#under the celestial dome

[underzemilkyway]

The Kaleidoscopic Beauty of Crater Lake - by Sanjeev Nepali

The Northern Lights put on a spectacular display @ approx 3:00 a.m. as I stood watchfully throughout the night. What a great sight.

[koiukiy-o]

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 002. the assignment.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 1.9k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: chapter twooooo oh my god im so excited for this chapter AUGH IT FELT SO GOOD writing this !! this is when things get GOOOODDDD and im ao HUHUHUHUHU to hear yalls thoughts!! hehe. i hope you like it! <3 -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

You don’t expect to see him here.

The planetarium is dimly lit, the soft glow of projected constellations swirling lazily across the domed ceiling. You hadn’t planned on coming—it was a last-minute decision. Yet, the vastness of space, even simulated, has always steadied you.

But then—

"Of course."

The voice, low and wry, edged with dry amusement, is unmistakable.

You turn.

Anaxagoras is standing just a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back, his dark eyes reflecting the cosmic sprawl above. He isn’t wearing his usual academic robes—just a simple, well-fitted dark tunic beneath a long coat, the fabric settling neatly against his frame. He looks different like this. Less like a scholar. More like—

Well. More like a man. 

"I didn’t take you for a stargazer," he says, voice measured, gaze still fixed on the cosmos above.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. "I could say the same about you, professor."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I do prefer the certainties of physics over the whims of celestial bodies."

"Ah," you hum. "So no fate, no destiny. Just equations and probability."

"Precisely." His gaze flickers up, tracking the slow rotation of the star map. "Though I will admit, there’s a certain poetry to the illusion of it all."

You glance up as well. Orion looms overhead, his belt gleaming sharp and clear. "Illusion?"

"These constellations," Anaxagoras murmurs. "They don't exist as we see them. Stars scattered across thousands of light-years, their arrangement nothing but a trick of perspective. We only think they belong together because of our vantage point." He says, after a pause, “The human mind imposes meaning where there is none.”

Your lips curl. "That’s kind of sad."

He tilts his head. "Is it?"

"Yeah," you say, watching the artificial night swirl overhead. "Thinking you're part of something greater, only to realize it's all a trick of perspective."

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches you, thoughtful. Then—

"Perhaps," he concedes. "But perspective is all we have."

You glance at him again, but his expression is unreadable. 

There’s always been a distance to him that he maintains… almost religiously.

The hush of the planetarium stretches between you, the weight of his regard heavy. You’re not sure what it is that makes your skin feel so warm, your breath so shallow.

So you do what you do best. You challenge him.

"If constellations are an illusion," you say, "then what of all the truths we believe to perceive?"

His head turns slightly, his gaze locking onto yours.

You don’t look away.

"We only think things are connected because of our vantage point," you continue, your voice quieter now. "So how do we know if any of it actually means anything?"

Another beat of silence. Then, slow and deliberate, he says—

"We don’t."

Your chest tightens, though you don’t know why.

For a moment, it feels like that’s the end of it. Like you’ll both turn away and let the conversation dissolve into the simulated cosmos above.

But then—

Anaxagoras steps closer.

Not much. Barely enough to notice. But enough that when he speaks again, his voice is lower. Measured.

"We don’t," he repeats, as if the weight of it matters. "But sometimes, it’s worth entertaining the illusion."

You don’t know what to say to that.

You’re early to class.

Not by much, but enough to claim your usual seat and settle in before the lecture hall fills. Enough to shake off the strange tension that’s been humming beneath your skin since the planetarium.

You tell yourself it was nothing. A conversation wrapped in stardust and metaphor, just another verbal sparring match. Anaxagoras challenged you. That’s all.

But it lingers.

It lingers in the way your heartbeat picked up when he stepped closer. In the way his words—so measured, so precise—felt heavier than they should have. In the way his gaze held yours just a fraction too long, as if entertaining the illusion wasn’t just about the stars.

You exhale, flipping open your notebook. Focus.

The room fills, a murmur of voices, the scrape of chairs against stone. Then, just as the hour strikes, he enters.

Anaxagoras walks with the same deliberate grace he always does, his robes sweeping behind him. But today, as his eyes scan the lecture hall, they pause. Just briefly.

On you.

Something flickers across his expression—gone before you can name it. Then he looks away, moving towards the podium.

"Good morning," he says, voice smooth, effortlessly commanding. "Let’s begin."

You should be taking notes. You should be focused on the equations he’s sketching onto the board, the elegant arc of chalk gliding across the surface. Instead, you remember his voice in the dark, low and certain—

"Sometimes, it’s worth entertaining the illusion."

Damn him.

You press your pen to the paper, forcing your attention forward.

"Consider the nature of causality," Anaxagoras continues, turning back to face the class. "An event—any event—can be traced backward through a series of causes. But the perception of these events is often subject to our vantage point."

A pause. Then his gaze flickers to you, deliberate.

"One might argue that meaning is an emergent property. That cause and effect are simply the mind’s way of drawing constellations between unrelated points."

Your fingers tighten around your pen.

Is he—?

No. No, you’re imagining things. He’s lecturing. That’s all.

And yet.

His gaze lingers a beat too long before he looks away, continuing as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just lace the entire moment with subtext so thick it might as well be its own theorem.

Your pulse is ridiculous. You need to get a grip.

The lecture moves on, but now you’re watching him differently. Not just listening, but observing. The way he gestures, the way his mind moves faster than his words, the way his lips quirk slightly when a student offers an answer that surprises him.

You’ve spent weeks admiring Anaxagoras for his intellect. Respecting him as a professor. Arguing with him for the sake of curiosity.

And...

Well, there'a no point dwelling on it, is there?

By the time the lecture is nearing its end, you’ve barely written anything coherent.

Your notes are a scattered mess—half physics, half what the hell is going on? The worst part? Anaxagoras knows. He hasn’t called on you once today, which is unusual. He always prods, always challenges. But today, he’s let you stew in your thoughts, like he’s letting you chase your own tail. 

Infuriating man.

"Before we conclude," he says, dusting chalk from his fingertips, "your next individual assignment."

The room collectively stiffens.

Anaxagoras turns from the board, his gaze sweeping over the lecture hall. Ilias straightens immediately, feigning deep intellectual engagement. You suppress a smile.

"As we’ve explored, physics attempts to model reality through observable forces," Anaxagoras continues. "But what of the forces we cannot measure? What of the unseen variables?"

Ilias perks up at that, intrigued. "Is he finally acknowledging my suffering?"

You elbow him. "Shut up, he’s setting up the assignment."

"Your task," he continues, "is to examine a concept often deemed metaphysical—fate, intuition, divine intervention—" He lifts his gaze, letting the weight of his words settle. "And construct a framework to explain its existence. Or—" his voice sharpens— "prove its impossibility."

A murmur ripples through the students. Anaxagoras doesn’t tolerate pseudo-science in his lectures, so the fact that he’s even entertaining this angle is unexpected.

It’s a trap, and everyone knows it. He’s handing you something abstract, intangible, and expecting you to apply cold logic to it. A thought experiment designed to test whether you’ll break under paradox or force the universe to make sense.

You listen, absorbed—until Ilias leans in again, whispering, "If I were to quantify the force that compels me to sleep in class instead of studying, do you think he’d accept it?"

You stifle a laugh. "I think he’d call it laziness and fail you on principle."

"Damn. Guess I’ll have to go with my second option."

"Which is?"

He grins. "Manifesting an equation that proves I am, in fact, always right."

You shake your head, biting back a laugh. "I’d pay to see you argue that with him."

As if on cue, Anaxagoras glances your way, sharp-eyed.

"Would either of you care to share your insights with the class?"

Ilias, ever the survivalist, doesn’t miss a beat. "We are discussing emergent properties of intelligence, professor."

Anaxagoras arches a brow, unimpressed. "A phenomenon you’ve yet to personally demonstrate."

The class chuckles. You shoot Ilias a look.

"Walked right into that one," you murmur.

Ilias sighs. "Yeah. That’s on me."

His gaze sweeps the class. "You may choose any concept, but your reasoning must be sound. Sentimentality will not be rewarded."

A collective groan. Someone mutters something about dropping the course.

You, however, are too focused on the way he’s looking at you.

He knows you’ll take this further than anyone else. He wants you to.

Then—

"Stay after class," he says smoothly, as if it’s nothing. "I need a word."

You feel the shift immediately. A few students glance between you and him, intrigued. You school your expression, pretending it doesn’t affect you.

"Yes, professor." you say.

He nods, then dismisses the class.

Chairs scrape against the floor. Students file out, some grumbling about the assignment, others already debating what concept they’ll choose. Someone lingers near the door for a second too long, clearly hoping to eavesdrop, before sighing and leaving.

Then it’s just you and him.

Anaxagoras exhales softly, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders before turning to face you fully.

"I’m altering your assignment," he says.

You blink. "What? Why?"

His lips quirk slightly, but there’s something intent in his eyes. "Because the standard prompt is beneath your abilities."

You swallow. He says it like it’s obvious. Like he’s been paying attention.

"Your mind doesn’t just follow logic," he continues. "It challenges it. So I’m giving you something worthy of that."

You exhale, half-exasperated. "Fine. What’s the twist?"

Instead of answering right away, he steps past you, picks up a book from his desk, and flips it open. When he finds the page he’s looking for, he turns it toward you.

It’s a diagram. A branching structure of choices, converging and diverging like neural pathways.

"Your peers will be arguing for or against metaphysical forces." His voice is measured. "You, however, will go one step further."

He closes the book, meeting your gaze.

"Instead of proving or disproving their existence, I want you to model one."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

His smirk is subtle, but there. "You heard me."

"You want me to… what, exactly? Build a mathematical model for something physics doesn’t even acknowledge?"

"Why not?" he challenges. "If intuition exists, quantify its mechanism. If destiny is real, define its parameters. If the soul endures, find the equation that governs it."

Your fingers twitch at that.

That’s—

That’s significantly more difficult than the original prompt. You’d have to rethink everything from the ground up. 

The soul?

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. "You really don’t like making my life easy, do you?"

His smirk deepens. "Where’s the fun in easy?"

You hate that he’s right.

And worse—you hate that you like that he knows you well enough to give you something harder. Something that will actually make you think.

Your pulse is an uneven rhythm as you meet his gaze. "Alright," you say.

He nods once, satisfied. "Good."

For a moment, neither of you move.

"You’re dismissed," he says, voice softer.

You hesitate. Then turn, heading toward the door.

Just as you step through the threshold, his voice reaches you, quiet but deliberate.

"Don’t disappoint me."

You don’t look back.

But you do smile.

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette @hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom (send an ask or comment to be added!)

[dribs-and-drabbles]

BL ADVENT 2024

It's been just over a year since I began to properly document the shared clothing across different Thai series (and further afield) and I didn't quite realise how much of a monster it would become (we're on 243 items now).

Last December I did a BL Advent where I dedicated certain items of the communal wardrobe to people who either requested something specific or random and either for themselves or as a gift for another blog. And I'd like to do it again this year.

So, if you would like an item of clothing dedicated to yourself or to someone else then send me an ask! I'll post one a day in December in the run up to Christmas (or more if i get more than 24 requests). To make it (hopefully) a bit easier this year, I will restrict the choices to something which first appeared in a show in 2024. Under the cut is a list of the series to choose from or a particular actor. Some shows/actors only wore one item, so if more than one person asks for that show/actor, then I will gift the post to more than one blog. You can also ask for an item of clothing in a particular colour, which was also a popular request last year. I hope that all makes sense.

See here for last year's offerings!

Series:

Last Twilight

Cherry Magic Thailand

Cooking Crush

Wandee Goodday

Knock Knock, Boys!

The Trainee

Peaceful Property

Monster Next Door

Love Sea

My Love Mix-Up Thailand

Summer Night

The Rebound

Love Sick 2024

Kidnap

NEW: The Heart Killers

Actors:

Sea Tawinan

Tay Tawan

Aungpao Ochiris

Neo Trai

Gun Atthaphan

Mark Pakin

Jimmy Jitaraphol

Off Jumpol

Dome Jaruwat

Drake Sattabut

Inn Sarin

Jaonine Jiraphat

Great Sapol

Best Vittawin

Thor Thinnaphan

Emi Thasorn

Nokia Chinnawat

Chokun Puttipong

Naya Gorrawiya

Ong Kasab

Seng Wichai

Big Thanakorn

Kade Tanapon

Fort Thitipong

Gemini Norawit

Putter Phubase

Phuwin Tangsakyuen

Mook Worranit

Park Anantadej

Progress Passawish

Ole Thanakorn

Ping Krittanun

Leng Thanaphon

NEW: first kanaphan

NEW: book kasidet

NEW: peat wasuthorn

Tagging some people who interacted last year to help spread the word:

@lurkingshan @waitmyturtles @twig-tea @brazilian-whalien52 @callipgio

@thegalwhorants @kayatoasted @slayerkitty @respectthepetty @distant-screaming

@grapejuicegay @celestial-sapphicss @tiistirtipii @quodekash @neuroticbookworm

@starryalpacasstuff @williamrikers @non-binarypal7 @sewichii @aouboomseries

@greatyme @gillyweedgrl @airenyah @iguessitsjustme @blmpff

@casualavocados @rocketturtle4 @super-fan @telomeke @dimplesandfierceeyes

@ranchthoughts @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas @sammie-lightwood-bane @italianpersonwithashippersheart @zimmbzonzon

@puppy-phum @shouldiusemyname @lamonnaie @sunshinechay @boysbeloving

@dragonsareawesome123 @sparklyeyedhimbo @nihilisticcondensedmilk @maxescheibechlinichacheli @troubled-mind

@lukaherehelp @hughungrybear @morathicain @my-rose-tinted-glasses @cangse-sanren

@mysterygrl20 @oonmay @nongnaopat @aprilblossomgirl @kexing

@ghoststookournightmares @i-got-the-feels @chickenstrangers @ephemeral-hiraeth @icouldhyperfixatehim

[ilreleonewikiart]

TDIOBCB challenge - day 22:

Aegon and Daenaera's wedding in 136 AC

"The highly anticipated union between Prince Aegon Targaryen and Lady Daenaera Velaryon was a grand spectacle, unparalleled and captivating the hearts of all fortunate enough to bear witness. The Dragonpit, the sole edifice in the entire capital city capable of accommodating the nearly seventy thousand guests, overflowed with exuberance and anticipation as the two young lovers made their entrance. (…) The clamour was momentarily silenced by the resounding roar of a dragon, signifying the arrival of the bridegroom. The world seemed to hold its breath as Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, adorned in a simple yet regal ensemble of dark blue velvet and golden filigree, strode into the Dragonpit.(…) Innumerable songs and artworks would emerge in the years that followed, all striving to immortalize that precise instant when every soul, from the foremost to the rearmost, pivoted to behold the entrance of the youthful and graceful bride. Nevertheless, words alone proved feeble in capturing the awe-inspiring spectacle that unfolded within those grand walls on that spring morning. The bride, the only child of the late Lady Laena, with her flawless visage adorned with clear, brilliant blue eyes and a cascade of the purest silver hair, appeared as if plucked from the pages of a tome, her very presence an embodiment of beauty.  (…) But it was the magnificent gown she wore, concealed mostly beneath her house's sigil-adorned cloak, that attracted all the bulk of the attention, stirring deep envy and boundless admiration among many a lady and noblewoman. It was clear to all, even the most unrefined, that the gown was an exemplar of craftsmanship and quality; a far cry from the pedestrian attire donned by noblewomen in the countryside, woven from fabrics procured from merchants of dubious repute, in their delusion of appearing as capital ladies. This exquisite creation was hewn from genuine and precious white silk sourced from the distant isle of Leng, wich under the sun's gaze, gleamed with blue and silver hues, akin to summer sea waves. The fabric, inherently precious, was adorned throughout with intricate undulating silver embroideries, reminiscent of the tranquil ebb and flow of ocean tides, a testament to the artistry of Myrish weavers; even the jewellery was of an exceptional nature, forged from the most precious shells, the whitest mother-of-pearl, and the most delicate corals, all procured from the shores of Driftmark, specially presented by her cousin, the Lord, for this momentous occasion. (…) The prince and his princess looked ethereal, as if they were celestial beings brought down to grace the mortal realm. The splendor of the late morning light, filtered through the large oval opening in the center of the colossal stone dome above them, bathed them in a radiant glow, making them shine like stars in the night sky. The mere sight of the kiss they exchanged sent the whole arena into raptures."

