#the way he casts magic while in this form is unique too

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 3 - Storm Flag

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hey Bunji

This is my first time doing a request for you and I was wondering if you could write for Raven reader? For the Invincible show?

And ship them with Mark or Rex if thats not too much trouble?

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

Mark, Rex [seperate] x Raven!Reader

Note // I believe this is the first I’ve ever gotten a request for Invincible so huzzah! I went with headcanons here, hope that’s okay. 💤

Mark Grayson

Mark isn’t used to quiet. After everything—with his dad, the Viltrumites, Earth almost being obliterated twice over—he associates silence with tension, like something bad’s about to happen. But you? You are silence. Calm. Stillness. And at first, it unnerves him.

Then he realizes it's peace. You’re peace. He starts seeking it out—your room, your aura, the soft way you exist without demanding anything. You don’t ask him to be okay. You just sit beside him and let your soul-self settle in the space like it knows he needs to breathe. And for the first time since Chicago, he does.

Mark knows the inner struggles of having to deal with the weight of your father's legacy, Nolan's misdeeds hang over his head constantly; even if it had been lessened overtime, he still gets reminded of it every once in a while. So it at least makes for good conversation of talking about who's father is shittier, your talks about your own father --- Trigon is quite the surprise. But he doesn't diminish his worry for you, and ensures that you get it off your chest if you want to. Shitty fathers are shitty fathers after all, so he gets the confusion when it comes to the switch-ups. One day so kind and gentle, then the other they're ruthless and cold. Fathers are a complete and utter enigma, especially estranged ones, particularly alien fathers.

He’s an early riser now—not by choice, but from trauma. Wakes up with a jolt, sweat-drenched, heart racing. You’re usually already awake, meditating or floating gently above the bed, a soft violet glow casting shadows across the room.

“Nightmare?” you ask, voice like velvet but laced with quiet knowing. He nods. You open your arms and he’s already climbing in. He doesn't cry. Not every time. But when he does, you let him. No judgment. No advice. Just warmth, soul, and that steady pulse of empathic magic that reminds him—he’s not alone.

Being able to actively choose the path of healing and empathy is something he greatly admires about you, and chooses to take on the lead himself, even if his efforts for and across space is continually tested. Mark hates the ache in his bones and constant fighting, he knows his perception of heroism has been easily skewed--but your presence remains a strong pillar in his view of it.

As Invincible, he knows. Mark doesn't judge you for being half-human and half-demon, he himself is a hybrid as well. Even if his powers kicked in way later than expected of the average viltrumite. Mark thinks your amazing for pursing your own goals and constantly on your own path to form an identity uniquely your own, not having to be extension of anyone else, your just... you. Even despite knowing how cheesy that is, but he gets it, and will continue to cheer you on for that. He's that guy in your corner even if you feel like there's nobody else there.

He’s in awe of your powers. Every time you phase your soul-self or bend time around the two of you during high-emotion moments, he’s just standing there like, “Okay, that was sick.”

You once stopped time mid-fight because he was about to get skewered. When you restarted it, he barely dodged, landed a hit, and after the battle you scolded him. He grinned, wiped blood off his lip, and said, “Thanks for the time-out, coach.”

The first time you used empathy on him intentionally? He’d just flown back from a mission, shoulders tight with suppressed rage. You didn’t say anything—just reached out and felt the storm in him. He didn’t realize how close he was to breaking until he felt you soften it.

He kissed you like you were the only thing holding him together. Because you were.

Additionally to the fact about his love towards your spells, if you had ever summoned forth your more demonic form to perform more complicated spells when neccessary; he's just amazed, that's all. Mark knows he hasn't been Invincible as long as other heroes in the field, but he's seen and done alot, so seeing something as dark as you is like a fresh of breath air.

And that you aren't actively out to kill him, which is also nice.

Dancing with you is one of his favorite things to do, just slow and gentle. It's more than anything he's asked for within his life, and it's easy. Enough to simply just let other things in his life melt away and be in the moment with you, even if you two seem to float in the sky. Your hair becomes something akin to that of the aurora borealis when you two dance in the sky, and he loves to watch that happen. It's a gentle light, nice and bright, easy to follow even in the darkest spots.

your tutelage over your book is something else to be sure, Mark knows and learned of it a while long before you two had officially been dating. He has indefinitely learned not to touch it, and left it to your vices. But he certainly can't lie, Mark finds it super cool when your focused with your grimoire.

There are often moments in combat where you two conflict, but you are emotionally-restrained, and that ends up in you lashing out sometimes whilst in combat. You try your best to redirect your lashings against the villiains though, however, Mark does his best to redirect it without hurting you. His guilt weighs immensely when he does make up with you, however you aren't having it and tell him you were much at fault as he was. Though in the end he is relieved.

Both of you have immense gaits of trust, where as you find it difficult to trust anyone. There is an immense similarity in which you both share where you find it even more difficult to forgive said person if they break your trust, it takes effort and time to build a bond with others. Many times of which Mark has agreed with and backed you up on when you both argue with others about some people in certain situations.

You do have a place—modestly enchanted, soundproofed, and black-out spelled so you’re not melting under the sun. Mark jokes it’s like living in a Batcave with plants. He lowkey loves it though. The air smells like sage and lilac. It’s always cool. And it feels safe.

He has a toothbrush there. A drawer. His favorite hoodie is mysteriously missing from his place because you wear it when he’s off-world. It smells like sky and blood and him.

The soul-self curls protectively around his side when he sleeps over. He calls it “the bird blanket” and once tried to draw a dumb cartoon version of it to make you laugh. It did.

When you’re together, you both get to be soft. Mark, especially, lets down his armor with you. He doesn’t have to be Invincible. Doesn’t have to pretend the galaxy isn’t crumbling. He gets to just be… Mark.

You two have a ritual: once a week, you both switch off everything—no patrols, no Cecil, no emergencies unless the literal sun implodes—and you just exist. You read to each other, you float on the ceiling together, you nap under a weightless spell.

He once said, “I love how your magic makes me feel like I’m floating. Even when I’m not flying.” That one stayed with you.

Mark both appreciates and hates how to-the-point you are, while the blunt honesty is something he understands he needs to hear more often, he wishes you could just lie about certain things.

When Mark spirals—guilt, pressure, grief—you don’t tell him to stop. You let him feel. And then you remind him that he’s not his father. You remind him that his rage doesn’t define him. That you’ve seen worse. Been worse. And you’re still worthy of love.

“You’re allowed to fall apart,” you whisper once, when he came home after a near-fatal mission, shirt soaked in blood that wasn’t his. “I’ll hold the pieces. Until you’re ready to be whole again.”

And he does. He lets go. Because if he can trust anyone with that fragile part of him, it’s you.

He never tells you you're too much, even when you struggle to stay grounded in this realm. Even when your magic flares and your emotions flood the room.

“You’re everything,” he says once, voice shaking. “Even when you disappear into yourself, I still feel you. I see you.”

He holds your face like you’re breakable even though you’re probably the stronger one. His kisses taste like stardust and grief and stubborn hope.

And when he tells you he loves you? It’s not loud. Not shouted. It’s whispered at 3AM, against your temple, while the soul-self watches from the shadows. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”

Rex Sloan

One word: surprise. It's admittedly something excitable knowing that the two of you are genuinely dating, the effort is definitely there on both ends. There are seldom who know of about you two this way, which is what you preferred, and what he respected.

Rex is a major snark, and a huge joker. Which goes hand in hand with your ability to make sarcastic remarks, and he often bounces of your remarks with an additional joke. He absolutely loves it, and it's often your predominant dynamic when out in the field.

Rex’s idea of “settling down” involves you both living in a high-rise apartment, reinforced with blast-proof walls (because, well… him). You made a few modifications too—enchantments to muffle explosions, floating bookshelves, and an invisible barrier over the windows that filters sunlight so you can actually be in the living room for more than five minutes without feeling like your soul’s on fire.

He jokes about your need to stay inside—“What, you’re not a fan of Vitamin D or chaos?”—but secretly, he loves it. It means more time curled up on the couch with you, wrapped in that massive black throw blanket he swears smells like lavender and lightning.

You’re still, grounded in emotion, darkness, and mysticism. He’s fire and motion, sarcasm and scars. He burns fast and bright, and you slow him down. You still time when his anxiety gets too loud. Sometimes you don't say a word—just touch his wrist gently and pause. Letting him catch up to the world. Or himself.

And when you’re spiraling, overwhelmed by waves of emotion that don’t belong to you, he doesn’t say much either. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just throws a hoodie over your shoulders, tells you you’re still hot even with your soul flickering on the ceiling, and sits by you. Lets you feel. Doesn’t flinch.

He LOVES that you can project your soul-self. Thinks it’s the coolest thing ever. “Babe, babe—can you use the soul-thingy to go see if the pizza guy’s almost here?” You pretend to roll your eyes. You do it anyway.

He also occasionally refers to your powers as “Witchy Vibes” with no disrespect intended. He actually means it as a compliment. He’s fascinated by how effortlessly you tap into the arcane. "You could straight-up Thanos the whole city if you wanted. And you're choosing to love me? Wild."

You’ve both got baggage. He doesn’t always talk about what was done to him, what he lost, how he was made into something meant to blow up. But you feel it—the way his emotions spike and flicker when his past is mentioned. You never push. Just open up your aura, give him a safe place to rest.

You’re used to silence being sacred. He’s not. But over time, he gets it. He starts understanding that your quiet doesn’t mean distance. Sometimes your love is just… gentle gravity, not loud fireworks.

And when he slips up—because he does sometimes—he’s the first to own it.

He falls asleep with his hand loosely curled around your soul-self’s feathers. It calms him more than melatonin or meditation ever could. You don’t tell him it’s kind of adorable, because then he’d never do it again. But you watch him sometimes, the way his breathing slows, and you feel your own heart settle.

He loves kissing your forehead after a battle. “Still in one piece?” he murmurs, running a hand over your cheek. You nod, and he adds with a grin, “Damn shame, you’re so hot when you look haunted.”

He pretends to be annoyed when you use temporal stasis to freeze him mid-rant, but he secretly thinks it’s hilarious. He once spent twenty minutes frozen with a sock halfway off his foot, and you used the time to paint his nails black. He rocked the look for weeks.

You don’t really believe in fate. Not exactly. But there’s something undeniable about the way his chaos and your calm fit together like two halves of a broken sigil. You're his anchor in the storm. And he? He’s the light that flickers in your darkest nights—messy, reckless, human light.

“I’m not easy,” he tells you once, eyes unusually serious. “I talk too much, I break shit, and I’ve hurt people. I don’t… deserve you.”

You look at him, your soul-self swirling behind you, power and pain and purity all wrapped together. “You’re right,” you say. Then you lean in and kiss him, slow and sure. “But you’re mine.”

[birdofwildness]

☾Fated ink part 1

Warnings::breakup,soulmates Au,Tom Riddle has feelings

☾Tom Riddle

Summary:: Everyone has a soulmate,and so does Tom Riddle. He has never been more scared.

The world they lived in was both cruel and just at the same time. Fate gave everyone a chance—one single, unchangeable opportunity to find the one person with whom their soul was intertwined.

When a witch or wizard turns eighteen, a strange black tattoo appears on their skin. This is no ordinary ink—it is magical, pulsating, and full of life. A unique symbol that belongs solely to their soulmate. Some bore a broken heart on their wrist, while others had snakes or stars. According to certain legends, some lovers' symbols combined to form a greater whole.

Y/N, however, was only sixteen.

At Hogwarts, all of this felt more like an exciting but distant future rather than a tangible reality. The older students, on the other hand, were already counting down the days. Just two more years. But what if the tattoo revealed someone they despised? Or what if they were bound to someone who was no longer alive? Could that even happen?

Y/N didn’t dwell on these thoughts. She already had a boyfriend—and they were happy together.

Through the vast, cold corridors of the school, Tom Riddle’s hand rested in hers. Their footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor as they made their way back to the common room from their evening walk. The night was quiet, with only a few candles flickering along the walls.

Tom was always quiet. Reserved, calculating, impossible to read. To others, he was intimidating. But to Y/N? He was Irresistibly magnetic.

Most people whispered that Tom Riddle was incapable of love. That he was cold, unfeeling, and that even his kindness was just a mask. But Y/N knew him differently.

She knew the moments when Tom’s fingers traced lightly over her wrist.

She knew the quiet, carefully chosen words he never spoke to anyone else.

She knew the gentle kisses on their neck, ones that no one else could receive.

And maybe Tom didn’t say his feelings out loud easily… but when his fingers brushed against Y/N’s skin, that was more than enough.

Y/N loved Tom. And Tom… maybe he loved her too.

