#the calm sounds of water and its reflection on the ceiling

[gornackeaterofworlds]

Pretty peaceful yukata Mikey

[vampireyearning]

heartwarming [rafayel]

𓇼 rafayel x reader

𓇼 word count: 1.7k

𓇼 fluffiest fluff ever; rafayel is the most comforting person known to mankind and he’s all that you need in your life; him being the most efficient heating pad during your periods, basically; intoxicatingly in love couple.

The day passed in an excruciating agony, a never-ending struggle between both your mental and physical health, overwhelming pain clouding your thoughts and refraining you from spending a relaxing day off. Apathetic yet feeling the urge to do something so you don’t stay lethargic, you have lost the count of how many times you found yourself pacing around your place hoping to see him appear in front of your eyes at any given moments while knowing so well he was busy and out for the whole day.

Good at dealing with pain, even the strongest souls do have their limits – you sincerely hoped the apple was worth it for Eve.

The sun slowly started to set when you finally decided to ease your pain the way you preferred. Looking through the ceiling to floor window, the few remains of light gently reflected on the calm waves of the sea you lived by and the soothing scenery made your lips twitch in a faint smile as he crossed your mind.

You couldn’t wait to greet him as soon as he would step a foot in your shared home, welcoming him in the loveliest embrace because that’s how much you adore him. And just like that you could cry on the spot, hormones getting the best of you again.

The cold tiles of the bathroom floor tickled your feet and you gladly welcomed the sensation, distracting you from the cramps that almost made you pass out the entire day. Not being able to take a bath with your lover made your heart ache, but determined to relax no matter what, a very hot shower was what you were craving most. Droplets of water echoing in the bathroom, a comforting steam carried its warmth all around you along the refreshing scent of bodywash – a heartwarming bubble of relief and care you needed.

The exhaustion and soreness felt like the heaviest burden, as if you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders but once you stepped in the shower, the hot water dissipated all of your torments, finally allowing you to sigh in relief.

Forehead resting on the cold shower wall, the running water soothed every sensitive part of your body as intended and you enjoyed every bit of this moment, carried away by the comfort it provided you and closing your eyes to savor how good it felt. Tiny but usual sounds perked up your ears and disrupted your dreamlike state announcing his arrival, instantly making your heart flutter – your safe place felt complete finally.

Unbothered, you didn’t show any sign of interest to the person who sneaked into the shower with you, not before he jolted at the sheer touch of the water on his angelic skin. Retrieving his hand from the flow, he rushed to turn the water off uttering genuine concern through his words.

 “It’s scorching hot, are you alright?”

Rafayel grabbed one of your hands that was resting on your lower abdomen and slowly turned you so you could face him.

“I should’ve known as soon as I stepped in here, the steam was hard to go unnoticed.”

You lovingly smiled at him before wrapping your arms around his figure, your head softly resting on his chest.

“I’ve been cramping like crazy today, I needed to relax…” retrieving your head from his chest, you looked up to admire his face “I didn’t want to worry you. I’m fine, I felt better thanks to the shower.”

“You could’ve just asked me, you know.”

Gently stroking your cheek with one of his hands, the other one found its way down your spine, featherlike touches brushing against your skin.

“You were busy. Plus, how do you think I handled this when we didn’t know each other?”

Locking his eyes with you, both of his hands found their way around your waist and held you so tight as if he wanted to be impossibly closer to you, an unspoken emotion crossing his mesmerizing eyes.

“I don’t even want to think about it. A life without you is a like an ocean dried of all of its water.” Pouting, he hid his head in the crook of your neck breathing in your scent, your body instantly reacting, getting goosebumps all over it.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little too much right now?”

While you let out a small chuckle, you really did appreciate this moment – this proximity and intimacy that made you feel so alive you could explode from just loving him. If anything, the vulnerability you both never hid became your most favorite thing in your couple dynamic.

“You’re my oxygen.”

After kissing your earlobe, he made you turn on your feet so you can face the shower wall and pressed against your back while wrapping his arms around your chest, a comforting warmth emanated from his body easing all of your pain more efficiently than the burning water. He then reached for your lower stomach, both of his hands gently stroking against the area where all of your cramps came from.

Turning the water on again, you melted in his embrace – the overwhelming pain was becoming more bearable, being replaced by an overflowing wave of heat and tenderness this moment provided you, almost toying with your hormones.

“You make my life so full, Rafayel.”

“So do you, my love.”

A cold detail distracted you from the comfort he gave you – it’s no other than the ring adoring his ring finger, one of your favorite details of his. Your left hand found his, gently playing with it before intertwining your fingers letting the warmth his evol provided pierce through your skin. Rafayel leaned in to place a soft kiss on your cheek, his soft lips pressing down to your jawline, then steadily traveled down your neck to your shoulder. Closing your eyes, you enjoyed every bit of this proximity, lulled by the melody of the water falling on both of you and soothed by your lover’s presence and warmth.

“Wait, are you saying this just because I’m the most efficient heating pad?” he teasingly commented, hot lips detached from your skin.

Daydreaming state coming to an end after his words, you tried to move under his grasp but his firm artist hands kept your figure in place, not allowing you to face him.

“No, but I can’t deny that I fear.” You chuckled and he couldn’t help but brightly smile in return, feeling his hot breath back on your skin.

“Do you feel better?” Rafayel asked as he delivered a small peck on your shoulder.

“If I say yes, will you leave my side and let me handle the rest on my own?”

Disappointment betrayed your voice, mentally slapping yourself as you didn’t like how desperate you sounded – almost like a plea. Distracted by the way his hand moved under yours, fingers no longer intertwined, the flash of panic this loss of warmth caused you was soon replaced by a surprised squeak as a reached for your breast.

“Shhhh. If we have to pull an all-nighter in here, then we will.” Hand massaging one of your breasts while the other remained on your lower stomach, he pressed against your body, impossibly closer. “Accept all of my warmth. I got you.”

Stuck in Rafayel’s embrace, you felt like being trapped in a cocoon only made for you and who were you to deny this comfort?

“Rafayel, I’m so close to falling asleep.” Pretending to yawn, a part of truth was hidden behind this little play – his evol always made you sleepy rather than burning from it, a proof of how caring and cautious he was with his own power knowing oh so well how scared Rafayel was to unintentionally hurt you. Both of your hands finding his resting on your stomach, you held it tight as you were too scared to fall asleep and lose your balance in such a slippery place.

“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart.” Rafayel’s hand stopped massaging your breast and found its way to your stomach, stroking you there. “I won’t let you slip.”

Turning off the water, he made you dance on your feet before gesturing you to wrap your arms around his neck so he could carry you bridal style, warm hands finding their way under your knees. Before he walked out of the shower, he paused to marvel at his most precious love – you, the love of his life.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

One of your arms loosened up around his neck and your fingers softy traveled to his soaked hair, pushing his face towards yours. You caressed his face with your nose before kissing him – a tender interaction that turned out passionate, your body speaking a language only both of you knew, this out of the world love; a burning passion that no one could replicate.

Detaching your lips from his, you beamed at Rafayel.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too” Mouth back on yours, your hand reached for his neck and gently stroke it.

“But…” You placed your free hand on his chest and pushed him away from your face. “If you keep being that cheesy when I have my periods, I might suffocate, whether it’d be from love or annoyance.”

“I just know what and what no to say when you have your periods.” He grinned after he leaned in to peck the tip of your nose.

“You…”

“However, I always mean everything that comes out of my mouth as exaggerated as it can sound. It’s just the effect you have on me and I can’t help it, cutie. What I’ve said earlier was lighthearted, but if you really worry about it being too much then let me-”

You urgently kissed his mouth shut, not wanting to hear the words that were about to be spoken; you knew he overthought your teasing words but you also knew he wasn’t affected for a bit.

“Alright alright, someone’s getting impatient let’s get dressed and go to bed.”

“I’m just getting cold. And I want to be close to you again.”

“Isn’t it the case already?” he replied, tilting his head.

Your hand traveled on his torso until it reached his cheek, jumping on the opportunity to pinch it. Throwing an offended look at you, he laughed.

“How greedy…”

And just like that, Rafayel’s warmth did not leave your side for what seemed an enjoyable eternity.

[always-just-red]

001 with raf would send me to the MOON 😭❤️ (don’t tell zayne i sent this 🤫)

😎 Don't worry. I've got you. *slides this over the table to you real casual so Zayne doesn't suspect a thing* (Also happy new year aaaaaaaa!!!) GUYS Christmas isn't over until I say it's over and it's not over until I get through these festive prompts, ok? 🥺 THE HOLIDAYS LIVE ON!!!

Under The Mistletoe

Rafayel x Reader 🔥🎄☃️❄️

Prompt #001: under the mistletoe, placed sneakily above a doorframe.

Warnings/additional tags: established relationship, teency bit of suggestion, a few joking references to gaslighting, injury (Raf I love you, I'm sorry I won't let you catch a single break!!!)

| Word count: 900 | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

The moment you open the door, something falls. Or should you say… someone? There’s a clatter: heavy and metal. A thud, too— even an “ow!” You don’t know what you struck or toppled, but you do know it sounds bad.

“Rafayel?” You peek around his door, afraid to do any more damage by moving it.

The man is sprawled over the floor like a sad-looking starfish. Maybe a dead starfish? His eyes are closed, but his chest rises and falls, rises and falls; you haven’t killed him yet. “Are you okay?” you ask, stepping the rest of the way into his home and pushing the door closed behind you. “Raf? Rafayel? You still with me?”

His eyes open: rock pools swirling with a momentary disturbance, but then settling, still. “Hey,” he says, once the waters are calm and full of your reflection.

Hey? That’s it? “What are you doing?”

He props himself up on his elbows, wincing. “Oh, you know… art stuff.” When you lift an eyebrow, he clarifies: “Tryna get a new perspective from down here. You get it.”

Glancing around, there’s no half-completed artwork, nor painting strung to the ceiling (though that wouldn’t much surprise you). “Perspective on what?”

“Uhh. The world?”

“And how’s the world looking from down there?”

“… Different?”

“Insightful.”

“Yeah, I know.”

So he’s not going to cooperate? Fine; this is hardly the first time you’ve walked into his studio and had to play detective. Ignore his narrowed eyes, just begging you to contradict him. You crouch down, stroking your chin. There was that metal sound, remember? And a stepladder is lying nearby. Why would he—? Your eyes follow the line of the doorway, roaming up, up until…   

“Mistletoe, Raf? Really?”

He tuts. “That’s not mistletoe, cutie. It’s holly. Wishful thinking much? Gods…”

You stare at the plant fixed above your heads: its long, smooth-edged leaves and its berries, white like pearls. You’re not an idiot. That’s mistletoe. “Trying to gaslight me now?”

“What?” he gawks. “No!”

“You so are! Look at it, that’s—”

Suddenly his hands are over your eyes. “Don’t look at it, cutie. It’s holly, okay? You’re seeing things, trust me.”

“Raf!” you squeak. “That’s—” you can barely get the words out as you laugh, wriggling to get free— “that’s gaslighting! I know what I saw! It was—”

“Shhhh. You saw nothing.”

One hand is on your mouth now, stifling your protests. He shushes you as he pulls you back until you’re seated between his legs. His body is over and around you. You could nip at his fingers— could twist out of his arms and have him pinned to the ground in little more than a second— but it’s the holidays, so you let him have this one.

Eventually, his hands slip down, wrapping around you in a lazy hug. Your head lolls back against his shoulder. “It’s a shame it’s not mistletoe,” you say wistfully, gazing up at the ‘holly.’

“Yeah?” he asks, making you giggle again as his teeth graze your ear.

“Yeah. If it was, then we could…”

You trail off, angling your face until your lips meet his— almost. There’s an inch between you: a tiny space always full of longing, no matter how many times you close it. Seconds of longing, like every first time you see him. Minutes, hours: when you stand, meeting eyes across a crowded room and holding back on a rescue, because Thomas is watching, too.

Then there’s years. Years on a quiet, empty beach, picturing this, waiting for this.

A reunion.

Rafayel leans closer.

“Oh well!” you exclaim, going to move away from him.  

“No, no, no!” he stammers. “Wait! Wait, okay? Just let me… let me think for a second.”

You lean back against him, a smug smile on your lips as you study the mistletoe above you. You’re not the only one looking at it.

“It’s mistletoe,” Rafayel mumbles, barely audible.

“Huh? Say that again, sorry, I didn’t quite—”

“It’s mistletoe!” he groans.

You gasp: “It is?!”

“Plot twist, yeah?” His fingers are on your chin, turning your face back towards him. He chuckles as you let him kiss you this time: sweet and gentle, like a tide afraid to trespass on the shore.

It isn’t enough. “You know,” you say, drawing back and straightening his already-straight shirt collar, “now that you mention it, didn’t we see some of that stuff the other day? Somewhere else? The bedroom, maybe?”

He grins. “Now who’s gaslighting?”

You shut him up with another kiss, then break away from him, clambering to your feet. “You wanna check it out, or not?”

“Oh I do, I definitely do.”

