#the ones i kind of know about are dragon age and dark souls but i know there's several dragon ages and not sure if you have to play in orde | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whimsimille · 4 months ago

Text

Our Bond Reaper

Minsung x Fem!Reader

Soulmate AU

Words: ~8000

contains mentions of 18+ content, sex, drug use, abuse of substances, nsfw undertone, established relationship (jisung x minho), oral (f and m receiving), piv, mxm, threesome, overstimulation, handjob, dry humping,

a/n: should i continue?

Chapter 1: Jack Daniels

Hook. Straight to the jaw. Side dodge. Low kick. Uppercut.

Boxing isn't easy. Sweat trickles down the temple, runs down the neck and soaks the tank top, clouding the mind. Raw skin protests every time an impact occurs, and knuckles burn beneath the bandages. Purple bruises appear along his arms, and his muscles shake from the strain of maintaining his vigilance. Nonetheless, if Minho didn't have this outlet for all the accumulated pressure of idol life—the endless travels, exhausting recordings for the new comeback, and the imminent move from the dorm he shares with Jisung—he probably would have imploded or smoked until his lungs turned to coal. Boxing is his purification ritual, his way of breathing when the world gets too heavy.

Yet, not everything can be that simple.

Light switches are predictable—flip them up, darkness dies. Simple physics, no philosophy required. But soulmate bonds? They're like someone took his brain's wiring and twisted it into art. Every time Jisung's thoughts leak through their connection, it's electricity dancing across Minho's synapses. Right now, his soulmate has colonized the space beside the punching bag, sprawled out like some blue-haired cat claiming its territory, completely oblivious to the fact that this is supposed to be Minho's escape room, not his personal reading nook.

Crumbs from Minho's protein bars (the ones he specifically labels "DO NOT TOUCH HAN JISUNG" in angry red Sharpie) dot his oversized hoodie as he devours yet another dusty tome.

Sweet fucking Psyche, Minho thinks, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. It's not that he isn't grateful for his soulmate—for Jisung's heart-shaped smile, the manhwa labyrinths across their bedroom floor, even those 3 AM trot concerts that drive the neighbors mad. Yet, just like you know hitting a switch will flood a room with light, Minho knows that every time he steps into this gym, Jisung's thoughts will flood his mind. His complaints about chalky protein bars, his excited rambling about dusty tomes, and his constant mental chatter—it's all there, derailing Minho's focus from the punching bag that's practically begging to be hit, unstoppable even if he slams the switch.

"Min," Jisung pipes up, his tongue darting out to catch the crumbs while his fingers tap a rhythm on the book's spine. "You ever wonder if maybe... maybe they haven't told us everything about soulmates? Like, what if there's more to it?"

Minho's fist freezes mid-trajectory, his heart stumbling over its next beat. "Han..."

"No, shut up for a second," Jisung sits up straighter. "I had this dream last night—we were somewhere old, like ancient-ancient, and there was this feeling in my gut. Like... you know when you're doing a puzzle and you're missing the centre piece? That kind of incomplete."

"For fuck's sake, we're not starting with this story again."

Here's what everyone knows about soulmates: they're as rare as winning the cosmic lottery, as unpredictable as Seoul's summer storms, and about as controllable as a sugar-high toddler. Whether you are cleaning your cat's litter box or running for coffee in the morning, the bond can strike at any age. Some couples are so emotionally invested in one another that they can tell when their partner is having a rough day from across the globe. Finding your soul mate, though? And three souls? That's fairytale territory, kind of bedtime story parents tell wide-eyed kids before tucking them in—right up there with dragons and honest politicians.

What Minho didn't tell anyone—not even Jisung, especially not Jisung—was how that whole soulmate business terrified him. In his 25 years of life, he had witnessed enough to understand that love was a force.

When the news leaked—three blurry photos of him and Jisung sharing that characteristic glow of soulmates during a rehearsal—it was as if a bomb had exploded in the middle of K-pop. The hashtags #MinSung and #SoulmateDuo dominated social media for weeks. Fansites shut down in protest. Other groups began canceling appearances at the same events as Stray Kids. JYP almost dissolved the group, citing "public image concerns.".

It was Chan who saved everything, planting himself in front of the CEO like a human wall and swearing he would resign from his position if anyone was forced to leave.

And now Jisung comes with this story about medieval dreams and a third person? As if the chaos of two men discovering they were soulmates in an industry that sold the illusion of eternally single and available idols wasn't enough. As if Minho didn't already spend sleepless nights trying to decipher why fate had chosen precisely him—pragmatic, cynical, broken—to complete someone as brilliant as Han Jisung.

"The dream was different this time," Jisung insisted, sitting up and letting the book fall to the floor with a dull thud. "We were wearing heavy clothes, like robes and cloaks. The river was freezing—I could feel the water on my feet, Min. And we were shouting for someone... a woman. I couldn't hear the name, but the feeling..."

Minho closed his eyes, his hands falling heavily at his sides. The problem wasn't not believing Jisung—it was believing too much. Because if there really was a third person, if those dreams were more than just his partner's hyperactive imagination... well, history had proven time and time again that love rarely came without its dark twin: destruction.

"I..."

"No, wait. Come see this." Han patted the space beside him with that infectious enthusiasm that made his eyes sparkle like city lights reflecting off the Han River at midnight. “Please? I swear it's important this time."

The older one gave in—because that's what he always did when Jisung deployed that specific tone, pitched somewhere between a whine and urgency. Similar to a fishhook stuck deep in his stomach, their soul bond yanked, and Minho found himself sliding down next to him.

Their knees brushed—just the lightest touch of skin against denim—and Jisung shuddered visibly. Minho was still drenched in sweat from training, the gray tank top clinging to his body.

"Holy shit, you smell like a CrossFit demon had a baby with a sauna," Han teased, his nose scrunching up in that way that made his cheeks bunch up adorably, but Minho noticed how he actually leaned closer.

"Fuck off. You're the one who invaded my training session like some kind of blue-haired gremlin."

"Technically," Jisung drawled, gesturing expansively with his free hand. "This gym belongs to the dorm. So it's ours. Collective. Communist. Like our hearts, you emotionally constipated fool."

"For the love of—" Minho fought back a smile. "Just show me the damn thing before I change my mind and go back to beating the shit out of that punching bag."

Laughing, Jisung folded back a page of the tome. For a heartbeat, Minho's breath caught in his throat—there was something hauntingly familiar about the illustrations sprawling across the yellowed pages, like déjà vu in ink and parchment.

"Look at this."

The illustration seemed to pulse with its own life—the kind of arcane artwork you'd expect to find in some medieval witch's forgotten grimoire, tucked away in a basement. The page edges were singed, as if someone had tried to burn away its secrets. Two soulmate marks intertwined—waves in a tempest, the other dancing like flames. In his abdomen, where his own mark rested just below his ribs, Minho felt an answering tingle. His fingers itched to trace the familiar patterns—identical to his and Jisung's marks, the latter's etched onto the soft skin of his side like a divine signature.

Minho's nose wrinkled as his eyes tracked over the strange characters crowning the page, his brain struggling to make sense of the alien script. "This title is wrong. It doesn't match what I'm seeing here. It looks like... like Latin got drunk and hooked up with something even older."

"Min..." Jisung’s hand crept up Minho's thigh like a curious spider. "You've always been absolute shit at dead languages. Remember that time you tried to help me with Ancient Greek and somehow translated 'divine wisdom' as 'cosmic chicken'?"

"Go to hell." Minho swatted away the wandering fingers, ignoring how his skin tingled. "Fine, they're our marks. Now unfold the rest before I lose what's left of my patience." He crossed his ankles, right foot bouncing in the air.

A third mark appeared from the yellowed folds of the page as Jisung unfolded it. It was a spiral of leaves and flowers entwined with the other two, so complex that it hurt your eyes to try to follow its pattern.

"What the hell is this?" Minho backed away as if the book were a snake about to strike, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. "Where did you dig up this crap? No, wait, don't answer. I don't want to know."

"At the national library," Jisung answered anyway. "Had to bribe three employees and promise a private show to the librarian. Even autographed her planner, can you believe it?" His eyes shone with that familiar intensity, like a child who discovered where the candy was hidden. He leaned forward, closing the space between them until Minho could count every microscopic freckle on his nose. "Min, aren't you connecting the dots? It's exactly like the dreams! The same curves, the same patterns we see every night!"

"Don't start."

Minho stood up as he returned to the punching bag. Lactic acid burned in his muscles like tiny fires, protesting the abrupt movement.

Sweat trickled from the tip of his nose and clouded his vision, and the punches had become unpredictable and uncontrollable.

"Damn it, Jisung." Punch. "Can't we just accept that it's the two of us and that's it?" Hook. "Do you have to keep digging up old stuff?" Uppercut. "You're like my grandma rummaging through family albums. Always looking for stories where there aren't any."

"You become such a fucking coward when you're scared, Lee.”

Goosebumps ran up his arms as the air conditioner hummed against his hot skin. "If I could have a straight talk with Psyche right now, you know what I'd say? Go fuck yourself. Because tying me to this hard-headed lunatic wasn't enough torture, right? Had to make up more drama. Had to keep pushing and pushing until everything breaks."

Jisung launched forward. Through their bond, he could feel exactly where Minho's defenses were weakest. His hands found the older one's shoulders, spinning him around with enough force to send Minho stumbling back, his spine hitting the punching bag.

"Look at me, you stubborn piece of shit."

"Get off me, Jisung."

"Lee Minho."

"Han Ji-fucking-sung."

Their mouths crashed together like waves breaking against cliffs. It was not kind; Minho dragged his teeth along his tongue in retaliation as Han's tongue pushed past his lips, causing their teeth to clank.

"I'm not just some fucking complication you can file away in that brain of yours. I'm your damn soulmate. Your other half. The flame to your tide." Jisung’s thumb brushed over Minho's swollen bottom lip, pressing just hard enough to sting where he'd bitten earlier. "And if there's someone else out there… Well, you'll have to swallow that truth too, darling. Because I'm not going to stop looking.”

Deflated, Minho lowered his forehead to Han's shoulder. Sweat mixed with that Dior perfume that Jisung insisted on wearing—Sauvage, he always corrected, saying it with a French accent just to irritate—in a sickening way. Moving to Minho's nape, Jisung's fingers played with the wet hair there.

"I just wanted some peace, damn it," Minho mumbled against the fabric of his soulmate’s shirt. "Is that too much to ask? I'm starting to feel like a Mexican soap opera protagonist. Any minute now, La Usurpadora's theme song will start playing in the background."

With his nails lightly scratching Minho's scalp, Jisung laughed. "Peace? With us? Make me laugh, darling. As if you don't know me after all these years of sharing a dorm. Peace is for the weak. And you," he gently pulled Minho's hair, forcing him to look into his eyes, "have never been weak a day in your life."

"I want to be fucking weak right now. Just... just for a moment."

Jisung's humming vibrated against Minho's throat as he pressed open-mouthed kisses there. With his fingers tightening on Han's hips, the older man's breath caught. This kiss was different—slower, deeper, Jisung controlling the pace while Minho made these desperate little sounds that he'd deny later. Hands mapped familiar territory, one sliding down to press against the small of Minho's back while the other traced the line of his jaw.

"Look at you," Han murmured against his mouth, teeth catching Minho's lower lip. "Already trembling. Your skin's so hot I could burn myself."

"I swear to god, Han Jisung, I will end you." But Minho's head fell back against the punching bag, exposing the long line of his throat.

"You're wound so tight, hyung. Let me help you forget for a while."

"Han—"

"Shh," Han breathed against his skin, "just let me take care of you."

And Minho surrendered, because that's what always happened with Han. He felt like that antique music box from his grandmother's shelf that haunted his childhood memories—a delicate ballerina spinning on worn gears, twirling gracefully until the mechanism wound down. The melody promised "eternal dance," but the dancer always ended up frozen mid-pirouette, her mechanical grace failing until someone wound her up again. Staring at the ceiling, feeling Han's heartbeat against his chest, Minho couldn't help wondering if this mysterious third person from Jisung's dreams would be the missing piece that could make him function properly, or if they'd be the force that would finally make his gears crack and splinter.

-----------------------------------------------------------

2 weeks later

"Unnie, holy fucking shit!" Bora bursts through the door. Doc Martens squeak against the freshly waxed linoleum, leaving zigzagging scuff marks that'll make the cleaning lady curse tomorrow. She doubles over, gasping, her hand shaking. "I need the special ink. The one in the red bottle. The heavy-duty stuff."

"Define your emergency," you murmur without looking up, wiping away crimson droplets from your client's hip.

Bora always gets like this—dramatic, overflowing with empathy she can barely contain. Unlike Mina, Bora explodes. She paces, she curses, she stress-eats entire packages of banana milk cookies. Even so, both of them try to shoulder burdens they weren't meant to carry, attempting to ease suffering through temporary tattoos when neither has the cursed gift of truly breaking bonds.

On the table, Jiyeon lies face-down, her designer crop top pushed up to expose pale skin. Mascara-stained tears drip onto the leather cushioning while her fingers trace the edges of the fresh tribal design—thick black lines and sharp angles now covering what was once a vine pattern, her soulmate mark. The same mark that tied her to Seo-yeon. After Jiyeon discovered that Seo-yeon was organising a spring wedding with her ex—the jerk who left her arms with bruises resembling cigarette burns—she stopped responding to her texts.

You don't comment on the crying. Several years of breaking bonds, and you've witnessed enough shattered connections to understand Psyche's judgment weighs heavier than any earthly pain. That ancient, otherworldly voice that scrapes against your skull like broken glass, whispering condemnations that echo through time itself. Every fucking day you hear it too.

Destroyer. Defiler. Burner of destinies. How dare you sever what the goddess has joined with her own hands?

"Stop touching it," you say, your voice softer than usual as you gently bat away Jiyeon's exploring fingers. Placing your palm over the fresh tattoo, you feel it.

Rainbow-colored boba pearls explode between teenage teeth. Clumsy fingers weave friendship bracelets during marathon study sessions. Graduation caps soar toward summer sky while joined hands squeeze promises of forever. Then reality shatters—screenshots of late-night texts between Seo-yeon and Eunkwang flood Jiyeon's phone. "He's changed," Seo-yeon insists while Jiyeon traces finger-shaped bruises blooming across old photographs. A wedding invitation arrives in a rose-gold envelope.

Under your touch, the soul bond flickers like a dying lightbulb. An once-vibrant pink glow that represented Jiyeon's side of the connection has faded to a sickly rose, the golden cosmic threads unraveling.

"Two days," you whisper, more to the universe than to anyone in the room. "Maybe less."

