#Lumen Learning

[quirkle2]

scenes that make me wanna eat drywall dust

[littleshotsofsalvation]

prof started today asking if anyone knew where iberia was and i like hesitantly amswered spain and he was like yeah also how did you know that and he meant well but i didnt know how to tell him that i knew it from a gacha game i play so i just kinda shrugged

[tesspool]

let this girl wear other clothes!

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Where was demon slave and deadly sin ritual when the Umbra were being wiped out.

[w-a-film]

How To Write (and Transcend) A Romantic Comedy w/Elemental Director Peter Sohn

We all love RomComs! But how do you write one? And how can you transncend the cliches to tell a deeper story? In this video, we talked with Elemental's writer/director Peter Sohn to see what's in a RomCom and how Elemental goes beyond the tropes to tell a highly personal story.

[athena-theunicorn]

i’ve grown up around greeks and greek culture my whole life. i learned to speak the language, eat the food, olive oil runs through my veins, yada yada. point is, i know a lot of greeks - specifically old greek men - and i can say with 100% certainty that ember’s dad is basically an old greek immigrant.

[caged-dreamland]

💕11.11.2024 !💕

Happy Pocky Day!! Have a sketch of Meliora and Venueri!

[silkwxtch]

Child!Konrad - II. Bathwater Blues.

Characters/Mentions;

Konrad Curze, Child Primarch of the Night Lords.

You, owner of a Nostromian restaurant.

POV: Second Person.

Synopsis; Bathtime. Emperor preserve you.

Part 1 - Hungry, Hungry.

Part 3 - Toothy Terrors.

____

The stew was long gone.

Three bowls, two plates of bread, and a leftover slice of canned synthetic fruit pie had vanished into the boy’s mouth like they’d never existed—save for the bite marks in the ceramic and the crumbs scattered across the table like bones picked clean. He hadn’t spoken much, but you’d learned two things.

One, he could bite through ceramic.

Two, he did not like being touched. At all.

You never expected to have some feral alley child in your home. And, to be fair, you didn’t expect him to actually take your offer of a safe place to sleep.

You asked when he was licking his third bowl clean, leaning over the counter as he licked meat and broth from his long claws. It was late, and you were exhausted, so the idea just came spilling out.

And surprisingly, the little boy accepted.

But in all honesty...

You weren’t sure what you expected when you invited the half-starved sewer goblin into your home.

Maybe you thought he’d hide. Sniff around your apartment when he knew you were asleep. Steal some food and money or valuables, then run off.

That was an hour ago.

Now? He was gone again.

You stood in the hallway of your apartment above the restaurant, broom in one hand, soup stains on your shirt, and exhaustion carving lines under your eyes. You could hear him somewhere—moving softly, scraping floorboards, knocking over shelves, lifting books like they might hold secrets.

You didn’t expect him to begin circling your apartment like some sort of skeletal bird of prey, prowling across the cracked floorboards, sniffing at furniture, and tapping walls with long, sharpened nails like he was listening for hollow bones in the foundation.

His bones clicked when he moved.

Every breath rasped like it hurt to take.

He was so thin it looked like hunger had sculpted him, not birth.

You made a mental note to leave more carb-loaded foods out for him.

But he’d trusted you enough to eat. And that miracle was enough for tonight.

Now, he slinked through your apartment like a weasel, free, full, and curious. His bony fingers flicked your keys. His stark black investigated everything with quick glances, going over the picture of your grandparents, a painting you made as a kid, and your stained wallpaper.

When you did catch sight of him, you tried watching him as subtly as you could.

His hands drifted over the light switches, flicking them on and off, and then to your door locks, clicking them in and out with mechanical precision. You tried not to react.

He was small, but every inch of him radiated danger—as if he’d hunted before. Not murder, maybe. But violence—not aimed at you—not yet. There was potential. Coiled and calculating. Like if he wanted to, he could figure out how to kill you with a teaspoon.

Maybe he already had.

But still, he stayed.

He didn't say much. Just watched you like a tiny gargoyle, perched upon your counter like some type of beast of the night. It was like he was waiting for you to make the first move. For the moment you’d raise your hand and strike him.

So you stayed calm. You moved slow. Let him roam.

It wasn’t until he pushed open the bathroom door that he paused.

He stood there in slight confusion, nose wrinkling, inspecting the dingy old tub, the stained curtain, the flickering lumen-strip overhead. His bare feet shuffled on the tile as he stared at the cracked ceramic basin like it was an xenos artifact.

You chuckled at his confusion as you leaned on the doorframe.

“You ever had a bath, bud?” You took a guess.