And you’ve got a head start, so you might as well lead the way. You tiptoe around various messes— the fallen stepladder, and then the more traditional paint cans and brushes. Rafayel should catch-up to you, should be lifting you over this colourful obstacle course, but he doesn’t, and he isn’t.

You slow down to a stop, glancing over your shoulder.

The artist has rolled onto his front, his chin held up by his hands, and his eyes are the only things following you. You put your hands on your hips knowingly. “Hospital?” you ask.

“Hospital,” he agrees with a sheepish smile.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | DIVINE WHISPERS: Gilded Grieverance DIVINE WHISPERS: Gilded Grieverance | divine whispers: gilded grieverance⌟

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You found yourself waking up in a shimmering, soft pink palace, disoriented and overwhelmed by the sudden shift in your surroundings.

The air was warm and filled with the delicate scent of roses. As your senses adjusted, you noticed you were lying on a vast pile of white roses, their petals soft and cool against your skin, their fragrance sweet and calming.

You sat up slowly, taking in the grandeur of the palace. Tall white pillars reached up to a ceiling painted with a mural of the sky at dawn, soft blues and pinks blending seamlessly. The light filtering through the room had a golden quality, casting everything in a warm, ethereal glow.

Glancing down at yourself, you realized you were still in your night clothes, a simple gown that felt unusually soft against your skin, as if woven from clouds. Barefoot, you stood up, the rose petals brushing off your clothes and falling softly back to the floor.

As you walked through the palace, each step was silent, the floor beneath your feet made of marble that gleamed as if it were still wet with morning dew. The palace seemed endless, with archways and hallways branching off in every direction, each path lined with more white roses and soft pink blooms that filled the air with a heady scent.

The reality of the place didn't entirely make sense—it all felt like a dream, hazy and slightly unreal.

You wandered in awe, touching the smooth marble of the pillars, the texture grounding you amidst the overwhelming beauty. The gentle warmth of the palace air brushed against your cheeks, comforting yet mystifying in its gentle embrace.

As you explored, the sound of a distant melody caught your ear—a soft, haunting tune. Intrigued and somewhat entranced, you followed the music, each note pulling you deeper into a part of the palace you hadn't yet explored.

As you followed the song, it led you through a series of winding corridors, each more lavishly decorated than the last. The walls shimmered with a gentle iridescence, the light catching on the mosaics of seashells and pearls that adorned them, casting subtle reflections that danced across the high ceilings like water.

The air was perfumed with a blend of ocean breeze and blooming roses, creating a heady scent that both soothed and excited your senses. Your footsteps were silent, guided by the echoes of the enchanting melody like an invisible thread.

Finally, the music led you to a set of grand double doors, their surfaces carved with scenes of divine revelry, gods and goddesses in poses of joy and celebration. Pushing them open, you entered what could only be described as a throne room, though it was unlike any you had ever seen.

The vast space was bathed in a soft pink light, casting everything in a warm, inviting glow.

At the far end of the room, on a dais, sat a figure so breathtakingly beautiful that for a moment, you forgot to breathe. She reclined casually on a throne of polished coral and pearl, her posture relaxed yet inherently regal.

Surrounding her, two nymphs floated, their delicate wings fluttering softly as they fanned her with large feather fans. The gentle breeze they created stirred the goddess's golden hair, which cascaded over her shoulders in waves of liquid sunlight.

Her gown flowed around her like a second skin, made of fabric that shimmered with every movement, hues shifting between the softest pinks and rich creams. It clung to her form, highlighting the graceful curves of her body, and spilled out around her throne in a pool of fabric soft as foam. She nibbled on chocolate-covered strawberries, the dark richness of the chocolate a stark contrast to her pale, flawless skin.

Her face was the epitome of divine allure. High cheekbones, a delicate nose, and full lips painted a soft rose were framed by her cascading hair.

But it was her eyes that truly captivated you—pale blue, almost translucent, with an intensity that seemed to look straight through you. They sparkled with a light that was both warm and mischievous, hinting at a depth of emotion and power beyond human comprehension.

For a moment, you simply stood there, captivated.

It seemed to take her only a brief moment to register your presence fully. With a languid, graceful movement, she shifted in her throne, her posture straightening as she bestowed upon you a gaze that was both commanding and curiously inviting.

A slight, knowing smile tugged at the corners of her lush lips as she waved off the nymphs with a flick of her wrist. Their movements ceased immediately, and with a bow, they drifted to the peripheries of the room, their forms fading into the soft shadows cast by the flickering light.

"Come closer," she beckoned you, her voice like velvet, rich and smooth, echoing slightly in the vast chamber.

Hesitantly, you stepped forward, each movement towards her feeling as if you were being drawn by invisible strings. The soft echoes of your footsteps mingled with the still-hovering notes of the melody that had led you there.

As you approached, her eyes followed every step, examining you with an intensity that made your heart beat faster. You stopped a few feet before her throne, suddenly very aware of your simple night clothes and bare feet in such a regal setting.

"Do you know who I am?"

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry as you met her gaze. "No," you hesitated, then added, as courage found its way into your voice, "But if I had to guess... I'd say you must be Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty."

At your words, a pleased expression swept over Aphrodite's features, her posture subtly shifting as she preened slightly at the praise. "And what, pray tell, gave it away? Was it my beauty?" Her tone was playful yet carried an undertone of genuine curiosity.

"Y-Yes," you answered, your voice steadier as you spoke. "There's an aura about you that seems to weave beauty and grace into the very air. Its unlike anything I've ever felt or seen."

Her laughter, light and musical, filled the room, and the warmth in her eyes brightened noticeably. "You have a charming way with words," she complimented, her smile broadening. "It's rare to find a mortal who can stand in the presence of a goddess and still find their voice."

You felt a flush of warmth at her words, a mix of embarrassment and a peculiar sense of pride. Here you were, in a place beyond the ordinary, speaking with a being of myth and legend. It was surreal, and yet Aphrodite's demeanor, while regal, was not unkind. She observed you with a sort of amusement, as if your human foibles were endearing rather than disappointing.

"I suppose I shouldn't keep you in suspense," Aphrodite said after a moment, her voice smooth as silk yet carrying an undeniable authority. "You may be wondering why I'm meddling with your dreams, infiltrating your thoughts."

You nodded, your earlier nerves settling into a focus on her words. Her acknowledgment of her involvement in your experiences both alarmed and intrigued you.

She sighed softly, the sound like a melody fading into silence. "It's about the young prince, Telemachus..." Her tone softened, tinged with a reluctant apology. "I may have... influenced him more strongly than I intended. And for that, I apologize."

At the mention of Telemachus, the events of just a few hours ago flashed vividly in your mind. You remembered how he had appeared at the feast, his behavior erratic and unlike himself, his sudden collapse. After he had passed out, you had stayed by his side for an extra hour, ensuring he was stable. Once you were certain he wouldn't require immediate medical intervention, you had fetched a male servant to change him out of his ceremonial clothes before you retired to your own room, using your exhaustion as an excuse to escape the festive chaos.

Coming from your thoughts, you stared up at the goddess, sputtering, "That was you?"

Aphrodite sighed, rolling her eyes as she leaned on her hand, admitting to it. "Yes, that was me," she said, a note of annoyance in her voice as if the confession was being forced from her. "Telemachus has been... let's say, less than subtle about his feelings for you. He's been complaining, lamenting to the skies, as if I'm the one letting you slip away. Can you believe it? As if I control every little mortal feeling."

She waved her hand dismissively, brushing off the prince's emotional outbursts as trivial. "He's been practically crying out to me in prayers, loud monologues as if it's my fault," she continued, her tone a mixture of amusement and irritation. "So I thought, why not speed things up a bit? After all, what's a goddess for if not to stir the pot from time to time?"

Her lips curved into a wry smile, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. "And, of course, my son Eros sometimes takes things a little too far, but that's love for you," she shrugged nonchalantly. "Chaotic, unpredictable, and wildly out of control. But isn't that the beauty of it?"

The way she spoke of love—her domain—as something living and dynamic, it was clear that the goddess viewed these divine interventions as mere nudges on the paths mortals walked, little realizations of the chaotic nature of emotions and relationships.

"And now here we are," she concluded, her gaze piercing through you as if trying to gauge the effect of her handiwork. "A little chaos to liven up the predictable patterns of mortal affairs. Tell me, has it not made things more... interesting?"

Internally, you didn't quite know how to feel about Aphrodite's revelation.

The rush of emotions that had overwhelmed you during Telemachus' intense actions, now felt manipulated, tainted by the realization that they were spurred by the goddess of love herself. Your cheeks warmed with a mix of embarrassment and confusion, your mind racing as you tried to sort through the cascade of feelings.

Was it all really just a play of the gods? How much of what I felt was truly mines, and how much had been planted by divine whimsy? The thought made you feel like a pawn on a chessboard, moved at the whim of celestial beings for their amusement or agendas. The spontaneity and sincerity of the night's events were now called into question, leaving you unsure about what was real and what was merely the result of Aphrodite's or Eros' meddling.

As you processed these thoughts, Aphrodite watched you keenly, clearly curious about your reaction to her confession. Eventually, finding your voice, you managed to croak out, "It was just... unexpected." The words felt inadequate to describe the maelstrom inside you, but they were all you could muster under her scrutinizing gaze.

Before you could gather your thoughts further or voice another response, Aphrodite shifted on her throne, her demeanor changing as she prepared to reveal more. "There's something else you should know," she began, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of significance that made you tense. "The curse that has long shadowed your family—I've recently lifted it."

The revelation hit you like a wave, sudden and disorienting. "Curse?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself. The word felt heavy, laden with implications you couldn't immediately grasp.

Aphrodite blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her otherwise composed features, as if she hadn't expected your ignorance. "You didn't know?" she asked, her tone turning coquettish as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Oh, my dear, haven't you ever wondered why misfortune seemed such a frequent guest in your life?"

You paused, processing her words. It was true—your life had been a series of unfortunate events, from minor mishaps to more profound losses. You'd always chalked it up to bad luck or perhaps fate's disfavor, but a curse?

As Aphrodite casually recounted the tale of your ancestors, her demeanor transformed subtly. It was as if the mere memory of the slight against her invoked a distaste that she could barely conceal. "Oh, it was such a trivial thing for them," she said, her face pinching slightly as if the memory were a sour taste she couldn't spit out. "A young man, deeply in love with a girl he was arranged to marry. They lived blissfully, loving quietly in a manner that irked me."

You listened, captivated yet disturbed by the casual way she spoke of changing fates as if adjusting an ornament on her lavish attire. "They never thanked me, you see," she continued, her voice laced with a cold humor. "Here I was, the goddess of love, and not once did they make an offering at my altars. Worse, they never showed their love outwardly. No grand declarations, no passionate displays—it was as if they thought their silent, private love was enough. As if they thought their happiness was theirs alone to credit."

Her fingers tapped impatiently on the arm of her throne, the rhythmic sound echoing slightly in the grand room. "And so, I decided a lesson was in order," Aphrodite declared, her pale blue eyes hardening with the recollection. "For every generation that followed, I ensured that their love stories would be... complicated. Heartbreak for heartbreak, pain for their disregard."

The casual cruelty in her recounting sent a chill down your spine. Here was a deity who manipulated mortal lives over perceived slights, holding grudges with a pettiness that belied her divine stature.

The realization that a deity's casual decision had so profoundly impacted your life sparked a cascade of thoughts and emotions within you.

It was difficult to reconcile the image of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, with the vengeful deity who had so nonchalantly manipulated the fates of mortals. Yet, despite the turmoil her revelations caused, you acknowledged the fundamental nature of the gods: powerful, unpredictable, and, above all, fickle.

This understanding didn't ease the bitterness that lingered, but it framed the divine caprices in a context you could grasp—if not fully accept.

Clearing your throat, you mustered the composure to address Aphrodite with the respect her divine status commanded, despite the turmoil inside you. "Thank you, Aphrodite, for lifting the curse," you managed to say, your voice steady though your mind was anything but. You bowed deeply, the gesture one of both respect and a need to collect yourself.

Aphrodite, reveling in the acknowledgment, received your thanks with a pleased smile. Her cheeks tinged with a blush, a rare show of modesty from such a powerful figure. "Oh, it's quite alright, darling," she responded, her voice laced with the satisfaction of being praised. "It's refreshing to see such gratitude and understanding. You're quite sweet, aren't you?" Her words were soft, almost affectionate, a stark contrast to the harshness of her earlier demeanor.

Straightening up, she regarded you with a look that suggested she considered the matter now closed. "Very well, that's all," she declared, her tone shifting back to the regal and composed Goddess of Love you had first encountered.

As the dreamlike quality of your surroundings began to dissolve, signaling the end of this unexpected encounter, Aphrodite's final words lingered in the air, cryptic and cautionary. "Just remember, dear, not to make the same mistakes as your ancestors."

With those parting words, the lush, rose-scented surroundings of the dream began to fade, the soft pink hues and the warm glow of the torches dimming as you slowly drifted back toward consciousness.

