#teenage godlings

[little-pondhead]

Oops.

While learning to control his powers under the guidance of Clockwork, Danny accidentally curses his own bloodline with the Curse of Sentient Food several centuries in the past. Originally, a witch was supposed to curse his family. Oops. Well, the Fentons were always adapting, and technically, either way, he'd end up battling dino nuggets at three am in his underwear, no matter who the curse came from. So he shrugged and continued on.

Unfortunately, this also means that out of nowhere, the timeline shifted, and some of his very distant relatives are now battling their food into submission at every meal because Danny is ultimately way more powerful than some mortal witch from the 1600s. His version of the curse reached literally everyone he could ever be related to for the last few centuries. Even if they were adopted into the family!

So, returning to the present time after training, Danny is a little startled to see some news clips of people's dinners coming to life and beginning revolutions. Wow, John Fentonightingale really got around, didn't he? He felt a little uncomfortable that now all these random people had to deal with their share of Fenton luck, but from some of the interviews, everyone seemed to be handling it pretty well!

Especially his so-distant-they're-on-another-tree cousins, the Kents, who contacted his family directly, asking how best to prepare a zombie turkey. Their son was coming for Thanksgiving with his new wife and some coworkers, and they just refused to make the guests fight for their lives on a holiday!

They invited the Fentons to join them, of course.

[canonical-transformation]

@ossidae-passeridae this is peak masculinity. you will just have to trust me on this

🛑✋STOP👎🚫 Using Anti-Self Language, with Scara and Kabukimono

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 3

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing, Amren bashing, Cassian is being annoying, Azriel's scars and his thoughts about them, Chronic Pain and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was quite certain that his shadows were out to kill him.

They were acting like a couple of obsessed, lovesick teenagers around Eira, unable to keep away from her for even a second, constantly wrapping around her hands, winding through her hair, curling around her fingers, as if eager to remain in contact with her 24/7.

And they also kept...dressing her.

He knew they did that because the dress she wore that evening was nothing he had ever seen her in before.

It wasn't like it was particularly revealing. It had long sleeves that covered her wrists and the skirt fell to the floor as well. It wasn't even the fact that the neckline bared her shoulders, elegant, flawless ivory skin on display for him. It wasn't even that it bared the arch of her neck with the way they had swept her hair up into an elegant knot high on her head...or the silver pins they scattered through the updo...It was the rich cobalt blue of that dress that matched his siphons perfectly.

The sight of her in that gown had nearly stolen his breath away, his heart nearly having stopped altogether at the way the rich blue fabric looked against her ivory skin. It made her skin glow and accentuated each and every contour of her body…showing him the soft swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, her hips…

She was the most breathtakingly beautiful sight, the very picture of grace and loveliness and perfection.

And the most infuriating thing was that Eira didn't even seem to realise it.

She ducked her head shyly…like she expecting him to say something…negative about how she looked, instead of seeing how he nearly fell all over himself as he saw her descend the stairs in the River House...and the fact that he kept clutching that bouquet of flowers like an absolute idiot.

The books had told him to give her flowers. And then they had also supplied him with a whole list of flower meanings when they were already at it.

He had chosen snowdrops. They weren't even in season, which meant his shadows had gone so far as to go to the Winter Court to find them for him, but they clearly thought it to be worthwhile, if the look on Eira’s face when he had offered her the bouquet had been any indication.

There were two reasons for this choice: Her scent had always been a perfect match to them for him...and their meaning: Hope and new beginnings.

Part of him had wanted to tell her the reasons for his choice. Had wanted to tell her the meaning of the snowdrops, to tell her that more than anything, he hoped that the bond between them would continue to grow…But he had bitten his tongue and simply handed them over, silently praying that she would like them.

For a moment, her eyes had widened, her lips slightly parted in surprise, a look of wonder on her face. "They’re gorgeous," Eira had whispered, carefully taking the bouquet from him. “Thank you so much.”

Her words had made his heart flutter. But nothing had quite hit him quite so hard as when she had leaned slightly forward to bury her nose in the blooms, inhaling the delicate scent with a blissful little smile on her face.

And then the shadows had whisked them away and Eira had smiled at him, grey eyes wide and happy. "Do you often attend the symphony?" she had asked him quietly.

He had needed a moment to remember how to form words in his head, too focused on the smile on her face, the soft scent of snowdrops still clinging to her, making his instincts go berserk. Azriel had to force himself to focus, to remember that she had asked him a question. A question he actually had to answer.

"More often than one would think," he admitted. "I...enjoy music," he told her quietly. The soft confession left his lips before he had consciously realised it.

It was the truth, of course. He hadn’t lied. He did enjoy music, though it wasn’t something that people tended to associate with him much at all. Most people tended to think that he spent his time stewing in the darkness and brooding. (Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t do that…but he did have…hobbies of sorts. Music was one of them.)

But he did enjoy the concert halls in Velaris immensely. The symphony in particular.

Eira’s smile softened at his answers. "Do the shadows like the music too?" she wondered. His shadows practically vibrated with excitement at her words, preening at the fact that she had thought to ask them.

Very much so, they answered brightly. 

He looked down at the way they twirled around her hands, the way they twisted around each other like dancing ribbons, as if they were showing off their enjoyment, unable to deny her a single word. Azriel suppressed a smile at the sight.

"They love it," he confirmed quietly.

"So are you going to winnow us one of these days, Az?" Cassian broke into the conversation, his patience clearly ending.

Azriel shot him a glare, though Nesta was there before him. His brother wasn’t even subtle enough to have hidden the smirk on his face. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. 

Azriel wanted nothing more than to throttle him.

He held out his hands for Cassian, who in turn had his arm around Nesta, who had watched the whole interaction with sparkling grey eyes...and then he held out his arm for Eira. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow, giving him one of these shy but dazzling smiles.

The minute her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow, his shadows purred in satisfaction, their voices sounding oddly smug as they twirled around their fingers.

One moment they had been in the Foyer of the River House...the next they were in the private Box the High Lord kept at the Symphony in Velaris. courtesy of Rhys. It made security much less of a hassle and the private box would also ensure some quiet. Which meant he could give Eira his undivided attention. Something he very much intended to do.

Eira stared around wide-eyed, her hand tightening around his arm and he allowed himself to pat it with his other...feel the perfect, flawless skin underneath his own scarred hands. It was hit or miss on a good day how much he could even feel with his hands at all, but that day he could swear he could feel every freckle. 

Her skin under his fingertips was so smooth, so flawless, completely unblemished. The thought that his hands, his hands rough and calloused, marked with scars, were touching her soft skin seemed almost like blasphemy. As if he shouldn’t be allowed to touch her, as if his hands weren’t good enough to even be near her.

"Oh," she breathed out, still wide-eyed. "It's beautiful."

Azriel followed her gaze, taking in the sight of the great hall, of its black and gold, the sheer size of it, the great stage, the hundreds of seats. He had to admit that it was pretty, but in that moment he hardly noticed the beauty of the hall. His eyes were on Eira, the look of wonder on her face as she took in the symphony.

"Did you never go before?" he wondered, but she shook her head.

"I haven't really seen much of Velaris," she admitted quietly. "I found the alterations tailor shop where I take commissions from and...sometimes I go in a shop that piques my interest but I have never gone to the symphony."

Azriel had to fight down a wince at that confession.

He knew that she mostly spent her time in the River House but the thought that she hadn’t even seen the city...it bothered something deep down inside of him. How could she have been here for over two years and still not have seen everything Velaris had to offer? 

But it also gave him...it gave him options what he could show her next...what they could do. If humans did carriage rides, could he get away with offering to take her out on a midday flight?

The thought of her flying with him tugged on something deep inside of him. A primitive part that he usually wrestled into submission easily. But this time it didn’t want to be silent, insisting that he could show her far more of the city, could show her himself while doing so. That part of him practically preened at the thought of having her hold onto him tightly as they flew through the air...

"Do you play any instruments?"  Eira asked suddenly as he escorted her to her seat, letting her gracefully slide into it.

Azriel’s brows shot up in slight surprise.

For a moment, he just stared at her blankly, blinking, his brain needing a moment to get back on track after the thought of a flight.

Then the question registered and he just about managed not to flinch. He shook his head, mutely. "I...I can't," he said, his voice hoarse. "I tried the piano but my hands..."

He trailed off and gestured vaguely towards his scarred fingers. 

He gestured to his hands, the scars, to the crooked little finger on his left hand. The scars were one thing, but the fact that he could barely feel anything in his hands...he usually managed the tremors, but his hands never cooperated enough to allow him to properly play the piano. Sometimes, on the worst of days, he could hardly hold a pen and actually write something legible.

He had enough pure grip strength to hold a sword, a dagger, and a knife… sometimes the fact that he didn’t actually have much feeling in his hands was a good thing in a fight. 

He had learned to mask it, of course...learned to use the right amount of pressure in a myriad of situations...learned to be gentle enough not to hurt anybody accidentally. But even with that...playing the piano had been a try once and never again.

He had made his peace with the fact that he simply wasn’t meant to play the piano. Had long since accepted that he was simply not good enough. But the part of him that still burned, that still ached when he thought about what he had lost, ached at the thought that he would never be good enough to play the piano, to play anything, really…it never stopped. 

His half-brothers hadn’t just given him unspeakable constant pain…but they had also taken so much from him. 

Eira stared down at his fingers in surprise, as if she was only now noticing the scars in them. His fingers itched at the way she stared at the scars on them, his instincts suddenly screaming at him to hide them from her, to not let her see. But he couldn’t do that. So he let her stare, letting her see even the scars.

There was a strange intensity on her face as her eyes roamed over the scars, almost as if...

Almost as if she was memorising every single one of them.

And then she reached out, taking one of his hands into both of hers, carefully touching the thick scars that covered the back of his hand completely.

Azriel nearly startled when she took his hand, only just managing to keep his instincts in check. His entire attention honed in on the touch of her hands, the soft way her fingertips traced the scars on the back of his hand, almost as if she was treating his skin like something very, very fragile.

The moment the lights went out and darkness engulfed them, his shadows twirled through his hair with soft, almost mischievous voices in his mind

He had to stop himself from closing his eyes, from focusing on the feeling of her fingertips tracing his scars, from focusing on the fact that she was holding his hand.

Instead, he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to actually look towards the stage, to pretend that he was not focused on every single point of contact between their skin.