 - from TDIOBCB chp 2

(warning: these illustrations are inspired by an AU Divergence and have nothing to do with canon (book or tv show) events and are not meant to be reposted outside of their contest)

[jayceispathetic]

[MINECRAFT AU]

ISLANDERS : THE SEVEN RULING VILLAGER CLANS

—————————————

CLAN #01 : PLAINS

The common folk of the Grassland Plains Biome. They're a simple people, probably the most common and well-known villagers you'll encounter while exploring Caeloria. They have harvest festivals, public gatherings in central markets, and tell stories around the campfire. Their economy is made up of skilled farmers, traders, and builders. They produce and export grains, livestock, and crafted goods which vary on the profession. They rely on Iron Titans and rudimentary fortifications but distrust weapons (although some villagers like blacksmiths do create weapons for trading with people more open to violence.) Their villages are made up of homes with the timber-framed architecture style, wooden roofs, and are usually surrounded by small farms.

CLAN #02 : DESERT

The inhabitants of the Desert Biomes. They are not as simple as the Plainsmen, and their culture is more focused on keeping a holy life, alongside securing a safe trip into the Afterlife. They do daily prayers to honor the sun, moon, and the passage of time itself, alongside intricate funeral ceremonies and rituals to ensure safe passage into the Afterlife. Their economy is famous for their trade caravans, glasswork, pottery, and exotic spices. While they also have Iron Titans, they use dynamite traps to protect their sacred temples and religious sanctuaries. The villages are made up of Sandstone, with domed roofs to regulate temperature, often built around oases and river beds.

CLAN #03 : JUNGLE

The hunters that reside within jungle biomes. Unlike most villager clans, they're a militaristic civilization, focused mainly on hunting. They have daily ritual dances at sunrise and sunset, large hunting trips usually consisting of "packs", and a variety of face paint representing their roles in society, or, for a hunter; their achievements and rank in hunting. They're a people skilled in herbal medicine, dye-making, and the creation of weapons. Instead of living on the ground like most villagers, these hunters live in wooden treehouses interconnected by bridges to maintain high ground advantage during hunting. They use the vines of the trees to climb up and down. While they have their own variant of the Iron Titans, they also rely on boobie traps and ambushes from multiple packs as defense mechanisms.

CLAN #04 : SAVANNA

Savanna Villagers are the second most welcoming villagers of Caeloria, and similar to the Plains Villagers, they rely on community, tradition, and peace. The main thing that separates them from the Plainsmen is their belief in astrology. They believe that the stars guide their fate, and a lot of their traditions revolve around astrology. Stargazing ceremonies, seasonal festivals aligned with celestial events (basically just.. holidays) and storytelling under the stars. Their economy is constructed of skilled weavers and artisans, known for intricate carving, cloth-dyeing, and crafting of jewelry, usually having a celestial theme. Unfortunately, I couldn't capture that as much as I could with the designs, as the concept came after they were already done. They're also expert animal handlers, known for domesticating and breeding fast horses for both companionship and a good defense mechanism, aside from the Iron Titans, ofcourse. Their villages are usually made up of terracotta or mud blocks, shaped in the style of mud-and-tatch huts. I also like to think that in-game there would be a massive baobab tree in the center of the village, which would lead in an Iron Titan attack if it were destroyed by a player.

CLAN #05 : SWAMP

These guys are the black sheep of Villager society, even if per say the Jungle Clan's hunting traditions are questioned by the rest of village society, at least they keep their hunting trips tame! These guys are a full-on cult, the most controversial of the clans. Their traditions are rather questionable; they make blood sacrifices to some kind of "Spirit of The Swamp" some mystical natural energy they seem to try and appease. New members of the cult must craft their own ceremonial mask from the remains of a hunted beast, believed to bind them spiritually to the creature and grant them its strength. This is basically my in-universe reason for why certain things like skeleton heads, creeper heads, dragon heads, etc. can be collected. Maybe if this were a mod of some sorts you'd need some kind of mob skull to not get attacked while exploring the swamp? Idk. Every twenty years or so, a great hunt is held for a "cursed beast," often the last of a dying species, as they believe such creatures hold the most potent spiritual energy. We know the Sniffers are nearly extinct, maybe these villagers are related to that in some way. Hell, when we play the game, the Sniffer could be the beast they are out to hunt. Their economy is built on potion-making, fungus cultivation, and fishing. They lack Iron Titans for defense, instead relying on hunting and camouflage techniques, their houses themselves are designed to camouflage with the bog's trees. They're also oomfies with the Witches. With all this world-building done you'd be surprised to find out that these are actually my least favorite of the seven villager variants in-game.

CLAN #06 : TAIGA

Considering the last two yap-fests, I have a lot less to say about the Taiga Villagers. They're a people who value trust, loyalty, strategy, and honor. They live in communal spruce wood long houses, typically working inside. They tend to train inside, meditating and having communal prayers inside of huts, circling around the campfire. Some also go out and meditate in the cold to test their endurance during full moons, which doubles as an opportunity to hunt for resources. Their economy is built on their massive supply of wood, meat, natural herbal remedies, and leather skins. They have Iron Titans that protect them from wild animals and Pillagers. They're strong allies with the Plainsmen, alongside the Desert and Savanna Tribes. Their strongest ally, however...

CLAN #07 : TUNDRA

A group of small tribes that are master survivalists. They believe in community, honor, and strategy. They're the strongest ally to the Taiga Clan, and vice versa. They also don't mind trading with the Desert Clan. These cold and reserved people live within reinforced wooden cabins, often remaining inside at all times unless it is necessary to go out hunting. They trade seafood, wool, and rarer gems such as emeralds, gold, and even diamonds. They also trade large supplies of wood. That's all I really have to say about them!

And that's all seven Villager clans redesigned and expanded upon!! I hope they came out looking decent lmfao

[angelremnants]

HIS FOR THE SEASON l L. Laufeyson

CHAPTER THREE,⠀Let the Festivities Begin

chapter summary : You, dearest reader, enter the glittering halls of the royal palace to step into a territory of many calculated dances and the promise of scandal or salvation. Amid the interplay of masquerade and mystery, you navigate a treacherous chessboard of masked suitors with poise born of both refined resolve and lingering regret, until you find yourself unwittingly entwined with an enigmatic gentleman whose unexpected charm defies all expectation. 

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), would Loki suffice as a warning? overall tension and romantic suspense, some banter, mild asshole behaviors from secondary characters, brief embarrassment. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 7.2k

author's notes : Ao3 saw it first. ;)

Finally, the first meeting with Loki! But don't get fooled by his charming nature my lovelies—after all, you never know what goes on in the head of the God of Chaos.

(ao3 version)

⠀

⠀

The Royal Palace of Valaskjalf was both a monument and a testament to power and eternity itself—to most, it appeared as an unshakable citadel of gleaming gold that crowned the heart of Asgard, a realm of wonder and somber majesty acting as a sanctuary where time seemed to bow in reverence.

From the outside, you could wager that its spires stretched toward Valhalla, piercing the sky like the spears of warriors long past. The celestial sheen of its walls caught the light of distant stars, casting reflections that lustered like the surface of an ethereal lake. The great dome loomed over the city like a silent watcher, its celestial map shifting under the soft glow of the Bifrost’s ever-present gleam.

Such an imposing avenue made it impossible for the general public to accurately predict the nature of the fight hidden behind this golden cage.

It had been years since you last set foot on this site since that fateful day, when the echo of a gavel’s finality and the chilling hush of a horrified court marked the execution of your father. The memory of that day, when your name fell from grace along with his, floated in the back of your mind like a vengeful ghost that only you could feel.

Your entrance was neither grand nor meek—you made sure that each step and each breath you took were carefully controlled, though your lungs still burned with the weight of anticipated scrutiny as you navigated on the mirror-like polished path.

The muted candlelight caught the glint of your silver adornments, a deliberate departure from your once resplendent golden radiance. Silver, you mused, was softer, more elusive, and harder to grasp, just as you had become. 

Your temporary escorts left you to ascend a sweeping staircase spiraling upward like the inner whorls of the seashells you could find on the coasts of the Sea of Marmora, leading you to the palace's beating heart. Here, the space opened up into a cavern of opulence, bathed in the subdued flare of countless chandeliers. Each crystal droplet refracted the candlelight into a cascade of tiny rainbows, casting prismatic patterns upon the crimson velvet drapes and glossy stone walls. 

High vaulted ceilings arched overhead, made of frescoes depicting celestial battles and the fabled journeys of ancient gods, imbuing the room with a sense of both awe and foreboding. Massive carved pillars crowned with gold leaf punctuated the space like silent sentinels guarding secret treasures and every surface, from the varnished ground to the luxurious banqueting tables set along the periphery, spoke of a past that was as resplendent as it was ruthless.

Tonight, however, this dazzling splendor was a world of gilded illusions accompanied by the soft strains of a string quartet, mingling to form a symphony of refined decadence where the guests, arrayed in sumptuous costumes and elegant masks, moved with an effortless grace.

Standing at the edge of this cathedral of aristocratic ambition, your heart beat a measured tattoo against the hush of whispered strategies. You were now both an observer and a participant in this game of politics—a lone huntress, poised to select your prey from among the throng of covert suitors. 

You remembered a time when you navigated these halls with ease—but now the rules of this venture seemed foreign, and the board itself an enigma. You would not act rashly for the sake of nostalgia. 

A hunter, you reminded yourself, never strikes at the first sign of movement. 

You marched along the periphery of the dance hall, your eyes drifting over the throng to visually dissect it. There was dominion in being seen yet unseen, acknowledged yet dismissed. That duality, you knew, was a weapon in itself and, if used well, would lead you to successfully identify your collection of prey.

A hunter did not strike blindly. You were here to stalk, study, choose and mark your targets with the precision of a seasoned predator surveying her terrain.

Posture was the first tell. The elites carried themselves with a natural command that resonated in their squared shoulders and chests subtly puffed in practiced ease. Some lounged in what you identified as strategic boredom, with slouched stances hinting at a quiet confidence that belied a mind already playing the game. Others, the pawns of this gathering, fidgeted nervously—adjusting sleeves, shifting weight, darting furtive glances in search of approval.

Speech and the cadence of a man’s words revealed much more than mere conversation. Highborn Asgardians spoke as if every syllable had been lacquered and honed, each word part of a greater performance. In contrast, the lesser nobles stumbled through their phrases, their hurried and clumsy utterances betraying a lack of refinement. You listened intently to snippets of conversation as you followed the borders of the ballroom, distinguishing the voices of true power from the braggarts who merely recounted tales of battles won or the number of horses bred.

Circles of conversation provided another clue. Influence, you had long realized, was gauged by proximity: how bodies clustered around a single figure, how attentively they leaned in. A man surrounded by a modest yet focused circle was worth noting, while those isolated or drowning in flattery were less so.

Clothing epitomized another language of well-managed wealth. Ostentatious rings and gem-studded cuffs declared it so, but the truly powerful needed no such desperate displays. Imported fabrics, the embroidered sigils at the hems, the careful balance between regalia and restraint—all these stated secure fortunes and deep-rooted influence. 

And still, it was the smallest details that mattered most. The way a man adjusted his mask too often as if it stifled him—perhaps hiding a secret. The subtle tension in his fingers curling around a goblet, possibly holding back or restraining an impulse. A glance that lingered just a moment too long, a poorly concealed smirk at another’s misfortune that translated into amusement at a rival’s expense.

Finally, the dance cards clutched by every noble, their names etched in ink that redirected the minds to alliances and commitments. A dance was never just a dance in these circles—it was a silent contract, a political maneuver, a statement of alignment. They told you who was already spoken for, who was in high demand, and who had been conspicuously avoided.

With those clues, you had easily identified your top three targets. All that remained for now was to act according to what you presumed would be their tastes in women.

The first target was Lord Eirikr Veidarson—a man of imposing stature whose bloodline, newly raised to high nobility, bore the staple of countless heroic deeds. His father, a renowned monster hunter, had amassed a fortune by felling beasts whose very names stirred terror in the hearts of common men. Rumor had it that Eirikr himself had felled a Nemean lion with but a single swift shot, and his bowstring was said to be the last sound many a creature ever heard.

Even in a ballroom crowded with towering figures, he was impossible to ignore. Tall and broad-shouldered, his form was draped in a dark stormy-blue doublet, intricately stitched with white embroidery depicting hunting hounds in pursuit of their quarry. His golden hair, styled with a hint of untamed wildness, caught the light as if ignited by an inner flame. Yet it was his alert amber eyes that truly marked him as a predator among men, concealed partly by the polished bone mask fashioned in the shape of a wolf’s maw.

You knew that a man of such brute force would favor innocence wrapped in grace and adoration delivered in wide-eyed wonder, a match made for a demure debutante rather than a strategist such as yourself. And so you assumed the role, your mind set to mimic the mannerisms of one easily impressed.

Timing it just so, you allowed the swell of passing dancers to nudge you from behind, deliberately staggering into his path with a startled gasp. The collision was slight—a mere brush of silken fabric against his broad chest—but his reaction was immediate. His calloused hands enveloped your waist in a firm, steadying grip, preventing your fall.

“My lady,” he rumbled, his voice as confident and warm as a well-strung bow, and his eyes twinkled with mirth behind that imposing mask. His grip lingered a moment too long, and a playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I do not recall slaying a spirit this evening, yet here you appear, as though conjured by the Norns themselves.”

A breathy laugh escaped you, sharing a mixture of feigned embarrassment and genuine intrigue. “Forgive me, my lord,” you managed, your gaze drifting momentarily to the swirling mob of masked figures before returning to his expectant eyes. “I am but newly of age and, I confess, rather lost in the splendor of this... labyrinth of revelry.”

Eirikr’s grin deepened, his confidence undiminished. “Then allow me the honor of guiding you through this treacherous place, my lady. A dancing hall is no place to wander alone.”

Without further delay, his rough hand reached for your dance card, and in bold, slightly uneven strokes—possibly more accustomed to drawing arrows than elegant script—he claimed a place upon it. The ink barely dried before he took your hand and led you toward the dance floor, where the orchestra’s swell seemed to echo the rapid beat of your heart.