"Fuck me sideways," Bora hisses through clenched teeth, her lip piercing clicking against her canine. She paces the room. "The guy out front, Y/N... it's bad. Like, soap opera bad. Caught his mom fucking his soulmate in their family vacation house. He tried to burn the mark off with fucking bleach. Chemical burns everywhere. And my machine picked today of all days to shit itself, and you know I can't—"

"Out of ink," you cut her off, dragging your forearm across your eyes. It leaves another streak of black around them but it doesn't compare to how they're burning from three sleepless nights of the same recurring dream—a viscous sensation of seaweed wrapped around your ankles, invisible chains pulling you to the bottom of the river, voices distorted by water calling your name with a familiarity that makes you nauseous.

Punishment from your ancestors, who must be turning in their underwater graves.

"Damn, the guy's really messed up, Unnie!"

With a sigh, you pick up a bottle of lukewarm water from the table. Cleaning gel sticks to the plastic. "Tell him to come back tomorrow. I'm going to the supplier tonight, after the last client." The bottle is empty in four gulps. "If he's really struggling, there's Jack Daniel's in the bottom drawer. New bottle. Offer him a double shot; he'll need it."

As Bora leaves your room muttering a litany of creative curses at deities you didn't even know existed, Jiyeon finally gets up from the table. The movement is slow—like someone testing a broken bone. Her high-waisted jean shorts barely cover the bandage.

"You're kind of bitter, aren't you?" she murmurs. "Cold. Full of... walls. The true Bond Reaper. That's what they call you out there, you know? In the Telegram groups, on the forums..."

You shrug, already starting to dismantle your machine. "And what else do they say in those little groups?"

"That you charge in dollars. That you only take... complicated cases. That you almost died when you burned your mark. They say your heart stopped for seven minutes."

Shit...

Every Sunday morning, you still recall your father kneading dough while humming old Beatles songs, the flour sprinkling his dark hair like early snow. How your mother's sewing machine would provide percussion to his off-key rendition of "Hey Jude," guiding fabric through the needle. The way three-year-old Hyewon would toddle around the kitchen in her yellow polka dot dress, stealing bits of cookie dough when Dad wasn't looking. Despite Mom's objections, you were fifteen at the time, sitting on the counter and assisting Dad in measuring ingredients while daydreaming about your soulmate mark.

Then came that Tuesday in March. The sound of your father's belt when your mother used it to hang herself, three days after he ran away with his "true" soulmate, a yoga instructor. Following the dull thud of the body striking the bathroom tiles, there was the creaking of leather against the rusty metal railing. Hyewon's screams from her bedroom, where you'd locked her in with her stuffed rabbit when Mom started acting strange.

Then came your aunt Soo-jin, who was dying in her flat because her soulmate had wrapped his Mercedes around a lamppost in Manchester. Then came your high school friend Min-ji, who swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills after finding her soulmate in bed with her twin sister. When her mark turned ash-gray, indicating her husband's death in a fishing accident, your neighbour Mrs. Kim just stopped eating.

To keep Hyewon in school, you worked double shifts at convenience stores for three years, cleaned office buildings at night, and slept on newspaper-wrapped park benches when you could not afford rent. Somewhere between cleaning toilets at two in the morning and paying for Hyewon's school uniforms with your mother's cherished sewing machine, your sunny personality died.

Since then, you prefer your days fueled by weed from Park in 302 and bottom-shelf vodka from Mrs. Lee's corner store. Your nights are filled with casual sex with people who don't ask about the elaborate tattoo between your breasts.

Form, structure, and physical boundaries were desperately needed in the world to contain the primordial chaos that this soulmate nonsense threatened to unleash at any moment.

Much as a jellyfish was forced to develop an exoskeleton to survive on solid ground, you transformed your curse into art, your pain into livelihood. Just as precisely as they create beauty, your hands can break divine bonds. It was inevitable to succumb to the need for containment, to the visceral dread of remaining undefined, so you chose your own chains and forged your own prison with ink and needles. And if Psyche wanted to curse you with the gift of destruction, well... you would make this curse your masterpiece.

"Bitter? Die? Me? No way! They're just stories, dear. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare the room for the next client. Mina handles payment at reception—cards, transfers, divine favors... hell, she'd probably accept your firstborn if Psyche deemed it worthy."

Jiyeon's fingers twist the strap of her designer purse. "Thanks... and thanks for listening too. Not many people understand the whole..." She swallows hard. "Best friends who were soulmates thing. And then with her marrying my ex..."

"Honey, I've seen bonds between twins shatter. Marks appearing on corpses.” You grab a fresh needle, testing its weight. "Your story? It's Tuesday afternoon in my world."

"The aftercare..."

"Right. Lukewarm water, mild soap, three days." You demonstrate the cleaning motion in the air. "No direct water contact. Healing ointment—the expensive kind, not the corner store garbage."

"And no swimming or gym," she mumbles, shoulders hunched forward like she's trying to make herself smaller.

"For two weeks minimum." The machine whirs to life in your hands, its familiar buzz drowning out the voices for a blessed moment. "If it gets infected or your friend starts fighting the severance—and trust me, she will—come straight back here. Don't play doctor with drugstore remedies."

Jiyeon shifts her weight from one foot to another, her expensive heels clicking against the floor tiles. "One more thing? How... how do you do it? Day after day, hearing these stories? The goddess's gift... is it real? The voices everyone talks about... do they..." She gestures at her head.

In the pocket of your apron, your fingers locate the pack of cigarettes. "Psyche's not some benevolent matchmaker—she's a cosmic chaos agent with a sick sense of humor. Some get marks, some don't. It's a divine lottery where everyone's ticket is already rigged. And some of us?" Your free hand unconsciously moves to your chest. "Some of us are born marked but spend every day wishing we weren't. As for the voices and that whole near-death drama? Just stories people tell to make sense of their broken hearts."

Words die before they reach Jiyeon's lips as her mouth opens and closes like a landed fish.

"Save your breath.” Once, twice—the metal wheel scrapes against your calloused thumb. Third time's the charm, and the flame dances to life. Destroyer. Defiler. Burner of destinies. Smoke billows out of your nostrils and you fancy yourself some ancient dragon, not hoarding gold but guarding a collection of bonds. “Just take care of that tattoo. And when you need another cover-up..." Before it falls and scatters on the floor, the ash column grows dangerously long. "You know where to find me. I'll be right here, giving the middle finger to destiny."

The door clicks shut behind her.

As soon as you feel safe and lonely enough, you trace the outline of the mark through your shirt. That cursed patch of skin that refuses to forget. Trembling between your fingers, the cigarette hovers closer to your chest. Closer. The heat seeps through the cotton, a promise of pain, of release. Just one quick press and maybe... Your breath hitches. Maybe this time...

When something—or someone—slams against the front door with enough force to make the ink bottles on their shelves dance akin to inebriated soldiers, the studio erupts in chaos. The cigarette slips from your startled fingers, landing on your thigh. "Son of a fucking—" Pain explodes across your leg as the ember burns through denim and finds flesh. Your fingers scramble to brush it away, skin blistering against hot ash.

Through the thin walls, Bora's voice rises like a war cry: "Oi, shitstain! Try that again and I'll rearrange your face so badly your own mother won't recognize you at Chuseok! Some of us weren't raised in a goddamn circus!"

"Christ on a cracker," you mutter, picking gray ash from your jeans.

It didn't work. Again. It never does. You’re too coward to burn the skin only to see it intact a few weeks later.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite agent of chaos." Mina materializes in your doorway like an urban legend, all dramatic timing and knowing smirks. From the recent burn on your trousers to the spot where your hand is still hovering over your chest, just above that cursed mark, her dark eyes dart. She clicks her tongue against her teeth. "That murder-suicide energy you're radiating could power half of Gangnam, and Bora's about to commit a felony in the waiting room. You know how she gets when entitled assholes treat this place like their personal fight club. The vibes in here?" She wrinkles her nose. "More fucked than that time Park Jin-young tried to cover up his ex's name with a portrait of his cat. Want me to tell your next client to fuck off? Park-ssi's been around long enough to know the drill. Wouldn't be the first time you've needed space to..." She waves her hand vaguely, "Process your shit."

Lavender incense—the kind she religiously buys from that ancient grandmother with milky eyes at Gwangjang Market every Thursday—weaves through the air. It combines with the sting of ink and your personal scent to create a mood that veers between a crime scene and a temple.

She moves through your space like water finding its level, the hem of her thrifted black dress whispering secrets against legs covered in Korean mythology. Dragons chase tigers across her calves, while dokkebi dance around her ankles.

There's always been something otherworldly about Mina, but today it pulses stronger, like a radio picking up signals from another dimension. Every word of your conversation with Jiyeon must have reached her ears through the paper-thin walls of this dilapidated building. And Mina, sweet, cursed Mina, has never learned how to shut off that cosmic antenna of hers, picking up pain frequencies that should stay buried in the static.

It's her fucking birthright after all—this ability to absorb others' emotional garbage like some metaphysical recycling bin. Psyche's golden child. The unofficial therapist of Seoul's walking wounded.

"I said I'm fucking fine," you snap, but your hands betray you, trembling worse than that time you tried to quit smoking cold turkey—another souvenir from that night in the burned-out palace gardens, when Psyche decided to make you her cosmic janitor. " Just... drained. This week's been absolute shit wrapped in more shit. Five bond severances back-to-back, and that perpetual disaster Park Jin-young showing up again wanting to tattoo what's-her-face's name over his chest. For the fifth fucking time! Fifth! I swear to god, that man's skin is more crossed-out names than actual skin at this point."

"And those dreams are back, aren't they? About the voices underwater?" Mina twirls one of her purple-dyed dreadlocks around her finger, a habit she's had since that rainy night four years ago when she crashed into your life—quite literally—by falling through your apartment's window while chasing what she swore was Psyche's spirit animal.

You remember how she sat there, surrounded by broken glass and your sister's scattered Barbie dolls, blood trickling down her temple, looking at you with those huge doe eyes and announcing, "The goddess sent me to find you."

She takes another step forward now, her collection of silver anklets jingling softly. "I heard you last night. Screaming about chains and seaweed and something about a book." She pauses exactly two steps away—close enough that you can smell her bubble tea, far enough that you won't feel cornered. "Listen, my cousin Seo-yeon—you remember her? The one who caught her ex trying to burn down her apartment? She's a therapist now. Specializes in post-severance trauma cases. Got her master's in Soul Psychology from that university in Bangkok—"

"No." You stand up abruptly, your thighs hitting the metal table hard enough to knock some needles that clatter against the floor. "I don't need therapy, honey. I don't need anyone else trying to get inside my head. I just need..."

"Just need what, unnie?" Mina's hand lands on your shoulder.

"I need you to stop trying to save me like I'm another one of your divine charity projects. I'm not a lost soul for you to rescue, dammit."

"What if I don't want to stop?" Mina challenges, lifting her chin stubbornly. "What if this is my purpose? My destiny? To heal what you break?"

Prior to your protest, she leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, right where your third eye would be—according to her endless spiritual babble. It's quick, almost chaste, almost sacred, a profane blessing. The kind of gesture she started making when she first noticed how the souls' voices wouldn't quiet in your head, how they screamed louder with each bond you severed.

"Psyche brought us together to be soul sisters, remember?" She murmurs against your skin. "Light and shadow. Healing and destruction. Yin and yang."

In some ways, kindness has always hurt more than cruelty, so you pull away as though her touch burns.

Your knees protest as you bend down to pick up the needles from the floor. "I just need to work, okay? The busier I stay, the less time I have to think about..."

"About how you still feel the bond even after burning it? About how Psyche cursed you in that garden, giving you the gift you feared most? Or about how you secretly like this gift because it gives you a perfect excuse to keep everyone at a safe distance?"

As if your own body were betraying you, you keep picking up needles from the floor, ignoring the fact that your hands are shaking more and more and that your fingers do not seem to be able to grasp the metal.

"Here's what I'm gonna do," Mina says, fishing her phone from the pocket of her dress. Her nails tap against the cracked screen. "I'm getting us coffee. That fancy shit from the place near Hongdae, not the vending machine piss you've been choking down."

"Don't waste your time, Min."

"See, that's your problem right there," she cuts in, already backing toward the door. Her fingers find the obsidian amulet she hung above your door last full moon—"for the dark energy," she'd said, while Bora rolled her eyes and muttered about superstitious girlfriends. "You think every kind gesture is a waste, every connection is a trap waiting to spring." One boot is already in the hallway when she stops. "News flash, unnie— Some people stick around because they want to, not because they have to. Some bonds heal instead of hurt. But your thick skull is too busy building fortresses to notice the difference."

Some bonds heal instead of hurt, you repeat mentally, but how can you know which ones are safe when even your own soul can betray you?

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"When will I see you again, love?"

"When I run out of ink, Junho." You slide off his lap, adjusting your lace. "And that might take a while; I just got a new shipment."

"Are you kicking me out?" He laughs, that deep, husky laugh that makes your stomach do a treacherous flip. His fingers fish out a cigarette from the crumpled pack on the nightstand. On his bare shoulders, the old lamp's yellowish light dances. "I thought we had something special. You know, after that thing you did with your tongue..."

You roll your eyes while searching the bedroom floor for your shirt. Finally, you find the fabric under a stack of old sheet music, still damp with sweat, sticking uncomfortably.

"The only special thing here is your ability to not take a hint." A bottle of soju is half-empty when your fingers find it. The liquid burns down your throat, already hoarse from earlier moans. "Don't complicate what's simple, guitarist."

"Simple?" Junho exhales smoke slowly as he forms perfect circles in the stale air. "You call this simple? Three months of late-night meetings, coded messages, and nail marks on my back? The way you tremble when I touch—"

Bile rises in your throat, acidic and familiar. You know this tone, have heard it from others before him—that possessive edge that creeps in like poison ivy. It would be easier if this was just about dramatic choices, lightsabres, and villains to defeat. Real life, however, is not a film with definite heroes and villains. Small decisions like accepting a second date, letting someone stay until morning, or acknowledging that the warmth in your chest is not just the soju talking are what can ruin you. These mundane decisions are the ones that can shatter your walls, and unlike a seatbelt click or a dramatic battle scene, there's no manual for protecting your heart from the slow poison of attachment.

"You don't even feel anything," you mutter, more to yourself than to him, as your fingers finally locate your combat boots under his vintage armchair—that hideous moss-green velvet monstrosity he swears came from some artist's estate sale in Hongdae. Still wrapped in its brown paper, your knuckles brush against a new bundle of inks and needles as you touch the top of it.

"What did you say?" Junho's voice carries that puppy-like eagerness that makes your stomach turn. He's too invested, too hungry for validation, for connection.

"Nothing. Just thinking about my next appointment with Lee Jiwoo. That cover-up piece won't ink itself."

"Come back to bed," he purrs, patting the twisted sheet. "I could reschedule my morning practice with the band. We could order that spicy tteokbokki you like!"

