#rigel pile

[femininefreyanyctophile]

This is my dragon hoard and maybe there's some gold in here.

I am smol (minor) but people think I'm a 18 year old from the way I talk lol

This dragon is a girl and may or may not also be a lesbian witch (she is one)

But istg if you throw any porn at me I will punch you into Rigel

I may sometimes reblog artistic nudity or (text) hornyposts so be aware

On the treasure pile you may also find: funny stuff, trans stuff, gay stuff, cats, and my current favorite Fandom. if you don't like it go find another dragons den

DNI: Porn rebloggers, terfs, nazis, witch hunters

Please don't use bro or dude when referring to me

Makin ma own religion 𖤐

i have a cohost (same url) and some other SocMedia too (Im usually FreyaOnAPegasus), most notably newgrounds as a hidden failsafe if my parents find out about my other SocMedia

#Dumb Witch rambles i say stuff that may be personal

#Mediocre Witch rambles i say some things for the sake of saying them and they may not be researched correctly

#Smart Witch rambles oc posts i researched and they will be more high quality

#Summoning the Posessed Poasts that are definitley not brain vomit or horny

[good-beanswrites]

Fe Aspec Week Day 7: Free Day -- Legacy

This one took me forever to settle on something I liked -- I was toying around with some ideas about Lukas's epilogue text and the idea of legacy, as well as a bit of meta impact. A few scrapped drawings and 1k words later, I've got this 😂

As always, thank you so much for running this week!! 💜💚 I always have so much fun with the pieces, (it's been the only event week that I can regularly commit to because I always have a blast haha!) and seeing others' amazing work! It's been such a great time :D

Forsyth stepped back from his canvas. He wiped hair from his forehead, hoping he wasn’t smearing any paint there. He studied his work, then his model, then his work once more. He gave a decisive nod. 

“Well. I tried.”

Python choked back a laugh. “That’s not quite the confidence you want to hear from your portrait painter, you know.” He walked up to the canvas, but Forsyth was quick to angle it away from him. 

“Oh, hush, I wasn’t even painting you! I’ll have you know, it was rather difficult trying to paint something without having it in front of me.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Luke was sitting right there for hours!”

At his mention, Lukas perked up. He’d been lounging in front of Forsyth, his eyes lowered to sift through a pile of student writings. He’d been scribbling notes in the margins, absentmindedly angling his face this way and that when Forsyth requested.

“And I am incredibly grateful for his presence. However, I did not want to capture him looking like a sleep-deprived schoolteacher –”

“– but that’s exactly what he is –”

“– so I attempted to recreate my personal favorite expression of his.”

Lukas smiled. “Oh? And what would that be?” He placed the papers aside, giving Forsyth his full attention. Lukas nodded to the canvas, encouraging him to reveal it. 

“Well… you see… the point of this whole project…”

Forsyth searched for the right words. The point of the whole project actually struck him months ago, back at Rigel Castle. 

He and Python had sat for their own portraits, which would later be hung in the great hall to commemorate members of the Brotherhood. Forsyth could have cried seeing he and Python’s likenesses full of dignity and chivalry. The whole time, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling of injustice that boiled in his stomach: Lukas would get nothing. 

Sure, his name would appear in the records as the royal family’s right-hand advisor during and after war, but his image would disappear entirely. He left the Brotherhood to fulfill his dreams long before the kingdom was stable enough to commission a professional painter. With his brother furthering the bloodline and becoming the major focus of the household, Lukas was relieved of all marriage obligations – and opportunities for a couple’s portrait. Paintings alongside any future children were out of the question, as well. 

“It’s terribly unfair!” Forsyth had cried. “Are war and romance the only means to remember a man? Is he any less worthy because he will never marry?”

“You’re overthinking things, Fors.” Python had hardly spared him a glance. “Plenty of good people don’t get their paintings done.”

“And that is just as much an outrage!” 

He brought his concerns to Lukas, who seemed at peace with the situation, as Python was. The pair’s disinterest only caused Forsyth more urgency. After a bit of deliberation, he knew there was only one path forward. 

“I shall take this into my own hands.”

They would find out he meant this very literally. He showed up at Lukas’ schoolhouse with various brushes clutched in his hands, an apron thrown over his chest. He pulled up a nearby seat, propped up an easel, and got right to it. It became their routine: once classes dismissed for the day, Lukas would busy himself with reading through his school materials, and Forsyth would busy himself with work of his own.

He’d done his research beforehand, but had never actually painted anyone’s portrait. He looked again at the finished product.

“I was hoping to capture… er… the point of this work is to commemorate your independent situation… and thus… I remembered the days after you first told me, you were the happiest I’d ever seen you. The face is still a rare one, but after that night, I’ve seen that side of you more and more. I just thought…”

He gave an audible huff. Screw it. 

He turned the canvas around. 

“I am sorry. Perhaps I should have gone with a more dignified look, like the other knights’ portraits. I am aware that I have yet to accomplish a professional’s level of –”

“It’s perfect.” 

Forsyth blinked. 

Lukas stared at the canvas. He appeared to be working out his next words. Meanwhile, Python let out a long whistle. “Lookin’ good! Not too shabby, for your first masterpiece.”

“‘Not too shabby’ is an understatement.” Lukas stepped closer to the piece, his voice full of warmth. “Thank you, friend.”

In the painting, Lukas wasn’t sitting straight-backed and stiff; it was focused on his bust, leaning a bit in relaxed movement. He wore casual clothes, none of his usual professional garments. He smiled. His mouth was a little lopsided, a little odd, pinching his eyes a bit, showing some teeth, but not all – and it was a perfect replication. This was Lukas’s true smile, not the one he put up for others to view. 

Python gave him a poke. “So, now what? Where are we gonna do with it? We can’t just smuggle it into the royal gallery. And I don’t think Lukas is the kind of guy who wants to stare at it here in the school all the time.”

“Well, I… er….”

“I mean, we can certainly just go and hang it up somewhere around town, but I don’t think he’s looking for that, either.”

“I just thought he’d want it! For his legacy!” Forsyth huffed. His eyes shone with The kind of determination that the others knew not to overstep on. There was no stopping him now. “It’s important that he’s remembered through the ages! I think of all the heroes that inspired me – the way I gazed at their images in my fathers’ textbooks, gaining hope from their stories…”

“You’re hoping that Lukas ends up in some dusty textbook someday?”

“Indeed!” He beamed, not realizing that Python didn’t see it as a grand victory. “Just imagine: centuries from now, some harrowed scholar, crushed under familiar struggles. They get a hold of a secondhand book, and suddenly, bam!” He gestured to the painting. “They look upon his face and see that everything will be alright. They’ll think, ‘if Sir Lukas of Valentia can do it, and smile so purely at the end of it all, surely I can too!’”