As your feet found their rhythm in the dance, you seized the opportunity to steer the exchange toward his place in court. With a delicate tilt of your head and a practiced smile, you let your curiosity emerge. “And pray, my lord, what of your influence in the halls of power? Surely one as accomplished as yourself must wield considerable sway?”

His response was but expected, boasting loudly without restraint. The harmonious tune of the ballroom shattered as heads turned toward the source of his voice. “Politics? Bah!” he declared with a deep, resonant laugh that made the very walls seem to tremble. “I have no patience for such matters! My father would have my hide if I so much as rearranged the great hall, let alone participated in the trivialities of the royal counseling.” 

Truth became crystal clear at that moment. Here was a man more inclined to the thrill of the hunt than the subtle dance of diplomacy—a brute of formidable strength yet without the refined ambition required for the life you sought. Your smile wavered ever so slightly. He was undeniably appealing, yet his nature was far removed from the shrewd partner you needed.

Feigning a sudden distraction, you let your voice drop into a soft exclamation. “Oh! I believe I have just seen a dear friend arrive.” Your words, laced with regret and a hint of contrived urgency, provided the perfect excuse to slip away from his grasp.

The noble hunter blinked, surprise flickering across his features as you offered a graceful curtsy and melted back toward the periphery of the dance floor. As your figure receded into the tapestry of masked bodies, your breath escaped in a quiet exhale.

One down, you thought.

You cursed under your breath as your eyes fell upon the damning ink on your dance card. That single name, enchanted by forces you did not command, clung to your record like an iron shackle.

Foolish choice. You should have been more selective, more cautious. Now, no matter how the night unfolded, one dance had irrevocably been reserved for a man whose worth had proven to be naught.

The impact of that decision gnawed at you when suddenly, a prickling sensation crept up your spine.

Someone was watching you.

You turned your head ever so slightly, scanning the gilded expanse of the ballroom, but the sensation flickered into an ember snuffed out before you could trace its source. Instead, as if by fate’s own design, your gaze landed on another man.

Dark-skinned and striking, he wore a mask fashioned in the sleek guise of a golden sly fox. He was surrounded by men speaking in conspiratorial tones and women whose laughter rang with practiced elegance. Lord Valbrand Fandrisson, you recognized, was a name woven into the tapestry of noble influence. His presence attested to being a descendant of a long line of Asgardian power, his status as well-connected as it was enviable. 

His eyes, luminous as molten gold, sparkled with greedy amusement. You had seen that same assessing look before, among the countless suitors your uncle once paraded before you like prized steeds.

A plan formed swiftly. With practiced grace, you lifted your fan in your left hand and snapped it open, letting the delicate accessory flutter before your face. I wish to be acquainted, you silently declared in this secret correspondence meant to test his mettle. If he truly knew the language of this game, he would understand immediately.

Within moments, his lips curled in a faint smirk as he disentangled himself from his current company. He strode toward you with the absolute assurance of a predatory gait. “You send a most intriguing message, my lady,” he smoothly declared, dipping his head in courteous deference. “And I, of course, cannot let such an invitation go unanswered.”

A soft laugh escaped you, one tempered with both mirthfulness and regret. “Then I can assume you are no fool, Lord Fandrisson.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, letting his gaze wander to your dance card. “I find it rather curious that a lady of your grace bears only a solitary name tonight.” His tone held a teasing lilt that made you wince internally.

“Alas, circumstance did not grant me the luxury to refuse a dance when it was proffered, nor did it allow me to choose my companions freely. My company, regrettably, was not that which I sought.” Your eyes flickered toward the distant crowd, offering the perfect excuse in your spun tale. “I must now retire to the sidelines.”

“If such is the case, my lady, allow me to escort you back to the dance floor,” he insisted, extending a gloved hand. “I would hate for you to remain a mere spectator on such a splendid night.”

The orchestra struck up a new melody, dictating the patterned pace of the group dance. You had hoped for a more intimate waltz, one that would afford you a private moment with your newfound companion, but the Norns, ever so capricious, had other plans. Conversely, you found yourself ensnared in the rhythm of a grand formation where partners were constantly exchanged. Despite the constant pairing and unpairing, you resolved to seize every fleeting moment that might leave an indelible impression on your quarry.

The first turn passed in a courteous blur. “I must say,” you ventured lightly as he spun you gracefully beneath his arm, “I have long heard of your mastery in the courtly arts. Yet, I begin to suspect that your talents extend beyond statesmanship and into the realm of dance.” You hoped your subtle compliment woven into an inquiry might have opened a window to dive into his ambitions.

Before he could respond, the pattern dictated a change. You released his hand as another pair of gloved fingers closed around yours. The transition was swift—one moment you were in the familiar grasp of Lord Fandrisson, and the next, you found yourself with a different partner.

He was tall, taller than most in attendance, with an air of elegant nonchalance that set him apart from the rigid, well-practiced lords. His mask, fashioned of blackened material and carved into the sweeping visage of a chimera, added even more to his height with the resplendent tall horns attached to the base. His lips curled into an unmistakable smirk that shone beneath his dark curls, carelessly cascading over his forehead and his sharp cheekbones as he bowed his head in mock deference.

"Ah, fortune smiles upon me this evening," he greeted you with a smooth and rich as velvet voice. "It appears that the lady graced with divine beauty of the line has, by some twist of providence, fallen to me instead."

You arched a brow at his words, silently noting the underlying mischief in his remarks. It was hardly unusual for a dance partner to be switched at the last moment, whether by design or chance, but there was something about his cadence that hinted at careful orchestration. Regardless, you reminded yourself that he was merely a transient partner meant to distract while your true interest remained in the distance.

Your gaze flitted to the far side of the ballroom, where Lord Fandrisson’s matte purple coat and imposing presence were unmistakable, even amidst the swirling throng. “Eager to be rid of me already?” the stranger teased as he guided you through the next step of the dance. “How cruel, that I should be so quickly discarded.”

“I am afraid I am otherwise occupied,” you answered airily, your eyes darting away in search of your intended quarry. “I must confess that my attention is presently elsewhere.”

He tightened his grip just slightly, underscoring his curiosity. “Oh? And who has captured your attention so completely that you cannot spare me a single glance?”

“Lord Fandrisson,” you returned distractedly, your gaze locking onto the blur of said man’s coat as he engaged in animated conversation with a laughing noblewoman across the floor.

A rake.

You should have known. A flicker of irritation sparked within you as you swiftly made your internal calculation that this was not the match you sought. You weren’t about to lower your standards to accept a man of wandering eyes who would later compromise your reputation, no matter his status or wealth. With a subtle sigh masked by polite detachment, you shifted your focus back to the mysterious stranger.

“I see,” he murmured as he scrutinized you with a knowing light. “Now that your gallant lord is otherwise occupied, perhaps my company has grown marginally more tolerable?”

“Do not presume, my lord,” you riposted with polite dismissal.

“Ah, but presumption is my specialty,” he countered with a diverted chuckle. “I presume you are not here merely to dance and twirl aimlessly among the concourse. No, I believe you watch every movement like would a merchant appraising a diamond.”

A ripple of unease stirred within you at the correctness of his observation. Your silence was his answer, and his smile deepened in acknowledgment.

“Yes,” he mused, triumphant as the final chords of the dance struck a somber note. “You are not here simply for pleasure.”

“And I presume you are a man with far too much time on his hands.”

“I assure you, if circumstances allowed, I would spend even more of it in your delightful company. Although, if my lady ever so grants me the opportunity, she could grace me with the honor of seeing more of her.”

You don’t bestow him the gift of a reply at his subtle dance request, favoring the liberty of slipping from his grasp in a graceful curtsy and a dismissive smile. You immediately turned on your heel and made your way toward the buffet, weaving through the crowded ballroom before he could pursue you.

You let out a soft groan as you sank into a nearby chair, the pressure of the evening finally catching up with you. The heels you’d chosen now felt like miniature daggers wedged into your feet. You’d forgotten just how much dancing could hurt after hours of relentless movement. Absentmindedly, you fiddled with the strap of one shoe, carefully slipping it off to rub the aching ball of your foot, praying that the small reprieve would last longer than a fleeting minute. 

The night had so far been long and frustrating—no matter the series of calculated encounters, it seemed every path had led you to an impasse.

And as if this losing streak didn’t suffice, a mishap occurred. From somewhere amidst the swirl of revelers, a full glass of wine veered off course and splashed with a jarring clink onto the hem of your gown, darkening the delicate fabric in a blot of deep, accusing color. 

The man responsible for the spill’s shock was immediately stricken with horror. “Oh, no—my sincerest apologies!” he blurted, trembling with dismay. Without hesitation, he kneeled before you, hastily retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at the spill, though his frantic efforts only seemed to spread the stain further.

You leaned back and let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Well, isn’t this just the cherry on top?” you remarked with a wry smile that masked your inner dismay. “It’s fine—truly. Merely one of those nights, I suppose.”

The man’s eyes darted up, uncertainty mingling with genuine concern as he studied your expression. “I’m terribly sorry,” he stammered, continuing his futile attempts to dab the stain away, and for a moment, you thought you might scold him on his clumsiness. But he then looked up fully, and his mask revealed a glimpse of a face you hadn’t expected to see.

There, beneath an elegant mask crafted like a noble stag with polished silver edges, were striking blue eyes—rich, intelligent, and filled with a gentle curiosity. Auburn waves of hair tumbled loosely about his face, framing a sharply handsome jaw and semi-full lips that held a timid smile. His voice, still polite but now imbued with a tender concern, broke the silence. "I truly didn’t mean to ruin your night, I’m afraid.”

You shook your head, dismissing his apologies with a gentle wave. “‘Tis quite alright,” you said, though your tone held a note of weary resignation. “It appears this evening is simply not in my favor.”

He hesitated, as if weighing his next words, before staring at the dance card clutched in your hand. “I must confess,” he let out in a softened tone, “that I’ve noticed your list… or rather, the absence of one.”

Your brows knitted in curiosity. “What of it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He offered a soft chuckle as he adjusted the delicate mask on his face. “It seems we share a similar predicament. Your stature tells me you’ve spent this evening dancing among a host of unworthy partners, and yet none have truly captured your attention. And now, this stain, though I presume is hardly the worst thing you’ve encountered, adds to the misfortune.”

A pang of recognition struck within you. Indeed, you had been deceived by every fleeting encounter, each partner presenting to be a disappointment. “I had hoped to find some meaningful company tonight,” you confessed quietly. “But every encounter has left me more disheartened.”

His eyes met yours again, and you saw a flicker of understanding there. “Perhaps,” he began tentatively, “if you are seeking someone who truly comprehends your plight, you might find solace in the garden.”

The promise of respite from the endless, empty chatter of the ballroom in his suggestion stirred a warmth in your chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, you nodded. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

He rose gracefully, extending a strong, sure hand. “Let me to escort my lady to a quieter place,” he offered. His voice carried the gentle authority of someone who had known both the bitterness of disappointment and the sweetness of unexpected connection.

⠀

⠀

You let him to guide you away from the crowded room and into the cool, moonlit air of the palace gardens. Lanterns hung from the top of the pristine pillars casted a shy glow over winding paths and the everflowing water on the sidelines of the road, the hush of night embracing you both as you walked in comfortable silence. The rustle of leaves and the distant echo of festivities formed a delicate symphony around you.

At last, he stopped in a secluded alcove where the moonlight painted various tessellations on the stone floor. “At the risk of defying this event’s purpose, I am Lord Hakon Alfvinsson,” he finally offered his name and confirmed your suspicion as to him being the last of your three most promising prey. “And I fear tonight has not been kind to you—nor, it seems, to me.”

You regarded him quietly. “I have been disappointed, more than once,” you admitted. “Each dance has left me wondering if true companionship is nothing more than an impossible feat to achieve.”

A gentle smile warmed his features. “Perhaps in another universe, our paths would have intertwined far sooner. For now, though, I offer you my company—and hopefully, a chance to escape this masquerade’s pretensions.”

You walked together deeper into one of the many gardens, each brush of his against yours sending a current of unexpected warmth through you. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and every step replaced the stress of the night with a tender sense of possibility. His rich and genuine laughter tangled with the soft breeze of the greensward, and you allowed yourself to find solace in a spark of hope that this encounter might mend your battered spirit and give way to a newfound tenderness that could put an end to the miseries of the past.

The road twisted and turned unexpectedly until suddenly you found yourself before an old friend of your youth—a labyrinth of ivy-draped hedges and weathered stone, its passages alive with the glow of radiant moss and the luminescence of moonflowers, and the extremity of the edges were bordered by the continuous water flows. The sight made you pause in your stroll, memories flooding back of carefree days spent wandering these winding corridors, where the maze had once been a source of delightful frustration as well as your secret escape. 

Hakon observed your momentary hesitation and gently smiled. “Do you know this place?” 

A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you scrutinized the openings of the twisting walls of the maze. “Indeed, I do. I used to get hopelessly lost here when I was a child—running through its corridors in search of a secret I could never quite name. It was both my escape and, at times, my torment.”

“A maze of memories, then? How enchanting,” your companion hummed.

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned in, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “What if I told you I could lead you through it—if you dared to follow?”

The afresh challenge that presently hung between you made him incline his head in mild intrigue. “I believe you’ll have to offer me more than mere words.”

With a spark of mischief, you stepped forward and declared, “Then let it be a game—if you can catch me in the maze, I shall reveal my name.” Without awaiting his reply, you vanished into the labyrinth’s embrace, your footsteps fading into the rustle of leaves.

The thrill was intoxicating—a rush akin to being chased like a princess by a secret suitor. You moved with purpose, pausing once behind a moss-draped statue of an ancient god to watch through half-hidden eyes as Hakon’s figure passed, his steady determination echoing softly in the labyrinth’s winding corridors. In a spontaneous act of daring, you let a decorative ribbon slip from your wrist, watching it fall softly onto the dew-kissed path and serve as a token for him to find.

Moonlight cast long, silvery shadows as you navigated the twisting pathways. You were sure the pounding of your heart in this escapade proved to be louder than the ever-growing distant strains of the ballroom’s music, gradually feeling like a fading echo from another world. At length, you reached the labyrinth’s center, where a magnificent fountain stood—a timeless relic adorned with ivy, its marble sculptures spilling water into a shallow basin. The fountain, a cherished landmark whispered about in noble circles, was said to have witnessed many lost romances and tragic secrets, its statues of entwined lovers now softened by time.

A sigh escaped your lips as you surveyed the scene. Here, in the cool embrace of history, you felt both a part of something ancient and poignantly out of place. Driven by exhaustion and a desperate need for relief, you stepped closer to the fountain and gingerly removed your heels. You cursed under your breath for favoring adrenaline over comfort.

You kneeled beside the fountain to rub the sore balls of your feet, grimacing as you tried to ease the burning ache in your ankles. Your reflection sent back a graceful figure in a gown marred by the night’s trials on the water’s surface and made you feel a glimmer of solace in that mirrored image.

