#shifting to aurora cycle

[morningstar-chronicles]

rules - aurora cycle DR

i can't die prematurely

my loved ones can't die prematurely

no one ever gets seriously sick in a way that can't be cured

there's air in space (won't be suffocating today besties 😌💅)

space is a survivable temperature

my ship never runs out of resources

we never get lost in space

none of us can get infected

none of us can get shot

mine and my crew's wounds are always non-life threatening

i forget my script upon shifting

[halexxsam]

After Heat Ritual

tags: dewdrop/aether, mating bond, possessiveness, fluff, scenting, heat cycle

characters: dewdrop, aether, swiss, rain, phantom, mountain, cumulus, cirrus, aurora, copia, sister imperator

Words: 2456

Read it under the cut or on a03!

Aether woke up to the soft sound of Dew purring, the smaller ghoul’s head in the crook of his neck, his hair spread all around him. His mate had finally fallen asleep around 2am, his heat had hit him hard the past five days, and he had finally cooled down. Being a fire ghoul, Aether was easily able to tell when his mates' heat started and ended. 

Aether ran his hands through the long silver hair, brushing through the knots. Dew kicked up his purr, leaning into his mate’s touch. Aether chuckled, his mate could be so adorable sometimes, when he wanted to. 

“C’mon hun, I know you’re awake.” Aether poked him in the cheek, earning himself a soft growl. “I’ll get you into a nice bath, wash your hair, even make you a nice breakfast.”

Eventually, the fire ghoul crawled out of his nest and followed his mate into their bathroom. The tub was filled, steam filling the air. Dew could smell the sandalwood essence, it crept into his bones and drew him to submerge himself in the boiling water. 

Aether turned to his mate, grinning, setting the towel down on the toilet seat. “Didn’t wanna wait for me, huh?” 

Dew moved his tail from the warm bath, the spade flicking Aether in the ankle. “Alright then, enjoy your boiling bath honey. I’ll put some fresh sheets on the nest.” 

Dew grumbled out a response, before sinking farther back into the bath. Once a water ghoul, always a water ghoul. 

Eventually Dew padded out of the bathroom, his hair in two dutch braids, almost reaching his lower back. “Hi,” he muttered out, fiddling with the towel hanging around his waist. 

Aether smiled, gathering his mate in his arms. “I cleaned the nest, and I set some soft clothes out for you.” He grabbed his hand and sat him on the bed, helping his mate get dressed. Dew started to purr again, his tail wrapping around Aether’s waist, a silent thank you. 

“Pack,” Dew mumbled, pulling a shirt over his head, it was Mountain’s, he knew that because he was swimming in it. 

Aether laughed, grabbing Dew’s hand, twirling him around and picking him up. His small mate fit perfectly in his arms, his legs wrapping around his waist and arms around his neck, head lying on his shoulder. 

He left the ghoul dormitories and headed to their den, a big blanket draped over him, almost entirely covering Dew from anyone’s view. Which was good, because his stubborn mate refused to put on his mask after his heat. 

Opening the door to the den, Aether could see almost his entire pack. It was Sunday, the one day a week where the ghoul’s weren't expected to do anything for the Ministry. Even the siblings were told to avoid the dormitory, along with the lake and the greenhouse. However, that never stopped few from straying, trying to catch a glimpse of the ghouls in their devilish state.

Swiss was lying on the couch, his feet on Rain’s lap, both of which were watching some documentary on the TV. Mountain was sitting in the love seat, a book in his hands. Phantom was sitting on the floor, his head right up against Swiss’ side, a controller in his hands as he played Mario Kart. Aether could hear the girls in the kitchen, probably making them some food. 

“There he is!” Swiss exclaimed, his hand running through Phantom’s hair. Dew gave a small chirp in response. 

“Hi Dewy,” Rain said, shifting slightly to try and get a peak at the fire ghoul from under his blanket. He watched him shift in Aether’s arm, murmuring something he couldn’t quite pick up. 

“He wants you, Rain. That alright?” He asked, stepping closer to the water ghoul. Rain nodded, shoving Swiss’ feet off his lap, earning himself a soft growl from the multi-ghoul. Rain smacked him on the leg with the tip of his tail. 

Aether all but dropped his mate on the water ghoul, Dew quickly straddling him and burying his face into their neck. Rain cooed, his hand coming up to grasp the scruff of his neck. Dew melted a bit more, a soft trill coming from him as he settled. 

Aether made his way over to Mountain, claiming the spot next to him. The earth ghoul smiled softly, settling his book down and pulling the other ghouls feet into his lap. Aether let out a pleased sigh. He loved helping his mate with his heat, but being surrounded by his whole pack again was nice. He didn’t have to be the only one on guard anymore, knowing he could trust his pack to watch over his mate. 

Almost like Mountain knew what he was thinking, he patted his leg to grab his attention. Aether gave a soft sound in reply, his eyes already feeling heavy. 

“We’ve got him, Aeth. We’re all here, nothin’s gonna happen to him.” Aether growled softly, his instincts still driving him to protect his mate, but he was so tired, and being surrounded by his pack, in their den, it was hard to keep his eyes open. Mountain tsked, pulling on his element and letting a bit of lavender permeate through the air. 

Aether was out like a light after that. 

The girls came out of the kitchen with handfuls of food, settling them down on the table. A closer look revealed it was all of Dew’s favorites after his heat. Cumulus pulled Dew off Rain and held him in her lap, all the girls hand-feeding him food. 

A knock from the den door stopped them, everyone’s hackles raised, Mountain letting out a low growl. With Aether asleep, it was up to him to protect their den. Reaching the door, he recognized the scent of the person on the other side, letting out a soft trill to alert his pack that everything was okay. 

“My Ghoul, is now a bad time?” Copia asked, standing still at the entryway, dressed in casual clothes, no paint on his face. 

“Um,” Mountain said, turning his head to his pack, watching how they reacted, “Yeah, yeah, come on in. Aeth is asleep, Dew is with the girls.” 

Swiss had come up behind Mountain, he was unglamored, and reached out to grab his Papa by the waist, his tail wrapping around him. 

“Hi Papa,” Swiss said, pulling him closer, leaning in to him, a pleased chirp coming from the ghoul. He went and sat back down next to Rain.

“I showered and put on a fresh set of clothes, dear. I learned from last time.” He laughed, gaining happy trills from the rest of the pack. 

“How’s my Dewdrop doing?” Copia asked, coming over to him, putting a hand on his back, rubbing slightly. 

Dew chirped, removing his head from Cirrus’ neck. “Papa.” 

“I’m here, love. You know I’d always come and check on you,” He murmured. “Can I do anything for you?” 

Aether started to stir, the scent of a human, even his Papa, was able to pull him out of his sleep, his instincts still high. 

“Um, Papa, I need you to come over here to me, quickly.” Mountain said, not taking his eyes off Aether. “Now.” 

Copia stepped away from Dew, making his way over to Mountain, watching Aether open his eyes, his fingers already sparking some of his quintessence. Copia’s eyes widened when he heard a low, dominant growl come from behind him. 

He froze, knowing all too well that it was Aether. He watched as Swiss came over to him, grabbing his wrists and rubbing them against his cheeks, and even nuzzling his neck. He realized that it was Swiss’ way of covering him in his scent as to ease Aether. 

“Aether, it's just Papa, here to see you and Dew,” Rain said, looking at Aether from the other couch. It didn’t make his growl stop, but it did get quieter, Rain being the most soothing of the ghouls. 

“Dew,” Aether growled, trying to get away from Mountain. 

Upon hearing his mate’s voice, the fire ghoul jumped away from Cirrus and crawled into his mate’s arms, purring just enough for his mate to hear. Breathing in his mate’s scent, Aether saw that he was fine and they were surrounded by their pack in their den. It took him a minute, arms wrapped tightly around the fire ghoul before his eyes cleared, returning to their normal state. 

“I-I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to–” Aether started, embarrassed that he let himself act like that towards his leader, and ashamed he didn’t have more trust in his pack. 

“Sh, it’s alright. I might not know all about how you all interact and such, but I do know Dew just went through a vulnerable week, your behavior is understandable.” He said, staying next to Mountain. “I can come back if that would be better for you.” 

Dew made an unhappy noise, cutting his purring short. Aether couldn’t have that. Dew didn’t purr often, not even with just the two of them. He would do anything to keep hearing it. 

“No, stay. You’re also pack, I’m sorry about my response.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down Dew’s back. Settling down again, Dew started a soft purr. 

Copia came to sit on the couch, Swiss having moved down to the floor to join Phantom in his video game. Rain grinned at his Papa before throwing his legs over his lap. Copia put his hands on the ghoul’s leg, a calming, grounding touch. Rain started to let out a happy trill. 

“What is that noise that you guys can make?” Copia asked, pointing to Aether and Dew, both purring softly. 

“We actually can make a bunch of different noises, all meaning different things.” Mountain said, pointing towards the mated pair next to him. “The sound they're making right now? That’s a purring sound.” 

“What does it mean?” He posed. “I want to learn about it, all of them.”

“Um, it's usually a sign of content, happiness. It kind of varies, not all of us do it, or do it often. It depends a lot on the situation and emotions.” 

“Interesting. So, those two. What does it mean now?” Mountain smiled at his Papa, excited to talk about this with someone who actually wanted to know about them. 

Rain laughed softly, giving Swiss a soft nudge to bring his attention to Mountain and their Papa. 

“Well, Dew just finished his heat, and he gets very cuddly afterwards with all of us. He doesn’t purr often, we rarely get to hear it. He is happy right now, still feeling euphoric from the end of his heat.” He smiled, running a hand down Dew’s back, his purr kicking up a bit. 

“Dew also goes a bit non-verbal after his heat. We all rely on the different sounds he makes to judge how he is doing.” Mountain flicked an unglamored ear towards Dew, listening for a minute. 

“He is happy right now, relaxed. Having Aether with him and being able to smell all of us, also being content, makes him feel better, safer. Lets him know that we are here to protect him if anything happens.” 

Copia nodded, smiling at the fact his ghoul was so happy at the moment. “And what about Aether? He’s purring too?” 

“Yeah he is. Aether only purrs for Dew. For mates, it’s a sign of trust, of love. It’s Dew’s way of telling Aether he appreciates him for helping him with his heat, telling him that he loves him and is thankful for him.” 

Dew made a soft noise, moving himself closer into Aether’s side. Almost showing off to Copia, Rain thought. 

Mountain stretched, leaving the couch to grab one of the sandwiches the girls made. He shoved the place towards Copia, letting him know they were there for him, too. 

“Thank you, Mountain.” Copia said, grabbing something off the plate. 

Mountain hummed, finishing his sandwich before continuing. “Aether purrs in response to Dew. Typically, it’s seen as a submissive gesture, and Aether responds in tune because he is happy that his mate is so…” Mountain stopped, not quite knowing what to say next. 

“Come on, Mounty, you can say it.” Swiss laughed, knowing what he was planning to say. 

Mountain growled out in response, causing Swiss to laugh again. “He wants to say submissive, Papa. Aether is happy that Dew is submitting to him, openly, in-front of all of us.” 

Copia blushed, looking anywhere but Mountain and the mated ghoul’s. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. It also is a calming gesture. Aether’s purr makes Dew feel safe and happy. Knowing that everything is okay.” 

“That’s actually really sweet. My sweet little ghouls.” Copia said, looking over all of them. “Do you all purr, then?”

“We actually all can, it's just a matter of choice.” Cumulus starts, “The only one out of us who doesn’t like to purr is Cirrus, actually.” 

Copia turned his head to her, a questioning look on his face. She just shrugged back in response, a smile on her lips. 

Copia laughed a bit, relaxing into the couch. Phantom and Swiss stopped their video games, Aether’s quintessence having slipped into the air making them tired, wanting the touch of their packmates. 

Copia watched as Dew eventually began to stir, making new noises he was sure would be explained to him. He watched as all the ghouls sat up a bit straighter, Mountain’s eyes tracked to the door of the den. Copia watched silently. 

He watched Dew pull away from Aether and scan the den, smiling when he noticed everyone was here. He watched as the pack, one by one, made their way over to Dew. He watched as everyone of them trailed their hands over Dew, marking their scent on him, as well as marking his on them. He heard them chirp and trill, relishing in the touch of every other. 

He thinks back to when he became Papa, remembering the speech Sister Imperator gave him about commanding the ghouls, and having to do so with an iron fist. 

“These are hellish demons, never to be mistaken for anything else. They can glamor themselves and act human, yes, but they are demons, never forget that. They will be loyal to you, not because they want to, but because they must.” 

But sitting with his ghouls, watching them as they checked over one of their own, the ways in which they all took care of each other…Copia knew that Sister had the ghouls all wrong. They were demons from hell, yes, but they were also sweet beings. Copia knew then and there that he would do anything to keep his ghouls from being sent back to the pit.

[lonewolfinthetardis]

Wait what's that? Oh that's right, I'm also a Ghost blog!

My Ghoul headcanons! With a few I've picked up from other posts. Also, spot the Avatar (James Cameron) inspired hcs. Basic hcs

Ghouls are pack creatures. They love being together, whether it's laying around together in a Ghoul Pile, playing games, or just doing tasks around the ministry.

Packs seem like giant polycules to outsiders, but they're much more complicated than that.

The Ghouls love teasing the Siblings of Sin.

They're extremely loyal to their Papa.

When on tour, they will wear enchanted amulets that shift their appearance to appear human. This has been named "glamour".

Sometimes packs will sleep in "piles". This is usually to keep bonds strong or simply for comfort.

Ghouls mate for life, partners basically bond their life forces together.

Ghouls can mate and bond with more than one individual. This can include other ghouls and humans. Biology hcs

All Ghouls have varying shades of grey skin and spaded tails (although Water Ghouls normally have fins on their tails). They also have claws on both their hands and feet, toe pads, horns, rough forked tongues, and sharp teeth.

Their tails and ears are very expressive.

Their tails are prehensile.

Water Ghouls have "ripple" or "water like" markings, usually a shade of grey darker than their skin. They also have webbed hands and feet, finned ears, and gills.

Ghouls have a superb sense of smell, sight, and hearing. Each Ghoul has their own specific scent, that all other Ghouls can smell and recognise them by. They will also memorise smells from their favourite humans (this can include human mates).

Packmates are connected to each other via telepathy. They can tap into each other's emotions, and can talk to each other through this strong connection.

Their eyes glow in the dark. They usually have a slight glow normally, but at night they're pretty bright.

Each Ghoul can tap into the magic connected to their element, or elements.

All Ghouls have a thin layer of fur on their chest, back, biceps, and down their backs to their tail.

They all go through a type of cycle, no matter their gender.

During the colder months, the thin layer of fur they have will grow thicker. It's very soft and fluffy, but dense. Although Quintessence and Air Ghouls have a thicker coat of fur all year long. Air Ghouls have the softest fur, almost cloud like in a way. While Quintessence Ghouls have coarse, stiff fur. Ghoul Scents (Prequelle and Impera Ghouls, including my OC)

Dewdrop: Wood smoke

Aether: A soft, pleasant incense. One that doesn't tickle your nose or cause you to cough

Rain: Petrichor

Swiss: Crushed rosemary

Mountain: He smells like a greenhouse: That delicous wet warmth smell

Glacier (my OC): A warm, windy day with a hint of orange

Cirrus: Ozone

Cumulus: A cold morning wind

Sunshine: Eucalyptus

Aurora: A sea breeze

Phantom: Slightly like sweet beeswax

Teeth hcs (featuring art by me)

Water Ghouls have backwards facing serrations on their fangs, making it extremely difficult for prey to escape. This is also why they don't tend to bite their partners or pack mates.

Earth Ghoul teeth are the most similar to human teeth, the main difference being their overall strength and much longer fangs.