The echo of her voice followed you, a reminder that while the curse might be lifted, the whims of the gods remained a powerful force, one that could shift the course of your life in ways you could scarcely imagine.

A/N: a/n

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[screamintoad]

Brightest Gem

A/n: NYAHAHAHAHA I LOVE MESSING WITH MY MOOTS. AU where Sea Treasure doesn’t happen. Yukana belongs to @babyghoul138

The water swished forward and back as Yukana walked on the coast. She hoped that getting this far away from campus would give her enough space from Rook to get her thoughts straight. Even just the thought of him sent her into this indescribable emotion that was mixture of anger and embarrassment. The smell of the sea and incoming rain calmed her for the moment.

Ahead of her was what seemed to be a cave under one of the mountain’s ridges. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’, she shrugged. Yukana cautiously approached the opening and saw that the inside was lit up by whatever bioluminescent algae was in the pool of water in the center. The glow was a bright blue and even reflected off of the crystals that hung on the ceiling. Unfortunately the rocky floor was uneven and caused Yukana to trip. She caught herself with a grunt but, her glasses went flying into the water. With a sigh she got up and examined exactly how far they went and decided that it wasn’t worth diving into murky waters.

Yukana did curse herself for not bringing her spare pair.

She sat criss cross on the ground and just watched her glasses slowly float down. Then, a blurred silhouette appeared to swim up. Yukana panicked and scurried to her feet when the silhouette partially emerged from the water. Its arm outstretched and in the palm of its hand, were Yukana’s glasses. “Oh! Thank you.” She wiped them dry on her jacket sleeve and was pleasantly surprised to realize that the frightening silhouette was just Agate. She’s only seen her merform from a distance a handful of times yet seeing her up close was completely different. 

She could see the gleam from the patches of scales on Agate’s face and arms. Her horns were more like a crown. She seemed far stronger and more confident now, still she remained as careful as she is on land. 

“Hi Agate, I couldn’t tell it was you at first so you kind of startled me.” The sea dragon’s face dropped with guilt, she opened her mouth but the only sounds that came out were variations of clicks and hisses. Yukana cocked her head to the side, “I can’t understand you…” Agate propped herself farther up, now some of her torso was out of the water. “Right. Talking. I’m sorry, for scaring you. I didn’t like that.” Yukana offered a smile and sat back down, “You’re all good! What are you doing in here?” 

Agate pulled herself up on the ledge as she transformed to her landform. “It’s…safe and quiet, Emerald.” Yukana grew confused again, “Emerald?” Agate pointed at Yukana, careful to not snag her claw on her clothes, “You.” Heat rushed to Yukana’s face while she stuttered over, “W-why am I like an emerald?” She couldn’t tell if it was the festering feelings or Agate’s piercing gaze that caused her to spiral. 

“Your value and you shine like one.” Agate replied. 

Yukana covered her face with her hands to hide her flustered state. “Did Rook do something again? Is that why you came here, to feel safe too?” Agate wondered. Yukana shrugged, “Well-yeah but he says all sorts of stuff that sometimes he annoys me even though I really like-I MEAN HATE HIM!” She exclaimed. Agate’s brows knit together as she pondered. “I could take care of you. I’m a better hunter, I’m faster, stronger, you wouldn’t need him.” 

Yukana lifted her head, mouth agape, “You can’t just say stuff like that!” She punched Agate’s arm, not hard enough to hurt her of course. In return she gently grabbed her hand before she could pull away, “Why not? I mean it after all.” If Yukana’s face wasn’t already hot, she would’ve assumed she was set on fire. 

[simplepotatofarmer]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Alienation & Spite

tuesday morning, 8:47 a.m.

characters: technoblade, dream word count: 1,541

I've been in this room before.

The last time, ages ago, it was brief. Techno had practically rushed me out after ringing the bell a few times. That felt like something that had to be done, some stupid ritual that you signed up for the moment you stepped into the cabin. He had come back, a little later, and made sure I wasn't watching as he opened the secret chest in the back of the room.

I knew where it was. I could go over right now and open the chest and take whatever the hell I wanted and Techno wouldn't stop me. It wasn't a secret anymore and that felt...

It felt shitty for no reason. Of course he didn't bother hiding those things anymore. I've been living in his house for months, what was there to hide? But fuck man. He could at least pretend things were normal.

Ugh.

Rolling over, I shoved one of the pillows into my face and resisted the urge to scream. If I did, Techno would hear. He would climb up the ladder and ask if everything was alright and I would lie. I should feel bad for lying; I know he's trying to help but I don't want help, I want to be left alone.

It's easier. No one gets that. No one understands that everything still hurts or that I feel wrong without a potion or that food makes me want to vomit or that I don't want to leave the cabin. I don't even want to leave the room.

Techno calls it wallowing. Maybe he's right. Maybe I don't care.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the sunlight reflecting off the bell and block of emerald. Something about that makes me angry. I've been angry a lot, I guess. It knots in my chest and I want to tear it out. I want to punch something. I want to punch myself. I settle for dragging my nails against my skin until its red and stings. It doesn't calm the anger that's making my eyes water. Without thinking, I throw the pillow across the room, at the bell.

It makes a low chiming sound and I groan.

As expected, a few moments later, Techno pokes his head up, arms resting on the floor. He's worried. I tug my sleeves down over my arms, hiding the scratches. Not that Techno would be mad. That's the problem. He'd understand. He'd say it's okay and it's not.

"Hey, Dream. You rang?"

It was funny and I have to fight the smile.

"No. That—That was an accident."

His eyes slide towards the bell and sees the pillow on the ground.

"Ah."

I don't say anything.

"How about you come downstairs, man? I'll make you some breakfast."

I still don't say anything. I stare at the ceiling.

"C'mon on man."

He talks so softly, the same way he does to his animals and it's another thing I want to be pissed about except I've heard him use the same tone with Phil, with Ranboo or Niki.

So stupid.

I want things to be normal but it is and I'm still mad.

"I'm not hungry," I lie. I'm starving. I want a potion.

"Alright." Techno reaches out and tugs the blanket up over me. He's stretching precariously. "How about we make a deal? I'll leave you alone for a bit but you've gotta promise to come down for dinner."

His words hang in the air a bit and I roll my eyes.

"Or what?"

Techno laughs.

"Or I'll carry your scrawny behind downstairs my dang self," he says.

I believe him.

"God. Fine, Techno."

He laughs again.

“See ya later, Dream.”

His head disappears back downstairs. Already I regret agreeing to his stupid deal. He won’t actually drag me downstairs if I change my mind, I know that. I roll over the other way, facing the ladder. On the bedside table is a bottle of water and Techno’s communicator. Mine is gone and has been since Sam took it. I reach over and grab Techno’s. It’s only 8:47 a.m. Dinner is a long way off.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

I’m worried.

It’s kinda hard not to be worried when you have a man in your bedroom who’ll barely move and barely eat. I don’t mind. Well, I do, just not in the way Dream thinks I do. He thinks I want him out, gone out of my life. I had to fight against his idiotic plan to fake a parting of ways while we were in prison. The only thing I want is—

It’s lame, chat, I know.

I want him to be okay. The first few weeks, he hardly moved because he couldn’t. He wasn’t in any kind of shape. The thought of what happened to him in that cell after I left haunts me. How can you make up for that?

I pull the raw beef out of the ice chest. A good steak is a start. I wouldn’t have made something that required so much chewing a couple months ago but Dream’s jaw had healed. And I know he’s a steak man when he’s not relying on potions or golden apples. I’ve caught him sneaking both after days of refusing food.

Fighting the urge to keep walking over to stand at the bottom of the ladder is the hardest part. I want to go back up and check on him again. He had been quick at pulling his sleeves down but I saw the marks on his arms. If I had said something, it might have made him withdraw even more.

I’ll make him a cake.

I have no idea if he’ll eat it but he might. It’s something to occupy my time and something to do to show him I care. He knows, he’s gotta know by this point but sometimes he lays there like he doesn’t know anything anymore. I don’t blame him. He has that lost look in his eyes every so often and I know he’s pulling away because it’s easier.

I know, I’ve been there. This cabin was built to get away from everything. It took some time to realize I was being a fool. Dream will get there, I’ve got faith in him. He’s been through a lot and he still smiles sometimes.

I’m on autopilot baking. Niki’s recipe is well-worn by this point and I don’t need to have it sitting out but that’s habit, too. It’s a nice reminder. By the time the cake is in the oven, the sun is midpoint in the sky. The beef’s been marinating for awhile. I glance towards the living room and sigh.

Just a quick check, I won’t even go up the ladder.

Standing at the base, I can’t hear anything. That’s probably a good sign. Hopefully, he’s sleeping. Sleep hasn’t been easy for him which means it’s not been great for me, either, and I can sleep through a lot. Except the person next to me lashing out or screaming. It hurts. Not the times he’s hit me on accident but hearing a friend say ‘no’ and ‘please’ and ‘stop’ over and over.

I’ve gotta stop thinking about it. I know Dream’s picked up on my worry and I know sometimes it makes him feel weird. I get it, I do.

By the time the cake is cooled and has a nice layer of green frosting on it, the steaks are also done and the sun is lower in the sky. I pat my pockets, looking for my communicator to check the time, but I must’ve misplaced it again. I make another mental reminder to put a clock somewhere and head over to the ladder.

Dream is pretending to sleep, I can tell.

“Dinner time.”

He opens one eye. I smile. He opens the other and sighs as he props himself up.

“I’m—I’m not hungry.”

It’s the same thing as earlier and it’s still a lie, I know it. I raise an eyebrow and look at him silently. After a moment, a slight tinge of pink is on his cheeks.

Got ‘em.

“Ugh, fine,” he says as he swings his legs out of bed. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know, Dream, I know.” I slide down the ladder and wait for him. When he climbs down, I put my hand out, hovering near his back, just in case. “I’ve made you a real special dinner.”

“What? Why?”

I stop in front of the kitchen table. Some of the icing on the cake has melted a bit but the steaks look good. Dream is next to me. He looks confused. He looks sad. I put my arm around his shoulders. They still feel awfully boney.

“Because it’s your four month anniversary of stayin’ here, man. We’ve gotta celebrate.”

Dream’s voice rises in pitch.

“What?”

I know that tone. He’s struggling not to smile and rolling his eyes. I nudge my nose against the side of his head and pull him a little closer. He doesn’t pull away.

“We’re celebratin’, Dream. I even made you a cake.”

“This is so stupid,” he says but he’s leaning against me and I wrap my arms around him and hug him.

“Let’s eat.”

@sixteenth-day-event

[thatmadshifter11]

Fic/Lore idea pt.3

*before we get into it I just wanna show you how I picture Yume and Ayumu these aren’t set appearances and I made these with future scenes in mind*

The one on the left is Ayumu and the one on the right is Yume(that design is closer to Yamika- just picture her with colorful hair, without the extra eye and her tattoos are hidden)

Scene: Jujutsu High Dorm Room – Late Night

The dorm was quiet. Most of the school was already asleep.

Yamika sat at the edge of their shared bed, makeup half wiped off, her multicolored hair let down from its stylized chaos. The moonlight from the window pooled on the floor, casting soft glows against her skin. Her swirling eyes were calm now—subdued into gentle colors that shifted lazily, like oil on water.

She stared at her reflection in the dark glass of the window. And then, softly—

“Ayumu.”

Ayumu’s voice stirred gently from within. “Still here.”

Yamika sighed. “I think I’m broken.”

“Why?”

“I like him.”

“Yuji?”

Yamika groaned and fell back onto the bed, flinging an arm over her eyes. “Don’t say it out loud.”

“You’re talking out loud.”

Yamika gritted her teeth. “He’s… sweet. And real. And warm. And… not completely disgusting like my father. But he is my father’s vessel. It’s gross. I’m gross.”

Ayumu giggled gently. “You’re not gross. You’re just… human. Sort of.”

“I’m not supposed to feel anything,” Yamika muttered. “I’m the one who keeps the walls up. You’re the soft one. I’m the cold-blooded backup plan.”

“You’re not just that.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment. Then Yamika asked:

“…Did it scare you? When you realized you loved him?”

Ayumu’s voice softened with a quiet fondness. “So much it made me sick.”

Yamika opened her eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. “And you kept it hidden all this time?”

“It’s not safe. Not for him. Not for me. But Gojo… he’s good at pretending. And he lets me feel normal, even if just for a little while.”

Yamika frowned. “He’s an idiot.”

“He’s my idiot.” Ayumu’s tone was warm. “And I’d rather love him in secret than not love him at all.”

“…I don’t want to love Yuji,” Yamika admitted, barely above a whisper. “But he makes me laugh. He talks to me like I’m real. He doesn’t know I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” Ayumu said gently. “You’re you.”

Yamika didn’t respond.

She rolled to her side, hugging a pillow to her chest.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she whispered.

“Then don’t.”

“I don’t think I can stay in control around him.”

“Then we figure it out together.”

There was no reply for a moment. Just the quiet sound of Yamika’s breathing.

“…You really love him, huh?” she asked softly.

“Yeah.”

Yamika smiled faintly.

“I guess… we’re both doomed.”