He wasn't sure what he had expected. Wasn't sure if he had expected her pity or anything else...

He had never talked about the scars much. Hadn’t really talked about…how they appeared on her skin. Didn’t talk about what they meant for him…how they still hurt him, to this day, centuries later and how they would still hurt him decades from now. 

And he certainly had never had anyone actually look at them so intently, so gently...let alone touch them like she was now.

He never allowed anyone to touch his hands, if he could help it, except for the people he trusted with his life.

And now here Eira was, holding his hand and tracing every single one of his scars so softly...like she wanted to memorise every single one of them.

She didn't let go. Not once. Not during the whole three hours.

Eira didn’t let go. She didn’t flinch back in disgust or shame or embarrassment…she did nothing. She held onto his hand during the entire performance, gently tracing the scars on his skin, as if she was memorising each and every single one of these markings.

She didn’t flinch back like they were disgusting. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t…

Azriel didn’t know what to do. Didn’t quite know what to do with the way his head was racing, the way his shadows were practically purring in his mind.

So he didn’t do anything.

He just sat there, silent, still, and let her hold his hand.

He couldn’t recall a single piece that had been played, not a single instrument that the symphony had played, not a single second.

His entire focus had remained on the feeling of her touching his hands, tracing his scars, holding him delicately like he would disappear if she let go.

Even as the last performance ended, the final violin notes echoing off the walls of the great hall and the lights came up again, her hand remained in his, her fingertips gently tracing the same scars that she had been tracing for the past three hours.

He wasn’t sure if she was even aware she was doing it, still tracing his scars as if they were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen as if she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Part of him wanted to shake her out of it, to tell her that his scars were not something that she should be admiring. A far bigger part of him relished the feeling of her stroking his hand, almost as if it was the most delicate, fragile thing she had ever touched.

But then she seemed to realise what she was doing, her fingers pausing in their movement. Her head whipped around and her eyes met his, wide and nearly panicked.

She looked as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t have, as if she somehow expected him to be angry at her for holding his hand, for tracing the scars.

He could practically read the words on her lips, could practically see the question on her tongue as she looked at him, her eyes still wide, her hand still holding his tight.

Could practically hear her ask if it was alright that she had touched the scars, if he was alright with her holding his hand for so long, if she had gone too far.

He wrapped his ruined fingers around hers, squeezing just tight enough to move her fingers.

Her fingers were small between his, so tiny and slender, but for once the difference in size didn’t make him feel monstrous.

He felt...he felt as if her fingers had been made to fit into his as if they belonged there. He felt the urge to bring her hands up to his lips, to kiss each and every one of her slender little fingers…

"So, are we gonna get some food?" Cassian said brightly, looking bored out of his mind.  Azriel was quite sure that his brother wanted him to snap his neck. Or maybe they should all just be happy that he hadn’t actually fallen asleep and started snoring halfway through the performance. 

Azriel had to fight down a low, rumbling growl at the interruption, shooting a glare at his brother before his eyes snapped back to Eira’s, to the way her slender fingers had tangled with his.

"I could eat," Nesta agreed with her mate, giving him a look.

Which left Azriel to look at Eira, to hold her stare.

"What about you?" he asked quietly, his voice strangely hoarse. "Are you hungry?"

Eira looked at him with those beautiful grey eyes, taking a moment to think.

He couldn’t stop staring at her as she bit her lip in thought, the sight of her teeth worrying the plump skin sending another shudder down his spine.

And then she nodded once, a shy, hesitant move. “Yes, I am hungry,” she admitted quietly.

"Sevinda's?" Cassian suggested immediately.

Azriel had to resist the urge to sigh at Cassian’s enthusiasm.

While he didn’t particularly mind eating at Sevinda’s, he would have rather stayed somewhere more private. But it wasn’t going to happen. So he merely nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Sevinda’s sounds good.”

Another bout of winnowing later...they found themselves at Sevinda's, tucked into one of the tables outside. Eira was still holding his hand. He had checked in with her twice if she wanted to rather sit inside, but she had waved him off. He could feel her uncomfortableness...but it seemed to ease.

Azriel did notice the way she tensed the moment they appeared out of the shadows at Sevinda’s, the way her eyes darted around her as she looked over the restaurant they were now sitting in.

He could see her clenching her jaw, could see the way her hand tightened around his, could see the way the other hand clenched around the fork.

She wasn’t comfortable here, that much he could see.

But it did get a little better as the evening went on.

They ordered. Azriel tried not to notice the way she shifted in her chair, eyes darting around her like she was expecting a battle to break out any moment.

He gently squeezed her hand under the table, pulling her attention away from the people around them.

“Are you alright?” he mumbled to her, low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.

She started at his question, her grey eyes wide as she looked at him, clearly surprised that he could tell that she wasn’t at ease in the restaurant.

“I...I’m fine,” she muttered, her own voice low. “Just expecting...the worst.”

Azriel could see the truth in her eyes, and could practically feel the tension radiating off her.

He gently squeezed her hand again, drawing her attention fully to him. “We’re at Sevinda’s,” he told her quietly. “This is one of the safest places in Velaris. If only because everybody is terrified of what Cassian will do if Sevinda isn't there to feed him," he quipped.

Azriel heard Cassian snort across the table. “Damn right,” he said.

He could see the corners of Eira’s mouth twitch at Cassian’s comment, a slight smile pulling at her lips

It was such a tiny smile, but for Azriel, it felt like the most precious thing in the world. 

*****

Eira had never really ventured deep into Velaris. 

She had the alteration tailor shop where she took commissions from…and then she sometimes saw a shop that piqued her interest and she went in there…but she had never…never really gone exploring. 

Never actually trusted herself to do that, in this strange place. Because as long as she had been High Fae…it was still a strange place for her. Never had been…quite home. 

But the Symphony with Azriel? That had been…utterly beautiful. Utterly perfect. 

The symphony with Azriel had been something close to magical. She had spent hours with him, holding his hand, tracing the scars, feeling his rough fingers under her own. Her entire focus had been on him during the performance, the only thing on her mind was the feeling of his skin against her own. His scars underneath her fingertips.

It had been a little terrifying, the realisation that she hadn’t looked at a single instrument, hadn’t heard a single melody...only him.

But that was nothing against the...pure rage she felt when he had told her that he couldn't play an instrument. He had stared at her as if he had never had anyone actually...console him for the fact that he had never been able to learn how to play.

How to learn this art that he clearly had a deep affinity for.

She could feel the scars on his hand, the ruined skin underneath her fingers. But she refused to be revolted by it. The scars on his hands were just that…scars. Just part of him. And she wasn’t revolted by him. The thought of being revolted by Azriel...it didn’t even cross her mind.

She traced over the scars on the back of his hand, gently touching the rough skin.

She wanted to be near him desperately. Wanted to be wrapped in his arms, as close as she could possibly be.

And still, she had wondered...if this one thin line on her chest still ached weeks later...how did these hands feel to him? How much pain was he in on a daily basis?

She had seen him writing, the trembling hands… She had seen him clench and unclench his hands as if struggling with the shaking. And that was just the fact that they were shaking. She didn’t even dare to think about the pain he had to feel, how he still managed to use them while fighting….

She knew, instinctively, that the pain in his hands was still there, and had never truly left after he had been… tortured. Because that was what had happened. Regardless of what anybody else thought.  And now the pain in his hands served as a constant reminder of that, how close he had nearly come to being absolutely broken.

She knew that every tremble, every shake, every clenching of his fingers was just a reminder of what had happened.

And she hated it. She hated those scars on his hands, hated that they caused him so much pain. 

She wished he had never gone through it. 

But then she wished that about so many things. 

So Eira did what Eira always did when she needed some peace and quiet: She went to hide in the kitchen. 

Not even Elain was there these days. Which was something that…Eira didn’t want to think about it either. She wanted…she didn’t even know where to start with that…still didn’t know how to feel about…any of this. 

How she was supposed to feel about her twin sister trying to take away her…daughter. Her daughter. 

Trying to take away her mate and her baby. 

The more she thought about it…the more angry she became. 

Elain was her sister, her twin. But that didn’t change the fact that she had tried to steal her daughter.

Eira clenched her teeth, leaning back on the kitchen counter, arms crossing in front of her chest.

She wasn’t sure how she was ever supposed to forgive Elain for that. 

Nyx took that moment to bang the bowl onto the counter where he was sitting. Eira couldn’t help but laugh at her nephew. 

Nyx, as sweet and adorable as he was, had a temper. And he wasn’t the most patient child. Eira had learnt that the hard way. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t love him.

“Are you trying to make a mess, you little rascal?” she teased him. “How about we make some cookies?”

"kies! kies! Ra Ra!"

“What, little monster? You want cookies?” Nyx babbled incoherently, grinning wide at her.

Eira chuckled, ruffling his hair affectionately before moving to gather the necessary ingredients. Or she would have if the shadows hadn't been quicker.

“Come on…” she grumbled, watching the shadows creep over the ingredients, gathering everything necessary. She gave a small huff. “I was gonna do that.”

You aren't supposed to do anything strenuous, they said softly.

Eira rolled her eyes at that, the motion just a little fond.

“It’s cookies,” she protested. “That’s hardly ‘strenuous’.”

The shadows just glided around her, gathering all the necessary ingredients on the countertop, just within arm’s reach of her. They seemed to almost be…arguing with her if she interpreted their movements correctly.

“Fine, I won’t pick anything up,” she said with a huff. “You happy, you meddling shadows?”

For their part, the shadows just swirled around her with a low, almost smug-sounding whisper.

Eira grumbled under her breath but couldn’t quite help but smile.

She didn’t mind the shadows. They seemed to always be around her, as if they were…watching out for her, in some way. She had stopped trying to question it a while back. 

“Let's go make some cookies," she said with a sigh.

Nyx gave an excited, loud babble, clearly excited at the idea of baking.

Eira chuckled softly. “Alright, alright,” she mumbled. “Maybe if we make them good enough, your parents will give you a treat after.”

And maybe she could steal some for herself as well.

Nyx babbled and giggled.

Eira chuckled and ruffled his hair again before looking at the ingredients the shadows had gathered for her, a smile pulling at her lips.

“I think the first thing we have to make is the dough,” she mumbled quietly to Nyx as she started measuring out the sugar. “Do you wanna help me with the bowl?”