Fire Ghoul teeth have long fangs with sharp teeth on either side of them.

Air Ghoul teeth have a lupine appearance, with sharp incisors and sharp first molars.

Quintessence Ghouls have very sharp, strong teeth that have a sort of "classic monter" look.

Multi Ghoul teeth are a mix of the elements they are connected to (symbols are a mix of all their elemental symbols).

----------- So this is my Ghoul hc master post! I'll most likely create a post about my individual Ghoul headcanons at some point. I'll also be talking about my GhostxTF2 crossover at some point!

[gosuckseamonkeys]

Arid Melancholy - Chapter 4

Summary: Rafayel is captured and endures brutal torture at the hands of an agent of EVER Group intent on exploiting his people’s secrets.

Zayne, Xavier, Sylus and Rafayel must confront their deepest fear, losing you, and fight against an enemy whose ambition threatens their survival.

AN: Apologies in advance for the angst, I've been looking for similar heart wrenching fics on here for a while now before I decided to write my own. Then an evil little idea formed and pulled me reluctantly out of writing retirement.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4....

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚

Chapter 4 - Hallucinations

Burning. He was burning alive.

He didn’t know how long he had been in this wasteland. Hours? Days? 

Time had unraveled, leaving him trapped in an endless cycle of agony. The heat gnawed at him—relentless, merciless—devouring him from the inside out.

His fingers, bruised and raw, clawed at his own skin. He could barely feel it. The pain had dulled into something distant, something worse than suffering—emptiness.

How many of us have they left here to rot?

He couldn’t move. Every attempt sent violent nausea rolling through his gut. His limbs felt like they belonged to someone else—someone broken, someone dying.

When will it be my turn?

Rafayel’s mind fractured under the weight of memories, hallucinations bleeding into reality.

The desert consumed him. The sun overhead turned his flesh to embers, his bones to dust. The sand beneath him was a graveyard of souls, and soon, he would join them—just another forgotten grain tumbling over golden dunes.

Still, he held onto the idea of you. The only thing keeping him from slipping into the void.

My bride…

You stood before him, veiled in gold and teal. His hands—adorned in jewels, stained with blood he could never wash away—trembled as he traced his thumb across your lips.

He pulled you into a searing kiss, one that barely satisfied the flames licking at his very soul.

My queen…

Your voice shaped his name, the syllables a sacred thing. Two broken souls abandoning their kingdoms, reaching for memories as you refused to let him slip away. 

He would choose you in every life, no matter how many times fate tore you from his grasp.  

My heart…

He could almost feel your tender hands cradling his face, the softness of your lips brushing against his. He had always held himself back, terrified of scaring you away with the depth of his hunger.

Beloved…please.

His lips parted, cracked and bloodied, to whisper a single plea—broken, desperate, wrecked.

“Please… don’t leave me.”

Underwater

The colors around you are spellbinding—a symphony of deep teal, lavender, and cobalt blue swirling and pulsing as though alive. They wrap around you like a liquid aurora, undulating in hypnotic rhythms that blur the line between sea and sky. You’re weightless, floating on your back beneath the waves, suspended in a dream where the ocean itself breathes.

The water cradles you, its currents a gentle lullaby that pushes and pulls, spinning you in lazy spirals. Above, faint rays of the setting sun pierce the surface, their golden beams breaking into soft hues of violet and pink that bleed into one another. The shifting palette dances across your skin, stirring something in the deepest corners of your mind—a memory, faint and just beyond your grasp.

The light shifts again, deepening into a molten orange as the sun sinks lower. Shadows stretch and twist, and a sudden chill creeps into the water, curling around you like a warning. 

Night is coming, its approach slow but inevitable, and with it comes a sense of unease. A faint urgency hums in your chest, intangible yet insistent. There’s something you’re supposed to do, somewhere you’re supposed to be—but what?

A glimmer below catches your eye, pulling your gaze downward. Fins—sleek and iridescent. They shimmer like molten silver, moving with a grace that feels both foreign and familiar. You flex them instinctively, and the water parts as you surge forward, exhilarated by the rush of cool liquid sliding past your skin.

But the ocean has gone silent.

The ever-present symphony of life—the whisper of currents, the distant calls of unseen creatures—has vanished, leaving behind an eerie stillness. A heavy quiet presses down on you, thick and suffocating. You stop, your movements halting as a prickle of unease dances along your spine. The silence feels alive, a presence lurking just out of reach.

Then, breaking through the void, a sound.

Faint at first, it ripples through the water like an echo of sorrow—a muffled cry, distant and distorted. You pivot sharply, your pulse quickening, every fiber of your being straining to locate the source. The cry comes again, sharper this time, tugging at something deep inside.

Your gaze snaps upward to the surface, where the fading light of the setting sun casts an otherworldly glow. A voice filters down through the water, faint yet unmistakable. Someone is calling.

You hesitate.

You’re not meant to leave this world, not meant to breach the safety of the sea. But the voice pulls at you, its tone laced with grief, a pain so familiar it feels like your own. Against your better judgment, you flick your tail and propel yourself toward the light above.

The water grows brighter as you ascend, each stroke faster than the last. The voice grows clearer, louder, and more urgent, wrapping around your heart like a plea you can’t ignore.

“Please,” it whispers, the word drenched in despair.

As you break the surface, the air rushes into your lungs, sharp and searing. You gasp, your chest heaving as your body struggles to adjust. The burn is unbearable, a cruel reminder that you don’t belong here. For a moment, the instinct to retreat pulls at you, urging you to sink back into the dark, forgiving depths.

But the voice holds you fast, breaking through the roaring of the waves.

It calls again, clearer now, the desperation in its tone slicing through your pain. “Please…don’t leave me.”

The words pierce the haze of your thoughts, their familiarity anchoring you. You cling to the sound, to the raw, unyielding emotion behind it. The world tilts, the ocean dissolving into fragments of color and light as the voice becomes your only tether to reality.

Consciousness 

The first thing you felt was an ache—a deep, relentless throb in your chest. It wasn’t just pain; it was a hollow, all-consuming emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones, leaving you fragile and broken. Even that ache, though, was muffled, as if your body couldn’t bear the weight of it all.

You tried to move, but even the smallest shift sent a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Your head was pounding, limbs heavy and useless, and even behind closed lids your eyes burned with the effort of existing.

A hand tightened around yours. The sensation was grounding, but it sent a jolt of confusion through your addled mind. Your mouth was dry—parched to the point of pain. When you tried to speak, the sound that escaped was no more than a weak whimper, the cracked remnants of your voice.

With agonizing effort, you forced your eyes open, blinking against the harsh light. The blurred world around you slowly sharpened, though it still felt like a dream you couldn’t wake from. 

Sunlight poured through the windows, casting long shadows and fiery streaks of gold across the room. Against the light stood a dark silhouette, their form hazy and indistinct, a phantom watching over you.

Turning your head to the right, you saw you had a second guardian. His silver hair was disheveled, his shoulders slumped as he clung to your hand like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. When your gaze met his, beautiful blue-gray eyes widened in shock, glistening with unshed tears.

“Get Zayne,” he choked out, his voice trembling with urgency. His warm fingers brushed against your cheek, and you instinctively leaned into the touch, desperate for the comfort it offered. “She’s awake,” he murmured, as though saying it aloud would make it real.

“You’re okay,” Xavier said softly, though his voice cracked. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

The words pierced through the haze, and you exhaled shakily, letting go of the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Xavier?” Your voice was barely audible, raw and strained.

His lips twitched into a sad, fragile smile. “Yeah, honey. It’s me. Don’t try to move, alright?”

Your lips moved to respond, but they were dry and cracked, refusing to cooperate.

“Here, kitten.” The figure by the window stepped forward, his imposing form now visible in the fading sunlight. Sylus held a cup to your lips, his carmine eyes filled with worry. “Take small sips. Don’t overdo it.”

The cool water soothed the fire in your throat, and you gratefully met his gaze. “Sylus…” you rasped. “What happened?”

His hand lingered at your bedside, brushing loose strands of hair from your damp forehead. “You’ve been through hell, kitten. But you’re here now. That’s what matters.” His voice was gentle, but his jaw clenched, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. “What do you remember?”

You closed your eyes, grasping at fragmented memories that slipped through your fingers like sand. “I… we were at work…”

Xavier’s voice broke through, calm yet coaxing. “That’s good. What else, sweetheart?”

Before you could answer, the door burst open, and Zayne stormed in. His hair still damp from a rushed shower, shirt hastily thrown on, and face etched with desperation.

“Why didn’t you call me right away?” His voice strained as he stared at you, his hazel eyes brimming with worry.

“She’s only been awake for a few minutes,” Sylus said, stepping between the two of you as though to shield you from Zayne’s frantic energy.

Zayne ignored him, shoving past to kneel by your bedside. His hands trembled as he took yours, his breath shaky. “Hey…” His voice faltered, “How are you feeling? Are you… are you in pain?”

“Chest hurts,” you whispered, the admission barely audible.

“I’m sorry,” Zayne murmured. His fingers brushed over the back of your hand as though trying to anchor you—and himself. “I’ll fix it. Just give me a second.”

You watched in silence as he prepared an injection, the small syringe in his steady hands. “This will help,” he said softly as he pressed it into your IV. “You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

���Do you remember what happened?” Zayne’s voice was gentle but urgent.

Images flashed through your mind: the warmth of a beautiful dress, the cold gleam of ivory statues, vibrant paintings. And then—purple hair, eyes like lavender and roses. 

His screams tore through your memory.

“Where’s Rafayel?” The words tumbled out in a frantic whimper, tears welling in your eyes.

The room fell silent, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. Sylus and Xavier exchanged a glance, and Zayne’s expression darkened.

“We’re close,” Sylus finally said, his voice soft but firm. “We’ll get him back.”

Your chest tightened with panic. “What do you mean? Where is he?” You tried to sit up, but agony erupted in your chest, and Zayne’s hands pressed you firmly back into the bed. 

“I need you to relax,” Zayne said, holding you steady. “You were shot two days ago. Do you remember the exhibit?”

“They took him from me,” you choked out, tears spilling over.

“We’ll get him back,” Sylus promised again. But even as he spoke, the fear for you in his eyes betrayed him. 

Sylus placed his hand on your other shoulder, his firm grip joining Zayne’s, while Xavier stood silently at the foot of the bed, poised to intervene if necessary.

“Sweetie, I promise we’ll tell you everything as soon as we know more,” Sylus said gently. “Right now, you need to heal. Your condition—”

“They’re hurting him,” you sobbed, your voice rising in anguish. “He’s so scared… I have to find him! Please!”

Sylus glanced at Zayne, shaking his head solemnly.

“Darling, stop,” Zayne begged, cupping your face in his hands. “You’ll hurt yourself. Please don’t make me sedate you—I can’t lose you again.” His voice was broken and pleading.

“He’s right,” Xavier said quietly, his voice heavy with unspoken grief. You turned to him where he was standing at the foot of the bed. His expression was strained, his usual stoicism fracturing, revealing a vulnerability that made your heart clench.

“When I saw you at the gallery…” He hesitated, his breath hitching as he struggled to speak. His hands trembled at his sides, and his eyes—those usually steady, composed eyes—shone with a sorrow that threatened to consume him. “They had to… you were dead.”

The word fell like a stone between you, cold and unforgiving. His voice wavered on the last syllable, shaking with the weight of the memory. “They had to bring you back. I watched them do it…” His voice trailed off into a haunted whisper.

Your breath caught as his words pierced through your chest, more painful than the lingering ache from your injuries. You shook your head in protest, but the truth loomed over you, undeniable and suffocating. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as the enormity of it all pressed you into the pillows, leaving you hollow and defeated.

“Do you trust me?” Sylus’ voice cut through the suffocating silence like a lifeline. It was steady, firm, and unyielding—a single constant in the sea of uncertainty.

You turned your head toward him, meeting his crimson gaze. It burned with intensity, his resolve like a flame that refused to be extinguished.

“Always,” you sobbed, the word barely audible over your ragged breaths.

“Then let me do what I do best.” His tone was resolute, leaving no room for doubt. His hand rested on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the midst of your spiraling despair. Slowly, his thumb moved in soothing circles, trying to chase away the tension knotted in your muscles. “I won’t rest until we’ve found him.”

His promise hung in the air, but it felt as fragile as glass—one wrong move, and it would shatter.

Your gaze flicked between the three men standing around you, each of them carrying their own burden of guilt, fear, and desperation. The weight of their devotion left you breathless. 

With a faint, bittersweet smile, you shook your head in disbelief, tears still streaking your face. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you all agreed on something.”

Zayne lowered himself into the chair beside you, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. The raw love in his gaze made your chest ache all over again. “For you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I think we’d do just about anything.”

And in that moment, the truth of his words was undeniable. What terrified you most wasn’t their willingness to fight—it was the growing fear that it still wouldn’t be enough.

“Rafayel…” you whispered your lover’s name under your breath, willing your intentions into the bond that stretched between you. “Hold on, we’re coming. Don’t you dare die on me…”

Double Trouble

The twins tore down the highway in the sleek black Aston Martin, Kieran at the wheel, pushing the engine at least fifty miles over the speed limit.

“We’ll have to ditch it about five miles from the facility,” Luke muttered, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolled through the details the boss had sent that morning. “We should’ve picked something less conspicuous.”

“Does the Boss even own anything inconspicuous?” Kieran snorted, his grip tightening on the wheel as they blew past the sign for their exit. “Besides, he never lets us take the fun ones out. He said to get there fast, so… I picked something fast. We’re almost there. What are we walking into?”

Luke glanced up briefly before returning to his screen. “Looks like an abandoned agricultural processing plant that EVER Group repurposed a few years back.” He scrolled further. “Actually, scratch that—they bought out the whole damn town. Whatever they’re running, it’s big.”

“What kind of resistance?” Kieran asked, his voice shifting to something sharper as he veered onto the off-ramp.

“If it’s EVER, expect the unexpected. For an operation this size, I’d guess at least a hundred employees, maybe a fifth of them security.” Luke tilted his head toward a cluster of distant buildings. “That’s it up there. There should be an old farmhouse on the right—we’ll stash the car there and walk the rest.”

Kieran nodded, eyes locked on the road as they closed in. The farmhouse loomed ahead, a relic of a forgotten time, standing in the midst of overgrown fields. He pulled into the lot, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

“Get the barn door open,” he ordered. “I’ll tuck the car inside.”

Luke hopped out, yanking the rusted door aside. The Aston Martin purred forward into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

Kieran stepped out, checking his knives with quick, practiced movements before turning to his brother. “What time’s sunset?”

“7:15,” Luke murmured, glancing up at the darkening sky through the eyeholes of his mask. “We’ve got twenty minutes. Let’s move, stick to the fields. Boss said if we’re caught, we’ll be on our own until they come for the artist.”

“Race you?” Kieran grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Luke scoffed. “You know I’m faster. Why even try?”

Without warning, Kieran swept Luke’s legs out from under him and bolted for the cornfields. “Not today you’re not!” he called over his shoulder.

Luke swore, scrambling to his feet and taking off after him.

It took them twenty minutes to reach the edge of the property, the dense fields keeping them concealed. Luke pulled out a pair of binoculars and handed them to Kieran, who scanned the buildings for an entry point.

“Blueprints show Buildings A and B are mostly office space,” Luke whispered, scrolling through the plans. “C is for material drop-offs and sorting, D is for treatment—whatever that means—E and F are storage and loading.”

“So we’re looking at D or E,” Kieran muttered, lowering the binoculars. “My money’s on E.”

“Agreed,” Luke said. “But let’s check C to be safe. A and B are probably just paper-pushers.” He glanced up as the last sliver of sunlight faded, plunging the facility into shadow. The once-busy parking lot had mostly emptied, leaving only about twenty scattered cars and a handful of trucks.