“At least we’re doomed together.”

They both laughed—light, sad, and full of something that felt dangerously close to hope.

And in that moonlit stillness, they drifted off—not as Ayumu or Yamika or even Yume—but just two souls sharing the same quiet heart.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Spider Monster

OK 1st I really love all the stories and fanfiction making with Spider-Man and all The Avengers the bonding and becoming a little family I can I wanna suggest a prompt where and it's a little weird, Spider-Man. becomes a spider-monster thanks to a evil scientist and does not recognize any of the avengers and they try to calm him down so they can get him back to the tower to help him 🥰🤩 – gengar467

please keep feeding us peter parker fics i love them i swear they're addicting (but no pressure only if u feel like it!!) – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: animal transformation, injuries

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 2777

"Keep your eyes up," Steve orders as the Avengers spread out, flashlights reflecting off the walls and ceiling as water sloshes around their feet, "we don't know anything about this creature's origin or what it's capable of."

"It's a New York sewer, Cap," Clint says, hands at the ready, "we should be expecting anything from turtles to crocodiles."

"Somehow I don't think turtles would cause that much of an issue."

"Clearly you've never met Master Splinter."

"Isn't he a rat?" Tony's suit whirs. "I'm picking up residue of some sort on these tunnels over here. Looks like whatever our mystery friend is has started leaking something."

"Possible contagion?"

"Uh, negative. Looks more like a slime or mucus that's being secreted than any sort of venom or poison." The suit whirs again. "Heavier concentration on the north tunnel."

They continue moving. Thor's hammer hits the side of a massive steel beam and they all freeze, listening for a skittering or thudding.

"It's too goddamn echoey in here."

"Stark, can you triangulate the—"

"Way ahead of you, Cap." Tony points at a nearby tunnel. "In there."

"Be careful, we don't know what we're dealing with."

"Uh huh. Don't worry, I'll leave the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to you." Tony's interface flickers as he runs a scan over the darkness. "Okay, I got something."

"Size?"

"Small to medium. Hard to tell, looks like it's curled up. More of the residue…possibly injured."

Clint shifts his grip. "Makes it easier to take it down, doesn't it?"

"Unlikely," Thor says quietly, "if it is injured, it will be more desperate, less predictable. We shouldn't discount its abilities."

"Well, this just gets better and better."

"Hang on." Tony frowns. Something flashes out of the corner of his eye. "There's something else. Suit's picking up traces of…"

"Stark?" Steve glances over at him when he doesn't finish. "Stark, what is it?"

"Shit, it's the kid."

"What? What kid?"

"Our kid." Tony's hands drop, the repulsors winding down. "That's Peter back there."

"Peter?"

"What the hell's he doing down here?"

"And who hurt him so bad we're getting reports of a feral creature that needs to be contained?"

"Are you sure?" Steve risks a glance back toward the dark tunnel. "Is it possible it's the same program that—"

"No, it's him, Cap. No one else has these sorts of readings." Tony's face plate pops open. "Shit, okay, this just got way more complicated."

"Peter?" Thor's voice rings against the walls. "Is that you?"

A horrific snarling noise fills the air, sounding much, much bigger than what Tony had described. Clint glances over only for Tony to shake his head. "He's got his head in a corner, the sound's bouncing off the walls."

"He's using the darkness to hide his location," Natasha murmurs, a note of pride in her words, "clever."

"Peter," Steve calls next, voice low and soothing, "it's us. It's your family, we're here to help you."

Another snarl, a little quieter. The team slowly edges closer, the water rippling around them. This time, the snarl that halts them chokes off in a pained whimper.

"Baby Spider," Natasha calls, moving a little closer on her own, "Baby Spider, it's okay. We're not gonna hurt you, we just want to help. Aunt Spider misses you, she wants you to come home."

A series of chitters breaks out. Natasha glances at Steve and they both keep moving slowly down the hallway. Behind them, Clint, Thor, and Tony make sure nothing else is going to jump out at them, covering the exit points. A ripple comes back from the darkness, smacking lightly against their shins.

"Peter? Is that you?"

Another chitter. Steve adjusts his grip on the shield to reach for a flashlight, aiming it down at the water. "I'm gonna turn on a small light, okay, Peter? Just so I can see?"

There aren't any more noises, so he clicks it on, keeping it aimed low, using the reflection from the water to illuminate their way. Beside him, Natasha's gun is trained below their line of sight, just in case. They make their way toward the corner, pausing. They glance at each other one more time before Steve clears his throat.

"We're gonna come around the corner now, okay, Peter? We're not gonna hurt you."

The next noise is almost a whine. Natasha's mouth twitches before she nods firmly and they step around the corner. The light bounces through the water, up the walls, through the darkness to reveal—

"Oh, Peter," Steve breathes, shield lowering, "what the hell happened to you?"

The light has just enough time to bounce off several red eyes before a blur of fangs and legs launches itself at them.

***

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts—

His back is on fire. His sides ache and split like thousands of slivers rubbed in salt and his mouth is about to explode into nothing but blood and pain. He chokes on it, on his own tongue that no longer fits right in his skull and his voice garbles out noises of nightmare.

He remembers screaming. He remembers thrashing. He remembers running—at least, he thinks he does. He must have been running with how fast he was going. He must have run because he was somewhere and now he isn't. Now he's in the dark and the cold and the cold helps the pain but there's more pain in his mouth that he can't help, can't stop, and he wants it to go away and there's another pain in his abdomen, so ravenous and thick and empty and he needs—he needs—

He needs it to stop.

***

Bruce blows out a breath when he sees Peter sitting in the lab. He glances at Tony, whose expression hasn't lifted once since he called Bruce with an update—that it's Peter who they found, except he doesn't recognize them and something happened to him—before adjusting his glasses.

"We're gonna have to go in there," he says lowly and Tony sighs.

"I know. I just wish we didn't have to."

"You and me both."

"Spider-safe kit is already prepped and waiting. You think you can handle it?"

"Yeah."

"'Cause I got no problem suiting up to—"

"Tony," he interrupts, not unkindly, "I can do this. Peter's a scared and frightened creature who doesn't know his own strength. I know how to deal with those."

Tony's mouth tenses briefly before he nods, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Bruce takes a deep breath and picks up the kit, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves before opening the door.

Peter's head jerks up, his fangs making little squeaks against the bite guard they'd had to force into his mouth when he wouldn't stop trying to attack Thor. His limbs curl up as much as they can where the restraints have him, over his torso and chest—a protective move. His many eyes blink out of sync. The spider limbs flail aimlessly. Bruce swallows.

"Hey, kid," he says, voice light and soft, "I'm Bruce, remember?"

He just gets another light snarl.

"That's okay, I know you've got a lot going on right now. I'm here to help, okay?" He holds one hand out, trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible. "I need to take a look at you, see what's going on."

Peter doesn't try to attack him, which is good, so Bruce slowly starts making his way over, crouching down in front of the small table where Peter sits. Peter's many eyes watch him, flickering to the kit he sets by his side.

"It looks like you're in a lot of pain," he says, "I'd like to help with that. Does that sound okay?"

The snarl is almost a question this time. Peter's limbs twitch slightly, and he groans in pain. Bruce winces in sympathy.

"Yeah, transforming's never fun, is it?" He indicates the tears in Peter's clothing, under which he can see red, inflamed skin, like Peter had tried to scratch it to make it stop. "You're bleeding a little bit, kid, can I help with that?"

He gets another snarl and bared fangs, before Peter slowly subsides and hunches in on himself. His eyes close and his breath comes in quick pants, then slow pants, then quick, then slow. A self-soothing technique, perhaps, something to try and ground himself. Bruce takes a slow breath of his own before he calls out again.

"Let me have a look at you, Peter," he says softly, "let me help."

Peter whines. Bruce waits until his eyes flicker open once more, glazed over with pain, before he reaches slowly for the kit. He opens it, turning it so Peter can see everything. His memory might be hazy, locked behind primal fear and impulse, but not gone. With this in mind, he reaches for a simple topical pain relief, something Peter would recognize, designed specifically for him and his enhanced healing factor. Bruce holds up his hand, slowly moving closer, until he can squeeze a little bit out on his fingers.

"I'm gonna put this on your sides, okay?" Peter makes another small noise, eyes squeezing shut, and Bruce carefully peels back the fabric of his ruined shirt. "Okay…that's it, kid, you're doing really well…"

The first touch to his side has Peter flinching. Bruce hushes him gently, trying to get the cream on the wounds, but Peter just whines and pulls away. The flesh stays as red and angry as ever, even as Bruce tries to be gentle, until he muffles a curse.

"Tony?"

"What do you see?"

"Kid's healing factor is battling whatever's doing this to him. It's trying to turn him back to normal as fast as this thing is trying to transform him. His body's fighting with itself."

"Shit," Tony's voice comes over the intercom, "okay, can you get me a blood sample?"

"I don't think he's gonna let me come near him with a needle right now."

"Yeah, I figured."

"There's a little blood on his bite guard, if I can get him to let it go without biting me—"

"Bruce—the last thing we need is both of you running around with this stuff in you."

"I know, but we don't really have a choice right now. Let me try something."

His hand moves up slowly, cups his hand around Peter's skull. Another whine bubbles up past the guard, a thin froth emerging around the white plastic. Bruce touches the strap holding it behind his head. Peter's eyes flick to him.

"Peter," he says quietly, "I'm going to take the guard off, okay? It looks like it's hurting you. But you can't bite me, okay? You think you can do that?"

Another small noise, another small flinch, and his limbs strain against the restraints. Bruce doesn't move, letting Peter decide what he wants to happen on his time. He ducks his head, nearly hitting Bruce in the process, before he gently butts his head against Bruce's chin. He chuckles.

"Okay, bud. I'm gonna take the guard off now."

Slowly, he reaches for the strap, undoing it just enough to gently ease the plastic from his mouth. The pink froth of spit and blood covers the inside, and he quickly places it in the bin to be sent to Tony. Tony gives him a thumbs-up through the glass and Bruce sets his hand back on the back of Peter's neck. Peter chitters once more, butting his head against his side. Bruce chuckles, running his hand through Peter's hair, before frowning.

"Tony, I have an injection site."

"You have a what?"

"Injection site. Side of the neck. Slightly inflamed, but really small. Probably wouldn't have seen it otherwise."

"So this was targeted?"

"Most likely."

"Shit."

Peter whines again and Bruce quickly shushes him, carding his hand through his hair again. He makes eye contact with Tony through the glass. They both nod.

"Don't worry, kid," Tony murmurs, "we're gonna figure this out."

***

It's warm now. He's lying on something soft.

Things still hurt. Everything is still warm and pulsing and hot with pain but it's a little less…volatile. He's somewhere soft, he's somewhere warm, he wants to stay here. He wants to stay here and not go back to the cold and the wet and the really angry parts of him that just want to hurt, hurt, hurt—

There's something soft under him. There's something soft over him.

Is he…is he safe now?

***

"Shh, shh, hey, easy, baby," Natasha murmurs when Peter starts to stir, his head twitching in her lap, "you're okay. Everything's okay."

"He's waking up," Steve says softly into his comm, "yeah, I think he's out of the worst of it. Don't worry, we'll keep an eye on him."

Natasha's fingers scratch gently through the hair at the nape of his neck, her other hand curled around his. Steve leans over and carefully moves the cup of water out of the way as he blinks, wincing at the brief flash of sunlight before looking up at Natasha. She smiles, brushing her thumb over his cheek.

"Hey, there you are," she coos, "how are you feeling, Baby Spider?"

"Sore," he rasps, only for Steve to quickly hold out the cup with a straw, "thanks."

"Drink, sweetheart, don't try to speak so much yet."

Both of them hold him steady, letting him drink his fill, before Steve sets the cup down and helps Peter sit up, his back against the side of the couch and his torso held in Natasha's arms. He blinks sluggishly, wincing as he tries to move a little bit.

"Wha…what happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us some of that, Baby Spider. What do you remember?"

"I was…I was just walking. Then someone bumped into me and I thought—I thought that it was just a random thing but then everything started hurting and I hadda—" he sniffles— "I had to get away from people because I was—was gonna hurt them."

"Oh, sweetheart," Steve says softly, reaching out when Peter's hand balls into a fist, "you didn't hurt anyone, you just scared some people."

"R-really?"

"Yeah, Baby Spider." Natasha ruffles his hair with a smile. "You're too much of a softie, aren't you?"

"Mama Spider…" He pulls away with a pout. "You're embarrassing me…"

"You're so cute, you know that?"

"Natasha," Steve scolds lightly, "he's hurting, don't tease him. Peter—hey, sweetheart, it's okay. You didn't hurt anyone. You did the right thing. It's okay. Do you remember anything else about what happened?"

Peter frowns, a curl flopping down over his forehead. "I was—there was a logo on his jacket, I think. He—he turned it inside out but I—I saw it. It was—it was like—a circle? With a—another circle? Sorry—"

"No, no, sweetheart, it's okay, that's good enough." Steve brings his hand up and kisses his knuckles. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore."