Right?

His feelings were too strong, too dangerous. Y/N was the only thing in his life that he couldn't fully control.

And that terrified him.

He never showed it. Never. Y/N thought that Tom’s hand in hers meant safety. That this feeling would last.

But the boy knew the truth. He knew that when he turned eighteen, fate’s cruel law would reveal his true soulmate.

What if it wasn’t Y/N? And what if it was?

That’s why he stayed silent. That’s why he watched Y/N without saying a word. That’s why he allowed himself the kisses, the touches—because there was still time.

Two more years.

Two more years until the truth would be revealed.

...

At Hogwarts, time passed so quickly, as if the school itself was pushing people forward, relentless and unstoppable. A few months had gone by, but something had changed between the couple.

At first, everything seemed perfect.

Riddle was not the romantic type, but when his hand rested on her waist when he thought no one was watching… that was enough.

Y/N was happy. Truly happy.

Then Tom started to change.

It began with small things. He no longer waited for her after class. He kept saying he was busy, that he had things to do. His touches became less frequent, his kisses colder. He treated the girl like a stranger.

Their conversations became shallow.

As if Tom was deliberately pulling away.

And Y/N noticed. Of course, she noticed.

But she didn’t want to lose him.

"Tom, is everything okay?" she asked one evening as they sat side by side in the common room. The fire cast flickering shadows across his face, but Tom didn’t look at her.

"Of course," he replied simply.

But Y/N didn’t believe him.

How could she, when the softness she once knew in his gaze was no longer there?

At that moment, Y/N had no idea that Riddle had already made his decision.

He had no other choice.

He couldn’t afford to be weak.

He couldn’t let his feelings steer him off his path. And more importantly… he couldn’t let Y/N hope that this relationship had any real future.

Because once they turned eighteen… once their tattoos appeared…

There would be no turning back.

And he didn’t believe in fate. He didn’t believe in soulmates. He believed only in himself—and in power.

...

The castle corridors were cold that day. Outside, the rain drummed softly against the windows, as if the weather itself sensed the storm approaching.

Y/N was waiting for Tom by the library. It had been more than twenty minutes.

Lately, this had become more frequent. The lateness. The excuses. The distance.

But tonight, she wouldn’t let it go.

When she finally saw the prefect at the end of the corridor, she stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly, but her eyes pleaded for an answer.

Tom stopped. He was tall, his dark robes brushing the floor. His face was unreadable, his gaze piercing into hers.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

A lie. Y/N could feel it.

"Yes, you do." Her jaw tightened. "You’re avoiding me. You barely speak to me. It’s like… it’s like we’re not even together anymore."

Riddle remained silent for a moment.

This was the moment he could have taken it back.

But he didn’t.

Slowly, deliberately, he nodded. "Maybe that’s because we shouldn’t be together anymore."

It felt like a knife had been driven into her chest. His words were colder than the raindrops against the window.

"What… what are you saying?"

"It’s over."

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "Why?" Her voice shook, but she needed the truth. "Tom, look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore."

His jaw clenched. He didn’t say it. He couldn’t.

Because it wouldn’t have been true.

Because his love was uncontrollable. And Tom Riddle could not afford to lose control.

"You don’t matter to me."

And that was a lie.

A lie that burned itself into Y/N’s heart forever.

She didn’t say anything. There were no words for this. The world shattered around her. Every stolen moment, every touch, every unspoken promise—gone in an instant.

She didn’t beg. She didn’t plead. She just stood there, looking at the boy she loved… the boy who had just broken her.

Then, slowly, she stepped back.

Tom didn’t stop her.

He didn’t even look back.

And that was when Y/N understood:

Tom Riddle had let her go.

Or at least, he wanted her to believe he had.

Tom didn’t look back.

As Y/N quietly stepped away, as the pieces of her world crumbled around her, he remained still, like a statue—motionless.

He did nothing.

Because if he had moved—even for a moment, if he had let go of his self-control—then… maybe he would have run after her.

But he couldn’t.

The corridor was empty when he finally started walking. The only sound that echoed off the stone walls of Hogwarts was the echo of his own footsteps. His hand was clenched into a fist, his nails painfully digging into his palm.

The castle had many places to hide. Most people retreated to the common rooms or spent their evenings in the Great Hall. But Tom didn’t want to see anyone. He didn’t want to see anyone at all.

Finally, he stopped in front of the Room of Requirement.

He didn’t know why he had come here. His thoughts were chaotic, as if some dark, turbulent wave was carrying them away.

The door appeared before him. He entered.

Inside, a cold, empty space greeted him—an windowless room, with only a single piece of furniture: a worn armchair, as if the room knew it was meant to be alone now.

Tom slowly sat down.

He placed his hands on his knees and took a deep breath.

He had broken the only person he had ever loved—and let her go.

Tom Riddle couldn’t feel pain.

He couldn’t feel guilt.

He couldn’t afford to.

And yet…

As he sat there, alone, in the shadows, for the first time in his life, he hated his own decision.

But he couldn’t change it.

Because if he had… Y/N would have been the only person who could truly have power over him.

And he could never allow that.

Years passed.

Hogwarts was now just a distant, faded memory. The years spent at school, the late-night conversations in the common room, the stolen kisses in the abandoned hallways, the friendships and the pains—none of it mattered anymore.

The world had changed. And so had Y/N.

The winds of war hovered over the wizarding world, even though some tried to ignore it. New ideas were born, whispers spread, and those who were paying attention knew that soon nothing would ever be the same.

But Y/N didn’t care about politics. She just wanted to live freely.

She didn’t have many choices. She needed a job—something to support herself. And so, she found herself standing at the threshold of the Borgin and Burkes shop, in the cool, damp air of Knockturn Alley.

The inside of the shop was dark, oppressive. The air was thick with dust and the scent of old, magic-infused objects. Behind the glass cases lay relics soaked in dark magic, each with its own sinister story to tell.

And there, deep within the shop, Mr. Burke awaited her.

Y/N straightened her robes, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

"Well, Miss... you're the one looking for a job?" The elderly man’s voice creaked like old parchment.

"Yes, sir, I am." She tried to maintain the appearance of confidence.

"Well, well... Borgin and Burkes is not exactly your... average shop," Burke’s fingers slowly ran over an old, dark gold chain. "We're looking for employees who understand special items. Their sale. Their value."

Y/N nodded. She knew what kind of place this was. She knew that most customers weren’t ordinary collectors—they were wizards with darker desires.

"I'm not afraid of challenges."

Burke’s eyes gleamed. "Not afraid of dark magic?" His fingers brushed lightly over a small music box on the counter. The mechanism opened on its own, playing a soft, eerie tune—and Y/N felt a chill run down her spine. She shook her head.

Burke smiled. "Excellent."

[rnakamura22]

When they heard that you found your way home

Random　Characters

Prefect is female! Yandere vibes! Her name is Yu!

Malleus　Dragonia

Oh, Don't mind the sky getting pitch-black and thunder striking down rapidly! What? Flying classes got canceled? You saw Jack and Epel were totally soaked? Where are you even looking? Another man? That’s unacceptable!

You’re his first friend and crush! To him, you are like the first sunshine of spring! A beautiful blue butterfly in the meadow flying above the flowers! A gem more precious than any treasure he has! And now you’re just dumping him? Nuh-uh. Ain’t gonna happen! He’s one of the most powerful magicians in the world, so it takes no more than a flip of his hand to crush any form of way back home. He could lock you up in his room, mess with your body, destroy any form of mirror, etc. Hey, this was gonna happen one way or another since he already decided for the future Queen of the valley long ago(AKA when he met you).While he locks you up in his Diasomnia room, he could happily come and discuss the wedding plans. He already decided on the crown by the way, but he made a promise to discuss the dress colors with you since taking your opinion into account is necessary. Lila would be teary eyed of Malleus’s growth. You have no choice to accept your fate since even if you escape, he will come searching for you. After all, can a mere human win against a loving dragon?

Lilia Vanrouge

This 700 year old vampire fairy has more knowledge and experience than any of the villains. He thought his love ended with Malleus’s mom. But then, you came along. A cute little innocent human who only lived about a little percentage of his life! You are like a baby! You’re too young to survive out there! What if your way back home never worked! What if some thing got messed up? No, you need to be in the world safe and sound! He will protect you! He still has feelings about the age gap though. I mean, what happens in family day at school with your future children? Well, not to worry! As for making you stay, just break a few mirrors or take out any bad memories! He needs to look out for his juniors after all! He won’t break you, but he will punish you if you disobey. Fairies are possessive. Blame your own luck for shooting the heart of the vampire fairy.

Rook Hunt

At first, he seems happy for you! A lost deer should run back to her herd as quick as possible. But you forgot he’s a hunter. And a skilled hunter like him NEVER fails.

He casts his unique magic on you as you are about to leave. A part of him wishes for your happiness, but he couldn’t help it. A large part of him couldn’t forgive you. The most valuable prey were about to outrun him. He could never accept that. His magic will find you. Wherever you go, however you try to escape, the chase continues. Until you give up your world and return with him, they would be absolutely no peace.

Epel Felmier

(Anyone else love peel’s smug VILLAN faces from the ghost bride?)

Epel acts happy but inside, he’s devastated. He wanted to visit his home village again just the two of you. He knows he’s got competition when it came to you, and it was all for nothing. Well, he ain’t admitting that, that’s for sure.

From that day on, with the help of Vill and Rook, he creates a special gift for you. An apple red as the roses. A glittering poison apple just like the Beautiful Queen of his dorm created. To trap you, his one and only Snow White. He still wants to have fun with you and the first years. He wants to graduate with you. You gave him courage, and made him happy. He wants to return you with his own thankful emotions. #Yeah, Right.

On the day you were going to leave, he comes up to you and thanks you, than he says the magic words.

“Prefect…I want to give you something. Please have a bite. It’s a special apple I picked. It’s the most delicious apple I harvested and the most beautiful one! I cared for it so much!”

Epel now understands what Vil said for so long. His cuteness can become a weapon. Look at your eyes! You melt for his cuteness, and bites the apple without thinking twice, I mean, who can resist his cuteness. Instantly, you fall unconscious.

“Whoah!? That was close… but now you can be with us forever Yu! Snow White won’t hold a candle to you…. Let’s graduate together Ok? And we can be together forever…”

He’s a poisoned apple, what would you except? As the saying goes, looks can be deceiving.

Sebek Zigvolt

Ah, he says like 90% of the time about how fairies are better than humans, but for you, it’s an exception. He might not show it, but he cares a lot about you. He’s a tsundere after all.(No, you cannnot tell me otherwise) But he blames you for dumping him and making him feel bad.(AKA you two are not dating)

“This is your own fault human, you made me fall to your schemes and now you’re throwing it all away? Unacceptable!”

He may not show it, but he enjoyed school life with you and the other humans of his grade. He wants to live with you at the valley of Thorns. But your comment of going back to your world snaps something.

Better run away because lightning bolts are coming down in 10 seconds to smash that mirror. He will not let you go. And is you disobey…say goodbye to your eardrums and your freedom.

Silver

(Anyone else love this Silver’s face? I believe Silver can be a villain too, you won’t change my mind)

He is SHOCKED with a capital S. He’s a human, but raised by Lilia and fairies so he has fairy values and they may be SLIGHTLY different from humans especially about love.

He wants to be with you after graduation. He already planned a few preparations so you won’t be getting away.

Before you go, he casts his unique magic on you to appear in your dreams as a dashing prince. Saving you, chasing you, maybe choking you a little bit. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. Convincing that your world is horrible and terrible, and you should come back to Twisted Wonderland and live with him. Silver is a prince, and you are his princess. To him, the bad witch is your world. After all, he needs to defeat the bad witch to save his one and only princess. Than he can live happily ever after.

[amurderandconspiracy]

A Waiting Move, then...

Dragon Age Veilguard Inspired Scenes, follow up to previous scenes (in chronological order): + Scents and Grief + Letter to Lucanis + Fives Stages, Two Talons, and a lost little Crow + A Crow's Caw and Crumbling Masks > A Waiting Move, then... > King and Rook Checkmate in Two + An Antidote: Hyacinthus Litwinovii Purpura These scenes were prompted by what was not shown during/following the Regret Prison. We've finally achieved the multi-part final scenes for Lucanis and Rook being reunited. This first scene A Waiting Move, then... is the build up to their reunion and has two separate moments captured in the hunt for Rook. I will be posting the final actual reunion King and Rook Checkmate in Two just after so hopefully you all can enjoy them both.