The night, it seemed, had only begun to unfold its true mysteries. Amid the gentle murmur of water and rustling leaves, you heard soft footsteps behind you. Assuming it was Hakon, you glanced overhead, only to find emptiness. You returned your focus with a frown to the water's reflection, only to catch the unsettling reflection of a towering, dark figure with elongated horns standing immediately behind you. A chill shot through you, and you let out a startled scream, stumbling backward and tripping over the fountain’s stone edge.

Before you could crash into the cold water, strong arms intercepted your fall, steadying you. "’Tis alright, you won’t fall." You gasped, your heart pounding as you faced the stranger and, in a burst of indignation, shoved him back. 

“You followed me?” you demanded, your voice sharp with embarrassment and anger.

Your dance partner from earlier regarded you with a calm sense of amusement and chirpily replied, “I couldn’t help but notice the game you were playing, and I hate to be left out.”

Your cheeks flushed as you retorted, “What are you doing here? I had company!” trying desperately to mask your uncertainty.

A faint, almost mocking smile curled on his lips as he bowed his head forward at the notion. "A company that, I’m afraid, did not quite reach the right point," he returned, retrieving the ribbon you had let behind on your way and raising it to your eyes. The unwanted chaperone surprised you even more by announcing your exact name regardless of how your mask hid your identity, laying a secret laid bare in the cold night.

Your blood ran cold. "Who are you?" you fearfully asked in a poorly concealed tremble.

The man took a slow step forward, his eyes piercing as though searching your soul. "Let us not concern ourselves with names just yet," he intoned with purpose. "What I care about is striking a deal—a deal I suspect you, too, are here to negotiate."

A shiver ran through you as his words settled in the air, heavy with implication. You stilled, instinctively bracing yourself against the newfound tension.

He observed you in silence for a long moment, then continued, "You’ve traversed quite the journey tonight, haven’t you? I’m sure you did not expect it to be this arduous." 

You scowled, tightening your jaw. "You think you know what I want?" you spat, masking fear with thin defiance. "You know nothing."

"Imaginably so," he acquiesced with a slight, enigmatic smile, "but I know enough to offer you a choice. Shall we walk back together?"

You hesitated, caught between distrust and the inescapable necessity of his proposition. But the pain in your feet reminded you of your vulnerability, and you winced as you took a tentative step backward. 

He let out an almost imperceptible sigh when he made note of your lack of following his stride, showing his exasperation at the situation before briefly excusing himself and kneeling despite your protests.

"This will be brief," he mumbled as he gently took your foot in his hand, making you sit on the edge of the fountain. "I promise." Magic abruptly stirred around your foot like a liquid balm, soothing the burning pain even as strange tautness coiled within you.

"This is... inappropriate," you muttered, trying to mask your discomfort with protest.

He looked up at you, his expression inscrutable beneath the mask. "Is it not more inappropriate to seek power and fortune through marriage when so much is already lost?" he mockingly replied.

You blinked, caught off guard by his candor. His voice, though sharp, resonated with a truth you had long feared to accept. With your heart pounding and your mind swirling with uncertainty, you could only nod silently.

His magic had finished its work, and as you flexed your toes, relief washed over you in an almost shocking wave. The persistent ache had melted away into a soft, comforting sensation—one that left you wondering if it were real or merely an illusion borne of exhaustion. You slowly exhaled, trying to shake off the ghost of his touch that still lingered on your skin.

"I’ll have you consider, my lord," you cockily remarked, "that it is hardly wise to reveal such an extraordinary facet of one’s abilities if one intends to remain in the shadows. Few in Asgard wield magic with such refined grace."

Silence stretched between you for an instant as his fingers stilled momentarily before continuing their work while a satisfied smile drew on his lips as he adjusted the delicate seams of your shoes. "You flatter me. I did not plan to remain entirely anonymous for too long," he enigmatically explained. "Merely a precaution until all is properly explained."

His words, refined with subtle assurance, sent a shiver of intrigue and uncertainty alike through you. He readjusted the footwear on your heels with careful, practiced movements, allowing your dress to fall back into place with an almost choreographed swish.

"Well, I must confess, you are extraordinarily skilled," you half-heartedly grumbled, accrediting his exploit in a fragile blend of admiration and guarded reserve.

You stirred your gaze to his face as you straightened in the half-light, and you found yourself uncomfortably close—so close that the faint scent of his cool, forest-like cologne mingled with the night air. You caught a glimpse of something familiar in his dark, intense eyes—a depth that formed in you an inexplicable recognition in the abstract of an incantation from a distant, forgotten dream you couldn’t fully recall.

He cleared his throat to disperse the moment, his eyes flickering away for a moment before returning to meet yours with unwavering intensity. "Thank you," he acknowledged your compliment. "I endeavor to ensure all is comfortable at the very least."

Without further ado, he gracefully extended his hand to you in a remarkably assertive manner. You hesitated, just for a breath, before placing your fingers within his and were hoisted from your seat. His touch was not as cold as you expected, encircling yours with a tenderness that belied the enigmatic aura about him. It was a stark contrast to the brooding air that seemed to cling to him like a leech.

His hand left yours, traveling swiftly and surely to your waist, pulling you effortlessly into his arms. The sudden movement left you breathless, a gasp caught in your throat, and before you could gather yourself, your feet left the ground entirely.

The world blurred, and you were placed under the impression of being transported to the very heavens, until at last you found your feet once again on solid ground, just outside the imposing gates of the palace.

You blinked, disoriented—the sudden shift left you reeling, unsure how to reconcile the grandeur of your new surroundings with the suddenness of your arrival. Your captor stood otherwise perfectly composed beside you, granting you a moment to collect yourself. You took a step away from him as you attempted to steady your breath from the unexpectedness of finding yourself placed in front of the grandeur of the palace that loomed before you like a stately monument to bygone eras.

 "I do apologize if I startled you, but I trust your feet are no longer in distress?"

You managed a stiff nod, the shock of your sudden journey leaving you momentarily. Gathering your courage, you probed, “You mentioned a... proposition, did you not? You are aware of my search, I take it?”

“Indeed, a dear friend of mine shared your plight with me. And I must confess, I find myself most intrigued. Not only do I possess all that you seek, but I too am in need of a partner. It seems our interests, much like the stars above, align quite marvelously.”

Your heart pounded as you searched his face for any hint of pretense. Unable to quell your curiosity, you ventured, “But tell me—how did you recognize me? And how exactly do you come to be intrigued, as you so cleverly put it?"

He leaned in, a teasing glint dancing in his eyes. "A woman of such singular beauty and undeniable grace cannot be so easily overlooked. Not by those who know where to look." 

You stiffened, unwilling to be charmed just yet. "A clever answer," you commented with irony. "But not the truth, I think."

"Perhaps I am avoiding the question," he admitted after a chuckle, the intimacy of his velvet voice curling around you in a tender embrace. "But truth is a malleable thing. Some of us are better at recognizing it in others than others might think. A shark," he murmured with darkened eyes, "recognizes another."

The words struck you with the force of a well-aimed arrow, yet you refused to allow him to see the discomfort they stirred within you. You could not give him that satisfaction.

You arched an eyebrow, a glimmer of defiance in your eyes. “Is that your final word? You presume yourself to be more adept than I?” 

His smirk deepened. “I am no stranger to the darkness,” he replied in a near whisper, as if sharing a tantalizing secret. “You’ve grown quite accustomed to keeping your secrets hidden. But even in the darkest shadows, one cannot quite conceal what is most true." His gaze flicked over you, tracing every shift in your posture. "I see you clearly, far more clearly than you realize. Your loyalty, your purpose... they cannot be so easily disguised."

Your thoughts scrambled, unsure how to respond. His words, far too close to hitting home, had pierced straight to the heart of your most guarded truths. How did he know? How was it possible?

You blinked, composing yourself before responding, “You overpraise yourself. I am certain my secrets are well kept.”

It felt sickeningly liberating to admit such veracities to an individual purely unknown to you. You weren’t sure what compelled you to talk so openly about your peculiar situation, nor how easily he could rip answers from you. You resolved yourself by thinking that since he was well-versed in your predicament, it was unnecessary to continue holding pretenses. 

You were fairly aware of the danger it represented, but couldn’t help but wonder about the upper motives behind his head as you noticed his intense scrutiny briefly softening into an unguarded stare, until it subdued, vanishing as quickly as it had come. “You may be right, but the truth remains and shines through even in the dark.”

The moment seemed to stretch endlessly, leaving you uncertain of how to proceed—unsure whether you should resist or surrender to the allure of this enigmatic man who seemed to know far too much for your well-being.

The distant sounds of celebration from the palace echoed in your ears as he spoke. It felt as though you were no longer part of that world—instead, you were suspended in the matter of him and the delicate thread of proposition tying you in this instant.

Your footsteps resounded upon the marble as you and your escort ascended the grand staircase. "Consider my offer," he reminded you with the effervescence of a man desperate to gain the upper hand. "We both have much to gain from an alliance, don’t we?"

The hubbub from within the ballroom swelled in anticipation, and through the heavy oak doors came the prelude to an announcement—a heralding of destiny, if you will. 

"—and we are honored to present—" a resonant voice declared as you passed beneath the towering archway. The masked person’s stance beside you remained composed through and through. 

Despite the magnetic pull of his company, you chose to maintain a dignified reserve, keeping your eyes fixed forward. "And what would you have me offer in return? A business partner, or something more intimate?"

"Both and neither, my dear," he revealed. "It is all for the sake of pretense, if you will. I offer to be your sponsor, should you require assistance in your pursuits. In return, you would be my companion—a partner, if you will, in both ambition and heart."

You halted, a gentle laugh escaping you as you shook your head in light reproach. "Oh, you are far too cocky, my good sir. Do you honestly think I would entertain such a ludicrous proposal?"

He turned his head slightly, his eyes dancing with secret amusement. "A magician, my dear, can conjure the finest dreams if one so wishes. I assure you, I can be of considerable service."

Your skepticism was met with his unyielding charm as you retorted, "It is all rather too good to be true—a benefactor offering wealth and support, all for the sake of a companion's company?"

“That is precisely the allure, isn't it? To offer what no one else would dare, and still have you question its merit. The greatest power lies in making the impossible seem desirable. I give you only what you are willing to take, and in turn, you shall offer only what you are willing to give."

"And what would you give me then?"

He paused at your question, and turned to you before reaching out and taking your hand. Bowing ever so slightly, he pressed his lips to your appendage in a chaste kiss, eyes of the prettiest shade of a green forest after rainfall piercing right through yours.

"Anything."

For a heartbeat, the world stilled at the entrance, and the cacophony of the ballroom hushed to a mere murmur as the two of you stood rooted in that secluded spot. You vaguely dismissed the prickling sensation in your cheeks as your eyes held the fort, searching, questioning, and then you dared to ask once more in a soft whisper, "Who are you?"

Before he could answer, your small bubble was cut short by the announcer’s resounding call: "—and we are honored to welcome back Prince Loki!" The proclamation reverberated off the gilded walls, and in an instant, all eyes turned toward your squire. A collective gasp, a flurry of whispered exclamations, and the clapping of hands enveloped the chamber as the guests acknowledged his return.

Every mask in the room seemed to shudder and fall by an unseen force—leaving bare faces, expressions, and the secrets lying behind them. Your heart lurched as you realized with dawning horror that the very man you had exchanged witty repartee with, the man whose gentle touch had eased your aches and whose clever words had stirred something in you was none other than Prince Loki.

Shock, disbelief, and mounting embarrassment surged within you. You glanced down at your stained gown, a silent testament to the night’s mishaps, and then back to him. His countenance remained disarmingly calm as if nothing untoward had occurred. But your mind reeled—you had mocked, you had bantered, and now the revelation threatened to unravel you.

Without a word, you yanked your hand away and spun on your heel, intent on escaping the prying eyes of the crowd. The sharp command of the Einherjars rang out behind you—"Halt!"—but before they could reach you, the prince’s hand shot out to stop them, his posture resolute and his smile broad, as if nothing had transpired.

Your feet pounded the grand staircase as you fled, each step a stamp to your panic and humiliation. The echoes of whispered judgments and the clinking of glasses trailed behind you, a cacophony of reproach that you could scarcely bear.

The masquerade had revealed its cruelest irony: you had been unmasked before your time, your carefully crafted image laid bare for all to see—and now, the stakes had been irrevocably raised.

⠀

⠀

CHAPTER TWO.⠀|⠀CHAPTER THREE.⠀|⠀CHAPTER FOUR.

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[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

"The Godforge"

[Mel Medarda x Jayce Talis, God!Mel AU]

@meljaymicrofics Prompt 'Myth' Rated G

Warnings: implied character death, angst

Summary: A mortal looks for help from a God

Word Count: 490 words

A/N: I am awful at titles T-T

Under the dome of the Celestial Atrium, where stars dripped like molten silver from the heavens, a God waited. Mel, Sovereign of Ambition, sat on a throne of light, her skin covered in gold veins. Mortals often went for her favour—prayers whispered into the dark, bargains offered in desperation—but none of them ever reached her on the Spire of Ascent. Until him.

Jayce Talis, smith of Piltover's iron heart, knelt at the dais, his hands raw from the climb. Smoke clung to his coat, the stench of forge-fire sharp in the air. "I need no blessings," he said, voice trembling. "Only knowledge."

Mel's eyes narrowed. Mortals always needed. "Knowledge is a blade. It cuts both wielder and world."

He opened a leather satchel, withdrawing a jagged crystal—a Hexcore, filled with unstable energy. "It could power cities. Save lives. But it's… incomplete. Like it's missing a soul."

A laugh echoed in the chamber. "You seek to bind divinity to mortal craft?" She descended, her bare feet leaving trails of gold. "The last man who tried became a cautionary tale."

Jayce's jaw clenched. "I'm not him."

No. He wasn't. His soul burned brighter, a flame in the dark. Mel traced a finger over the Hexcore. "To temper this, you'd need both god's and mortals essence. A dangerous union."

"Take mine."

Her hand froze. "You would… offer yourself?"

"If that's the price." He met her eyes, unflinching. "I've read the myths. Power demands sacrifice."

A beat. Then, Mel smiled. Arrogant. Deliciously so. She cradled the Hexcore, and it shone under her touch, lines aligning as her essence seeped into its core. Then she pressed it to his chest, and he gasped—not in pain, but in awe. Gold went up his arms, binding them both with it.

"Not sacrifice," she murmured. "Partnership."

The chamber dissolved. Visions surged: Jayce's hands sculpting steel, Mel's voice guiding each strike; nights where the boundaries of flesh and myth blurred, her lips mapping the glow beneath his skin. He became her vessel, she his muse. Together, they led Piltover to wonders, to success

But mortals age. It was one of their faults. Years led to lines on Jayce's face, while Mel remained eternal. One of the nights, he found her in the Atrium, her back rigid. "You're leaving." It wasn't a question.

He smiled, weary. "You always knew I would."

A god's heart does not break. It shatters. Mel grasped his hands, her gold dimming. "Stay. I could make you—"

"Mine." The word cracked like thunder. Yet Jayce kissed her palm, a farewell. "A myth's all I'll be. But you… you'll be real. For them."

When dawn gilded Piltover's towers, the Hexgate hummed—a monument to a mortal who dared to ask a God for help. And in the stars, a new constellation showed up: a hammer, eternal.

Mel, alone, touched the space in the sky and understood the cruel poetry of mortals.