"I can imagine. Tony and Bruce said it might be a few days before you feel all the way better. Ah—" he squeezes his hand when Peter opens his mouth to protest— "are you gonna deprive Yelena and Natasha here the chance to fawn over you?"

"You're lucky Yelena's out of town right now," Natasha adds with a grin, "otherwise you'd be bundled up in blankets and watching so many dumb movies right now."

"C-can we not do that anyway?"

"Oh, we will," Steve says, "don't you worry."

Peter smiles and nuzzles into Natasha's chest, letting her run her hand through his hair again. "Can I—'s it okay if I…"

"Go back to sleep, Baby Spider, we'll be here when you wake up."

***

"You didn't tell me? I would have been here sooner!"

"Yelena—"

"No. Give me my Baby Spider and go away."

"Yelena, he's been asking for you, it's not like we—"

"Of course he's asking for me, I'm his Aunt Spider. Where is my sister?"

"She's with him now. Come on, the movies are already queued up."

"Good. You are no longer allowed to sit on the couch with us, Stark."

"Wh—it's my couch!"

"Not anymore."

[elenor222]

sunburn

Pairing: Magnus Carlsen x reader

Fandom: chess

Words: 947

Warnings: angst, past relationship, failure

previous

CHAPTER 10. The Floor Was Safer

You don’t know what’s more terrible, the bed being empty or the floor being his board. His back is against the bed frame, legs pulled up like a child caught in someone else’s storm. You’re draped in a towel, water dripping from your hair. His golden hair has long since lost its warmth, it sits like a dull halo, like remembrance on his head.

Your breath catches. He’s avoiding your eyes as you drop the towel. It lands soft on cold tile. He still won’t look at you. When he feels your presence, he castles, tries to take up less space. Like that’ll spare either of you. You thought leaving without a word was his check, turns out, staying quiet is worse.

You want to scream. You don’t. Instead, you sit near him. Not beside, but close enough to make it worse. You pull his wrinkled shirt from the floor and wrap it around your wet body. You’ve never felt more ashamed in your own skin.

“Do you know what it’s like to look at someone and see everything you lost reflected back at you?” The cruelty isn’t in your voice. It’s in your calm. The river dried out long ago. This is drought season. You don’t soften now.

“I never asked you to stop playing” he says eventually, like that erases anything. Your hands curl into fists, eyes already too far gone from your posh apartment.

“You abandoned me. You saw me collapse and didn’t call. You watched me drown and didn’t text. You left, Magnus. And the worst part is—I still made the fucking bed after.” You pause and glance at him. He’s not crying. Of course not.

“You are a coward.” you spit. “You could’ve said you didn’t love me. I would've survived that. But you disappeared like I was an inconvenience.” Your eyes are watery, and your breathing is shallow. You mean every word you say.

He only flinches.

“You regret me” he states instead. You don’t look at each other.

“No.” you say, hollow. “You were the person I was supposed to be safe with. But loving you felt like tiptoeing in a burning house.” A tear slips from your eye.

“I watched you shatter and thought—I can’t stop this. But I could’ve. And I didn’t.” Magnus has a soft spring in his voice. You wonder how many of your sponsorships went to him. How many wins he owes to your silence.

How many people forgot you so they could remember him better?

“I would’ve rather you spit in my face than say nothing.” You let out a hollow laugh, still on the floor. The color on your face is brighter than most mornings in New York. Your chest flickers with something hotter than grief.

“You’re stronger than you think.” Magnus offers.

“You don’t know what it took to crawl out of this.” You snap back, eyes wide with betrayal. You cried yourself to sleep three months after Zurich. Your mother denied to even look at you. Your father disowned you.

“I thought if I loved you hard enough, you’d stop choosing yourself.” You tell him. The sky outside is an array of pink and orange. The air poisons your breath.

“I thought if I kept my distance, I could keep you whole.” He murmurs. He wants the d4 square after playing e4.

“You didn’t ruin me,” you say. Your voice is measured, cold.

“Then why do you sound like you’re still scraping yourself off the floor?” It lands. The silence grows teeth. “You broke long before I left. I just stopped pretending I could fix you.” He regrets saying it, you can tell by the little twitch in his left eye, but somehow that makes it worse.

“This was supposed to be a beginning.” You stand up from the floor, the hem of his shirt sticking to your thighs. You look wrecked, his hair is a mess, and your room smells like death.

“So was every other time we kissed and pretended it would fix things. You think sex heals people?” Magnus is still on the floor; something ties him to your titles. The ceiling feels close, your hands closer.

You’re tired. He’s worse. Neither of you move to the bed. Neither moves to leave.

You lean your head back against the wall and pretend your spine is strong enough to hold you.

“I never wanted to win against you.” He tries to defend. His eyes are soft and cheeks sunken. His facial hair is fraying at the edges. It scratched against your skin in bed, and instead of closeness, it feelt wrong. Foreign.

Sharp? Unshakeable? The façade has finally cracked. It only makes him look more tired. More boyish. More lost.  

“Stop lying Magnus” you stare down at the floor. He looks wounded, feels worse than he did before. You don’t feel any better. Your long hair drips acid over his feet. Longer, darker, heavier—yours. You let it grow as a rebellion, as a ritual.

There’s no bite left on your faces. Two corpses don’t make a home.

“I don’t want to hate you,” he says, softly. “But I think I might.”

You turn away, stare at the window.

“Then go before it sticks.”

When he leaves, he stops at the door and turns back once, then again. He reaches out, fingers brushing the hem of his shirt draped over your skin. You recoil. Not out of fear.

Out of memory.

Out of knowing exactly where that hand has been and how little it saved you.

The light shifts and the room forgets to hold its breath when he’s gone.

next

a/n: this might be my favorite chapter yet

[choccy-zefirka]

@whiskynorocks and if you prefer non-smutty feelz, here's another Zevlor ship with Niamh, my druid Githyanki who was found as an egg by istiks and raised in the ways of Faerun.

What remains of the cultists, has been cleaned up by now.

Bodies, carted off and burned. Robes, collected to be unseamed and reused — morbid, yes, Jaheira was first to admit that. But the fabric is good, higher quality than a lot of the Harpers' refugee charges have seen in a lifetime. And warm, too, crafted to withstand the marrow-gnawing cold of the Shadow-Cursed Lands.

Even though the first specks of green are already starting to bud on the dessicated tree branches, the darkness will take a while to abate — and the children need blankets, now. Better over-the-top black blankets adorned with the symbol of the Absolute than none at all.

The cleanup has not been complete, though.

There is still a sticky red residue caked all over the echoing stone halls, where the Absolute's worshippers once gathered and where their former captives have now made camp, free and ready to move on, once the Harper scouts confirm that the road is clear.

There are still dark splatters, marking so many spots where the enemy fell. Reminders of how Lae'Zel's blade traced a squelching curve through a cultist's torso; or how Gale's lightning danced, from one lump of charred flesh to the next; or how Astarion leaped from the shadows, ripped into a tender, delicious throat, and withdrew again, smiling.

Niamh has made herself quite busy washing those markings off. She stands in the middle of one room after another, raises her wiry yellow arms to the ceiling, and then brings them down with an almost audible "Whoosh!". The gesture creates a thick, turquoise-tinged cloud, which hangs low for a split second, brushing its downy underside against the furniture, and then erupts into a stream of indoor rain.

Next, Niamh twirls her wrist and closes her fist, as if wringing an invisible towel. The summoned water evaporates, leaving the stone floor impeccably clean, reflective as a giant looking-glass. In its grey depths, an upside-down Niamh strides to the next splash of dried-up gore, while an upside-down Shadowheart watches her, wondering.

"Why all the effort?" she asks at last. "We will be leaving the place soon. And I am certain it will gather more grime ten times over before new tenants dare move in."

Niamh looks up from her work. Her pale eyes are huge and sincere as always. So unlike the steely glare you would commonly expect from a Githyanki — yet at this point, enough to move even Lae'Zel.

"The spell keeps me distracted," she explains.

Shadowheart responds with a soft "Hm".

For a while afterwards, the two women — Half-Elf and Githyanki, once strangers and now something very dangerously resembling friends — hold each other's gaze without another word.

Within the long silence between them, someone who knows what they know, might hear the slithering whispers of Justiciars past in the Nightsong's prison, the torturous screech of the zaith'isk, the slosh of corrosive brine around the emerging Elder Brain. Far too much for a mortal mind to endure — without distraction.

And so Shadowheart understands. Still not saying anything, she joins Niamh in her calming routine. Create Water, Destroy Water. Rinse and repeat. Until the bloodied walls are washed cleaner than their hands and memories will ever be.

They are interrupted only by the soft beat of giant wings.

Shadowheart flinches, still a touch unsettled by the sound. By the meaning that it carries.

Niamh stops casting and tries to comfort her with a smile — again, without a word, yet with all the understanding.

This makes it easier to face their visitor.

Dame Aylin towers over them both, even the lanky Niamh: shoulders spread wide and strong, wings casting an opalescent glow over her polished armor. But just like the hallways of these battle-scarred towers, the glossy surface is marred with a streak of blood. Not her own, though: she is carrying someone in her arms.

Sagging, heavy; horned head thrown back and tail hanging limp.

Niamh stumbles closer. Her pupils shrink in shock, taking in the familiar jagged cheekbones; the worry-lined face, now drained to a terribly, terribly wrong, desaturated shade of red; the blood-soaked light-brown hair. Her hand reaches for her throat, where the cry of recognition is trapped and twisted, crumbling into a hoarse ashy sob.

"Zevlor..."

"Verily, I pulled him from beneath a carpet of intellect devourers," Aylin announces.

"He had goaded them into attacking him in the stead of a fleeing injured Fist. Oh, by my mother's milk, what a sight it was! What carnage of lacerating claws, what sizzling bite of foul psionics!"

Niamh's lips begin to tremble. Aylin's enthusiasm is clearly not contagious.

The knight catches the panicked look in her eyes, and corrects herself — perhaps after mentally asking, "What would Isobel say?"

"Lo, friends," she continues, much more somberly, as she floats across the freshly washed room and lays Zevlor down on the nearest desk.

Niamh nigh-on leaps to her side, followed by Shadowheart. Good thing, too: she might need someone to lean on. She watches the Tiefling twitch under Aylin's hands while she wrestles him free of his charred armor — and her knees almost buckle when she sees the ripped-up plough marks of his wounds.

He mutters something in snatches of words — mangled, panicked, collapsing onto themselves.

But his eyes do not open, and his breaths are so ragged that you'd think his chest is covered on the inside with briars.

"You would do well to work your best healing magics," Aylin finishes. "For I fear the dark lair's filth may have left the wounds infected."

"You might be right," says Shadowheart. "Zevlor is clearly delirious."

"WHAT?!"

A sudden cry rings out — a burst of outrage from another onlooker, whom Niamh never noticed, either as a reflection, or in person.

"FUCKING ZEVLOR?!"

A young Tiefling skids across the damp floor, coming face to face with Aylin. His nostrils are quivering; his fists are balled into veiny lumps of fury.

Niamh shoots a wide-eyed glance at Shadowheart.

Zorru!

They recognize him, from all the way back in the Grove... And yet, they also do not.

He is such a far cry from the fumbling, terrified boy who so easily dropped to his knees before Lae'Zel. These lands' shadow clings on to him, painting over his features in new, stark, hardened lines.

There is still fear in his eyes. Perhaps it will remain there forever, curling around his pupils by day and bursting free at night, erupting into nightmares of blood and guts, of friends' faces turned to contorted death masks, of the arms that once hugged him, snapped like dry tree branches in the final throes of agony. But his knees do not bend now.

"How dare you! How dare you!" he spits at Aylin — vaguely bemused, vaguely impressed — even as he trembles all over. "Most of us are gone now, and instead of bringing back survivors, you bring him! The bastard who did it to us! It's all his fault — all his fault!"

"You are not wrong, Zorru. But it's also more complicated than that," Niamh speaks up, in her most persuasive tone.

Her eyes are not exactly dry, and her hand is clawing at the edge of the desk Zevlor rests on... But her voice is steady. She has collected herself after her initial shock, and stands perfectly straight now — also a far cry from the lost druid apprentice, who groveled and apologized at every turn. For travelling with disagreeable companions. For being born a Githyanki, for being raised outside her people's creche. For... Existing in general.

"If your people agree to leave him be, I will take him with me. Whether he — " for a second, her voice does falter, but she pushes down the lump in her throat, determined to remain firm. "Whether he lives or dies, whether he chooses to join me as a companion or goes his own way, you will never see him again."

"Oh, we certainly don't want to," Zorru scowls — relenting.

"Very well," says Niamh. "Aylin, would you mind fetching Halsin and Isobel? We will need everyone for a prayer of healing."

Zevlor is trapped.

Held in place by fleshy tendrils, bulging and covered in swollen lumps, oozing, dripping something warm, something cloying with rotten sweetness.

They snake up his legs, glueing them together; they tip-tap up his back, every touch a shudder, and loop around his throat.

They push into his mouth, deeper and deeper with each attempt to scream.