Faelarin de Riva.Fae is a nonbinary Crow!Mage! [see here]

>>

He felt his essence spooled out like thread pulled from a skein, tumbling over itself, unravelling as the tether that bound his spirit and that of Spites were being drawn taut and the further into the Fade that the spirit ranged from its corporeal enmeshment, the more it felt like the spun fibers were pulling thin.

Lucanis could hear the frantic worry of his friends outside of himself, loosely aware of the reality they inhabited and this twilight space of consciousness he held, allowing Spite to travel the Fade in search of Rook. Agony lanced through him as another pull on the tether travelled into his body, his face contorted and he gnashed his teeth to keep from screaming as the sharp pains of being pulled asunder almost tore his sanity from him. Sweat was pearling up and running over his face and body as he fought to maintain a connection with reality and Spite, slowly realizing one or the other would have to give.

Emmrich spoke through the fog of twilight suspension, “Spite almost has their location…hold on Lucanis!” his voice melded into the sound of his gold rings and jewelry clinking with each circumduction of his arms, the arcs and rotations causing the metal to bounce off each other in the metered symphony that accompanied Emmrich’s casting style.

Lucanis had been briefed on the methodology for this type of search, the careful dance of magics requiring Emmrich’s scrying to follow the path Spite was taking through the Fade, Neve’s enhancing and warding magics and shift in her evocation to use subtle barriers almost like a stasis, and a form of grounding coming from Harding that was unique to her Titan powers. While Lucanis was as magical as a brick, he had studied the different types of mages enough to know this was a careful interlacing of magic that most would not have attempted, however the Veilguard had been working to understand the vast reaches of resonance and interrelation of magics while dealing with the gods, so to turn their hypotheses into practice was a painstaking opus.

A cold damp press of cloth touched Lucanis’ face, wiping away the sweat and trying to offer some easement of discomfort, he could feel the careful press of the cloth and the gentle way in which the person dabbed at his skin.  He normally would have hated the softness involved with the action, the intimacy of it was not something he had sought before but the comfort involved was grounding in a way.

“Hurry Emmrich, this is getting to be too much” Neve’s worried voice pitched a little distance to his left. She was obviously pacing, the rhythmic sound of metal landing and shifting as the springs settled just out of a balanced bearing meant she was also canting on her hip. Her walk always carried that extra note, the measure of her stride with the weighted addition of the serpent prosthetic almost seemed to telegraph her emotional state. If she rested back on a cocked-hip she was making an assessment or had already judged someone wanting.

Harding’s magic was holding his body in place and he suspected she was also kept periodically pressing the damp cloth to his face, a soothing action so fitting to her caring demeanor, but this magic that held him was also fueled by a fierce heart that longed to protect people and it came through in her steady voice, “You can do this Lucanis, just a little more.” She was clearly speaking to him but the way she spoke was an encouragement for herself as well, to bear up and be brave.  Lucanis wondered if she ever knew how strong she was and how vital to the team she had become, ever their voice of fearless determination. Spite liked her for her no-nonsense approach and determination to do what must be done, even if for a time that had meant she was resolved to kill Lucanis and Spite if the need had arisen.

Abruptly the pain ceased, held afloat like a gathering storm under his skin and rising on fibers of his spirit that had frayed over the last few weeks through these attempts to use he and Spite to locate Rook in the Fade. Lucanis was alert and tried to brace for more pain, the minutes ticking and he could sense those gathered in the Lighthouse pressing closer to his prone form. From deep beyond the edges of his waking mind, Lucanis heard a triumphant bellow ripple through the Fade, travelling over the threads of their tether and echoing in the scrying magics swirling in the chamber, “FOUND!”

Then in a flash there was a quick, forceful retracting of energy, a surge as the tether rapidly recoiled and snapped back into Lucanis with a rush. The overwhelming blast of Spite returning and the wholeness of his own spirit being recovered sent a wave of nausea and disorientation through Lucanis’ body, managing to temporarily render him unconscious. The magic receded around them as Neve and Harding pulled back their power and allowed it to dissipate, only Emmrich’s scrying magic remained in the air and reset the energy of the room to a gentle hum. Lucanis dragged his consciousness from the depths, both he and Spite meeting in his mind as both recovered from the expenditure of their energy and the several-times over near loses that had accumulated over the last few weeks.

FOUND ROOK. FOUND THEIR PAIN… Spite spoke within their shared mind; his purple form looking worn and weary in reflection of his sacrifices and the strain of his revelation. BIG BURST OF AGONY AND SADNESS DREW SPITE TO ROOK. HURT SO MUCH. THEIR HEART WAS BREAKING…AGAIN.

Thank you Spite. Were you able to get to them or…just feel their pain...could you see them? Asked Lucanis, trying not to word-vomit all his questions and unload all his worried inquiries on the weary demon.

HEART BREAK FELT LIKE. LOSS. WHEN ROOK DISAPPEARED FIRST. Spite was clearly trying to put to words the raw emotions he felt and existed by in the Fade but relate them to Rook’s feelings, he looked saddened as he spoke.

Both Lucanis and Spite unwittingly reliving the tortuous sound of Rook yelling Lucanis’ name in a fear filled and wounded cry just before they disappeared into the prison. Lucanis never experienced the waking moments after that sound as Spite had overwhelmed him and his world had gone black, Spite piloting their body to rage and attack any perceived enemy in sight as he attempted to reach the elven god who emerged from the Fade. Their friends had pulled them both back, trying to minimize further losses to the team as Elgar’nan had unleashed fires that turned Tearstone Island’s sand to glass and melted any living material left, effectively destroying large swaths of his own Antaam army in his rage.

So, we just need to wake up, give them your information…then Emmrich can work with Neve to find them. When they do…we go, somehow, and we save them. Like they saved us. Lucanis was trying to measure his hopefulness, his eagerness, and he stepped forward to his demon making direct eye contact as they both breathed and pulled themselves together for their next mission. Spite nodded resolutely and stepped forward into Lucanis this time, their essences overlapping as they reached their accord, returning then to consciousness and the world with shared resolve.

****^*****

Emmrich had taken the information from Spite and the map he had constructed through his Fade scrying to formulate a plan. The action had taken almost a day as he and Neve talked and theorized through every contingency, at points coming to forks in the discussion that required heated exchanges and deliberations on the costs and benefits of the different options. 

Lucanis had retreated for a time, after the third such dispute, and written several letters to their allies, informing them that they should be alert for any changes and that the Veilguard was determinedly close to a solution. Lucanis knew he was being overly vague in the way he sent this information but he knew that diplomacy was sometimes the best way forward, especially when the efforts of the team had largely fallen off the bigger focus of Northern Thedas while in their singular mission to retrieve Rook. Lucanis sent two missives for Teia and Viago, one to each of their residences to ensure they would receive the notification. He did not know the exact nature of their entanglement at this time but it was always best to plan for whatever twist those two created and make sure Viago was able to be present when Rook came home.

Lucanis held firm to that hope as he waited. He felt some intense drive to properly groom himself and get his kit and gear in order before this most important mission.  So, with determined focus, he bathed, washing off the film of depression and strenuous physical stresses the Fade explorations had exacted on his body.  He sharpened his razor and carefully fixed his facial hair, using some oils Rook had found in Treviso’s market to smooth his beard into its newly maintained styling. He pressing his clothes carefully and meticulously cleaned his fighting leathers until they were to their proper order and wore like a second skin without unnecessary stiffened leather rubbing against itself.  Finally, he took out each of his knives and polished them, getting out several dry cloths, his specialized whetstone, and oils to properly care for each individual blade. He left only one blade to the last, the wyvern tooth dagger Rook had gifted him on their first proper outing in Treviso. He carefully touched each detail, cleaning with a singular mind as he caressed and cherished the dagger, the gifter, and the memory of their realized affection. As he worked a cleaning cloth over the blade he thought through a jumble of worries and wants and his mind settled in a careful hopefulness that he usually guarded against.

He sat in Rook’s room waiting until he heard Taash’s agile but heavy steps coming down the stone hallway. Before the doors opened, he rose, sliding the wyvern tooth dagger into his left side waist sheath tucked against his lower ribs, above where his regular weapons rested in their scabbards on his hip.

“We’re ready!” Taash projected with pent up anticipation and a similar vein of hope that Lucanis had settled into. “Oooh, that is style.” Taash appreciatively remarked on the practical but fashionable suit of the First Talon.

“Thank you.” Lucanis responded, preening only somewhat, “Shall we?” and he gestured for Taash to proceed back to the main room of the Lighthouse so they could embark with Emmrich for this mission. They both walked swiftly to the main room where the others were prepared, having drawn the needed magical diagrams to complete their mission and bring Rook home.

[enquire]

talents, skills, and cutie marks

Thrift Twinkle: Makes clothing and various other stuff. Thrift keeps a small notebook for all his ideas and notes on inventory and current trends, what's selling and what isn't, etc. Rainbow, his pet phoenix, helps deliver items for him using a fire-teleport spell similar to the one Spike has in the show. Rainbow is friendly, fairly flamboyant, and a little on the small side. Deliveries made by phoenix-mail are limited to one item at a time, and there are constraints on the size and weight of packages. So Thrift doesn't use this method for transporting inventory so much as delivering letters and items that might come in handy. Unlike Spike's firebreath mail, Rainbow usually teleports herself to retrieve and return with items, though she is capable of receiving items; if the pony on the other end has one of her feathers, it can be used to burn up the package, which will then be sent back to her.

Radiant Ember: As you would expect, very proficient with various forms of unicorn magic, particularly telekinesis, teleportation, and spells used for organization, teaching, and similar things. One unique spell she knows ignites fire, which can be used for light sources and conjuring messages. Said flame messages can be placed wherever is needed, including hovering along after something or someone. She mostly uses this for emphasizing things while teaching, pointing something out, or leaving messages/alerts for others. However, sometimes it can be used for less... professional endeavors. Also, her telekinesis strength and precision is probably the highest out of the unicorns in the cast. She's capable of moving the most items without losing accuracy or dropping anything. Also, it's not really an ability, but as a crystal pony, she does have full on sparkle mode, though it's usually not on display.

Saber Frost: Saber is one of the strongest in the cast, and is certainly the best fighter. Most of his spells relate to combat, restraining, or defense. These include: Containing bubble spells used to contain items or ponies as well as create complete barriers around areas; a specialized shield spell similar to a riot shield which can be used to push or pull ponies as well as block attacks; ice crystal generation which can be used to freeze or slow opponents; a multipurpose chain spell for restraining ponies and sealing off areas among other things. Saber is also highly proficient in combat telekinesis, and weapon summoning, including his moon halberd. Though he's got plenty of force in his buck already, the steel horseshoes he often wears add a lot more damage to any target of a kick. It's usually doors and stuff... usually. Another reason he wears those is tor prevent ay accidental fires, as if he fails to control his emotions nirik fire may start to spark. This can make it a little more easy to spot when he's upset than he'd like, even if he rarely 'lapses' into that form, and as a hybrid, it's a little different for him. He also sort of has a bit of a mix between the appearance of unicorn and kirin magic.

Clover Shores: He doesn't have too many skills outwardly to make him stand out so far, so I didn't include him with the other members of the core four haha. He's got telekinesis but it's fairly average, and he can't teleport or do many spells. However, he does have a knack for getting out of tricky situations without much logical explanation, and sometimes it seems like he appears unexpectedly.

cutie mark stories below the cut:

Thrift: Ya mean when I got mine? Sure! It was all thanks ta Rainbow and Gizmo, really. You know back when da's business was really struggling? I kept thinkin' and tryin' to help him out... Gizmo was havin' the same problems, so we were like that most days, tryin' to find a way to make things okay again. One day, I started thinking about how much Rainbow seems ta make ponies smile, and that gave me an idea. I nabbed my notebook and started ta sketch, and before I knew it, I had a logo, and a name.

The ideas just kept flowin' and flowin' and I started making, and rearrangin' the shop... Later, all that stuff would sell like hotcakes. It was the first time anythin' I'd had a hoof in did so well. But tha' first day, when I was sketchin' and totally wrapped up it all, I didn't even notice what had happened until I went home to show Pops. We had a big party after that. I was kinda a late bloomer, so it was a big relief when Gizmo and I finally got ours, honestly.

Ember: So we're talking about cutie marks, hm? Well, mine isn't all that exciting. It was back before I became a professor, actually. I was hoping to become a tutor for the school I was attending, and presenting an essay was required as part of the interviews... I was so certain I wouldn't get the job, because one of the staff interviewing was this fool of a professor who I'd already pissed off the prior semester. He was arrogant, and even though he made the most idiotic mistakes teaching history I'd ever seen, he never seemed to care. Anytime somepony would point it out, this ass would just double down. I was sure he'd shoot down my interview no matter what I did, so when the questions about "why you want the job" and "what do you bring to the table" came up, I gave up on telling those old coots what they wanted to hear. Instead I just wrote the the truth.