“You take C and D. I’ll handle E and F,” Kieran murmured, crouching behind the nearest vehicle.

Luke nodded. “Meet back here in thirty?”

“Race you,” Kieran whispered, flashing a sly grin before melting into the darkness.

The twins split, slipping through the shadows—silent, unseen, and very much up to no good.

Arrival

“Sir, prepare for landing,” the pilot called over his shoulder to the passengers in the back of the Cessna.

The tall man, dressed in an immaculate cream suit, moved with practiced precision, folding his documents into his briefcase before retrieving a cell phone from his breast pocket. With a flick of his thumb, he dialed a familiar number.

“Marcus, I’ll be arriving within the hour.”

A voice on the other end responded, briefing him on the status of their latest acquisition.

He listened, expression unreadable. Then, with quiet finality, he cut in. “That’s all well and good—just make sure he’s coherent by the time I arrive. I don’t like being made to wait.”

Without another word, he ended the call, lifted his tumbler, and swirled the last remnants of amber liquid before downing them in a single motion. He handed the empty glass to his assistant, who took it without question, standing rigidly at his side.

“Are we sure it’s him?” the assistant asked, his voice measured, yet slicing through the thick tension in the cabin like a blade.

The suited man reached into his briefcase, retrieving a glossy photograph. Without looking at it, he passed it over, “See for yourself.”

The image depicted a man with tangled violet hair, chained to the cold floor of one of their facilities, stripped of dignity, of power. A rare specimen.

“We won’t know for certain until I inspect him myself.”

The assistant studied the photo for a moment before tucking it away. “Understood. I’ll prepare for landing.”

A slow, satisfied smile spread across the suited man’s face. “Either way, Marcus has proven himself a valuable asset. We should consider extending his contract.”

“And the brother?” the assistant inquired.

The suited man exhaled, a low hum of amusement under his breath. “As far as we can tell, he’s out of commission. That fire Evol is formidable.”

His grin widened, sharp as the edge of a knife. “If he recovers, he recovers. The blood has already done much to restore him.” He leaned back, folding his hands over his knee. “But leverage is a powerful thing. Now Marcus has a vested interest in ensuring our operation continues. Without further infusions, there’s no guarantee his brother will survive.”

He chuckled, dark and knowing, “Desperation makes men so very… compliant.”

Brothers

Marcus sat beside Bennett, who lay motionless on a pristine white cot. Half of his face was hidden beneath layers of sterile gauze, the bandages stretching down to cover his chest and left arm. He hadn't stirred since the incident at the gallery.

The artist had inflicted third-degree burns that should have killed him. By all rights, he should be dead. And yet, ironically, the very blood the Lemurian had unwillingly sacrificed was the only thing tethering the mercenary to life.

With a measured breath, Marcus rose, retrieving another vial of the life-sustaining substance from his pocket and pressing it into the nurse’s waiting hand. “Administer this at the top of the hour.”

She nodded, tucking the vial away before slipping silently through the door. It clicked shut behind her, leaving Marcus alone with the steady, mechanical rhythm of his brother’s breathing.

He hadn’t wanted to extend his contract. Hadn’t wanted to dig himself deeper into this web of blood and power. But with Bennett’s condition, he had no choice. His brother was the only family he had left, and worse—Bennett was here because of him. Marcus had convinced him to take this job. That made his survival Marcus’ burden to bear.

Exhaling slowly, he pulled his phone from his pocket, the screen flashing with an all-too-familiar name. Their benefactor was due to arrive today, but the firm’s impatience sent an uneasy weight settling in his gut. They wanted to inspect their latest acquisition sooner than expected.

He pressed the call button, bringing the device to his ear.

“Sir,” Marcus answered, his voice carefully neutral.

A brief silence. Then—

“Understood. I’ll have him ready for you.”

Bonded

Rafayel...Hold on, we’re coming.

Rafayel’s heart lurched violently, a raw, searing jolt as the bond pulsed awake for the first time since his capture. His battered body spasmed in response, agony carving through his ribs, his muscles seizing as the mark flared to life against his mangled chest. 

It burned—not just against his flesh, but deep inside his soul, a commanding force pressing its will into his own. For a moment, it was enough to push back the numbing weight of exhaustion, flooding him with a desperate, flickering resolve.

He sucked in a ragged breath, the air sharp and stale, scraping through his lungs like broken glass. His entire being trembled as he choked out a hoarse, disbelieving whisper.

“You’re alive….”

If his body had anything left to give, he would have sobbed. Instead, all he could do was curl onto his side, hunching over the pulse of warmth within him, clinging to it as if it was the only thing tethering him to existence. 

No matter what happened to him, no matter how much more blood he spilled onto these cold, metallic floors, at least he knew you were still breathing. For now, that was enough.

He was so consumed by that fragile, fleeting relief that he didn’t hear the footfalls until it was too late. The door wrenched open with a deafening clang.

Blinding fluorescent light sliced into the darkness, searing his retinas like fire. Rafayel recoiled, his body curling in on itself as a gust of cooler air followed the figures stepping inside. The scent of steel and sweat filled his nose—gunpowder and antiseptic. Footsteps. More than one.

His stomach twisted.

Marcus entered first. Behind him, a suited man moved with calculated ease, his presence heavier than the fleet of armed guards waiting just outside the threshold.

“Turn him over. I need to see his face.” The voice was smooth, clipped, accented. Distant, like a man giving orders at a dinner party.

Rafayel barely had time to brace before a boot came down on his arm, pressing—grinding—against his shattered ribs, forcing a broken, strangled gasp from his lips. Then, with effortless cruelty, Marcus rolled him onto his back.

A whimper slipped free before he could stop it. Shame curled hot in his chest, his body betraying him in ways he could no longer control. His vision blurred, unfocused, and his gaze dragged sluggishly over the faces above him, indistinct shapes against the burning light.

“Well done, Marcus. I’m impressed.” The suited man’s voice was a serpent’s hiss, oozing satisfaction as he clapped Marcus on the shoulder. His smirk cut through the haze.

“How do you feel about—”

Don’t you dare die on me…

Pain flared.

A violent, involuntary convulsion wracked Rafayel’s body, his back arching off the ground as the bond pulsed again, brighter this time. Then reduced to a dim, flickering glow pressed through the tattered remains of his silk dress shirt—what little was left of it after the gallery showing.

The suited man froze. His eyes narrowed, calculation flashing across his features before he knelt beside Rafayel.

“What do we have here?” Fingers prodded at his sternum—cold, invasive, prying. Searching.

Weakly, Rafayel tried to shove them away. He might as well have been swatting at the tide. A sharp backhand cracked across his face, snapping his head to the side. His vision blackened for a second, a high ringing filling his ears.

Then, hands gripped the edges of his collar, tearing.

The last few buttons of his ruined shirt pinged off the floor, the tiny sounds vanishing beneath the rasp of his own ragged breathing. The mark lay exposed now, its glow fading, but unmistakable.

Silence. Then, a slow, creeping smirk.

“You’re bonded.” The words dripped with triumph. A revelation. “That makes things easier.”

Rafayel turned his face away, pressing his cheek into the cold, filthy floor, hiding the raw emotion twisting in his expression. 

He couldn’t let them see.

Couldn’t let them know what you meant to him.

Couldn’t let them see how deeply he loved.

They would rip you from him piece by piece. They would use you, break you, and then dangle whatever remained before him like a noose, waiting for the moment he begged.

He would give them anything.

His life. His people. His last, tattered fragments of dignity.

He had done it before.

What did it matter if he drowned his soul in more blood?

A hollow, rotting sickness curled up his throat. He never should have fought so hard to find you. Never should have clawed his way into your life—your heart. 

“What is that?” Marcus crouched beside him, phone in hand, snapping a picture of the mark. The sound of the shutter was a gunshot to Rafayel’s ears.

The suited man stood, brushing off his hands like he had touched something unpleasant, “Was he with someone when you found him?”

Terror clamped down on Rafayel’s lungs.

No.

No. No, no, no—

Marcus exhaled, unconcerned. “His assistant. And a woman.” He shrugged. “A hunter.”

The suited man stilled. Slowly, he turned, glancing back at Rafayel’s broken form.

“The woman. Where is she?”

Marcus’ answer was careless. “I shot her. Could be dead for all I know. Left her at the scene—I had other priorities.”

“His bonded. His mate.” The suited man tsked and shook his head. “She’s alive.” 

Then, almost amused—almost pleased—he murmured. “Find her, and he’ll beg to tell us where the colonies are.”

Marcus cursed under his breath. Dragged a hand through his hair as realization hit him like a fist.

“Bring the footage of the capture to my office.” The suited man only chuckled. He was already walking away, but just before he vanished down the hall, his voice drifted back, casual, offhanded. “I want to see her for myself.”

Rafayel’s heart stopped beating in cold realization. 

They’ll know…your Aether Core….

He was a death sentence, a curse wrapped in warm flesh and whispered promises. He should have let himself fade years ago, let the sea take him back before it was too late.

He should have left you alone, kept his distance.

He deserved to be forgotten.

It was too late for that now.

With a guttural snarl, Marcus spun and drove his fist into the wall. Rafayel flinched, but the blankness in his expression never wavered.

Inside, though—inside, he was screaming.

Anguish. Rage. Horror.

Self-loathing so sharp it could cut.

Maybe if he pushed them hard enough, they’d make a mistake. Maybe if he gave them nothing, they would break him beyond repair. Maybe—

Maybe they would end him.

It would be better than letting them use you.

Better than letting them leverage his heart against him.

“Bring him to D for treatment,” Marcus ordered, his voice tight with barely contained fury. “I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Rafayel didn’t resist when they seized his arms. Didn’t fight when they dragged him away.

His mind had already slipped into the dark, spiraling abyss of possibilities.

All he could do was hope—pray—that Zayne and the others would protect you.

Because he had already failed.

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚

Apologies for the delay, I had an extended work trip in Miami and I didn't have the chapter uploaded. I didn't feel right publishing it un-edited from my phone. I'll do my best to get the next one up over the weekend.

Cross posted on AO3 under "holywaterbucketchallenge" for those of you who prefer that platform.

Appreciate your patience! I hope it was worth the wait. As always, looking forward to your feedback :)

[serenescribe]

the prince's physician Twisted Wonderland | 3.7k Summary: Malleus is the prince’s physician. He reflects on everything his role entails. AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52875436 Collaboration with @ohsleepie | Potential spoilers for elements of Chapter 7

Hello everyone! This fic is directly inspired by @ohsleepie's wonderful "The Prince and his Physician" AU, and wound up being an impromptu collaboration featuring absolutely stunning and incredible art drawn by Sleepie himself! Please check him out and follow him!

I'm so happy to share this, and I hope that you all enjoy it!

The days between the prince’s passing and his inevitable reincarnation always feel the longest to Malleus.

Time, as it is, is a slow-paced thing; such is life for him as the last of his kind, a single year feeling far more miniscule for him than it does for a human. Malleus loses track of the days easily, slips up on his months and years. He is only aware of the passage of time through distant observations of festivities — celebrations to herald in a new year, for one, or the prince’s birthday, for another.

But rather than track the time through each changing year, Malleus tracks them in cycles of Silver’s life and death.

With each new reincarnation, each new cycle brought anew, something imperceptible shifts in the air. A rebirth means many things — to the kingdom’s populace, it is yet another year of a curse yet unbroken; to Malleus, it is a tangible, physical mark of his failures. But failures aside, there is something so jarring, so off-putting, about seeing the nursemaids and servants whisk a cradle through the halls of the castle, a cradle Malleus knows the contents of.

It is Silver, always Silver, a slumbering baby identical to the dozens that came before him — wispy locks of silver hair that plaster against his forehead, pudgy hands and chubby cheeks, and when he opens his eyes, those same, breathtaking hues of the brightest auroras.

Malleus always stops and stares whenever these moments occur. For an instant, his breath is stolen right from his throat by some unseen thief; his mind dredges up memories of when he, himself, was young, stirring to life old cycles when he was but a child himself, unable to comprehend Silver’s passing and subsequent return. It had taken him quite some time to grasp all of it — but then again, could one truly blame Malleus when his guardian figure, the kindly young prince his age who took him in and treated him well, had died in bed, only to reappear as a wee babe?

But when Silver returns, Malleus feels as though he can breathe again, an invisible knot in his throat loosened.

Because when Silver is gone, Malleus feels… useless, for lack of a better word. His own memories of his childhood are haphazard and spotty, mainly made up of foggy recollections of surviving in the harsh brambles of fae forests. For many, many years, he has found a purpose, was given one through being brought to this human kingdom: break our prince’s curse, and save him from Death’s unyielding grip.

There are few here who deign to interact with him beyond courteous pleasantries. They turn their noses up at him, eyes narrowing, lips twisting; it is fae, they whisper to each other, voices dripping with venom. If not for its magic, its prowess, surely we would have left it to die.

Silver is kind to him, has always been ever since he was young. So is it truly so shocking that Malleus feels so lost with him gone, and feels so relieved whenever he returns?

(And yet, intermingled with the relief, buried underneath such feelings of solace, there lurks another monster. A sense of guilt which festers, slowly growing over time.

An old memory rises whenever Malleus reflects on it for too long, of Silver’s voice:

“I wish for you to break my curse, Malleus. But I do not want to be immortal. My people have suffered for far too long, unable to grow and prosper due to my unending fate.”

He remembers a soft, sad smile.

“To relieve them of that burden, to allow them to grow with my final passing… that is what I wish for, above all else.”)

“How are you feeling today, your majesty?”

It is always odd, with each new cycle. To reacquaint himself with this new Silver — so much like the one before, in his appearance and demeanour, yet lacking the full memories of his past. Malleus knows Silver recalls just enough, especially when aided with the meticulous journals his previous incarnations have kept, but it is jarring, all the same, to reintroduce himself to someone he has known for many, many decades.

Silver blinks at him from the bed, the four-poster frame draped with too many silks and gauzes, too big for a boy of his size. His eyes are tinged with crusts of sleep, bags forming under them despite the medicines and foods they all have him eat, and yet there is such a strange tranquillity resting in his expression whenever Malleus sees him. “I’m quite alright, Malleus,” he responds, voice scarcely a whisper, soft and sweet. “And you don’t need to call me such formalities. We’ve been over this many times.”

Malleus exhales, the breath slipping through his nose.

No matter how many times Silver tells him as such — and it has been plentiful, through Silvers young and old, of different years, different decades, different centuries — Malleus still abides by such titles, at least when he first speaks to him. It gets easier as the years pass, as he acquaints himself a bit closer, as Silver inches closer to another inevitable death, but all the same—

“You are to be his physician,” a voice instructs him, the memory looming to life once more, “and you do not stand on equal ground with him. As such, you are to abide by our formalities: he is to be referred to as ‘your majesty,’ and nothing else.”

“Prince Silver,” Malleus says instead, the title a little clunky on his tongue. Silver raises an eyebrow at him, but does not push. He merely sits in place as Malleus walks over, his heels clicking against the floor, tail lashing behind the fabrics of his half-skirt. “Allow me to check you over today, if you will.”

“At this point, you need not even ask.”

The days go by the same way they always do: Malleus inspects Silver over carefully, running careful hands over every inch of his body before he adjusts his magic, and delves deeper into the beyond. His instincts are carefully attuned for any little change, anything he has never seen or felt before — any anomaly at all could give a new direction for him to research in, and a new possibility of a means to break the curse.

(He refuses to let himself think too hard about what breaking the curse truly entails. Malleus has ruminated over it over the course of many, many cycles, laying wide awake in bed, staring up at elegantly painted murals on the ceiling in the dark of night. It is always the same thing — should he abide by the kingdom’s wishes, or by his prince’s?

