation in your actions as you began to untuck from the ball that you’d curled up into, but the endless patience in Ginko’s face and his calm demeanor reassured you. As one leg dangled over the branch, you peered down at him with tired eyes.

“As scrawny as I may seem, I’m stronger than I look. I won’t drop you. Don’t you trust me?”

You did.

Gravity swept you down toward him as you pushed off, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation. Lithe arms caught you with a grunt and you let out a quiet wheeze at the impact. Miraculously, the man didn’t topple under the weight and force of your landing. You clambered off him, ready to head back but the moment your feet touched the ground the consequences of perching in a tree the whole day caught up to you. Ginko saw you toppling and quickly went to support you. 

“Don’t think you can make it back to Adashino’s, huh?”

You pursed your lips, shaking your head. To your surprise, Ginko began pulling away from you. There was a moment of panic as you thought he was leaving you before he crouched down in front of you.

“Up you go.”

A moment passed as you stared at him in confusion. Ginko glanced back at you as he raised an eyebrow after seeing you still standing there.

“Come on. You’re really gonna walk all the way home and up the hill?”

That question helped you make up your mind. Quickly, you clambered up, locking your arms around his shoulders and he grabbed the underside of your thighs.

“You’ll be my medicine cabinet for today,” Ginko said as he stood up. “A bigger, livelier one.”

You gently pat him on top of his head, messing with the hair there.

“I’ll drop you if you don’t stop that,” Ginkgo warned, jostling you jokingly.

A small amused huff escaped you at that, knowing full well that he wouldn't do that, and resting your chin on his shoulder. The walk back was peaceful, with Ginko pointing out a few of the harmless Mushi floating around and remarking on some of the Yokai visitors he saw arrive today.

(Some of them, he told you, asked after your wellbeing.)

With his presence came the feeling of your soul settling down, your skin feeling more right on your body. You weren’t like them, but that didn’t matter. There was still a place for you in their world and them in yours.

[sm13r4ld0]

Filter and ‘Me, Myself and I - ID:chaos’ by Jimin

Disclaimer: Just some theories/interpretations, not trying to state anything as fact. I am theorizing about the message in the art, and sometimes dissecting and paraphrasing what Jimin has said about it.

Filter

The albums MOTS Persona and MOTS 7 had concepts tied to Jungian psychology, based on the book Jung’s Map of the soul, and went into the collective/human consciousness, the self, persona, ego and shadow, anima/animus, and archetypes. BTS used this to express different aspects of their experience with growing into their own adult identities, while dealing with fame. Examples:

Boy with luv = persona as famous idols and the trans-parasocial relationship with the fans Black Swan = shadow self as artists/performers Persona by namjoon = persona vs ego/self as famous person Shadow by yoongi = shadow vs ego/self as a famous artist Inner child by taehyung = archetype Filter by jimin = anima/animus, persona

Jimin has said Filter is about being an idol, and the lyrics are quite straightforward. In the performance, he has Illecebra (feminine latin word - allurement, enticement, means of attraction) and Arcanus (masculine latin word - confidant, trustworthy friend, keeper of secrets, private, hidden) written on his palms, seemingly representing the anima/animus - the unconscious feminine side of man and masculine side of woman.

Anima/Animus accordning to Jung: ”The Anima and Animus function as guides for the Self, and the creation of a connection to one's anima is one of the most challenging, yet most gratifying, stages of psychological maturity. When an individual's anima/animus is neglected, it demands attention through projecting itself onto others. This can explain why we feel initial attraction to a stranger - we see our Anima/Animus in that person. A person who is mentally too deeply stuck in their gender-role (ie. an agressive man who never cries) have not formed a connection to their Anima/Animus.” Jimin wears heavy makeup, changes between masculine and feminine-coded clothes, which he picks off of a mannequin or is handed by the dancers, and dances seductive choreography. There are tv screens in the background, showing the image we, the audience, see of him. This, and the mannequins, expresses the parasocial relationship between fan and idol.