He turned. His eyes—black, glassy, too old for his face—narrowed. Not surprised, but wary.

You gestured, hands up in peace again. “You don’t have to. Just figured… you might want to be warm. Clean. I’ll get you a change of clothes and then leave.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he stepped into the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet seat like a little gargoyle. Waiting.

You filled the tub, turning the knobs slow so the pipes wouldn’t scream. The water ran warm, steaming just slightly, and he flinched at first, like it was a threat, but didn’t run. He sniffed the steam like an animal scenting a storm.

The steam from the bath you’d drawn wafted out in gentle curls, sweetened with a splash of soap you’d once splurged on—almond-scented, floral, too nice for this slum. The tub itself groaned with warm water, just deep enough for a child. Not deep enough to drown in, you’d made sure.

When you put the soap on the sink, you’d heard the faintest sound of knuckles dragging against the glass a moment later, and without looking up from the water, you spoke;

“Don’t eat that.”

You heard the soap return to its original spot a moment later.

“Alright,” you sighed, leaning on the bathtub and standing up. “It’s ready. I’ll grab you a change of clothes and wait outside.”

You brushed your pants off with two pats, looking at the wide-eyed gremlin for a moment before heading to step out, only to be stopped when you felt a tiny had grab the back of your shirt and pull you.

The little gargoyle sat with his knees to his chin, watching you closely before loosening his grip, cautiously sliding off the toilet and standing in front of you.

He pointed to the door behind you, and when you looked, he stripped, tossing his bloody loincloth at your feet and crawling into the bath before you could look back.

When you did look back, the boy was already chin deep in the soapy water, watching the bubbles with wide interested eyes. A violent shiver ran through his body at the sudden temperature change, and you shook your head.

You exhaled slowly as the warm water lapped over his knees, his chest, his hunched little shoulders. The grime began to lift in oily ribbons. You winced. He didn’t.

With a slightly uncomfortable smile, you spoke again. “Smells nice, huh?”

He didn't move for a long pause.

Then, he gave a sharp nod.

You giggled.

“I’ve got more of that scent. Splurged when I met up with an old friend—got a whole pack that only cost me 10 credits.”

He tilted his head, and you sighed.

Then, he curled up, arms wrapped around his shins, eyes half-lidded. Not quite relaxed, but not ready to bolt.

You knelt beside the tub, grabbing the shampoo and conditioner from the side of the ceramic.

“Can I wash your hair?”

He tensed.

“Just water. No pain. Promise.”

Another long pause. Then, a sharp nod.

You started gently.

Squeezing a fat glob of shampoo in your palm, you rubbed your hands together, getting them all soapy before slowly threading your fingers through his hair.

And it was frakking disgusting.

Oil-slicked strands of black tangled with knots and soot and God knows what else. Hard white chunks of what you assumed was bone stuck buried underneath the hair at his scalp, and the dark brown color of oxygenated blood slowly leaked into the water.

He flinched when you touched him the first time—jerked back like a kicked dog. But then, slowly, he let you. You wiped at the dirt on his face, the grime behind his ears, the blood at the edges of his fingernails. He didn’t make a sound, just watched. Watched you like no one ever had before.

He made a low, throaty sound when you poured warm water over his scalp, like an animal that didn’t understand comfort—but maybe wanted to.

When his hair was thoroughly soaped up, you turned to grab the soap off the counter, quickly dunking it in the water and frothing it until your hands were covered in suds and bubbles. You squeezed them onto his shoulders, listening to his teeth clack in surprise before grabbing a rag off one of the temperature handles.

You handed him the rag, which he hesitantly took. He looked at you for a moment, peering at you with those deep, endless voids.

Then, you motioned what he needed to do. You rubbed your hand on your shoulder, pretending you had the rag.

And he copied.

His little hand moved slow. Awkward. Hesitant. Like he wasn’t used to the idea of scrubbing—not himself, not gently. He smeared the rag over his collarbone, paused, then looked at the water, watching the grey streaks drift off his skin like ghosts.

You kept your voice low, steady. “Good. Just like that. You’ve got time.”

He kept washing. One shoulder. Then the other. His ribs—thin as a bird’s—peeked out from under the dirty water as he shifted, raising an arm to rub along his chest, then dipping back down. The water turned murkier by the second, the film of filth peeling off in layers that stuck in the corners of the tub.

You watched in silence, only moving when his elbow bumped the side of the porcelain and he flinched again, eyes darting toward you like you might strike him.

“I’m not gonna hit you, kid,” you muttered. “Even if you get the walls dirty.”

That seemed to lessen his nerves—if only by a little.

He nodded, though smaller this time. A tentative sort of belief.