In the end, regardless of which route he chooses, Malleus shall break the curse. But it is the eternal dilemma presented to him that tangles his soul day after day — what would truly be better, to let Silver live past the ages of youth and mature into an all-powerful, immortal king? Or to let him die in peace, freeing his people from the burdens of a monarchy, their hopes and dreams all inextricably tied to their young and dying prince?

And, to another extent, the other part of the question Malleus thinks about, what does he want himself?

There is a part of him that feels such vibrant joy and pride at the thought of Silver thriving — to live as long as Malleus shall, if not even longer; to rule with his steadfastness and kindness, resolute as he heralds a new, immortal age of glory. Malleus knows little about the history of his own kind, but what tiny bits he can dredge up have taught him of a group of creatures with such power and perfection, such beauty and bravery. They thrived in the night, ruled from the shadows, creatures of such majestic, nigh-immortal magic with an arrogance that led to their own downfall.

As a fae himself, Malleus wonders if it is only natural for him to desire such things for Silver. To watch him grow into the ages he has never been able to reach before, to witness him at his fullest might and glory.

And yet, the mere thought of the stabbing betrayal in those auroral eyes, the sadness that may overcome those soft features, is enough to give him pause each and every time.)

He was young when they found him skulking about the brambles.

For as long as Malleus can remember, he has always been alone. Though he’s certain he remembers some sensations of warmth from before he came into being, of being cradled close in a loving embrace, all he remembers, through to his earliest memories, is of being alone.

And for such a lonely fae child, wandering about an overgrown, abandoned valley, what else was there for him to do but survive? To pounce about and gulp down whatever meals he could find, to curl up in the nooks of trees and little rock caverns to try and keep warm… and to hide in the brambles, slitted eyes peering at civilisation from afar.

He’d watched the daily lives of the human kingdom after finding out about their existence, when he was old enough to try and mimic a form similar to their own. Still, Malleus had been too scared to venture too close, some innate part of him screaming at him to stay away, and so he had simply observed from a distance… until one day, they found him.

He remembers little of that day now. It’s all a blur when he tries to recollect it — sharp grips tightening around his limbs as he kicked and thrashed, searing magic that ripped through his veins, burning those who tried to hurt him, being thrown and tossed about, immobilised by something that seared at his skin… All while screaming and yelling flooded the air, his heartbeat thumping chaotically in his ears, head spinning as his surroundings whirled about him—

And then it stopped.

And then there was Silver.

He was young then. That, Malleus recalls. He remembers everything after the pain and the panic with ease, of the way the young boy — just as young as he, with silver hair and such pretty, colourful eyes, and oh-so gentle hands — had removed the searing things that hurt him, and rubbed something that stung before it began to feel better.

“My name is Silver,” the boy told him, in a soft, kind voice that made Malleus feel… safe. “I’m sorry about the pain they caused you. I hope you’re feeling better now.”

Malleus understood him, of course, in some strange, innate way. But his tongue could not shape the same sounds that he heard, no matter how hard he tried. When he spoke, all he could manage was something that chimed and clicked, something Silver didn’t understand.

And yet, in spite of all that, Silver had such patience with him anyway. He allowed Malleus to stay by his side, to stay in his room, eating the same foods that he did — and what a treat they were, for a child who starved as long as he had! — and sleeping in his bed.

Time passed; his wounds healed. His tongue began to curl in all the right ways, taught painstakingly by Silver how to speak in his tongue in-between the periods of time where he had to disappear. Malleus relished in each and every day, the loneliness that haunted him for so long no longer looming over him like a shadow. Now, he had Silver—

Until he didn’t.

Silver hadn’t woken up one day, no matter how hard Malleus tried. Nudging him, shaking him, calling his name until his voice rose in a panic, and the door slammed open, footsteps thumping into the room. He’d been dragged away, kicking and screaming again, the same terror from years ago swelling up once more in his heart; the fire that sparked through his veins, the sheer agony and pain, the lurking realisation that he was alone again.

He remembers very little of those in-between days, the foggy haze of nothingness only pierced by a baby’s cry and the realisation that Silver had somehow returned. But it hadn’t been until years later, years of being stuck in a tiny little bedroom by himself, that Malleus could finally see him again.

Silver was younger now. Younger than Malleus himself. And finally, he explained it to him.

“I have a curse on me,” Silver told him, as simply as possible, as Malleus curled around him in his bed. “And other humans believe you can break it.”

Malleus blinked up at him, raising his head from the soft, downy cushions. “I… can?”

“You can,” Silver affirmed with a gentle smile, his voice high. He reached out, wrapping his arm around Malleus and bringing him close. “Because you’re a fae. You’re so strong. If anyone can help me, it’s you.”

The truth, of course, was far more complex than that simplistic explanation. The truth was that Silver’s curse itself was fae-inflicted and, considering the immense strength of the fair folk, only another fae’s skills would be able to eliminate the curse. But Malleus had been young, and Silver, despite his youth and the fact that he still barely recalled his own memories, was kind, trying to explain everything to Malleus as simply as possible: You are strong, and we believe in you. I believe in you.

And Malleus had accepted it, taking on his new role as the prince’s physician with a regal sort of pride.

Magic slinks through his veins as naturally as blood, the two intermingling and intertwining. It comes to him so easily, far more than even the most expert mages of the kingdom, who have spent decades of their mortal lives honing their skill to a perfect shine.

But for as naturally gifted as Malleus is, he lacks the proper training one should have. That is, not the training of human mages, for he has gone through many cycles worth of such a thing, but the training of a fae.

Fae magic is so distinctly different from that of humans, rooted in their very heart and soul, and in the power of the natural world around them. And though Malleus can adapt to his circumstances, taking what the reluctant tutors teach him and twisting it to suit his own strengths, there is only so much he can learn and do until he hits a wall, and gets stuck in one place.

If only there were other fae still alive, still out there. If only, Malleus thinks longingly, a swell of frustration burgeoning within him as he hits yet another blockade in another theory he’s been trying to test, the ink of his feathered quill dragging to a blotchy halt across the parchment as he struggles to pen what he’s been theorising into written words.

He hears the whispers of the court, day after day. Why isn’t there any progress? the humans ask, as though Malleus can flick his wrist and cure anything instantly. How many years has it been here? How much longer must we suffer? How much more must our prince wait?

And the thing is, Malleus desires nothing more than to be able to snap his fingers and dispel that wretched curse, all at once. But beyond other factors, such as Silver’s private request to him all that time ago to grant him a peaceful death and free his kingdom from the shackles of his immortality, there is the very fact that this is a fae curse, a complex, interweaving system of magic designed to loop Silver’s death, all while bringing him back every time. There is intent behind this convoluted spell, and save nothing short of somehow speaking to the caster himself, there is little Malleus can do but break it all down in reverse.

He rakes a hand through his hair, a growl spilling from his throat. The quill clatters to the table as he drags his hands down his face, biting back a haggard sigh.

The sound of knocking against wood.

“You may enter,” he calls, twisting in his chair to stare at the door.

The hinges squeak as it cracks open, revealing a guardsman who leers at him. “Your presence is requested,” they state, not bothering to hide their disdain, yet having enough basic courtesy not to let it spill into their words. “The council wishes to learn of your progress on breaking his majesty’s curse.”

Dark lips twist into an ugly sneer. The council, Malleus seethes. A group of uppity, stuck-up human nobles, who constantly die and get replaced with equally awful replacements, who keep breathing down his back about any meagre bits of progress he’s been able to make despite Silver’s attempts to get them to stop.

The downsides of Silver constantly reincarnating, needing to relearn everything all over again as he dives back through journals and jostles his own memories, is that he can’t always chase them away, telling them to leave his physician alone, and let him work. This is one of those times, it seems; Silver is too busy learning how to be a human being again, leaving Malleus stranded against a group of men who seem hellbent on making his very existence hell throughout what little bits of life they live.

But it is not as though he can deny a summons. For all his title as the prince’s physician, Malleus knows — has known for such a very long time — that his rank is meaningless without the very prince he serves.

“Tell them that I shall arrive in five minutes.” Picking up his quill, Malleus dips it back into a pot of ink, a furious frustration igniting the spark within him as he turns back to his incomplete report.

It is better than nothing, and that is worth something.

Malleus holds very little loyalty to this kingdom. What else is there for him, when he is destined to outlive everyone within it, and when they are all so bent on treating him as though he personally killed their families?

He is aware of the history between them and his own ancestors, the plentiful fae who used to share these lands until they waged war against the humans, slaughtering them in a painful, bloody battle. The humans had emerged victorious, all the fae driven out or slain, but it had come at the heavy cost of all their royals killed — except for one.

And for years, they had watched their prince grow with pride, until he had died before his coronation. And then it had happened again, and again, and again — they would find him as a baby nestled within a clearing in the nearby woods, identical in each and every iteration, and they would watch as he always died before arriving at his years of maturity, always while he was far too young.

A fae curse, they realised, far too late. How foolish they had been, to dismiss the magic struck against their prince! It is a fate worse than death, they lamented, their spirits growing weary with each new cycle. What shall we do?

Malleus is their answer to their conundrum, a solution to a problem his ancestors made. And yet, for all the supposed salvation he represents and is supposed to bring, he knows what they think of him. And though he understands it, understands the reservations and hatred for everything he represents, he also cannot help but resent them for it.

Why is he treated like he is lesser, when he is trying to help them?

His loyalty lies with their prince, with Silver, for the kindness Malleus has been shown over and over, throughout countless identical reincarnations, countless ends and beginnings. It is the reason why he stays, why he endures it all, why he works painstakingly at dissecting a curse only he stands a chance of understanding, in hopes of shattering this cruel fate once and for all.

He carries the hopes and dreams of the kingdom on his shoulders — a cruel irony, Malleus knows, considering what most of the populace think of him. He is their only hope, in the end.

But the thing is — and this, Malleus has come to realise over time:

It is easy for the humans to root for their prince. It is easy for them to hope, to pray, to plead with whatever higher forces exist out there for the fae physician to break his curse, bringing them all into a golden age of their royal’s immortality. It is easy because they are human; for many of them, they will not live long enough to witness more than perhaps four or five of their prince’s life cycles, forcing them to tell their descendents of their desires to carry on the flames of their hopes.

When one does not live long enough for their awe and admiration, their all-consuming anticipation, to melt away into something far more pessimistic, it is easy to stand strong and proclaim, “I wish for my prince to live forever; I wish for him to lead us into a new age.”

But for Malleus? For the only fae in a kingdom of mortals, destined to outlive each and every one of them by proxy of his heritage alone?

He has lost count of just how many cycles he has witnessed, from the tender years of childhood into the grown fae he is today. He has lost track of how many times he has met Silver for the first time, the servants and guards and nursemaids who care for him and guard him all switching out cycle after cycle, as more of them die and more of them are replaced.

The humans see not what Malleus witnesses over time: the piles of journals that stack up higher and higher; the heavy bags that marr the underside of those striking auroral eyes; the pure exhaustion that sinks into their prince’s every movement and word, the way he gazes upon his kingdom from towering windows.

In the end, this miserable curse can only end one way: Silver must die.

(The question still remains, pressing down on Malleus’ shoulders, an invisible burden weighing him down with each soft smile and greeting he receives.

Shall Silver live forever? Or only once more?)

[bigsexiest]

What if some ghouls were nocturnal

I'm sure it causes some issues within the pack's dynamic. Watch as I whip out some crazy knowledge from this quick Google search I just did.

Fire and Earth are diurnal (mostly active only during the day)

the pack usually follows these periods of activity when they are home from tour, but on tour they all follow the same schedule

Mountain loves tending to his garden during the hottest brightest hours. He loves the heat and beauty of all the life around him. He doesn't really burn, despite Aether and Omega's constant warnings for sunscreen. They don't actually know if sunscreen works the same for ghouls as it does for humans, but they want to be safe. Mountain slathers it on just for them, but it doesn't seem to make much of a difference. He loves the brightness of everything in the sun. It seems to make him bloom just as it does his flowers. He'll grow these lovely orange and red vining flowers on his horns if he spends enough time in the sun. Aurora says they compliment his skin tone. Mountain always blushes when she tells him how cute they are.

Dew also loves the heat, but only because it makes him comfortable. Usually, he’s a bit chilly at all times. He does his best to hide it, especially since he runs so hot compared to other ghouls. Just the slightest breeze feels unnatural to him. During the hottest days of summer, he feels right at home. Sometimes Rain will wake up and look blearily through his curtains at Dew laying on a concrete pathway directly in the sun. Rain's eyes need a few seconds to adjust to the brightness, as does his brain. He doesn't understand how Dew can enjoy the searing heat coming from both sides. The pavement must burn, and the sun must be so hot on the fire ghoul's skin. It certainly is hot, but Dew enjoys nothing more than the heat.

Multi and Quintessence are crepuscular (which means active during twilight hours)

These two ghoul types find it easier to be active during the strange transitional hours between day and night. Despite this, they often follow either a nocturnal or diurnal schedule since it’s difficult to be the only ghoul awake. Either way, they will usually take long naps during both the day and night so they can be awake enough for dawn and dusk

Aether will wake earlier than Dew, but will mostly follow the fire ghoul’s schedule. Dew sometimes likes to nap with Aether during the peak of the day. They snuggle in Dew's bed, soaking in the sun coming from a window. Aether doesn't need it to be dark to fall asleep weirdly enough. The heat makes Dew drowsy with happiness anyway so it's not a problem. Sometimes the heat emanating from Dew's skin can be a little uncomfy for Aether, but they figure it out.

Swiss finds himself fluctuating between Mountain and Rain’s schedule. He finds joy in being active during both periods. He doesn't have a favorite. They both have their pros and cons. Swiss prefers sunrise and sunset, but, based on his mood, he stays awake for the rest of the day or night. If he wants quiet, he'll look for Rain or Aurora and spend the dark peaceful hours of the night with them. If he wants to be loud and energetic, he'll search for Dew or Mountain and help them out with whatever they're doing. He loves to spend time in Mountain's garden, smelling all the beautiful scents and chasing butterflies.

Phantom will flip-flop between Aurora and Dew’s schedule. He's the most likely to stick with the crepuscular schedule, though. During dusk, he'll wake up early enough to eat dinner with the diurnal ghouls, but he'll save enough space to eat breakfast with the nocturnal ghouls when they wake up. He'll be active for a few hours, and then take a hefty nap. He wakes up for the nocturnal ghoul's dinner before joining the diurnal ghouls for their breakfast. He enjoys his strange cycle, but sometimes he switches things up and stays awake for a shift, following one of the other ghouls through their period of activity.

Omega liked to follow Terzo’s human diurnal schedule

Air and Water are nocturnal (active during the night)

Rain will sleep through the entire day using blackout curtains in his windows. When the sun finally sets he’ll leave his room and go to the lake. He’ll swim around in the moonlight and scare the occasional human taking a midnight walk. He finds the sun dries out his skin far too much for comfort. If he were to force himself to become diurnal, he'd be very unhappy. The heat is abrasive, especially when he'd have to wear numerous cover-ups to protect against the burning sun. Rain likes the nighttime since, as a water ghoul, he's much more likely to overheat. Water ghouls are meant to stay in the water for the majority of their time awake. Rain finds it easier to stay awake during the day only when he spends all of it in the lake. The water protects his skin from drying out and burning and stops him from overheating. Staying in the water the entire day defeats the point of staying awake during the day. He can't be with his favorite ghouls if he can't leave the lake. So it's just easier for Rain to stay nocturnal.