They run along his temples, melting into one with his madly thrashing veins, and branch out with a sickly crackle when they reach the corners of his eyes... Propping his eyelids wide open.

Unable to blink, drowning in scorching tears, he has no choice but to look ahead. Into restless darkness, which keeps swirling, ever swirling into sickening spirals, like ink stirred in an inkwell.

Time and again, it recedes, rolls away in oily droplets, revealing the same scene, from different angles.

Sometimes, he can see it up close, making out the ruby sparks that still quiver on a dead girl's eyelashes — and sometimes, the view pans out, and he has to take in the entire the road where the cultists attacked them. Where he froze, entranced by dreams of glory... As if someone like him would ever deserve that! As if he would ever be welcomed back into Helm's fold! As if he hadn't failed, over and over, in his duties to protect the weak, to shelter the small, to stand guard against creeping darkness!

He sees them all, again and again: a pile of corpses from bird's eye view, like a grotesque pale flower on the branching path... And then, next time the darkness ebbs, he sees individual people. His people. His responsibility. Flayed apart and put on display before him in minute detail. So he can look, never blinking, and take in every line, every pore, every callus on the hands that once shook his, so trusting, so grateful to have an actual paladin in their midst.

Maybe he is still there, still among them, a swaying lunatic standing guard over people who will never draw another breath. Maybe he imagined all that followed — his capture, his desperate flailing inside the narrow, suffocating, coffin-like confines of a glass pod... His escape.

Yes, the escape must have been a figment of his weak, befuddled mind. After all, she was there. Niamh. His unlikely friend among the druids, and even more unlikely companion for one beautiful night. His ray of golden sun. His lost, long-gone hope.

First, he hallucinated her beside him — smiling tenderly when the roaring crowds celebrated him as a hero; her hand resting on his elbow; confetti caught in her flowing pink ponytail, making her look almost... Almost like a giddy, blushing bride.

And then, he invented a whole story about meeting her in Moonrise Towers. He imagined what she would have looked like, changed by her journey through the dark — more withdrawn, more weary, with purplish circles under her eyes and her hair shaved down to thorny bristles. Yet still happy to see him, still ready to hear him out, to forgive.

This is what makes this a fantasy; more bloody wish fulfillment that cost so many lives!..

"I think it's working... Thank you for helping me with the spell."

A voice in the darkness? A new form of torment? It sounds like her again; he so desperately longs for it to be her again — but it can't be!

What if... The tendrils clutch him tighter, compressing his ribs to the verge of cracking.

What if he is dead? And his soul returned to the Hells, where it belongs? And this mind-shattering blend of agony and temptation is his eternal punishment?

When the realization pierces through him, rupturing what was not yet crushed by his hideous bonds — he does what he did when his beloved city sank into Avernus. He screams.

... With that, comes another realization. He *can* scream. He can move his arms. The tendrils have come loose.

He does not even need to strain against them before they recoil, melting into misshapen puffs of dull red smoke. Instead of being constricted, he... floats. Weightless, yet at the same time, keenly aware of his body — of how strong, how whole it feels. He is carried by waves of ethereal blue, not quite water, not quite light... Magic — Niamh's magic.

It trickled in before he could properly notice: blue cracks in the inky blackness, broader by the second.

He blinks — oh, how wonderful it is, to be able to blink! — and all the swirling ink has been washed away. With it, the flashes of the cultists' victims — his victims, even more — are gone as well. The magic envelops him, cradles him, carries him higher... Odd — he seems to recall this sensation of being carried from somewhere before —

"On second thought, perhaps I will not miss hearing the screams of someone laid out on a table before me."

Zevlor gasps, like a half-drowned man tossed ashore. Then swallows — once, twice; by Helm's grace, he is parched.

There is some manner of hard surface underneath him, cutting uncomfortably into his back. The light — a mix of dusty grey glow and the last fading wisps of magic — makes his eyes sting.

The air prickles at his bare skin. It all feels very... real. And it makes so much sense: his body is affected, and his mind reacts to that. All of him works as one; all of him is his own again.

The half-elven woman who quipped about him screaming is still looking down at him. He... He remembers her; her name is Shadowheart...

"I apologize if I startled you," he half-whispers, his throat growing more and more scratchy with every word.

"No harm done," a massive, yet comforting presence swims into view — Halsin. "You have been through so much."

"We will be moving out soon, but there is still time to rest."

And that's... Gods, that's Niamh! Just as she appeared to him in his final hallucination.

"No... Not again..." he laments out loud, his eyes transfixed on her features. "I wanted this to be real..."

Niamh frowns.

"It is!"

She hastily reaches for his hand and cups it between hers.

Zevlor's heart thumps softly against his mended chest; and out of the corner of his eye, he catches Halsin smiling knowingly.

"It is all real. Both the pain, and the hope. And you know what else is real?"

She carries his hand up, brushing it along her cheekbone and bringing it to rest against her lips.

"That you are no longer alone."

Shadowheart sighs.

"Karlach is going to be so insufferable about the two of you, isn't she."

[shiorihyugawrites]

Diamond Of The First Water

In the aftermath of war, Paradis finds itself in need of powerful alliances. When Emperor Armand of Valoria offers his military aid in exchange for the hand of his daughter, Princess Solina, in marriage, Captain Levi Ackerman is thrust into an engagement that begins as a political strategy but soon becomes something much deeper.

Princess Solina, sheltered from the world and unaware of the realities of love and war, finds herself drawn to Levi—the man known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. As they navigate royal customs, public expectations, and the growing threat of Marley, the bond between them deepens into a genuine connection.

But neither Solina nor Levi are prepared for the challenges of a political marriage, the weight of intimacy, and the secrets that lie beneath the surface. As Solina enters a new life with Levi, her naivety is tested, and Levi faces a battle unlike any he’s fought before—the fight to protect his heart.

Can their love flourish in the midst of war, duty, and danger? Or will the forces conspiring against them tear them apart before they can find peace? (Levi x OC)

Chapter Ten

The grand corridors of the Imperial Palace seemed endless, each hall more opulent than the last as the scouts followed Chancellor Benedict through the maze of marble and gold. The ceilings stretched high above, adorned with elaborate frescoes depicting Valoria’s history—great battles, royal coronations, and the flourishing of the empire. The walls were lined with tapestries of rich, vibrant colors, and the floors beneath their feet were polished to a mirror-like sheen, reflecting the sunlight that streamed in through tall arched windows. Everything about the palace spoke of wealth, power, and a legacy stretching back centuries.

The scouts were in awe. Though they had seen the royal palace in Paradis, nothing compared to the grandeur and sheer scale of the Imperial Palace of Valoria. It was a place that seemed almost too magnificent to be real, a living testament to the empire’s long-standing dominance in the world. Jean and Armin exchanged glances of quiet amazement, while Hange’s gaze wandered over every detail, her eyes bright with curiosity. Even Levi, ever stoic, took a moment to glance up at the ceilings, noting the intricate artistry above.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Chancellor Benedict’s voice echoed through the vast corridor, a hint of pride lacing his tone. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, his pace measured and dignified. “The palace has been the seat of the Valorian Empire for nearly a millennium. Each ruler has added something of their own to its structure. You are walking through history, my friends.”

The scouts followed in silence, taking in the Chancellor’s words as they continued through the halls. Occasionally, they would pass by guards stationed at strategic points, their polished armor glinting under the lights. The presence of so many soldiers was a constant reminder that despite the palace’s beauty, it was still a place of power, where security and control were maintained with a firm hand.

As they turned a corner, a different kind of space opened up before them—an expansive courtyard, filled with greenery and flowers that seemed to bloom in every color imaginable. The air was fresh, scented with roses, lavender, and other fragrant plants, and the sound of trickling water from various fountains filled the courtyard with a calming ambiance. It was a striking contrast to the ornate interior of the palace, like stepping into a different world.

“This,” Chancellor Benedict said, pausing to let the scouts take in the sight, “is the entrance to the royal gardens. The consorts and the royal children reside here in their respective Houses—Rose, Lily, Dahlia, and Peony. Each has its own mansion, with lush gardens and private courtyards.”

The scouts looked on with interest. Beyond the entrance, they could glimpse tall hedges and stone pathways winding through the gardens, but the true heart of the area remained hidden from view. Rows of guards stood vigilantly at the perimeter, their expressions stern as they monitored the entrances. It was the most heavily guarded part of the palace they had seen so far, with soldiers patrolling at every corner and even on the walls above.

“Only the Emperor and his immediate family are permitted entry into the gardens,” Benedict continued, his tone lowering slightly as if to emphasize the exclusivity of the area. “Of course, there are staff members for each House, but even they are subject to strict rules. The royal gardens are, in essence, a sanctuary—a place where the Emperor’s children can grow up away from the public eye, shielded from outside influences.”

Hange raised an eyebrow, her curiosity evident. “Why all the secrecy?” she asked. “I understand wanting to protect the royal family, but it seems… excessive.”

The Chancellor regarded her with a measured expression. “It is not merely secrecy, Commander Zoë. It is tradition. The Emperor’s consorts and children are considered the heart of Valoria, and their well-being is paramount. They are not merely nobles—they are symbols of the empire’s strength and unity. Their safety is of the utmost importance, and the gardens provide them with a place of peace, free from the watchful eyes of the world.”

Armin, ever thoughtful, glanced at the guards, then back at the Chancellor. “So, not even the highest-ranking officials or members of the court are allowed inside?”

“Correct,” Benedict affirmed. “The gardens are a place reserved for the Emperor’s private life. Even I, as Chancellor, do not enter unless specifically invited. It is one of the oldest customs of our empire, and it has remained unchanged for centuries.”

Jean leaned closer to Hange and whispered, “Guess that means we won’t be getting a look in there anytime soon.”

Hange smirked. “Oh, you never know, Jean. We seem to have a knack for getting ourselves into places we’re not supposed to be.”

As the tour continued, the scouts were led further along the courtyard, skirting the edge of the royal gardens. They could make out glimpses of the different Houses through gaps in the tall hedges—the Rose House with its vibrant red blooms and cascading trellises, the Lily House with its pristine white flowers and tranquil reflecting pools, the Dahlia House surrounded by rich purple and gold foliage, and the Peony House, with its delicate pink blossoms and winding stone pathways. Each mansion had its own distinct character, its gardens reflecting the personalities and legacies of the consorts who resided there.

Levi’s eyes lingered for a moment on the Rose House, where he knew Solina lived with her family. He could see the tops of the tall windows and the red roses that bloomed abundantly along the outer walls. The place looked peaceful, almost idyllic, and he found himself wondering what life was like within those carefully guarded confines. He imagined Solina there, walking among the flowers, practicing her music in one of the gazebos, and for a moment, he could almost see her standing by the fountain, her red hair catching the sunlight.

“Captain Levi,” Chancellor Benedict’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I believe you’ll find the palace ballroom particularly interesting. It is the largest in the empire and will host your engagement ball in a week’s time.”

Levi tore his gaze away from the gardens and nodded, his face as impassive as ever. “Lead the way,” he replied curtly, though he couldn’t shake the image of the Rose House from his mind.

As they resumed their walk, the scouts shared quiet glances, each of them reflecting on the strict boundaries that seemed to separate the palace’s private world from the rest. There was a clear divide between those who belonged to the Emperor’s family and those who did not, and the walls of the royal gardens served as a physical manifestation of that divide. It was a reminder that while they were guests in Valoria, they were still outsiders in many ways.

As they approached the next section of the palace, Hange’s curious gaze wandered back toward the entrance to the royal gardens one last time. She couldn’t help but feel there was more to this place than met the eye, something hidden beyond the hedges and the carefully controlled environment. She didn’t know what it was, but if there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was that secrets often hid in plain sight, just waiting to be uncovered.

With that thought lingering in the back of her mind, she turned her attention back to the Chancellor, who was already launching into a detailed explanation of the upcoming festivities and the history behind the grand ballroom. As much as the palace’s grandeur captivated them, there was an underlying sense of purpose in their tour. They weren’t just here to admire the beauty—they were here to learn, to understand the place and its people, and to prepare for the important events that lay ahead.

And though the scouts remained outwardly composed, they were all too aware of the delicate dance they were performing—both within the palace walls and in the negotiations to come. For now, they would continue to play their roles, learning what they could as they walked through the halls of the most powerful empire in the world.

…

As the scouts continued their tour with Chancellor Benedict, the air was suddenly filled with the sounds of gleeful laughter and the rapid patter of small feet. The noise grew louder until two young children burst into the corridor, giggling as they dashed down the polished marble floor. It was Princess Solenne and Prince Solandor, the younger siblings of Princess Solina, and they were currently being pursued by their exasperated governess, who struggled to keep pace with their boundless energy.

The twins, dressed in fine clothes that still somehow looked a little disheveled from their antics, came skidding to a stop as soon as they spotted the group of newcomers. Their bright green eyes widened with excitement as they recognized Levi, who stood in the middle of the scouts, his expression as stoic as ever. Without hesitation, they charged toward him, their small feet pounding against the floor in a chaotic rhythm.