Nyx babbled happily, watching with round, wide eyes as she gathered the ingredients and started mixing them into the bowl.

He seemed a little too excited at the sight of her mixing everything together, little giggles tumbling out of him as the liquid in the bowl churned around.

Eira chuckled when she saw he leaned forward almost as if he wanted to stick his fingers in it.

No," she said, gently pushing his arms back. "Do not stick your fingers in the cookie dough."

Nyx only made a huffy sound, as if he didn't like that she was stopping him.

Eira chuckled. "You'll get to lick the spoon once I'm done," she told him. "If you wait nicely, that’s it.”

Nyx looked at her with wide, round eyes, a little pout on his face. He babbled at her as if trying to convince her to let him dip his fingers in the dough at that very moment. She laughed at the betrayed look on his face when he realised that she wasn't gonna let him eat the dough right away.

Instead, she started humming, Nyx happily clapping along.

She continued humming while she finished mixing the dough, still fighting to keep Nyx from sticking his fingers in the bowl.

The boy was determined, she would give him that. As soon as she was satisfied with the dough, she pulled the bowl away, looking down at him.

"We gotta let it rest for a bit, alright?" she said with a chuckle.

He yawned.

Eira chuckled at that, gently poking his cheek. "Are you getting tired, little rascal?" she teased him. "Did all that baking exhaust you, hm?"

Nyx just yawned again, blinking sleepily.

She chuckled again and shook her head.

"We'll let the dough rest for a bit," she said quietly to him. "And I think a little rascal needs a little nap."

He babbled something in protest as if offended at the very idea of a nap. Eira only laughed and shook her head.

She picked him up, resting him on her hip. "No napping is not an option," she told him in a quiet, mock-stern voice.

Nyx was already looking slightly sleepy, his little head dropping against her shoulder.

Her chest twinged at carrying him, but she didn't try to get up the stairs. Instead, she brought him into the living room downstairs, sitting next to him as she laid him down on one of the couches, curling up next to him.

"Sing, Ra Rar?" he requested softly.

Eira was only too happy to oblige.

She gently settled down on the couch, shifting so she was resting next to him. Nyx curled into her side and she gently wrapped an arm around him, holding him close.

Then she started singing, humming a soft tune under her breath.

Soft, soothing lullabies.

A human lullaby. One that she had used to humm to Feyre when she had just been a child. 

The boy's eyes started drooping as she sang, and his breath started to even out. He nuzzled against her as if seeking out the comfort of her embrace.

Eira smiled and shifted a little, wrapping her other arm around him and pulling him closer.

He yawned and curled against her, letting out a little sleepy babble. She chuckled at how he curled against her, like a cat seeking out warmth. Her nephew was more than a little affectionate, a constant need for cuddles and hugs and affection. But he was sweet.

Eira continued singing, holding him close as he started drooping more and more against her, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open.

It didn’t take long for Nyx to fall asleep, his breaths evening out and his body going heavy and pliant against her. And still, she kept singing, her voice quiet. 

She wasn’t really focused on the song, on the words…her entire focus was on Nyx, on the fact that her nephew lay in her arms, in her embrace, completely and utterly relaxed.

Safe. Safe and sound and not a single scratch on him. She hadn’t failed to protect him. She hadn’t…Nothing had happened to him. 

Eira was so focused on the little boy in her arms that she didn’t even realise that the shadows were gone. She continued singing, gently running one hand over her nephew’s back.

She wasn't sure what it had been that suddenly made her look up...her singing ceased as soon as she realised that Azriel stood in the doorway, watching her.

His gaze was fixed on her and on Nyx, lying in her arms. She wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a look on his face…a look in his eyes. Something soft, something almost…. tender.

She didn’t dare to breathe.

"I am sorry," she apologised softly. "Did I bother your meeting? I'll stop." She hadn’t even known that he was at the River House that day, hadn’t known that Rhys would be busy with meetings. Otherwise, she would have been quieter. 

Azriel just shook his head, taking a couple of steps closer until he was hovering next to the couch.

“You aren’t bothering anything,” he said softly, voice rough. “You can keep singing if you’d like.”

Eira’s breath hitched a little as Azriel took a few more steps, moving until he could slide into one of the armchairs.  She swallowed. 

“Amren said I should stop my screeching, “ she blurted out suddenly. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

Azriel blinked. Once. then twice. 

“You could never bother me,” he said, his voice fierce. “And your singing is anything but a screech.”

Eira felt her breath hitch in her throat, her eyes wide. She could feel that her cheeks were warm, embarrassment coursing through her.

And yet…there was still that look on his face, that softness in his eyes as he looked at her, holding their nephew against her chest. 

She swallowed a little before speaking. “…you don’t think it’s terrible? You don’t think I sound like a dying crow?”

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said softly, voice low enough so that he wouldn’t wake Nyx up.

His gaze was still fixed on her, on the picture they made, on how she was curled around the tiny little boy, still that soft look in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. 

For just one single second Eira allowed herself to think about…the future. Think about that little girl that she had seen. Would she one day sing her own daughter to sleep?

“You want me to keep singing?” she whispered quietly, shifting a little so she was sitting up straighter.

Azriel met her gaze, as he nodded. 

He nodded. “Please,” he mumbled, his voice low and hoarse, rough even. “Please, keep singing.”

So she did. 

[cowboyist]

The Blüdhaven Godling

A new idea wiggled its way into my muse's hands.

So, Dick moves to Blüdhaven soon after being fired from Robin and things are tough and he was homeless for a bit. Despite how bad it all is, Dick tries to help those around him; taking care of the kids or checking in on the ladies of the night, jumping into fights and all that.

His reputation grows, kids keeping an eye out for John because he always had candy for them or that he was someone who never loses a fight, that he was safe, he loved hugs but won't give them unless you ask for them. The ladies of the night appreciated his efforts with their unruly or pushy clients, popping out of the dark to shove or pull them away. He keeps moving around, never really staying in one place but people see him at least once a week.

Eventually Dick gets his feet underneath him and becomes Nightwing. He still takes care of the homeless, the kids and the ladies but he would hear questions about 'John', if they'd seen him or if he knew if John was ever coming back.

This makes Dick see that even as some homeless kid, as John, he had brought comfort to these people. He tries to make rounds as John, the relief and joy on the faces makes it worth it, no matter how tired his body feels.

His reputations grow, as John, as Nightwing. The gangsters and criminals fear Nightwing, his sharp wit and the crackle of his escrima sticks. The homeless kids kept running up to John, their hands light and his pockets empty of candy for them, his ears and shoulder ready for them to unburden their chests or wanting comfort.

Things change when he happens to be John at the right place, at the wrong time. He was too late to stop the gunshot from hitting the teenager, a boy named Matthew, and he was there to beat the culprit to immobility and then he was there to comfort him as Matthew bled out.

The kids saw his hands glow, they swear up and down, that it was a soft blue, John paid it no mind, his eyes and focus was on Matthew's shallow, wet breathing, talking to the boy as he plead with him to hold on, that EMTs were on their way.

The flashing lights came soon after, the glow gone and the wound wasn't bleeding anymore, the skin pink and agitated. The EMTs quickly whisked Matthew away. One of the kids, a close friend of Matthew's, was brave enough to approach the bloody man, who was pale and staring at the leaving ambulance.

She gave him a mandarin as thank you. John tried to hand it back, but she insisted and he left soon after. They didn't see him for a while, the streets eerily quiet as Nightwing had become more brutal, especially those with guns.

The kids visit the spot and leave little trinkets, not food because that would be wasteful and they needed to eat. Things escalate, the kids then start 'talking' to John, when he wasn't with them, they get shocked when later the man seems to just pop up, sometimes he was there to be a shoulder to lean on or he has what they talked about.

The whispers grew and grew, and soon they were the ones giving him small gifts as thanks for his help and company.

Someone jokingly asked for his protection, which John indulgently 'blessed' them by tapping the right then left shoulder and then placing the hand on their forehead. "You will be protected this fortnight."

Then rumours spread that this person didn't encounter any trouble, from local gangs or the corrupt police or anybody, for a couple of weeks, like magic. And more kids and teens ask John for his blessing and each and every time John would indulge them, an almost confused but warm smile on his face. They brought new kids to him too, to show them John and to get John's acknowledgement before squirrelling away.

Their belief grows and John starts looking better, more energy in his step and he's around more often, to help and care for them.

-_-_-_

Just an idea, I really don't know if it goes anywhere but it's out there. Hah!

[b0red-b1rds]

Okay but idea for SAGAU for something silly that just happened

so i was like playing with my sister right??? And she's like 4 and i thought genshin was like mostly PG so i decided to play with her because my mom always ask me to spend more time with her so we can bond and be more united, and i love my mom so i said yeah sure and i just finished the liyue Archon quest yesterday so i was doing that an involuntary sacrifice quest thing no? So we just go into the domain all happy go lucky when KABOOM the upside down venti statue and the dead treasure hoarder, i audibly gasp and my sibling runs away crying and now me and my mum are laughing while she combs my hair, so i thought it would be funny if this was a sagau scenario and you're the first sagau writing blog i scrolled by so i wanted to know ur take on it XOXO

Anon this is absolutely hilarious but I feel so bad for your sibling-

Hilarious happenstance aside, this kind of thing would be rather interesting for SAGAU! Depending on whether or not this is a regular SAGAU with an adult Creator, or if we take my Godling AU and use that, it could give some pretty interesting results.

With a fully grown - or even just a teenaged - Creator, the emotional impact would be jarring and disturbing, but they would have the maturity and knowledge necessary to help with the situation. BUT, if we want to go the heartbreaking route...

Imagine, if you will, a little Godling Creator, eagerly following along behind the Traveler and Paimon. Still very young, baby fat still rounding out their cheeks, but still so excited to finally adventure with one of their favorite people. They hold onto the Traveler's hand the whole time at their insistence. While the Traveler has a bad feeling about all of this, they can't exactly say "no" to the Creator Incarnate...

They regret bringing such a little kid with them. The terror in their wide eyes as they stare at the defiled statue is a look that will haunt the star-traveling being for the rest of their life. And, oh, how their sweet little voice shakes as they cling to their guardian, innocent eyes filling with tears as they mumble,

"What wrong with that 'batos...?"

The Traveler is quick to scoop the baby god into their arms, hurrying away from the statue and the corpse knelt before it. They duck and weave through the bubble traps, doing their best to console the godling all the while.