Jimin himself said the mannequin he dances around is supposed to represent the fans. The fans are the observers - the people who project onto him and are attracted to/relate to different versions of him. The lyrics reflect this, and embodying the illusion of the perfect love interest, crafting a persona to appeal to anyone’s taste. Being a mirror for others’ anima/animus projections. Pre-Chorus: Oh, I cover your eyes with my hands Oh, get closer to the secret I'll take you to a whole new world Yeah, open your eyes now, go

Chorus: Mix the colors in the palette, pick your filter Which me do you want? The one to change your world, I'm your filter Overlay me in your heart

Verse 2: (Okay) Can you feel it now? Is it still not enough?(Yes) Girl, you have your chance I can be your Genie How ‘bout Aladdin? I'll be anything You can pick and choose me, yeah

Pre-Chorus: Oh, I will embrace you like in your dreams Oh, it's a secret spec For you, every day I'll be new It's not fun to stay the same all the time

Bridge: Look at me who has suddenly turned into a child The more you look, the cuter I am, like crazy Overcoming different tastes and standards You'll be wanting only me Yeah, because you are the one who made me

Chorus: I'm a brand new filter that you've never seen before Entrust yourself to me To see more thrilling things, pick your filter Contain only me

Part of being a famous artist is sharing something you created, then receiving feedback; appreciation or criticism, from your audience. An idol can be an artist, but there’s more to it than that. Being idolized, by definition, is being admired and worshipped excessively. An idol is creating and sustaining a fantasy, by becoming part of the art consumed. This can mean expressing different sides of their real self, but it can also mean creating various images that will appeal to different parts of the audience, taking specific preferences into account. ie: ”I can be your Genie, how ‘bout Aladdin?, I'll be anything, you can pick and choose me” The parasocial relationship allows for the observer to pick and choose which image of the idol most appeals to them, and then fill in the blanks. "Look at me who has suddenly turned into a child, the more you look, the cuter I am" aegyo, or trying to appear as cute as possible, appeals to some fans. "Overcoming different tastes and standards, you'll be wanting only me, because you are the one who made me" Regardless of their usual tastes, (in aesthetics/romantic partners/friends/role models/whatever they seek), once lured into the fantasy, the fan will want only the idol, not because the idol truly is perfect, but because there is no real relationship. The fan will never fully know the idol, and is therefor free to make them perfect in their mind. Whatever perfect means for them. They see parts of themselves, who they want to be, or someone they want to be with, in the idol.

Jimin is aware of how he’s perceived based on these projections, that various filters are applied to his persona. But underneath that is his own hidden, private self. His own connection to femininity/masculinity is something he’s been sharing glimpses of throughout his career, (ie. comments like “what the heck is men”, the “I think I tried to appear like a strong man, now I can just be myself”-interview, bigender(?) tattoo photoshoot, varying gender expression, embracing many “feminine” qualities in himself such as a naturally nurturing personality, emotional maturity/intelligence, etc)

In the BTS book from 2023, Jimin talked about his need to be loved by everyone and his relationship to his persona: ” It must’ve become rooted in me like some kind of obsession. That if I don’t act the way people wanted me to, or if I didn’t give as much as others wanted me to give, I would be a worthless kind of person. ”

Jimin’s attitude also showed through the way that he lived his life as an artist. He gave his all onstage, vying for the love of his audience, and this took up a significant part of his self. Jimin continues:

”But thankfully, I think my idol self and true self are not that different. I’ve never really had to say to others, 'I’m a person, too, please understand.' Sure, there are personal things about me I don’t necessarily want to reveal to the world. But the work I’m doing now is something I chose to do, and what you see is the way I really am”

This implies he is not trying to play a role, he is being himself as sincerely as possible. But just like all celebrities, there are parts of him he needs/wants to protect and keep private.

Which brings us to his photofolio about his personas and real inner self:

Me myself and I - ID:chaos

Official description: "This photobook created based on Jimin's own ideas, unveils different moods Jimin creates from the same costumes, the strength Jimin has discovered in himself, the meaning of light in his confusing consciousness, the moment Jimin's inner self and persona finally met, his chaotic, and finally, an immature journey to finding the true "me". This 80-page photobook will also portray Jimin's objects and costumes, and Jimin's never-seen inner self visualized in four topics - black, light and darkness, white, color : freedom. Jimin said his concept was "Persona", and he wanted to express various sides of himself through colours, clothes, makeup and props/background. He appeared to be very involved in the creative process, using this to express things he didn't always have the chance to. Persona: - The aspect of someone's character that is presented to, or perceived by, others (in Jungian psychology). - The outer or assumed aspect of character. - Type of character that a person seems to have, that is often different from their real or private character. There are greek mythology references in the whole photofolio, I won't get into that here, here is a post from another blogger that touches on it though! When planning the chapters, Jimin mentioned wanting to wear white for his raw, inner self. He also said he wanted to use makeup to express himself. These details matter for my interpretation of his looks in the different chapters.