Eventually, you stood, stretching your knees, letting the warmth of the room soak into your bones. “I’ll go get you a towel and something to wear. Think you can rinse your hair out by the time I’m back?”

A beat.

Then, he dunked his head under the water like a corpse slipping below the surface—completely silent, eyes open.

You blinked, startled, and rushed to kneel again, ready to yank him out if he didn’t come up—

—but he emerged a second later, soaked and sputtering, blinking hard as water streamed down his face and hair like long threads of ink. He gasped, coughed once, and shook his head like a wet dog, then looked at you as if seeking approval.

You let out a slow breath. Smiled. Relived. “That… works.”

So you went. You found an old shirt from your cousin’s last visit—clean, too big, but soft. Some pants that might fit if he didn’t mind rolling the cuffs. A grey towel that wasn’t fraying too badly.

You came back to find him curled again, soaking wet and small, arms wrapped around his knees as he watched the suds swirl. He looked over when you entered but didn’t move.

“Alright, uncap the drain, and I’ll rinse you off one more time,” you said, setting down the towel and clothes. “Water’s starting to look like the bottom of a sump pipe.”

He chuffed, but didn’t protest. He popped the bathcork and watched the water drain. As the dark liquid receded, he unfurled from the bathfloor, one limb at a time. Almost like a bird. Elegant, strangely.

You ran the water again, wetting the rag before squeezing it over his shoulders, letting the fresh water rinse over the stagnant water that had settled on his corpse-like skin. He shook away the water afterward, and you recoiled as it got your shirt and face wet.

You huffed out a laugh and handed him the towel, turned your back as he dried off with fumbling motions. No words.

He wrapped the fabric around his body like a small cocoon, looking up at you like you were something so strange.

Almost needy, if you tilted your head.

Maybe reverent?

Or maybe you were simply imagining things.

When you offered the clothes, he shook his head. He only curled the cloth tighter.

You shook your head before shrugging, setting the outfit on the toilet lid.

Then, he just stood in the center of your bathroom, dripping just a little, clean but still not whole. You could see how the heat made his gaunt pale cheeks pink. His hair hung in black clumps, cleaner now but still unruly.

You knelt again, meeting his gaze firmly. Not touching him directly—just enough. His lip twitched like he might say something, but he didn’t. Not yet.

“Feel better?”

Another pause.

Then a whisper. Just a whisper.

“…warm.”

You smiled. Couldn’t help it. “Yeah. It’s better that way.”

You sighed, leaning back on your heel as you slowly spoke out your next task.

“Now…we gotta brush your teeth, little man.”

[beckyninja]

So Close

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Setting typical violence

Description: The Avenging Son wreaks havoc, and the Reader learns her cousin has even darker secrets to reveal.

You guys are gonna hate me for this one. 😈

Remember to read the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. And feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist!

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Each pulse of the receiver felt like the prodding of an electro-baton. 

Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

Hiis eyes remained fixed on the battleship looming large through the Command Deck’s viewports,but  his mind tracked the movements of every single individual scurrying around him. Techpriests interfacing with the great cogitators, TerraNovan technicians typing furiously on their slim little dataslates, vox operators relaying order. Only his genesons remained still, though his practiced gaze saw the tiny flexes that marked them ready for action. 

The deck was alive with motion. Yet every living soul seemed trapped in viscous fluid compared with the speed of his thoughts.

Theoretical: You are alive and held captive aboard that voidship.

Practical: I will rescue her.

Theoretical: You are dead and the transmission is false.

Practical: I will avenge her.

He clenched his gauntlets, careful not to crush the little machine holding all his fragile hopes. 

“My Lord?”

He turned his head a fraction of an inch to one side.

Captain Takahashi looked worse for wear. Dark bruises bloomed beneath bloodshot eyes. He’d watched her guide his Navigator through the Wards, an experience even those without eidetic memories were unlikely to forget.

The Macragge’s Honor had groaned and shuddered like a wounded beast as the TerraNovan delivered rapid-fire instructions to psyker and helmsman alike. Every instant it seemed the mighty voidship would rattle apart at the seams. The command crew had clung to their stations in silent terror. Reports had come from other departments of those unable to maintain such composure, breaking down into whimpering balls or running through the corridors, shrieking prayers to the Emperor.

Even his gene-sons had felt the strain. He remembered the stifled groans coming from within Sicarius’s helm.

Any other circumstances and he might have felt compassion. As it was, he’d stood like a monolith, legs splayed, willing his struggling flagship through the maelstrom with every ounce of his being.

The stillness when they’d made it through had been what nearly bowled him over. The Navigator had collapsed into a twitching pile of elongated limbs and been carried to the Apothecarion. Captain Takahashi had stood, leaning against a nearby cogitator with her single trembling arm.