They burn brightest when they're almost gone.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Stake Out (18+)

2003!Leonardo x reader

A/N: I know SuperQuest is in the BTTS season, but I couldn’t help myself.

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

You and Leo are still frustrated after having been interrupted a few hours earlier. So you decide to use this stake out to your advantage.

Warnings: Public sex, face fucking, rooftop sex, Leo trying to focus.

All characters are aged up.

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

The night stretched endlessly over the city, like a dome of inky blackness adorned with the glimmering jewels of stars. The distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren created a white noise that surrounded you, but in the stillness of the night, it was as if time itself held its breath. High above the bustling streets, Leonardo and you crouched silently on a familiar rooftop, your eyes trained on the rhythmic heartbeat of the city below. Or on a certain warehouse to be specific. A warehouse owned by members of the Purple Dragons.

A few hours before you and Leonardo had started your stake out, Donatello had managed to get information that Hun was waiting for a delivery. What delivery he did not know, but Hun had seemed stressed over his messages, leading Donatello to believe it must be important.

But it was what you and Leo were doing before Donnie called out of the leader in blue, that stayed in your mind, taunting you as time went on. Making out on his futon bed with his three fingered hand down your pants. He was just about to reach your core when Donnie started yelling about a delivery to the Purple Dragons.

So there you were several hours later, on a rooftop with your ninja boyfriend, still incredibly turned on from your heated make out session in his bedroom. But your boyfriend didn’t show any signs of frustration. His keen eyes were scanning the street below, analyzing every moment.

As the night deepened, so did the unspoken desires that simmered beneath the surface of your skin. You sighed in frustration as your mind started wondering what could have happened, if you and Leo hadn’t been interrupted. How Leo most likely would have fingered you, while telling you to keep quiet with his family just outside his bedroom, in the big open living area. Leonardo knew that sigh of frustration. It was one he had heard many times, during the countless nights he had teased you near the point of begging. Leo’s usually reserved demeanor softened under the celestial gaze, his attention drifting more towards you instead of the warehouse.

The subtle shift did not escape your notice. A mischievous smile crept up on your face. Leo also knew that smile. He knew it way too well. And whenever he saw that smile, he usually loved what came along with it. You and your dirty ideas never seized to amaze him. But as much as he wanted to give in, and do whatever you had thought of doing on that roof, he had to stay focused. He was on a stack out, a mission.

But as you crawled towards him, and placed your lips on his with a passionate kiss, Leo’s focus had to fight against the burning desire that had builded in him for several hours. He broke the kiss to look you in the eyes, surprised that he already was out of air.

“You know I want to, (Y/N). I really fucking want to, but I have to keep an eye out. They said Hun would get a delivery tonight”, Leonardo said slightly breathless, nodding towards the warehouse on the other side of the street.

“Who said you had to look away?”, you asked innocently. Leo looked at you in confusion, but as soon as you started to tie your hair back, he caught on. He got comfortable on the roof, making sure he still had a full view of the warehouse, while being covered by the shadows. You got down low, your face mere centimeters from his slightly pulsing cloaca. Leo was biting the inside of his cheek as his gaze flickered between you and the street below.

Leo’s grip on the roof edge tightened as you started licking around his cloaca. As you looked up you saw his mouth fall open, letting out a silent moan. You continued licking, deciding that this was the way you would make him drop. Teasing him like he had teased you so many times before.

Leo chuckled, biting his lips and shook his head slightly, eyes still on the warehouse. “You little tease”, he breathed out, one hand finding your head, stroking your head with his fingers.

As you continued licking around his cloaca, you started working on the buttons of your pants, struggling a little before pushing them down your legs. Leo caught himself staring at you in your blue underwear, thinking of what he would have done to you in his bedroom if he had seen them there. He mentally slapped himself before looking back to the warehouse, only to gasp as he felt himself drop into your mouth. The cold air around his pulsing erection taunted him, as you sat up to take your hoodie and t-shirt off, leaving you in a black bra. Leo wanted to strangle Hun. Had he not decided to get a delivery that day, Leo would have had you begging in his bed wearing that bra several hours ago.

Leo felt your warm tongue glide up his shaft, making his vision blurry for a short moment. He looked down just in time to see you take his head into your beautiful mouth, your eyes shining innocently at him. Innocent, as if you weren’t sucking and licking his dick on the rooftop of New York City, just opposite a Purple Dragon's hideout.

You took him all the way into your mouth, gaging slightly as he hit the back of your throat. How Leo fucking loved the feeling of you gagging on his dick.

While still keeping half an eye on the warehouse, Leo took your hair into his fist, before raising your head and his hip ever so slightly. You relaxed your throat, knowing full well what was about to happen. With small rapid thrusts, Leo started fucking your mouth, still deviding his attention between you and the street. Both of you knew that had this been happening in his bedroom, he would not be holding back at all. Just simply telling you to be a good girl and keep quiet.

You grasped for air as Leo pulled his now soaked dick out of your mouth, enjoying the sound of your heavy breathing as he gave himself a few tugs.

“On your back”, Leo breathed out, getting up on his knees as you laid down, keeping an eye on the still quiet warehouse.

Using your hoodie and pants as a pillow, you got comfortable on the ground, opening your legs wide enough for your turtle boyfriend to position himself between them.

With one arm of the roof edge, Leo held himself up high enough, not letting the warehouse out of sight. The other hand went to his shaft, giving it a few tugs before gliding his head between your wet folds, feeling you jolt slightly as he pressed against your clit.

Leo looked down for a few seconds, making sure he was aligning up with your entrance properly, catching a quick glance at your eyes. Pupils just as blown out as his, your lips parted, watching his every move with anticipation. There was no doubt in Leo’s mind. Once this stake out was done, he would take care of you probably in his own room.

Leo fought to keep his eyes open as he pressed into you. His mouth slightly open, letting out a low groan at the feeling of you around him. The hand he had used to position himself, was now on your hip, keeping you in place as he slowly made his way in, making sure you took him as far as you could.

Once he had made it all the way in, he settled for a moment, making sure you had adjusted to his size before he started moving. You started whimpering, even at his smallest movements, prompting Leo to place his hand over your mouth, gradually speeding up his movements.

You moaned into his hand, holding onto his arm to keep yourself grounded as your mind started fogging up in pleasure. Your breast bouncing inside of your bra, the small sight of it almost making Leo go wild.

As Leo’s thrust became faster, his eyes would flicker between you and the ever quiet warehouse on the other side of the street. He managed to catch a glimpse of your hand sliding down to your clit, rubbing yourself as he continued to thrust himself into you. He breathed out a curse, closing his eyes for a few seconds, before looking back down on the street. Still nothing. How badly Leo wanted to give up on that warehouse so he could focus on the feeling of your cunt, squeezing his cock tighter as your fingers started to move faster against yourself.

As Leo felt his climax slowly reaching, his thrust became more and more erratic. The was something deeply exciting about fucking you on the rooftop, knowing that the Purple Dragons could find the two of you if you were a bit louder. It did unexpected things to Leonardo’s head, just like the feeling of your walls closing further around him, letting him know that you too were about to cum.

“That’s it, baby”, Leo mumbled, keeping a weak eye on the goddamn warehouse. “Cum for me, (Y/N)”.

And that was all it took for you before you came hard around his dick, fighting to keep quiet. If it wasn’t for the fact that your boyfriend was the most talented person you had been with in bed, you would have been embarrassed.

It didn’t take long before Leo came too. His hips shuttering and he let his streaks flow inside you, one by one, riding out both of your highs, enjoying the warmth you provided him.

He pulled out and moved to the side, careful as to not be seen by the people on the other side of the street, when his t-phone gave a little notification. He looked at it, while you started putting your clothes back on.

“You gotta be joking”, Leonardo mumbled irritatedly as he read the text on the small screen in his hand.

“What is it?”, you asked.

“Hun’s delivery was just the newest copy of SuperQuest and it got canceled”, he growled frustrated. But as soon as Leo had said those words, a smile started creeping up on his lips, all frustration disappearing. “You know what this means right?” He took your face in his hands, bringing it close to him, making you giggle. You had a feeling you knew what he was talking about. “I can do this all over with you again in the lair, and this time be able to watch you”.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”, you asked with a teasing smile. “Hun could be up to something else”.

“Hun can go and fuck the Admin Wizard for all I care”, Leo said, getting himself ready to leave. “Now, get your clothes on so I can take it off of you again when we get home”.

[psychopassera]

PSYCHO-PASS LEGEND — Nobuchika Ginoza: Separation (Part 1 of 6)

Traducción al español (estan las seis partes completas), acá

A distant howl echoed through the night. A lament that had emerged somewhere on the mountain, where the trees stood tall like a sharp, solemn crest, reverberated again and again against the invisible dome that seemed to stretch from the zenith of the sky across the entire land—striking, over and over, some translucent lid. It vibrated with the persistence of a sound trapped within a suikinkutsu*, that garden of water-born echoes where tones continue to shimmer long after being released. A long, dense resonance lingered in the air.

And shortly after, as if arriving late, came another roar. Deep and prolonged. So profoundly melancholic in tone that it resembled the cry of a wolf forced to part from its pack forever.

Nobuchika Ginoza closed his eyes and strained to pinpoint the source, but it was in vain. Human hearing lacked such spatial precision. That exchange of voices, carried nightly from deep within the mountains, sounded like hidden sages laughing quietly at the chaotic folly of men. Tonight marked exactly one week. One week spent searching for a single dog, far from the human din.

The whisper of trees carried by the wind remained confined to this mountainous zone near the capital. In truth, these frigid nights—so cold they seemed to freeze even the dazzling shimmer of the night sky under the celestial dome—didn’t bother him, but perhaps the time had come to say farewell in silence.

As he climbed the slope, a small clearing opened before Ginoza’s eyes. The snow, lightly accumulated but hardened over time, reflected a moonlit blue hue that gradually deepened to a dark cobalt as it approached the forest’s edge. The forest was formed of towering tsuga trees. These evergreen conifers, known also as “the trees of the hanged” due to an old legend about executed criminals, grew closely together as if seeking warmth, casting a heavy darkness at their feet—like a protective curtain shielding the dead from further shame beyond death.

On the snowy ground, countless pawprints appeared, as if a whole pack of dogs had raced toward the shadowy woods. But on closer inspection, it became clear they all bore the exact same shape. It wasn’t a pack. It was one dog.

Ginoza instructed his companion to unearth one of the surveillance drones they’d hidden underground. The unit had been stripped of its mobile legs, and its casing—save for the lens—was fully covered in animal hide. As they pulled it out, soil clung to the Honshu deer fur and broke away in crumbling clods. His companion, grimacing at the smell, removed his gloves—also made from the same deer leather—while Ginoza programmed the drone to extract only the relevant segment from its vast cache of footage.

Data began transferring to the wrist-worn device he carried, watch-like in shape, and soon everything was ready for playback.

Ginoza looked again at the snow-covered plain marked by tracks, while overlaying the drone’s recording directly onto his retinas via directional hologram.

The dog was terribly thin, yet even with its prey clutched in its jaws, it didn’t stop to eat. It simply crossed the plain with majestic calm. In front of the tsuga forest, it began to perform a strange dance, as if offering a prayer to the goddess of the moon, sovereign of winter’s longest nights. Did it mean something? Or was it merely instinct? Whatever it was, the animal seemed to relish it.

And then, suddenly—it vanished. With a magnificent leap that activated every muscle in its body, it hurled itself into the darkness spun by the thick needle-like leaves of the trees and disappeared within it.

Ginoza slid the recording back to just before that moment. He froze the image right as the dog was about to enter the forest. He zoomed in on the captured frame. It was pixelated. Using AI, he extracted the dog’s silhouette and applied a quick correction to generate a sharp image, akin to a high-precision camera still.

The result was oddly absurd. The body traced a perfect arc, like a dancer on the verge of completing a final pose, but the animal’s mouth hung open—excessively so—as if caught in surprise. It didn’t seem to be barking. The expression didn’t match. Moreover, the prey it had carried was no longer visible in the image. That was the work of the AI’s censorship system. Most likely, the state of the prey was so horrifying that it had been flagged as potentially disturbing and automatically removed to preserve the viewer’s mental stability.

But someone else, besides him, needed to verify that footage. After all, they were members of the Criminal Investigation Department—guardians of Sibyl’s society. For Nobuchika Ginoza, in his capacity as an Inspector, the protection of the Psycho-Pass carried a deeper significance than it did for the average citizen.

“Sasayama. Tell me what the dog had in its mouth,” he ordered.

The moment he spoke, his glasses fogged up and his vision blurred, as though a layer of frost had settled over his eyes. It was the vapor of his breath, escaping from beneath the scarf wrapped up to his mouth.

“What a way to treat people…” Sasayama grumbled.

The Enforcer from Division One squinted at the uncensored holographic projection. Despite the freezing air well below zero, he wore only a stylish pinstriped suit, leather gloves, and a scarf. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the cold—his nose was slightly red at the tip.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Report, immediately,” Ginoza snapped, wiping the condensation from his lenses with a cloth as he shot him a glare.

“Yeah, yeah…” muttered Sasayama, shrugging as he raised one thumb and mimed slitting his own throat with the other. “It was a chicken. I guess it bit right into its throat and killed it in one go. Everything from the neck up was soaked in blood… But that’s the weird part. The dog didn’t have a single drop of blood on its fur.”

“I see…”

“What’s going on, Gino-sensei? Don’t leave me out of the revelation…”

“Was it a domestic bird that had already been bled out before the dog attacked it?”

Ginoza manipulated the device on his wrist, accessing the regional flora and fauna distribution map. In the area, records showed the presence of chickens raised under a broiler system*.

There were no reports of broiler chickens living in the wild. If that was the case, the dog had attacked a domestic bird from an inhabited zone.

“Let’s go,” said Ginoza, setting off. “We’ll be the ones to protect that dog.”

He turned his back on the clearing, descended the slope, and looked down at the hollow stretching below. A few scattered houses shimmered like gemstones sunk into the dark bed of a lake, reflecting the moonlight in trembling ripples.

It had all started with a report on animal reintroduction in a suburban area west of Tokyo.

Since the mid-21st century, the presence of live animals had steadily decreased, becoming a rarity by the 22nd century. Breeding animals was considered a luxury, a pastime almost exclusively reserved for the wealthy elite. Animal reintroduction was seen as an effort to return survival skills to species that, due to overprotection, had lost their instinct to fend for themselves. Since many urban developments built during old housing projects had been abandoned due to drastic population decline, those places had reverted to wooded terrain with abundant vegetation. It was believed that natural conditions were sufficient for released animals to survive on their own.

But history had already proven that assumption wrong. Animals domesticated over generations—raised and bred as pets or livestock—could hardly survive in the wild. Most died soon after release. And those that did manage to survive eventually descended into inhabited areas as savage raiders, stealing food and being classified as pests. A special division was eventually created within the Health Office, under the Ministry of Welfare, tasked with eliminating them. Thus, animal reintroduction ironically became a policy that turned against itself and was ultimately declared illegal. To this day, that remains the case.

However, the reintroduction incident this time, in the Okutama region, involved an even more serious crime. Every animal that had been released had an owner. The person responsible for the reintroduction was an animal therapist named Yōnobu Miyake, who ran a clinic on the outskirts of the city. Apparently, he was quite skilled and had earned the full trust of the affluent elite.