“Look Solenne, it’s Captain Levi!” Solandor exclaimed as he reached Levi’s side, his voice filled with awe. “Are you really Humanity's Strongest Soldier?”

“Did you really fight all those Titans?” Solenne added, her eyes wide with curiosity as she bounced on her toes. “How many have you killed? Can you show us how to fight Titans too?”

The questions came at Levi in rapid-fire succession, one after the other, as if the twins had been waiting for this very moment their whole lives. Their excitement was palpable, their small faces alight with admiration as they looked up at him with the kind of unfiltered wonder only children could have.

Levi blinked, caught slightly off guard by the sudden onslaught of questions. He glanced at the Chancellor, who merely raised an eyebrow in amusement, then at the other scouts, who struggled to hide their grins at the sight of the normally composed Captain surrounded by two enthusiastic children.

Before Levi could muster a response, the twins’ governess finally caught up, her face flushed from exertion and her breaths coming out in small gasps. “Your Highnesses!” she exclaimed, trying to catch her breath. “What have I told you about running in the palace? It is most unbecoming! And—” She turned to Levi, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment as she realized who the children were talking to. “Oh, Captain Levi, my deepest apologies. They can be rather… energetic. I didn’t mean for them to bother you.”

The governess quickly moved to usher the twins back, but they dodged her attempts, still standing eagerly in front of Levi. “We’re not bothering him!” Solandor protested, crossing his arms with a defiant pout. “He’s going to marry our sister, so that means he’s going to be our brother too. That means we can ask him things, right?”

“Yeah!” Solenne chimed in, nodding vigorously. “He’s not a stranger, he’s practically family now.”

Levi’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile but not entirely the stern expression he usually wore either. There was something about the twins’ unguarded enthusiasm that he found oddly endearing, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to it. He knelt down slightly, bringing himself closer to the twins’ eye level, his gaze steady. “I have fought many Titans,” he said, his tone calm. “But fighting isn’t something to be taken lightly. It’s dangerous, and it’s not just about swinging a sword.”

The twins listened intently, their eyes still sparkling with curiosity, though their expressions grew a bit more serious at Levi's words. “Then how do you become the strongest?” Solandor asked, his small brow furrowed as if he were contemplating something of great importance. “If it’s not just about fighting?”

Levi glanced at the scouts and Chancellor Benedict, who were watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and genuine interest. Then, he looked back at the twins. “You become strong by practicing, by learning from your mistakes, and by protecting the people you care about,” he explained. “It takes more than just strength. You need to be smart, too. And sometimes, it’s more important to know when not to fight.”

Solenne tilted her head, clearly thinking hard about his words. “So… you’re saying we have to train a lot?” she asked, her voice hopeful. “Does that mean you can show us some cool moves, Captain?”

The governess, now thoroughly flustered, quickly stepped in before the children could make any further demands. “Your Highnesses, that’s quite enough,” she scolded gently but firmly. “It is very rude to pester someone with so many questions. Captain Levi is here as a guest, not as your personal instructor.”

Solandor puffed out his chest, his expression determined. “But he’s going to be family soon, isn’t he? And brothers are supposed to help each other get stronger.”

At this, Chancellor Benedict chuckled softly, unable to suppress his amusement. “The young prince does have a point,” he remarked to the scouts, a twinkle in his eye. “It seems Captain Levi has already made quite the impression on the royal children.”

Hange nudged Armin playfully and whispered, “Looks like Levi has some fans. Who would’ve thought?”

Jean grinned, his eyes flicking toward Levi. “Better get used to it, Captain. Looks like you’ve got some new responsibilities coming your way.”

Levi shot the scouts a brief, warning glance before returning his attention to the twins. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice low but not unkind. “If you both promise to listen to your governess and not cause any more trouble today, I might show you some moves the next time we meet.”

The twins’ faces lit up with joy, and they both nodded vigorously. “We promise!” they exclaimed in unison.

The governess, looking both relieved and grateful, finally managed to pull the twins away. “Come along now, Your Highnesses,” she said, her tone softer but still firm. “Thank you, Captain Levi, for indulging them. And I do apologize once again for the interruption.”

As the twins were led away, they turned back to wave at Levi and the scouts, their small hands fluttering in the air as they disappeared down the corridor.

Chancellor Benedict resumed the tour, a small smile on his face as he glanced at Levi. “Well, Captain, it seems you’re already winning over the younger members of the royal family.”

Levi merely grunted in response, his expression as impassive as ever, though there was a faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes as they continued on their way. As they moved further away from the royal gardens, the faint laughter of the twins could still be heard echoing through the halls, a reminder of the small but meaningful connections that were beginning to form in this strange, opulent place.

…

As the tour wrapped up, the scouts made their way back to their quarters, their footsteps echoing down the palace’s grand corridors. The sheer size and splendor of the Imperial Palace were still settling in, leaving an impression on each of them. Tomorrow would bring more meetings with the Emperor and the Valorian officials—discussions about military support, the mining of ice burst stone, and the terms of the alliance. It was just the beginning of their negotiations, but Levi’s thoughts had already drifted elsewhere.

Back in his room, Levi sat down on the edge of the bed, letting the silence of the evening surround him. His room was spacious and lavishly decorated, with tall windows that offered a view of the palace gardens below. As he unbuttoned his uniform and changed into a plain shirt, he couldn’t help but think about his interactions earlier that day with Solina’s younger siblings, Solenne and Solandor. The memory of the twins’ eager questions and bright eyes lingered in his mind, their voices still echoing faintly in his ears.

Levi lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling with a pensive expression. The thought of the twins brought with it a strange sense of warmth, but also a deep unfamiliarity. He had spent most of his life in a world of harsh reality, surrounded by war and loss. Family had always been a concept that felt distant, almost foreign to him. Outside of his mother, Kuchel, and a brief time under Kenny's rough care, he had never truly experienced what it meant to have a family in the traditional sense. Now, he was about to marry into a very large and complicated family. He would not only gain a wife in Solina but a host of new relatives—siblings-in-law, a father-in-law in the Emperor, and even the Emperor’s consorts, who would technically become part of his extended family.

The idea of having so many in-laws felt overwhelming. He thought back to Solina’s younger siblings and how easily they had accepted him as part of their family, even if it was still unofficial. It was something Levi wasn’t used to—the idea of belonging somewhere. It wasn’t just that Solina had a large family; it was that they seemed to care for each other, to have bonds that extended beyond duty and obligation. He had caught glimpses of it already, in the way Solina looked up to her older brother Solomon, in how her mother, Lady Solana, seemed to exude warmth and care toward her children. And now, even the youngest of them had already welcomed him, in their own way, with their innocent questions and admiration.

He closed his eyes, the mattress soft beneath him as he tried to let his mind rest. Tomorrow would bring another dance lesson with Solina. He remembered the way she had blushed when they danced, the delicate way her hand felt in his. There was a gentleness about her that stood out in sharp contrast to the life he had known. In many ways, she represented a world that was entirely different from his own—a world of refinement, music, and family. Yet, as different as she was, there was something that intrigued him about Solina. Perhaps it was the way she seemed to carry a quiet strength beneath her shyness, or the way she spoke with warmth about the things she cared about.

A soft sigh escaped Levi’s lips as he turned onto his side, pulling the blankets over himself. He wasn’t one to dwell on uncertainty, but it was hard not to think about what lay ahead. This marriage, this alliance—it would change everything for him. For the first time, he would be stepping into a role that wasn’t defined by war or combat, but by family and partnership. The thought was almost daunting, but it was also... intriguing.

As he lay there, his thoughts began to drift once more to the faces of Solina’s siblings, especially the twins. He wondered what it would be like to protect a family—his family—not just from Titans or enemy soldiers, but in a more personal sense. To watch out for them, to support them, to see them grow. It was a strange thought, but for a brief moment, it didn’t seem so impossible. And then, his mind circled back to Solina, and the fact that he would see her again tomorrow. Their paths were now intertwined, and whether he liked it or not, he would have to face whatever came next together with her.

With that final thought, Levi closed his eyes, his body sinking into the softness of the bed. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, new challenges and moments that would further shape the path they were both now walking. As sleep slowly claimed him, he wondered if, perhaps, it was possible to find something real in this strange new life—a future that was no longer just about duty, but also about something more.

~

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[divtanver]

Chapter Two: Unique Aftertaste

A sharp and sudden sound cut through space with its blade and echoed through consciousness.

"What is this?" Tails's mind, which had not yet fully returned from a trip to the void, was thinking hard.

Out of habit, rather than on the orders of the brain, the hand turned off the clock dancing on the shelf. It's stopped arrows showed eight o'clock in the evening. Now sitting on the edge of the bed, he kept trying to come to his senses, unsuccessfully going over the events of the past day, which now added a slowly drilling headache to his feeling of oversleeping. Having mastered his weakness and swaying, fox headed for the bathroom, almost hitting the door on the way.

Stepping over the threshold and flipping the switch, he stared blankly at the reflecting surface. The bags that had been missing recently returned to their once empty places under differently opened eyes and decorating the already not very pleasant appearance of his physiognomy. Usually invigorating cold water did not drive away the awakening fatigue and it would seem only diluted the concentration of the cement with which the head now felt. After admiring himself enough, Tails finished tidying up and headed for the kitchen.

Opening the refrigerator, two-tailed grabbed a bottle of water and began to greedily swallow its contents. Only after drinking half of it could he quench his thirst.

It became a little easier.

In search of something to occupy himself, Tails went to the workshop. And noticed something strange: Although he could remember what he had been doing in recent days, the appearance of the work done was somewhat different from what he remembered. What previously seemed to have been brought to an ideal state was not really such, in some places, upon careful examination, errors and flaws could be seen. Looking at the blueprints, Tails understood where these problems came from. Incorrectly performed calculations and uneven proportions ruined figures and geometric shapes of the original idea. Deciding to redo the spoiled work, he began to redraw them, but constantly confused in each other thoughts forced him to give up this lost cause.

Now, a few minutes later, two-tailed was lying on sofa in the living room and looking at the ceiling, despite the fatigue still present, he did not feel the need to sleep. Soon, hunger began knocking on the mind door. Abrupt and uninvited, it's demanded treats which Tails could not give in full. Deciding to appease it with a quick snack again, fox rummaged through the refrigerator for a while, from where a little later he took out some quick-to-eat food and consumed it. However, pleasant taste was somewhat weaker than he expected, but at least this was enough. The headache that had been tormenting heretofore went away with hunger and fatigue. After several hours of feeling unwell, Tails was finally able to relax by picking up a chemistry book that had recently got his interest. After reading about half of it, he began to yawn, lowering his head more and more each time. With a last silent click of the small arrow, wall clock struck midnight, knocking fox out of his half-sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he put the paper drive aside and hurried upstairs to the desired bed in order to continue the barely begun sleep. Tucked under the blanket, Tails closed his eyes. Sound of the beginning rain and the still relentless wind hummed an ear-caressing melody, calm and soothing.

.

.

.

Something snatched him out of his impenetrability, something fleeting and barely noticeable, but enough to excite his drowsy consciousness.

A strong knock of drops on the glass

Or a distant thunderbolt.

The fastening of old floorboards or...

Quiet footsteps.

Somewhere nearby, on the very edge of hearing.

Approaching and quieting down as quickly as they appeared, but had already warned their victim.

Laying motionless and noiselessly Tails was shackled by fear.

His ears were sharpened, ready to detect any disturbance in space. Heart accelerated its pace dangerously, accumulating adrenaline. Cold sweat slowly trickled down his heated forehead onto the white sheet, creating spots in the places of contact. Head buzzed with tension and veins bulged, ready to splash out on any source of danger. At any hint of a threat.

But it never showed itself. If there was one at all.

Without waiting for what he was looking for, candle of his consciousness went out, along with its burning wax energy.

.

.

.

Once again tired and now exhausted, Tails stood in front of the refrigerator door. The fingers of the hands independently chose a treat while their owner was looping in his head trying to figure out what had happened to him recently. A bad dream? hallucinations? Or something worse? The only thing that reminded of it now was a frantic heartbeat and a wet from sweat but still melting head. Trying to ignore them, twin-tailed sat down at the table and began to greedily, without even chewing, swallow the food. If it hadn't been for the disgusting taste, Miles wouldn't have noticed what he was eating. Despite the full belly, the hunger has not gone away.

'This is not overwork, there is clearly something wrong with me,' Tails thought, standing at the window and leaning against the wall. 'I urgently need medical help.'

He had almost reached the landline phone when his stomach rumbled menacingly, some time later a gag rattled on its doors. Without hesitating for a second, fox rushed up the stairs to the bathroom.

As soon as he managed to open the door, he was immediately overtaken by vomiting gusts. Standing on all fours, he unsuccessfully tried to stop the disgusting mass, but in vain. The remnants of undigested food splattered the floor in a torrent, drawing ugly patterns. The last drop of vomit came off in a long saliva and Tails sat down on the ground, shaking.

He stayed in this position for several minutes until he was able to regain control of his weakened body.

Finally gathering strength, he tried to sit up. After the second attempt, on wobbly legs, Tails moved towards his communicator, which he always left on the shelf.