Light and darkness “a raw inner side of myself that is full of thoughts, worries, sometimes loneliness” Jimin wears white and subtle, neutral makeup. - He is his raw, inner self.

The emotional nature of the photos and the broken mannequins seem too represent how he feels when he’s alone and forced to face his real self, when his walls, his public personas, are broken down. His inner world itself is turbulent and chaotic, he’s prone to worrying and overthinking.

The “tailor of chaos” fake tattoos: To cope with anxieties and chaotic life as a famous person, Jimin has become a tailor of chaos - “someone who skillfully navigates and adapts to unpredictable situations, much like a tailor who crafts and adjusts garments. This metaphor suggests the ability to create order and structure amidst chaos, utilizing creative problem-solving and resourcefulness” His inner self does this by controlling his public image and the way he’s perceived, but having to face himself can still bring all the anxieties back to the surface. White: Intactly “I use mannequins to express my other personas in a simple and concise way” Jimin wears all white (he is his inner self), while the mannequins wear black. There are masks in both colours.

There are also separate shots of him wearing the exact same outfit as his white one, in black, showing that he can embody all those personas if he chooses to.

Showing his many personas lined up around him implies that depending on the time period, the context, the setting, what’s expected of him, who he’s with, who’s watching - he adapts, and he’s perceived in many different ways.

This goes for all humans, but becomes more obvious with fame, being in the public eye, always being observed. Jimin has an audience constantly watching all the different versions of him, current and old. Some fans might hold on to old versions of him, which he himself has grown out of and let go of a long time ago. But with the internet, when every second stays forever, he still has to face all his personas, old and new, and keep them integrated, intact, with his current inner self. Black: Come face to face “I wanted to single out the parts of me that I think are tough, and just show you a cooler side of myself, i’m not sure if it looks cool or not. The most important thing is these thoughts and worries and it’s best if these emotions are delivered. You could just enjoy the photobook itself too.” Jimin wears a black suit and black hat with a white shirt, and rougher makeup. - His inner self and his tough facade come face to face, the black showing that he can wrap himself in an armor of a tougher persona if he needs to. (tailor of chaos again)

The pictures represent a more confident, cooler, confrontational side where he doesn’t care what people think or say about him. He nonchalantly lets go of his worries and just hopes people pick up what he’s putting down. And if they don’t, not his problem.

Color: Freedom “I have on heavy makeup, the look is similar to what we did in HYYH era, like an unrefined boy. I focused on adoring/decorating myself. Added sticker tattoos on my body, a fancy crown, it was a fun chapter” Jimin wears white (a white ysl lgbt collection t-shirt with “Love” and rainbow stripes print), and glittery eye makeup. The white once again signaling a part of his inner self.

This is the only chapter with bright colors, purple/pink background lighting, colors in his crown, and flowers. In addition to the lgbt love shirt, he wears colored rings, earrings, bracelets, and a rainbow necklace. His sticker tattoos say ‘Free Love’, possibly further hinting at a wish for acceptance of all kinds of love.

Despite the more excentric makeup and colors, Jimin calls his look “an unrefined boy”, implying this expression feels natural to him. There is also the fact that he’s in jeans and a t-shirt, his most casual, private look in the whole photobook, adding to the feel that this is part of his purest, freest self.

It would be unfair to ignore all the queer coding, including the name ‘color: freedom’ itself. The colors being 💙💜🩷(+the use of greek mythology) Even calling it allyship feels too dismissive, but how exactly it connects to Jimin’s own gender identity and sexuality, we can’t know for sure. It’s interesting that, just like the ’Light and darkness’ chapter, this appears to be part of his unrefined self separated from public personas. The difference between the two is, while his worries, anxieties and loneliness weigh him down in the first chapter, in color:freedom he’s embracing himself, or as he said - adoring himself. This could imply that society not being accepting of queer people/love is something that personally affects him. That freedom, for him, includes being free to express yourself and love whoever you love, regardless of gender.