The air ghouls just love the cool breeze that flows in the nighttime. It's quiet and they can fully appreciate the world without distractions. Cirrus, Cumulus, and Sunshine all like to take nighttime walks around the abbey's grounds. Aurora sometimes joins them, but she also likes to swim with Rain. Aurora and Rain have long conversations about how they feel disconnected from their friends. Groups of ghouls in the pit would form packs around their element. Nocturnal and diurnal differences had never been an issue. Cirrus, Cumulus, and Sunshine usually stay nocturnal, but Aurora will occasionally switch so she can spend some time with her favorite diurnal and crepuscular ghouls. She finds happiness in the sun, but she will always prefer the dark quiet of the night.

That’s the most vivid similarity between the nocturnal ghouls. They love their peace. They’re all perceived as rather shy, but that’s just in their nature. The quiet helps them feel safe and calm.

The ghouls all wish they could be awake together, but they know that's not the best solution. As they spend more time not on tour, they find balance within all of their schedules. It all blends together so the ghouls all see each other at some time or another. Diurnal and crepuscular ghouls will take naps with nocturnal ghouls as they sleep the day away. Crepuscular ghouls spend a few hours with every single elemental group. Eventually, it becomes fluid. The pack feels very connected once they start to exist cohesively.

[mesosylvania-tlspaulding]

The World of the Antarcticon

Welcome to my far future, ice-free Antarctica, known for now as the “Continent”! This is the setting I'm working on for a future epic fantasy series, code named "The Antarcticon".

The climate, flora and fauna are all unique, and may have been intentionally engineered by a precursor civilization, through science and/or magic. That precursor civilization, human or otherwise, did leave behind artifacts, including a massive basalt tower at the location of the South Pole.

The world is suffused with many types of magics, deriving from the auroras, the stars, and a variety of spirits from other dimensions. 

Monotreme mammals dominate the land (except for humans and a few other placental mammals) all laying eggs and having beaks or bills, but filling the ecosystem niches of placental or marsupial mammals in our world. A monotreme sentient race also exists in several of the large lake and wetland regions. 

Similarly, penguins have speciated into several types of (still-)flightless birds, from large and dangerous terrorbirds, to a domesticated chicken analogue. 

The climate is temperate overall, with equivalents of our temperate deciduous forests and temperate rainforests the most common, except due to elevation. The flora is unique as well, with a wide variety of mosses, lichens, and fungi filling most niches of plants, except for varieties and descendants of our world’s araucaria tree, which is highly dominant.

The Continent and associated islands are separated from the rest of the world by an endless tempest, uncrossable by humans.

Despite being very different from our current day Antarctica, due to climate change and likely a good bit of magic, and possible even alien technologies, one factor remains the same: the extreme polar day/night cycle. In almost all areas, “day” and “summer” are equivalent, while “night” and “winter” are as well, giving a cycle of roughly 5+ months of day, 5+ months of night, and a period of a few weeks of transition during the equinoxes. This has, as you might expect, affected human society quite a bit! In the recent past, before an imperial upset, societies all over tended to respond in major ways to the shift, with some of the possibilities being:

physically relocating en masse to new areas

switching from an egalitarian society to a strictly hierarchical one, or vice versa

otherwise completely adjusting societal structures, such as from matriarchal to patriarchal

speaking in a completely different register of their language, with differing grammar and vocabulary

Technology-wise it is still very much a work in progress, but I will be leaning on and enhancing a blended Paleolithic-meets-the Copper Age-meets-Medieval/Renaissance vibe in the technology levels.

The Languages of Antarctica

Three human language families make up almost all of the currently-known human languages on the Continent, and they all make up a large linguistic area, sharing a few general features:

Ergativity is common, though split systems of various kinds are common as well

Noun class systems that are at least partially inspired by the daysummer/nightwinter cycle, as well as the various kinds of flora and fauna, with some languages having 10+ of these

Shared conceptual metaphors (both used in idioms, as well as to philosophically extend the meanings of the above noun classes)

Common compound word calques, often extended from the conceptual metaphor system

Most common word order: head-first, VSO, prepositions/locative nouns

Prefixing in the verb system most common, this varies a lot by region

Morphological evidentiality is ubiquitous

Daysummer vs Nightwinter evident in grammar and in lexicon

fancified more intense grammar for one phase, colloquial lax vulgar grammar for other phase (which phase is which varies based on language and regional culture)

That's all for now! In the next few posts, I'll start sharing things about specific Antarctic languages!

(And I'll also be making some Conlang Year Updates as well, where I share about the feature that aligns with the current Conlang Year day!)

[rocksanddeadflowers]

It's the winter solstice today so I am again thinking about Lyfrassir celebrating Yule on the Aurora to try and keep Yggdrasilian traditions alive. Hanging up spmistletoe (space mistletoe) or spcedar (space cedar) etc to bring in greenery, or cooking a large traditional feast, maybe they request Marius and other willing mechs to preform Yule carols.

I think specifically Marius would have many feelings about Lyfrassir celebrating Yule, not just bc of the violinspector thing but bc the lore I picked up, Marius is Space German, so he presumably had a variation of Yule in his past. (Also the fanon(?) idea of Marius having written The Wassailant album in his universe, like the Kofi Young album, is chef's kiss btw.)

Just.... Lyf emotionally rambling on about the celebrations they grew up with while Marius teaches them to make Thomas Wheel breads bc he may block out much from his past but he somehow remembered this and it means so much to Lyf that he may as well.

I want the others trying to help the holiday spirit. I want Tim to tell Marius that this is just like Christmas and he should definitely kiss Lyf under the mistletoe bc it's tradition and he rants about Santa Clause bc what do you mean you guys didn't have that? I want Brian to bake gingerbread cookies shaped like octokittens. Raphaella flying around hanging up decor and occasionally scooping up Jonny and forcing him to help (he acts way more upset over it than he actually is). I want the Toy Soldier being compared to nutcrackers but it actually ends up playing Mari Lwyd which, while being mainly Welsh it's close enough and its absolutely lovingly terrifying. Ashes insists on a Yule Log that's an entire tree (Lyf explains that's just an exaggeration or myth but also won't kill their fun). Nastya and Aurora shift the day-night lighting cycles to feel as close to a Midgard winter as possible. Ivy is honestly the only one trying to find genuine traditional celebrations (both out of caring for Lyf and bc she needs this to be accurate period) to help Lyf with.

They pick a night to feast and drink, a few trading presents while they get drunk off of wassail or muled wine and singing different winter holidays carols from each cultural background that had them. Lyf is ever grateful for their newfound family. They're fucked up and frankly quite concerning, but it means the world to find that deep down, in their own way, they all truly care.

[litrumi]

Dumb DayNap Thoughts #9

*Little joke here, but refer to my under-developed, not finished AU idea for this one. Dogday and Catnap are in their "Cycled Forms" (EtherealDog and MatterCat) fighting stronger Shadow Creatures at Night*

EtherealDog, trying to get the enemies' attention: Wait a sec! Hold on, everyone! Before we have to start fighting and probably make things ugly...

MatterCat, listening and suddenly worrying: Oh no...

EtherealDog: Why don't I...

MatterCat, already manifesting sunglasses made from dark matter with his ability:

EtherealDog, charging up for his turn: ...Put on a light show for everyone! Then maybe we can all be friends instead!

MatterCat, putting on the sunglasses and talking to the Shadow Creatures as he waves to them and eats popcorn he pulled out of thin air: Well... It wasn't nice knowing you. Bye.

The surrounding area fills with dazzling, brilliant, and blinding aurora-borealis-like lights that make it hard to see what's going on. But by the end of the light show... There's no trace of the Shadow Creatures anywhere.

EtherealDog, opening his eyes, seeing that the enemies are no longer there: Aw, man! Did they run away again?

MatterCat, patting the dog's back: Y- Yeah... Ran away... Sorry, bud.

EtherealDog, sobbing: Why won't they stick around?! I just wanna end the feud!

MatterCat, thinking to himself: I don't know what's worse. Me lying to him or the fact he doesn't know he's practically disintegrating these guys...

(Bonus)

Dogday, overviewing his stats with curiosity: Everyone keeps asking me why my EXP is almost the same as yours. But we share EXP in fights, don't we?

Catnap, almost choking on his drink, hesitantly nodding: Mhm... So, of course we're at an equal pace.

Dogday, musing: Hm... Yeah, that's what I was thinking too. Oh well, then!

Catnap, sipping loudly and keeping to himself: I may do most of the killing in the day time, but I swear your kill records are in the thousands from the night shift cleanup by now...

The cat shivers from the very thought.

-

[syringesyrup]

it’s shark week for me so i’m thinking about how horrible it is for infamous endometriosis havers cirrus and dew (i’m projecting) and how the pack loves to take care of them throughout the week

their cycles are synced up too so they’re a bit attached at the hip during that week and love getting pampered by the other ghouls.

cumulus is insistent on making them plenty of tea and gathering all the heating pads and softest blankets in the ministry for her ghouls 😿 she often gets squished between the two and becomes their personal pillow as she scratches all the right places behind their ears and horns. the ghouls Looove when lulu goes full mama mode and takes care of them (despite dew acting like he doesn’t need it). sunny is always there with her, doing what she can to help and always trying new ways to make them as comfy as they can be throughout the week. she keeps the room clean, helps them bathe if need be, and takes care of their chores.

mountain is always working with aether and phantom to make some remedies that will ease their cramps and irritability. dew Hates being a test subject for these things but he’d rather die than risk one of these things potentially hurting cirrus, so he lets himself be patient zero for whatever the hell the three of them cook up in mountain’s greenhouse. mountain is happy to roll plenty of little joints that will just take the painful edge off of their sore tummies and cramps (he’s also their favorite scratching / kneading post when they’re cuddled up in bed). aether and phantom do their best to ease the pain with some quintessence and help them get some rest throughout the week.

aurora will of course tell dew to SUCK IT UP LIKE A MAN but falls to her knees the moment cirrus gets a cramp. she has a tendency to make biscuits on cirrus’ tummy because she read somewhere that when cats do that, it heals humans. it doesn’t actually help but cirrus likes to see aurora all cuddled up on her and paw at her tummy. she has her gentle moments with dew when it gets bad, holding his hair back if he needs to vomit or even making sure there’s a warm bath waiting for him when he wakes up.

rain is always there to make sure the both of them are getting enough rest and keep them away from their instruments. he insists on them resting and not pushing themselves, especially when he knows the two of them are perfectionists. he will guard the practice room like a dog to make sure the two of them don’t lay a finger on an instrument until the week is over. he’s caught dew by the scruff many times and dragged him back to bed (he’s “punished” with many rain cuddles and kisses)

oh and swiss is just the absolute fucking Worst. seeing dew and cirrus in any kind of pain has him jumping off the walls. he will blow so much money on chocolates and supplies and just the little things that will make them smile. he’ll drain his quintessence just to help them sleep and is a bit of a mother hen during the whole week. he’ll cook any and every meal they ask of him, no matter how complex or expensive it may be. he’s happy to help, especially when he’s rewarded with getting crushed between the two of them and being their personal heating pad.

copia always makes sure to keep their instruments tuned and clean and taken care of throughout the week, perfect by the time the two of them get back to it. he has a habit of buying them little trinkets like swiss does, just little things that will make them happy. he will push aside all of his work just to make sure his ghouls are comfortable and taken care of. he has a habit of telling them bedtime stories as well, stories of his youth and all the trouble he got into that puts a smile on dew and cirrus’ face as they drag him down into bed and constrict around their papa.

they’re such a loving pack and if one of them is in any kind of pain, all the ghouls have their own way of feeling it. while they might not feel those painful ass cramps and sickness, there’s an energy shift that’s enough to set them all off and rush to cirrus and dew’s aid. the two of them Deserve to get pampered for a week anyways, and the rest of the pack is happy to give them plenty of attention and love :,)

[morningstar-chronicles]

my associations - aurora cycle DR

mom | father | dad | luke | jonathan | clary | charlie | sammy

sabine | tom | nicolas | marinette | tj | sebastian | jamie

skara | amelia | amity | cat | pacifica | via | joel | penn | cr guy #1 | cr guy #2 | cr girl #1 | cr girl #2

[allmyey3s]

In the Woods Somewhere

Chapter 7: Heat

He stops halfway up the incline. The glowing dots seem placed a little higher than usual. Perhaps it's the weird angle he's looking at him from.

Phantom already wants to take a step further, but then the creature tilts their head, causing an outline of their antlers come into view. They're most definitely a whole lot taller than what he's used to, which should be alarming considering Mountain is a giant on a regular Tuesday.

But he's not thinking with his head anymore. He can feel his cunt soak as soon as soon as he catches the smallest whiff of his mate's misty forest smell. He shakes his head and finishes his ascent to the giant silhouette of his beloved mate in a few quick strides.

The green eyes follow him all the way. He stands in front of the beast and looks up at them. "Mountain, I need your help," he states simply, as if that would be enough to bring clarity into this situation.

The green lights peer back down at Phantom.

If he noticed they are darker than usual, he would have known.

And if he actually paid any mind to the abrupt change in height, he would have known.

And if he noticed the beast smells of misty forest and ash, he would have known.

-----------

Tags: dubcon, plant sex, general mindfuckery, jealousy and possessiveness. Cryptid boys back at it again :)

Summary: Phantom pops his heat unexpectedly and goes to find Mountain in the woods in the middle of the night to help him out, but wait, that's not his monstrous mate...

Read under the cut or on ao3

He should have known as soon as his clit started tingling.

Phantom was watching a movie in the common room with Cumulus, Aurora, Rain and Dew when his cunt started growing wet, little by little. Instead of doing anything about, it or even paying it any mind, he just shifted a little and discreetly rubbed a finger over the seam of his sweatpants twice.

He absent-mindedly processed the events of this morning, how he woke up weirdly horny and just pulled up his shirt, rested his hands above his head with crossed wrists and imagined Rain or Swiss or anyone really tying him up and pulling him apart with their skilled lips. In his groggy state, he didn't think much of it. He must have had a wet dream, that's all.

Oh how stupid he was.

Right before he was about to go shower, Phantom checked his period calendar app. It's a running joke between the band ghoul packs, to try and track their heats with human-made period calendars. And well, he did not expect a week from today to be lit in a rainbow color.

Well fuck.

He showered, quickly contemplated sticking his fingers inside himself but eventually decided against it, wished his packmates goodnight and then shut his door. He even double locked it, in case his smell got too bad through the night.

This felt wrong. He never hid from his packmates when in heat, not even when their cycles followed suit. But he knew heading over to one of them for help would just fuel his little problem, and the traditional way of solving it with a gangbang didn't sound too appealing at the moment.

Instead, he craved a very specific person. Or rather, monster. His body sang for Mountain, for his clawed hands around his throat, his snarls and dirty words that never failed to get him wet, and especially for his monstrous cock.

He needs it buried inside him yesterday.

So here he is, rushing through the dark woods as quickly as he can while also trying his hardest to remain silent. He snuck out of the window, which felt like something straight out of a movie.

Is going out into the woods at night a horrible idea? Absolutely. Does he need to get his mind fucked out of his skull? Absolutely.

This leaves him with no choice but to try to find his way to the cottage where he knows the big beast resides.

His breaths fog up as dried leaves crunch under his feet. The little clouds of mist follow eachother tightly as he takes quick shallow breaths while making his way through the dark forest. It's even more eerie this way. Every shadow seems like it's moving. It fills him with a crippling feeling of unease.

The only reason he's capable of remaining somewhat calm is the bite mark on his neck. He soothes himself with the idea that whatever lurks in here can smell Mountain's scent saturated on his skin as well as in his very body, and would most likely leave him alone. It's undetectable to humans, somehow to ghouls alike, but he knows, or at least hopes, that other creatures of these woods know better than to engage with Mountain's mate.

He pulls his jacket tighter around himself. His teeth are chattering. It's so damn cold. It's nearing Yule time now, so he should be glad that at least the ground isn't covered in snow, but it barely makes a difference. He's been to Mountain's place quite a few times now, he can find his way there.