Before reaching a few steps, the legs bent themselves. Remaining unsupported fox flew to the floor in the process hitting his head on the edge of the bedside table.

Sparks flew from eyes, burning through it's closed eyelids. Space shrank into a small dot through which a cracked and flickering monitor with a familiar blue face peered through. Numb fingers reached for the green button, but in a couple of centimeters from their target went limp and fell down like a stone.

The vibration of the device matched the fading heavy beat of the exhausted heart and subsided just as synchronously.

[amplifyme]

Another excerpt from Nan Dibble's Inside Out, because it's just so damn good. And it makes me deliriously happy.

Diana and Vincent are still isolated below the inhabited sections of the tunnels, in a massive cavern called the Maze, which has a shallow lake at its center. They've just finished up a lakeside picnic, which included a special kind of sun tea Diana brewed for Vincent before they'd made the trek down.

He bent into another sudden, graceful stoop but this time sat, looking out over the water to whatever his eyes could see there. For herself, she was just about blind. But she didn't need eyes to fold an arm up across his shoulder, leaning against his back.

            “Are you—” she began, and then hushed at the immediate stiffening that required her silence.

            He was listening to something. Sitting perfectly quiet, she at last heard it too: the tiny, faint plink of drops falling off the ceiling and dropping into the lake.

            The noise was, to sound, what fireflies were, to light. She'd never heard sounds so small, in such a large place. She found herself holding her breath, to listen better, meanwhile knowing that never in her life would she ever forget sitting here with him like this, listening for the falling drops, that was like trying to spot meteors through the city haze. Gone almost before you were sure you'd seen anything at all. Senses stretched out absolutely as far as they would reach. Wide open. Breathing.

            Tasting the residue of mint in her mouth. Catnip was a mint; the label had described it as a mild soporific. Help get you to sleep. Or be dessert and an antidote for sadness. Special.

            Sun tea.

            “Oh,” he said. “You're here.” As though he'd just realized it and it was a fresh and delightful discovery. He turned, coiling into himself, and the next second she found herself with his arms clasped around her and his head in her lap. A little tentatively, she began stroking fingers through his still-damp hair. Then down his back, which she knew he generally liked, but there were really too many layers for that to be much good. So she hitched and moved just a little, within his arms, until she could lay her cheek against the top of his head and smell that marvelous wet-hair smell, that was the sexiest thing she could imagine. And probably looked like a damn fool, a contortionist, doing it, she thought. And then lost that thought, and her self-consciousness, into the realization that he was humming, or something, just faintly. A vibration almost as much felt as heard. And full of the most perfectly peaceful contentment and happiness.

            She wouldn't have thought it was possible to love him any more than she did. But it was. She did. And since forever wasn't a length of specific time but a quality of time, they stayed there forever.    

And later...

The high had passed off as suddenly as it'd come. He'd merely rolled off, making a remark about the logistics of heating enough water at one time to fill a tin bathtub, that'd made plain he'd been thinking about the matter for some while. And she'd commented she'd pretty near kill for a hot bath, and they'd wandered back to collect the picnic leftovers, just as calm as though he hadn't been high as a kite for an unmeasured but lengthy time before that.

 No hangover. Nothing. He didn't even seem to feel anything at all remarkable had happened. And maybe, for him, it hadn't. Maybe, to someone accustomed to the occasional vision, chatting with spooks, prophetic dreams, and small seizures of trance, being blitzed into total euphoria seemed like nothing much out of the ordinary. Although he made a point of pouring the rest of the sun tea back into the jar and screwing the cap down hard, he showed no other interest in it, that appetite apparently satisfied for the time.       

When it'd been enough, there was no perverse yen for more. Strolling back home with him, she'd reflected she wished liquor was like that. Or people, other people, were like that...

[divyadixit12]

Godrej Sector 44 Noida - Grand Living Awaits in Every Fine Detail

Godrej Riverine Noida – Where Nature Meets Next-Level Living

Welcome to Godrej Riverine, Sector 44, Noida – a rare oasis of luxury nestled between city comforts and the calming embrace of nature. Brought to you by the iconic Godrej Properties, this riverfront residential masterpiece redefines modern urban living while celebrating tranquility in its purest form. Situated right next to the picturesque Okhla Bird Sanctuary and overlooking the serene Yamuna River, the property is more than just a home – it's a lifestyle upgrade waiting to unfold.

The Address That Speaks for Itself

Sector 44 With instant access to Noida-Greater Noida Expressway, DND Flyway, and the Botanical Garden metro station just a few minutes away, Godrej Riverine Sector 44 enjoys unparalleled connectivity to Delhi, Gurugram, and Greater Noida. This elite neighborhood is home to upscale residences, elite educational institutions, top hospitals, and high-end entertainment hubs, making it the ideal residential address for those who want everything within arm’s reach.

What truly sets Godrej Riverine Noida apart is its unique riverside setting – a feature seldom found in NCR’s bustling real estate landscape. Imagine waking up to the peaceful sound of flowing water, enjoying your morning tea with lush green views, or practicing yoga amidst the gentle breeze coming from the Yamuna. This natural setting doesn't just offer aesthetic beauty – it enhances air quality, promotes wellness, and elevates your overall lifestyle.

A Sanctuary of Sophistication and Style

Every home in Godrej Property In Noida Sector 44 is crafted to offer luxury, privacy, and intelligent space utilization. Choose from elegantly designed 3, 4, or 5 BHK apartments that feature panoramic views, cross ventilation, and world-class interiors. From imported marble flooring and modular kitchens to spacious balconies and smart home automation, every element reflects the signature Godrej commitment to excellence.

The architecture is inspired by urban minimalism with an emphasis on natural light, open spaces, and fluid design. Large bay windows, high ceilings, and seamless indoor-outdoor transitions are key highlights that promise grandeur in every corner.

Luxury That Extends Beyond Your Front Door

Upcoming Project In Sector 44 Noida provides a lifestyle full of enriching wisdom. Step outside your home and you’ll be welcomed by a host of resort-style amenities. A fully equipped clubhouse with indoor sports, spa & wellness zones, temperature-controlled swimming pool, yoga and meditation garden, jogging tracks along the river, outdoor amphitheatre, senior citizen zones, and a dedicated kids’ play area – everything has been curated with families in mind.

The project also boasts a rooftop sky lounge with panoramic views, perfect for social evenings and private celebrations. Every amenity has been integrated with sensitivity to the surrounding ecology and landscape.

A Commitment to Sustainability

Godrej Sector 44 Noida is a beacon of sustainable development. With eco-conscious infrastructure such as rainwater harvesting, solar panels, water recycling systems, and a zero-waste policy, this is a residence that respects both luxury and responsibility. The abundant green cover, native plantation, and reduced carbon footprint make it one of the most environmentally conscious projects in NCR.

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Beyond personal living, Godrej 44 is a premium investment opportunity. Properties in central Noida, especially river-facing ones, command a high rental yield and appreciate rapidly in capital value. With Godrej’s unmatched reputation and this rare riverfront location, investors can expect robust long-term returns and rental demand from professionals, diplomats, and expats.

Final Thoughts

Godrej Riverine 44 Noida is not just a home; it’s a riverside sanctuary that offers elegance, peace, and a refreshing take on metropolitan life. Whether you're looking to elevate your family’s lifestyle or make a smart investment, this project is a golden opportunity that merges luxury with location. Come, step into your future at the property, where every moment is a river-kissed experience.

[cheshamstreetbreakdowns]

Spark Beneath the Skin

Hope wandered into the dream as if stepping into a forgotten myth.

There was no sky above her—only a pale, pearl-hued canopy stretching forever in all directions, its surface rippling faintly like breath held beneath silk. The air carried no wind, no scent, no warmth. Time did not pass here; it hovered. Paused.

She stood alone on ground that felt neither earth nor stone, but something ancient and smoothed by centuries—an ivory plain dusted with silver ash that left no footprints.

Ahead, nestled in the hollow of the landscape, lay a pool of still water.

Not large—circular, symmetrical, so flawlessly calm that it mirrored the pale dome above like a second, sunless moon. The surface gleamed with unnatural clarity, as though it had never known disturbance, never been touched by rain or tear or breath.

Drawn by a quiet urgency she could not name, Hope stepped closer.

Each step was soundless. The world listened.

When she reached the water’s edge, she paused. There was no fear—just a strange, tightening stillness in her chest, the kind that came before a storm, or a name remembered too late.

And then she looked down.

The reflection in the water met her gaze instantly—but it was not hers.

The hair, once familiar and sun-pale, was now halved—one side golden-blonde, the other dark as spilled ink, as though light and shadow had divided her at the root. The strands moved not with wind, but with some breathless current beneath the surface.

And the eyes—

The eyes unraveled her.

One remained hers: soft, sky-blue, unguarded.

But the other… violet, luminous, unnatural, alive with a glow that seemed to pulse from within. There was no malice in it. No warmth, either. Just the steady gleam of something that watched rather than saw, something that knew.

Hope did not move.

Nor did the reflection.

But a slow, cold unease unfurled inside her—like frost creeping through the hollow of her bones. There was no sound, no signal, yet the air had shifted. A hush that felt too intentional.

Hope's breath caught. Her body remained frozen, but her heart—quietly, traitorously—beat faster. She didn’t understand what she was seeing, but she knew without knowing that it was not a vision of someone else.

It was a possibility.

A version.

A beginning—or an end.

And just as the realization coiled its way through her, the reflection’s violet eye shimmered brighter, as if touched by some invisible flame.

The water rippled.

Hope fell upward into waking.

She awoke with the taste of silence in her mouth and her heart already aching, as though she had left something behind in the dream that could not be recovered.

The ceiling of her room was gray with early light. The warmth of her sheets offered no comfort. She stared upward for a long time, unmoving, while the image of the girl in the water lingered beneath her eyelids like a second skin.

When she finally rose, her hands trembled faintly as she braided her hair, every movement slow and deliberate, as if too much motion might summon something back.

At the breakfast table, the world felt sharp.

The hum of clinking cups. The scrape of silverware. The soft murmur of pages turning.

Chukasa sat across from her, quiet and unreadable as always, his long fingers curled around a still-steaming cup of tea. A lock of black hair fell over one eye, and in the flicker of morning light, his gaze lifted to hers—

And she saw it.

That same violet, glinting softly beneath his lashes.

Not glowing. Not unnatural.

But enough.

Enough to catch her breath. Enough to make her hands still on her cup. Enough to bring the reflection back in perfect clarity—the half-black hair, the way the girl's eye had gleamed like a gemstone set into fate.

She looked down quickly, heart pacing with a rhythm that felt too old to belong to her.

It was just a dream. That was what she told herself.

But for the rest of the morning, Hope could not bring herself to look into water.

Not in the fountain. Not in the silver spoons. Not even in the high-polished marble floor.

Because she was afraid.

Not of the reflection.

But of what she might see beside it.

~

The day passed in a haze.

Hope went through the motions with the careful grace of someone pretending not to be haunted. She walked the stone paths of St. Lucifer’s gardens beneath a sky too bright for comfort, her books clasped tight against her chest as though weight alone could steady her hands.

She didn’t mention the dream. She didn’t ask questions. But her eyes moved differently now—quick, quiet, measuring light the way prey watches shadow.

She told herself she was fine.

And then the magic lesson began.

It was a simple exercise. Summoning a ward of light—basic, even for first-year students. The spell was meant to bloom in the palm, soft and golden, no more than a flicker of protective glow.

Hope whispered the invocation under her breath.

Her classmates were already conjuring their halos, filling the room with golden warmth. The instructor walked among them, murmuring corrections and encouragement.

Hope focused on her hands.

The spell was supposed to gather in the center of her palm like breath drawn in prayer. Her fingers trembled slightly. She exhaled.

Light bloomed.

But it wasn’t golden.

It came sharp and silent—a narrow flame of white-blue, burning cold and fast like frost catching moonlight. It didn’t hum. It hissed, briefly, like it was trying to say something in a language she couldn’t yet hear.

It flared too wide. Too high.

The candle beside her shattered.

Glass snapped and fell in glittering shards to the floor. The light in her palm vanished the instant it appeared, but the cold remained — clinging to her skin like snow that wouldn’t melt.

Every head turned.

Hope flinched, drawing her hand back quickly.

The instructor frowned, already stepping toward her. Her classmates whispered behind their hands.

But Hope shook her head, fast.

“Sorry. It slipped.”

She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

The instructor hesitated, then moved on.

Hope stared at her fingers.

They looked the same—small, pale, human. But they felt different. Like they weren’t entirely hers anymore. As though something had nestled beneath her skin during the night, and now it stirred.

She clenched her hand into a fist.

For the rest of the lesson, she didn’t try again.

~Later That Night~

In her room, alone, Hope ran her fingertips over the glass of her window. The stars outside were sharp and cold. Her reflection barely visible.

She didn’t light the candle.

She didn’t dare.

Because part of her feared that if she summoned the light again…

It wouldn’t be hers.

And part of her feared—

It would.

[acousticnest]

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