He clenched his fists, caught up in his own excitement. His gaze was somewhere faraway, imagining this incredible future.  

Python scoffed. 

“It sounds like they’re just as much of a hopelessly sentimental dreamer as you are. They’ll probably think, ‘gods, now I need to study up on this guy too?”

“Python…”

“Or, if they’re like me, maybe they’ll think, ‘mmm, that is one fiiine –”

“Python!”

“Alright, alright. I think it’s a real nice gesture, Fors.”

Lukas had been quietly taking everything in for a while. Now he spoke. “I truly believe this is perfect. As you said – this is an expression only saved for rare occasions. It’s difficult for me to smile so genuinely. I… I never really see it myself.”

He placed a hand on Forsyth’s shoulder. “We can hope it reaches others someday, but regardless, I am grateful to have seen it right now. It inspires me about the future. I… I cannot thank you enough.”

[rexcaliburechoes]

i'm having so many feelings about alm + berkut // literally no one asked

i'm having to many feelings about alm and berkut. they are my sons, baby boy baby, sweet children of mine. i want to wrap them up in blankets and give them hot chocolate and a place to scream their troubles and be heard.

thoughts under the cut because this got long.

one of the things that stick out to me the most about alm is how responsibility is thrust upon the poor kid. he knows he's getting into a war, he knows what a war with rigel will bring. he knows how the people suffer, and how something must be done, and the only way to do that is by a war. in order for any change to happen, sometimes force is the only path. he needs to throw off the yoke of the old gods and let the people live by their own hands, he needs to stop the suffering, and if it is war that will do that, then so be it.

alm has responsibility thrust upon him, when all he's really stated before is how he wants to help the people, and that's practically it. he doesn't necessarily want to wage war. i've read a really good fic outlining to celica (through lukas) how, "if there were another peaceful solution, alm's sword would be first on the pile", and i genuinely think this is true. the boy has been only taught the practical skills (combat, strategy, weather and terrain, etc) and not the finer points of leading. he acknowledges how much he has to learn when he prepares to right back against rigel, sure, and he does learn to lead, but as the quote in hamilton goes, "dying is easy, young man, but leading is harder."

when clive comes to him and just makes him leader, he practically says "hey wait are you sure this is a good idea??" and even later, everyone assumes he's gonna be king at the end of the war

and it hurts, because if you think about it, he's never been taught how to handle the court, how to handle nobility, any of this high aristocracy bullshit. and celica's right. he has no idea how the hell any of this works. he says he's not a farmboy, but he is. he's a country bumpkin from the southern most tip of zofia, hailing from a truly backwater village.

and sure, he has celica to rely on, and clive to rely on, and mycen to rely on. he's forgiven celica already since their fight, and loves her. but she's right. and clive just thrust the title of "leader of the deliverance" and later "king of valentia" onto him. and mycen, mycen isn't truly his grandfather, and all the man does is chide alm for every single decision he makes since leaving the village.

and it's not fair!! it's wholly unfair and sad and painful to think of how alm must step up to the mantle that was pushed upon him. mycen was right. "once you march on Rigel, you place yourself in the hands of destiny. You won’t be able to stop the events that unfold. No one will wish you well. Many will even try to stop you; unexpected tragedy is sure to follow. That is the price of what you are about to undertake." and he's right, and alm said he was ready for it, but even so!!

"and what of my peace?!" he screams to the uncaring world. "what of my personhood?!"

and the world keeps turning on its axis, cold and unchanging as the rigel winter.

"this is not the time for mourning or self-pity, boy." the world tells him. "you cannot be a person, for you are the leader, and leaders must make sacrifices."

and this theme, this arc of alm's fits incredibly well with berkut's. it fits so well and i'm so incredibly sad.

because berkut... berkut was a gentle child. according to the valentia accordion, he was so timid that even riding a horse could make him cry. berkut, being the nephew to the emperor, being in line to the throne only because his father's brother is the emperor, who has no children... he has never was supposed to become emperor in the first place, either. his worldview is deeply shaped by rigel's culture, by how "a prince of rigel cannot possibly be weak". i've discussed this before, about how berkut is an unfortunate product of his upbringing.

but it hurts. it hurts how, no matter what he does, he can't ever be recognised for his accomplishments, that he fails so horribly to a farmboy- a zofian country bumpkin, a weak soldier compared to him- that the only person he has to look up to (much like alm, as mycen keeps ripping him apart, and clive only wants him to lead and also tells him off throughout the story, and celica, who's an entire ocean mass away) finds him a disgrace and leaves him out to dry, because he's simply not good enough, not even when he's been forced to walk this path.

"uncle!!" he screams to the retreating figure of the red-clad emperor. "please tell me i am good enough for you!! please tell me my own pain wasn't for nothing!"

and the silence is deafening, just like crackle of flames that drown out even the cries of the one thing he truly cared for most.

[kuroneko1815]

Storytime at the Palace Part 2

@eloise175 here’s part two of your bedtime stories.

Tonight the children had decided that they wanted a story before bed so he ushered their family into the private sitting room of his palace and had the servants light the fire and ordered some hot chocolate for them. The children lay on the soft carpet that’s been laid down, the skin of the fire bear from that first hunt was laid over top. Penelope had laughed when she saw it but he’d thought it was a good reminder of how far they’d come and of the days when they were little more than stupid children in comparison to the people they’ve grown into together, to the people that now ruled a vast Empire and raised five children with all the love they could ever muster. The people who had chosen one another over and over and stayed together against all odds.

As he watched Penelope fuss over the children, handing them a cup of the hot chocolate each and piling on some cushions and blankets to keep them warm and comfortable, he realized he knew what story he wanted to tell. So he left his seat and repositioned himself with his family, reaching out a hand to pull his wife to him, holding her close as they gazed upon their little miracles. For that was what they were, for Callisto whose hands were so bloodstained that he thought such things would never happen to him, that any child he may have would have been as a requirement through whatever political marriage suited him the most to win the throne (and wasn’t he ever thankful that he’d been wrong), and for Penelope who had suffered through a thousand years or more of bloodshed, dying repeatedly, agonizingly, until her soul had shattered, been reborn, and eventually pulled back here for one final time where she chose, against all odds and common logic, to stay by his side and live their lives together.

He pressed a quick kiss to Penelope’s forehead before he turned to the children. “There were many moments I could point to about when my feelings for your mother grew. But the one I can point as the definite shift from interest to something more was when we fled from assassins, your Mother asking me to trust her with my life as she shot assassin after assassin. I had no other choice, not when I had to focus on controlling the horse and keeping your Mother safe, so I did and was pleasantly surprised and incredibly impressed by the results.”