Things only go from bad to worse after that...

[yoshiyakiryu-archive]

Regardless of my actual opinion, the teen romance novel-esque argument that Joshua is 90 years old at the time of TWEWY would make JoshNeku infinitely funnier to me. Nearly a century of existing and Joshua has not learned one single iota of emotional maturity in any of it. Immortal brat.

There's no way he's ever living this down. Neku learns in three weeks what took Joshua decades. He learns how long Joshua has been around and starts addressing him exclusively as "grandpa" until it loses its effect and therefore its shine. He asks who gives Josh his sponge baths now that Kitaniji's out of the picture. Joshua, who hasn't aged physically in 75 years, mentally in 80, and emotionally in 87, would be incredibly susceptible to these insinuations from his fifteen year old boyfriend, who has this sense of humour honestly because he's still human fifteen as opposed to dead godling fifteen.

Joshua can't come onto him anymore because Neku will ask if he's sure sure he won't break a hip. Neku insists he's the sugar baby and only here for the money and assets because Joshua's personality is nothing to call home about. Neku answers Joshua on the phone with "what's up, cradle robber?" Every argument Joshua thinks he's winning can be easily derailed by pointing out he's the one that decided to date a teenager. Neku buys Joshua hard candies and shitty dime-a-dozen impact font gag gift shirts fairly regularly.

Joshua wears them out with him.

[spineless-lobster]

Thanks you to @glowinggreeneyes-e for tagging me! Here’s a part of a draft that I’m (slowly) working on, it’s a big chunk but I’m feeling generous today lol

——————————————————————————

“Zagreus? Are… are you alright?” A stupid question, but he had to start somewhere.

Zagreus didn’t respond, so Achilles sat on the other edge of the bed and waited. It was soft and plush under his weight. The prince would speak in his own time. Returning to his usual talkative self eventually.

Until then, Achilles was more than content to wait next to him. It was better than anxiously standing guard at his post.

That being said, he felt useless just sitting there. How does one comfort a god dealing with teenage angst? Talking was out of the question since he didn’t know what to say, and he was sure the last thing Zagreus wanted right now was a lecture. He looked over at the lyre that stood proudly against the wall. Would music help? Regardless, the god-sized instrument was far too large for his mortal hands. Perhaps he could hum instead? No, that’s obnoxious and even more rude.

Achilles continued to look around the room, there doesn’t appear to be anything he could give him. The last thing he could think of was some sort of physical touch. Lending a comforting hand to Zagreus might be unsound; it could be the cure to his anger or it could make his temper flare.

Trusting his gut, he carefully placed his hand on the prince’s head.

With no visible sign of protest, Achilles slowly ran his hand through the dark strands. He hoped the repetition of his petting would be soothing. Minutes passed without any words or motion from the godling. Achilles wasn’t sure what to do next, then there was a small movement beneath his fingers. The prince’s head turned to reveal a single chthonic eye that was wet with tears.

“‘Chilles…” He sniffed, his voice cracking.

“Hello Zagreus.” Achilles whispered, a small grin growing in his face. Zagreus turned his head fully to the side, his eyes puffy from crying. “Are you feeling any better, lad?” He hadn’t ceased the incessant stroking of Zagreus’ hair.

“A little.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.” The godling mumbled.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Zagreus shook his head.

“Alright, take your time.” Achilles said.

I’ll tag @ghosts-of-love @caps-clever-girl @iulianfawcett @captain-rickbond @purpleopossum and anyone else who wants to join! (No pressure ofc)

[smallraindrops-blog]

Phobetor being the largest in the family a n d being a copy and paste of Y/N got me fucked up.

Imagine like, Theseus, seeing who he thinks is Y/N in the distance and marching up to demand a battle since his Father keeps rejecting him. However, the closer the he get the bigger Y/N gets, yes he tall but not that tall, and he's never seen Y/N in so much black, and oh god, that's not Y/N. That's his spooky ass son Phobetor staring straight at him.

Theseus probably complained to Zagreaus during their next battle about how the Nightmare Fiend tricked him and how he plans on getting back at the Godling for scaring him. (Phobetor is confused as to why Theseus wants to fight, lasttime he was in Elysium, he was visiting his grandfathers.)

Omg anon, ‘spooky ass son’ got me rolling on the floor. 😂 😂 Unfortunately for Phobetor, this kinda thing happens to him a lot. I hc that he and Odysseus meet at some point and it went like this:

Odysseus (visibly pale but trying to keep his cool): good gods, I thought Y/N got bigger. My lad, what the hell did your parents feed you?

Phobetor: …Food?

Odysseus: yeah that would do it, huh?

Here u go have a fun little short. I hope you guys like teenage Phobetor. I place him at the mental age of 16/17 here.

~

Elysium was beautiful as always, the fields were quiet and peaceful with the gentle rustle of grass. The river lethe drifted on, the mist trailing over the rocks. It was one of Phobetor’s favorite places.

if he was a mere shade, he certainly wouldn’t mind settling in here. 

He shifted the box of goods in his arms, all gifts for his grandparents. Dad had given it to Phobetor before shooing him out of the home, lecturing how he needed to visit his grandparents more.

With a grimace, Phobetor did have to admit it had been a while. His duties had increased and time had slipped away from him. 

Maybe he should offer to treat them to lunch, he mused as he went down the beaten path. Phobetor won’t be able to join since every time he had gone to the marketplace he caused a panic merely by walking in. 

He winced at the memory of making a sweet old lady pass out when he picked up her dropped bag of food for her. He still felt bad about that one even though his family had assured him it wasn’t his fault.

It was so faint he wasn’t sure if he actually heard anything, then it came again. it was his father’s name and Phobetor sighed when he realized what was happening. He twisted around, spying a blonde shade in the far distance. 

The man was very loud, his voice carrying over Elysium.

Whoever this was, he was not the first nor would he be the last to mistake Phobetor for his Father. There had been an unpleasant run in with Lord Ares when the new war began.  

“ -you coward!” The shade called out, getting Phobetor’s attention once more, lifting his beefy arms as he gestured wildly, still ranting. Phobetor kept his eyes locked on the man as he vanished the box away. It wouldn’t do for the gifts to get damaged.

Lost valor, impotent, heights.

The sensations, the weight of the shade’s fear bloomed on his tongue like fine wine. None of the fears were unusual but his mouth watered at the taste anyway. Darkness shifted around his chest, little sharp claws digging into his stomach, pleading for a meal. 

Phobetor ignored it. This wasn’t the time or place.

“You own another battle and as the champion of Elysium-“

Champion?

It clicked suddenly. This must be Theseus.

Phobetor glanced past Theseus, hoping for a glimpse of the infamous Minotaur that haunted countless mortals’ dreams and huffed when he realized it just was the shade.

Theseus stopped, staring at Phobetor with narrowed eyes. Phobetor met Theseus’ stare, keeping his own expression polite. Then Theseus’ blue eyes widened. He didn’t move nor did Phobetor for a long moment.

Phobetor decided he had no choice but to meet Theseus part way, anything else would be rude of him. He vanished for a moment then reappeared right in front of the Champion of Elysium, looming over him.

Before he could greet the shade, Theseus stumbled back, his skin gone a pale gray. Without missing a beat, the shade promptly turned around and took off.

“Ah.” Phobetor realized that he might have gotten too close to the shade. Personal bubbles and all that. Phobetor watched in mild amusement for a moment then cupped a hand around his mouth.

”I shall inform my father you wish to battle him, Great Champion of Elysium,” His voice echoed ominously over the landscape. A few nearby pink butterflies froze in the air before dropping dead, vanishing in a burst of pale light.

“Oops.” Phobetor muttered with a guilty glance toward the burnt grass, summoning the box once more. He resumed his walk, humming Morpheus’ newest song to himself.

He hoped Grandpa and Grandfather had some treats for him. Maybe some hard honey.

~~

“Looks like his highness found us.” Father commented, holding up his hand as a sign to pause their fight. Phobetor rocked on his feet, watching as the prince of the underworld ran up toward them.

Out of all of his uncles and aunts, Zagreus was Phobetor’s favorite. 

He never seemed to mind him or the fear and panic he caused. One time, when the family was staying at the House of Hades and he was very small, Uncle Zagreus had taken him on an escape run.

Although Zagreus did get chewed out by Phobetor’s parents afterward when Zagreus died and left Phobetor alone. 

Uncle Zagreus was grinning when he made it over, his sword on his shoulder. “You should be aware that Theseus got his eye on you.”

”Me?” Phobetor blinked, pointing at himself. Father lifted an eyebrow, quietly waiting for Zagreus to explain.

”Yup. He kept calling you The Nightmare Fiend and blaming me for some reason.” Zagreus laughed, slapping Phobetor on his back. “Good job!”

”Why me? I was just visiting Grandpa and Grandfather.” Phobetor glanced at his Father who merely shrugged.

”Who knows with that fool.” Father grumbled. “Just ignored him. That's what your Grandfather and I do.”

”Or you could fight him, I would pay good money for that. Tell the others I said ‘hi’. ” Zagreus said before he took off.

Phobetor mused over it, thinking about how Theseus had run for his life during their first meeting and decided it would be unkind to scare the poor thing like that again. 

[seaspraycd]

mason gooding, bisexual, cismale + he+his, class mage «—◦—→ well met, ronan harris! the godling born child of poseidon. it’s been 28 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. can he change the course of history with his practicality, courage, and observational skills? or will their fickleness, emotionally-distanced tendencies, or indecision hinder them? only time will tell before this godling’s name is sung into myth and legend!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.    ronan harris 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐒.     ro 𝐀𝐆𝐄.     28 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 & 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒.     cis male & he / him 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.     demisexual demiromantic  𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐒.     demigod ( son of poseidon )  𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.     marine biologist

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑.     black 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒.     brown 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.     5'10 / 155.68 cm 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃.     athletic 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒.     none 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒.     none 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.     double hoops on his right ear & daith piercing on his left 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌.     mason gooding

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.     neutral good 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒.     practical, courageous, and observative 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒.     fickle, distant, and indecisive  𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒.     eating sushi, reading re-translated classics, people watching, and collecting shells

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃

𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋.     resolved but sensitive 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋.     enhanced condition to being a demigod 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐀𝐒.     burning to death 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.     20/20 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.     right 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐆 𝐔𝐒𝐄.     microdoses on mushrooms 𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐇𝐎𝐋 𝐔𝐒𝐄.     sometimes 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓.     very protein-rich pescatarian.