You should have seen the look on their stuck-up faces. It still gives me a laugh to this day. But instead of being shown the door, like I expected, the very professor I thought would be my biggest detractor told the others to wait. Apparently, I'd managed to 'open his eyes' and he thought anypony who managed to teach 'a stubborn old mule' like him something new was worthy of teaching there.

Well, the mark came to me on the spot. Which really sealed the deal, as you can probably imagine. But that pretty much sums up why I even bother teaching at all. I've met some of the stubbornest fools imaginable over the years. But anypony, even the most hopeless, can be taught if they have the right teacher. Of course, that's only if they actually choose to. I have no interest in useless ponies who refuse to learn and grow.

Saber: I'm actually not entirely sure I remember what it was that caused mine. Perhaps the memories are just blending together, but it must have been the choices I've made while part of the guard. It took a long time to develop the skills and mindset I have today. I don't know if there was a particular incident so much as a collective amount from various cases and events... One day, I woke up, and there it was. A symbol of my resolve.

Clover: Oh... Cutie marks. Right. Mine? Well... It.. It's one of those familial types, you know? Where they all look a bit similar? I always thought it symbolized connections... Oh, well, the clovers and the ladybug are more specific to me, I guess? I like to think of it as representing chance connections, and the friends I've made... and for change and growth, I hope. Someday, I'll be braver than I am now.

[ro-botany]

On the Characteristics of the Risen, and the Character of their King

The Risen King... Finally, a concept which once only existed in whispers and a single cipher 0 card, has made it into a Fire Emblem video game! Just the mobile game, sure, but it counts. And the Fell Exalt Chrom unit is so fascinating to me that I have not only this, but at least two other meta posts in the pipeline about it. I am so normal about him.

To kick things off... let’s talk about exactly what Risen King Chrom is, and also how he’s doing mentally. (Badly. He’s doing very badly.)

---

Real quick, we have to get one snag out of the way: the mechanism by which a Risen is made.

Shadows of Valentia introduced us to a prototypical version of the Risen created by Forneus, known as Death Masks. They’re made by fitting a dead body with a mask containing insects known as thanatophages. The thanatophages prevent the body’s decay and assert physical control over them in a manner not unlike certain real world parasites that control the muscular movements of their hosts.

I’ve seen a handful of my colleagues (lol) assume there are modern Risen made the same way. BUT. The Risen which exist during the events of Awakening are explicitly NOT Death Masks. During the xenologue Death’s Embrace, Brady states that “In the future, our wounded often turned to Risen just as we were tryin' to heal 'em.” This has to mean that Grima is transforming the dead and dying remotely, using some kind of magic; and at the height of their power, they may be either passively creating or deliberately casting an area of effect that turns dead bodies automatically. There’s nothing to suggest any Risen are manually created with thanatophages, or that Grima is manifesting thanatophages for that purpose.

Alas, we cannot do insect body horror with RK Chrom while also staying true to canon. But moving on...

---

Fell Chrom is, to make an understatement, very unique among the Risen. And to discuss why he’s unique, we first have to define what’s typical.

Behaviourally, typical Risen don’t appear to have sentience outside of their competency in wielding weapons and their tendency to form loose hierarchies based on individual strength. They’re incredibly aggressive by nature; it’s like their only innate drive is to fight and kill humans. Most of them are not capable of speech, though the stronger Risen Chiefs can grind out single words or even short phrases, which are usually just related to wanting to kill things. When being actively controlled through dark magic, they appear capable of basic tactics, though whether that comes from them or the person controlling them is unclear.

There’s no doubt that Fell Chrom is a Risen. He’s certainly got the appearance, the purple miasma, and the vocal distortion for it. Not to mention the giant glowing fatal wound in his side. Man certainly isn't alive.

He’s evidently still subject to control via dark magic too, if the fact that he was forced to war against his own country is anything to go by.

Fell Chrom also has the strong aggressive drive typical of Risen. Nearly all of his dialogue in battle situations suggests this. In order of increasing intensity: There’s the turn action quote “Find me an enemy”, which depending on your mood can read as either resignation or as chomping at the bit. There’s hostile level up quotes like “You shall count yourself...among the dead” and “You would...block my path”. His special trigger quotes are yet worse. He yells “This is your fate”, “No resistance”, and “Useless effort” with a fury you don’t expect from Chrom—and for the fourth one, he just shouts “DEATH”. And his voice clips for attacking aren’t words or even anywhere in the realm of a regular human noise, they're just distorted, monstrous growling.

But unlike with typical Risen, aggression is not all RK Chrom is. He can walk around the Askran castle and be around others without constantly trying to attack people. And in fact, he’s aware of and bothered by how violent being Risen makes him. One of his status page quotes is begging someone to “back away!” in a panic, as though he’s afraid of hurting them. It’s possible the violent instincts Risen have mainly only come into play for him in battle situations, or possibly when he’s in a state of heightened emotion.

And while RK Chrom displays the kind of difficulty with speech you would expect of a Risen, with his slow halting pace and gravelly tone, he speaks in complete, coherent sentences and displays remarkable clarity about who he is and what’s happening around him. He’s no husk. Chrom's mind is intact.

That is massive. That is completely unique among Risen, and deeply, deeply horrifying. Because even though he can think, he is by no means in control.

---

If the Forging Bonds supports are anything to go by, Chrom did try to resist Grima, at least in the beginning. From C through to A he moves from disbelief to outright despair at the very prospect of warring against Ylisse. But by the S support—which necessarily takes place years after the others due to how far Grima’s campaign has progressed—he’s given up. So much of his dialogue is mourning the past, or repeating Grima's belief that everyone is doomed and nothing can change. He’s not fighting it anymore. He's resigned to his fate as Grima’s executioner.

And why wouldn’t he be? After the initial confusion from being resurrected passed, he was lucid. He was fully mentally present when he was murdering his allies and slaughtering his own people. And between the deep, fundamental drive to kill and the direct influence of Grima on his actions... There wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop himself. He couldn’t protect a thing.

Even now that he’s free of Grima’s influence in Askr, he doesn’t exactly do anything to avoid being an instrument of violence. Otherwise he wouldn’t be a playable unit. Everyone he’s ever cared about is dead, and he’s been nothing more than a monster and an instrument of violence for years. Why not fight. It’s the only thing he has left.

This Chrom is a deeply broken man. Angry and utterly hopeless. It’s no wonder after all he’s been through.

And yet... there’s still a spark there. For all his rigid insistence that Grima’s bleak outlook is the truth, his ally growth quote speaks volumes: “If this power were mine...back then...”

If fate is so immutable and hope is so pointless, why deal in what-ifs? Why wonder about what could have changed? And he’s still trying to protect people he cares about from himself; why else would he yell for others to “back away” when he feels he might attack them?

Through all the years of horror and the terrible curse of undeath... he’s still Chrom.

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Performance Event - Winter Troupe's Tenth Play: Nomadic Bartender - Episode 1

Customer A: I’d like a Gimlet, please.

Guy: Of course.

Customer B: … You’ve got such beautiful technique.

Customer A: Indeed. Each movement you make is smooth.

Customer B: It’s like you cast a magic spell whenever you make cocktails…

Customer A: Even just watching you work is fun.

Guy: Thank you very much. My apologies for keeping you waiting.

[Door jingling]

Syu: …

Guy: Welcome.

Syu: I think I’ll have a Gibson today.

Guy: Of course.

Syu: The Winter Troupe’s next performance is startin’ soon, yeah?

Guy: Yeah. We’ll be holding a meeting soon to discuss the direction we’ll be taking. I’d be happy if you came to watch again.

Syu: Seems like the rest of the troupes had the members who joined last playing as leads, so you’ll probably be next.

Syu: ‘Course I’ll come to watch the barkeep who always serves me such delicious drinks.

Guy: … Thank you for waiting.

Syu: It’s oddly relaxing in here, even though it’s got a lot of customers.

Syu: That reminds me, I’m thinkin’ of bringing an old friend along next time. I think I’ve told ya about him, he used to work with my father.

Syu: We lost touch after my father passed and he quit working for the troupe, but a while back we reconnected by chance. 

Guy: Feel free to use our store, then. We’ll be waiting for you any time.

-

Tsuzuru: For now, we agree that Guy-san will be the lead as planned. So next is the theme…

Tsuzuru: Guy-san, is there anything you’d like to do?

Homare: Guy-san, you too have gained a great amount of experience since our fourth performance, and have evolved into a good and proper theater nerd. You must have requests, I’m sure.

Guy: Truthfully, knowing my turn as lead was coming up, I’ve spent some time thinking about it in advance.

Guy: Could we do something that involves my other profession, bartending?

Izumi: Bartending?

Guy: I opened Journey because I wanted to spread Zahra’s culture in a different way than Citronia does, but it has now become an important part of my life.

Guy: That’s why, I would like to also incorporate it in the form of a play.

Tsumugi: A play set in a bar would have a mature atmosphere unique to the Winter Troupe.

Tasuku: It’d also overlap with Guy-san’s current self. I think it’s a good idea.

Izumi: If the play is going to be about a profession again, it’s going to be similar to the last one, so I’d like it to be different in some way.

Tsuzuru: How about giving the bartender a side hustle?

Izumi: A side hustle… like, owning both a bar and a food cart …? There was a manga like that, wasn’t there?

Tasuku: Or bartending and battling?

Hisoka: That reminds me… A customer the other day said that Guy’s cocktails are like magic.

Tsuzuru: Magic… How does a wizard bartender sound? 

Homare: There certainly has not been enough fantasy in the Winter Troupe’s repertoire.

Azuma: I think being a wizard also fits Guy’s mysterious image.

Tasuku: I think it’s a good idea.

Tsumugi: I agree, too. It’d also differentiate it from the florists in Blanc.

Tsuzuru: I’ll continue in that direction, then.

Izumi: Good luck!

Guy: I’ll be looking forward to it.

Izumi: (It’s been a while since Guy-san played a leading role, so he seems very motivated. I wonder what the next performance will be like.)

-

Guy: …

Azuma: It’s been a while since I last saw that charm.

Guy: I was letting my father know that I will be playing the leading role in our next performance.

Azuma: I see…

Guy: It may be impossible now, but I hope there will come a day when I can tell him in person.

Azuma: I’m sure those feelings of yours will reach your father.

Guy: … You’re right.

masterpost | next episode

[illarian-rambling]

I heard ghost ship in space and came running :)

So I’m not 100% certain how your cast fits into the ghost ship unless I’m vastly misunderstanding what you mean by ghost ship but I’m here to ask questions all the same because I love characters. Here goes:

I’m going to assume at least some of the characters are either from or end up forming a spaceship crew (feel free to ignore this if not) so I’m curious what roles they end up playing (like who’s the captain, the mechanic, the helm officer, etc)? What ways do they suit those roles and what ways do they really not suit those roles?

What’s their goal? Do they all agree on it? I feel like going out into the death void that is Illarian space isn’t something you do unless you have a plan of what you want

How do they react to the unique challenges of space? Like I love space, but the tiny living quarters, lack of natural light or nature of any kind, spending time in a small environment with the same five people, rationing, knowledge that any minor damage to your ship could kill you… it’s not for the faint of heart. Are they used to it? How do they cope (or not)?

I hope some of these help the brainstorming :)

This helps so much, thank you!

So, by ghost ship, I mean the characters for this are gonna be ghosts. Essentially, the vague idea is that some mages on Illaros found out that there's this 'mysterious wall' at the edge of their solar system, and they want to launch a ship into space to check it out while also investigating some of the other planets along the way because yay first space travel! However, technology hasn't progressed to space suit level. The ship is actually just a wooden ship with a runic engine that they're teleporting into space via a teleportation rune etched on basically a manhole cover they managed to launch up there by putting it on top of a well with a bomb at the bottom. They know they don't have the means for survival up there, so what do they do? They go to a Chosen priest and ask them to summon up some ghosts.

At this point, the gods have a vested interest in this mission. A few ghosts might be small enough to slip past End unnoticed and find out if there's anything else in the universe. But they don't want to give up their best and brightest on what's likely a suicide mission, so they pick some screw-ups with a few skills to send instead, promising them a better place in the afterlife should they succeed. Some divine magic allows the ghosts to be bound to the ship and off the mission goes!

The thing about all these fuckers being dead though, is that they don't need a lot of traditional ship stuff. Especially since it's a magic ship that mostly flies by itself. I've got five crew members planned out, each with a role.