ID:chaos and FACE were created roughly during the same time period, and the concepts tie into each other. Jimin facing and coming to terms with hidden parts of his real self, away from the public, loneliness, mental health, queer subtext (and more obvious flagging), and finally, freedom from what’s weighing him down, is all reflected in FACE. posts about FACE, and MUSE >> coming soon

[d1v4d0wn]

LESTAT X READER - THE COMPANION

156 years ago this August, you met him.

Claude Monet had just finished his artwork The Magpie, the Suez Canal opened, the NWSA was formed—but that year, you met Lestat. You, already walking this world with blood on your lips and Magnus’ mark in your marrow. He, new and burning, golden and godless. It was winter. Snow slushed beneath your boots, the Parisian streets swallowed the gaslight in their black-stone jaws. He stood beneath a lamp, wolf-grinned, unafraid of you. A child, but not one. Reckless, but not weak. He did not fear you. And you did not kill him.

And now, 150 years later, you are here.

Sitting in an auditorium of mortals, watching him accept Best New Artist at the MTV Awards.

Lestat de Lioncourt, vampire rockstar. He makes it look so easy.

There he is—crowned in applause, standing in the phosphorescent glow of the stage. A walking fever dream of leather and silk. His shirt: blood-red, loose, unbuttoned down to scandal. Black leather pants sculpted to his legs like sin, jewelry stacked at his throat and wrists, a lace scarf barely existing against his clavicle. Boots—purple alligator skin, polished to gleam beneath the fluorescents. He shines. He drinks in the attention, revels in it. As he always has.

The camera pans. You see Chappell Roan in the audience, clicking in delight, whispering, Oh, that outfit is insane.

He moves to the microphone, takes the award in one hand, holds it up like a glistening relic. Smiles. Not too wide. Not too sharp. He has mastered the performance of mortality—his politeness, crisp, almost too crisp. Perfectly poised. The illusion is seamless: an artist, an enigma, a man. The world cannot hate him. Not when he looks like that.

“Merci beaucoup,” he says, voice like sugared smoke. The crowd erupts. “This is—how do you say?—un rêve. A dream.”

He chuckles, just enough. The perfect amount of self-deprecation. “I am very honored, very grateful. You are all much too kind.”

He brings the mic closer, a glimmer of mischief in his unholy blue eyes. “And I know what you’re thinking. ‘But Lestat, aren’t you supposed to be a vampire?’” The crowd laughs. He tilts his head, mock-serious. “Aren’t vampires supposed to, I don’t know, burst into flames?”

A perfectly timed pause. The audience waits, breath held.

Then the smirk.

“I suppose you’ll just have to keep watching to find out.”

Raucous applause. Screams. Lestat’s eyes flick to you, just for a second. A glint of something feral, something knowing.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

He is such a menace.

If only they knew. If only they could see beyond the spectacle, the sequins, the charm. The marble-white skin, cool as the grave. The heartbeat that isn’t there. The hunger beneath his humanity. He plays them all like a song, a melody spun from fangs and pretense.

And yet, after all this time, you are still watching him. Still standing in his orbit, like a planet pulled into his gravity, unable—unwilling—to drift away. He drank from you once. Took in your strength, your impossible gift. The ability to stand beneath the sun, to walk among mortals unburned. He carries it now, this power—your power—woven into his bones.

He should thank you for it. He never does.

But then, you have never thanked him either.

You, who were alone before him. You, who would be alone without him.

Lestat steps down from the stage, striding towards you, award in hand, eyes alight with amusement. “Did you like my speech?”

You scoff. “It was short.”

His grin widens. “Concise,” he corrects. “Not a second wasted.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smirk. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Et toi?” His voice drops lower, something almost intimate beneath the teasing. “You’re still here.”

The unspoken words hang between you. You are always here.

And maybe, after all these years, neither of you know how to be anything else.

════════════════════════════════════════════

The lounge is dimly lit, red velvet draping the low sofas, cigarette smoke curling into the air despite the no-smoking signs. Micro-influencers flit between tables, their voices soft, eager, desperate. But Lestat—Lestat is reclining, legs spread, one boot propped against the low table, his drink lazily swirling in his hand. Unbothered. Glitter still clings to his cheekbones, the remnants of stage lights in his hair.

“You’re really not going?” you ask, sipping your whiskey sour.