"What you're doing is pathetically obvious," you cut him off, yanking on your left boot. "The constant questions about my clients. The 'accidental' glimpses at my phone when you think I'm sleeping. Those calls you take in the bathroom." Your laugh is a broken thing. "What's the going rate for information about the bond reaper these days? Or did Detective Park promise to clear your assault record from that bar fight in Itaewon instead?"

Junho's face drains of color faster than soju spilling on concrete, his fingers clutching the bedsheet like a shield. "Jagi, I don't—you're not making any—"

"Spare me the stuttering act." You stand, ignoring how your knees crack from kneeling too long on his cheap laminate flooring. "You're not the first to try gathering intel between the sheets, and hell, you won't be the last. But here's some free advice: next time you're playing undercover cop's lapdog, don't keep your burner phone in the same jacket pocket as your guitar picks. Amateur move."

That carefully constructed puppy-dog sweetness melts away as his expression contorts. Something darker emerges, something that was always there, lurking beneath his gentle musician facade. "You went through my fucking things?" His voice cracks on the last word. "You paranoid psycho—"

"Oh, baby," you drawl, watching his jaw clench at the pet name he once begged you to use. Your lips curl into something that might look like a smile but feels like a wound. "I've been going through your things since that first night at the jazz bar. The police reports stuffed in your guitar case? Sloppy. Those surveillance photos under your mattress? Embarrassing. But those encrypted messages to Detective Park about my 'suspicious late-night clients' and 'possible illegal modifications of soul bonds'?" You trace a finger along your bottom lip. "Now that was some riveting bedtime reading."

With the coordination of a drunken toddler, he lunges forward, but you are already subconsciously affected by six years of street survival. Your elbow finds his solar plexus—right where that hideous compass tattoo points perpetually north—and he crumples. A puddle of regret and cheap tobacco forms as the Chamisul smashes against the floor and mixes with his dropped cigarette.

"Fucking—" he wheezes between gasps, one hand pressed against his stomach where tomorrow's bruise is already blooming, "—crazy cunt."

"See?" You retrieve your ink bundle from the chair, careful not to step in the growing puddle of soju. "That honesty suits you better than all that 'jagiya' bullshit." At the door, you pause, not bothering to look back at him sprawled among the wreckage of his failed operation. "Oh, and Junho? Next time Detective Park wants to investigate suspected bond modifications, tell him to send someone who can at least fake sincerity. This?" You wave vaguely at the rumpled sheets where you'd wasted three months letting him think he was getting close to proof. "This was just embarrassing. Even that rookie he sent last spring—Kim Minseok, wasn't it?—at least knew how to forge a convincing backstory."

As you descend the stairs of his shithole apartment building, past the perpetually broken vending machine that dispenses warm Sprite and the wall where someone spray-painted 'dreams die here' in neon pink, you don't feel anything. Not betrayal, not anger, not even disappointment. Sex had been decent, and his connections for rare inks had been useful. That's all it ever was. All it could ever be in a world where burning soulmate marks is whispered about in dark alleys, where even the suggestion of being the infamous "bond reaper" could get you disappeared into some government black site.

-------------------------------------------

When you get home, the low sound of some Korean drama—seems to be True Beauty from the theme song playing—leaks through the door. Mina and Bora are on the couch, a tangle of limbs and soft sighs. Bora, with her hair spread like a fan across Mina's thigh, has a thread of drool running onto her girlfriend's silk shorts. The caramel popcorn bag is tipped over on the Persian rug.

"Unnie!" Mina's voice is thick with sleep as you drape the blanket over them. Her fingers fumble with the remote, pressing random buttons. "Tell me everything about guitar boy. Did he do the thing with his tongue and the cigarette smoke again? We closed early just for your date, you know."

"Your concealer's smudged all over your chin," Bora interrupts, face still buried in Mina's thigh. "And you've got that look again—the one where you just crushed someone's soul into dust and maybe enjoyed it a little too much." She snorts, finally cracking one eye open. "Poor Junho-oppa. Bet he thought he was being so smooth with his undercover act."

"Both of you, sleep," you whisper, pressing a kiss to Mina's forehead. Her skin is warm, slightly sticky from the face mask she never properly washed off. When you kiss Bora's temple, she swats at you with the precision of a drunk cat, nearly knocking over the soju bottle. "We can dissect the train wreck that is my love life tomorrow, after I've had at least three shots of espresso and maybe some soju."

Bora mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like "You're just scared of feelings," but her words dissolve into soft snores before you can argue.

When you first arrive at the flat, you are met with its familiar chaos, which is the inevitable outcome of living with two artists who view organization as a suggestion and an eight-year-old whose life's work is to collect every piece of Stray Kids item ever made. You hang the jean jacket in the hallway closet, wincing as the floorboard under your left foot lets out a betraying creak. The living room floor has transformed into an obstacle course of your sister’s scattered toys—plushies, abandoned coloring books, and what looks suspiciously like Felix photocards arranged in a perfect circle ("It's for summoning him!").

In the kitchen, yesterday's ramyeon bowls still crowd the sink like ceramic mushrooms, and a stack of bills—mostly from Mina's black card adventures at Gucci and her newfound obsession with some obscure Japanese streetwear brand—threatens to avalanche off the dining table.

Your eyes catch on the newest masterpiece stuck to the fridge—Hyewon's latest attempt at capturing Felix's essence. Despite the wobbly lines and questionable proportions, there's something endearing about how she captured his signature heart smile. The messy hangul beneath reads "The prettiest boy in the world!!!" with at least seven exclamation points. Next to it, held by that ridiculous rabbit magnet Bora won at some arcade in Hongdae, Mrs. Jung's neat handwriting reports, "Hyewonnie cleaned her plate today! Even asked for extra kimchi (progress!). Oh, parent-teacher meeting tomorrow at 2PM—talent show preparations.”

Gently, you fold the note and slide it into the pocket of your torn jeans.

In her room, the bedside lamp is still on. Hyewon sleeps hugging the official SKZOO pillow, and her long black hair, identical to yours, is spread across the pillow.

"Mom?" Hyewon's voice cracks with sleep, her small fingers rubbing at her eyes. She started calling you that when she was three, after your mother died. Back then, she'd cry herself hoarse asking for "mommy," and somehow, between midnight feedings and endless diaper changes, the word stuck to you like honey. "Is that... wait, ugh, why do you smell like an ashtray?" Her nose scrunches up. She pushes herself up on her elbows. "And that's definitely Uncle Junho's cologne."

You sink onto the edge of her bed and your fingers find their way to her hair, working through a stubborn knot near her temple. "Hey, detective squirrel, enough with the interrogation." You try to keep your voice light, but something must slip through because she tilts her head, studying you with that perception that makes her seem older than eight. "Tell me about your day instead. That dance routine you were working on..."

"Wait, no, this is way more important!" Sleep vanishes from her face like magic. She jolts upright, her knee catching the edge of her water glass. It wobbles dangerously before you steady it. "Mrs. Jung told me I could finally tell you! She made me do the super special pinky promise with the thumb press and everything!"

She scrambles out of bed, her feet barely touching the floor as she moves. There's a moment where she trips over her giant Wolfchan plushie, arms windmilling, but she catches herself with that natural grace you never inherited from your mother's side.

"Look, look, look!" She slides across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop at her desk. Under the soft glow of her star-shaped night light, four VIP tickets gleam. "Mrs. Jung got them as an early birthday present! They're not just regular tickets—they're VIP! Front row! We could actually see Felix's freckles!" Her words tumble out faster than her breath can keep up. "Can we go? Please? I'll do all my math homework first try! I'll even eat the green parts of the kimchi!"

The paper feels expensive under your fingertips—thick, textured, with a hologram that catches the light just so. These tickets probably cost more than what you make in a week covering soulmate marks for trainees and politicians with secrets darker than their coffee. Your thumb traces the embossed date, mind already calculating risks and escape routes.

"Hyewonnie..." you start, watching her bounce on her toes. Her small fingers twist the hem of her oversized sleep shirt. She's practically vibrating with hope, and something in your chest aches. "Baby, you're only eight. These concerts... they get pretty wild. People push and shove, and sometimes—"

"NINE!" she corrects indignantly, her voice rising an octave as she straightens her spine and cheeks puff out. "I'm turning nine in exactly—" she counts on her fingers, lips moving silently, "—forty-three days! And Mrs. Jung confirmed she's going with us! She even said we can bring Mina unnie too! They're the ones who made me become a Stay! They showed me the 'God's Menu' video seventeen times in one day!" Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "Please, Mom? Pretty please?”

You sigh, watching as she squeezes her pillow so tightly that poor Wolfchan's ears stick out at odd angles. The truth hits you like a brick—your baby sister, this tiny human who still can't reach the top kitchen shelf even on tiptoes, has been completely and utterly converted into a Stay by your chaotic roommates. She learned the names of eight boys before she could properly write her own name in Hangul.

"Mrs. Jung really thought of everything, didn't she?" You smile despite yourself, sliding the tickets into the desk drawer. They disappear beneath a scattered constellation of photocard. "We'll have a proper talk about this tomorrow, okay? Right now it's way past little Stays' bedtime."

"But you'll think about it? Like, really think about it?" She burrows under her blankets. "Chan oppa would be so disappointed if I didn't go... and his dimples get all sad when he's disappointed... and then I'd feel terrible forever and ever..." Her voice trails off into a yawn that she tries to hide behind her hand.

"Unnie will think about it. Promise. Sleep well, my little Stay." You press a kiss to her forehead.

Through heavy eyelids, she mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like 'I love you.'. Her small fingers—still sticky from the candy she definitely wasn't supposed to have before bed—curl around the hem of your shirt. It's the same instinctive gesture she's had since she was a baby, as if making sure you won't disappear while she dreams.

She was so small, impossibly small, like a sparrow that had fallen from its nest too soon. You remember how her fingers, no bigger than guitar picks, had latched onto your old Nirvana shirt with surprising strength, as if she already knew you were all she would have.

In the hallway, you trace the marks on the wall—each line a complete story, each number a small revolution. "Look, unnie, I grew two centimeters!" Her voice echoes in your memory, bouncing on her tiptoes to appear even taller. The last mark, made just two weeks ago during a lazy Sunday morning, shows she's already past your elbow. Soon she'll be your height, maybe even taller.

"For fuck's sake," you mutter when your phone vibrates again. The blue-tinted screen illuminates the dark hallway. The photo—you and Junho at Namsan Tower—feels like a lifetime ago.

His voice message arrives, that infuriating little 'ping' that makes your jaw clench: "Listen, jagiya,” . The ice cubes in his whiskey glass (probably his third) clink against each other. The familiar jazz from Sol Music Bar—where he first tried to impress you with his terrible English pickup lines—bleeds through his words. "I know you hate when I do this shit, but we need to talk about what went down today. You can't just—"

Delete. Block. Your thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before choosing both options.

"Unnie?" Bora's leaning against the doorframe like a ghost from a Joseon painting, platinum blonde hair creating a halo around her face. "Got any soju left? That fucking dream again... the one with the blood and the—".

"Bora-yah," you whisper, gathering the fallen blanket from the floor. "You have work tomorrow. The exhibition at Seoul Arts Center, remember? The one you've been preparing for months?"

"But, unnie..." She rubs her eyes with her knuckles, smearing what's left of her eyeliner across pale skin. Her bottom lip trembles—just slightly, but you catch it. "I saw Mina again. In the dream. She was wearing that stupid hanbok, the one from the palace, and her hands were covered in—"

"We'll talk about your not-so-prophetic dreams tomorrow, okay?" You guide her back to the couch, where Mina's sleeping form creates a perfect curve.

"They're not prophetic," she mumbles, voice muffled against Mina's shoulder. Her words slur together. "They're memories. From before. When we were—when you were—" She doesn't finish, already half-asleep.

You watch as they gravitate toward each other, even in sleep. Mina's fingers find Bora's wrist instinctively, tracing the outline of their matching marks—twin sunflowers, eternally blooming, stems intertwined in an endless dance.

Your phone buzzes again—once, twice, three times. The vibrations travel through your pocket and into your bones. You switch it off completely, watching the screen fade to black.

In your room, where half-finished tattoo designs and anatomical sketches create a wallpaper of controlled chaos, you sink into the desk chair. Old wood protests under your weight, a familiar creak that sounds like an old friend's greeting.

Lifting the sketchbook—that lovely, awful thing with its tattered black cover and sin-thick pages—from the drawer, your hands tremble. Another of Mina's gifts because she always seems to know exactly what you need before the thought fully forms in your mind. The pencil moves across the paper with a will of its own, like a Ouija board planchette guided by unseen hands.

An ancient castle rises from the depths of memory. Its towers pierce a clouded sky, stone walls holding centuries of secrets. In your mind's eye, you can hear the echo of footsteps—your footsteps—bouncing off corridors. Air fills with the musty sweetness of black mold and the sharp tang of melting wax, so real you can almost taste it on your tongue.

"Quick, quick!" you whisper to yourself, your words ricocheting off the damp walls. A rebellious strand of hair escapes from the linen scarf that holds your locks. Your fingers press the breadbasket against your chest as you descend the spiral stairs of the royal kitchen. The thick apron brushes against your ankles.

In the street, under a sky that begins to lighten at the edges like a burned parchment, the line is already forming—dozens of thin, pale faces, sunken eyes shining with a hunger that goes beyond the physical. The cold dawn wind makes tattered clothes dance around bodies too fragile, too worn by the Lunaris kingdom's misery.

It pains your heart, knowing that even when Chrysalis delivers their crops after the marriage ceremony in two moons, the distribution will be anything but fair. As a Solaris baker, you are left with few choices in a castle where people mock the loss of your kingdom. You were saved by the kindness of two soldiers whom the captain trusted when the others had been too eager to kill you and your infant sister. Still, you persist in your small acts of rebellion. Mina and Bora, bless their souls, run interference when the head chef notices your absence, their quick tongues spinning tales of errands and duties that never existed.

"By the old gods, look who's here!" Mrs. Jung's weathered hands reach out. The finest weaver in the Lunaris Kingdom, now reduced to threadbare clothes and hollow cheeks. "Our Solaris angel, bringing warmth to our cold mornings."

"Careful with those words, Mrs. Jung," you murmur, pressing the still-warm loaf into her hands. Your fingers linger on hers, trying to share what little warmth you possess. "The castle has ears, even at this hour."

More children emerge from the shadows like spirits. Against the cold cobblestones, their feet, encased in strands of fabric ripped from old clothing, produce an eerie cadence. You recognize the makeshift bandages as pieces of the royal banners that once flew proudly over the gates.

"Unnie!" Soo-yeon's teeth chatter as she tugs at your apron. "Jin-ho's here today. His first time." She points with her chin toward a boy who's pressed himself so far into the shadows that only the gleam of his eyes gives him away. The military coat he wears—his father's, you'd bet your last copper on it—hangs off his frame like a tent, the sleeves rolled up six times just so his hands can peek through. "His mama caught the winter fever."