Faalgun Falani is the captain. He was a renowned Flying City pilot until his gambling addiction got him fired and eventually beaten to death. He's an uptight sort who tries to adhere to a code of honor, even though he often slips up. Out of all of the crew, he knows the most about space and the other planets, as the Flying City travels between planets frequently. I think he really wants to get into his religion's heaven to prove that he's not a total failure. Maybe he's got family or a lover there too? Who knows!

Nyda Burningrock is an astronomer who died about 400 years before the story takes place. She's Nabafyrian and has a bit of a complex about not being an adept fighter in such a martial culture, despite her rough and tumble nature. She was actually the first to theorize that the 'stars' move under their own power more than what's accounted for by gravity and the rotation of the planet, and she found a way to predict those movements, but unfortunately, she didn't write anything down or cite any sources. Her end came when she decided to travel to the realm of the Fair Folk to observe the sky there. She lasted about 15 minutes before getting hunted for sport by a fae lord.

Kaulakri Placeholdersurname is gonna be a sort of foil for Nyda, I think. She's a halawemavish selkie and the ship's cartographer, as well as a natural historian. She has beef with Nyda because mapmakers have been trying to replicate Nyda's method of predicting the unpredictable movements of Illari stars for centuries, but again, Nyda wrote literally nothing down. Kaulakri, on the other hand, writes everything down. She's neat and orderly and unfortunately wasn't able to get her comprehensive map of the world's ocean currents organized in time before she died of a random stomach bug.

Pashananath (Pash for short) is the ship's negotiator, for if they encounter any life beyond the wall of End. He's one of the Fair Folk and grew up in the Hive (a vast compound city ruled by a powerful fae demigod). His Contribution (an important concept for fae) was music. He was quite the musician, but due to his faculty for languages, he also worked as a honeytongue - essentially a smooth-talker/jester for hire in Fair Folk society. He died very young for one of the Fair Folk when another fae decided to kill him for playing a pitchy song. Pash isn't too mad about this (fae morals are weird), even if the rest of the crew things he should be.

And finally, there's Anarac. The scientists didn't ask for him, but the gods sent him anyways. No one knows what his specialty is because he never talks. He's the longest dead out of all of them and is one of the extinct Araunian people.

With such a cast, I'm hoping there'll be a good deal of tension. I don't think they actually know much about End (besides Anarac), except that the Chosen who summoned them said it's dangerous, so they arent worried about it nearly as much as they should be. I'm hoping that Nyda and Kaulakri can have a fun rivalry, while Pash might be the son figure Anarac needs, and leading these people to success will help Faalgun stop thinking he's a failure.

I'll probably structure it more episodically, with fun stuff happening at each planet they stop to explore. I have no idea what's gonna happen when they reach End's blockade, but I guess I can figure that out later. I think the main environmental problem for a ship full of dead people would be that if they get too far from the ship, they start to lose their ability to stay corporeal, then they just fade away.

Lmk if you have any more questions or suggestions! I think this really helped me with getting things straight in my mind, so thanks a ton <3

[iwriteasfotini]

Keep My Candle Burning Universe

Voldemort drew out a thin white candle from a pocket in his robes. It was set in a gold base. Waving a finger over the wick, a flame caught, lighting the dusk and sending warm yellow flickering across Bellatrix’s features. It hovered over his hand; he placed it in the air near the lilacs that lined the thick treeline towards the house.

“Keep my candle burning,” Voldemort said. 

- Keep My Candle Burning, Chapter 6 Keep my candle burning

To @keepmycandleburning -

I love this universe. It was surprisingly full of life for the general darkness of the cast and events. The people, the places, the things were all so vivid to me. I could see scenes unfolding in my mind as you intended. And many of the featured locations were either not described in detail in canon or unique to this story. But I now feel they exist in some canon realm.

The cast of characters is brilliant. Many of them are queer and that was a pleasant surprise in a Voldemort centric story. Royal Rosier and Clément Calvet are the original characters who I feel are just as much a part of canon as Bellatrix, Lucius, and Voldemort himself. I don’t want to elaborate on them too much as getting to know them through the story is what makes them special. And it did take me a while to fully understand (if I can even claim that) and to invest in them. But by the end of the work, I wanted to see more and more of them. You developed them slowly due to the numerous other people you were also developing, and that’s fine. It was worth it and I’d happily read more of them. I think who they each are as a person was a brilliant pairing for Voldemort. Clément being half veela. Royal being extremely powerful and generally gorgeous. They are the stuff of timeless fiction, but also felt like real people, complicated characters. 

The veela and dementor lore which was your original world building was absolutely fantastic and so inspirational to me. You know I freaked out about the dementors. I’ve NEVER come across something like those early Isis scenes in any fanfiction I’ve read. They completely overwhelmed my mind and sent my creativity into overdrive. Who would have thought?! The veela community in Albania, which makes a lot of sense in that Voldemort flees to Albania in his bodiless form, was fascinating as well. I can’t wait to keep building our own versions of these magical beings/creatures together. 

One of the first things which stuck out to me when I started reading was how medieval and romantic the vibe of your universe is. From the robes everyone is wearing to their often excessive jewelry, it was like stepping into a Harry Potter magical world which had been completely recreated to be more glamorous and refined. It did not feel out of place at all. Instead I loved applying this particular way of life to the pureblood families. It made me imagine how the divide they feel from even other wizarding families is so vast at times. And I enjoyed the luxuriousness of so much old money. This isn’t a story about people who are struggling to make ends meet. It is about the elite, the wealthy, the spoiled. And that directly juxtaposes where Voldemort comes from himself. He has nothing, no money, no valuable possessions. Yet they accept him and often gift him those items he did not inherit himself. Or he steals them!

I loved Voldemort’s kleptomania. The guy is a thief and a hoarder. But he only takes things which have meaning to him. I also liked seeing him make use of various houses throughout the story. He never has a home of his own. The Riddle house is as close as it gets and it is where he lives at his most vulnerable in-body form. I think the idea that he is homeless and simultaneously welcomed (usually) into everyone else’s home fits perfectly with his other characteristics.

[waffliesinyoface]

*kicks door open*

so i have thoughts about Shadowbringers 5.3. I'm rotating it in my mind, thinking about the context it gives, and speculating on where the story might go in Endwalker.

this is under a readmore because, obviously, spoilers.

Specifically, the crystals you get during this quest.

It's never stated as such, but I like to think that these are the archaic form of soul crystals. Stones holding the memories of those who passed before, that might be used to teach the next to fill that role.

Which is, basically, the idea behind every single job stone save machinist. (Because its a new class and the WoL is the first one to use that job stone.) You get new skills because you can attune to it better and can "remember" how to do more skills.

However, you gain the skills and techniques of those who came before you, but there's a distance to them. Like with the Echo - you gets glimpses into people's pasts, from their perspective. You can even get emotions from those memories, as evidenced by Fordola - but they're not your memories.

Which brings me to my next point:

It is all but outright stated that this crystal was yours, pre-sundering. It's been thousands of years, so you've reincarnated, but given the way Hythlodaeus talks about your past self, your innate nature persists.

So, I imagine that like. When you use that crystal - whether you choose to believe your WoL got the whole shebang or just flashes of the important bits - the memories do not have that distance. You know that you never did any of that in this life, but you still think the same way, so the memories feel exactly like your own memories.

It's also implied that the one responsible for making your crystal in secret, was Emet Selch. Which is why he is equal parts friendly, disappointed, pissed off, and annoyed.

This moment of symbolism is something unique to my own playthrough, and I brought this up back in 5.0, but I thought it was kind of interesting how my own outfit choices echoed his own. Black military garb with gold paldrons and red accents. Even down to the length and the same strip of red down the back. His is an outfit of political office, while Alyssa's is that of a frontline combatant, but there's a shared aesthetic.

(And, before anyone says he's wearing those colors because they're the colors of the Garlean Empire.... he made that empire. He's the one who chose those colors.)

Which just adds an extra bit of flavor once you have the context of who you were.

Imagine your bestie reincarnates. And she doesnt remember you, but she still acts the same, and even has the same taste... but also she's against everything you stand for, and she has a bunch of new friends who think you're an asshole.

Is it any fucking wonder he acts like that.

Also, like. Obviously, the WoL is against the rejoining, because slaughtering whole worlds is really bad, actually. But depending on how much you get from the crystal - at this point, at least, it's up to the player's interpretation - you can probably empathize with the 3 unsundered ascians, even if you don't agree with their goals and think their methods are monstrous. Because having those memories means you can remember what having an unsundered soul actually felt like.

So even if you would never agree with them because the cost is too high, and you don't share Emet Selch's "moral relativism" because those other people are people and their lives matter, jackass, you can now remember what it felt like, when you held the title of Azem. And you cant help but feel slightly emptier.

In terms of game mechanics, it's like, say, living a life without an MP bar. Then remembering what it felt like to cast magic. From then on you cannot help but know that it's not that you don't have an MP bar, but that it's been permanently set at 0 your whole life.

If you've never had something, you don't realize that its gone. But now you do, and no one else in the entire world can relate!! Alisaie even says as much at one point - she's only ever had a "sundered" soul, so she can't understand the Ascians' perspective.

The only other people who you might've talked to about that are dead because you, personally, drove a sword through them. Because they wanted to commit genocide, and someone had to stop them.

----------

This is in its own section because it's unrelated, but my speculation re: Endwalker plot beats is related to Elidibus and Zenos. Specifically, Elidibus was Zodiark's heart, but stopped because he was needed in his role as the Emissary. Which implies that Zodiark, at the moment, no longer has a heart.

And Zenos?

Zenos has a history of taking over primals and using them himself.

[vastarakki]

Hey, here’s my personal pet theory: the reason why Hunter needed a staff to do magic wasn’t because he was born without magic, but because the brand on his wrist is a special sigil that blocks all nine schools of magic, leaving him with no access to the more typical forms of spell-casting we see in the show.

My reasoning is thus:

Number one, even with the revelation of what he is, Hunter’s lack of magic makes no sense. The whole reason why humans can’t do magic the way witches can is because they lack an internal power source, right? But Hunter has a magic amplifier for a heart, so he should have all the power he needs to cast spells, even if he is partially human. It even says in Belos’ book about grimwalkers that the galdorstone is for “heart & power”, implying that it’s meant to function as an internal power source much the same way a witch’s heart does. So what gives?

Also, Darius’ comment in “Any Sport in a Storm” about Hunter’s predecessor being one of the strongest witches he’d known points to the possibility that having no magic may not have been a problem for the Golden Guard that came before Hunter.

Number two, we don’t ever really see Hunter use any spells from any of the pre-existing schools, even though he should be able to, as long as he has access to an outside power source like a staff. Instead, his spell-casting takes a rather unique form, which seems to be the only kind of magic Hunter can use. Why? The guy's a certified nerd, you'd think he'd have studied up on more spells than just this one trick.

Number three, the show makes a point of not only showing us the brand on Hunter’s wrist, but the lack of said brand on somebody else's.

See, at first glance, it might not seem like anything out of the ordinary. We can just assume that all the members of the Emperor’s Coven have a brand like that, right? Except... Lilith doesn’t.

I can’t find a single picture of her with a brand on her wrist, even though they had her in short sleeves for the whole of season 2. So I think it’s safe to say that the lack of a sigil is too consistent to count as just an animation error.

That’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it? Why does Hunter have the Emperor’s symbol branded on his wrist while Lilith, the former head of the Emperor’s Coven, doesn’t?

It's almost like there's something special about Hunter's mark...

So in conclusion, all of this is just wild speculation on my part, but also I'm right and this is the only thing that makes any logical sense.

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

Here's the final one being Caelan Vanrouge

💙💖

Caelan Vanrouge

Caelan: Slender, Narrow

Inspiration: Based on Aurora's iconic color changing dress

House: Diasomnia

Personality Traits: Caelan is graceful, whimsical, and a bit dramatic. Known for his sense of style and poise, he loves blending formality with charm and isn't afraid to be the center of attention. He's deeply caring and fiercely protective, much like his brother Lilia, but in a softer, more refined way. Caelan has a deep appreciation for beauty and enjoys being surrounded by it- from the natural world to artistic creations.

Unique Magic: "Color of Enchantment"

Caelan's Unique Magic allows him to subtly alter the emotions or environment of those around him through the aura he radiates, which shifts between two hues; rose-pink (for warmth and happiness) and cool blue (for calm and peace). This magic creates an ambiance that can uplift, relax or even subtly influence people's mood in his vicinity.

Pink Aura: The rose-pink hue encourages joy, friendliness, and a sense of camaraderie. People touched by this aura feel more open and receptive.

Blue Aura: The cool blue radiates tranquility, helping to ease anxiety and promote focus and calm.

Weaknesses

Limited Area: Caelan's influence doesn't extend far beyond his immediate area, making it ineffective on larger groups or from a distance.