His mind returned to that day, it was fury he felt, the same fury that filled him whenever there was an attempt on his life or when he was in the heat of the battle. But Penelope was there, terrified but still determined to fight. “When we hit a dead end, we got off our horse and made what we thought was our final stand with nothing but a cliff at our backs. There was fear in me when I heard your mother scream and I threw myself in between her and the assassin.” The children gasped in horror. Eden clutched Judy’s hand tight, her precious little face hidden by her other hand. Dante clung to Kaden whose eyes were shut tight. Rigel crawled to Penelope and climbed on to her lap.

Callisto, who hadn’t felt fear in so long, who had never been nervous in battle, felt all those things whenever Penelope was concerned. Had been feeling those things since she had confessed her feelings for him in that maze. And even if he’d only meant to tease her about it, he remembered the feeling of anger and disappointment when she took back her words. He remembered some sort of anxiety going through him the night before that, when those monsters had surrounded Penelope and he’d been too far away, remembered how enticing she looked as she took them on single-handedly. It was the same feeling he felt that day, fighting assassins with her, and every day after that, every moment, every encounter where she bewildered and impressed him, setting her apart from the other women. “Your mother, the magnificent woman that she is was still able to shoot the last assassin even as we plummeted off the cliff and into a river. I managed to pull your mother’s unconscious form out of the water and brought her to the cave. And we held each other by the firelight to keep ourselves warm while our clothing dried.”

“She looked so beautiful and I remembered just thinking that this was peace.” He remembered that first night when he first held a woman, well, the only woman he’d ever held was Penelope, so it was better to rephrase it as, the first time he’d ever held her. The warmth that came with it, after living for years away from any comforting touch, where people were afraid to touch him, not just because of his reputation, but also because of his status as the Crown Prince. Where he, as a child in the battlefield, wished he could enjoy that camaraderie with his men where they’d pat each other’s back or throw their arms around one another as they got drunk over a mug. Instead, Callisto had spent much of his time in the tent, the men, despite the ease of their relationship, found it awkward to be too drunk around him.

But in that cave, in that moment. He wished they could stay there forever. That he could hold her in his arms forever and bask in that peace and contentment that washed over him. Years had passed but he still felt that way whenever he held her in his arms. Even their children gave him that feeling. Their precious little dragons who never knew the cold isolation of being touch starved because he and Penelope swore their children would never suffer as they had. That they’d have their golden flowery paths and a warm and happy youth filled with nothing but love and laughter.

He smiled mischievously as he decided to end his story there with his new piece of life advice. “In short… a great assassination attempt and a nice damp cave can do wonders for your romance.”

Penelope who had been listening beside him as she held their baby, was touched until he said the last part, hits her husband as he gives another one of those shitty pieces life and romance advice to their impressionable young children.

Over a decade later, Dante found his way into the very cave his parents spent the night in, his lady love who had confessed to him under duress from sword point was by his side after an afternoon spent hunting together and losing their way. He wasn’t that concerned. His parents would no doubt send every single one of the Imperial guards after them, had probably done so by now. Still, he kept his Father’s words of romance in mind and he, as well as his siblings, followed it all to a T. Two months later, he’d discover that he and his lady were expecting as a result of that night in the cave and their little one would be born nine months to the day.

That’s it for part 2 folks. I hope you enjoyed this.

[sulky-star-cluster]

I have good news and bad news. Good news; I found a friendly Solar Flare. Bad news; he comes with a couple... add-ons. A partially corrupted Eclipse rescued from a bunker fire and a half dead Bloodmoon slowly reforming after Sun shot him that Solar Flare is keeping in his chest cavity. Do you want to meet him or should I keep looking?

Also I have a small pile of stuff from Antares' dimension but I'm still looking around. I made a friend though :D

Cygnus: Yes! Give me the goods. I'm bound to be able to fix something out of this pile of scrap.

Rigel: I mean. That's solar flare doesn't sound bad. Depends on how attached there to the broken eclipse though.

Cygnus: Plus the blood moon. Blood moons are always a hassle.

Rigel: Yah. I don't think Black Star would be adverse to sharing. Hell he might not even try to. But I just kind of wanted them to be his??

Cygnus: It's weird. Honestly I think we would take them in anyways. This eclipse sounds in bad shape.

Rigel: Yah. I wouldn't necessarily be adverse. We just kind of wanted a single solar flare friend.

Cygnus: I think that was mostly you. I'm just concerned about the little bloody guy going nuts as soon as he's repaired.

Rigel: Yahhh... Bloods can get annoying. As long as he stays out of the way though I wouldn't be adverse.

[lostinhewe]

"You is!" Binny squealed loudly, and Rigel jumped with surprise, "If you is losing a robe, you is coming with me! The lost and found pile is right through here!"

Binny pitched her voice above the clanking of dishes and winked broadly at Rigel before taking off through the melee. Rigel scrambled to keep up, ducking and even jumping various bowls of food as she followed Binny over to a door on the other side of the kitchens.“

Chapter 10 Pureblood Pretense - Murkybluematter

[jasperlion]

@devotedrigelianflower

A knock was heard on Alm's personal office door before two familiar noblewomen entering the room. It was Rinea with Josephine following her close behind with a carrier bag. "Hello Lord Alm. Countess Josephine came here to meet with you about finalizing the wedding plans for Lord Berkut and I. Oh and also to get ahead of her own wedding with Lord Hunter!" Rinea said as she did know Alm's schedule and there was a slot open for him to have a meeting. Rinea looked over to her friend whom she was worried about since Josephine was in a dark red mourning dress. "Thank you so much for helping Lord Berkut and I with the wedding plans but are you sure you will be alright Countess?" Rinea was worried about Josephine since she knew this was not an easy time for Josephine. "I will be alright Rinea. This will be a good distraction for me. Besides I feel like Alm would understand..." She said before looking at Alm as she sadly knows if there was anyone who understood what she went through it was Alm. "...If you say so. I will leave you two be." Rinea said but before she left the room, she quickly took one pile of paperwork away from Alm. "Lord Berkut said that he would deal with the minor issues and he will not take no for an answer. Please don't overwork yourself or I'll... I'll let Lord Berkut scold you again! " Rinea said as Berkut did tell to be a little bit stricter with Alm about overworking. "I'll be sorting paperwork with Lord Berkut nearby if you need us!" She said before shutting the door behind her.  "...Rinea's still using the titles huh." Josephine said with a small smile before giving a sigh. "I had hoped she told you about the true reason she has that habit...but that will have to be another time. There are more important matters to discuss." The Countess said before taking her seat on sofa used for private meetings and breaks for tea. She started taking out the wedding plans but she took out a card that looked normal playing card at first but she flipped it around for him to read first. 'I found evidence of assassination plot and a coup. Is this room safe to talk about it out loud?' Josephine knew she had to be very careful when it came to these kinds of things. One wrong move could cause the deaths of Berkut and Rinea earlier than anticipated. ~*~

Alm's visitors find him with a large compendium on his desk, cross-referencing material on it compared to a missive in his hand with a growing scowl. The door opening would have startled him, but his guard had already informed him of his incoming visitors. As such, Rigel's Emperor simply sets down the missive atop the book and looks up with a wan smile. "Hey, Rinea. Josephine. Have a seat." It hadn't been a particularly pleasant day, considering his own fiance's recent departure back to Zofia (among other events of late, that was but a nail on the mood's coffin), but at least he does his best to look the most pleasantly neutral he can manage.