"Come here, little soldier," you beckon to Jin-ho, watching how his fingers drum an anxious rhythm against his thighs. You extract an extra portion wrapped in cloth. "This one just came from the ovens. The crust might burn your tongue if you're not careful, mind you. Small bites, like a proper nobleman."

You catch Min-ah trying to inhale an entire roll like a snake swallowing its prey. Her cheeks bulge impossibly wide, crumbs dusting her chin. "Saints above, sunshine! Did the orphanage run out of plates?" Your hand shoots out to pat her back as she makes a sound between a laugh and a choke. "Remember what happened with Bora last week? Poor thing went whiter than the palace sheets when you started turning blue."

Your attention splits as Soo-yeon shuffles closer against you, drawn by the warmth radiating from your body. Your fingers find her hair, working through knots that would make a sailor weep. "And what's this mess, my little star? These braids look like they've been through a war." Your thumb brushes away a smudge of dirt from her temple. "Where's that pretty ribbon I gave you? The blue one?"

"Lost it," she mumbles, eyes downcast. Her lower lip quivers. "During the guards' raid. They—they tore through everything looking for—"

"Shh," you cut her off gently, cupping her chin. "Visit my compound later, after the morning bell. We'll fix these braids properly." You lean in close enough that your breath stirs the wisps of hair around her face, voice dropping to that special whisper that never fails to make her eyes sparkle like dewdrops in sunlight. "And if you can sneak past that grumpy old Master Lee without making a sound, we might just find some honey cakes that survived the night. Enough to share with Hyewon too, if you’re feeling generous."

Between the frost-covered windows of the castle, your eyes dart. Usually, the guards sleep until the sun rises high enough to break their stupor, their bellies full of wine and meat from the feast last night celebrating the impending union of Lunaris and Chrysalis. But Commander Jung, that snake in armor, has grown suspicious. Just last week, his eyes followed your movements through the corridors. His thin lips curved into that knowing smirk that made your blood run cold, the same expression he wore when he ordered the burning of the Sun Temple.

Suddenly, there’s smoke curling around your feet and you no longer see their faces.

The ornate room feels like a gilded cage, suffocating in its opulence. The Venetian mirror reflects three souls caught in an impossible web—one small figure and two tall ones.

"Your Grace, please try to steady your breathing." Your hands adjust the formal attire. The familiar scent of mint leaves, coffee beans, and something uniquely him—like summer rain on hot stones—wraps around you.

"Does it pinch here?" Your fingers trace the embroidered seam along his shoulder blade, feeling the way his muscles twitch beneath the fabric. When he shakes his head—a movement so slight you almost miss it—you catch sight of his eyes in the mirror. They're swimming with unshed tears, and something in your chest splinters. Those eyes, god, those eyes. You can't remember his name or the exact shape of his face, but those eyes are burned into your memory—the same ones that danced with mischief as you three raided the kitchen's sweetmeats at midnight, the same ones that grew soft and liquid while reading poetry by candlelight in the library's hidden alcove. "My l—"

"Don't." His fingers spasm toward yours but retreat. "Please. Not—not today. I'll shatter if I hear that word from your lips."

Across the room, he—the other he, your morning star to this one's evening moon—paces like a caged beast. His teeth worry at his bottom lip until you see a bead of blood well up.

As you hold him, servants flit about with ribbons and flowers as the wedding preparations whirl around you like some hideous funfair.

"Your Grace," a maid's voice pipes up, "the bride is ready."

Time crystallizes like honey in winter when she enters. Her wedding dress ripples like liquid moonlight against marble floors that reflect her silhouette in fractured pieces. Red roses tumble from her hands; you watch a single petal break free, spiraling down in lazy circles until it kisses the marble floor like a drop of blood. The sight makes your stomach lurch.

A shudder runs through him, his breath hitching against the curve of your neck, warm and damp and desperate. "Can't—can't breathe. Why does it feel like we're conducting a funeral instead of a wedding?"

Without a word, you simply draw him farther into the shadows where the tapestries provide cover. The guards won't see their war captain like this, won't witness how his knees almost buckle when another wave of perfumed air carries the scent of roses. For God’s sake, in mere minutes, he'll have to represent the military! Kneeling before their next queen and king with a face carved from stone.

And there, at the altar draped in Lunaris silk, the crown prince stands like a man facing his executioner.

However, there's happiness too, isn't there? Memories as sweet as honey wine: lazy afternoons in secret clearings where the grass grew tall enough to hide three bodies. His head in your lap—dark hair spread like ink on your skirts, cat-like eyes half-closed in contentment—while the other's fingers trail patterns on your arm. Wildflower branches woven through dark hair while the summer sun painted everything gold.

"That crown suits you better than any other, my sunny queen." A playful tug on a flower stem sends petals cascading around your shoulders.

"Shut up and pass me another daisy," you mutter, but your voice trembles slightly. Your hands fidget with the stem, weaving it into the growing crown.

"He's right, you know?" The other one shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours. "You were born to wear crowns. Even if they're made of wildflowers." His thumb brushes your bottom lip, the calluses from years of swordplay creating a delicious friction. "Though I prefer you in the morning, wearing nothing but sunlight. Solaris blood really runs in your veins—you practically glow."

By the riverside, where the air smells of herbs and magic, ceramic pots bubble with mysterious concoctions. Steam rises in spirals, carrying the scent of crushed moonflowers and dragon's breath herbs. Your hair curls in the humidity, becoming wild and untamed.

"Be careful with that one, kitten; it might explode!" He lunges forward, muscles tensing beneath his thin shirt. His hand reaches for the pot, but you swat it away.

"For the love of the old gods," you hiss through clenched teeth, your fingers still tingling from the contact. "I know what I'm doing. I've been brewing potions since before you learned to hold a sword properly. My kingdom actually specializes in that, if you've forgotten."

"Of course you do, our little sun." The other one laughs. His feet dangle in the river, creating ripples that distort his reflection into fragments. He leans back on his elbows, dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that makes your heart stutter. "Remember when she turned your hair green for a week? You looked like a walking garden." His shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.

"That was an accident!" you protest, but your lips twitch traitorously. "Besides, the color brought out your eyes."

"It brought out something alright," the first one grumbles, running his fingers through his hair as if checking it's still the right color. "The castle guards couldn't look at me without laughing for months."

"Oh please," you roll your eyes, adding a pinch of crushed starflower to the mixture. The potion turns a deep violet, exactly as it should. "You loved the attention. You practically strutted around like a peacock."

"Speaking of attention," the second one's voice drops lower, more intimate. He catches your wrist gently, thumb pressing against your pulse point. "That merchant's son couldn't take his eyes off you at the market yesterday. Should we be concerned?"

"Jealous?" You arch an eyebrow, trying to ignore how your skin burns under his touch. "Of a boy who still trips over his own feet?"

"Never," they say in unison, and the synchronicity makes something warm unfurl in your chest. The first one moves behind you, his chest pressed against your back, while the other tugs you forward by your captured wrist. You're caught between them, like always, like destiny.

One pair of honey-golden hands, calloused from wielding swords and scaling castle walls to get to your window, always gentle when wiping tears from your face, are the hands you remember like a prayer. The other pair, pale as ivory, stained with ink from writing poetry and royal decrees, skilled at braiding your hair in the traditional style of his homeland.

Remember sleeping squeezed in the middle of a too-large bed, even though you hated being in the center (you always preferred the edges, or even the floor, much to their amusement). One would whisper poetry in your left ear while the other sang softly in your right, old lullabies from the Lunaris provinces."

"I hate you both," you'd lie, voice muffled by silk pillows, trying to hide your smile.

"No, you don't." They'd say in unison, making you laugh despite yourself. Then one would start tickling your feet while the other stole your pillow, and the serious moment would dissolve into childish wrestling.

Suddenly, there's fire—so much fire it steals the air from your lungs. You try to burn an ancient book, its yellowed pages curling and blackening as flames lick at your own clothes. The smoke stings your eyes, or maybe those are tears. The leather binding crackles and pops.

"I can't let them find out!" Your voice breaks on the words. "They'll hurt you both. They'll—" A cough interrupts you, smoke filling your lungs. "I have to protect you. Even from yourselves."

Then you're drowning, being pulled into the depths of dark and icy waters. The cold bites through your clothes, into your bones. Hands—those same hands you know better than your own—extend desperately, trying to reach you. Their faces blur above the surface as you sink deeper.

"Don't let her sink!"

"Hold my hand, love, please!"

When you finally blink, returning to reality in your Seoul apartment, you realize you've covered twenty pages with the same intertwined marks: turbulent waves like a stormy sea swallowing whole ships, dancing flames shaped like fire serpents, and an intricate spiral of black roses and sharp thorns connecting the two in an infinite pattern.

"Shit," you whisper to the empty room, letting the pencil roll across the desk with a metallic tinkle. "Shit, shit, shit."

The pain is sudden and overwhelming. Like lightning cutting through your chest, the sensation burns between your breasts with an intensity that makes you drop the notebook and slip from the chair. The impact with the cold floor makes your teeth clash. Your fingers tremble as they tear at your shirt buttons, desperate to understand what's happening, your nails leaving red marks on your skin.

Love, is there any pie left? I woke up hungry. That apple one you make, with extra cinnamon.

Where is he? Did he go to war? He promised he'd return before the solstice!

I have a duty before love. You knew this from the beginning! The crown weighs more than my heart.

Please, don't make me choose between you. It's like tearing pieces from my own soul.

The roses are dying in the garden without you here.

And there it is—beneath the covering, beneath the old burn that marked the breaking of the bond, your soulmate mark pulses with a life of its own. The pink scar tissue glows with its own light, as if something were trying to emerge from within your skin. You close your eyes, fingers brushing the sensitive area, and see: lines green as springtime vines, pink as the dawn sky, and purple as amethysts intertwining, restitching something that should be permanently broken.

"No, no, no." Hot tears stream down your face as you plead into the void, knees hitting against the wooden floor: "Psyche, my lady, please, stop. Why are you doing this to me?"

The goddess cursed you, didn't she? Condemned you to keep breaking bonds while dealing with the voices of ancestors and the loss of your soulmates. The echo of her laughter haunts your nightmares and you can still see her furious face, beautiful and terrible, when you tried to burn the mark without divine permission. Why now? Why rebuild the bond? Could this be your true punishment—making you remember everything you lost?

The pain is so intense that you barely register the moment Mina bursts through the door, her own eyes wide with panic, hair still messy from sleep. The air seems to vibrate with static energy around her. Of course—she would feel it too. Your soul sister, designated by Psyche herself to keep you in check, to heal the souls you leave behind like breadcrumbs on a dark path.

"Unnie!" She kneels beside you, cold hands against your feverish face. The lavender scent of her night cream is almost sickening. Her fingers tremble when they touch the pulsing mark, and you see the exact moment she understands—her eyes widen even more, color draining from her face. "What did you do? The bonds... they're..."

"I didn't..." Your entire body convulses, muscles spasming as if trying to reject your own skin. Sweat makes your clothes cling uncomfortably, and you taste copper on your tongue where you've bitten the inside of your cheek. "I didn't do anything, I swear by the old gods and new. It's... it's coming back on its own. They're coming back, Min. All of them."

The last thing you saw before consciousness slipped through your fingers like water was Mina's face, contorted in a silent scream, and Bora's figure sprinting down the corridor, her gold hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail.

"Hey! Y/N!" Their voices seem to come from underwater, distorted and far away.

And then, your mind plunged into a darkness so complete it felt solid, the deep resonating toll of ancient temple bells echoing in your skull like a funeral dirge.

#minsung x reader #minsung #han jisung #imagine #stray kids #lee minho #minho x reader #stray kids minho #han x reader #love #soulmates #soulmate au #stray kids imagines #stray kids angst #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids x you

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deepspacenova · 16 days ago

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🫵 I KNEW IT

I eagerly await to see what gems make you think of little old me 🥹

Now, can I pretty please have a Certified Nova Commentary™ on this https://x.com/MacchiShiro/status/1915266967717765175?t=MnhHDudM2QFopl7NGfDBuQ&s=19

jakhfjkeafh NOT EGYPTIAN MYTHOLOGY x LADS?!

It's like you know the exact topics that'll get me yapping i swear, the only thing that would make me short circuit even more is anything Victorian era England related (infold, Victorian AU with cravats, waistcoats, and pocket watches when?!).

First of all Sylus draped in gold is not something I've seen enough of, and now I need more because he looks so good. Granted, this man can pull off a potato sack but he's usually in silver metals so we need more Sylus in gold, people, that is a humble request from moi.

Now, Anubis. While that wouldn't be my first choice symbolically (I would've gone with Osiris since the N109 Zone's common motifs often reference the underworld with Sylus as its ruler), now that I'm thinking about how Anubis is a deity of the afterlife and a patron of lost souls, and how the N109 Zone is more than just the den of immorality it was originally painted to be - is actually a place that many lost souls (Philip, Luke and Kieran, etc) call home - Anubis is actually kind of perfect for Sylus.

Some other Anubis parallels I'm obsessing over:

The head of the Jackal!! Not only are jackals omens/warnings of death, they're also known for their cunning and opportunistic behaviour and symbolize abandonment and loneliness in some religions. Literally can't think of anything more perfect for the man of opportunity who is a harbinger of death himself for anyone who crosses him, and yet has suffered the full spectrum of loneliness and abandonment in his lifetime from his dragon people and from MC herself.

The colour black!! Giving Anubis a black head was to represent the rich, black soil of the banks of the Nile, which symbolized good fortune and rebirth. Sylus surrounds himself in darkness, black (and red), and has been reborn himself (in the literal sense) but also... gives people around him the opportunity to rebirth themselves (Philip and Luke and Kieran are great examples again) -- no matter how much Sylus would protest otherwise.

The judgement of souls!! Anubis was one of the guardians in charge of the weighing of hearts, a ceremony that would balance it against a feather, leading to a judgment which would determine the soul's place in the afterlife. This is a really intriguing parallel because, due to the distrust that was cultivated within Sylus from a very early age, he kind of has become a man of reckoning/judgement for the people around him and this is beyond the N109 Zone. From his 'Sylus the Repatriotizing Pirate' days to even the first time MC hears his voice in Linkon (and everything in between, the hoops that he had Luke and Kieran jump through before they became his boys, his disposal of the man who kidnaps you into the N109 Zone in the first place, etc etc), Sylus has turned himself into judge, jury, and executioner in many instances to protect the people around him... but mostly to protect himself.

In conclusion, I'm unhinged about mythology, 100000% subscribed to Anubis!Sylus, and I need more Sylus in gold. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk xx

#ahhhh im so sorry no one read this it's so unnecessarily detailed and long for no reason #good god maybe this is why people don't ask me things #i can't answer like a normal person i have to give dissertations lol #ask me things #nova yapping #lads sylus

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brittle-doughie · 6 months ago

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Hey howdy hello again! Wrote the one thing with reader cookie stabbing Burning Spice with a dagger despite having their leg broken off. I’m back about the beast ancients au I was talking about in the first part of that ask, since you didn’t say anything about it, I just assumed you didn’t want to hear about it. No worries, I don’t mind!