However, earlier this year, for reasons unknown, he released all the companion animals entrusted to him into the wild… and then vanished without a trace. His actions were as inexplicable as they were costly: they caused considerable losses. It was, in every sense, theft. The Public Safety Bureau took charge of tracking down the therapist Miyake as a suspect, while the Health Office was tasked with capturing the stolen animals. The two agencies coordinated a joint operation.

As part of that investigation, Nobuchika Ginoza and Enforcer Sasayama headed into the mountain region. Their target was a single dog. That dog, once the property of the cunning therapist, had turned into a silent hunter after being set free. Unlike other reintroduced animals that had settled into the mountains, this one avoided the wild dog traps laid out by the Ministry’s capture unit and continued to hunt freely, with unnerving composure.

Even since a week ago, when Ginoza and his team began participating in the capture effort, the situation had remained unchanged. But now, at last, something had begun to shift. The dog… had started descending into inhabited areas in search of prey.

It was too late that night to return to the city, so they slept in the car. At dawn, before the sun had fully risen, Ginoza and Sasayama began their descent toward the village nestled in the valley. The first light of morning was beginning to trace itself softly along the mountain ridges, as if sketching the outline of a wolf resting in the mist. Its diffused glow, hidden within the morning haze, slowly warmed the earth as the Public Safety Bureau sedan followed the narrow road along the slope.

Sasayama, in the passenger seat, was cursing while fiddling with his Enforcer-issued restraint device, shaped like a pair of handcuffs. Ginoza ignored him. The Ministry of Welfare had rejected their request for cooperation. It wasn’t hard to understand why. After all, they were encroaching on someone else’s jurisdiction. The Public Safety Bureau had the authority to act across domains using its special powers, but from the perspective of other government bodies, they were little more than a nuisance—intervening at will under the pretense of law enforcement. Still, Ginoza thought, at least they weren’t being actively obstructed.

Before long, they turned onto a rural road leading to the settlement in the mountain basin.

The land sloped downward in gentle hills: the houses clustered along the higher points, while further below stretched rows of chicken coops, stables, and vegetable plots. At a glance, the place seemed like a relic from another time. But as they stopped the car on the incline and rolled down the window, a faint mechanical hum could be heard. It came from agricultural drones, busy tending livestock and managing crop growth.

Ginoza stepped out of the vehicle, intending to head toward a farm where the dog had stolen poultry. He ordered Sasayama to retrieve the capture net case from the trunk.

The mountain air was thicker and more humid than in the city, and the cold seemed to seep through his coat as though it were penetrating straight into his skin. The house targeted in the attack was easy to locate, but it was empty.

Through the settlement’s administrator, they had already secured entry permission the night before. Officially, the village was registered as an agricultural recreation facility—a place where people could spend weekends engaging with nature in a measured way, seeking solace for the spirit. The wooden houses with tiled roofs were rented out as country homes, and guests could opt for the experience of caring for animals or crops. If one accepted the risk of tone fluctuation, it was also possible to consume pre-butchered meat. The chicken that the dog had taken the night before had been attacked right in the middle of that preparation process.

Next to the coop stood a processing unit. Several conical hoppers were lined up, designed to hang chickens upside down and insert their heads into the receptacle. The entire process—from bleeding to meat handling—was fully automated. Sanitary management was so strict that not even the faintest trace of blood could be smelled. Underground, the facility housed water and sewage pipes, electrical supply, and data wiring. Though presented as a rural retreat, the infrastructure rivaled that of any urban area.

They searched all the houses and structures in the area and ultimately decided to set traps centered around the coop, within the stable zone. The dog wasn’t large enough to take on animals in the pig or cattle barns, so those areas were ruled out. They were up against a skilled hunter—one capable of selecting its prey with precision.

Once the morning had passed and the sun had risen high in the sky, they returned briefly to the eaves of one of the houses and opened the case containing the auxiliary equipment. They took out the tripwire and boiled it for fifteen minutes in water they had set to boil earlier. During that time, Sasayama, taking a short break, pulled a pack of paper cigarettes from his breast pocket. Ginoza sternly ordered him to smoke downwind. If the scent of tobacco lingered in the air, the dog might pick it up.

Once the preparation was complete, Ginoza had an agricultural drone—the same type used in meat processing—bring over the materials they had prepared in advance: a pair of gloves soaked in the blood of a freshly slaughtered chicken, sealed airtight. He ordered Sasayama to put them on.

“Hold on a second, Gino-sensei,” Sasayama grumbled, visibly displeased. “Even I’d end up with a clouded hue after this.”

“If you’re an Enforcer, you shouldn’t be concerned about your hue deteriorating,” Ginoza said flatly. “We don’t have time. Do it now.”

Before dusk, all the traps had been set. Ginoza and Sasayama left the settlement, drove back to the paved road along the slope, and spent the night there, taking turns napping inside the vehicle. They kept the lights off, monitoring without pause the real-time feed from the drone mounted on the roof of one of the houses, facing directly toward the stables.

Ginoza adjusted the loose scarf around his neck. The cold was biting, but necessary. They had shut off the engine to leave no trace of their presence.

Wrapped in blankets, Sasayama exhaled sharply.

“Damn it… I swear I’m never doing anything like this again. The suit reeks of chicken, and there’s no way to get rid of the smell.”

He had ended up taking off his coat and was now in just his shirt.

They had also laid out a mat woven with chicken feathers, which no doubt intensified the stench even further. And yes… it really stank.

But it didn’t matter. There would be no second chance. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They had to catch him here and now. The dog was cornered, pushed to its limit, with no freedom to choose its prey.

According to footage retrieved from the Health Office’s archives—obtained on Ginoza’s order by an analyst operating from the shadows—the animal had managed to survive thus far by hunting wild rabbits, pheasants, and other forest creatures. But the previous night, for the first time, it had descended into an inhabited area. That single act confirmed everything.

Despite having been released, the target still behaved like the loyal dog of its former owner, the therapist. Even in freedom, it hadn’t attacked the other reintroduced animals, which would have been easy prey. Instead, it had deliberately risked its life by heading for the settlement’s stables.

As soon as he set foot on solid ground, Ginoza advanced with firm steps along the frozen path, the frost crunching beneath his boots. The cold of the winter morning was sharper than ever, but the bright light of a cloudless sky warmed the body. Removing his scarf, he noticed a thin layer of sweat on his neck. The frigid air, like the tongue of a beast made of ice, slid across his warm skin with a chilling softness that ran down his spine. It was a strange sensation—but not unpleasant.

The dog had been caught.

It was trapped beside the meat processing facility, next to the chicken coop. The bait—a hanging chicken—remained in place, still suspended upside down, its head protruding from one of the metal cones, already bled dry, motionless in the silence of death. A wire ran from its mouth to the drainage system on the ground, and nearby, placed at a discreet angle, was a single-use paralyzer shaped like a sphere, with its internal mechanism exposed.

Right next to it lay a dog—compact in build, covered in dense fur, with short legs, long drooping ears, and an expressive, gentle face. It was most likely a Basset Hound*. It lay on its side as if dead, completely still. But when Ginoza approached in silence, gently stroking its fur so as not to startle it and checking for signs of breathing, he felt a calm, steady pulse. It was alive.

“Are you sure this is the one?” asked Sasayama, unfolding a portable cage for transport. “I don’t want it to turn out to be one of those other reintroduced dogs.”

“There’s no mistake. It’s this one.”

Ginoza knelt down and reached out to examine the animal’s collar. That was when their eyes met. The dog was conscious. It tried to lift its neck with effort, baring its teeth in a weak attempt to defend itself from the perceived threat—but it had no strength left. For at least a few days, it wouldn’t be able to move properly.

“It’s all right,” Ginoza said, carefully feeling the collar. “We had to use a rather harsh method to catch you. But I promise—no one will hurt you again. My name is Nobuchika Ginoza. Ron… I’ve come to protect you.”

He spoke the name engraved on the collar’s tag and gently stroked the dog’s fur. He was especially cautious when touching the area at the base of the front leg—or what remained of it. Part of the limb was missing. It was so well hidden beneath the fur that it must have been lost long ago. The fact that it had managed to hunt so skillfully on just three legs… filled him with admiration. For a moment, he wondered what could have happened to cause such an injury—but he let the thought go, and lifted the dog in his arms.

With care, Ginoza placed the dog inside the cage Sasayama had prepared.

Thus began the forty days they would share… until Separation. Notes: * Suikinkutsu: A traditional Japanese garden ornament and musical device. It consists of an upside-down ceramic pot buried underground, which creates delicate, echoing sounds when water drips into it—a subtle, contemplative soundscape meant to accompany purification rituals.

* Broiler system: A method of intensive poultry farming focused on rapid weight gain. Chickens raised this way are bred for meat production and typically live in controlled environments without access to the outdoors. They are not suited for survival in the wild.

* Basset Hound: A breed of dog originally bred for hunting small game. Characterized by short legs, long ears, and a keen sense of smell, Basset Hounds are known for their gentle temperament and distinctive appearance.

[underzemilkyway]

Lavender Freak by Pedro Aguado

[quitealotofsodapop]

And it will be Tang's right, although they both will have a LOT to talk about in regards to how to move forward, what with Tang being Tang Sazang's reincarnation and Wu being Sun Wukong. Like, obviously, they know now that Wukong snd 'Mihou' were hiding from the Jade Court to protect their egg, they get it, and don't. Lame them, but there is a distinct difference between what they thought it was and what it actually was. All Pigay can say is that if ANY Celestial or demon tries to go after those two idiot kids (pigsy: I don't care if they're millenia old godlike beings, they're a couple of stupid kids who got themselves in a stupid situation) and their baby, he's getting the pinball out.

prev.

With all this talk about Wu being Sun Wukong, Mihou being the Six Eared Macaque, and Tang being the Great Tang Monk? Pigsy is not excited;

Pigsy: "I swear to Buddha if I'm reincarnated from that disgusting, perverted, son of a-" Wukong, nervously deflecting the convo: "Hahaha! Mind the language around minors, boss." [*points at Red Son*] Pigsy: "Ah. My bad. Gotta work on that before the Egg gets here." Macaque, surprised: "You... still want us around? Even after what's happened and knowing... all of this?" Pigsy, thinking for a bit: "In the end, demi-gods or whatever; you two are a pair of stupid kids who got yourselves into a bit of a pickle. Your kid is gonna be born into a world that'll fear, maybe even hate them just for being alive. I get why you felt you needed to hide from the people upstairs. I wasn't lying the first night we met that my door is always open." Pigsy: [*places hand on either monkeys' shoulders*] "And I'd be glad to have you guys under my roof again." Macaque: [*begins tearing up before wiping his eyes on his scarf*] "Damn. I hoped I wouldn't start crying." Wukong: "I didn't!" [*start sobbing like a baby*] Pigsy: [*hugs the two monkey like a dad do, trying hard to hide his own tears*]

Pigsy knows there be a storm coming with the Egg's arrival, but he wants to be there for the ride.

This Pig ready to slam a ping-pong ball into Li Jing or the Jade Emperor's dome if they ever come sniffing around his restaurant!

[theartisticendeavor]

The Saint (Unknown, 1980). Rolled, Very Fine+. Nightclub Poster (27" X 41").

In the heart of the East Village, stood The Saint, hailed as the "Vatican of Disco," a members-only haven for the gay community that reigned from 1980 to 1988. Once a theater, the venue underwent a metamorphosis under the visionary partnership of Bruce Mailman and Charles Terrel, boasting a celestial dance floor beneath a star-studded dome. It emerged from the ashes of abandonment, a phoenix of extravagance, becoming synonymous with opulence and innovation in New York's underground dance scene.

The club's allure lay not only in its architectural marvels but also in its exclusivity, drawing in throngs of men seeking liberation and connection. Through its gates flowed the pulse of trance music, spun by a cadre of renowned DJs who shaped the sonic landscape of an era. The venue also hosted performers such as Gloria Gaynor, Debbie Harry, Chaka Khan, Patti LuPone, Pet Shop Boys, RuPaul, Tina Turner, and Divine.

In its final hours, The Saint pulsated with life, a testament to its enduring legacy as a bastion of freedom and acceptance. As dawn broke on May 2, 1988, the music faded, and the lights dimmed, marking the end of an era. But The Saint's influence transcended its physical existence, leaving an indelible mark on the collective memory of a generation, a beacon of resilience and unity in a time of adversity.

This beautiful poster was produced in 1980 to celebrate the first party held at The Saint

[downbad4fyodor]

Pairing: Fyodor Dostoevsky x Fem!reader word count: 363 summary: Fyodor takes you to see the Christmas lights around Moscow warnings: none Tag list: @getousrep

Want more Fics for the Holidays?

The frigid embrace of Moscow's winter air wrapped around you and Fyodor as you embarked on an enchanting adventure through the city adorned in the splendor of Christmas lights. Fyodor had orchestrated a surprise evening to immerse you in the spellbinding beauty of Moscow's festive illumination.

Under the silver glow of the moon, the streets draped in a pristine coat of snow whispered tales of winter magic. Fyodor, with his tall and commanding presence, walked by your side, his violet eyes reflecting the soft radiance of the Christmas lights that adorned the city. The night promised a magical journey, and Fyodor's gaze held a mysterious allure that heightened the sense of anticipation.

The first stop on this captivating expedition was none other than the historic Red Square. As you approached, the iconic St. Basil's Cathedral emerged like a majestic ice palace. Its domes, adorned with a breathtaking array of twinkling lights in hues of red, green, and gold, transformed the architectural marvel into a mesmerizing spectacle that rivaled the stars above. Fyodor, his breath visible in the crisp air, squeezed your hand as you both stood in silent awe, taking in the dazzling display that seemed to defy the winter night.

"It's like something out of a fairytale, isn't it?" Fyodor's voice, a low and melodic timbre, resonated with the joy of the season.

You nodded, captivated by the radiance that enveloped the historical landmark. The lights seemed to pirouette in harmony with the delicate snowflakes that floated gently from the night sky, creating an ethereal dance of winter wonder.

Fyodor, his gloved hand still entwined with yours, led you through the snow-covered cobblestones, each step revealing a new tableau of luminous beauty. The avenues of Moscow glittered with a tapestry of lights, like celestial pathways guiding you through the heart of the city's festive spirit. The meticulous arrangement of lights on trees, lampposts, and buildings painted a landscape that seemed plucked from a dream.

The journey continued to Gorky Park, where the frozen lake reflected the brilliance of the lights like a mirror. The towering trees, now adorned with a kaleidoscope of colors, stood as silent witnesses to the festive transformation. Fyodor guided you towards a charming carousel, its lights casting a warm glow against the snowy canvas. Whimsical music and the laughter of children added to the symphony of the holidays.

As you and Fyodor boarded the carousel, the world around you transformed into a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of lights and laughter. The crisp air, laced with the scents of hot cocoa and roasted chestnuts, heightened the sensory experience. Fyodor's eyes met yours, a silent promise of shared joy and the magic that lingered in the moment.

The night unfolded as a captivating exploration of Moscow's neighborhoods, each one vying to outshine the other in a dazzling display of lights. Fyodor, his arm wrapped around you protectively, shared tales of Moscow's Christmas traditions and folklore, infusing the journey with cultural richness.