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒.     poseidon ( biological father ) , commander wilson harris and leila harris nee jones ( parents, deceased ) 𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.     candis, dante, and giselle ( biological siblings ) 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒.     none 𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.     bachelor's of science in marine biology from university of florida. 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒.     can hold his breath for eight minutes, running a marathon, solving the new york times crossword puzzle in pen, and has an insane recipe for green bean casserole.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

born at marine core base hawaii to commander wilson harris and leila harris, the middle child to the navy couple who often moved every few years as wilson's station rose. ever since ronan could remember, he was obsessed with fish of all shapes and sizes. ronan was often rewarded with books or trips to the aquarium where he would be mesmerized by how beautiful, curious, and whimsical the different types of fish were and the other aquatic friends who lived there. growing up, they moved to okinawa, italy, greece, and korea sticking with the other navy brats as they were quickly forced to learn enough to survive. this forced ronan from a young age to learn language and he was a polyglot by the time he was eight, having japanese, korean, and english conversationally under his belt. greek and italian came a little bit later. ronan hadn't identified his upbringing as traumatic but it sure was tough. there were expectations that just differed from some of the others being the son of a commander and he needed to be immaculate at all times, never embarrassing the unit. luckily for ronan, his elder siblings were pretty radical so it made him look that much more compliant. he tried his best not to make too many waves and focused on schooling, learning, and exploring culture wherever he went. the young boy grew into a teenager and was friendly enough, a bit on the quiet side as he preferred fish to people and loved to sit nestled into a book versus being out in the world. it was at sixteen that his father made it a personal choice to teach his son the value of exercise and lifting weights, something that helped stimulate ro's mind with clarity until this day. at eighteen, he would finally leave for the university of miami to study marine biology. ronan had an incredible four years learning and working with dolphins at the dolphin research center, where he really figured himself out wholly and did far too many things a sheltered boy should've learned during his youth but he was shameless and young. at twenty-two, he found himself tapped on the shoulder to move to alaska to study the reproductive habits of salmon and fishing migration with the university of alaska, where he focused on his research building a small community of others where he played board games with, dabbled in microdosing, participated in the crossfit games, marathoned, broken up with and lived an overall quiet but active life. he loved the quiet but always wished for something a bit more — well, life knocked hard.

[ruthlesslistener]

Game theory for why Ghost is short even though them and Hollow are the same age:

Hollow got snatched away to live in a palace, and while not all their needs (cough cough emotional) were being met due the PK thinking they're hollow, he still cared for them like one would maintain the machine. If vessels eat then they got all the good nutrients they needed. Either way, their environment was very safe physically and PK made sure they were always in pristine condition.

Meanwhile Ghost is first stuck in a pit of dead babies and then travels outside the kingdom, probably wandering some barren wastelands? Not a good place for a bug or a vessel to live. Insuffiecient resources, not safe to molt, growth: stunted. And upon entering Hallownest, well, Hollow is already sealed so there's the stasis.

Yep, that's basically why I believe growth is so stunted for Ghost compared to Hollow! Reptiles and insects alike will experience drastically stunted growth and retain juvinile characteristics if they are deprived of enough nutrients, which seems to be why Hollow is the only vessel who grew to their adult moult while other surviving vessels like Ghost and BV lagged behind. BV looked like they might have been approaching their preteen to teenage years, given that they were larger than Ghost and had a strangely long cloak (which I hc to be elytra), but they lacked the tapered muzzle present in all adult members of their family, and still had the soft-shelled body, indicating that they hadn't quite hit sexual maturity (which in bugs is their adult moult). This is probably due to them scrounging a living on the edges of Hallownest's society while Hollow was being fed soul and whatever they needed at a steady rate, and Ghost was just full on out there in eeby deeby for god knows how long

Add on, of course, that these are gods, and things become a little difficult. They appear to mirror biological organisms in function and reaction, so we can still claim that the loss of nutrients had an effect, but it could be that experience or wisdom helps a godling to grow as well. Hollow was reared in the heart of the kingdom, watching their father work and the people fall to ruin, so they were able to gain wisdom/knowledge and thus mentally mature as well as physically- perhaps even faster than they should, given how traumatic the circumstances of their life must have been like. BV would have had to learn things on the fringes, so they would have also grown in wisdom, but it would have been a longer and slower process than for Hollow, who was being outright trained as a godkiller. And then there's Ghost, who was out in an environment that canonically scours away the mind and memories of the mortals that venture through it, and even them being a god wasn't enough to fully save themselves from their mind being sandblasted. Going through Hallownest probably would have pushed them close to their first moult, but given which of the good endings you pick from, they either decided to return to the void or go the full-on ascend-to-complete-godhood route via becoming the Lord of Shades.

They still seem to be mentally a child though. A very taciturn, serious, and self-sufficient child, but still a child. Which again, makes sense with them being in the Wastelands and never experiencing the physical effects of growing up, but, well, shit's weird when you're the child of Wyrm and Root that got soaked in the melted viscera of a dead god turned-to-the-sea-of-nothingness. Can't exactly expect them to work like a normal kid, can ya.

[wxldhxrt]

Prompt 012 - Godling of the Hunt...

Unable to attend the Trial of Chronos, Greyson stayed behind at camp while his fellow Godlings travelled through time and space, rewritting it entirely. No one can truly say what happened to the original Greyson, was he dissolved into the fabric of time and space alone, all his allies gone? Never to know their fates? Who's to say.

All that is clear is that the Greyson Darcy now at camp, is not entirely the one they knew....

Changes in the timeline to the godling of the wilds

Greyson is no longer the son of Pan but instead the son of Artemis.

He was born in London, UK and raised by his single father James Darcy - a man who loved the natural world and instilled this love into his son.

For the first few years of his life it was just Greyson and his father until James met the sweetest woman April, who he was quick to marry. The three were happy, a perfect family.

Grey did well at school, he loved biology just like his father, who taught at Oxford.

Tragedy first fell when at the age of 8, Greyson lost both his parents to a terrible car accident.

Lost and alone in the world, Greyson went into the foster system. It was a tough life, passed from home to home, the troubles of teenaged youth making him angry - but he always found solace in the things he'd used to love with his father, such as the natural history museum.

When he turned 18 and aged out of the system, Greyson decided to pursue the career he'd always dreamed of - animal conservation. He travelled around the world working with many different species, raising them, caring for them, protecting them.

On his travels Greyson met Adam Darkwood, a charming man who instantly swept the young Greyson off his feet. They began to date, eventually returning to London, where Greyson was treated to a life of luxury - but this came at a price.

While Greyson never officially knew what Adam did for a living, he was no fool. The man held a criminal empire within London's darkness, and his possessiveness knew no limits. He tried for years to tame the wild boy, but could never truly own him they way he desired.

Fate struck twice and put Ender Malikov in his path, an enigmatic and thrilling man from Russia - it was like they were drawn together by something more than themselves.

Ender helped Greyson break free of Adam and the two carved out a life together, married in the Natural History Museum in honour of Greyson's family.

When they answered the song, Greyson discovered his true mother was the Goddess Artemis - he was the son of Hunt, the wilds were his domain.

There are few changes to Greyson's life at camp, his cubs are still with him as well as Fop.

His appearance is relatively the same only lacking much of the ink, and perhaps a little broader. His personality is fairly unchanged, a little friendlier maybe, but still as feral as the beasts he can become.

[cityandking]

3, 19, 52, 71, 81, 89 + minah, narayani, and daichi

thanks!! / 93 fun oc asks

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

MINAH — according to my favorite naming site behindthename.com, minah is an alternate spelling of mina which means "fish" in sanskrit and "azure" or "enamel" in persian. I picked it cause I saw it in something I was reading and liked it. I don't think she has any nicknames (min? minnie? warden? hey you??). her surname, vo, is made up. NARAYANI — doylist explanation: it's an epithet for the Hindu goddesses Lakshmi and Durga; I chose it because it had the sound/cadence I was looking for and I liked that the associations were with things like beauty and the unattainable. watsonian explanation: it's her clan's pronunciation/spelling of na'alhani ("wild soul" roughly). her nicknames are rani and da'alhani (clan pron. darayani; means little wilderness). her patronymic is iravel after the elder who cared for her as a girl and her clan name is lavellan as per DA canon. DAICHI — daichi's name means "great earth" or "great wisdom" and was the perfect pick for my earth genasi cleric. his nickname is dai but tbh I'm not sure how many people actually use it; I think even the party may tend to full name him. his surname, amelkiir, comes from a name generator and is made up.

19. What is their occupation?

MINAH — grey warden! previously she was a traveling performer and part-time thief (honestly she's still a part-time thief. it's not like the wardens are paying her) NARAYANI — clan hunter/spy turned inquisition agent turned inquisitor turned spy again, only without the clan. rip. DAICHI — .....is demigod an occupation? I guess technically traveling adventurer. previously he was an acolyte and a garrison healer.

52. What is their body type? Are they muscular, chubby, skinny, etc?

MINAH — compact, highly flexible, on the curvy side. excellent shoulders, but not much by way of muscle mass beyond that NARAYANI — small, wiry, all lean muscle. runner's body. exceedingly fast and flexible DAICHI — stout, dense, sort of rectangular. soft tummy, thick thighs, high muscle mass. should be playing rugby

71. How are they with children? Do they have any? Do they want any?

MINAH — minah's fine with kids—she can entertain them for a bit; young audiences are always easily impressed—but she doesn't know what to do with them long-term (teenagers are a little better; she prefers when they can look out for themselves). at one point she was looking forward to having her own, but nowadays she has absolutely no interest in being a mom. NARAYANI — rani has experience caring for (and teaching) the clan's kids, and she's good with them—far more patient and gentle than she is with almost anyone else. she's never had any particular desire for kids of her own. (but if there were a solavellan baby— [I am forcibly removed from the microblogging platform]) DAICHI — dai's never had much opportunity to be around kids unless you count the god baby the party helped create. he'd honestly never thought about kids before that but oh boy did the godling awaken something in him. not right now obviously but long term? yeah that man super wants to be a dad. (unfortunately I am not sure his boyfriend wants to be a dad but they've got literally eternity to figure it out so it's fine)

81. Are they bothered by the sight of blood?

MINAH — yes, but only in large or gruesome quantities. a flesh wound doesn't bother her; someone's intestines spilling out bothers her quite a bit. NARAYANI — no, she's an assassin DAICHI — no. he's a healer

89. What is their D&D alignment?

MINAH — true neutral but she trends a little chaotic NARYANI — true neutral DAICHI — neutral good

[bornspellcaster]

Little Firefly - Chapter 3

(When the time pool closes before she reaches it and Luz finds herself hopelessly stuck in ancient times, an incident forces her to work together with her enemy to ensure their survival. In the midst of it, Luz learns there may be more than meets the eye to the frigid Puritan, and discovers the real secret to saving The Boiling Isles may just lie in reuniting an estranged family…)

Chapter 3 - Spiders And Witches, Oh My!