Anyways I’ve had a hell of a time hammering out the specifics of what’s going on, as it turns out planning a war is a huge pain in the ass. But I’ll just toss you the more interesting bits and get out of your hair.

For context, the main cookie this all revolves around, Star Heart Cookie, created a barrier to protect her/their kingdom. The caveat to it being that so long as you genuinely don’t want to kill the cookies within the barrier, you can walk in and out whenever you want

(For the sake of this ask, Star Heart is the reader insert and is thus getting they/them pronouns, there’s a different set of cookies meant to be the reader inserts but I haven’t gotten there yet so :p)

So, where to start I suppose.. probably Vanilla. True Vanilla Cookie specifically

Yeah bro is trying to pacifist ending Shadow Milk, and SM is just kind of offended? Bc Vanilla ascended to become the Beast of Totality, and is essentially trying to become the holder of Knowledge without getting the other soul jam. This has, predictably, really messed him up. But he still makes it a point to go on weekly picnics to see Star Heart. (The fact that he doesn’t know whats weakened them so much is driving him insane)

One of the other beasts who can pass through the barrier, Mythril Lily Cookie, also shows up to ensure that Star Hearts barrier holds. Though she is a little very concerned about the fact that no matter what, Star Heart never seems to be getting any better. When she isn’t having picnics or trying to dodge True Vanilla’s game of 20,000 questions, she’s usually coordinating an attack on one of the beasts. Usually whichever one happens to be closest to wherever Dark Enchantress is or is planning to use at the time.

Frostbite Cacao is currently trying to plunge all of earthbead into an ice age so that his friends will gain the same resolve that he has. Well, it’s more like so he can usurp their kingdoms bc he thinks they don’t run them very well, but who’s asking? Side note; he’d also actually be allowed through the barrier if it weren’t for the fact that Dark Choco lives within Star Hearts kingdom. He’s also mega paranoid about the fact that Mystic Flour isn’t attacking him anymore. (We’ll get to her don’t worry)

Toxiberry (still not sure about the name) is having a depression due to lore reasons. But due to the power of being a raging alcoholic, you can’t even tell :DDDD Nah but seriously, she and her army are constantly on the move since she knows Lily is looking for her. She’s also hoping that it lures Pitaya Dragon back so she can try and get them to on her side to hopefully gain the upper hand on Eternal Sugar, who has even more beef with her then usual, again, due to lore reasons (I wasn’t actually kidding about the depression thing btw, that’s definitely there)

Gilded Cheese (has very upsetting reasons why she’s called that) is currently trying to revitalize the desert with her new waterbending abilities :)))) you do not want to know what happened to give her that power, I promise. On the bright side, she can also electrocute things now, so that’s neat. She’s generally the closest to her normal self here if I’m honest. Though she’s spending most of her time bringing water to the desert (very suspicious water) and trying to weedwhack the hell out of Vanilla’s creepy orchids that keep spreading. She would also be allowed through the barrier, but only by technicality, since she’s only trying to kidnap Star Heart to use their power to enhance the soulcheese. (And Smoked Cheese is hoping to use them to usurp Gilded but yk shhh)

Onto the og beasts, none of which are allowed through the barrier, for obvious reasons.

Shadow Milk is very busy pretending like he’s not bothered with what’s going on. He’s free now! Why should he care what the others are up to? (He cares immensely) He’s honestly very concerned with how far True Vanilla is getting with his plans, and is pivoting to something else since he knows his usual tactics won’t work. Which ends up in him sending party after party of warriors to ascend the vines up to the Vanilla kingdom in order to break Vanillas focus to stall for time as Shadow figures out a more permanent solution. At least he’s found a new way to infuriate him, by simply saying nothing at all.

Mystic Flour is in the middle of her own plan, which is to use Cacao’s paranoia against him. So currently she’s waiting at the top of her mountain pagoda for him to inevitably break and go after her. She’s also sent Cloud Haetae Cookie to scout out a new meditation spot closer to the Dark Cacao kingdom to better keep watch on it. And definitely not because Star Hearts kingdom is literally right next door, not that at all, nope, not even a little.

Eternal Sugar is completely incensed and is personally hunting down Holly to the ends of earthbread for the sheer audacity of… the lore reasons (I promise it’ll at least be interesting) Or at least she would be, but most of the time Eternal Sugar looses them (literally how it’s an entire army?) and decides to fall asleep until she senses her other piece nearby again, and then she’s off like a bat out of hell.

Burning Spice, is behaving irrationally, even for his standards, which is saying something. Specifically speaking, he’s… well he’s waiting on the barrier, hasn’t really moved since the Beast War ended. The only thing that does get him to move away is whenever Gilded Cheese is anywhere nearby. He knows she’s gonna keep trying to get in, so he just waits. What he’s waiting for? Star Heart, and their very special ability that they use every single time cookies attempt to go for the barrier. From within the barrier, Star Heart can actually see him waiting for them since their tower is the highest point in the kingdom. That, and that point in the roof is the only clear spot in the barrier, everything else is stained red due to the permanent spice storm that surrounds the place.

And Silent Salt, who isn’t actually on the continent right now. During the Beast War, he spotted something leaving and decided to follow it on the hunch that if he didn’t, things would get a lot worse. Unfortunately, as the one he was following ended up being Longan Dragon, he isn’t going to be able to prevent him from starting shit.

Alrighty then, that’s that, thank you for your time and all of the lovely writing

-ephemeralcryptid

Now that was quite the read.

#brittle answers

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shitpostingkats · 4 months ago

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Hey

Hey-

This first image is Yubel’s energy form from earlier on in s3 I believe but I’m just. I found this on the wiki and was like. “Wait a minute, this is really familiar- ZARC!?”

Now, (it’s almost 2 am I’m incredibly sleep deprived bear with me here-) going with the (S-Tier) theory that Zarc and the Yu boys are the next incarnation of The Supreme King, one thing that always made me go “huh” was just that they didn’t really seem to have much of any physical similarities or resemblance to past incarnations; Jaden looked very similar to Haou and all.

Now, logically I know this is because it’s not necessarily actually canon and all their protagonists need to look unique and special etc etc

However-

Factoring in that Zarc was technically the next official incarnation after Jaden, and the boys were just facets of him (that were more or less based on his dragons) it makes more sense. But even still, aside from the trademark golden eyes he still doesn’t bare much resemblance.

And then we add in how at the end of GX s3, Jaden and Yubel fused. And now we look at his similarities to Yubel and it all kind of clicks.

All this to say, I love the idea that Yubel fusing with Jaden somewhat altered the soul of the Supreme King, and as it goes down the line her characteristics also have an effect on the next incarnations <3

This is very hastily put together and makes little to no sense but I’m about to fall asleep so that’s a problem for tomorrow me to worry about, adios 👋

YOOOOOO they do look really similar!

I hc Zarc to actually be the previous incarnation of the supreme king, and that splitting the universes had the spirits scrambling to reset. The power can't attach to the yu bois, because there's four of them, and the supreme king is not as easily quartered. Since the universe reset to the year 2000, Jaden would have been around 5 years old when he went from A Normal Kid to You Are The Power Of The Gentle Dark And Always Have been. Yubel didn't exist until the reset exploded everything. Typing it now, I think it would make sense that Jaden was always a reincarnation of the prince we see in him and Yubel's flasback (reincarnation seems to be just a normal thing in the yugioh world), but in the Reset Timeline, suddenly the oracles and such look into this souls future and see Oh Shit He's Gonna Decide The Fate Of The Universe. And that divination is what sets Yubel to becoming Jaden's guardian.

Now, flipping through some wiki's the fascinating thing is that Yubel's energy form is specifically them trying to mimic Thelonius Viper's kid, to try and endear themselves to him. One of the wikis even notes his resemblance to Zarc. Is this just a common hairstyle? Another incarnation of Zarc? Seeing as he gets hit by a bus at the ripe age of middleschool, I'm really hoping he has some connection to Zarc just so we can add another instance to the "Zarc eats shit and dies" counter.

#asks #answered asks #also hello phec!! welcome back to the inbox its lovely to see you again!#yugioh #headcanons #yu gi oh gx #yugioh gx #ygo gx #jaden yuki #judai yuki #yuki judai #yubel #yugioh arc v #ygo arc v #yugioh zarc #zarc arc v

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arclundarchivist · 9 months ago

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[Spoilers C3E104] Likely Timeline of Events.

I think I have a general run down of events that lead up to modern exandria, at least how it has truly been hinted to exist as Brennan, Matt and Aabria have shaped it.

Origin: The Luxon Finds and becomes a part of Exandria.

Before Tengari Arrival: The Luxon's presence spawns the first life on Exandria, the Elementals and a Primordial Form of Life separate from that that we know, including the Eidolons(And possibly Proto-Fey). It is chaos, with no intention, other than to exist. The Titans are present, but have no ideation of what they are or what they could want.

The Luxon Divests Itself: Now this one is more tenuous, as there are two different depictions. Either, it sought commonality with its children the Titans, and was rebuffed, as unlike it they were near mindless and violent, fighting each other and attempting to attack it, so it divested itself in an attempt to better understand itself and them, *AND* notably grant a form of reincarnation to the life on the planet so they would not be lost to the "darkness beyond" as the Titans were. Which, considering what Matt mentioned of the Eidolons and Hearthdell's history... seems kind of fitting.

There is another version of that story, but that needs to wait for...

The Tengari Arrival: Tengar dies, seemingly to Predathos, and the few dozen that remain of that place are drawn to Exandria (perhaps by the nascent Luxon), they arrive, giving physical forms to their conceptual ones, and as Brennan put it in one of the After Shows, granting conceptual ideation just be arriving to the purely physical Titans. Brief conflict between the Titans and Tengari occurs, and seems to calm, and may not have been as cut and dry as it seems.

The Founding: The first form of modern Exandria is formed by the Tengari. Mortals are either created wholesale, or shaped from those Primordial things hidden in the pockets of primal nature with the Eidolons. Here the second story of the divestment occurs (likely not the true one), claiming the Luxon grew curious regarding what the Tengari were doing and wanted to become a part of their cycle and learn of itself through interaction with mortal souls. At some point Mortals are givin divine magic, unsure if that means Clerics solely. The "First" Dragons are also created, possibly from Elementals that were drawn to the Tengari, raises questions about the origins of Bahamut and Tiamat. The first celestials(Seemingly not creations of the Tengari) and Demons are drawn to Exandria by the presence of mortals. The Gods begin being put in certain perspectives and positions due to the beliefs of their creations. Not all are happy with this change.

Falling Star: Predathos arrives at an as of yet unamed island on Exandria, possibly having chased the Tengari from their previous home. Ethedok and Vordo are consumed. The Gods refusing to give up their new home, make a compact with the Titans to imprison Predathos within the island and jettison it, yet somehow either by Predathos's will or something else it remains with Exandrias orbit as Ruidus. Precursor of the Divine Gate is seeded in the Lawbearer's mind. The Rudians possibly origin, already corrupted by the presence of Predathos within their home, or afterwards as they are trapped with it.

The Schism: The Primordials angered by the presence of Divine Magic begin attacking mortals. The Tengari split into factions, those that want to wipe the slate free, some noting a deal/promise they made to the Titans, the Primes seek to protect the mortals, some citing different promise and oaths. Corellon steals the Arcane from Lolth, possibly causing her fall, and gives it to Mortals to help them fight the forces of the Betrayers and Primordials. The former are trapped, most of the latter are slain, excluding Rau'shan and Ka'Mort, who notably seemed most present at the making of Ruidus. The Primes are victorious, and continue to walk Exandria into a "golden age". Notably, the Eidolons are left as they are, raising questions about their existence, and how they connected to the Tengari and Titans. Vasselheim is founded.

Age of Arcanum: Many Exandrians begin believing they can rise to the power of, or no longer need pay heed to the Gods thanks to the gift Corellon gave them. Vast flying cities soar above Exandria. A clear division between the Mages of those Cities and the Worshippers and even Druids of the surface begin to form. The first possible case of a Ruidusborn is accounted for: The Matron of Ravens. The Matron then Ascends to Godhood, seemingly slaying and erasing all memory of the previous God of Death, even from the minds of the Tengari.

Fall of Avalir: Following the erroneous attempt by Vespin Chloras to become the new Lord of the Hells, Asmodeus manipulates matters to lead to the destruction of the Tree of Names, a guardian against presences that should not be on Exandria. The tree is destroyed by a mage of Avalir, her name largely lost to time, in pursuit of her own goals. The Betrayers are fully freed to walk across Exandria once more, founding Ghor Dranus, and setting about wrecking havoc across the world, while the forgotten heroes of Avalir stop the Titan Monarchs from being released, slaying them and leaving but a shard of their power behind. All it costs is Domunus, now forever known as the Shattered Teeth.

The Calamity: Two-Thirds of Exandria dies in the divine war that follows. Vasselheim and Nirdol'Poc are the only cities known to survive the devastation from before the Calamity. Marquet burns, defended from total destruction by the second-oldest known Ruidusborn: Alyxian, thrice-blessed by different Prime Divinities, raising a number of interesting questions. Tharizdun arrives, at some point, but when is uncertain. I personally believe that it is after the fall of Aeor that it fully pokes in, but it may have been waiting in the wings for longer than that. The first vestiges are created to help mortal champions fight against the forces of the Betrayers. The Luxon is discovered by Leylas Krynn and her followers.

The Fall of Aeor: Aeorian Mages craft a weapon that can slay the gods, thought factions work against each other when it comes to how it will actually be applied. The Gods agree to a pact to stop the weapon. They chose to do so by becoming mortal. Some of the Primes seek to simply destroy the weapon, others seek the fall of the city. Some Betrayers show regrets for how they now exist in the world. The end through tragedy, manipulation and desperation, Aeor falls not just at the hands of the Gods but partially born by mortal action as well. Damned twofold, all by the conniving hand of Asmodeus seeking to end his Prime siblings and mortals, consumed by his rage. Something defends some of the citizenry of Aeor from destruction. Two individuals are saved by the Primes. A Young Ludinus watches the Fall. The Primes begin talking about the construction of the Divine Gate, though not all are in agreement. Cognouzas flight from Aeor sends them crashing *into* Tharizdun briefly, horrifically warping both the bodies and minds of the citizenry.