The smile, however, goes from struggling to sympathetic to the woman before him. All things considered, it was in fact a pain he was regretfully familiar with. Keenly so. "If there is anything within my power to help ease that pain... well, you have me here at your disposal, you know? Maybe some time off for your husband...?"

Of course, it is then Rinea snatches a paperwork pile. To which he can barely protest aside from an indignant squawk. The small woman's threat, however, stops him from making pursuit (playfully, if anything, he wouldn't dare spook the woman), and the Emperor instead raises his hands in mock defeat. "Alright, alright. Tell that grumpy fox he's got his way today." At the very least, it took some of the work off his shoulders, none of which he considered particularly pleasant.

And then, Rinea was gone, and it was just them. He sighs into his chair, eyes darting back to his guest. "It's a hassle to constantly correct her, but one day, mark my words, she'll feel comfortable enough to drop those pretenses around family someday." At least, he hopes so, reasons she may have notwithstanding (and perhaps, someday, she'd tell him?). Shutting the compendium with the missive inside, he sets it on a side-table to make room for the Countess, only to... frown at the presence of the playing card. A fire lit within, and yet the Emperor's next move is to press his index fingers to his lips and stand.

The fireplace crackled pleasantly, and it is to where he went first, grasping a kindling stick and lighting it, then... proceeding to light the candles around the desk without a word, then those around the room. Putting the fire on the stick out, he then moved to the window, that overlooking the gardens and training grounds below, and closed thick, heavy drapes. Alm's next movement was to a bookcase, which he firmly secures, and finally walking to the door to the study. Opening it, he quietly asks his guard to keep vigilant guard, and confirms his room is also guarded. Door closed, another thick drape is dropped from the side to cover it. Aside from the light the candles and fireplace provide, it is now.. incredibly dark. The Emperor returns to his seat.

"It is now." Soundproofed by thick drapes and ensuring the safety passage to his room was firmly locked, the study had become a small fortress for secrets. "So, tell me... what is this about?"

[viridescent-lance]

“Greetings, Sir Forsyth! Might you have a moment?”

As different as the archbishop and foreign knight might be they are united in their regular schedules of patrols (to say nothing of the particularly viridian hue they share). Rhea greets Forsyth on the route she knows their paths most often connect, turning as she does so which makes the new pendant hanging over her cowl sway ever so slightly.

“If you wouldn’t mind, this way,” Rhea says once she has the other knight’s attention, leading them both down a trellised alley not oft taken except by students in need of a shortcu.t At the end where the alley cuts back into the courtyard there is a veritable pile of fluff – mixed colors of black, orange, and familiar white as kitten sleeps, contented, atop a larger cat that opens one eye before seeing Rhea and falling back asleep.

“I wanted to let you know that Zinnia – oh that is what I am calling her unless you have other thoughts, has made great strides socially here at Garreg Mach already. Though she and I both have a few more questions.”

Turning fully to Forsyth Rhea asks with a smile, “you were my winter envoy, were you not? I thoroughly enjoyed your letter – in fact, you have the makings of a storyteller if I am not mistaken. Still, I have so many questions after studying the constellations of both Rigel and Zofia that I wonder if you might be willing to go over those lovely books with me sometime? Over tea, of course.”

"Ah, Lady Rhea! It is an honor!"

Forsyth can feel his heart in his chest. Yes, Rhea has almost certainly figured out that he was her holiday benefactor, but still! An audience with the Archbishop herself is not an everyday occurrence! He catches sight of the pendant he'd gotten her and does everything he can to keep himself from visibly reacting.

"It would be my pleasure!" Forsyth tries to keep his gait regular, though it's hard not to slip into an excited march. Oh, the kind heart of the Archbishop truly impresses itself onto him; all the duties she carries, and she chooses to care for these sweet little animals. Including the one Forsyth has so entrusted her... "Zinnia is a lovely name, milady. It suits her well."

Forsyth hardly has a chance to wonder why, exactly, the archbishop would ask his opinion on her name before she goes on to strike at the core of his being--in a good way, yes, but she is archbishop for a reason. Lady Rhea? Enjoying his stories? Forsyth is certain his expression breaks into a giddy, unrestrained joy unseemly for such a noble audience, but it is hard to rein it in!

"I am overjoyed that my tales have brought you such entertainment! Truly, they are simply my recountings from various battles and experiences, changed slightly for privacy and the sanctity of the anonymous gift-giving." The words spill quickly from Forsyth's lips, and he finds it easier and easier to talk to the Archbishop. He wonders if this is how pilgrims felt when talking to Mila; it is one of his greatest regrets that he did not get to see her in person before she passed. "I would be most honored! I am no expert on the skies of Valentia, per se, but as a young lad, I did do a fair amount of study on them. My father was a scholar, and while I did not take up his mantle, there are things I learned from that time that have come to serve me!"

[mostspecialgirl]

6 monsters doodles

as it usually tends to happen, some rambling under the cut

i’ve been revisiting the concept of 'straychildren', initially intended to be introduced in I AM GARY, being the potential product of the class of relics (is this the first time i’m actually talking about relics on here?) which are able to harbour wills of their own, (heirlooms) that hold the unique potential to subsume canvas energy by weaning off their user, all for the purpose of 'becoming complete' (seeing as relics themself are all but incomplete lumps of latent canvas energy able to manifest in a more meaningful form) leading to 'heirloom blossoming', a state where a relic is able to to 'properly come to form', typically disturbing fate and causality within a plane, much to the tune of sinai being birthed from primordial pools. straychildren are walking natural disasters whose very existence threatens the stability of their plane, sentient piles of existential irradiation who eat away and rewrite the very lines of destiny so cherished by the conductors. tldr; it’s cool shit!