The grand finale awaited at the historic Bolshoi Theatre. The monumental building, a symbol of artistic excellence, now stood adorned with a cascade of lights that accentuated its architectural grandeur. Fyodor, a mischievous glint in his eyes, led you towards the entrance. As you ascended the grand staircase, the lights dimmed, and the façade of the theatre became a canvas for an enchanting light show.

Colors danced across the intricate details of the building, synchronized with festive melodies that echoed through the night. Fyodor, his expression a mix of satisfaction and delight, watched your reactions with unabashed joy. The lights, now painting the night sky with vibrant strokes, encapsulated the very essence of the season.

As the light show reached its crescendo, Fyodor turned to you with a tender smile. "Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered, his voice a warm embrace in the winter night.

The evening, a symphony of lights and shared moments, etched itself into the tapestry of your memories. Moscow, draped in its festive best, became the canvas for a magical journey orchestrated by Fyodor, your companion in this winter fairytale. The Christmas lights, now etched in your heart, whispered tales of love and enchantment as you and Fyodor embraced the magic of the season in the heart of Moscow's winter wonderland.

[star-wars-writing]

The Twilight Prophecy

Summary: In a world where the Sun Court reigns in perpetual daylight and the Moon Court thrives under starlit night, an ancient prophecy emerges to challenge the status quo. Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan, heirs to their respective thrones, find their destinies intertwined when a mysterious sorceress delivers a cryptic warning

A/N: So this one might be a bit different, once again it started with a prompt for the Codywan bingo @codywanbingo with theme Romance. but things might have gotten out of hand. @swfandomevents

The prompt for this was sharing armour. for now this is a one shot, but if you guys, the readers are open to it. depending on your reactions to the one shot I might be convinced to make it a series.

In the Moon Court, nestled in the heart of a kingdom where night reigned supreme and the stars whispered ancient secrets, life unfolded like a perpetual dance under the celestial dome. The court, an architectural marvel of pale stones and silver spires, mirrored the tranquil beauty of the moon it revered. At its center was the royal family, presided over by King Qui-gon, a ruler as enigmatic as the moon's hidden face, with Crown Prince Obi-Wan Kenobi, his eldest son, at his side.

Crown Prince Obi-Wan, with hair as fiery as a comet's tail, stood in stark contrast to the cool, muted hues of the court. His red locks, a rarity in the realm, were often likened to a stray strand of the sun caught in the lunar embrace. His presence in the court was like a steady flame; warm, illuminating, but never consuming. His eyes, a deep blue reminiscent of the twilight sky, held the calmness of the moonlit night and the intensity of a thousand stars.

King Qui-gon, a figure both respected and slightly feared, ruled with a wisdom that seemed to flow from the moon itself. His silver hair and beard, like the frosted edges of the moon, framed a face etched with the lines of time and responsibility. He was a king who spoke little, but when he did, his words held the weight of the night sky.

Anakin, Obi-Wan's younger brother, was the court's untamed storm. With hair as dark as the space between stars and eyes that sparkled with unbridled energy, he was a stark contrast to Obi-Wan's composed demeanor. Anakin's restless spirit often led him to the court's training grounds, where his prowess with the sword was as renowned as his impulsive nature.

Ahsoka, the youngest, was the court's dawn. Her laughter brought light to the dimmest corners, and her curiosity was as boundless as the night sky. Her presence was a gentle reminder of the dawn that followed every night, a symbol of hope and renewal in the Moon Court's often somber ambiance.

Life in the Moon Court was a delicate balance of tradition and the subtle magic that permeated the air. The nights were filled with quiet conversations, the rustle of silk robes, and the soft clinking of teacups. Scholars and astronomers were as revered as knights, their knowledge of the stars and the moon considered essential to the kingdom's wellbeing.

Music was the soul of the court, with melodies often drifting through the corridors like a soft breeze. Instruments that mimicked the sound of the night—gentle flutes, stringed instruments, and soft drums—created an ambiance that was both soothing and enigmatic.

The courtiers moved with a grace that mirrored the phases of the moon, their robes flowing in silvery and blue hues, adorned with motifs of stars and celestial bodies. In this court, every gesture, every word spoken, was as measured and deliberate as the lunar cycle.

In the heart of it all was Obi-Wan, a prince not only of blood but of the people. His days were spent in council meetings, where he listened more than he spoke, his judgments always fair and thoughtful. His nights were dedicated to the study of ancient texts and star charts, seeking wisdom in the patterns of the cosmos.

Yet, beneath the calm surface, there was a current of anticipation, a sense of a destiny not yet fulfilled. Obi-Wan, more than anyone, felt this unspoken promise that hung in the air like a pending eclipse. It was a feeling that whispered of changes to come, of paths yet to be walked, and of a bond that would define not only his fate but that of the Moon Court itself.

**** 

In the resplendent Sun Court, where day held sway and golden light bathed the land in warmth and vitality, the rhythm of life pulsated with a vibrancy befitting its celestial patron. The court itself was an architectural splendor, its walls and towers crafted from sun-kissed stone that shimmered like the surface of a star. At its heart was the royal family, led by King Jango, a monarch whose presence was as commanding as the sun in the zenith sky, with Crown Prince Cody, his eldest son, shining brightly by his side.

Crown Prince Cody was the embodiment of the Sun Court's ideals – his bearing noble and his gaze as piercing as the midday sun. His hair, a rich brown, like the fertile earth nourished by sunlight, complemented his sturdy, yet graceful demeanor. Cody's presence in the court was like a steady beacon; guiding, assuring, but always approachable. His eyes, reflecting the clear blue of a cloudless sky, held the promise of endless horizons and the resolve of daylight.

King Jango, a ruler whose reign was marked by prosperity and strength, led with a firm but fair hand. His hair and beard, peppered with strands of gray, spoke of years under the sun, commanding battles and councils alike. His decision to ascend the throne after King Jaster, his father and the former king, abdicated, was accepted with reverence by the court. Jaster, still a respected figure, remained a guiding star in the court's firmament, his wisdom as perennial as the sun itself.

The younger princes, Rex, Wolffe, Fives, and Echo, were like rays of the same sun, each unique in their brilliance. Rex, with his sharp mind and tactical acumen, was often found in the company of the court's strategists, his keen insights as valuable as any seasoned general's. Wolffe, more reserved, shared a deep interest in the court's engineering feats, his innovative ideas reflecting the Sun Court's continuous quest for progress. Fives and Echo, inseparable in their mischief and mirth, brought a spirited energy to the court, their laughter echoing through the halls like the playful dance of sunbeams.

Life in the Sun Court was a grand tapestry of color and celebration, where the arts flourished under the generous patronage of the royal family. The days were filled with lively debates in the council chambers, the clanging of swords in the training yards, and the hustle of trade in the bustling marketplaces. Knights and scholars alike were esteemed, their roles pivotal in upholding the court's glory.

Music in the Sun Court was a bold symphony, with brass and percussion leading the charge, their sounds evoking the power and majesty of the sun. The courtiers, adorned in vibrant colors – oranges, reds, and yellows – moved with a confidence that mirrored the court's solar inspiration. In this court, every action, every word resonated with the intensity of the sun's rays.

At the center was Cody, a prince whose responsibilities encompassed not just royal duties but the aspirations of his people. He was often seen engaging with his subjects, his approachability as a leader as cherished as his strategic mind. His evenings, though less public, were spent in deep study and contemplation, his gaze often turning skyward, where the setting sun met the rising moon, a silent acknowledgment of a world beyond his own.

Yet, beneath the Sun Court's radiant facade, there was an undercurrent of expectation, a sense of a destiny intertwined with that of another realm. Cody, more than anyone, felt this looming promise, a sense that his path was not his alone to tread. It was a feeling that hinted at a convergence of day and night, of a bond that would bridge the gap between the Sun Court and a kingdom not of light, but of moonlit shadows.

*** 

In the twilight-kissed ruins of the abandoned castle, where history whispered from every stone, the annual council of the Moon and Sun Courts convened. This year's gathering was marked by a significant change – for the first time, Kings Qui-gon and Jango had brought their sons, introducing the next generation to the intricate dance of diplomacy and trade.

The castle, a relic of a forgotten time, stood at the very edge where day melted into night, its once proud walls now softened by age and draped in ivy. Its grand hall, though worn by years, echoed with renewed life as the delegations of both courts assembled, their robes fluttering like banners of night and day.

Crown Prince Obi-Wan of the Moon Court, his fiery red hair a vivid contrast against his silver-hued attire, stepped into the hall with a quiet confidence. His gaze, curious and observant, swept over the Sun Court's delegation, taking in the bright colors and bold patterns that seemed to capture the essence of sunlight.

Across the room, Crown Prince Cody of the Sun Court, his stature both noble and approachable, mirrored Obi-Wan's curiosity. His hair, the color of fertile earth, was complemented by the golden embroidery of his attire, reminiscent of the rays of the midday sun.

As the council commenced, King Qui-gon, his voice as serene as a moonlit night, spoke of the Moon Court's rich deposits of moonstone and star silver, precious materials sought after by the Sun Court. King Jango, his tone warm and commanding, offered in exchange the Sun Court's abundant harvests and solar-infused elixirs, items of great value to the Moon Court.

The discussion of trade routes, quantities, and protections unfolded with a practiced rhythm, the two kings negotiating with a mutual respect forged over years of such meetings. Amidst the bartering and agreements, Obi-Wan and Cody's eyes met, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

During a recess, the princes found themselves standing near an ancient, vine-covered balcony. "First council?" Cody inquired, his voice casual but friendly.

"Yes," Obi-Wan replied, a slight smile on his lips. "It's more... vibrant than I expected. The exchange of goods, it's like a dance of resources and needs."

Cody nodded. "It's the rhythm of our courts, isn't it? Day and night, each providing what the other lacks. Balance."

Their conversation, initially revolving around the intricacies of the council, gradually became more personal, veering towards their lives within their respective courts. Obi-Wan spoke of the tranquil nights and starlit ceremonies of the Moon Court, while Cody shared tales of sun-drenched fields and lively festivals under the sun.

As the meeting resumed, and they returned to their delegations, there was a mutual sense of understanding, a recognition that they were not just princes of opposing realms, but custodians of a delicate balance.

Throughout the rest of the council, as their fathers deliberated over the final details of the trade agreement, Obi-Wan and Cody exchanged occasional glances and subtle nods. In those brief moments, a foundation was laid for a relationship that would, in time, transcend the mere exchange of goods and speak to the deeper bond between day and night, sun and moon.

During a lull in the council proceedings, as the courtiers mingled and the kings conferred in hushed tones, Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan found themselves gravitating towards each other, away from the throng. They walked side by side towards one of the castle's ancient archways, which framed the setting sun on one side and the rising moon on the other, a perfect intersection of their two worlds.

Cody's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the sun's fiery farewell kissed the moon's cool greeting. "It's quite something, isn't it? The sun and moon, always chasing, never meeting."

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes reflecting the twilight hues. "Yet, here we are, standing where they converge. It's poetic in a way."

Their conversation, initially a shared admiration for the celestial dance, slowly turned towards the more personal. Cody's posture, relaxed yet attentive, and Obi-Wan's thoughtful demeanor, created an atmosphere of ease and openness.

"You know," Cody began, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity, "I've always wondered what it's like in the Moon Court. Is it as tranquil as they say?"

Obi-Wan's lips curved into a soft smile. "Tranquility is one word for it. It's a world of introspection, of seeking wisdom in the stars. But it can also be... isolating. The night is beautiful, but it's also vast and endless."

Cody's eyes met Obi-Wan's, a spark of understanding in their depths. "I suppose the Sun Court is its opposite then. It's always bustling, always bright. Sometimes it feels like there's no space to breathe, to think. The sun can be overbearing at its zenith."

Their shared laughter at Cody's words was a brief, harmonious note that seemed to bridge their contrasting worlds.

"I imagine that's why these councils are important," Obi-Wan mused, his gaze returning to the horizon. "They're not just about trade and politics. They're about understanding, about seeing the world through each other's eyes."

Cody nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Do you think we'll ever achieve that? True understanding between our courts?"

"I believe so," Obi-Wan replied, his voice carrying a quiet conviction. "Understanding begins with individuals. It starts with conversations like this."

Their dialogue was interrupted as the council bell tolled, signaling the end of the break. As they turned to rejoin the others, their steps synchronized, there was an unspoken agreement between them – a commitment to bridge the gap between day and night, sun and moon, one conversation at a time.

As they parted ways at the archway, the brief contact of their hands was like a spark – fleeting, but potent enough to kindle a connection that promised to grow stronger with each passing council. In that moment, unnoticed by the busy courtiers, a seed of change was planted, watered by the hope of understanding and the possibility of unity in a world divided by light and shadow.

On the third evening of the council, as the twilight sky melted into a tapestry of stars and the crescent moon, a grand dinner was held in the castle's ancient dining hall. The long tables were adorned with candles that flickered like distant stars, casting a warm glow over the assembled nobility of the Sun and Moon Courts. At the center of this constellation of courtiers sat Kings Qui-gon and Jango, their presence commanding yet genial, a testament to years of leadership and diplomacy.

Opposite their fathers, Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan were seated beside each other, the candlelight playing across their features, softening the lines of their royal bearing. As the dinner progressed, the hum of conversation filled the hall, a blend of laughter, clinking silverware, and the subtle rustling of fine garments.

Cody turned towards Obi-Wan, his expression open and curious. "Prince Obi-Wan, I've been meaning to ask – what is it like to train in the ways of your court's mystic arts? I've heard tales of the Moon Court's connection to the stars."

Obi-Wan's eyes lit up, a spark of enthusiasm breaking through his usual composure. "It's a lifelong journey of learning, Prince Cody. The stars and the moon guide us, teaching us about balance and the flow of the cosmos. It's more than just training; it's a way of understanding our place in the universe."

Cody's interest was palpable, his gaze intent. "That sounds... profound. In the Sun Court, our focus is often on the tangible – the strength of the body, the mastery of combat, the art of governance. I wonder what it would be like to look beyond, to see the world as you do."

Their conversation, rich with the exchange of ideas and perspectives, continued seamlessly, almost as if the crowded hall around them had faded into the background. As they spoke, their fathers occasionally glanced their way, noting the ease of their interaction with a mixture of surprise and quiet approval.

Obi-Wan, usually reserved, found himself intrigued by Cody's genuine curiosity and the earnestness with which he spoke of his own experiences. "Your world sounds fascinating, Cody. There's a certain... vitality to the way you describe it. I admit, there are times I wish the Moon Court had a bit more of the Sun Court's vigor."

Cody smiled, a warm, inviting expression that seemed to reflect the very essence of his court. "And I sometimes long for the tranquility and depth of yours. Perhaps that's the key, isn't it? Learning from each other, finding harmony between day and night."

Their dialogue, rich and engaging, continued throughout the dinner, touching upon topics from the philosophical to the mundane. It was a conversation that wove a thread between them, a connection that went beyond their titles and responsibilities. In the shared laughter, the exchange of insights, and the subtle understanding that passed between them, a foundation was being laid – the first stepping stone in a journey that would redefine not only their relationship but potentially the future of their courts.