Maybe in broad daylight.

Because frankly, he is lost as shit right now. He can't see two feet in front of him, and even though he's been following the trail he usually travels on, the forest looks like an alien planet.

"Mountain!" Phantom calls out, his voice echoing off the bare trees and spreading through the cold night. He knows it's stupid, but he's also aware of the fact that Forest Dwellers tend to be nocturnal, so there might be a slim chance of his mate hearing him. The most efficient way, of course, would be whistling, but while Phantom is a bit reckless, he doesn't have a death wish.

He calls out for his mate again, but just like before is met with only silence. He stops and stands still to listen for any sound, any at all. But it's like the endless darkness of this moonless night swallows every sound. He feel so very alone, as if he were standing in a large, empty void. The dread pooling in his gut becomes just a little overwhelming, and he almost turns to head back, but that's when he sees a pair of green floating orbs in the darkness. He quickly recognizes them as Mountain's eyes, which tend to glow in the dark. He doesn't know why, but in his opinion it's cool, so he doesn't ever question.

"Mounty!" he happily squeals as he runs up the small hill towards the glowing eyes. "Oh, Mounty, you don't know how I-"

He stops halfway up the incline. The glowing dots seem placed a little higher than usual. Perhaps it's the weird angle he's looking at him from.

Phantom already wants to take a step further, but then the creature tilts their head, causing an outline of their antlers come into view. They're most definitely a whole lot taller than what he's used to, which should be alarming considering Mountain is a giant on a regular Tuesday.

But he's not thinking with his head anymore. He can feel his cunt soak as soon as soon as he catches the smallest whiff of his mate's misty forest smell. He shakes his head and finishes his ascent to the giant silhouette of his beloved mate in a few quick strides.

The green eyes follow him all the way. He stands in front of the beast and looks up at them. "Mountain, I need your help," he states simply, as if that would be enough to bring clarity into this situation.

The green lights peer back down at Phantom.

If he noticed they are darker than usual, he would have known.

And if he actually paid any mind to the abrupt change in height, he would have known.

And if he noticed the beast smells of misty forest and ash, he would have known.

The green orbs fall low, as if the creature lowered their head. He feels a faint breeze on his neck, accompanied by quiet sniffing. They move lower, to his chest, down to his stomach, then eventually pause on his groin's level. They give two sharp sniffs before shooting forward.

Phantom feels two huge, clawed hands wrap around his thighs and grip firmly, while the monster shoves their face right between his thighs. He lets out a little squeak and tries to shuffle away, but a growl stops him in his tracks.

"Uhm- Mounty--" he starts, reaching down to gently touch the shiny tips of the antlers he can see reflecting the minimal light.

"I am not Mountain," a deep, smooth voice cuts him off. They sound so much deeper, so distorted, so much more monster-like. He knows right then and there they are not lying.

He sees those dark green specks of light lock on his own eyes. "But you are Mountain's claim."

Before Phantom can ask anything, the creature lunges at him and pins him to the ground. A sharp gasp cuts through the air, followed by a thump and a grunt. Before he could even regain the air that was knocked out of his lungs, thick vines wrap all around his body.

"W-What--" is all he can stutter as he squirms in the plant's grasp while his clothes are yanked off him. It all happens so quickly, before he knows it the cold winter air assaults him and causes goosebumps to form all over his body, stiffens his nipples and clit.

"Woah- hey!" he yells as he feels large hands wrap around his bare thighs again. "What are you doing? Who even are you?" he demands. Fear is creeping into his voice, and he knows damn well that he won't be able to remain calm for much longer.

Those dark green orbs focus on him again. A deep chuckle reverberates through the freezing air. "I'm just helping you with your heat, little one."

Not even a moment later the beast buries their face in Phantom's cunt. He gasps when he feels two long fingers push into him and curl right onto that sweet spot he needs them on. The intrusion is accompanied with cold lips latching onto his stiff dick and sucking on it harshly while also cat-licking it over and over again.

A punched-out moan is ripped out of his throat as the sensations combine. He squirms wildly in his organic bondage, but gets absolutely nowhere. "Wa- Wait! Stop!" he yells. He squeezes his eyes shut and whimpers as the fingers inside him start curling repeatedly and petting over his sweet spot. "Stop! No!"

He doesn't know this person, this beast. He wants Mountain, but his body is so lost in all the hormones and instincts that it doesn't even care who is behind that sinful feeling, only that it's finally getting what it needs. His own body, betraying him.

Phantom's struggles and denial seems to only fuel the monster as they suck harder on his clit and starts thrusting their fingers in and out while curling them every time they pass over his g-spot.

High-pitched whines are all Phantom can come up with as all the sensations intensify. It's only been a minute, yet the coil in his gut is wound so tightly he thinks he might explode. "Stop- Stop! I'm gonna cum, stop!" he yells hopelessly as he thrashes around in the vines, but is effectively held in place.

Those lips on his clit thin and curl into what must be a smirk as they continue their ministrations. He can't last much longer, he's already growing so wet. But if he holds out just a little more--

Phantom screams as the beast presses their other hand into the lowest part of his stomach, effectively pulling his orgasm out of him. It's such an intense sensation, the scream he made in reaction was so underwhelming. His whole body seizes up as his eyes clench shut. He squeezes tightly around the monster's fingers, liquid gushing out of him, yet they seem relentless.

A panicked whimper leaves his mouth as they keep sucking harshly on his clit even after he just came obscenely hard. "S-Stop, stop! Please stop!" he pleads again. He prays to the Dark Lord the monster would have mercy and just let him go. He'll find Aether and have him break his heat, anything to get away from this. It feels so good, he's floating somewhere in the orbit, but it's so much all at once. Too much pleasure, too good, too soon. His brain is completely disconnected from his body, but his nerves are in fire, especially in his crotch.

They finally pull away for a second. All he can see are their green eyes. "Have you ever thought about having kits?" the beast asks in a quiet, almost calculated tone.

Phantom's eyes widen, but before he can even answer that no, he's scared of pregnancy, the creature cups each of his pecs and squeezes lightly. For just a second, he can see a faint green glow, but it's gone rather quickly. He should be thankful for that, because if he saw his tits regrowing, he would have fucking passed out. That, however, is not the worst part. A second later he can feel something warm trickling down his chest, and when the monster leans over him to lick the mystery liquid off his tit, he know exactly what it is.

It makes his stomach churn, and he hates how wetter it makes him at the same time. He's absolutely disgusted by this, but so damn turned on as well. "Oh fuck..." is all he can manage, his voice breaking just a little on the curse.

He shuts his eyes as tight as he can, and tries moving once more. He can't as much as twitch, his bindings tight, but he doesn't care, he has to get away. If Phantom ever thought Mountain didn't quite understand human ghoul morals and general manners, this creature seemed Neanderthal in comparison.

A high-pitched cry is wrenched from him as the beast wraps its lips around one of his nipples and latches on, then sucks the pearly white liquid out of him. He thrashes around, but doesn't move even an inch.

It's pitch black around him. He can't see anything, so the yelp that comes out of him as the monster pushes two fingers inside of him again is louder than it normally would be. They push in deep, concerningly so, and all Phantom can do is groan pathetically as they invade the most private and hidden spots of his body.

"Why are your fingers so damn long?" he bites through gritted teeth. His eyes screw shut from the pressure building inside of him, and not only the pleasurable one this time. All he gets in response is a dark chuckle. Before he can come up with more questions, the fingers inside him start moving again, thrusting in and out.

It feels so odd, they're suddenly so much thicker than they were earlier, but then one second they thin out to the point it's barely filling him up. Then right back again, stretching him out until it burns.

It takes a moment for Phantom to realize that they are, in fact, not thrusting but rather... undulating, almost. Thickening and thinning out over and over again, causing it to elongaten and then shorten, poking and prodding into the most secret nooks and crevices inside him.

He only realizes it's not the monster's fingers at all when he feels something almost bumpy and writhing brush against his inner thigh. It's one of the vines.

Phantom gasps sharply. "S-Seven hells!" he yells out as his body spasms. The vine inside him thickened out so abruptly that it caused his stomach to balloon up. He can't see it, but he can feel a bulge in the taught skin of his lower belly.

It feels so wrong, he feels disgusted with both himself and the creature. They changed his body to their liking, only to use it to fuck with his head. He feels sick, yet his body is begging for more, more. Slick is practically dripping out of his cunt, and there must be a pool gathering below him with the steady little droplets that he feels occasionally catching on his rim.

He's so desperate, it's not enough. He wants to shy away, but he's so aroused it hurts at this point. His first orgasm didn't quench his thirst at all, if anything it threw him deeper into the throes of his heat.

He's already losing his mind. His brain is leaking out of his ears, joining the puddle of breast milk, slick and drool gathering below his suspended, squirming form. Little noises keep spilling from his lips, mixed with constant "no"s and "please"s.

As if the beast wants nothing more than to rip all of Phantom's pride away, to humiliate him that much further, another vine is suddenly shoved into him, this time in his ass. It's lubed up, thank fuck it's lubed, because he doesn't think he could handle going at it dry. Where they got the lube, he doesn't question, but he has a strange feeling it's a mixture of his own fluids. That makes his stomach flip harder, suddenly feeling as if it's doing somersaults beneath his skin. But there's nothing he can do, except thrash around and whimper.

Suddenly, there's a rustle somewhere in the darkness. Phantom doesn't even register it at first, he only realizes something is wrong when the vines inside him stop and the warm wetness around his nipple leaves. His eyes open, his body still as a dead thing. Only when the familiar scent of damp woods and cinnamon hits his nose, does he dare move.

"Mountain!" he yells in such a hopeful tone, eyes widening in hope. But a second later a rough clawed hand is clasped over his mouth. He struggles, mumbles incoherent threats and even goes as far as to bite at the fingers pressing against his lips, but they don't budge. If anything, they tighten.

"Phantom? What are you doing he-" Mountain's voice cuts through the tense silence. Before he can finish, the other beast interrupts them.

"He was in my territory. He reeks of heat. I'm giving him what he needs. You on the other hand," they state in that same calm, calculated tone. Their green eyes flash for just a second on that last part. "Have no business here."

Silence.

Why isn't Mountain saying anything? Why isn't he rushing down here to save Phantom? Can't he see how horribly ruined he's getting? He went apeshit when he saw Swiss pouncing onto him with the intention of burying himself inside him. Swiss, who was, for the lack of a better phrase, a mere ghoul in that situation. Now, this? One of his own kind toying with him in such a degrading way? Why is he just standing there?

"Phantom is my mate. Don't act like you haven't seen the mark on his neck," Mountain finally speaks again. He sounds... scared. He sounds scared and angry, seething even, but thay rage is somewhat pushed down and poorly concealed.

"This?" the other asks in an almost bored tone, pressing a pad of a finger onto the slightly glowing bite mark on the ghoul's neck. A surge of strange, yet familiar pleasure shoots down Phantom's spine, a faint golden glow spreading down the invisible veins in pulsating patterns.

A barely audible growl rumbles from the shadows, but is quickly stifled out. "Earth," Mountain hisses. "Let him go. He may be in your territory, but he's still mine."

The monster, Earth, lets out an amused, almost mocking laugh. "Oh, sweet little Mountain," he starts, and suddenly the hand around Phantom's mouth leaves. "I'm just helping a poor creature in heat. You know that's what I do. Quite personally now, don't you?"

Phantom tries to lightly wiggle in his binds, but even with Earth engaged in the conversation, he doesn't seem distracted, so he's kept in place.

Another growl rasps from the darkness, this time accompanied with some rustling. "Shut it. Give him to me. His heat is my issue and mine only," speaks the normally calm beast, who sounds so on edge right now, moments away from exploding.

There's more rustling, coming closer and louder, as if Mountain finally gathered the courage to step forward and actually do something about this incredibly embarrassing and humiliating situation.

The ghoul is being moved then, tugged back and released from the vines, but immediately pressed into a hard, cold chest. "Stay," the big beast warns. "You know what happens to trespassers, Mountain. I wouldn't want our past to be so easily forgotten."

This time, Mountain lets a full snarl slip. "I don't care what you think we had, it all came down to you and your filthy desires. Give me my mate, or I'm going to break your antlers off your head and snap your fucking neck," he threathens, untamed and dangerous, all that previously bottled up anger now spilling into his words like venom through a dying animal.

Silence, again.

Then, a strangled sound comes from Mountain, along with branches snapping and scurrying through the leaf litter, as if he was stumbling around clumsily. "Get out of my head!" he yells, and he sounds so awfully strained that is pains Phantom's heart.

A moment later, he stills, but huffing and panting can still be heard, as well as snarling. Pissed snarling.

"You know you don't think that. You don't have to pretend just to seem big and strong in front of him," Earth speaks once more. He sounds oddly amused, a little smug even, as if he found what he was looking for when he so rudely rummaged through Mountain's mind. He runs a cold finger over Phantom's jaw, tipping his head slightly upwards with a claw. "After all, I'm sure he would understand what it is that we shared." Dark green light casts over the ghoul's face as the beast looks down at him for just a second. The glowing dots crinkle at the edges, as if he was smiling. All Phantom can do is bare his teeth at him.

Earth turns back to face where Mountain supposedly is. "You're jealous," he states. It's not a question, he knows.

Another moment of silence.

"Of course I am, someone else is fucking my mate while he's in heat and then decides to rub it in my face," the beast eventually spits. He sounds more pissed than Phantom's ever seen him. Sure, he's seen him a little aggressive and possessive, but this? He seems like he's going go rip Earth to shreds.

"Have you thought about asking to join?"

The question is worded in such a simple, every-day fashion. As if the monster in front of him is no danger at all.

Phantom is confused, as well as a bit scared. What the ever loving fuck is going on right now?

Once more, silence falls upon the forest. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. It's odd, since the ghoul half-heartedly expected his mate to immediately decline and call nonsense.

But they are hesitating. He somewhat understands why this is as well, after all, what are their options aside from that? The other beast made it very clear he wouldn't just give him up.

After what felt like just a bit too long, Earth moved again, pulling Phantom away from his chest and setting him on the ground. The cold, damp leaves stick to his back as he squirms immediately upon contact, but he can't really get anywhere before the monster's claws dip the skin on his stomach, threatening to pierce the skin. "Stay," he rasps above him.

The monster's dark glowing eyes momentarily flash down to his face, before looking at Mountain once more.

"If you can't make your decision, then I'll continue on as we were. I'll drop him off at your doorstep after I'm done."

"Wait-!"

Before Mountain could even fully form a protest, a loud wail rips from Phantom's throat as Earth suddenly shoves his cock inside the ghoul's warm cunt. The intrusion is so unexpected his whole body seizes up. It almost hurts, the slick having slightly dried while the two beasts were arguing. In this moment, he's just a little thankful for the vines that were violating him a few minutes ago. While it felt absolutely humiliating, it at least prepped him for the giant cock that was splitting him open right now.

Mountain's big, inhumanly (and rightfully) so. Phantom's cervix was heavily bruised after their last little session, but this? He feels like he's about to burst. He can feel it in his teeth, squishing the air out of his lungs, rearranging his guts. His hands fly down his body, trying to somehow push the beast away, but ultimately fails. In the process his palm brushed over his stomach just enough to feel the concerningly large bulge, moving up and down in time with Earth's thrusts. It hurts, it hurts so much, and he knows damn well that if he wasn't in heat right now, he wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Fine!" Mountain's yell finally cuts through the night and stops the big beast for just a little. "Fine. I'll join in."

They're clearly less than delighted to utter those words, but it's their only chance to be somewhat close to their mate in this situation.

Phantom can practically hear the smirk that spreads across the other creature's face, even if he cannot see. The beast shuffles around a little, crunching footsteps come closer to him, and sooner rather than later, the little ghoul finds himself sandwiched between the two large Forest Dwellers.