on revisiting this concept, i was like, wow, straychildren are as cool as always, but they’re purely theoretical existence, seeing as rigel and spica are heirloom killers in the plane that holds the greatest abundance of heirlooms which are already a rare existence as is. Until i considered: what’s separating someone like Omecroth, a treasure automaton who has reached the peak of treasury, being classified as a Relic Automaton from being considered a heirloom? the answer? one was created by paris, and that’s it. there is NOTHING stopping omecroth from blossoming into a straychild. if anything, that’s probably what omecroth WANTS at the end of the day; if sheNs on the hunt destroying inferior treasures and relics, isn’t all that canvas energy she’s picking up on the way eventually going to cause her to undergo heirloom blossoming?

so, i think i’ve started to fully recognize the potential behind omecroth’s character arc within stories containing the 6 monsters. i think that’s neat!

i also wonder if i should change the name of straychildren seeing as the kpop group straykids is now a thing. I dunno! i’ll work something out, even if that 'something' is settling for nothing! thanks for reading this far why would you do that this is nonsense

[songoftheredwitch]

#2

The Visitation Chronos Kugane branch head, Rigel, was out for another job and left Calhoun alone in the office. With nothing to do, the auri decided to sweep the yard, which already had some leaves piled up on the corner. Whistling as he grab the broom, he turned his head to find a strange man on the gate. "Is Rigel Arc here?" The man asked. "Huh?" ================================================ "So Mr. Sargas- you're Rigel's bro???" Calhoun asked, still flabbergasted. "Yeah. " The auri man, who introduced himself as Sargas earlier, sheepishly answered as he blew his cigarette. "Shouldn't that be easy to tell?" "Well no- we're aura are pretty much all alike-but eh, never mind. I guess you two are alike-" The words he wanted to say died down on his throat. He should've said nothing, lest he get an earful from his boss later. Calhoun then stole a glance on the two vieras who came with the man. The black haired one on the left, the pale blonde on the right. Wow what a sight. Calhoun hummed to himself. "So...are you two (cough) lovelies cops too?" Calhoun asked as he offered the two some cocktails. "Yes of course, sweetie." The blonde one chirped, his sound was surprisingly lovely. He took the glass and winked at the aura "The name's Briar, by the way." oh by Azeyma, this is surely my luckiest day. Calhoun closed his eyes and savored the heavenly voice. "Thanks..." The black haired man suddenly broke the silence and instead of taking the glass, he stared intently at it. "But hmph, third rate." "Excuse me??!" "Just take the glass, Simeon." Sargas said, and huffed another smoke. "We're off case today, you can put the act off..." "Oh, right..." Simeon nodded, and wore a smile as fast as lightning. "Thank you Sir- uh, Calhoun?" Well that was odd, but this guy's cute too. Once again, Calhoun closed his eyes and savored the voice. "Must be nice, eh, Mr. Sargas~ to be surrounded by vieras at work..." Calhoun commented. He was suddenly reminded on his childhood, when he was surrounded by Vieras at the brothel. It was lovely everyday.... Sargas' eyes wandered elsewhere. "Guess so..." Briar was quick to butt in between them and said "Hmhm, just work, Sarg? I'm hurt..." "Tonight's my turn, right?" Simeon added while sipping the cocktail. "What? Noooo. Yours was yesterday! We'll deciding tonight's top by roulette." Briar made an 'x' with his hand "Hm?? Tonight?? Top???" Again, Calhoun was flabbergasted by the conversation. "Aha, you see, Mr. Calhoun~" Briar playfully rested his head on Sargas' shoulder, and surprisingly, Simeon followed suit and slid his hand on along the auri man's waist. "We're friend in bed too..." ================================================ "Sarg, what did you say to my employee?" "What do you mean?" "I found Calhoun passed out when I got back. It must be your doing...." "Well..." a chuckle was heard from beyond the linkpearl. "Its nice to bully your fellow aura..."

[mommy-bear]

W'z has started to air today and it looks pretty good

CUTE BABYS

BOYFRIENDS!! (100% MARRIED COUPLE)

I will be watching this, it looks nice

[yumispelled]

devotedrigelianflower replied to your post: {BERKUT} —- “Far too close for comfort.”

“Oh Lord Berkut, you were wonderful and so brave! It seems you are the last hope for Rigel now. I do wish you all of the luck in the tournament!” Rinea was cheering him on!

{BERKUT} ---- “Everyone else from Rigel lost? Well that’s certainly surprising. I’ll be sure to stay vigilant during my match with this Galatea girl.”

[rexcaliburechoes]

remembers sov exists

remembers alm's existence

remembers how the narratove slowly pushes alm away from his family in ram village

remembers how alm tries to learn who his family is

remembers how alm had to kill rudolph

remembers how alm had to kill berkut

thinks about how alm is unprepared for royal court shenanigans

thinks about how alm's sword would be first on the pile if rigel would just knock it the fuck off

thinks about how he never wanted to be king/emperor

thinks about how alm is forced to grow into his role as saint-king of valentia

thinks about alm

thinks about how he's way too young for this shit

thinks about how alm was let down by every adult figure in his life

thinks about how alm was so ready to defend himself leaving ram against mycen ripping into him

thinks about how alm is desperate for positive reinforcement

thinks about how alm wanted positive reinforcement from celica

thinks about how the mentle of leadership is thrust upon alm in the deliverance

thinks about how alm refuses to think he's royal when he gets the royal sword

thinks about alm.

[riminiscent]

@alliance asked: [ dance ] for your muse to dance with mine / oh hello there....;)

No one looks upon her in Fódlan the way they used to in Rigel.

There are no cold gazes cast downward upon the lady of a lower house, made only more cruel by the expectation laid upon her shoulders by her lover's name. Here, she is anyone else. Nobility among nobility, most of whom know little of the hierarchy of kingdoms and empires aside from their own.

It is a breath of relief to know the eyes that brush past her are unbiased by her name or her title--a freeing feeling to be away from such expectation. The monastery is not her orchard, but it is the closest she has felt to its solace in anything but Berkut's company.

Here, she may allow herself to do something as embarrassing as twirl across the floor of an empty classroom, a book clutched in one hand and the other held out before her as though to an invisible partner.

( Not that it isn't still embarrassing, of course, but the fear of being caught is considerably less. Really, how likely is it that some passerby may have the urge to poke their head into a classroom so long after hours? )

She does not hear the door open, does not see the pair of eyes that await her. Her own are closed, opening only as her feet stop and her skirts fall still once more. Rinea bends at the waist, humming as eyes flit over title upon title and- ah! The book in her hands is slotted back into its rightful spot.

Her posture is righted and a single step is taken, right back into that dreamy waltz of only a moment ago, towards the pile of books still remaining to be sorted. Only her eyes just so happen to drift over the doorway for long enough to catch a glimpse of auburn. Oh dear.