He snorts. “Fuck no.”

“You’re nominated for, what, four Grammys?”

“Yes, and?” He tilts his head, eyes bright with amusement. “I’ll send some assistant. If I win, they can accept on my behalf. I’ll watch from the couch, drink in hand, laughing.”

You shake your head. “You don’t give a fuck.”

“Not a single one.” He clinks his glass against yours. “I already have the only awards I care about—fame, fortune, and adoration.”

Before you can respond, she approaches.

She is—elegance in the key of macabre. Gothic, but not costumey. A black velvet dress clings to her, delicate lace gloves stretching up her arms. Silver rings, moonstones and onyx, catch the low light. She carries a tiny microphone, sleek and discreet. Chic, actually.

Lestat straightens just slightly. Intrigued.

“Bonsoir,” she says, voice smooth. “Would you mind a quick interview?”

Lestat smiles, slow and deliberate. “For you, ma chérie? Anything.”

Ivy. That’s her name, you learn later. She’s sharp, poised, but playful. Young, but not naive.

She clicks on the microphone. “Okay, let’s start simple—have you seen people online calling you zaddy?”

Lestat freezes for half a second. Then—he throws his head back and laughs, hand over his heart as if deeply touched. “Mon dieu! They do?”

“Oh, constantly,” she grins. “You’re like, the internet’s vampire-daddy.”

“I love that.” He leans forward, conspiratorial. “Tell me, Ivy—what is a zaddy, exactly?”

She raises a brow. “It’s, uh, like a hot older man with money and swagger.”

His grin is downright sinful. “Oh, bien sûr, that is me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re unbearable.”

She snickers, then pivots. “How do you feel about the win tonight?”

“Delighted. A true triumph of taste.”

“And, final question—what’s your favorite blood type?”

His smile sharpens. “O Negative.”

She hums, entertained. “Solid choice.”

He tilts his head, watching her, reading her thoughts as she saves the recording. She’s going to edit that for TikTok.

He smirks. “Best interview of the night.”

“Appreciate that,” she says, flashing a smile. “You two have a good night.”

She disappears into the crowd, and Lestat exhales, shaking his head. “That was delightful.”

You sip your drink. “You’re going to be all over TikTok tomorrow.”

He stretches, languid. “Good. Let the children worship me.”

════════════════════════════════════════════

The apartment is absurd. Lavish in a way only Lestat could manage—half rockstar crash pad, half gothic sanctum. Velvet drapes swallowing the windows, a candelabra burning real wax on the dining table. A white grand piano he never plays but insists on having, covered in discarded jewelry, a forgotten champagne coupe. The faint scent of incense, leather, cigarettes he doesn’t smoke but likes the aesthetic of.

You follow him in, tossing your coat over a chair, already sick of him. You adore him, of course, but—God, he's exhausting.

Lestat stumbles toward the bedroom, unbothered by his own inebriation. He’s had blood today, fed well enough that his balance should be perfect, but he’s still swaying, still loose with it, tipsy in a way only vampires get—drunk on experience, on indulgence, on the sheer drama of it all.

He collapses onto the bed in a flourish, limbs thrown wide, sighing as though he’s never known exhaustion. “Mon dieu, what a night,” he murmurs, eyes slipping shut. Then, without even looking, he starts yanking off his boots, dropping them to the floor. The jewelry is next, rings slipping from his fingers, clattering against the nightstand. The scarf—that ridiculous scarf—he tosses toward you, missing completely.

You pick it up, draping it over the chair. “Messy.”

He cracks an eye open. “Je suis ravagé.”

“Mmhm.”

But then, his mood shifts. His gaze softens, turns far away. His fingers toy with a ring he hasn’t removed, tracing the metal absentmindedly. “Do you remember, mon amour, when you saved me?”

You arch a brow. “Which time?”

A breathy laugh. “When you let me drink from you. When you—made me your equal.” His voice dips, lower, softer, thick with something dangerous—nostalgia, reverence. “I would have burned alive, did you know that? I would have let the sun take me. I would have—” His fingers snap. “Gone up in gold.”

You cross your arms. “That was a century ago, Lestat.”

“And yet.” He lifts his head, peering at you from under his lashes. “You gave me eternity. You were kind. No one else ever was.”

Drunk poetic shit.