Emotion Overload: Using both hues too frequently or intensely can drain Caelan emotionally, leaving him feeling physically and mentally exhausted.

Conflicting Effects: Strong emotional states in others, especially anger or deep sadness, can disrupt or even overpower his magic's effects.

Appearance and Outfit

Physical Appearance: Caelan has pale skin with a gentle blush, soft red eyes and black hair with highlights between shades of pink and blue at the tips, echoing the fusion hues of Aurora's dress. His features are delicate yet sharp, with an aristocratic air.

Uniform Modifications:

Color-Changing Accents: His Disaomnia uniform is enchanted to shift between soft rose-pink and cool blue accents, similar to Aurora's dress. The subtle shifts happen based on his mood, adding a touch of whimsical magic to appearance.

Flowing Coat: Much like Lilia, Caelan wears an oversize coat with the accents shimmering, ombre effect that transitions from pink to blue. The fabric is light and flowy, trailing gracefully as he walks or floats.

Decorative Chain and Pendant: His uniform features a silver chain with a small pendant that can change colors, representing the duality in his magic.

Personality: Caelan is a romantic and a bit of dreamer. He's gentle yet assertive, often encouraging others to look for beauty and joy in the world around them. While he may seem a bit spoiled or high-maintenance at times, he's fiercely loyal to those he cares about. He's also known to be a bit of a "mood-maker" in Diasomnia, lightening the mood with his humor and charisma. Caelan' charming and slightly dramatic personality draws people in. He's social and outgoing, but there's a hidden wisdom in him- a deep empathy for others and an understanding of emotions, which his magic allows him to sense

Backstory

Caelan Vanrouge hails from a world steeped in opulent magic and dark elegance, a place intricate fusion of grandeur, myth, and shadowy allure. His homeland, Astralore, is a realm where beauty is inseparable from power, where towering gothic spires and glistening arcane structures rise beneath perpetually twilight skies. Here, the ethereal is woven into everyday life — shimmering mosaics form intricate pathways, ornate archways hum with ancient spells, and lanterns flicker with arcane light, casting iridescent hues across cobbled streets. This world is governed by both powerful sorcerers and mystical guilds who maintain a delicate balance between light and shadow, beauty and dread, life and death. Caelan’s adopted family lineage holds a revered position within these ranks, tasked with protecting Astralore's delicate balance and upholding its ancient magical traditions.

Caelan grew up amidst an intense culture of beauty and refinement where each citizen holds a profound reverence for both physical elegance and the ability to wield powerful magic with precision. His family was known for their expertise in “enchantment,” a rare art of creating magical ambiance and influencing emotions subtly but profoundly. Caelan learned to master the “Color of Enchantment” under his mother’s guidance, refining his ability to manipulate moods through his dual-hued aura and embracing the notion that beauty could be a powerful weapon. Though much of his youth was spent honing his magic in an opulent but controlled environment, Astralore’s intricate culture of shadow and secrecy also fascinated him. Tales of forbidden spells and powerful artifacts hidden beneath the city’s surface captured Caelan’s curiosity, leaving him with a thirst to understand the complexities of his world.

Yet, beneath the beauty, Astralore held darker secrets — the kind that Caelan soon found himself entangled with. His family, though highly respected, was entangled in Astralore's political landscape. Mystical guilds, vying for dominance, valued his family’s magic, but there were also those who feared it. Caelan’s mother warned him of the dangers of wielding his power too openly, for those who controlled enchantment also held sway over people’s hearts and minds, a power that others in Astralore sought to possess or suppress. Over time, he learned that Astralore’s elegance masked a fierce competition among magical factions. One evening, after a series of cryptic threats directed at his family, Caelan's mother entrusted him with a delicate task — to find allies outside their realm, should Astralore’s enchantments fail to protect them. Thus, through an ancient portal of gleaming silver filigree, Caelan was sent to Night Raven College.

Arriving in Twisted Wonderland, Caelan felt both displaced and intrigued, the stark world a contrast to Astralore's endless twilight. Night Raven College’s magic, while powerful, felt raw and wild compared to the polished, restrained elegance of his homeland. In Diasomnia, he gravitated to those who, like him, understood the complexities of balancing beauty with power. Yet, his loyalty to Astralore remained unwavering, his mission to seek strength and form alliances on behalf of his family still his hidden priority.

Now, Caelan moves through Diasomnia with a subtle charisma, his every action and gesture infused with the ethereal allure of his homeland. Though he’s haunted by the distant conflict threatening Astralore, he has learned to mask his unease beneath a graceful exterior, maintaining his aura of calm. While he aids his friends at NRC with empathy and enchantment, Caelan’s mind is never far from the mysteries of Astralore, where a world of beauty and shadow awaits his return.

His World is based on: Bayonetta

💖💙

Another Vanrouge, pray for the Diasomnia.

[antares-8]

hello! i recently finished rereading the pilgrim's progress and honestly, it's some of (if not the) best beast!wirt fic i've ever read! there's a lot of stuff that i've realized makes it so good, especially after giving it more than one read through.

first of all, beatrice's characterization throughout the whole series is AMAZING and feels really accurate to the show. she's angry and almost always ready and willing to punch a man, but that's only part of her character. like, i've seen a decent bit of otgw fic where she just gets reduced down to "the angry one" but in tpp, her other emotions get the spotlight too sometimes and it makes her feels so real and human. she's determined and stubborn and willing to go to the ends of the earth for the people she cares about and you can really feel it!! she's her own person with her own stuff to deal with and it makes her so interesting in this series. i think she's possibly my favorite character.

(also, in writing that paragraph about beatrice i realized that tpp, or at least the arc with the witches, has a lot to do with grief and anger. this is more of a half-formed thought, but the way they're fairly consistent elements throughout and fit in perfectly with its other themes. i'm not exactly sure what else to say about this since i haven't put much thought into it until just now, but it's definitely something i like about it, although it's more of a personal preference.)

characters in general are one of tpp's strong suits, i think! the ocs created for this series are amazing without detracting from the main cast. felicity sticks out to me in particular, likely because we get to see things from her perspective. her motives manage to be understandable without detracting from the sense that she's in the wrong. also, shoutout to peg-leg polly, whose character description is amazingly evocative, as well as literally everything else about her. 10/10, no notes.

i think something else tpp does amazingly is all the "side" stuff. not "side" as in, like, subplots (this is all pretty much main plot, which is part of why it's so great), but as in "not the first thing you think of when you think of a beast!wirt au." "weren't you someone's son" is possibly the best example of this. we get to see how wirt's family is affected personally, something that's so often ignored. and it's a *whole main plot thing*--they never get fully shoved off to the side. the same goes with the unknown's reactions to wirt as the "new beast"--it's not glossed over. in fact, it's one the things the story is based around. tpp is BUILT around the stuff that's not immediately obvious, and it really makes it stand out in the best way possible.

and somewhat relatedly, wirt's character arc, about CHOOSING to stay in the unknown, is so good! it takes 30 works and tens of thousands of words until he fully admits it to himself but the payoff is so, so worth it. the line at the end of "to wind thy soul" where wirt says he *wants* to stay is built up so beautifully. it's another one of those things that makes tpp so unique and amazing.

and last, but definitely not least, is the WORLDBUILDING. there's a lot to say about it, but i love your version of the unknown!! it feels so real and alive, and the people in it do too. it really manages to capture the feeling of the original show--there's darkness, but it's not ALL sad times and eldritch horror, and some things are even a bit silly. and the way the unknown keeps on feeling mysterious even as we learn more and more about it is impressive. the fact that some things are mentioned but never expanded upon (like the beast-cult or the wars against nature) is far from a flaw here--they make the unknown feel like a real place, and help keep up the sense of mystery, magic, and a long history by sounding so interesting while being left mostly up-in-the-air. and the idea of using edelwood to cleanse corruption is also so good. like, if i force myself to look at it from a doylist perspective, i can say that it might exist to avoid a moral quandary which would seriously hurt everything that tpp is trying to say (although honestly, i don't think that it's a bad thing if that's the case; i love worldbuilding but making sure it plays nice with story and message is important, often moreso than making it feel "good"), but i have to force myself to think like that. while reading, it's foreshadowed well and feels so natural that i sometimes forget it was created for this series. and that's just one part of the worldbuilding! so much of this version of the unknown feels so in line with everything the show gives us, and there's so much attention to detail. it's so fantastic and i love it!!

also, a couple small details i noticed (and are appreciated):

in "all that was lost," enoch says that he can tell beatrice + greg where wirt is if they stay the night, and in "wish i was a shadow" it's mentioned that enoch vists the queen of the clouds a lot. did. did enoch ask the queen of the clouds where wirt was for beatrice and greg?

in "only one thing" greg mentions that he's sure that the cloak wirt gave him is enchanted, and in "gone to the tree" wirt mentions that he'd only tried to imbue something with his protection once before. did wirt enchant greg's cloak?? if so that's ADORABLE. wirt really loves greg huh?

anyway, yeah, the pilgrim's progress is amazing!! i didn't realize that i had this much to say about it, but it honestly deserves all the praise i can throw at it. there are some other small things that i love, but this is getting pretty long as it is. i can't wait for the next update, and i hope that you're doing well!! <3

First off, thank you for making my day! (And hopefully inspiring me finally finish the next installment. One can hope, right?) I always love to hear from readers, especially readers who enjoy my work.

Beatrice is a lot of fun to write. She accepts no nonsense (except when she doles it out to get something), her first impulse is violence, and she's fiercely loyal to all those she loves. Plus, some of her reactions to Wirt are just hilarious. She knows enough to realize how weird--or perhaps extraordinary--he really is.

I wanted to say something about how family was important in the show (the bluebirds, the brothers), but the truth is that I really like outsider POV and the parents gave me a good opportunity to play with that. That can remain our secret.

Sometimes, I feel like this entire series is just one big exercise in worldbuilding. Because the Beast is so well-known (and feared), I have to think about how the new Beast interacts with the world in general and how the world's reactions reflect back onto the character. That being said, I've still got a few headcanons that I'd like to explore.

Both of your theories regarding small details are correct. Enoch asked the Queen of the Clouds where to find Wirt waaaay back in the beginning, and Wirt added a few enchantments to the cloak before giving it to Greg. The enchantments... well, let's just say that no one will ever try to bully Greg while he's wearing it.

Unfortunately, I can't say for certain when the next update will be out. The next one is a new arc (or maybe it will be the one after that, because I've got another WIP that could become part 31 instead), so I've been obsessively tweaking it to get everything set up correctly.

As Wirt says to the people who try to drive him out of their town with torches and pitchforks, have a nice day!

[hollowphobia-casual]

Arcane Issues, Yes I'm still on this (Spoilers for Arcane S2)

~Spoilers~

I'm going to immediately assume that a majority of people who are reading this have seen Arcane Season 2 Act 3 and I want to start by saying this isn't a critique of the story. In a sense. See, the issue with Arcane is that it's not a stand alone project, it's a story adapted from the League of Legends games and while most adaptation usually can change the source material with no problem, Riot games in all there wisdom decided to make Arcane CANON. Meaning that the events of Arcane are the events in league of legends. Which made sense back in season one, Arcane was popular and for the most part it followed the story beats of the characters as set forth in lore, with a few minor changes, which was fine. However, Season 02 and all it's bullshit is where things started to become a problem. The biggest a major issue being this thing.

The Arcane Anomaly, which at first doesn't seem like a big issue..., until you remember League of Legends is a magic heavy world, the arcane is their magic system and Piltover isn't the ONLY nation state in this world and not all nations follow the rules. For context, these are all the champions in the game of League of Legends.

These are all the champions in League who use SOME form of magic/arcane, or are literally made of magic.

So going by the show that Anomaly and it's effects were caused by the arcane in general, that means anyone of these people could cause the things that happened in Arcane to happen, as it's just a byproduct of magic in of itself according to the lore of the show. But lets say that this was just a freak anomaly, that it was just caused by Hextech alone and not just the Arcane. Well there are characters in League who rely or use Hextech.

And yes, some of them were featured in the show, Vi, Jinx, Cait, Jayce and Viktor, but there are some who didn't appear in the show or didn't acquire their Hextech gear. But after the events of the show, why would anyone keep using Hextech?! After what Viktor nearly did, why would anyone keep using it, how can we have characters using Hextech when any one of them could 'accidentally' create an Arcane anomaly and bring about an end of the world scenario?

Not to mention. Piltover in the lore of the games essentially RUNS on Hextech, there are many Hextech inventors, it was it's unique defining trait that set it's magic system apart from the rest of Runeterra (The name of the world the characters live in.) How after the events could they go on to do that, especially when their two experts on the field, vanished into thin air?! And one of them turned into a evil jesus. And then we have that issue, the disappearance of half the cast. Before, League of Legends looked like this.