Pink blooms over pale cheeks as Rinea stands, frozen mid dance, gaze caught in amber.

"I, ah, forgive me-" she fumbles to right herself into a stance more proper, face still flushed with embarrassment. "Did you need something within this room? I will get out of your way, then."

[katsukisbeatingheart]

capella and rigel

au where you don’t see color until you meet your soulmate. they come to you one at a time the longer you’re together.

word count: 2,530

a.n.: you guys are BREAKING MY HEART you’ve been so sweet and receptive with the last one ( sing to me ) im such a mess ( ´༎ຶv༎ຶ`) i SEE YOU i WILL kiss you i am not playing. anyway!! im posting these soulmate works in an order backwards from which i started - which is funny, because that way it goes from least angstish to most. 

here are the others!

Shinso

Sero

Bakugou

ao3

When the blue exploded, you weren’t ready for your world to change with a rushing suddenness. You were blindsided with the odd experience of a first time that felt like memory.

First off, you didn’t know how you knew blue would be it, but you did.

When someone told you that’s what color that sweater you liked to wear all the time was, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color some of your favorite fruits were, you just knew. When someone told you that’s what color the sky was, you just knew.

When someone told you that’s what color the ocean was—because it reflected the sky—you cried because you just knew.

There was something revelatory of such a relationship—the rhapsodic truth that two forces of nature could be reflections of the other, even with completely opposing standpoints.

In your greyscale vacuum, you were none the wiser to a life that could promise that yet. From a young age, you hoped and prayed for that day to come, until it became a hapless strain of static that took a backseat to growing up.

In general, you hadn’t known what to expect; you imagined that cats were probably the color of sprinkles on ice cream, trees were balloons floating in the air, and pavements were the color of spring. When you looked up to the night, you thought that stars might be like lighting a candle. You thought that might mean yellow.

And even when it was so dark, you hoped the sky would still be blue.

It tore through every crevice of your vision, crowding your sight and singeing your senses.

Blue wasn’t supposed to come to you in a maelstrom on a previously peaceful Sunday morning. It wasn’t supposed to burn through the pages of one of your favorite books, or weld your utensils together.

It was supposed to bump into you on a tramline station, at a park, in a crowd, and then apologise quickly; it was supposed to be in widening eyes and stuttering breaths that gave you a name you’d knew like an old friend you had yet to meet.

It wasn’t supposed to be in so much pain.

It wasn’t supposed to cause any of it, either.

You’re on your back, starry eyed and afraid all at once, suffering the memory of your first time seeing color. It’s burning you, you realize, and the tears evaporate before they touch skin.

Blue fire is attention grabbing—it’s blue, you know it is—and watching it move like you imagined blue waves would was mesmerizing. It soaked the ground with scorch marks, scarring bedlam and terror into the earth.

Your eyes blown wide catch every moment, frozen in blue.

Though, as more of the hue crops up in all different directions, your eyes are suddenly the only part of you that can’t sit still. If the fire does anything else better than burn, it’s cast light—as it throws your vision farther than usual.

You don’t miss a single detail.

The sea of people around you scatter in fear— there’s chaos but you just can’t move—and you’re anchored to the ground like roots of a tree that didn’t get to choose its growing place. You’re trapped somewhere off centre in a spiraling vortex of entropy simultaneously inhaling and granting your newfound freedom.

Across the street in spots on a mailbox, the smallest pieces detailed the metal in cool colored rivets; in the scorching bed along the stone wall cafe lay crisped, blue calla lilies; the delicate hue accented in little flora shaded your spilled and shattered tea glass.

With the proximity of unimaginable heat, noise, and overall calamity shuffling so quickly around you, you felt encased in time. An hourglass tipped in your throat and the scalding sands ran through your veins. The inferno raged on until you noticed your place in it. It spun in a tempest around you and everything melted away.

Your vision shifts and you find the catalyst to be a tall, dark, and lanky shadow of a man. He contrasted the unyielding light—that he was producing, you agnised—to an almost sardonic degree. He held his hands in his pockets and shoulders in a slouch that said all of this was of no consequence, concern, or effort to him. He looked bored.

That is, until he saw you, too.

Freezing blue eyes glistened back at you in a cacophony of emotions.

There’s comprehension, apprehension, indignation—you try to settle on one, though absolutely fruitless with a whirlpool of your own at your feet.

You tried to speak your disbelief, a sense of joy, a simple admission to life, but your voice died on your tongue. The fumes coiled at your throat, still you held your ground. It was all you could do in your dormancy, and it was all you were going to do on the precipice of eruption.

It was like watching someone conduct a hurricane, what he did next.

His hands hummed an unknown melody to the flames, and you watched and waited and listened to the music that poured out if him—quickly becoming a little more afraid at the prospect of becoming an unwittingly unwilling participant from the audience.

However, the coiling and dissipation of the blue told you that this was the grand finale, and in a voiceless and motionless dance, he swayed out of sight under the haze of blue hellfire—so searing it was cold to the touch.

•.•.•.

When the heroes arrived, the police whisked you away to take your statement and check for injuries. It was like talking—and mostly listening—through a thick pane of glass, though. You said very little, and perceived even less.

What were you going to do? Include in your witness report that the perpetrator was your soulmate? That fact alone changed everything, and you knew that if you were to speak up about it now, the authorities would take you in. You weren’t about to be used as an asset when you had barely any time to process the truth yourself.

Everything was running smoothly, until the heroes came around to check on the injured. An expressionless man with two-toned hair and a nasty scar over his eye stepped before you, an ‘Are you alright?’ soft on his lips, contrasting the sternness in his features.

You took one look at the color of his left eye and fainted against the ambulance doors.

•.•.•.

Waking in a sweating bundle on your bedcovers was not a good way to end the day. It skewed your sense of reality, and you had to wrestle away the idea that the whole thing might have been a dream. The headache didn’t help, but it was proof you know what you saw. And what you were currently seeing.

A lot of everything else was still in greyscale, but your eyes weren’t lying to you as you took in your room. Blue comic books, pens, decals, posters, pictures; the laundry overflowed your basket, spilling in a pile of blue onto your carpet.

Blue eyes in the corner of your room.

“What did you see?” you whispered. He’s there like the shade of gossamer window curtains, a figureless concept of existence, and yet you speak knowing he’s suddenly the most solid thing there.

“You.”

You inhaled sharply, barely a pinprick to the weight in the room.

“You know that’s not what I mean. I’m not a color.”

“You were the brightest thing there. Might as well have been.”

“Impossible,” you laughed, waving your hand absently to dismiss your incredulity. “You set everything on fire.”