The Divergence: The Primes defeat the Betrayers once more and lock them away once more within their prisons. This includes Tharizdun, who nearly kills Ioun, and is stated to not be actually part of the Pantheon, and is an alien influence, not so dissimilar from Predathos. The Rites of Prime Banishment are written and worked for the first time to get rid of it, and several powerful divine shackles are created to keep it chained. They then leave Exandria, forming a protective net around it that will keep them out and protect Exandria from the full might of divinity for ever... or so it is said. This magical lattice work becomes known as the Divine Gate. Some servants of the Gods remain on Exandria, some attempting to become new Gods all their own, while some are kept in different prisons scattered across Exandria, others working to heal the devastation wrote by their creators or continue to revel in the chaos. Those would be divinties are imprisoned by mortal mages or cast down by their now distant creators, to eventually form a compact in the far future. The influences of the gods are still felt, but not demandingly and this distance becomes familiar and comforting to many. Many more Drow enter the light of the Luxon, abandoning the Spider Queen.

511 PD(Post-Divergence): Trist Drassig, son of the tyrant and other possibly Ruidusborn Warren Drassig causes the first mass extraplanar incursion on Exandria since before the Divergence, summoning a number of demons and a Demon Prince to Exandria to slay the rebels under Zan Tal'Dorei.

585 PD The Fall of Molaesmyr/The Crush: Ludinus contacts Predathos for the first time using Aeorian Tech and a magical font beneath the city. It goes catastrophically wrong on both sides of the link. Molaesmyr is consumed by a wave of corruptive energy that warps the landscape, the people, the animals and the forest beyond, spreading further and further with each year from that epicenter. The survivors, including Ludinus flee to Bysaes Tyl and Uthodurn. On Ruidus, a series of devastating earthquakes shakes the moon, devastating the Collective, the previous ruling body of the Rudian peoples, that was much more egalitarian and say the rise of the Weavemind and Kreviris Imperium to supplant them. The Weavemind destroys centuries of Rudian history and culture and begins manipulating their people and the other peoples of Ruidus through global indoctrination and eugenics programs. Ludinus's plots against the Gods and peoples of Exandria likely hit their stride, at some point following or before this point he begins consuming the essence of divine and fey being to empower himself and considerably lengthen his lifespan, making him into... something other than mortal. A noted obsession with the Matron also begins somewhere around this time.

812 PD: The Arch-Necromancer Vecna, another relict of the Age of Arcanum succeeds in ascending to Godhood, but is then successfully cast out of Exandria into his own prison plan as with the Betrayer Gods, joining him to their Pantheon, and technically making him another of the Tengari in essence if not origin.

835-836 PD: Tharizdun manipulates several powerful entities across Exandria in an attempt to free itself, causing a number of semi-diving figures to get free. Ludinus manipulates the factions of Wildmount, causing a war and allowing him to finally get his hands on a Beacon. The first of the Triad of Would-Be Gods, Uk-Otoa comes close to being released. Cognouza a "nascent-plane" is nearly released to prey upon Exandria. It is hinted that regardless of its defeat, a change is coming to Exandria, hinting at the Apogee Solstice.

And now here we are in the Era of the Red Solstice, new weapons being forged, great changes echoing across the world, evils new and old throwing off their shackles, and who knows what new dawn will be facing Exandria when all of this is said and done. But... it does seem like we are setting up for a whole new era of history. What do you think it will look like?

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thievinghippo · 6 months ago

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So I promised a postmortem and it’s finally time! Here’s the TL:DR. I loved it. I can already tell I’ll probably have more played hours in this game than Inquisition, and I fucking loved Inquisition! Good, bad, and ugly beneath the cut and there will be heavy spoilers for the entire game, so read at your own risk. (This is also long, because I have a lot to say!)

THE GOOD

Rook. Once I let go of my preconceived notion of how Rook was (mid-40s and serious but kind) and accepted Rook for the young, sarcastic character they are, I fell in love. Edda is going to be an A possibly even S tier OC for me

The dwarves. We were fed so well, y’all. So much lore and dialogue choices. There was even a Grey Warden dwarf specific dialogue choice. I love the confirmation of what we all suspected with the Titans. I just wish that a dwarf Rook had the opportunity to confront Solas. He apparently apologizes to Harding. But what about a dwarf Rook?

Exploration. I’m an idiot when it comes to figuring out in-game puzzles and such. I’ve read some complaints that everything was far too easy, but for one of the first times I remember, I could do a vast majority of puzzles and finding treasures without consulting a game guide. And I was actually proud when I figured things out. When I play Edda again, I’m going to 100% the world and I cannot wait

The Companions. Bonus points for Emmrich Volkarin. I ended up loving all of them. Even the ones I was very ‘meh’ on before playing the game. Like Bellara. She was on my list to romance second to last. And she has moved up to third, after Emmrich and Davrin.

Emmrich Volkarin. Yes, he gets his own special mention. I love him so much that I created a second Rook to romance him. That way I have one Emmrich that is not a lich (Edda’s choices) and one Emmrich that is a lich (Sonnet’s choice). I love his compassion, his kindness, his reverence of the dead. I adore his romance and how clear it is that Rook has bewitched him, body and soul. The fact that they lean into the age gap and it becomes entwined with his own fears of death. He has my favorite personal quest. I loved the music, the atmosphere. How it pertains to his own journey, facing his mortality (plus Johanna Hezenkoss can get it). Plus it has the banger line of ‘Show them what a real necromancer can do!’ I even can’t wait not to romance him and see what the friendship is like and encourage him to hook up with Strife

The backgrounds. Granted, I’ve only played through the game 1.5 times, but there have been so many background mentions. Especially for the Grey Wardens. Mourn Watch has some great ones too. I mean, there was Grey Warden romance banter during a fight. In a side quest! I can’t wait to discover more

The character creator. I love how inclusive it is, especially when you compare it to previous Dragon Age games. The hair is beautiful (but where is my braid crown! my kingdom for a braid crown!) and I have overweight OCs, which make me very happy. Varric's shaving mirror is also amazing, and because I want EA to know that people are using these options, Sonnet is a trans woman who will save Thedas

THE BAD

Weird tonal switches. Emmrich and Harding are going to Ferelden so she can show him around but the South is being razed by darkspawn. Harding’s mom sends her back with pie and gives great hugs. How in the world are they getting to Ferelden? Rook was amazed to see the Inquisitor in the North so why would the members of the Veilguard be able to go to the South? Some of the codex entries are so dark and yet everyone is happy in the Lighthouse

Give Rook a problem, please! I kept waiting for Rook’s LI to go up to her and ask if there’s anything distracting her. If there’s any problem they could solve together. But that never came and Rook is apparently the only person on the team that can’t be distracted by their own problems. How amazing would it have been if Rook had some sort of personal quest. Maybe based on lineage. Or background. Something that shows that she matters as much to her companions and they mean to her

The Act One Choice. Still mad about it. Are you telling me that two extra people would have saved Minrathous? That a city full of the most powerful mages in the known world couldn’t take down a fucking dragon? It didn’t feel earned and it did annoy me a great deal

Let. Rook. Mourn. While I appreciate that Rook was able to mourn Varric and Davrin (in my playthrough) privately, the fact that it immediately jumps to a sex scene sort of bothered me. Especially Emmrich’s taking them to the Necropolis so they can bang in a coffin. This was not the time to leave the Lighthouse, Emmrich! The rest of the team got to mourn Davrin and worry about Neve together. I wish Rook could have been a part of that too.

Let’s talk Varric’s death. I didn’t see it coming. I actually ranted to a friend before I knew what happened that they should have killed him in the prologue if this was how they were going to use him. Oops. I hate how callous the truth about his death makes Rook look. I hate that Harding and Neve didn’t even really seem to mourn. Hate how the Inquisitor or Dorian or Isabela don’t mention him at all. I hate how obvious his death is in my second playthrough. I will have to fix this all in fanfic

THE UGLY

Assuming there is another DA game, where do we go from here? I really dislike the concept of the Executors in the secret ending. One thing I’m optimistic about is that by basically wiping the south off the map, we might be able to have more games there. Because everything will have been reset, so to speak. How does the South deal with the mages when they’ve all been fighting darkspawn for their lives? Put them back into Circles? I think not

I’m also not sure about what choices would move forward into a new DA game. Not talking companion choices, but choices that actually affect the world. No matter what we do, the Blight is over and the Veil is safe. If BioWare couldn’t be bothered to have the Well of Sorrows choice matter, I can’t imagine they’ll care how Solas was bound to the Veil, whether it be by choice, trickery, or force. Minrathous or Treviso is the only other non-companion choice I can think of that might possibly matter

But honestly, it doesn’t matter, because who knows if we’ll ever get another Dragon Age game? I know I would love one, but I have this sinking feeling there won’t be (please let me be wrong!)

So there you have it. I really love this game, good, bad, and ugly. And I found so much more to love than to dislike. I have a feeling I will be yelling about this game (and Emmrich!) for a long, long time

#hippo's dragon age tag #hippo's veilguard tag #dav #veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers

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mrs-gauche · 1 year ago

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So, on the new teaser published on DA Day this year, while I won't even try to go as in-depth as the amazing @felassan already did, compiling everything of note in this excellent post, like the sleep deprived German with limited vocabulary that I am, I'm just gonna add my little two cents to it, hopefully not repeating too much of what has already been mentioned. 😁

So why not start with the caption here!

This honestly made me snort out loud. 😂 I mean, it's like BioWare is not even trying anymore to be subtle about the fact that Thedas has we know it is 100% doomed. lol And yes, I know we all joke about Thedas constantly being in Apocalypse mode, but this time it really feels like some massive change is approaching.

But to be specific, I am pretty confident in that this is referring to both the destruction of the Veil, as well as the freed Evanuris dooming the world through some kind of mega Blight.

When I first read the word "revelation", it immediately made me think of Solas' Tower tarot card. The Tower literally represents sudden, disruptive revelation and potentially destructive change. While "damnation" is the concept of a divine punishment, to be "doomed to suffer in hell forever".

And as felassan theorized, if the last person in the teaser speaking is Elgar'nan, and if he is in fact connected to the Old God Lusacan, who is the God of Night, bringing about the "eternal night" and darkness…

“Lusacan, the Dragon of Night, calls to you. He lives where it is darkest and waits for the day he will rise. Drink of his blood and know the power in darkness: either fear the Night or wield it." "The darkspawn yearn to awaken and corrupt Lusacan to start a new age of darkness." “A night that will never end”

...Whereas the "revelation"/Solas tearing down the Veil, to me at least, always seemed to be associated with light or "purification" (for lack of a better word), with how it was described in Sandal’s prophecy and the way the destruction of the Veil was portrayed in the 2022 cinematic, almost blindlingly bright. (Also, "Solas" literally means "light" in Irish. lol)

„One day the magic will come back. All of it. Everyone will be just as they were. The shadows will part. And the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.“

So I think, like this "revelation" contrasts the "damnation", like Light and Darkness, at least in terms of visual language, there could be a hint of a figurative, as well as a literal "clashing" of two opposing forces? Like, both are destructive, but like The Tower represents destruction in order to rebuild/to enforce new growth/for the soul to evolve, while the damnation is nothing but irreparable corruption?

Anyway! So generally speaking, the teaser highlights yet again three of the factions/places we've seen in all the 2020 teaser/concept art/books/comics. It looked absolutely gorgeous and the voice over gave me goosebumps, as well as the amazing score again (that may or may not be composed by Hans Zimmer and/or Lorne Balfe lol I wonder) and the sound design! <3333 Though what’s curious to me, is that neither the Shadow Dragons of Tevinter or the Veil Jumpers from the Arlathan Forest were mentioned this time around…

So, I think this time the teaser might be more about the main plot beats/quests in the game than about the protagonist's potential origins, like how in DAO and DAI, you travelled to various places gathering allies and completed their respective narratives first before facing the main threat. Each of the places shown is coupled with a voice over from what is most likely gonna be an important character in each of these plot beats.

The fact that they changed the word "hero" in the plot blurb on the official DA website to "leader" is also.. interesting. It kinda reminds me of when Mark Darrah mentioned that the "vision statement" for Joplin was gonna be "We would be heroes, but the records are sealed". 👀 Or maybe the new protagonist might not be so heroic after all and more on the morally grey spectrum, which is always nice to explore. lol Makes me also yet again wonder about the "They call me the Dread Wolf. What will they call you when this is over?" line, meaning that, no matter how heroic our actions might be, in the end history might still remember us as the villain.

Antiva

This looks phenomenal and if they actually manage to realize a city as big as what this suggests AND fill it with meaningful content and people (side-eyeing you, Val Royeaux lol), it will blow my mind! lol Like felassan said, I'm very curious if we're gonna do some Assassin's Creed style "parkour" here, like what was kinda described in the short story "As We Fly" from last year! The Crows as the only real military defense of Antiva, particularly in Treviso, seem to be in deep trouble now, having been invaded by the Antaam and if you look closely, you can actually see the banner of the Qunari being displayed in the city!

"We fight for everyone. And we always will. The Crows rule Antiva."

My first thought hearing the voice here was actually Caterina Dellamorte. The lines express authority or leadership and it's also a more elderly sounding voice (to me at least), so Caterina as the First Talon would make a lot of sense to me! There have also been lots of speculation about her grandson, Lucanis, being a potential companion as well.

Rivain

(Oh no, all of Rivain got eaten by a squid. lol)

I've been hoping to go there ever since I first saw concept art of Rivain, and this is still giving me huge Pirates of the Caribbean (but with magic) vibes. 😂 As someone who thoroughly enjoyed playing AC Black Flag like ten years ago, this looks VERY promising! Though please, if we're getting any kind of underwater combat (like with the Vinsomer mentioned in the codex entry from last year), just don't make me fight dragons underwater, I'm still traumatized by the Lagiacrus in Monster Hunter Tri. 💀

"Glory to the risen gods. They come to deliver this world."

As to who is saying this, honestly, no idea. 😂 The blurb on the website mentions dragons in this place acting up for some reason, and the line sounds very cultist. lol But I'm definitely with felassan here, too, that this has to be connected to the Evanuris as well, given this GIANT squid thing on the map and all of the horrifying ocean related stuff linked to Ghilan'nain and her monstrosities, my money is also on her being one of these "risen gods".

And honestly… If I was a simple sailor or pirate and then one day I would see this emerge from the ocean…

….I'd probably start believing in these "gods", too. lmao

Anderfels

Next up, we're going to the Anderfels and Weisshaupt and I don't really have anything to add to what has already been said, other than "Shit is definitely Going Down Here". lol Lorewise, it would be crazy to go there and learn more about the very beginnings of the Wardens at their headquarters, so.. given the lines, the ominous sound of battle in the background here and some *things* from those reddit leaks earlier this year (felassan made a great post about this too, but spoiler warning of course!).. I just hope there will be enough left of Weisshaupt to explore after all this. lol

"Grey Wardens don't hide in our castle. I won't ask good soldiers to turn tail and run."