Chapter index

���GOOOOOOD MORNING!” a cosmic child squealed as he spiraled upwards into the air in a merry corkscrew, and doused the two humans in a shower of stars.

Luz couldn’t help but laugh, holding her hands out to try and catch them. Her eyes were sparkling with glee, where Philip still showed his aghast skepticism. “Philip, it's SOOOO cute!”

“It’s a child,” Philip said flatly.

The Collector squeaked as the teenager reached over and dangled one of his little feet. It felt strange, like the illusion of touching cloth, as if even if she didn’t feel it physically on her fingers, she could feel it in her mind. He felt like a ghost. An adorable little ghost.

“Aw they’re a cutie is what they are! Who’s got a cute little foot? Is it you? Is it you??”

“It’s a child,” Philip repeated, and his voice was somehow even flatter than before. His eyes were half lidded. He could not believe this. He could not believe his fucking luck.

“A cutie patootie!” Luz hugged the little cosmic child against her, and his reaction was immediately reciprocating. “I. LOVE him!”

“Ahehehehe! Aww, you’re really swell yourself!” He snuggled into the witchlet’s hold. She felt the phantom touch of an almost silky sensation against her skin. In her mind she could somewhat make out an appearance of stitched stars and crescent moons. She saw the colors navy blue and lilac purple. She felt the ghost of a tickle from his strands of hair.

“…ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Philip’s outburst startled both children so badly they both nearly tumbled back onto their haunches. Birds flew out of the trees they were standing under. “YOU’RE A CHILD?!”

“HEY! I’m more than just ‘a child’, you old fuddy duddy!” The Collector snapped. Their silhouette jumped to the bark of one of the auburn trees and darkened it black with their cheshire grinning shadow. “Be nice or leaf me alone!”

Luz burst into laughter and Philip merely groaned, running his fingers through his greasy hair as he disregarded his injury and paced in fury. “I don’t want to be stuck with another child! I’m still trying to get rid of THIS child that’s following me!”

“Rude.”

“You suuure?” The Collector turned upside down, and both humans couldn’t suppress the shudder, as his head twisted as well. “You sure seemed to want me when you called me your little ‘round boy…’”

Philip felt heat rise to his cheeks, going scarlet at the giggles that rose up by both children. He growled. “Listen, do you have information that can get this one home? Specifically to her time. She’s from the future and it doesn’t look like we can rely on time pools.”

“Hey whoa whoa, hang on a second, bub!” The Collector’s catlike eyes narrowed as his arms crossed over each other. “You can’t just pull my shadow out and start making demands. I’ve been in this stone for like, a gazillion-million years! You want something, you gotta give something!”

“Oh, uh…” Luz scratched her chin thoughtfully and nervously. She wasn’t sure what exchange she could make that a godling might enjoy, or what was even in the realm of possibility. “What do you want?”

“I mean what I want is to be OUT, but you probably can’t give me that…. If you can’t free me, at least let me stretch my legs. Errrrr, so to speak! I want to see things! I want to go places! I want to play games! I want toys!”

“Welllll….” Luz shrugged her shoulders as she gestured back to the market with a wayward smile. “We could take you to the market! There’s fun stalls, there’s bards playing tunes and reciting ballots! There’s definitely toys!” She jerked a thumb over to the still very chagrined man at their side. “And this one still needs to get some sort of healing for his leg.”

The Collector’s eyes drifted down to the linen wrapped firmly around Philip’s leg. The blood had aged into a rusty brown color and the bandage was already starting to smell. “Ew. Mortals are weird. If I was out of here I could get rid of that in a jiffy!” Granted, the child had never had a chance to make a mortal their test dummy, but how hard could it be? Immortals could pick themselves back up like a knocked down tower of blocks.

“Whatever,” Philip grumbled, just wanting to speed this along, and just wanting to get this girl out of his hair and not have her on his conscience. “So we have to take you to the market and entertain you until you’ve had your fill. That’s what you’re telling us?”

“Yeah something like that.”

“Ughhhh…” He needed to read the fine print on this kind of stuff…

-

Luckily the market had already forgotten about the suspicious duo, although Philip wasn’t confident that meant they’d be so inclined to ignore a floating, talking apparition of what looked like some baby jester. Then again, this was The Boiling Isles. He saw someone riding a giant worm with bucked teeth earlier. If anything, maybe this would make them appear more normal.

“Do many people know of The Collector?” Luz asked the floating child that had made themself comfortable on her shoulders. Somehow, she could feel a cool weight, and she faintly saw little pom poms in her mind as she reached for the godling’s tiny feet.

“If they got any sense they should,” The Collector scoffed and Luz just giggled. She walked with an exaggerated, jolly march—mostly to jostle the laughing shadow kid on her shoulders. Subconsciously, it was a bit of a coping mechanism she supposed…for the dearly missed, furrier little body that perched on her shoulders before.

“The Collector is a bit of an… interesting name,” Luz hummed, not wanting to offend the child. He didn’t seem to take any offense to it though and shrugged.

“Well it’s not really a name in the way mortals have—like a cool one like Luz, or a boring one like Philip…”

“You little-“

“It’s more like, names aren’t considered important I guess, for celestials. We exist only by the importance of what we do, so names aren’t really necessary, because…we don’t matter outside of our job.”

Luz frowned at the baby celestial, and even Philip seemed a bit perturbed by the detached…bleakness they seemed to view themself as. “…Names are important, and I think you’re important too,” she told him, squeezing their little leg meaningfully. Or, as much as she could anyway.

“Well…” The Collector’s voice dipped to something more melancholic. It was hard to tell just what emotion was on his face with such limited expressions a shadow could do…but Luz sensed a lot of different feelings as he spoke. “A long time ago, there was someone in my life that nicknamed me Eclipse, because of the pattern on my face. …Heh, or Clipsy. Clips.”

Luz grinned at him and dipped suddenly to the side to put him off balance and hopefully get a giggle or two. “Eclipse, Clips, or Clipsy it is! I’m happy to meet you!”

“Hehe, I’m gonna call you Luzzy!” he squeaked, trying to hug the girl around the neck. “Nah, that’s too simple… I’ll think of something else eventually!” He looked back at their least willing travel companion, and one that was slowing down. “So what nicknames can we call that one?”

“Oh I’ve got lots of nicknames for him but you’re too young to hear most of them.” She snickered at the joke that went over the celestial’s head and made Philip narrow his eyes in silent contemplation of finding the nearest river or chasm to toss her into.

“Speaking of him, man he’s really slowing us down,” Eclipse groaned as he watched Philip drag his injured leg along the gravel.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“I can hear you!” Philip exclaimed, to which both children shrugged in indifference.

He huffed at the disrespectful miscreants…but loathed as he was to admit it, this leg really was slowing him down. The pain was becoming unbearable. Luckily they were approaching the central part of town, where various tents were set up.

From there, the kids could spot one with a red canopy lined in tassels. Luz could make out rows of tables with different vials of various potions, oils, and baskets of medical herbs. There was a kind looking old demon there, that looked like some sort of reptilian—orange and wrinkly with horns that reminded Luz of a triceratops.

“Philip, I think that’s a healer.” Luz rolled her eyes in annoyance when the older human made some derisive lip curl.

“Are you kidding me? You have been…” She looked up at Eclipse and held her hands suddenly where she thought the kid’s ears might be. “Bitching like non stop about how much pain your leg is in, and frankly it’s driving me up the wall. Who knows what kind of journey is still ahead of us! And think of it this way,” she continued when he seemed unsatisfied. “Sooner we can figure out how to get this mess sorted out, the sooner you and I can part ways.”

He liked the sound of that. “Fine, I will go to a healer. This one time!” he growled. “After that we do whatever it takes for the stupid cosmic child to give us a clue on how to get you home.”

Luz gave a loud exaggerated gasp. “Don’t you talk to him like that! He is BABY!”

“Yeah! I’m baby!”

Philip rolled his eyes and trudged angrily along up the path. When they reached the healer’s tent, the rude man didn’t even ask or even acknowledge a greeting by the witch as he flopped heavily into a chair. “You, fix this leg. Now.”

Luz was going to beat this man to death with her shoe. “I’m really sorry about him, Miss. I’ve been doing my best to teach him some manners, but feral cats are hard to tame.”

Philip felt his complexion darken, especially when their resident shadow child let off a bubbly laugh at the joke. He crossed his arms and attempted not to flinch when he felt pulses of magic hit his skin. It targeted the cut and he ground his teeth together, averting his gaze from the procedure. The magic weaved in through the cut and began to mend the skin together. He shuddered, but Luz of course was just dazzled.

“I’ve always loved healing magic. It’s impossible to choose my favorite form of magic because I just love it all so much, but healing magic is so cool,” she perked. “I’m not the best though…”

The old woman smiled at her and then scrutinized Philip carefully. “Don’t I know you?”

Oh no. He could feel the sweat starting to pour. “N-no…”

“You look like one of Varuka’s bo-“

“Wehavetogo!” Philip jumped up so fast he jostled the table and knocked over two potions. One hand snatched a startled Luz by the forearm, and clutched Eclipse’s obal in the other arm. He tossed several snails onto the table, hard enough the coins bounced. Last thing they needed was to be chased for stealing.

“Wh-Philip!” Luz could barely keep up with the man. That was ironic given his speed only a few minutes ago. She stared back as the healer’s tent disappeared from her field of vision as Philip yanked them further into the crowd. “What’s going on?”