As the final day of the council dawned, the ancient castle found itself enveloped in the soft, ethereal light of twilight, where night gently handed over the reins to day. It was in this tranquil hour that Crown Princes Cody and Obi-Wan, drawn by a shared sense of purpose and curiosity, found themselves atop the highest tower of the castle.

Standing side by side, they watched in silence as the horizon blurred the lines between their two worlds, the night's darkness fading into the warm embrace of the morning light. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of dew and ancient stone.

Cody broke the silence, his voice soft yet clear in the quiet of the morning. "I often stand on the battlements of the Sun Court at dawn, watching the world awaken. There's a sense of endless possibilities with each new day, a new beginning."

Obi-Wan turned to face him, the first light of dawn casting a golden glow on his red hair. "In the Moon Court, we watch the stars fade into morning. It's a reminder that even the longest night has an end, that there's a rhythm and cycle to everything."

Their eyes met, a mutual understanding flickering between them. They were princes of different realms, yet in this moment, they were simply two individuals, sharing their hopes and dreams.

"What do you dream of for your future, Cody?" Obi-Wan asked, his gaze returning to the horizon.

Cody's eyes reflected the sky's changing colors. "I dream of a kingdom that thrives, not just in strength and prosperity, but in wisdom and understanding. A kingdom that looks beyond the horizon, that learns from others."

"And you, Obi-Wan? What are your dreams?" Cody's question was tinged with genuine interest.

Obi-Wan's response was thoughtful, his words measured. "I dream of balance. A balance between tradition and progress, between the mystic and the tangible. I want to lead the Moon Court into a future where we are not just observers of the night but active participants in the world's tapestry."

Their conversation flowed naturally, as if the barriers of their titles and duties had been left at the foot of the tower. They spoke of their aspirations for their people, their personal hopes, and the challenges they anticipated. In the shared confidences and laughter, a bond was being forged, strengthened by the understanding that their dreams were not so different after all.

As the sun fully broke the horizon, bathing the world in its light, they stood in a companionable silence, each lost in thoughts of the future and the role they would play in it.

It was Cody who finally spoke, his voice carrying a newfound resolve. "Perhaps our courts are more alike than we thought. Maybe this is just the beginning, Obi-Wan. A beginning of something greater than just trade and alliances."

Obi-Wan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I believe you're right, Cody. This is a beginning. And it's one we can shape together."

As they descended from the tower, the first rays of the sun meeting the last whispers of the night, there was a sense of promise in the air, a feeling that this meeting was the first step in a journey that would bridge the gap between their worlds, guided by their shared dreams and visions for the future.

As the final day of the council waned, a serene twilight enveloped the ancient castle, softening the edges of shadows and light. The grand hall, alive with the closure of the five-day meeting between the Sun and Moon Courts, was suddenly hushed as an unexpected figure appeared at the entrance. A sorceress, clad in robes that shimmered like the starlit sky, stood with an air of enigmatic power.

The hall fell into a deep silence, the bustling energy of the courtiers replaced by a palpable sense of anticipation and unease. King Jango of the Sun Court and King Qui-gon of the Moon Court, their expressions shifting from surprise to guarded wariness, stood to confront this unforeseen visitor.

Crown Prince Cody and Crown Prince Obi-Wan exchanged a tense glance, both aware of the potential gravity of this moment. They stood alert, their attention fixed on the mysterious sorceress.

She stepped gracefully into the room, her presence commanding the attention of all present. Her voice, clear and resonant, echoed through the hall, her words weaving a rhyme that carried the weight of prophecy:

"In twilight's embrace, where night greets the day,

A trial looms near, a path shadowed and gray.

Heart and armor must meet, in a bond forged anew,

Uniting sun's blaze with the moon's silver hue.

Together, two realms must face a dark hour,

A union of souls, their greatest power.

Should this bond break, or fail to be found,

Both sun and moon shall lose their crown."

The sorceress's words, cryptic yet haunting, resonated through the hall, leaving a ripple of whispered speculation and concern. The courtiers and delegates exchanged uneasy glances, pondering the ominous implications of her message.

Cody, his expression a mix of skepticism and contemplation, turned to Obi-Wan. "Hearts and armor... Could she be speaking of us, of our courts?"

Obi-Wan, his eyes thoughtful, nodded slowly. "It seems so. This prophecy... it suggests a unity deeper than mere alliances. Something more personal, perhaps."

King Qui-gon and King Jango shared a concerned look, the implications of the prophecy not lost on them. The sorceress's mention of hearts and armor hinted at a bond beyond political ties, suggesting a personal connection that could hold the key to their realms' futures.

As the sorceress turned, her cloak billowing around her like a dark cloud, she vanished into the twilight as mysteriously as she had appeared. Her departure left a trail of questions and a sense of foreboding that lingered in the air.

The council, now officially concluded, left the members of both courts with more than just diplomatic resolutions; they carried with them the weight of a prophetic warning. As they began to depart, Cody and Obi-Wan remained, their shared glance one of determination and newfound understanding.

As the sorceress's enigmatic presence faded into the twilight, a restless energy began to stir in the grand hall. The initial shock of her visit slowly gave way to a flurry of conversations among the courtiers and delegates of the Sun and Moon Courts. The once orderly gathering turned into a mosaic of hushed debates and speculative discussions, with the sorceress's prophecy at the heart of it all.

In one corner, a group of Moon Court scholars huddled together, their brows furrowed in concentration. "Hearts and armor, sun and moon... It's as if she speaks of a union, a convergence of our realms," one mused, his fingers tracing the patterns on his star-embroidered robe.

Nearby, a cluster of Sun Court knights speculated with a mix of skepticism and concern. "Could it be a ploy? Another kingdom sowing seeds of fear and discord?" a knight questioned, his hand unconsciously resting on the pommel of his sword.

At the center of the hall, Kings Qui-gon and Jango convened in a quiet, intense discussion. Their expressions were a study in contemplation, weighing the potential meanings and implications of the prophecy. They were leaders seasoned by years of rule, accustomed to navigating the murky waters of political intrigue and veiled threats.

Cody and Obi-Wan, standing a short distance away from their fathers, exchanged their thoughts in a low, earnest conversation. "It's hard to dismiss her words as mere madness," Cody said, his gaze lingering on the spot where the sorceress had stood. "The prophecy... it felt charged with truth, or at least with purpose."

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting a deep introspection. "Indeed. And the reference to hearts and armor... it implies a personal sacrifice or a personal bond. It's not something we can ignore."

Their dialogue was interrupted as Anakin and Ahsoka approached, their youthful curiosity evident. "Do you really think there's something to her words?" Anakin asked, his tone a mix of excitement and skepticism.

Ahsoka, her eyes wide with a blend of worry and wonder, added, "It felt like she was speaking directly to you, Cody, and to you, Obi-Wan. Like you're a part of this prophecy."

The conversation was cut short as King Qui-gon addressed the room, his voice carrying a calm authority that quieted the murmurs. "We will consider the sorceress's words with the seriousness they deserve. For now, let us not jump to conclusions or let fear guide our actions."

King Jango nodded in agreement. "We have always stood strong, united in our differences. This will not change. Let us return to our courts and contemplate our next steps with wisdom and caution."

As the delegates began to disperse, the air still tinged with uncertainty, Cody and Obi-Wan lingered, their thoughts lingering on the enigmatic prophecy. There was a sense of an invisible thread weaving through their conversation, tying their fates to the words of the sorceress.

*** 

As the Moon Court delegation embarked on their nocturnal journey back to their realm, they traversed under a star-studded sky, where the cosmos painted stories in the vastness above. The soft sounds of the night were punctuated by the rhythmic canter of horses, their hooves gently tapping the earth, harmonizing with the nocturnal symphony of the wilderness.

Crown Prince Obi-Wan, astride a graceful steed that moved with an almost ethereal grace, led the procession. The horse, a magnificent creature with a coat as dark as the night sky and eyes that reflected the moon's glow, seemed an extension of Obi-Wan himself, moving with a quiet dignity that mirrored his rider's temperament.

Obi-Wan's posture was relaxed yet alert, his eyes occasionally lifting to gaze at the celestial tapestry above. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying whispers of the forest and the secrets of the night. His mind, however, was far from at ease, troubled by the words of the sorceress. "A union of hearts and armor..." he whispered to himself, the prophecy resonating within him, a puzzle waiting to be unraveled.

The thought of Prince Cody surfaced unbidden in his mind – their recent conversations, the shared looks, the subtle but unmistakable connection that had begun to form between them. Could this enigmatic prophecy be alluding to something beyond the political, something personal that tied them together?

Lost in thought, Obi-Wan hardly noticed when his younger brother, Anakin, rode up alongside him, breaking his contemplation. Anakin's horse, a spirited animal with a fiery mane, matched his rider's energetic and bold spirit.

"Lost in the stars, brother?" Anakin asked, his voice carrying a light, teasing tone, yet tinged with concern.

Obi-Wan smiled faintly, acknowledging Anakin's attempt to lighten his mood. "Just pondering the sorceress's words. They hint at something deeper than alliances – a bond of a more personal nature."

Riding on his other side, Ahsoka joined the conversation, her horse a dappled gray that moved with a lively step. "It does sound daunting, but we've faced challenges before. And we'll face this one together, whatever it may be."

The siblings continued their journey under the night sky, the conversation veering between light-hearted banter and thoughtful discussions about the future. Despite the uncertainty of the prophecy, their bond as a family offered a comforting sense of solidity against the unknown.

Upon reaching the Moon Court's castle, a silhouette of spires and turrets that seemed to rise out of the darkness itself, Obi-Wan dismounted his horse, his gaze lingering on the stars above. Though the path ahead was shrouded in mystery, he felt a renewed sense of purpose, fortified by the support of his family and the intriguing possibility of the bond foretold in the prophecy. In the quiet assurance of the night, Obi-Wan found a silent resolve, a determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead, guided by the light of the stars and the strength of newfound connections.

As the Sun Court delegation made their way back to their kingdom, the journey was bathed in the brilliant light of the sun, casting long, golden shadows across the land. The entourage moved with a steady rhythm, the sound of hooves and the occasional clink of armor punctuating the air, resonating with the vibrant energy of the day.

At the forefront, Crown Prince Cody rode a majestic horse, its coat a lustrous golden hue that seemed to capture and reflect the sunlight. The horse moved with a proud, assertive gait, mirroring Cody's own confident and resolute nature. Cody sat tall in the saddle, his posture embodying the strength and poise of the Sun Court.

The warm sunlight played across his face, highlighting a thoughtful expression that seemed uncharacteristic of his usually decisive demeanor. Cody's mind was preoccupied with the sorceress's enigmatic prophecy, her words echoing in his head like a distant drumbeat. "Hearts and armor... a union beyond our courts," he mused, the idea both intriguing and unsettling.

Cody's contemplation was noticed by his younger brother, Rex, who rode up beside him. Rex's horse, a sturdy and reliable steed, matched his rider's practical and steadfast spirit.

"Something on your mind, Cody?" Rex inquired, his tone casual but perceptive.

Cody glanced at his brother, his expression softening. "Just thinking about the sorceress's warning. It suggests a bond that goes deeper than mere alliances. I wonder if it's pointing to something... or someone."

Rex nodded, understanding the weight of such thoughts. "Do you think it has to do with the Moon Court? With Prince Obi-Wan, perhaps?"

Cody's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sun continued its relentless journey across the sky. "It's possible. Our interactions have been... different. There's an understanding there that I can't quite explain."

As they continued their ride, the conversation turned to the implications of the prophecy and what it might mean for the future of their court. Despite the uncertainty, Rex's presence and pragmatic insights offered Cody a sense of groundedness, a reminder that he wasn't alone in facing the challenges ahead.

Upon arriving at the Sun Court's castle, a magnificent structure that seemed to rise like a phoenix from the land, bathed in perpetual sunlight, Cody dismounted his horse. He stood for a moment, taking in the sight of his home, the walls glowing as if lit from within by the sun's eternal fire.

The journey back had left him with more questions than answers, but in the bright light of day, Cody found a sense of clarity and resolve. Whatever the prophecy entailed, whatever trials lay ahead, he knew that the strength of his court and the potential of the bond foretold would guide them through. The sun's unwavering journey across the sky was a reminder that even in the face of uncertainty, the light would always find a way to shine through.

****

As I said at the beginning, depending on your reactions, I might make this a series, but I would love to hear if that was something you wanted or not? If this one shot has satisfied your curiosity or not.

[adventuressclubamericas]

Cool Stuff in Seattle - Theodor Jacobsen Observatory

The Theodor Jacobsen Observatory, located on the University of Washington campus in Seattle, is a local gem with a rich history. Built in 1895, the observatory was named after Theodor Jacobsen, a UW professor who was passionate about making astronomy accessible to the public. It is the second oldest building on the UW campus and houses a 6-inch refracting telescope, which, while modest compared to modern instruments, is still in use today for stargazing events and educational purposes. The telescope gives visitors the chance to peer into the night sky and see planets, stars, and other celestial objects up close.

In addition to being a teaching tool for students, the observatory offers regular public events, including free stargazing nights, talks, and special viewings of the night sky. It’s a great place for anyone interested in learning more about astronomy or just enjoying a night under the stars. The building itself is a charming piece of history, with its classic design and copper dome, and it remains one of the few active observatories in the region. Whether you’re a local or a visitor, the Theodor Jacobsen Observatory is a fantastic spot to experience Seattle’s scientific heritage and connect with the cosmos.

[theloverofdragons]

“…Is that it?”

“I’m sorry?” Zvezdana blinked abruptly and looked back at the trio she had been leading round Outpost Yeden; the Hero from Smocha Gwova, the old warrior from Lye’shiac, and the scientist who was currently regarding her surroundings with a rather disappointed expression. “This is some of the height of Magesterium technology!”

“Oh yes, and I’m sure you did your best,” the scientist - Notha Ly’ehr she said her name was (something about the surname nagging in the back of Zvezdana’s mind) - shrugged one shoulder, tapping her finger to her chin. “But when you mentioned ‘inspired by Exalted technology’, I was expecting something…more.”

“Wh- How would- Is she always like this?”

“Oh yes,” the Hero responded cheerfully, looking deeply amused. “It’s safe to say that Notha is an expert in all things Exalted.”

“It still smacks of heresy,” the warrior, Uaanta Fayt, grumbled under her breath.

“I…well…the Will of the Shapeless-”

“The Shapeless, yes, that’s something else I want to see! How does one lose control of their, ahem, god?”

“It’s rather more complicated than-”

“And it clearly has a shape! Mind if I scan this building a sec?”

“I…n-no, there’s secret Magesterium projects in there!”

“Oh that’s a shame. But you said this design is also Exalted inspired? I can assure you, even the Celestials and their penchant for embellishment wouldn’t have gone for this look!”

“You knew exactly what would happen by bringing her here, didn’t you?” Uaanta turned to the Hero as Notha took off towards a domed building, a gobsmacked Zvezdana trying to keep up.

The Hero grinned. “Yeah, I did. Look certain people here are nice enough, but the Magesterium does have a tendency to…look down on the technology of the other lands of Lore. It’s quite funny to see the shoe on the other foot.”

****

For @wisp-of-the-willow who requested: Notha visits Outpost Yeden