My first guess was the First Warden as well, but felassan actually made a few very good points here that make me question it… 🤔

I was also wondering what these "pillar ring" things are and while I first thought some kind of magical defense mechanism, I saw a reddit user suggesting that these rings could be part of a griffon training flight path?? Hell YEAH. #BringBackGriffonsInDA4

"Tremors have been creating disturbances of late. Their cause is unknown. Upon the distant horizon, a storm of ominous intent brews and darkens the skies."

That is a very interesting description, given that the sky in *this* concept art (which is definitely also showing Weisshaupt), is quite clearly the opposite of "dark". lol

(*looking suspiciously at the things I mentioned at the beginning here about "Light and Darkness" clashing* 👀👀👀 Maybe Solas came to visit here, too, because he just loves the Wardens, right? lol)

You know, if I read the words "tremors" and "Grey Wardens", my natural conclusion is "Something something Old Gods Underground + Grey Wardens Trying to Kill Them Before They Awake = Nothing Good" (and let's not forget about the eleven(!!) mountains/Ghilan'nain's ancient pools underground mentioned in Tevinter Nights as well), keeping in mind that Solas gets furious about the Wardens deliberately searching them out and slaying them (because he obviously knows what's gonna happen if all of them are slayed(!)), and in DAI there was already something ominous going on at Weisshaupt...

And all of this coupled with the new vinyl artwork and all the promotional stuff for DA4 so far, makes me feel like the Wardens will be busier than ever before...

Seven semi-circles with two of them still "lit" and the "tambourine"/Veil looking more broken with each new update....

Seven Old Gods/Evanuris that were banished when Solas created the Veil.....

Seven mirrors shattering....

Seven gates of the Black City, which Kordillus Drakon prophesied will someday shatter and cover both the mortal and spirit realms in darkness....

And speaking of "DARKNESS COVERING BOTH REALMS".....

Tevinter

One word: TENDRILS. lmao

So the last shot shows a big part of Tevinter on the map, most of it covered in purple clouds and tendrils...

Followed by a voice that had me like

"All the world will soon share the peace and comfort of my reign."

First off, that voice actor sounds SO familiar, omg, who IS that?? Someone suggested Joseph Capp, the voice of the Shadow Prince from Divinity 2 and that fits perfectly (DOS2 has quite a few VAs from DA actually and funnily enough, the Shadow Prince is part of Sebille's main quest, who's voiced by Alix Wilton Regan lol) Whoever it is, they're doing a great job at sending a shiver down my spine. lol Like, you can just TELL, he's the Real Deal. "Peace and Comfort" never sounded more menacing. 👀

Alright, so I'll make this short, and say that I'm also very very confident that this is Elgar'nan speaking.

People have suggested the Archon, the Black Divine, some Venatori or Qunari leader, but honestly guys, none of these make much sense to me when looking at the bigger picture here (aside from the visual hints I've talked about earlier). Like, this teaser is obviously trying to set this person up as a serious threat to *the whole world*, and the only way I can see this work would be if this person held just as much or more power than Solas, because if they don't, they would just end up being a secondary concern, like another Corypheus…

You just don't market a game by suddenly introducing a new smaller threat to *"AAALL THE WORLD"* less powerful than the one we already have, you know. 😂 And imo, the only one "outmatching" Solas in terms of power, at this point, would be Elgar'nan or any of the elven gods. Or literally the Blight itself/the Titans.

And then there's this

"Hundreds of years in the making."

We know who has been directing the course of history for ages behind the curtains… I mean, the entire series has been building towards Mythal getting her vengeance.. and what better way to finally get to that point than to bring her husband into the narrative, the one who was potentially the main instigator of the Evanuris's betrayal and Mythal's murder. 👀

(There's one thing I need to say though, and I know this is the silliest of nitpicks, but.. if that guy really does turn out to be Elgar'nan, am I the only one who thinks it's really funny how he's just… talking British English/the common tongue like that? 😂 I mean, I 100% get why they cannot make the actors talk in ancient elven with subtitles for the whole game (something I personally really appreciated when they did it for some of the ancient elves and spirits in DAI), like Corypheus wasn't talking in the old tongue either, and I feel like there are multiple reasons for why this just wouldn't work. And if we're looking for a lore reason, I guess even the imprisoned Evanuris had somehow enough access to people's dreams over the course of thousand years to learn the languages of present Thedas as much as Solas or any other ancient elf like Abelas or Felassan did, but it's still funny to me nonetheless. lol)

Anyway, the teaser ends with a dragon's growling sound and then another wolf howling in the back, which I interpreted as Solas giving Elgar'nan a fair warning here that he's indeed still the title-giving DAD character. lol If we get to see these guys battling it out for real, like Giant Demon Wolf vs Black City Sized Blighted Dragon, it's already the best game in my book. lol

You just know someone at BioWare is having a blast at coming up with as many references to Solas' Trespasser dialogue to put in these blog posts as possible. 😂 I just hope they can keep this promise, cuz I have a LOT of questions (and I need Solas to answer ALL of them lol).

Hmmm... You "hope so", yes? Well, after *this* teaser I sure *hope* that the sentiment of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" still holds true in this particular situation, because I'd rather still be on Team Solas if I have to choose between "revelation" and "damnation". 👀

I guess we'll see next summer... 😁

#dragon age 4 #da4 #tinfoil time #dragon age dreadwolf #solas #elgar'nan

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melissathettpdmember · 7 months ago

Text

My Winx Club Headcanons about My Favorite Characters and Worldbuilding

Now might I remind you that my favorite characters either only appear in comics or you guys hate for not doing shit.

There are 4 roles (or jobs idk) for the male population:

- If you're born with magic, you can be a wizard. Wizards, after their graduation, usually pick another role or spend their life researching magic for others to use.

- If you're not born with magic, you're a human. Humans can get 3 roles or just live to be ordinary people:

Smiths: Smiths make weapons. But not ordinary weapons, they're either very high tech or element infused. High tech weapons are used by specialists, more suitable for smaller missions. Elemental weapons are used by paladins, better for battles and wars. Since smiths know how to use all of the weapons they create, they tend to be a lot more advantageous in fights. Except they don't usually fight.

Specialists: Specialists can start their education at 16 years old and this role is selected by most of the people. Specialists go on small missions to train. Smaller battles. They don't usually train for any upcoming wars, they're usually more on the offensive side. Specialists can ride dragons and use high tech weapons. Most of the time, they don't usually take things seriously. That's why there aren't many specialists on ranked charts.

Paladins: Now, paladins don't do any small missions. These people start their education at 18 or higher due to it being a more mature role. Paladins are like soldiers of Earth, they're basically an army that is getting ready for huge wars. Do they go on missions? If they want to. They usually don't. As a paladin, if you don't take your training or job seriously you're getting blacklisted. Paladins train for 10 hours every day on average, however, the ones that we know of train for more than 15 hours on average (by will). They tend to rank higher on charts due to being more skilled.

A lot of people prefer artists on Earth rather than the ones in the Magical Universe.

There are only 2 people alive that can manipulate the element of Light. Guess.

The only reason that Sky is a dog person is that Thoren is allergic to dogs.

There are 3 ways and 3 ages that you can be selected as a Nymph (or Goddess because they literally have their own Churches)

If you're directly chosen by the Great Dragon (impossible now that he's kinda... dead), you are selected at the age of 5. (Shocking. Also this is literally what happened to Daphne, Tetis and Politea.)

If you're chosen by another Nymph to replace them, then directly approved by the Great Dragon (you can still kind of do that), you're selected at the age of 13-14.

If you're only selected by another Nymph to replace them, you're getting selected at the age of 16. You're also put in a trial with other candidates. (The plot of the Comic Issue 149)

Daphne and Bloom have the age difference of 7.

Sky and Thoren have the age difference of 5 (Thoren is obviously older).

Bloom and Sky have the age difference of 2. (SHOCKING, I KNOW. This is only because I personally want to make Daphne and Thoren the same age.)

Most of the people living in the Magical Universe are born as spirits, in this world, spirits are 2 souls: one of them is your soul (good side) and the other is another soul sent by Upperclouds (Afterlife, in this context, HELL.) as punishment, which the soul acts as your devil on the shoulder. Like Bloom and Dark Bloom.

After they chose younger people to be in the Lightrock Council (around the age of 25-40, 2 gods and their friends iykyk), they changed the law. Right now; rape, sexual harassment etc. are the biggest crimes you can commit, arson is kind of legal and killing your rapist is completely legal; judged by the Lightrock Council.

Tetis (Tetis Astral, a Nymph that was introduced in comic issue 143.), as in charge of criminals in the Lightrock Monastery, introduced executions to Magix. Now she executes many criminals every day, using the help of her sacred spear.

Daphne does not give a shit about any injuries Thoren has or might have after wars or training. He's usually in the hospital once every 2 weeks anyway. She says that he's built like the Mitochondria (the powerhouse of the cell).

Linphea has the least executions out of any planet, not because there are less criminals but because they offer free therapy and rehabilitation. Criminals get handled by the Linphea council and their Goddess, Lady Politea.

Daphne is blind in one eye after an explosion in the Potionology class back when she was still a student. She manages to hide it with the help of lenses.

Thoren has a prosthetic leg after he dropped the Earthquake hammer on his foot back when he was 19 (first week of his first year). The Earthquake Hammer cannot be used on any human being as it will completely shatter the entire bone that it hit.

Bloom's all time favorite movie is Frozen. She says that it reminds her of her family. That's not a good sign.

Daphne wanted to have the Beast of the Depths as support when she was about to begin her Sirenix quest with Politea. She couldn't control it. They hid in a random cave for about 4 hours under the frozen water of Domino.

Miss Faragonda does not know that you're allowed to be homosexual or transgender. Therefore we have no idea if she would be a straight ally or straight up homophobic.

Daphne somehow gained her Enchantix during the fall of Domino (WHEN SHE WAS 8-9?????) but she didn't learn that fact until she was 19. She never transformed before she was 19 so she hasn't seen her own Magic Winx or Charmix form.

Riven has mommy issues. (Probably canon)

Timmy has a huge family and everyone lives very close to each other.

Nex is afraid of rats.

Brandon keeps making Ken jokes. ("I'm Kenough", "Mojo Dojo Casa House", "It was Kenchanting to meet you" etc)

Daphne and all of her friends have performed in at least 2 different musicals before. They all have performed Heathers the Musical before. Therefore they all have a musical ear.

Alfea hosts parties, festivals and concerts every now and then. Everyone and anyone who chooses to can perform.

The Keeper of the Dragon Flame can control their body heat. They can go out wearing tank tops and shorts without getting cold in winter and vice versa.

Daphne and Thoren got engaged on their 12th dating anniversary and 20th meeting anniversary, when they were 28.

Tecna has been, is and will be socially awkward. Just like you.

They (the s6 cast) meet up to go to escape rooms. They ALL get terrified.

The Dragon Flame isn't the strongest power in the Magical Universe.

There are TV shows just like SNL, The Tonight Show etc.

Transformations beyond Enchantix can only be used during specific occasions. Even though Sirenix is the most powerful transformation (due to the strength of people who have it), it's not very useful to fight normally with it. The same goes for the other transformations.

There is an app like Twitter.

It has been normalized to not worship the Great Dragon but the Nymphs instead. It's like worshipping one of the prophets instead of God himself.

You have a public profile that anyone can reach. It also contains your suicide attempt count.

Speaking about suicides, there is a suicide forest where a device scans your mind and if you have a really fucked up life it lets you in. You have about 70+ ways to die there. Yes it's fucked up but yeah.

If you have a very strong power (or if you have mastered many elements), you have to take medicine due to the power being too much to handle for your body and mind. If you don't, you'll slowly lose your sanity.

Tecna has had lasik surgery.

Almost every character that you meet in the franchise has trauma. Like literally, even the ones you hate.

#winx club #headcanon #winx #alternate universe #winx club fanfiction

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lloydfrontera · 1 year ago

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what do you think llojavi's child will be? I love reading your hc.

mmhhh i never really stopped to think about it tbh! kid fics aren't really my go-to and i'm terrified of having children myself so it's not something i tend to explore with my ships

but if i had to have a hc for them... i think they'd have a lot of children. all of them adopted.

it just makes sense for them as characters imo! they are both deeply compassionate individuals who know what it's like to lose both parents and know how much it means to be brought in to a loving family. they know.

they wouldn't be able to come across a child who needs what they received at one point and look away.

that plus lloyd is an only child, he always wanted a little sibling and was absolutely delighted to get julian, i think once he gets over the instinctual fear of "oh god what the fuck am i doing i don't know how to be a father" and is more comfortable in his role as parent he wouldn't be able to resist the idea of having a bunch of kids running around their home. i'm thinking maybe four. probably six. no more than eight.

but. i do think the first kid would be javier's fault.

in one of those rare occasions he's not glued to lloyd's side, he'd go out to run some errands or something and then come back with a semi-terrified look on his face and a far-too-small-for-their-age kid in his arms.

lloyd just,,, stares at them for a little bit before taking the kid and charge of the situation. he's never really had any experience with kids but they're just,,, people. in tiny. he knows people, he can work with that. his friendly and straightforward demeanor immediately wins over the child, making him relax and open up in a way that javier's warm but stilted demeanor weren't quite able to.

i'm thinking a four or five year old, just to really hammer down the parallels between javier and him. very tiny. with dark hair and dark eyes. the kind of features that don't really stand out in a crowd.

i think the two of them would think it's just something temporary, just until they find someone more suitable to raise a kid, a good family that could take him in.

neither of them really mentions the idea of keeping the child, at first because it's not even a possibility but then as the weeks pass by because they're just too wary of disrupting the routine they unconscionably created and actually having to take a decision about it.

but then one morning javier looks over during breakfast and there's lloyd pilling all sorts of food into the kid's plate, chatting him up the entire time, playfully teasing him into eating everything he can, the two of them very solemnly haggling and bargaining over just how many vegetables he has to eat in every meal and a wave of pure love and affection rushes through him and he realizes that. oh. he wants this to last forever.

he doesn't mention it tho. he knows lloyd has always talked about having an easy, relaxed life, free of any concerns and burdens. and raising a child is not an easy responsibility. spending the rest of his life at lloyd's side already feels like more than he deserves, he won't selfishly asks for more than lloyd is willing to give.

he will just enjoy however long this lasts and hope the separation won't hurt as much as he's bracing himself for.

meanwhile lloyd caught javier with the kid on top of him napping on a sunbeam like two weeks ago, both of them completely sprawled out and dead to the world, except when they unconsciously moved to chase the moving sunlight and then he immediately decided he was gonna keep this. them. all of it.

he already reached his limit on how many times he can lose his family. he's no longer letting anything else keep him from hoarding his loved ones like a dragon with their treasure.

and he's terrified to admit it but the pipsqueak has already burrowed his way into his heart and now heaven help the soul that tries to take him away from lloyd. he's not above biting.