As soon as he's settled, Mountain wraps his arms around Phantom tightly. "Mine," he growls in clear agitation and aggression as he buries his face in the ghoul's neck. He feels sharp teeth brushing against the sensitive skin, and just a second later, those dangerous razor points tear into his skin. A reedy whine sounds from him.

Mountain bit into the marked side of his neck. He's never done that before, since the day this mark was given to Phantom. And it feels fucking phenomenal.

The ghoul's eyes roll so far back into his skull that his already minimal vision blacks out. White hot pleasure shoots through his veins, making his muscles weak and bones shiver. He clenches around Earth's dick hard as a second orgams shakes him to his very core.

He can vaguely hear the older beast's booming laugh, but it's distant, somewhere far away. All he truly registers is Mountain burying themself in his ass, Earth picking up his harsh thrusts once more, and he's gone. He briefly feels his mate bumping into a slightly raised spot inside him that feels so much more sensitive than anything else. Dew and Swiss once talked about testosterone apparently having the ability to make you grow a prostate. But he doesn't really remember that, it's nothing more than a distant echo in his mind.

Mountain would much rather be the one claiming Phantom's cunt, but considering how adamant Earth is being about having earned his prize, rutting into their mate's ass is all he can do for now.

It doesn't take them long to notice the new addition to the ghoul's chest. Clinging hands soon began to wander, and the possessive growl they let out at the discovery makes Phantom wetter than he would admit.

But Phantom's floating somewhere near the orbit. He's so far gone at this point he's not even making noises anymore. He doesn't know how many times he's cum, or if he's been cumming all this time. All he knows is endless rapture, blinding pleasure burning him from the inside out.

After hours or minutes, he's not sure, Earth finally pulls out. Pearly liquid spills onto his stomach, staining his skin but not his insides. As much as the monster wants to agitate Mountain, he knows that spilling inside their mate, let alone knotting him, would surely not end well.

The last thing Phantom feels is Mountain yanking themself out of his ass and harshly burying his cock inside his cunt. They barely get a few thrusts in before they too are done, gushing rope after rope of hot seed deep into his womb, their own knot locking them together. Earth is once more latched on his chest, he's sure Mountain is there as well for a second. But before he can feel embarrassed or humiliated again, his sight fades to black. It's too much, too soon, more than his small body can handle in the cold of a winter night.

But luckily Mountain is there, and they're going to make sure Phantom makes a full recovery.

----

Phantom stirs as warm sunlight falls on his eyelids. Blinking his eyes open with a yawn, he slowly looks around.

Mountain's cabin. If the sight of those familiar stained glass windows, decorated with dried orange slices threaded on strings isn't enough, the comforting smell of cinnamon and pine resin saturating the atmosphere reassures him of his whereabouts.

He slowly sits up. Every muscle in his body aches. He's so sore everywhere, especially where he was suspended by Earth's vines the previous night. But of course, it's worst in his crotch and chest. He looks down, relieved to see he's in one of Mountain's large, knitted sweaters. The collar is hanging off one of his shoulders, but he couldn't be more grateful for the warmth it provided. He reaches up under the hem of it to rub at his chest. It's flat again, mostly at least, but he has a strange feeling that if he rubs a little too hard a few leftover droplets might ooze out of him.

The quint raises his head to look at the open bedroom door. "Mountain?" he calls out, only loud enough to be heard. A few seconds later his giant mate comes shuffling through the doorway.

His hair's a bit messy, his eyes a bit more closed than normal. Groggy. He looks as if he woke up not so long ago. A soft smile tugs at his lips. "Hi Bug," he greets, leaning on the doorframe. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Phantom mumbles in response. "Surprisingly not dirty though." Last night he was covered in sweat and dirt and all kinds of bodily fluids. This morning though, there was no trace of any of them.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from the beast's chest. "Good. Ran you a bath when we got home last night. You were so tired you just slept through it." They walk over to the bed and sit down next to the ghoul, the mattress dipping under their weight.

Phantom groans and lets himself lean on the big monster. "I don't even know what happened last night," he complains. He's obviously being just a bit dramatic, Mountain knows. But he's had a long and eventful evening. After all, getting your heat broken by not one, but two forest cryptids can be tiring.

Mountain wraps an arm around his mate's shoulder and rubs his arm comfortingly. "I'll explain everything, I promise, my dear. But first, let's get some food inside you, yeah?" A gentle kiss is placed on the crown of the ghoul's head.

Phantom nods. "Food sounds nice. I'm fucking starving."

Another chuckle rumbles from Mountain, and soon Phantom finds himself in the wooden kitchen, seated in his mate's lap with a plate of deliciously smelling french toast in front of him, because this big beast is nothing if not loving, sweet and cheesy.

[teruki-inoue21]

Possible Link Click III plot line??

This, my friends, is the latest poster for Neo Aurora (which I believe is some type of upcoming Link Click concert?). Take a look

Who’s there at the center, u ask? Why, it’s none other than the Hat Guy aka Liu Xiao aka THE GUY WE’VE BEEN WAITING OUR ASSES OFF FOR YET IS NOWHERE THE F**K TO BE SEEN!

So yeah, I don’t know about y’all, but I think I know how Link Click II is gonna end. In the last episode (well, only god and the staff behind know what it’ll be ‘bout), just before the cliffhanger, there’s going to be a brain-damaging, coma-inducing, heart-attack-starting badass entry of this guy, Liu Xiao, who’s probably been manipulating EVERYTHING behind the scenes from the very start and maybe also has some ability we know nothing of….

Ok, now that I’m done ranting, let’s get the theories addressed. Here, we see Tianxi at the leftmost, Qiao Ling at the rightmost, followed by Tianchen right beside Tianxi at the left, and Cheng Xiaoshi beside Qiao Ling at the right. Center stage goes to Lu Guang n Liu Xiao.

Hmmm… Y’all see where I’m going with this????

Well then, let’s draw some parallels.

Let’s start with our main trio. Qiao Ling is the sister counterpart, whilst Cheng Xiaoshi is the main character, impulsive and emotional, yet with a strong sense (in his case this sense is of justice), whilst Lu Guang is the best friend of the main character, who one day appeared out of nowhere, and who we know nothing about, and who’s quite mature and calm-n-collected.

Now, about the pink twins and Liu Xiao. Tianxi = sister. Tianchen = impulsive guy with a strong sense too (which for him is the ideal of becoming a hunter, a “murderer” if u will), and finally Liu Xiao = the friend of the impulsive boi, who, just like Lu Guang, appeared out of nowhere in Tianchen’s life, who we know 0% of, AND whatever scenes we’ve seen of him, we can clearly deduce that he’s ALSO level-headed n a mature guy (quite a bit much for his age, and that’s what makes him all the more eerie and enticing).

[NOTE: Thanks a lot to @mrbokchoi at myanimelist.net for bringing up this wonderful and feral-making theory.]

So, I think we can safely deduce what could be the plot for Link Click III (and trust me ppl, it WILL happen). All the while we were watching II and we’re waiting for the CXS vs LTch showdown, it was never about THEIR showdown. It was always about the face off between the two guys in the shadows, the two mysterious variables who were working on their own agenda, never revealing what they were truly there to do. Yes, it was always about Lu Guang and Liu Xiao. Just as Link Click II has been completely from CXS’s POV (and a little bit of QL and Xiao Li’s perspective), I believe Link Click III will definitely be Lu Guang’s perspective, how he’s been traveling between and thru various timelines to save CXS from dying, a bit of focus on the alternate timelines, and finally, his showdown with the ominous Liu Xiao, the man behind EVERYTHING (?).

With that being said, I’m gonna drop one last bomb to make y’all go truly feral. If what I think is true, then in order to shift the POV from CXS to LG, this means that Link Click II will have a……….(wait for it)…………….(dramatic silence)……………………… BAD ending!!!! CXS will be gravely hurt, if not totally dead, and LG will be repeating the cycle, once more, as his pain grows……

Well then, I hope all of you who’ve been reading thus far, have a great wait for the final two EPS of Link Click II and for the third season.

(And a happy journey to becoming feral too, me lads!! 😈😈😈)

[kaddyssammlung]

Both “the house must endure” and also “the cycle must end” tied together.

→ “my redemption eternal ascension setting me free”

Idk how to write this in a way that many will understand?! I don't think there is a way that many will understand. I try my best....

I like the idea of the house being an analogy for our body. Yes I took that idea from that spiritual teacher Kerry, that I listen to a lot. When she explains something she often uses this analogy of our body either being a house or a ship (or a vessel...that always has me laughing).

I'm not a fan spiritual “stuff” that you can find on YouTube, or at least most of it. There is a lot of bs out there. But through researching Sleep Token lyrics I found Kerry's channel.

She talks a lot about ascension, meaning this whole planet going through an evolution. We are shifting from a three-dimensional reality to a fifth dimensional one. You can believe this or not, I don't care if you believe this or not. I'm someone who feels this with every fibre of my being and also sees everywhere. Ever noticed how the sun is no longer yellow? It's white, bright, bright, bright white. And also what about things like auroras everywhere suddenly?! Anyway...not that important. Like I said I feel this.

With ascension we end the endless cycles of reincarnation on this planet, into this matrix that we are in (trapped....we were actually trapped but “they” had to let us free in 2012. It was winter solstice of 2012, the year the Maya calendar ends, when it was humanity is either going to make it or be erased; still here..right?”)

We don't die or something like that. Our bodies are coming with us. Our houses must endure while we end those cycles of reincarnation. We go back to that Eden state, that wholeness. (our bodies I mean the house must endure)

Whenever I do energy work I connect with that "Eden state", that fifth-dimensional state. Everything is peace, just peace and also wholeness. I do feel whole again for just a moment until is “snap” out of it.

That's how I bring this together and I guess that maybe one of you reading this gets what I mean but even if it's not just that, then I wrote it down.

The house must endure = our bodies must come with us the cycle must end = the endless reincarnations on this planet ending via everything ascending

[jukebox-arts]

Chapter 4: Recall

It's a short one cuz after this point the chapters get longer and longer

Waking up was less of a chore this time, however neither of the brothers could recall exactly when they had nodded off to begin with. Moon was the first to rouse himself, blinking his eyes open against the dim purple light of the sitting room while taking the time to listen. Everything was still. Internally, his operating system pinged him.

//STATUS: ONLINE/

/Idle time: <1 shake_AST/

/Battery: fully charged/

>ES_Recoup: 0.0035%_

Well, it’s not like I lost a lot of power to begin with, Moon thought to himself, only slightly curious about why he’d gone idle at all when he had a full battery beforehand. Taking a slow breath that heaved his shoulders, he sighed. Glancing down, he saw his brother was still resting, head tucked against his collar like so many nights they shared in that place.

That place.

Thoughts began to cycle rapidly, Moon doing his best to moderate and control the rate at which they came and went to prevent triggering some form of panic in his mind. Something was nagging at him to address, deep in the corners of corroded files and memories that had been scratched out of their given locations, forcibly removed and leaving stinging holes in their wake. Hands tightening on the fabric of Sun’s shirt as he continued to hold his brother safely, Moon further internalized and began sorting through everything to try and understand whatever was bothering him so much.

Guilt? Hm, perhaps. They had just gotten into a small bout of emotions earlier. That memory was crisp–as much as he hated that it was, it at least reminded him of the now. How he’d held onto Sun as he crumpled under the weight of what he realized had to be an immense amount of stress, even if it was for good reason. Running away from home, from everything they knew–that was part of it, surely.

Yet not all. Even with it being a fraction of the issue, Moon also felt… distant to it. Like it had occurred in some other room he was only privy to watching through a wall of glass, withdrawn and not participating despite knowing full well he’d snapped at Sun and broken the dam the golden one had spent so long trying to keep in place. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he was more bothered by the feeling of distance itself or the fact it was there to begin with.

More to go over later, I guess, he told himself before returning to his mental sweep.

He remembered the rough tiff they had, how Sun had grown tired and they’d laid down on the couch, Moon cradling his brother as if shielding him from both the outside and inner turmoil he was feeling…

It wasn’t new. No.

The bed gave slightly under their combined weight, Sun’s normally warm body left cool to the touch as he sat, unmoving, in its center. Night had fallen and been there for what felt like an eternity, the distant light of Usil barely making up for the light of the aurora as it peeked over the edge of the high window. The only view they were afforded in this room.

Moon shook his brother’s shoulder gently, his voice quietly speaking the golden robot’s given name but there was no response. He tried again, firmer. The light spokes that decorated Sun’s head shifted, spinning slightly and growing in luminosity as he seemed to come out of whatever trance he was in, looking back to Moon.

His teal irises were desaturated, empty, the sight sending a sharp spike of cold worry into Moon’s joints. He begged to know what had happened, though he already had an awful feeling, their Lock humming incessantly in his gut as it registered some kind of distress he couldn’t assess.

That woman had already been here earlier.

Moon shuddered, shaking himself a bit. That memory was, unfortunately, intact as well. And he had woken Sun.

“Moon…?” Sun’s voice was weak, confused.

“I’m here,” he replied gently, allowing his brother to move away and sit up, the radials flowing from their projection points silently as they always did when Sun woke up. They both sat up slowly, groggy, and just the tiniest bit emotionally sore from their exchange prior to their… nap?

“Did… we fall asleep?”

Unable to look Sun in the eye, Moon nodded. “We did.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

He could think of one way to figure it out, but it meant interacting with that strange human, Jenn. The possibility she’d tampered with them was something he’d been ignoring, yet he recalled suddenly and sharply that he’d received a tampering warning when he woke up from being powered off. At first he’d felt it wasn’t about her, but the nagging was still there, demanding him to root out all possibilities.

Of course there’s a chance she added something instead of taking anything out. Something that would power them off remotely at a whim.

Getting up slowly, Moon squared his shoulders and went to the door.

Sun called his name, but he barely registered it, a strange kind of calmness overtaking his senses as he marched with deliberation to the outside where the faintest amount of noise was coming from. Somewhere behind him, Sun had gotten up to follow, still trying to talk to him–but he didn’t have anything to say to his brother at the moment. He needed to know what the error was. To know if she’d done something to them while they were offline, be it added or subtracted.

He just needed an answer–no, a confession–that she couldn’t be trusted. That they weren’t safe at all.

So he’d be justified in killing her with his own hands.

~

Leaving the pair alone was partly to see what they did when unsupervised for longer than a few minutes, but also due to Jenn still having things to do and she didn’t want to spend her day babysitting her unexpected guests. Not when she had things to double check. After departing from the sitting room, the human woman had gone outside and down the steps, footfalls thudding heavily until she was low enough to simply hop the rail and descend, landing on her feet with a thud in the grass. Shaking it off, she strode over to the metal room pod that served as her personal lab and held her false arm up; the light panel on the back of her hand flickered, then the door opened with a hiss, the lights popping on as she stepped over the threshold.

The array of equipment on the table remained untouched for the moment as she sought the bookcase in the back, a great wooden monstrosity she’d spent days hauling in piece by piece from a dump sight a short distance away–short being a relative term to her. Thumbing over the covers of notebooks and bound tomes salvaged, repaired and purchased from whatever vendors happened to have them, this collection was exclusively dedicated to cyberite, including its known properties and uses, both direct and adjacent.

Or as some preferred to call it, raw etherylle.

Everything she could get ahold of regarding the mysterious mineral was here–including manuals and schematics of self-contained etherylle power cycling systems and the machines made to use them. It had been a while since her last refresher, but Jenn knew they were here somewhere.

“Ah.”

There was a gap on the shelf. Her fingers skimmed over it curiously before tapping the shelf itself in thought. She’d moved it, apparently.