And now we have this...

The way league always wrote about it's characters was how they actively now in the present, meaning that the characters you were playing as were currently actively doing things in the moment, however Arcane has already broken that formula. For one, Ambessa is just dead. She's Leagues newest champion and we don't need to get excited about future stories involving her because she is gone, she is fucking deceased. Heimerdinger too maybe? And I know people will say, well he's a yordle, he's immortal he'll come back. Have you not been watching Arcane they way they treat Yordles in this show contradicts everything about Yordles.

For those who don't know, Yordles are essentially the equivlant of Runeterra's fae. They are magical creatures from magical realm called Bandle City and are the most part, MYTHS. Meaning most people in Runeterra haven't seen one. Meanwhile In Runettera we've seen a Yordle sex Gimp, a Yordle protsitute, Yordle citizens and Yordle crime bosses.

Yeah, you remember Smeech? He's a fucking Yordle. So for all we know Yordles are being treated less like fae and more akin to this worlds elves. But, less ignore all that, let's say that despite EVERYTHING, we've seen in the show Yordles are still the immortal fairy people, Heimerdinger could still be alive, right? EXPECT HE GOT BLASTED BY PURE MAGIC IN AN ALTERNATIVE TIMELINE?! There are so many what if questions I dunno where to begin with that one. Like if he is alive, will he come back? Does Bandle city exist outside the time frame? Not to mention how does Heimerdinger a magical fucking being made of magic, not understand how the ARCANE WORKS!??! And let's not get me started on characters like Warwick, who in Arcane looked like this...

When he's suppose to look like this...

Which again, it's fine.., you know, maybe he's going to through some sort of rapid evolutionary change that strips away his humanity and transform him more into the beast we know him as, it's not like they'd do something completely insane like turn him into a magical robot?

...... I could keep going on about this, but this is what fucking pisses me off about Arcane Season 2, not that it's considered canon, all it had to do is tell the story of how we got to the current timeline and events of League of Legends, but instead of giving us clear answers, it went off and did it's own thing, which means we now have to wait for clarification from Riot as to what is going on and what is going to happen. Cause again, this isn't a separate universe, this isn't a separate story. These are the CANONICAL events that happened in Piltover and Zaun. Two city states that defined by their constant rivalry, now 'making peace' with a street thug on the council. This is some game of thrones Season 08 bullshit, expect, we KNOW what is meant to be happening next, we know the stories these characters are suppose to go on to do. But Riot takes a lot of time to make changes to their game and their characters and these are a lot of changes happening all at once. Does this mean Warwick's current lore and model are going to be thrown out for mecha-arcane Warick, we don't know. Is Jayce going to return to Piltover, we don't know. Who'se going to built Blitzcrank, we don't know. Where was Renata Glasc during the events of Arcane and how is her story going to play out now? WE DON'T KNOW. And I doubt it's going to be something we learn soon, as riot recently fired a large portion of their in house artists, so we don't know whats going to be happening going forward. What was meant to be a fun story for long term fans and to get people into the lore of League of Legends, has turned into a mess of retcons and confusion.

On the upside, If anyone was pro Demacia's mage genocide, I guess Arcane told them, you have every reason to be scared of mages, because any one of the could opps the planet.

[moonlithyms]

༺An Eldritch Date ༻

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Synopsis:. Magic isn’t all for fun, but maybe for sexual pleasure. So, maybe he meeds some help and dad saves him from the confines of being a semen puppet.

Tags: multiple orgasms; black tentacles (not the slimy kind, good kind); magical mishaps; masturbation(?); Dad saves the day; somnophillia; anal; sex; aphrodisiacs; demons; needles; dungeons and dragons

A/N: To be fair, who hasn’t thought about pleasuring themselves if they had magic?

༺═──────────────═༻

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Just under a week had passed since Lucas returned home from his lengthy journey. Obtaining The Sorrow’s Tears had turned into a year-long quest to annihilate the Void in the town of Bottom, an endeavor filled with excitement. Along the way, he encountered numerous fascinating individuals, delved into his family's history, and gained valuable insights into himself. Despite initial reservations, his father Alistair had become more open and supportive following Lucas's pivotal role in saving existence alongside his unlikely companions. Lucas also discovered his own unique magical abilities during this odyssey, which he now pondered in his room.

Contemplating the limitations and potential of his powers, he mulled over whether shadowspawn could manifest sexual tendencies, grappling with the stark duality of their emotions—Fear and Frenzy—both predominantly negative. Despite mastering the Arms of Hadar, he yearned for greater challenges. As he sat, thoughts swirling, he found himself yielding to the urge pulsating within him, his hand instinctively reaching for the source of his desire. Moments later, lost in sensation, he continued his introspection, his mind consumed by a myriad of thoughts and uncertainties.

Evard’s Black Tentacles... a form of restraint to start with. Hunger of Hadar, too, with their formidable strength and the remarkable mucus they produce... both would serve to restrain effectively, especially given my level of control over them...

A smile played on his lips as he continued, the surge of arousal clouding his judgment. It was a heady sensation, dulling the rational thoughts he would typically entertain to avoid future complications. A twitch of anticipation ran through him. He knew that if he didn't act on this idea soon, he might not act on it at all. Rising from his chair, he retrieved his chalk and placed his tear inset gem nearby. Shedding his shirt and extraneous robes, he recognized they would only hinder his movements.

With deliberate strokes, he began sketching circles and laying down ring wards for the creatures these tentacles would originate from. The rings, crafted from a pitch-black material, were now in place. With graceful hand gestures, he began weaving his chosen spell mixture. As he traced the air, his unique twist of power rendered the casting almost painless.

Surrounding him, the dark ebony tentacles emerged from the rift in space, their glossy black surfaces glistening in the sunlight, exuding a repulsive slime. As the viscous substance oozed onto the ground, its milky white hue stark against the darkness, he recoiled when it brushed against his face, hastily spitting out the intrusive fluid.

"I remember now why I sympathized with those who endured this," he muttered, grimacing at the unpleasant taste lingering in his mouth.

Inspecting each tentacle nervously, he acknowledged that while the Arms of Hadar were familiar, this manifestation was entirely different. With a telepathic command, he manipulated them, closing his eyes as they coiled around his limbs, lifting him gently into the air.

"Good. No signs of harm... everything seems in order," he reassured himself, the anticipation mounting within him.

Swiftly adjusting his position, he found himself suspended upright, limbs bound and on full display to any potential onlookers. Tension coursed through his body as the tentacles slithered up his thighs, securing his waist with an almost possessive grip.

Despite the revulsion he felt at the slimy residue trailing down his skin, there was an undeniable allure to the sensation of restraint and the otherworldly nature of the mucus. It ignited a primal excitement within him, evident in the arch of his back and the involuntary moan that escaped his lips as one tentacle encircled his chest, pushing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

His arousal surged, his cock twitching impatiently, yearning for contact. Precum dribbled down his shaft, evidence of his heightened state of desire. With each movement, the tentacles slithered further up his back, their length never ceasing to astonish him. Urgency compelled his hips to thrust forward, craving more as the tentacles continued their ascent. Gradually, his mind relinquished all other thoughts, consumed by the intense focus demanded by the intricate spell weaving before him.

A tentacle encircled the base of his shaft, exerting pressure and leaving a trail of its mucus along his length. Despite the initial discomfort, he emitted a soft moan, finding the sensation tolerable as the tentacle wound its way up his shaft and around the head. With a gentle squeeze at the base and head of his member, the tentacle maintained a light grip, its slimy touch simultaneously repulsive and strangely pleasurable. It was an inexplicable sensation, yet he found himself enraptured by the tender caress of his own magical creation.

They slithered up his back, their slimy trails dripping down. Despite the grossness, he found the restrained sensation and the way their otherworldly mucus slid off him oddly arousing. His back arched as one wrapped around his chest, eliciting a small moan as he neared climax from such a seemingly insignificant touch.

Lucas moaned, his cries overpowering any other thoughts as the sensation of his shaft being stroked vigorously brought him immense pleasure. His mind grew hazy as the sensitivity of his back, a familiar sensation, was heightened by the slick slime. With a sudden thrust of his hips, his body jolted involuntarily.

"Aahn~!" He moaned, the sound escaping slightly louder than intended. His body surrendered to the pleasure, each twitch of his cock accompanied by the release of another rope of lust onto the tentacle coiled around him. Suspended in the air for several minutes, he panted as he struggled to collect his senses. His mind felt shrouded in fog, making it difficult to focus. He remembered he was supposed to assist his dad with a mission tonight but couldn't recall the details or the agreed-upon time. Glancing out the window, he tried to gauge the hour.

"It's already four, huh...? What did Dad need my help with again?"

Satisfied yet tired, he withdrew his arms from the tentacles. He was fortunate the spell didn't leave any residual mucus on his body; otherwise, he'd smell for a week. Attempting to pull his arm away again, he found the grip tightening instead.

"Oh, perhaps I can just dispel the spell. It should be fine. It's just magic."

Calmly, Lucas closed his eyes and gradually released his concentration. When he opened them again, he was still suspended in the air, supported only by his arms and waist, his legs firmly ensnared. Panic began to set in as Lucas struggled to figure out what to do next.

"Hey! What gives?!" he exclaimed, confused as he tugged at the tentacles. Though they had a slight give, they refused to release him. Despite feeling the source of his magic still under control within him, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Lucas struggled desperately to break free from the otherworldly entities he had inadvertently summoned into the physical realm. His eyes widened in horror as more ebony appendages emerged from the void below him, each one unfamiliar. One resembled an open flower pattern, another was rounded with a small feeler, while another took the shape of a cup with a tendril at the bottom.

His gaze fixated on one tentacle resembling a needle, its shiny contents swirling inside. Lucas swallowed nervously, his apprehension growing as it lunged towards him with surprising speed, jabbing into his side.

"That hurts!" he exclaimed, his body already sensitive from previous sensations. As the liquid drained into him, a searing pain spread throughout his body. Lucas recoiled, but the needle continued to squirt its contents, splashing onto his skin and even into his mouth, tasting sweet like sugar.

Panicked, he watched in horror as the liquid seemed to invigorate his body, his soft member rapidly stiffening to an uncomfortable hardness within seconds. Despite the pain, his arousal remained intense. Lucas sat there, bewildered and frightened.

"What the fuck was that? What the hell was just put into me? What in the—"

Suddenly, his mind and body began to relax involuntarily.

"Aahh...whatever it was..." he mumbled, his speech slurring as his vision blurred rapidly. "It sure feels good..." With that, his consciousness slipped away, his head drooping as his mind shut down completely.

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Awakening later, Lucas found his head cradled by a smaller tentacle, its slimy counterpart inside his mouth, squirting an unknown substance into it. He swallowed as it filled his mouth, rendering him unable to speak. The taste was bitter and salty, reminiscent of a ration he once had that didn't sit right. Despite the discomfort, he slowly swallowed the rest of the substance, his head still foggy from the nap he had taken.

As his eyes adjusted, he could finally see the scene before him. The ebony-black tentacle in his mouth had rounded out and was now dripping with white mucus, retreating into the void below. He coughed, clearing his airways as a wave of pleasure washed over him all at once. "H-holy shit~!" he exclaimed, feeling waves of unbridled pleasure coursing up his spine, each pulse of ecstasy originating from his hips.

Glancing downward, he noticed himself encased within a cup-shaped tentacle. It completely enveloped him, with his underwear draped over its base. A smaller arm wrapped tightly around his balls, applying pressure and preventing them from slipping off. Lucas moaned loudly as his hips involuntarily thrust into the cupped arm, intensifying the sensation as he climaxed once more. It felt as though he was being milked of every drop he could provide. Gasping for air, his vision obscured by his hair, he attempted to pull his arms free but found them firmly held in place. With a stronger pull, he was yanked back into position. Whatever was happening, it was far from over, and he had no control over it.

His body craved more, his hips moving beyond his control as the cupped appendage brought intense pleasure to his sensitive cock. Unsure of how many times he had already ejaculated before waking up, he noticed it was now dripping with another white substance, likely his own.

"Aahh fuck-! N-Not again!" he stuttered, his body heaving as he released another load, sending ropes of himself into the dripping tentacle once more. His balls were quickly squeezed by the smaller appendage, intensifying his climax. Every fold of the tentacle seemed to lovingly caress his cock as it twitched for several minutes, each twitch accompanied by another small squirt. Lucas' body slumped, exhausted from the numerous climaxes he had experienced in one session. His glasses slipped from his face, clattering to the floor below, leaving him with limited visibility to only what was nearby. As he felt sure he was now producing nothing but water, he suddenly felt a stinging sensation on his side.