that's precisely why he doesn't bring it up with javier because,,, he really doesn't know what would happen if javier isn't on board with the plan. he's not selfish enough to make a decision like this for the both of them but he really doesn't think he can give the kid up anymore.

so he just. doesn't say anything. he continues with the routine they've made and hopes time will be enough to make javier fall for the child the same way lloyd did already.

and then this goes on for a couple weeks because these two are terrible and i love them for it. but this is like. not great. it actually kind of really sucks for them but also for the child

it all comes crashing down when the poor kid breaks down on them at some point because someone told him they were giving him away and, hey, turns out, not telling a child who's been left on the streets to survive by himself what's the plan for them because you're too busy worrying your partner won't be on board with keeping him is not a great idea! because he's gonna be lowkey fretting about what will happen to him and ultimately freak out at the slightest suggestion that he's being abandoned again! who would've thought!

they both immediately try to comfort him but they can't get to the bottom of his fears and actually give him reassurance because they don't know if they can promise him anything because they don't know what the other is thinking.

that is until they make eye contact in the middle of comforting him and it's one of those perfect moments where they're in total sync and can have entire conversations with just one look. and they realize how stupid they've been. because of course the other also wanted the same thing. of course they would want to give this child the very same thing they've received from their loved ones. how could've they ever doubted that.

after that is just really a matter of convincing the kid that of course they're not giving him away, he's staying right there with them, they can be his family now if that's what he wants. which isn't really hard because apart from this one communication issue they have actually been pretty good improvised parents to the squirt. and now that they know for sure they will be his parents forever, they try even harder to be better.

so that's how they adopt their first child.

i could go into detail about the rest of the kids are adopted but. that would make for an even longer post and this is already way more than i wanted to write askjhdkss

this is,,, really not what you asked for but it's what came out when i sat down to answer this ask, so like. i hope you still like it nonnie and i'm really sorry 〒▽〒

#hey i got an ask #Anonymous #tged #the greatest estate developer #lloyd frontera #javier asrahan #llojavi #by the way i didn't wanna crowd the post even more but like. when lloyd and javier tell arcos and marbella tha they're keeping the child.#they're so fucking delighted. and also really really relieved because for one moment it looked like they would have to step in #and adopt the kid themselves because there was no way that child was leaving their home now.#so lloyd was this close to having an even tinier new little brother instead of a new son asjdkhsjkf #and listen could they've talked with lloyd about it? yes But. they've noticed lloyd has trouble telling them no when he thinks #they really want something. and they really wanted a new grandson but they didn't think that decision should be made #by anything other than lloyd and javier deciding they wanted to have a child aklsjdklsdfd #also you've probably noticed i haven't named the poor kid. that's because i'm bad at names. sorry. someone help me pls.

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sunnyrosewritesstuff · 8 months ago

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Customer Service: Where Character A works Customer Service at a restaurant/business and Character B and their child are customers. Character A first notices a really cute kid only to notice that, hey, the parent is actually very beautiful too. What the hell?

So this is actually my first Dungeon Meshi fic and the fact that it's a modern AU is a nice little callback to my first Bagginshield fic being a modern AU oneshot. So I hope you guys enjoy and I did these characters justice.

Cooking is Better with Company

Ship: Pots n' Picks (Chilchuck/Senshi)

Rating: G

Warning(s): N/A

Words: 2534

Senshi’s dream had always been to own his own restaurant. Nothing too fancy. Just a small place full of comfort food for families to come and gather. It had taken a long time. Lots of clawing and fighting in his youth to get here, but finally The Golem’s Garden Bistro came to be. Senshi had a few hired hands to wait on the customer, but as for making the food? That pleasure belonged solely to him. Because of it, there wasn’t often a chance to go out and greet a customer personally. So when one found him, he was more than a little caught off-guard.

“Whatcha doing?”

Senshi turned around, eyebrows jumping high on his head at the sight of the adorable little blonde girl with a wide grin.

“Making bread.” He answered.

Somehow her grin grew even wider. “Can I help?”

Senshi hesitated. Clearly she belonged to someone in the dining room, and he would imagine they were looking everywhere for her. However, it has always been hard to resist a sweet little one.

“Okay, but then you need to go back to your family. Alright?”

“Kay!” She squealed before running over to where Senshi stood.

Senshi looked around for something for her to stand on before finding a footstool Falin had to use sometimes to reach the top shelf in the storage room. She still stood a bit shorter than the countertop, but at least she was able to peer over it to see what Senshi was doing. They made sure to wash her hands clean, as all good cooks do, he explained. Then he would pull off bits of dough to have her squish into a ball and put in the pan. They continued on in this way, finding their own little rhythm as Senshi put the rolls in the oven to cook.

“Now while we wait, why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

She took a deep breath before launching into the longest spew of words in the shortest amount of time that Senshi had ever heard. Apparently her name was Puckpatti, and she had a mom, a dad, and two sisters. Her favorite color was purple, and her favorite animal was dragons. Senshi smiled and hummed or agreed in the appropriate place as he took the rolls out of the oven, and listened to her tell him about her favorite class at school and why. That’s when the kitchen door opened once more. Senshi looked over expecting to see Laios or Marcille back for their orders, but instead it was another little girl with red braids staring back at them before turning and shouting into the dining room.

“I FOUND HER, PAPA! SHE’S COOKING IN THE KITCHEN!”

It wasn’t seconds later that the door banged open again and a small red headed man came running in. Senshi blinked in surprise. He had one of those boyish faces that belied his age if the strands of gray in his hair was anything to go off. His eyes were dark and soul-sucking, even caught in a panic like he was now. Senshi didn’t know if he had ever seen a more beautiful man in his life.

“Patti! Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” He cried, gripping the young girl by her arms.

“But Papa, I was making rolls with Mr. Senshi.” She cooed.

“And you!” The man turned towards Senshi. “What do you think you’re doing? I’ve been half scared out of my mind and you’re back here keeping my daughter from me!”

“But I…” Senshi began before he was cut off.

“No!” The man snapped, holding his hand out in front of him. “Don’t even bother making excuses. If this is the kind of business you’re running, you’ve seen the last of us! Come on Patti.”

“But Papa, you haven’t tried one of our rolls.” Patti pouted.

The man hesitated at seeing her hurt expression before grabbing one of the finished rolls off the counter. He took a large angry bite only to melt a moment later in bliss. Senshi felt himself blush having never gotten to experience someone’s reaction to his food firsthand. The man finished off the roll, licking the butter off his fingers, when he realized Senshi was watching him. His face turned a delightful shade of red before he grabbed both his daughters by their hands.

“Say goodbye, Patti.” He grumbled.

Not the least bit put out by her father’s mood, the little blonde turned back to Senshi with a wide grin.

“Bye, Mr. Senshi! See you next time!”

With that the door closed behind the family, and for a moment Senshi just stood there utterly bewildered by the whirlwind that he experienced. It was a shame he never caught the man’s name, but he figured he was probably never going to see him again anyways. No use lamenting over something he would never get to have anyways. Senshi finished up the bread and moved on to making potstickers. For the first time, he found himself actually aware of the silence closing in around him. Perhaps it would be good for him to interact more with the customers. He didn’t realize how starved he was for chatter until Patti burst into his life. Resolved to make more of an effort to get out of the kitchen every once in a while, Senshi went back to pouring his all into his food.

***

The next day came and went, and Senshi never left the kitchen. Nor the day after that, nor the day after that. Turns out it was hard to break the habit now that he had it, and the temporary loneliness he had felt had now passed. It had been nice getting to know Patti, but he was fine. Everything about his life was fine. It was almost exactly one week later as Senshi was frying up some tempura when he was greeted by another little voice.

“Hello, Mr. Senshi! Can I help?”

He turned, expecting to see Patti, but this was a different little girl with dark hair and a soft, shy smile. Senshi had learned his lesson though.

“Why don’t you run back to your parents?” He offered instead.

Suddenly, her smile turned into a pout with puffed out cheeks.

“Patti got to cook with you!” The little girl complained.

Senshi blinked. “You’re Patti’s sister?”

“Yeah! My name’s Flertom.” She introduced, her smile returning for only a moment before she looked up at him with big pleading eyes. “Please, Mr. Senshi. I just want to help for a little bit.”

Senshi really should say no. There was no way he would let the little girl around the fryer anyways. Besides that, he didn’t want to give her father any more reason to come back here, puffed up and irritated…Of course, now that he thought about it, it would be a great way to see him again. Senshi finally relented, catching Laios to have him give the ‘small red headed man’ a message that his daughter was back here.

Senshi knew that would buy him at least twenty minutes as Laios could get very distracted, so he had Flertom help him dip the tempura in its batter, and then he carefully put it in the fryer for her. Her eyes grew big when they came out all nice and golden brown, and he praised her work on making sure the coating was even. Sure enough they had just finished when the door flew open.

“Flertom! What are you doing?! You said you were just going to the bathroom.” The man demanded.

“I did.” She explained, hopping off her stool. “And then I came in to help Mr. Senshi. Try a bite, Papa! It’s so good.”

Senshi held out a section of the tempura to the man who’s dark eyes seemed to be trying to glare holes into him. Finally, he snatched the piece and popped it into his mouth. His expression all but melted as he turned his head away from Senshi.

“It’s very good.” He grumbled.

“I’m glad you like it!” He stated happily. “And I’m glad you came back.”

The man turned and opened his mouth like he was going to say something, before shaking his head and grabbing Flertom’s hand. She waved goodbye to him all the way until the door shut behind them. Senshi let out a small laugh. He was starting to get used to these little visits. He wondered what the man’s favorite dish was? Maybe he could have it ready for him next time.

***

Senshi waited the next week for some adorable little girl to poke her head in his kitchen, only to be disappointed. He even poked his head out into the dining room a couple of times, but couldn’t catch sight of the family. Maybe he really did scare him off for good that time. Senshi tried to find his rhythm again around his disappointment, but he was reminded again of the loneliness of his situation. Even Marcille was asking after him to make sure everything was okay. Senshi’s food still was amazing, he would never sink so low to serve a subpar meal, but he started to realize he didn’t have a life outside of this restaurant. Perhaps he should take Laios up on his offer to play tabletop with them at some point?

In any case, Senshi didn’t have much hope for the next week until he turned to see three beaming faces staring up at him.

“Hello, Mr. Senshi!” The girls greeted in unison.

Senshi chuckled in relief. “Welcome back! Does your father know where you are?”

“He is aware.” A voice sighed.

Senshi turned to see the red haired man enter the kitchen, rubbing the back of his head as he refused to make eye contact.

“Don’t suppose you could use some helping hands? They were rather insistent.”

Senshi beamed brightly before assuring him he would love to have the company. Senshi and the other man helped the girls wash their hands before Senshi set them up with making rolls, asking Patti if she remembered how. She assured him she did, and Senshi watched for a little bit before feeling confident that the girls would be able to shape the rolls with no problem. He handed over his knife to the father.

“How handy are you at chopping vegetables?”

“Less than I care to admit, but yeah. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Senshi watched him for a moment before coming up behind him and moving his hand into a more optimal position. The man tensed t before allowing Senshi to manipulate his movements.

“You won’t wear yourself out this way.” Senshi explained, moving away.

“Yeah, thanks.” The man stated, his cheeks reddened.

Strange. Senshi didn’t think it was that warm in here. Of course, he’s certainly gotten used to it over the years.

“I’m Senshi, by the way.” He introduced as he molded the dumplings.

“Chilchuck.” The man responded.

Chilchuck. It suited him.

“You weren’t here last week.” Senshi remarked as casually as he could.

“Yeah, their mother wanted to take them on a trip last weekend so we switched around my weeks with them.”

Senshi blinked as he zoned in on the placement of his words. Their mother. Switched weeks. He had a better idea as to Chilchuck’s relationship status at least. Something that certainly settled nicely within him.

“And you come here every time you have the girls?” Senshi asked in genuine awe.

Chilchuck seemed to take it as more of a criticism as his hand tightened around the knife in his hand.

“It’s good food in decent quantities at an affordable price.” He snapped. “It’s not like I take them out for fast food all the time.”

Senshi tried to repress a shudder and failed. Oh no, he certainly couldn’t do that. Nutrition was important for the little ones, and it was something Senshi always prided himself in his food. Good tasting and good for you. Senshi spared a glance towards Chilchuck who still seemed to be bitter over the conversation. He felt a small smile grace his lips. He was clearly a good father, he just didn’t seem to know how to ask for help.

“I could teach you.” Senshi offered.

“Teach me?” Chilchuck repeated, his brows furrowed.

“To cook.”

Chilchuck smirked. “You mean my superb chopping skills haven’t wowed you yet.”

Senshi kindly pushed him aside as he took the knife out of his hand and had the vegetables chopped within seconds. The smaller man blinked in surprise as Senshi dumped the ingredients into his stir fry without spilling a single onion.

“You’re getting there.” He encouraged.

The corner of Chilchuck’s mouth curled. “Show-off.” He accused.

“Mr. Senshi! Mr. Senshi!” The girls cheered. “We finished!”

Senshi put the slightly protesting Chilchuck in charge of the stir-fry despite his exclamations of it being hot as he checked on the girls’ work. He held his thumb up.

“Well done! Now it just needs a brush of butter and to go into the oven.”

They cheered and giggled and promised to watch the oven closely and let him know the minute the rolls developed a nice brown top. Senshi slid in beside Chilchuck, gently extracting the pan and spoon from him as he tossed everything into the air and caught it again before plating it up. He called out for Laios, Fallin, and Marcille to take the dishes out to the customers, which they did only after giving the family in Senshi’s kitchen an odd look.

“I noticed you’re not open on Mondays.”

Senshi spun around to see Chilchuck had his hands crossed behind the back of his head, his eyes staring off into the distance.

“Got to go home at some point.” Senshi responded.

Chilchuck smirked at him before he averted his gaze again. “I was thinking…it might be a good time to take you up on your offer.”

“What offer?” Senshi replied automatically as he began steaming the dumplings he made.

He could feel the annoyance rolling off Chilchuck’s tongue without even turning around to look.

“The offer to help me learn how to cook.”

Senshi blinked in surprise, his movements stilling. Oh.

“I would like to be able to make something for when the girls aren’t around and it would probably be easier on my wallet in the long run.”

Senshi spun around catching sight of the fetching pink spreading out across Chilchuck’s cheeks. He grinned happily as that feeling of loneliness evaporated completely.

“I would truly enjoy that.”

Chilchuck smiled for a small moment, his eyes bright and shining, when the girls declared the bread to be done. Senshi rushed over to take it out of the oven, and as the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, he found himself with four identical gazes of near-drooling reverence. Considering orders had slowed down, Senshi set them up a little spot out of the way where they were able to enjoy the bread and dumplings they helped make. As the family made little pleased noises with every bite, Senshi vowed to determine what their favorite foods were and make it for them as long as he was able.

#tropetember #dungeon meshi #pots n picks #modern au #my first fanfic for these two!

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