“N-nothing!” he quickly lied, and babbled on in hopes of catching the other child’s attention. “Collector! You said you wanted to do…things in the market? Well choose something.” He crossed his arms, and his leather boot was anxiously tapping against the ground as he scanned to make sure the woman wasn’t following. She wasn't.

“Toys!” Eclipse declared as he pointed over to a tent with some hand sewn dolls and other needle pointed work and cushions. There was even some beautiful embroidered canvases, like the type Luz’s mother had brought home from a craft fair once. Luz felt her heart ache and tried to push the thoughts away.

“If we get you a toy will that be enough to satisfy you?” Philip demanded flatly. He was still checking carefully to make sure that witch hadn’t followed. If she did come to the conclusion he was ‘one of Varuka’s boys’ then surely she’d tip her off. If Varuka was still alive.

“Yo, white boy!”

“What?” He was snapped out of panicked musing by Luz and Eclipse. They were both looking at him with a mix of confusion and impatience. “Oh right, the toy.” Philip sighed as he marched up to the tent. He felt vaguely like a parent on a shopping trip with his hyperactive kids.

Eclipse and Luz excitedly scanned the shelves of lovingly crafted dolls and plushes.There were so many to choose from, but Luz and Philip saw the kid seemed the most intrigued with an adorable little marionette.

Its limbs were carved from wood and its body a sewn together burlap sack of beans. Of course nothing was normal on The Boiling Isles and the creature’s face had three eyes and multiple legs.

“I love it,” he whispered, in a choked voice that could barely contain his glee.

“It’s the most expensive one there!” Philip exclaimed with frustration. He scowled over at Luz, when he noted the teenaged girl had her gaze fixed on a little owl on the opposite side of the shelf. It was made of canvas and painted in cinnamon brown acrylics. Philip narrowed his eyes. It made him think of Evelyn. Luz clearly was feeling differently about the little toy.

“I want it…” she sighed wistfully, stroking a hand over the painted details. She reached into her pockets to try and extract some pocket snails, but after upturning them and only finding parchments of paper and lint, she sighed. …And she looked up at him, with the widest and shiniest eyes she could manage. He cut her down just as quickly.

“No.”

“But it’s a little owl!”

“We’re out here to get things for The Collector so they will give us information for you,” he reminded the girl, who was tracing casual patterns along the painted features with her fingernail. “So no.”

“I guess,” Luz sighed as she picked up the little toy with a saddened gaze. “It’s just, it’d be nice to have something to cry into at night that reminds me of who I’m so far from.”

She gazed over her shoulder, catching the way Philip stiffened and she suppressed a smirk. She didn’t need to do any acting in this case, because she did miss home more than anything. …It felt nice to jab a bit of emotional manipulation of her own in there though.

“You know…” Luz continued. “…When you kept me from returning home. ...Kept a poor child away from her fam-“

“I’ll take the stupid owl,” Philip growled to the merchant and slammed down several more snails. He would have just stolen the toys were it not for the fact he was trying to keep the attention away from them all as much as possible.

The Collector seemed to have caught his sights on the next thing that had his interest. Philip could smell a sickeningly saccharine scent of the multiple confectionary goods from here.

“I want a poison apple!” Eclipse must have sensed the rage of a thousand suns burning, because he quickly amended, “While we eat them I can tell you guys about something that might be able to get Luz home!”

Philip tightly ground his teeth together, but he relented. He felt Luz’s brown eyes looking up at him even before he turned his head. “I just bought you a toy!”

-

Philip always found the food this world offered at best, bizarre, and at worst, absolutely disgusting and cursed. Poison candy apples were no exception with the way the candy taffy melted a black skull pattern down the fruit. The children seemed to enjoy them though.

“I can’t really eat this,” Eclipse pouted.

“So I wasted my money buying a shadow a candy apple,” the man deadpanned. “And a girl one, who already guilted me into buying her a toy.”

“I’m gonna call you Bean Owlbert,” Luz told the little painted sack of beans as she hugged it close.

“Well it’s fun to look at,” Eclipse hummed as he admired the bizarre confection from different angles. “…Alright, so I guess my information tank is charged good enough.”

“That is so not a thing,” Philip deadpanned, but Luz leaned forward on the red bench she sat on, in anticipation.

“Time pools are like…tricky business.” The entity tapped his chin. “Magic, uh, amonalies!”

“Anomalies.”

“Whatever!” the child scoffed out. “From what I know of them, they can be formed when titan blood mixes with the magic algae of The Boiling Sea, but….you already know that part. It’s not a guarantee though, even if you got a hold of some blood. It could work, but it’s not always gonna create the pools. Kinda liiike…I don’t know, spike eyed shells! Some of them have magic slugs, and some of them don’t.”

Luz stared blankly at the child, while Philip haughtily rolled his eyes. “Think of oysters and pearls. Some will have them, some won’t, Luz. Basically we can try to replicate the effect with these ingredients but it won’t always happen based on chance.”

“Right, and then even if it does, like…how many years are there now that time has existed?” Eclipse laughed. Luz meanwhile felt her stomach sinking more, a heavy block of lead settling in. “The odds of finding even the same decade is super slim. And trying to find the exact moment? It’s impossible. I wouldn’t go for time pools.”

They sensed the despondency from Luz, and watched the way her eyes blinked in horror. “But! There might be another way!” he quickly assured, attempting to comfort his new friend as his shadow settled within her lap. “It’s a bit harder and with more risk. There is this object of incredible power known as the celestial scissors. Celestial scissors have the ability to just snip through ‘the fabric of any dimension!’” He shrugged. “At least that’s what my…siblings told me.”

Luz and Philip both looked at each other, exchanging skepticism. Something of that caliber sounded almost impossible to obtain.

“Long ago the archivists created this place that existed as like, a channel between the stars and the demon realm. And it’s where they’d store their most valuable things they’d collected from all the realms, especially here. It’s where they’d store all the beasts they’d collected into scrolls, and where they’d hide their most important stuff basically.

As you can imagine, it’s hard to get to,” the child continued casually. “The door to the channel opens once a year, on the Starlight Conjunction. The anniversary of the gods coming to be, or something like that. The anniversary is not for another three months.”

Luz felt all of her hopes torn asunder in that moment as she shook her head. She was grateful for the red bench she was perched on, because she would have fallen otherwise. “No, no, no, I can’t be here for three months!”

Philip gawked. “Surely there’s another way to get her home.”

“Construct a door,” Eclipse shrugged. “Try your luck with time pools. I…don’t know! I mean if I was out there I could probably portal her in an instant, but I’m NOT!” they huffed. “Not even sure about the scissors myself because I’ve never seen them, but my stupid siblings used to bully and scare me and tell me if I didn’t listen to them they’d cut me to ribbons with the scissors! Cut me ‘out of the fabric of existence!’”

“You’ve never seen them?” Luz asked weakly. “So for all we know, we might be chasing a myth….”

Philip looked down at the child and gave a small shrug. “A myth is…better than nothing,” he offered softly. “In the meantime while we wait for this celestial…whatever, surely we can keep searching for other means to get you home.”

All Luz could do was nod, in a quiet state of numbness. “Right…”

The Collector tried to elicit a smile from Luz by hugging her, but he wasn’t even sure if the girl would feel it. Hopefully at least, she’d get the comfort from it. “Hey, the…longer you’re here…the more time we have to play!” he offered cheerfully. “I want to play with that giant spider over there that’s looking at us! Ehehe, it looks like it wants to play!”

Philip felt the blood freeze in his veins. “A spider?” Every instinct told him not to turn around, but he still did, and he was certainly the next one on the verge of fainting.

There she was— her wide bulbous eyes, her horns perking upwards, the few chocolate brown spots on her bristled and furry thorax. Her eight legs were sprung forward, prepared to pounce. In excitement or anger, he wasn’t sure.

”Philip?”

Fuck this. “I think that’s enough market for the day!” Philip’s hand roughly seized Luz by the arm. The poor child, not even having gathered the strength in her jelly legs, was all but dragged across the grass until she managed to regain her footing.

“Ow! Philip, what the hell?!” Luz growled as she pulled at her arm, but he had it in a vice grip. Eclipse couldn’t do much, bound to his stone.

“I’ve gotten my leg fixed up, you bloody insects have rinsed my pockets dry, and I’m…severely arachnophobic, now let’s go!” he snarled, but it came out almost as a plea.

“Ow, dude!” Luz growled as she yanked away from him, but had little choice but to chase after him. The spider, she noted quickly, was following. It didn’t seem predatory however. Luz had many encounters with Boiling Isles spiders after all. “Philip, I don’t think it wants to hurt us.”

He wasn’t sure where he was running—Philip just knew he needed to run. It wound up being on the opposite end of town, far from where they’d parked Pancake, and unfortunately not far enough for Luz and that blasted spider to catch up.

She offered a palm to the spider as it skittered up to her feet, and the creature gratefully climbed up into the offered hand. She chittered and trilled, and Luz didn’t miss the way Philip was gripping at his temples, as if in pain. “Dude, what is the matter with you?”

The spider trilled and tried to catch Philip’s attention, skittering along Luz’s hoodie in distress. She tried to soothe the creature with pets.

“Go away…” Philip grunted. He was turned to a tree now, and gripping onto the bark.

“Philip it’s just a spider, and she seems really sweet!” Luz exclaimed incredulously. He couldn’t really be this frightened of spiders, could he? Surely there were much more terrifying things in this world that made simple spiders seem like a juvenile threat.

“Hey, it’s got a thingy,” Eclipse piped up as he floated around her, and the spider. “On its belly.”

Luz tilted the creature slightly and her eyes widened in realization. The spider had an interlock. “This is a palisman… Philip, what’s going on?” she demanded.

“Go away!” Philip continued to shout as his nails gripped into the bark of the tree. “I-I’m not talking to you! Leave me be, you parasitic insect!”

“Talking? But you can’t just talk to any palis….” She trailed off as the realization hit her. Luz looked at the squeaking spider and made the connection instantly. “This is your palisman…”

-

(And we meet The Collector! I’m never sure how to write his interactions with the world because on the one hand we’ve seen they’re trapped in the stone and see through to the outside like a mirror, but also their apparition can like interact with the physical world it seems, as there was even a scene where he laid across those statues in Hollow Mind and the fabric responded to the weight since it sagged…so I’m pretty much winging the physics with him! I imagine he can be like sensed and maybe you get like a glimpse of his appearance as a vision in your mind? And they’re like a ghost? idk!