“Makes no difference,” he affirmed in a tone that sounded rich, drawled, and deep like molasses and a smoky room. There was silence as his voice drizzled along your skin, a safe distance in the uncertainty. It doesn’t break, even when you speak the opposite of what you should be uncertain about.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Yet here I am.”

There’s a flutter by your open window, and you unfold yourself from your stagnant place on your bed. Without argument, you wisp to its side, facing the world like it was unchanged.

His presence is permeable next to you, yet you were sure you had never felt anything as real.

Everything and nothing was the same.

“What do you see?”

“Still you.”

You glance to the side and see an almost facetious simper gliding across his features, even though you knew he was probably being anything but flippant.

“Dabi.”

He shifted almost imperceptibly, coiling with the dark to a time and space closer. He smelled like amber pine and sawdust, collecting evening dew.

“So you do know who I am.”

You picked at the peeling paint along the sill. It was still white.

“I follow the news. I’ve seen your face stuck to faded alley posters.”

“Now what would you be doing in alleyways?” He chuckled lowly through thinly veiled, amused bewilderment.

So he didn’t know who you were.

Just as well, it wasn’t like you lived a life of any consequence.

Truth was, you were simply a curious person with an awkward and clumsy sense of direction—finding yourself on adventures you could easily get yourself out of, only with a little time, effort, and backtracking. Even though you’d much rather see it through to the end, no matter how dark, twisted, or ugly.

The truth wasn’t meant to be pretty.

But he didn’t need to know that.

And if this were to keep up anyway, he’d find out soon enough.

You peered at him through your eyelashes and his shape almost disappeared. Instead, you leaned forward into the open world, trying to catch life as it moved below you. Your eyes spotted grass and trees, and you gasped before you could stop yourself.

“They’re green.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You turned your head to face him, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’ve never seen green before.”

He’s quiet as he stares at you. He had leaned against the wall beside you, hip and head propped like he wouldn’t rather be looking anywhere else. You stare back softly, still not used to the visceral experience in eye contact.

“What do you see?” he asks like holding glass. You’re tempted to keep it to yourself for at least a day longer—safeguard the truth like you were the only one in the world who could see colors. An innocent secret you’d never have to share with anybody.

And yet here was a thread presented to you by the universe, asking to be pulled from the tangle.

You looked at his frayed edges and twisted knots, feeling your own pull tighten like a lifeline.

“Blue,” you breathe. He’s beside you now, angled to the open window, eyes still burning answers and questions—so many questions—across your very surface.

You both stretch out, casting your eyes up to the night sky, in your own world like he wasn’t who he was and you weren’t who you were. Collected in a jar of your own making, you spill your breath across the open air, and he’s there with you like a pooling splash of ink you don’t want out. Oh, the memories you could write with him.

“So these are the stars, huh?” his tone hasn’t lifted from that tedium, but he talks like he’s standing among them.

Tears prickled the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t tell whether from happiness or nostalgia or disappointment or confusion or another nameless thing—you only knew that you were looking at the stars. You were looking at the night sky and suddenly seeing the stars, and—

“Some of them are blue.”

Dabi traces the bottom hemline of your sweater with his thumb, breathing clearer air than he had in a long, long time.

“There’s yellow up there, too.”

The tears spill down your cheeks, but his hand is there to catch them with cracked fingertips.

“You know,” you begin with a small sniffle, “I don’t remember the night being this… luminous.” His face splits in to a grin.

“That’s your fault.”

You roll your eyes, peeling back to lightly shove against his arm. You had barely touched him, but his heart beats as though he’d been caught in an earthquake. He’s unsteady, and grows more and more terrified by the second of the anchor in your eyes. He’s not strong enough to try and move it.

You watched him pull back, startled by the alertness in his movements. He sweeps his legs up and over the side, perched on the windowsill as though he made to jump through it.

“You’re leaving?”

“I thought you were the one who said I shouldn’t be here,” he grinned, though not without that bitter glint in his already harshly blue eyes. Your lip finds its place pulled between your teeth.

“I think there are still some things I want to see.” You glance to the side, searching for words in the spots of color blooming along the edges of your world. “With you.”

Dabi bridges small gaps between you two—some rickety and many burnt, but still there—leaving space for you to jump ship. His fingers brush warm trails across the skin of your face again, like forfeiting a whittling candelabrum to the shaking hands of a blind man.

You suppose someone like him defies all laws, even the ones of the natural world as he ghosts down the siding of the building, just another wandering shade looking for its way back.

In a day of unforseens, you try and convince yourself that it was the stars that got to you. It’s easier to place blame on things you can’t control, and part of you feels liberated knowing this was just not one of those things you were meant to expect. You let your hopes and predictions solidify the labyrinthian ground you walk on.

But as you lean through the window, you call out to him and realize you’re swallowing your assumptions like antifreeze.

“Wait!”

His head turns to the side to catch you pouring out of your mundane and into his living underworld.

“You have to come back.” The yellow on your sweater burns into your irises, and he has never been more wary of his place in the universe. Especially when it glows back at him through the eyes of a future he didn’t know he even had.

“I want to know what sunrises look like.”

The tempest in him glares up at the beacon your window—no—you provide and he feels a weird, opposing sense of mitigation and incertitude. A ubiquitous tangibility his first instinct declares a malignant impediment.

Still, he can’t help but feel as though a tide were in the process of crashing his lifeboat—a stray piece of driftwood—on to obscure shores.

That can’t be all that much of a bad thing, he considers.

With a small, barely there and imperceptibly honest smile, he places a two fingered tap to the crown of his forehead—throwing an ignition to the wind in a quiet promise.

The light fades, and you clutch the matchstick, watching the blue disappear with him into the dark of night.

[goatbi]

The Riverbank Chapter Sixteen

Tommy only had a passing thought that Canopus was dragging them into a trap. Canopus had clung to Rigel as tightly as Tommy used to cling to G-Man after nightmares. Canopus cared for Rigel too much for them to lead the two of them into a trap like this. Rigel, on the other hand, was too good to think, even for a moment that Arcturus was in the right. Tommy was sure of that, one hundred percent.

Canopus led them down the halls carefully, though rather quickly. Tommy couldn’t fully tell where they were going, unable to find the trail of them, but Canopus seemed to pick up on it. G-Man, after a moment, did as well, leaving Tommy a bit in the dark. 

Not literally, of course. With how hot his anger burned, it was far easier to just let his light burn across his skin, a bit too much for G-Man, at his side, to be able to completely dampen. Not that G-Man was trying anyways. G-Man knew how hard it was to get Tommy angry, and how much it took to get him truly pissed off. The fire at the center of his soul was bright, one of the brightest that G-Man had ever seen in life. Angry, it was too much for the human form that they took on to contain. 