You shake your head, exasperated, but before you can scoff, he moves—fast, pulling you down onto the bed with inhuman strength, flipping you effortlessly beneath him.

His hair falls around his face, golden and wild. He hovers above you, grinning. “And so,” he slurs, “I shall sing you my gratitude.”

Then, he starts singing. In French.

Lestat, intoxicated, practically serenading you—his voice rich, lyrical, hushed but affectionate. The melody is beautiful, achingly beautiful, but theatrics, always theatrics.

You push at his chest, gently, and he lets himself fall onto his back beside you, grinning, still humming.

You sit up, looking down at him—sprawled out, shirt half-open, utterly ridiculous—but nothing you say will penetrate the drunken, self-indulgent wall around his brain. So you just watch.

Watch as he struggles with the buttons on his leather pants. One by one, slow, fumbling. His shirt slipping further open, exposing marble skin, all the way down.

Then—the shift.

The compliments start as soft murmurs. A brush of fingers against your wrist. A look. Then—the filth.

“You always look at me like that,” he muses, voice like honeyed wine. “Like you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t.”

You snort. “I’m thinking about leaving.”

He tsks. “Liar.”

The next button pops open.

“You used to be so—what’s the word? Disciplined.” His fingers trail up his own chest, slow, lazy. “But now, now, you’re softening for me, mon cœur.”

You sigh, leaning back on your elbows. “Oh, sure, Lestat.”

His eyes flash, amusement wicked. “You’ll break soon.”

“Is that so, Lestat?”

His smirk deepens, hunting now, pushing. “I could break you open, mon amour. In more ways than one.”

You stare at him, unimpressed.

Lestat—half undressed, drunk on blood and attention, voice dipping into a sinful whisper.

You roll onto your side. “Goodnight, Lestat.”

He laughs, low and knowing.

“Goodnight, mon trésor.”

And then.

He wakes up again.

Oh my god.

You don’t notice at first—too caught in your own quiet, the hum of the city pressing in through the half-open window. But then there’s a shift in the air, a weight settling over the room. And when you turn, he’s already watching you.

His head is tilted against the pillow, hair a wild, golden wreck, one arm draped above him in a perfect study of decadence. His throat exposed, his shirt completely open, the dark line of his chest leading down, down—his pants still unbuttoned, unzipped, clinging to his hips in a way that feels entirely deliberate. The belt—undone—rests crooked across his waist like an afterthought.

And that smirk—slow, knowing, ridiculous.

"Mmm," he purrs, voice still thick with sleep. "You're still here. How fortunate for me."

You exhale. "Lestat."

But he doesn’t care. He rolls onto his side, closer, his fingers curling into the sheets. His voice is hushed, reverent, dangerous. "You are—exquisite."

Oh no. Oh, here we fucking go.

"You are," he continues, "without a doubt, the most beautiful creature I have ever known."

You sigh, rubbing at your temple. "Jesus Christ."

"No, no, listen to me," he insists, eyes burning now, low-lidded, drunk on indulgence. His accent curls around the words, voice dipping to something smoky, illicit. "The way the light touches you—it makes a man feel depraved."

You swallow.

Because—he’s too close now.

The dim lamp on the nightstand throws soft shadows, catching in the hollows of his collarbones, the gleam of his skin, the curve of his mouth. It turns him golden and obscene, like something sculpted from marble and sin, something divine, ruined, for you.

A whore of Dionysus, presented at your feet.

Ready to be taken, worshipped, consumed.

His lips part, and he murmurs something, a low whisper of filth—half English, half French, something that crawls inside you and settles deep. Something you could never repeat aloud.

You don’t even know how to respond. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, your pulse kicking, your limbs loose from the alcohol still curling through your veins.

And it’s your fault.

Because you lean in first.

Lestat makes a soft, surprised sound—then a gasp, sharp and delighted—as your mouth catches his.

And then—chaos.

It’s hot, it’s heavy, the tension snapping like a live wire. His hands—already grasping at you, desperate, needy, pulling at your clothes. He groans against your mouth, the sound breaking into a whimper, his fingers tangling in your hair, gripping your waist, clawing at your back.

You pin him down, and he gasps, arches, his thighs parting under you. His breath is ragged, hitched, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to pull you inside him.