Turning, hand to her chin, Jenn’s gaze shifted from the floor to the large table in the middle of the space, the collection of parts littering the surface barely gaining her notice as she moved around it, scanning for the binder she needed. There was no organization, at least to the casual observer, the parts left sitting helter-skelter and yet there was still some sense of order to be had to their owner. Hip cocked as she tried to think back, Jenn felt she’d just had the binder she sought recently but her dragged brain had misplaced that tidbit of knowledge when she was ‘interrupted’.

Right, she recalled, glancing at the door a moment. I was working on… Her gaze returned to the table, quickly flicking over the parts and her mental notes of what she still needed or couldn’t use, a slow sigh escaping her mouth. Sorry, bud… I might have to wait a while before I can get back to working on you.

Dissatisfied, she left the sealed room and headed back up her stairs, pausing on the deck as she caught sight of the space between the trees at the very edge of her property where she’d found the pair of newcomers, just laying in the grass. The grass had gone back to its normal state and she’d cleared as much of the debris as she could, but odds and ends from the trees above still littered the ground–the trees themselves still bore a reasonable gap in the canopy from where they’d fallen. Pondering, she reached into her memories for a moment, I was in my lab… and then…

“Alert. Alert.”

Jenn’s brow furrowed as she picked her head up from where she was stooped over, comparing a cylindrical piston case to the catalog on the table. Twii, barely a comprehensible shape and more of a smudge of color, careened into the workshop through one of the air vents–Jenn intentionally kept the cover off of it for that very reason–as a strange voice emitted from her. The pocket-bot landed on the table gracefully, sitting in her idle position and changing her face screen to display a bright red WARNING banner.

“Uh oh,” the human uttered, which was all the permission needed for the little spot of color to tip her face back and project a cone of light upward, a message assembling itself out of the tens of thousands of light particles within.

“Alert: a D-class aurora anomaly has begun to form in the area of Crissen Ridge and Alva. Travelers, Runners and homesteads in the area are advised to seek shelter immediately in the nearest geo-stable location. Do not be alarmed if towers, equipment and companions experience technical difficulties during this time.” 

The alert began to repeat but Twii had the wherewithal to stop it after one, chirping as she followed Jenn to the exit, grabbing onto her mother’s shirt back to hitch a ride. Jenn let out a string of colorful curses as she hurriedly shut down her operation, scooping the binder into her hands and readying to power down the lab with the lockdown code for such events–then she paused a moment. Moving swiftly, she crossed the yard to the white tent on the opposite side of her tree that covered the half-built excuse for an add-on she used for storage and projects that needed better ventilation than the lab block. The parts she’d collected, laid out neatly on the doubled-up table in the middle of the space, could almost form the shape of a body if viewed at a distance.

With enough knowledge, one could see the layout of arms, a hand, the makings of a lower torso with hips, and some piping for legs, however there were far more gaps than anything else; not dissimilar to a paleontological discovery of bone fragments, in a way. This didn’t remain long, however, as Jenn scooped the parts haphazardly into a box on the ground, unwilling to let them get damaged by the aurora event. Most of the little ones fit into the box easily, but the pipes and larger coils had to be carried manually–frustrated, Jenn tossed the binder onto the double table, barely caught Twii fly off to the side of the space somewhere, and sealed the box…

Hopping the rail once more, Jenn hit the grass and entered her tent with only faint belief that what she sought would even be there given it had been recently occupied and she knew it wasn’t there while they were.

It took only a moment to know it wasn’t, in fact, in the tent. Unsurprising. What was there, however, was a mess.

Scratching her head, Jenn moved around the table the Sunrise had been on and found the pile of their clothes left on the grassy floor with absolutely none of the care that was normally given to things so expensive. Had she thought less of them, she’d assume it was simply naive negligence on their part–rich kids not knowing the value of their stuff and all that. She’d seen it plenty before.

However, the fact they intentionally donned the plain cloaks while abandoning their silks was curious. Was it due to practical need or something else? Carefully, she folded the fabric back up and set it on the little side table she’d dragged in from the lab, picking up the discarded decorations strewn about in the grass. Once it was set to rights, she peered around, hands on her hips.

Still no binder. Time to think about what happened next.

Snapping the hinges down, she hit the activator on the front of the box, sending a ripple of light through the seam where the lid met the base, the magnetic displacer kicking on. Hefting it onto her back with one of the straps attached to its side, she was grateful for the wonder of weight management devices like this that made hauling things like robot parts and groceries so much easier for one person. Arms laden with the bigger fragments of her project, she sped to the lab and deposited it all on the large table before returning for the rest, a bit displeased she needed two trips.

Once safely hidden from the coming anomaly, she locked the lab down and thundered up the steps, calling a crisp whistle that cut through every corner of the property to summon her collection to one place. Twii zipped out of the tent immediately, tailing up the steps behind her, while the bushes rustled below; Rukbat emerged, bounding over the yard to reach the patio like his life depended on it. Hanging a sharp right, Jenn rolled through the wrap-around patio and leaned over the rail, arm extended.

“Aquila!” she called, seeing the golden bird leave its perch and descend eagerly, giving a sharp rasp as the human pulled her under the eaves, unbothered by her bulk. Jenn entered her home through the back door and sealed it, Rukbat slipping into the house at the last moment and doing his best to stay out from underfoot. This door led directly into Jenn’s bedroom, arguably the largest space in the house, decorated almost exclusively in shades of blue or white and gray; she was nothing if not dedicated to a theme. Sitting on the large, circular bed that took up most of the space in the middle was Laa, already prepared for what was to come.

Setting her bird down on the bed, Jenn gave her a pet, feeling the mattress shift as Rukbat made himself comfortable. The twins nestled together between the larger Stellaris units, none of them seeming too perturbed by the warnings. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, that they had to face a major storm of geo-magnetic activity out here, but it would always be massively inconvenient, even if it wasn't directly overhead.

“Of course I’m right in the thakking middle of this one,” Jenn grumbled to herself while giving everyone gentle strokes and scratches. “Alright, all, you know what’s coming. Everyone power off for a shake or two.”

Obediently, they did as told, each one’s inner light fading slowly as they cycled down, bodies dropping slightly as they fell into stationary poses. It never failed to make Jenn uncomfortable on some level to see the light literally leave their eyes, no matter how temporary it might be. At least the twins only looked to be asleep.

“There’s that,” she muttered before snapping her fingers and rushing back outside.

Overhead, Jenn saw the green and yellow beginning to buckle and twist, streaks of red and blue pulsing across it like electricity before peeling off into ribbons of light. She stood on her patio, transfixed for a moment, before remembering she had to shut her tower down so it wouldn't crash. Going up the normal way felt too slow so she opted to cut through Aquila’s perch, swinging her arm over the roof to find the bent piece of metal she’d left up there for just such a reason.

Robotic hand enclosing on the jagged twist of whatever metallic-polycarbonate blend it was made of, she pulled herself over the slope of the roof and scrambled up toward the branches that shielded her home from the sky, the metal buckling with a deep ba-dunk sound under her feet. Carefully, Jenn sidled to the nearest branch and grabbed on, hauling herself into the tree with practiced motion, knowing it like her own synthetic arm. Every twig, every slice in the bark, she knew from her time spent crawling in, over and around them while making this place hers–she knew where to step, where to grab and what could withstand a little bounce here or there as she ascended to the top.

Bolted in place where the tree splayed open, branches naturally unfolding from the middle as if leaving it bare for just such a thing to be set up, was her tower, spinning rapidly in the growing turbulence. The broken panel she’d glued together with some cheap resin was always finicky, but this time it obeyed without question as she input the shutdown command; watching it and the sky warily, Jenn made sure the tower’s rotor at the very top came to a stop, folding down and retracting into the base with a jitter and groan. The screen flashed a power indicator for residual battery and current usage, which she didn’t check as she knew it by heart from the other times she'd had to do this very task. It never changed.

The aurora was coalescing at a faster rate now, being overtaken with oranges and blues, the sky appearing to rip open in places, leaving stark, black gashes of the Sky-Beyond-the-Sky to seep through. Part of her wanted to watch this phenomenon desperately, but she knew it would be a horrible idea to do so–the warp was forming almost directly over her house and the pressure behind her eyes was already building. She’d have a lot worse than a migraine if she gave into the temptation to sit outside and oggle.

Sliding back down through the branches, she made record time getting back into her house–just enough to be able to shut the windows and pull the storm blinds down before it really got going out there…

“Hm.” Jenn frowned at herself. “That doesn't help me at all. I didn’t grab it then…? No. I went to my room… er… no, the lounge.” Her hand went from her chin to the back of her head, rubbing it with confusion. “Where the halt is it?”

Exiting the tent, her eyes glanced to the space once again where the pair had been laid out, powerless and lost.

The storm rattled and raged, shuddering the very roots of the tree the house sat upon, but only Jenn was privy to the howling wind and mental fog that accompanied it. Trees didn’t have to worry about the feeling of falling and being spun at high velocity while sitting perfectly still like she did.

Actually, most people probably didn’t experience these storms the same way she did. Not unless they managed to sleep through them somehow, and dreamed vivid, restless dreams. This was no different, save for their intensity; the strange visions of things and places she didn't know had ceased to be concerning ages ago.

The pain, however, was another thing entirely.

By the time the storm had passed, Jenn was barely cognizant of herself, shaking and sweating on the floor of her sitting room as the last traces of magnetic sickness seeped its way out of her bones. Her false arm had been discarded only moments before the storm descended, as it only served to make the buzzing feeling in her body worse in these high-intensity vortexes. It laid on the floor nearby, the blue light gone from its exterior. Breathing heavily, Jenn lifted her head and blinked slowly with the lights coming back on–they’d gone out, as expected, as the storm interfered with the backup power.

Somewhere in the house, she heard movement, the tapping of nails on tile–had she given them the power on command by accident? Or were they out so long that their natural power cycle counter had run out and they simply returned to business? She wasn’t sure–her right eye throbbed with pressure that begged her to not question it.

Tapping steps went by through the wall, the sound of a door opening and closing–someone went outside. Sighing, Jenn sat back and wiped her brow with the hem of her shirt, feeling her hair cling to her scalp where she’d sweat enough to make it damp. Disgusting.

As fatigued as she was, there were things to do, and no amount of pain or head fog had stopped her yet. That wasn’t about to change.

She’d barely gotten her arm back in place when she heard the commotion, the loud clatter of something falling through the trees and Rukbat barking erratically. Fear dug its way past her tiredness, giving her the speed and coordination needed to bolt through her door to the outside, palm on her false arm as she prepared to deal with trouble. It was needless, though, as she realized the commotion had knocked itself out as it landed.

Stunned, the human leaned on the rail of her patio to try and get a better look, Rukbat standing alert on the grass below with his nose pointed to the mass of gray fabric and limbs that had, apparently, come falling through the sky judging by the mess of leaves and tree bark scattered around them. “What in Azil’s shell–?” Jumping the rail was a reflex that she immediately regretted, landing with far less grace than she usually had, her toes and ankles buckling under her unbalanced, tired weight. A choked off grunt was all she had to muster as she stood and padded over to her unexpected guests, stopping a distance away for her own safety.

One of them had heard her, picking his head up weakly, orange and cream embellishments standing out like a beacon against the gray fabric covering him; light flickered on his head but failed to properly catch–light radials, she realized, knowing they were a popular feature for Diurnal Task Managers, which he seemed to be. One eye was blinking in and out, as if trying to come online and failing, the other was a grayed-out teal that struggled to stay in focus, however she felt in her gut that he’d seen her for just a moment.

Right before he powered off.

Absently, her organic hand had reached over to her right side while she recalled her day, rubbing gently. “Right,” she said to herself, turning in place. “Then I took them to the tent and got them fixed up…” Briefly, she recalled moving the binder from the table when she separated them so each robot could get his own workspace, but then what?

Pantomiming the motions, Jenn envisioned the binder in her hands, feeling like she had gone upstairs next…

… the binder flipped open slightly as it sailed through the air, spinning in circles until it landed with a whump on the cushion only to bounce and flop behind the couch…

“AH!”

Of course it would be inside the house!

Hurrying, Jenn clamored up to her porch and rounded into the house so quickly she had to use her hand to brace the entryway as a pivot. It had only been a few minutes, perhaps the boys were dressed and she could pester them to let her grab the elusive bundle of paper before they found it–!

“She tried to shoot us, Sun!”

Moon’s voice reverberated through the closed door, bringing the human to a sudden stop. Uh-oh, she pondered, realizing they must be having a go at each other with how loud that was. Do I interrupt?

It was quiet again right after, which prompted her to put her ear to the door–it was her house after all–but she resisted the urge and stepped back, waiting just a moment to see if anyone emerged. When they didn’t, she sighed, hand on her neck. Guess I need to wait to get that stupid binder, I’m not gonna cut in if they’re having some kind of quarrel. It’s not my business.

Making a terse pbt sound with her lips, Jenn meandered back outside, seeing Aquila sail by overhead as she often did. The desire to confirm her suspicions was only nagging at best, but persistent, lending itself to generating more questions and theories as she looked for something to do to kill time until the pair had finished their squabble. How did they manage to survive not only the fall, but the aurora event, in one piece? Was the Sunrise’s quickness to trust and accept her help because he vaguely recognized her from before he powered off? Why were they even out here? Was she overthinking what she’d seen due to being unfamiliar with the basic structure of the Sun and Moon models?

That one, at least, could be answered as soon as she got the binder in her mitts, but the rest she felt would never get a proper answer, and that always bothered her on principle. She hated unanswered questions.

Alas.

It was none of her business.

Yet she hoped she could get the Moondrop to permit her to examine his system a bit more without a fuss. The memory of the error she’d found danced at the edge of her thoughts like a bug fluttering in the corner of her eye and there’s a high probability he’d gotten alerted to it when he came back online, so it was question of if he’d trust her enough to admit it or if he was going to accuse her of causing it. Either-or didn’t matter so much as long as it got him to sit still and grant her access, as she had a pretty good idea what it was. Moon had been tampered with before she got to him, but by what or whom she could only guess.

Likely not the one who’d installed the tracking chips in their main systems to begin with, though.

[primordialsoundmeditation]

Message for 16th March ~*Archangel Azrael ~ Surrender*~

✨

Death, like life, is constant. Everything in existence is constantly dying and being reborn – from the cells in our bodies to out thoughts and feelings, to the constant shifting cycles of nature. Like most aspects of nature, the human psyche also goes through larger cycles. The Earth has her days, nights, 28 day moon cycle, 12 month sun cycle just to name a few.

✨

We also have cycles and more often than not they are in complete attunement to the natural cycles. Whether that be through day, night, the weather, seasons or astrology, we have cycles and rhythms that are in tune with nature, regardless of whether we choose to be conscious of it or not.

✨

The part of the cycle coming up here is death. At this stage we deal with a release and a surrender. We must at this stage release some aspect of our life and our self. Beyond that we must release the ego; the part of ourselves that is attached to identity, to itself being seen, being right, the part that buys into the illusion of believing that we can ever truly know the unknowable. At this time a surrender must occur. A surrender to God, to life, to Great Mystery, the universe and the higher intelligence that exists in love.

✨

Once this occurs, a new kind of freedom is achieved within the psyche and the spirit ans we become a clean slate for a new phase to begin.

✨

A death phase can be exciting, terrifying, ecstatic, devastating, or even all of the above, depending on what is occurring for you. Humans are generally petrified of giving up the ego self. This is why we are afraid of death. But the ego must now be released in order to experience new life.

✨

Ultimately, all that can be done is too process whatever feelings are coming up and surrender to this divine and natural cycle of consciousness. Inability to surrender will only result in this part of the cycle being a longer, more drawn out and difficult process than it necessarily has to be.

✨ Aurora's Love

Above all, a true sense of liberation now awaits you. A new phase. Change is occurring now, embrace and surrender to it.

✨