So Tommy was their light. Even with Canopus being another star, Tommy outshone them. 

There was a door. Canopus’s eyes darted around a moment, before shaking their head. “Bastard led us basically in a circle. We’re still close to the others, so be careful.” The two nodded, and Canopus pushed open the door, ducking out of the way rather quickly, leaving Tommy the first to step in. He did so with no hesitation, eyes landing on Capella across the room, hands glowing near white, eyes locked onto Tommy’s. Arcturus wasn’t seen yet, but G-Man seemed to know, eyes locking onto a force just past Capella, as if he was using Capella as a shield. 

Tommy felt his own heat burn hotter, skin bubbling against his own body, though it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, not to him. It was more like coming home to a place he hadn’t seen in a long time. He really should use his own abilities more often, Tommy began to realize, as his skin seemed to flare out of his shoulder, and Tommy grinned slightly. Capella seemed almost unnerved at this, but Arcturus melted from the shadows, hand on Capella’s shoulder, and it shook itself, and leaped at Tommy all at once. 

He lost sight of G-Man and Canopus at once, focusing all in on Capella. Capella, hands glowing white, slamming into him full force. The room shook, as two stars collided, skin burning against each other, though neither really felt the pain of it. Tommy let his eyes go white, and it gave Capella enough pause for Tommy to send a knee up into it’s stomach, forcing it back so that Tommy could bounce away, light on his feet and grinning, away from the wall. 

It shook off the shock, solar flare ripping free from it’s chest, Tommy just barely dancing out of the way, bouncing on his tip toes as his fire only grew warmer. How hot could he go? Tommy didn’t know. He had never found an upper limit to his abilities, never pushed them like that before, never had the reason to do it. This might just be his reason, but he didn’t really want to kill anyone, forcing his anger down enough to focus on Capella. 

“We don’t need to fight. Just tell us what you want.” Tommy’s voice layered, echoing over itself, piling over itself, and Tommy found himself a bit surprised. That didn’t often happen. Capella seemed shocked as well, eyes darting between him and Arcturus. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Well I do!” Capella slammed itself at him again, and Tommy caught it’s hands in his own, burning white hot, and Capella’s eyes went wide, jerking back suddenly, staring down at it’s hands in shock, where smoke curled from the slightly burned skin across it’s knuckles. Tommy had burnt it. 

“Please.” He pleaded again, eyes darting up behind it just in time to watch G-Man fling Arcturus back across the room, though Arcturus seemed completely unbothered by this fact, grinning with needle sharp teeth he hadn’t had before. He looked back to Capella, still staring at it’s hands in shock. “Please. Tell me what I can do to help-” 

“Why do you side with that thing?” Capella asked, eyes darting towards Tommy. He frowned at this. “A black hole is nothing but blackness and pain, they cause nothing but tragedy, why, when it stole you away from your constellation, do you think that it’s good?” 

And Tommy paused, blinking slowly. “Capella...” It flinched back at it’s own name, eyes going wide. “G-Man... my dad tried to get rid of me.” 

Capella’s eyes went wide, going stock still. Tommy brightened, catching it in his light, blocking them from the view of Arcturus, just in case. 

“My dad found me, when I was new. Just barely alive. I was alone. Wandering the cosmos with no constellation to see. I remember it so clearly, when something dark and large came to me, and I lit up, Because this was someone like me, a celestial, and I latched on. G-Man tried, i know that much, to get rid of me. Took me to a constellation he knew existed, and tried to pass me off. They accepted me in, of course, but I fought it, and I fought it hard. Why would they take me away from the only one I knew? And I hurt some people that day. Not badly, not enough for them to be injured permanently, but they chased G-Man down because of it, passed me back.” Capella’s eyes were wide, staring at him in what Tommy could only describe as wonder. “And the moment G-Man picked me back up, I calmed. My dad... didn’t steal me. I chose to be with G-Man, one hundred percent of the time.” 

Capella stayed silent, as if it’s entire worldview as being rewritten in that moment. It looked down at it’s shaking hand’s, tears evaporating the moment they slid from its eyes, but the sentiment stayed the same. 

“I know, you probably had a bad experience with a black hole, but I can promise you, Capella. They are not all like that. G-Man is not like that.” Tommy took a careful step forwards, then another, as Capella stared simply at it’s hands, the burn marks healing carefully after a moment. 

“They were all dead.” It’s voice was flat, and Tommy understood what it meant, but sat silent through it’s explanation anyways. “I left. For just a few moments-” Tommy knew from experience it could range from seconds to years, a few moments with a star. “And when I came back, all I found were the empty husks of stars that I had know as my family. All I knew in that moment had been destroyed, and I watched, from just enough away that it wouldn’t notice me, as the bastard took the life of my final remaining family, draining it and leaving the husk behind like trash, going off in search of others. In that moment... my rage was too much, and I did everything in my power to destroy them.” 

Tommy had carefully moved forwards towards Capella, keeping them hidden in the bright white light from Arcturus’s view, still keeping it in check, until he stood right in front of it. The entire time, Capella didn’t look up. 

“Arcturus saved me. I almost died, I wasn’t strong enough to fight off a black hole that had destroyed my entire family like that, stole it’s energy, but he was. In that moment, he took it down, killed it completely, and saved me. He... he preached to me, told me how to stop this from ever happening again.” 

“The eradication of an entire species.” Tommy said quietly, and Capella laughed darkly, sniffling, finally looking up at him. 

“The only way to stop black holes from hurting more stars like this was to destroy them all, wasn’t it?” It asked, tears flowing just fast enough to make it down to it’s cheek bones before evaporating into the air around them. “Eradicate the threat.” 

“Capella.” Tommy frowned slightly. “How many stars were there in your constellation?” He asked carefully, and Capella shook it’s head. 

“Easily a hundred.” It smiled up at him. “And it killed them all with no mercy.” 

“Capella.” Tommy repeated, and it frowned at him. “How was Arcturus able to defeat a black hole that easily, if it had taken the energy of a hundred stars? More?” 

There was a pause. Capella’s eyes glazed over for a second, and Tommy could almost see it break. “No... no he wouldn’t...” 

“You and I both know it’s the only way.” He said gently, one hand coming up to rest of it’s shoulder, and Capella sobbed, shaking, collapsing to the floor as the realization that the black hole was not the cause of its family’s death hit it all at once. Tommy sunk down with it, arms coming up and around it’s shoulders, and they rocked, as Capella’s voice broke. 

“Arcturus... Arcturus said he loved me.” It whispered in a crackling voice, and Tommy smiled sadly, one hand coming up to it’s hair, clinging. 

“He lied.”