"Please," he breathes, whining, hands slipping beneath your shirt, palming at your ribs, your back, your shoulders. "Laisse-moi te sentir…—let me feel you—"s’il te plaît—"

You growl, hands curling into the sheets beside his head, and he shudders.

And then—he laughs, breathless, euphoric.

"I knew it," he pants against your lips, delirious, thrilled. "I knew you wanted me—"mon dieu, je savais—" I knew—"

You kiss him harder to shut him up.

And Lestat—fucking melts.

════════════════════════════════════════════

[mirikitakato]

[Translation] Banquet for the Scarlet Flower Dyed in Darkness: Episode 2

Ivan: There’s a legend about this poisonous flower “Oz”.

Ivan bites his lip for a moment, as if contemplating a response. His grip on the flowerpot tightens slightly.

Ivan: “In the heart of the forest blooms a scarlet flower, said to be cherished by the Demon Lord Oz. As long as this flower blooms in the forest, Oz's love is bestowed upon the land, shielding us from all disasters.”…

Shino: What the hell is that? As far as I know, Oz isn't that kind of warm-hearted guy.

Heathcliff: Shino! That's not true. Don't be rude.

Akira: …Oh, so Oz is being worshipped like a guardian deity?

Ivan: You can say that. I heard it from an elder in the village when I was a child, but...

Oz: ...I know this flower shares my name. But neither this flower nor your land has anything to do with me.

Oz’s voice is deep and heavy when he replies. A deep crease forms between Ivan's brows as he exhales a heavy sigh. But it isn't a sigh of disappointment.

Ivan: ......I knew it. There's no way that the famous Lord Oz would involve himself in such a remote forest. So…I guess you don't know about the Walpurgis Night either.

Arthur: Walpurgis Night?

The name Ivan mentioned is the name of a banquet that has appeared several times in the wizard's world. Everyone reacts to the familiar name, including me.

Faust: You mean the banquet held by wizards on the Wicked Mountain in the Northern Country?

Riquet: I've been there before, it's a festival that only wizards are invited and can go to.

Akira: I've been taken there once. It's a strange event that only lasts one night a year, and disappears like an illusion when morning comes...

Ivan: Festival? A strange night...? What are you talking about?

Heathcliff: Ah, right. Walpurgis Night has different legends depending on the country. The way it's celebrated also differs from region to region.

Shino: In the East, it's a day when humans stay indoors for fear of wizards and spirits. It's not a fun day for you human.

Heathcliff and Shino explain more, but Ivan's frown deepens as he listens, confusion clouding his eyes.

Ivan: To think that there are banquets with the same name in other regions… However, none of them seem to match the tradition passed down in the forest. Walpurgis Night is the name of a ritual.

Akira: A ritual…?

This time, it’s our turn to furrow our brows. Exchanging glances, we sense that this Walpurgis Night would have an atmosphere different from any we have heard so far, and Ivan opens his mouth carefully.

Ivan: Oz, the Demon Lord, is said to prefer blood from the living. It's the same for the flowers in the forest. They feed on human blood and life force. We send offerings from the village to ensure that our land is not abandoned by Lord Oz... The banquet of darkness, Walpurgis Night is the name of that ritual.

A flower that feeds on human blood and life force. The content of the story is gruesome and vivid, yet the contrast with its unrealistic, fairytale-like nature sends shivers down my spine.

Lennox: So, to gain Lord Oz's protection, you sacrifice someone's life?

Faust: I’ve heard there was a custom like that in the East. If it's a ritual performed only by humans in a small village, it won't create a big curse.

Shino: Oz, are you really taking sacrifices?

Heathcliff: You idiot, of course not. I don't want to criticize an old custom, but that’s just too much...

Arthur: I agree, it's a terrible idea. Besides, Lord Oz doesn't like human blood, why give it to him...

Ivan: ......Ugh……

Riquet: Are you okay, Ivan?

Ivan: Urg…ugh.......

Arthur, Heathcliff: Ivan?!

Suddenly, pain contorts Ivan's face. He wraps his hands around his head, his expression etched with suffering.

Akira: A-are you okay?!

Shino: Hey, snap out of it!

Faust: Is your head hurting? Calm down and take slow breaths...

Ivan: Ah... Thank you. I'm okay now.

Ivan's expression improves slightly as he leans his head back, feeling a bit better after Faust supports him and helps him sit on the sofa. Oz silently watches the scene, then speaks in a flat, monotonous tone.