"Oh...that good feeling stuff..." he murmured, his body stiffening once more as the tentacle resumed squeezing and rubbing him. He writhed in discomfort as he was injected once again. The burning sensation returned, but this time he wasn't as fortunate to dislodge it. Held firmly in place, he could do nothing as it emptied its contents into him. A warm sensation spread throughout his body, restoring his energy and strength, though he knew what would follow once he fully recovered.

The tentacles holding him shifted, maneuvering him onto his back in midair. His arms were held above his head, and his legs were spread open, leaving his bottom exposed. Despite his efforts, he pulled against the tentacles once more, only to find himself gripped tighter as he struggled. "Please just let go! I'm tired! I can't give you anymore!" he pleaded, desperate for release. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, his throbbing length yearning for respite as it was kept forcefully erect.

Somewhat annoyed, a tentacle covered in his own cum shoved its way into his mouth, silencing him. The taste was sweet yet watery in its viscosity, and he pleaded with his mouth full as he was compelled to swallow every drop. Another tentacle then penetrated his body, coated in mucus, eliciting a whimper of pain from Lucas.

Tears streamed down his face as he winced in agony. His body felt vulnerable and exposed as the tentacle writhed inside him, exploring every inch of his being. Its smooth surface followed the contours of his muscles, its suckers grasping at the inner walls. In the mirror, he could see its form settling on a spot not too far inside him. The slimy arm rubbed against something, something pleasurable. He moaned, attempting to form words but failing as the pleasure overwhelmed him. Whatever it was that the tentacle touched, it elicited an incredibly intense sensation. His body arched involuntarily as the tentacle squeezed, triggering another climax. He released even more of his seed into the tentacle with full force, cumming harder than he ever thought possible.

His thoughts drifted as he felt utterly helpless, at the mercy of whatever entity he had summoned. He was plagued by questions: how had he done it? What was it? What did it want with him? And most importantly, how could he break free? Was it deriving pleasure from this?

Yet, despite the overwhelming sense of dread, there lingered a disturbing thought in the back of his mind: why was he enjoying it? It was an unsettling sensation, one he knew he should detest... and yet, he found himself inexplicably drawn to it.

Spitting out the tentacle in his mouth, he braced himself as the one inside him began to thrust in and out of his body. It was painful, his muscles tensing with each movement, but gradually, the pain began to subside as he relaxed.

"T-that's not exactly good..." he moaned, voicing his concern. "Can you go a little faster...?" he requested, surprised when the appendage complied. With increased speed, Lucas's cock throbbed with pleasure as it was sucked and squeezed by the eager entity.

"T-that's it... that feels wonderful...!" he moaned between heavy breaths, his enjoyment evident even as he subconsciously struggled against the tentacles. Despite his internal conflict, Lucas found himself relaxing, his mind and body now pursuing separate goals. Another wave of pleasure washed over him as he surrendered to the sensation, releasing another load of cum for whatever demonic entity held him captive.

"Ah... more please! Give me more of that wonderful aphrodisiac!" he begged, his voice filled with longing. A sharp stab in his shoulder signaled the draining of more substance into his body. This time, upon completion, Lucas's body arched as he released what he counted as his fourth or fifth load into the tentacle. He had finally surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Feeling his mind going blank, Lucas succumbed to the numbness of pleasure, his thoughts of escape fading away. His senses were overwhelmed by dopamine, oxytocin, and testosterone, leaving his brain feeling dull and his body overly sensitive.

"Yes! This is what I wanted! To feel like this! Don’t stop! Please, you can have as much as I can give!" he moaned, oblivious to the volume of his voice.

The entity, sensing Lucas's complete surrender, intensified its efforts, fueling his pleasure to new heights. With each movement, Lucas's body quivered with ecstasy, every touch sending shivers of delight coursing through him.

Lost in a haze of euphoria, Lucas's consciousness slipped further away, consumed by the overwhelming sensations. His mind, once filled with thoughts of resistance, now surrendered completely to the blissful oblivion offered by the tentacles.

As his moans of pleasure echoed through the room, Lucas relinquished any remaining semblance of control, giving himself entirely to the entity's desires. In that moment, all that mattered was the intoxicating pleasure enveloping him, drowning out any lingering thoughts of escape or resistance.

With each passing moment, Lucas descended deeper into the abyss of pleasure, his body and mind consumed by an insatiable craving for more. And as the entity continued to feed on his essence, Lucas found himself willingly offering all that he had, his desires merging seamlessly with those of his captor.

"Lucas?" a voice called out, the door creaking open slightly.

Lucas didn't bother to glance down at his father, who had evidently heard the commotion and come to check on his son. Alistair Len stood in shock at the scene unfolding before him.

From Len's perspective and knowledge, this wasn't merely a magic spell gone awry. This was something far more sinister—an actual demon. While Len was familiar with succubi, this entity was something entirely different. Its true name remained unknown, but it was undoubtedly under the influence of Asmodeus, Prince of Demons. One tentacle bore his mark—a whale—an indication that it belonged to the fifth circle, a realm accessible only to the most powerful and malevolent entities.

Asmodeus must be in need of offspring if he was dispatching a creature to harvest. Len speculated that there must already be an egg from a hapless woman, long gone by now...

With this chilling realization, Len understood that this demon would mercilessly pleasure its victims until their demise, consuming their bodies afterward to nourish the fiendish offspring it created. The demon required humanoid sperm to birth a monstrous entity—one capable of manipulating its form and wreaking havoc at will. It was a horrifying prospect, one Len dared not dwell on any longer.

"Dear mother earth... Lucas! What is this?! How did you summon it?!" he exclaimed, demanding answers from his son. Lucas disregarded his father’s words, his eyes rolling back as Alistair heard a voice pull at his mind—tired, desperate, and strained in its tone.

"Dad! Help me! I can’t control my body anymore! I’m so tired... I kinda want to go to sleep," pleaded Lucas.

"I’ll get you out of that thing. I’ll be back, so keep using this to talk as much as you can. Don’t fall asleep! How long has this been happening?" Alistair responded, determination in his reply as he hurried out of the room to search for a solution.

Len rushed downstairs, frantically searching and opening the bookcase's entryway in his haste.

"I-I’m not sure... I remember..." Lucas struggled to keep his thoughts coherent.

"Listen to me. What do you remember?" Len asked urgently, his panic growing as he searched for his powders.

"I remember... waking up after some time, the first time I was injected with whatever it had. I think maybe three hours have passed...? I lost count of time..." Lucas admitted.

"Okay, and how did this happen?" Len inquired, his mind racing as he tore apart his brewery in search of his precious powders. As he frantically searched, he realized that while the demon possessed formidable abilities, it was ultimately dependent on external sources of power. It functioned more like an incubator than a true demon, reminiscent of Praetor Variants in terms of its circle. Finally locating a bag of exorcism powder, Len coughed as its contents flew into the air. He knew this was exactly what he needed. Turning around, he rummaged through the nearby desk and found a piece of blue chalk before swiftly making his way back upstairs.

There was a long pause before Lucas replied, his voice filled with unconscious moans of pleasure. "I think I summoned it... God, this feels fantastic!"

That was the last thing Alistair wanted echoing in his mind.

"Lucas, focus for me. How did you summon it?" Alistair pressed, trying to maintain his composure.

"I mixed two spells to, uh... use for my own benefit," Lucas admitted, his tone somewhat flustered.

Len sighed heavily. He regretted not discussing these matters with Lucas sooner, instead confiding in Santiago or even Emily. He had already been concerned that Lucas might knock up his girlfriend unintentionally.

"Yeah, you’re at that age, Lucas. You shouldn’t use magic for sexual satisfaction. It can go haywire when you're distracted from controlling it, especially with your kind of magic," Len cautioned, his words laced with worry.

Returning to Lucas's room, Len was met with the distressing sight of his son ensnared in tendrils, tentacles, and covered in mucus. It was a sight he wished he hadn't seen and never wanted to witness again. Despite his apprehension, Alistair steeled himself. He had to find a way to free Lucas from this predicament.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Alistair approached Lucas cautiously, his mind racing with thoughts of how to break the spell. He knew he needed to act quickly before the situation escalated further.

“Lucas, listen to me carefully,” Alistair said, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m going to try to break the spell, but I need you to focus and help me, okay?”

Lucas nodded weakly, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and relief at his father’s presence.

Alistair retrieved the bag of exorcism powder and the blue chalk from his pocket, his hands trembling slightly with the weight of responsibility. With deliberate movements, he began to draw intricate symbols on the floor around Lucas, forming a protective barrier. As he worked, Alistair chanted ancient incantations, channeling his energy into breaking the demonic hold on his son. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he poured every ounce of his being into the task at hand.

Suddenly, there was a faint tremor in the room, and the tendrils holding Lucas began to quiver and retract. He scattered handfuls of powder on the floor within the circle, focusing mainly on the edges of the opening. Next, he carefully placed the inky black rings amidst a mound of golden powders, ensuring they were thoroughly coated. With determined motions, he liberally sprinkled the powders over the tendrils ensnaring Lucas and over himself.

Returning to the smaller circle he had drawn, Len settled back down to commence the ritual. Seated with his legs crossed and hands clasped together, index fingers pressed against each other, he closed his eyes in deep concentration. Beneath his breath, he muttered incantations for minutes on end, his focus unyielding even as the house began to shake around them. Alistair remained steadfast, continuing the ritual as his son announced his seventh climax.

As the circles shimmered with an ethereal blue glow, a sudden flash of light filled the room, casting everything into temporary stillness and silence. Alistair's eyes snapped open to find his son lying naked on the ground, surrounded by lifeless tendrils and tentacles. With a sense of urgency, he approached Lucas, lifting him gently from the circle. Striking a match against the bed frame, he ignited the scattered powder with a determined flick of his wrist.

A horrifying, otherworldly scream pierced the air, causing Alistair to instinctively cover his ears in agony. The sound reverberated through the house, sending shivers down his spine as it rattled his eardrums. As the mass of limbs began to burn, consuming the chalk on the floor with fierce intensity, Alistair reached into his pocket and hurled a handful of golden powder into the air.

"That should purify the room now. No more demonic tendrils, and the connection to the realm and its portal has been severed," Alistair declared, retrieving Lucas' glasses and underwear.

Taking a moment to assess his son's condition, he noticed dark bruises and marks scattered across his body from where the tendrils had grasped him. While Lucas was still partially coated in drying mucus, it seemed to be flaking off in thin sheets. With gentle care, Alistair dressed Lucas in his underwear and placed his glasses back on, watching as his son gradually regained consciousness upon being laid on the bed.

"...Dad?" Lucas asked softly, his voice worn out. "What happened?"

"Well, Lucas... to put it simply... you summoned a demonic aberration by combining two spells, and that aberration was going to kill you by giving you immense sexual pleasure," Alistair explained bluntly. Lucas froze in shock.

"And it almost did," Alistair added with a sigh. "I was scared, you know, to lose you for the second time."

"I-I'm sorry," Lucas apologized, his voice raspy from the ordeal.

"Yeah. Don’t do that again. You might have the power to manipulate spells, but it doesn't mean you should use them for sexual pleasure, Lucas," Alistair admonished.

"Besides, there’s such a thing as birth control and your girlfriend," Alistar joked.

"I wouldn’t do anything like that with Emily unless she asked or made it obvious that's what she wanted," Lucas replied, looking over at his father.

"Wait... don’t encourage that, that’s terrible parenting!" Lucas laughed, his voice interrupted by a cough. Despite his weariness, he managed a bright and cheery smile.

"For now, you should get some rest, Lucas. You are probably very, VERY tired," Alistair advised, rising from his seat and making his way to the door.

"But don’t we need to hunt today? A banshee, was it?" Lucas asked, his voice weak.

"It can wait a few hours," Alistair reassured, tossing Lucas a vial of something as he headed out the door.

"Right now it’s underground, probably enjoying its unfortunate last meal. You should drink that, rest up, and we’ll head out," he instructed before leaving the room.

Lucas stared down at the vial, recognizing it as one of his dad’s peculiar potions known for their potent restorative properties. The liquid inside was a light, translucent purple, shimmering with magical energy.

"I hate it when the grape juice is useful," Lucas remarked, downing the vial in one gulp. He settled into his bed, his body aching from the ordeal. Despite feeling embarrassed and sore, he couldn't deny the soothing effects of the potion as it clouded his mind with pleasure and lulled him into sleep.

"Next time, I’ll just use what I know works instead of that mixture... I’d like to be around longer than nineteen years," Lucas mumbled to himself as he finally drifted off into a much-needed rest.

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~ To the Library ~