The next chapter will probably be up very very soon- possibly even tomorrow, because it was supposed to be part of this one but it got too long (like all in total I think it’d be 25 pages) so I had to split it up lol So it’s mostly written already!

Also just a quick note that although this is after Elsewhere and Elsewhen it doesn’t directly follow canon! this is kind of a mix of au and canon, like Caleb being alive. The next chapter is one of my favorites. Thank you all for your kind words and also if someone could teach me how to input images into here I’d appreciate it because I draw a lot for this au and I’d love to make it seem like a graphic novel lol

Chapter 4 - Heartfelt Calligraphy - Philip and Luz need to kill time when it rains

Chapter 5 - Ultimatum - Philip’s bravery is put to the test when he needs to make a hard decision)

[ginnyrules27]

State your popular Descendants opinions.

I have popular Descendants opinions? Um...

-Beast is a horrible ruler and parent (and possibly husband)

-Jane was still beautiful even with the 'ugly' hair (and can we just talk about the fact that Breanna was a teenager when she filmed D1? I mean I get it's acting but I'm so glad that Dan Payne (Beast) took on the role of Set Dad for her because being a teenager is bad enough but now you're a teen actor and your role is basically being told you're not pretty enough to get by in the world you're in. Like geeze!)

-Hadie should have been in the movies. Give me some Godling chaos!

-Chad should have been the villain in D3

-Descendants should have been a TV show with the movies acting as the season/series finales

[whimsy-astraeus]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The Honored, The Blessed, The Righteous.

Throughout heaven and earth, he alone is the honored one.

Snow white hair, iridescent ocean-like eyes, otherworldly, mystical. Such power bestowed upon a mortal babe, the birth shakens the balance. Snow white hair, cursed blue eyes, distant, detached. A god amongst men. Such favor of the heavens, bestowed upon a mortal man. Throughout heaven and earth, he alone is the honored one.

She is the blessed child.

Snow white hair, iridescent night-like eyes, otherworldly, mystical. Such power bestowed upon a mortal child. Through death, the power awakens. Snow white hair, cursed blue eyes, distant, a killer's instinct. A godling amongst men. Such favor from death bestowed upon a mortal child. She is the blessed child.

He is the righteous.

Coal black hair, sharp eyes, kind yet something lurks within. Spirits follow his command, yet such power comes with a price. With voices haunting his mind, he struggles with his morals as time passes by. Coal black hair, cursed mind, gripping tightly at the last strands of sanity. A mortal amongst gods. Such power comes with a price. He is the righteous(?).

The honored and the righteous, together they are the strongest of the strong. They are two of the pillars of their society. Numerous trials they faced and triumphed, they laugh. They say, "For only a fool would challenge the strongest."

And a fool did challenge them, a fool who triumphed over the honored and the righteous. A mortal man who possess not power but strength. The honored received a blessing while the righteous received a curse. Two sides of a coin.

A tragedy happened. One mission, one girl, the honored, the righteous, the blessed. It was supposed to be easy until it wasn't.

They all experienced happiness, joy before disaster struck. The honored, the blessed, a teenage boy, a young girl, almost stabbed to death by a fool. They almost died. Almost but close.

A mortal man. A fool.

They failed. The girl is dead. The mission is over.

The righteous starts to doubt their cause. He asks the blessed, "If there was a choice, is this still your path?" The blessed answers, "Yes, it is inevitable." The righteous sees why. He nods and bids farewell. The blessed feels another tragedy forming. She stays silent, pondering.

The righteous' thoughts turn for the worst as his guilt fuels the voices. Why must they fight for the weak, if the weak disregards them? Those weak— those monkeys don't deserve their sacrifices. One mission, two girls, the righteous(?).

He witness what they had done. Those poor girls. Sweet, innocent girls treated worse than dirt. He snaps. A massacre, two little girls, the traitor.

His crimes unearthed, they demand execution. The honored feels disbelief and deny, deny, deny. The blessed feels disbelief and asks why, why, why?  They felt betrayed in a way. Before the righteous—the traitor, his mind whispers— left, he asks the honored. "Are you the strongest because you are the honored or are you the honored because you are the strongest?" The honored is silent.

The blessed asks the honored why, but the honored doesn't even know anymore.

The honored is bitter at the betrayal yet he admits to the blessed quietly, "I can't save those who don't want to be saved." The blessed nods and understands.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This is inspired by the fic, Zenith of Stars by Yuesya on Ao3. This fic is literally one of my favs🩷🩷

[xfireforged]

lewis tan, pansexual, cismale +  he/him, fighter «—◦—→ well met, matai zhang the godling born child of hephaestus. it’s been 32 years and now they have answered the song in their veins. can he change the course of history with their athleticism, confidence, + determination? or will their strong-will, restlessness + stubbornness, hinder them? only time will tell before this godling’s name is sung into myth and legend!

name: matai zhang

nicknames: tai, the viper

date of birth: july 31st

age: 32

astrological sign: leo

face claim: lewis tan

godly parent: hephaestus

height: 6'4

dominant hand: ambidextrous - had been right-handed but has trained enough with his left hand to be able to use it just as well.

education level: high school diploma (much to the chagrin of his step-father)

occupation: two-time light heavyweight title mma fighter

parents: hephaestus (biological father), kai zhang (step-father), juan zhang ( biological mother)

siblings: min zhang (older brother), mei chen nee zhang (older sister)

pets: blaze (4 yo brindle male boerboel), ember (5 yo rottweiler)

sexual orientation. pansexual, homoromantic

sexual position. top-verse, dominant

clothing style: athleisure, comfortable but can dress up with the classics, too

prominent features: he's got a scar above his left eye that has caused a break in his left brow

what were they doing when they hear the song of their godling blood? he was actually in the middle of his third title fight when he heard the song of his godling blood... it threw him off enough that his opponent got the better of him and he had to tap out.

class: fighter

From the moment that he had been born, Matai felt as though there was nothing he could do right to please his father. The product of an affair, one that was kept quiet thanks to his father’s money and connections, Matai had been treated like the black sheep of the man’s three children – while his eldest brother was the golden child and his sister was the perfect daughter, he was seen as a shadow and a blemish on his father’s legacy because he didn’t care to fit into the mold that his father had wanted for him – and his father often punished him for it. Still, though, his father wanted to protect his precious reputation, ensure that everyone saw him as the perfect businessman with the picture-perfect family, that didn’t mean that everything was like that behind closed doors. And, frankly? Matai was sick of it.

It got to the point where Matai was angry and fed up with his father, angry and fed up for the way that he tried to squeeze his children into a mold, and soon his anger began to seep into his personal life. An angry teenager, it was a gym teacher that had noticed his aggression and decided that the best course of action was to funnel that anger and outrage into something more productive – and that’s how Matai was first-introduced to competitive fighting. Sure, he had taken martial arts classes as a young kid – his father wanted to ensure that his children knew how to defend themselves, given the nature of the family business – but joining the wrestling team and the boxing club helped to alleviate his anger. Not only that, though, but he proved to be a natural.

This, of course, was not something that his father was content with. How dare his son involve himself in such a dangerous sport? How dare he put himself in harm’s way and ruin his reputation as a Zhang? He thought it an insult and that Matai was blatantly disrespecting the legacy that he had been trying to build but Matai? Matai couldn’t give two shits. By the time that he was eighteen years old, he had finally had enough of the constant let-downs, the constant comparisons to his “perfect” older brother and the constant expectations that his father placed upon him, and so he left. Crashing on the couch of a couple of friends’, Matai decided that he didn’t need his family and when his father cut him off? He thought it was good riddance. After all, he didn’t want the man’s money. Not when it came with all of these strings attached.

The money would’ve been helpful, though, with him getting on his feet, but luckily he had found a way to make some money – underground fighting. It wasn’t the safest of things, really, but Matai was confident enough in his ability, at least at that point, to be able to go for a few rounds before being knocked out. And the more that he competed, the better and better he got. Eventually he became known as someone that you didn’t want to mess with in the circuit, someone that you could always bet on and get paid, and soon his competitors and fans alike were beginning to dub him the “Viper” of fighting because of his quick strikes and wicked precision. And it wasn’t long before he began to get the attention of an MMA coach that wanted to add another talented fighter to his roster. And Matai, a kid that was in desperate need of money and yearned for the chance to make it big and spit in the face of his father’s legacy? Well, he was quick to agree.

Of course, his fighting style was sloppy compared to that of the professional fighters, but with his coach’s training and diligence, he was able to improve his style to the point where his coach was comfortable signing him up for a fight. And though he lost his first fight, it went all three rounds and he kept it from being a total knockout, or even a tapout, victory – and soon people began to whisper about the new rookie. More fighters were interested in fighting against him, seeing what he had, and slowly but surely, he made a name for himself. He wasn’t a rookie anymore, and by the time he turned twenty-nine, he was well-known in the MMA community and people would cheer for the Viper, to see if one of his precise strikes would take down an opponent or not.

He didn’t get his first title until he was thirty, in the Light Heavyweight division, but he has held his position as the champion for two years now. And for once, when people called out his name, he knows it’s not because of something his father did or because of the weight his father’s name carried – but since it was because of him.  It was only an added bonus that he knew that his father was, no doubt, pissed that the Zhang name was being tarnished by the increase in popularity of his fighting. It added to the fire that burned with him, a fuel that kept his drive to fight and get better and better, and he knew that he needed to prove that he wasn’t just a fluke. Of course, during his third title fight, he wound up having to tap out – but only because he had heard the song of his blood in the middle of the fight and his opponent took advantage of the opportunity to get him into a choke hold. It’s not something he’d proud of, but Matai… Well, Matai knew that if he hadn’t been for that, he would’ve had three belts.

Still, finding out that your biological father was a God, a God that was practically ostracized by his own family, was something that Matai felt hit close to home and with his knowledge in martial arts, he figured that he could make some good use of his skillset and to fight back a mysterious evil. While he wasn’t particularly happy to leave his career when he was right at the top of it, he knew that this was bigger than him and he packed up his bags to head to camp. Part of him is curious as to just how well adept his peers will be, and if any of them have any fighting capabilities like he already possesses, but he figures that at the end of the day… They’re all in this together and what he may lack, others will pick up and vice versa.

Fighting in a team is not something he’s got a lot of experience with, though. But there's a first time for everything, right?