Oz: If you wish to find solace by using my name, do as you please. But I care not what hardships you people may face as a result.

Ivan: ...Yes, I understand that. I fully know I’m being selfish. Back then, I dismissed it as just a legend, a superstition. There weren't any documented cases of the ritual being performed in decades, so I wrote it off. But..

Ivan looks at Oz as if clinging to him, his eyes filled with a desperate plea.

Ivan: The forest has become strange since Oz flower started to fade in color. The sound of terrifying beasts can be heard from the forest. Animals started dying everywhere. The ones that survived became aggressive, attacking livestock with a frenzy we'd never seen. The discoloration of Oz flowers was small-scale at first, but it continued to spread... And eventually, there were rumors that “Oz” was demanding blood and calling for sacrifices. ...My friend was chosen as that sacrifice.

Lennox: That's a sad story. Did the whole village decide on the sacrifice?

Faust: I don't think it would be voluntary. There must be a rule for how someone is chosen as a sacrifice.

Ivan's face contorts at their questions.

Ivan: My friend…I saw her picked a single discolored, poisonous Oz flower from the depths of the forest. On the night of the “Great Calamity” that I will never forget...

Shino: Night of the Great Calamity?

Everyone exchanges glances at the unexpected name, thinking of the strange events caused by that moon.

Ivan: …She said she didn't remember, but from that day on, the color of the flowers in the forest started to change gradually. She is no longer able to eat anything else except the nectar from Oz flowers. Everyone is terrified that Lord Oz has fallen in love with her... with Jessica. But Lord Oz is you, right? Then, to whom are we sacrificing...Ugh...

Arthur: Ivan!

Furrowing his brow deeply, Ivan clutches his head again. Then he tightly clenches the pendant on his chest.

Heathcliff: Ivan, are you okay? Maybe your health isn't good...

Akira: Yes, you don't look well either. It's better to take a break.

Shino: Don’t push yourself.

Ivan: Ugh…I'm fine. I've been getting headaches lately... And I need to save Jessica quickly. While we're talking, she's...

Faust grabs Ivan, who was trying to continue the story despite his discomfort.

Faust: You must be tired from the long journey. It's better to take a break, as the Sage said. We can hear the rest of the story later.

Lennox: Yes. Ivan, can you stand up? If it's difficult, I'll carry you on my back.

Shino: I will prepare the bed in the spare room. I’m the one who brought him here anyways.

Heathcliff: Ivan, if you're okay, take my sugar. I made a lot of it.

Ivan: Yes... I'm sorry for causing you trouble.

Riquet: Then I'll find Nero and Canary to ask them to make food that's good for your body. So that you can regain some strength.

Akira: Thank you all so much. I'm wondering if there's anything I can do...

Arthur: Excuse me, Sage. I'd like to talk to you for a moment. Can you stay?

Akira: Ah, yes, of course!

After everyone left, silence fall over the room. Oz opens his mouth, looking at the open door.

Oz: ...I can feel a faint aura of protection from that boy.

Faust: Yes, it's probably from the pendant he was wearing. The power has weakened, but it was imbued with protective and warding magic.

Akira: Can humans make that? Or did he get it from a wizard?

Oz: A wizard is watching over that child. But it seems he doesn't know it.

Akira: I see...Such stories are not uncommon in the Eastern Country. Since it is a country with strong prejudice against wizards…

Arthur: ...So maybe that’s why this person kept it a secret and put a spell on the pendant.

As Arthur speaks, his eyes shift towards the flowerpot. They waver, resembling those of a lost child, as he examines the discolored flower.

Arthur: This flower... Lord Oz is kind, so he will graciously accept any misunderstanding he may receive. However, I find it difficult to accept that Lord Oz is being spoken ill of, or that a flower bearing his name is causing tragedy. Especially when there are troubled souls like Ivan seeking help. That’s even more reason for me to…

Oz: ......

Akira: (Arthur wants to investigate the anomaly of Oz flower. ...And if possible, he also wants to clear up the misunderstanding about Oz. I think it’s weird too. I remember that Oz's expression when he told me about his memories with Arthur was really warm and gentle...)

Akira: Uh, would you like to go to that forest once? He said the anomaly started after the Great Calamity, so maybe it has something to do with it.

Episode 1 | Episode 3