Only then had the vox operator reported that none of the rest of the fleet had made it. The Macragge’s Honor stood alone.

���In all likelihood they were spat back out into Imperial space once the connection was broken.” The Captain murmured. 

He nodded. Eyes still fixed on the approaching battleship.

“They’ve seen us by now.”

Another nod. 

“My Lord,” Sicarius spoke from his place, everpresent, just behind and to the side, “shall I give the order?”

Guilliman spoke for the first time. “Yes.”

Everyone on the bridge heard the Commander’s bellow. “Open fire!”

Guilliman felt the near imperceptible shudder and watched trails of light rocket toward the TerraNovan battleship. 

“The officer’s quarters are nowhere near the engines or shield generators.” He heard Captain Takahashi mutter, half to herself. “She’ll be safe.”

Horrifying theoreticals raced through his mind with renewed rapidity. He gritted his teeth.

Be alive. Please. 

***

“What the fuck?!” 

Frenzy’s metallic squawk came just as the walls and floor around them shook violently. Distant booms rolled down the corridor, lumens flickered and went out, soon replaced by the glowing red of emergency lighting. Klaxons screamed.

Tarchus braced himself. “Missile strike.”

“Gee, y’think?” The torso of his companion’s mech pivoted toward him, enough for him to see her disgruntled expression. “Who’s shooting at us?”

Tarchus was grateful for the restoration of his armor and helmet. He’d been told the grin of an Astartes was a fearsome thing to behold. 

“I recognize the sound. Imperial ordinance.”

“You sure?”

Her ability to read his body language astounded him as she glanced at him and backed up a step, metal hands raised. “Never mind! Jeez. Touchy, aren’t you?”

He’d grown used to her rhetorical questions. “They will have targeted the engines.”

“And the shield generator, if they’re smart. Not that I’m saying they’re not smart! Fuck. And I thought you were scary without your armor.” A snort. “Do you ever not radiate menace?” 

“No.” Her eyes narrowed, and he huffed in annoyance. “I jest.”

“Sure you do.” She muttered. “Well, enlighten me, Big Guy. What’s standard Imperial protocol here?”

“The next strike will be against your cloaking device, as it poses the greatest-”

Another boom. Another shake, this one more violent and prolonged. 

“Fuck.” The TerraNovan snarled. “How in the Void did they make it through the Wards, anyway?”

He swiveled his helmet toward her in silent question.

She waved a metal appendage dismissively. “I’ll explain later. Safe to say at least someone from the Princess’s ship must’ve survived. Especially since they seem to know exactly where to hit!”

“Will this crew return fire?”

Through her mech’s viewport, her face grew grim. “In case you haven’t noticed, buddy, the Predator’s not exactly fully crewed at the moment.”

“We have encountered a significant lack of resistance since the armory.”

“She’s been in orbital docking at HQ since the Bugs busted her up good.” The two of them continued their march through the trembling corridors. “Ol’ Vicky was in such a rush to get out here he barely had time to gather a skeleton crew. That means most of the systems are being run by computers that had the shit kicked out of them not six months ago.” 

Tarchus remained silent, running theoreticals and practicals. “If an attacker wished to board, how would they do so?”

A huff. “I’d pop straight through the main hangar doors. Armor’s thinnest there. Problem is, that’s where most of the fighting crew’s likely to be. Well, there, and wherever the void Vicky’s got himself to.”

“How far is the hangar?”

“A few klicks, if we took this elevator.”

He stopped. She took several steps past him before turning back.

“The Void are you doing?”

“My brothers will arrive soon, if they have not already.”

“Your- fuck.” She glared at him. “You’re just gonna abandon her?”

“Never.” He growled, and she flinched. “We will have a greater chance of success if we link up with the boarding party.”

“Yeah? Well I say that’s just gonna waste time. We have to get to the Princess now!”

“Theoretical: we go on alone. Practical: whatever forces the traitor has at his personal command slow us down long enough for him to re-capture the Lady.”

Uncertainty passed over her face.

“Alternative theoretical: we join my brothers in the hangar. Alternative practical: as a combined force, we deliver the Emperor’s wrath to whoever stands in our way and cut through to the Lady at a significantly increased rate of speed. The Codex states that-”

She rolled her eyes and cut him off. “I swear, you’ve brought that void-damned Codex up at least a dozen times since we left the armory. Fuck! Do you always talk like this?”

He felt his facial muscles twitching at her disrespect. “Yes.”

“Another example of Astartes’ humor?”

He tightened his grip on his bolter. “Lieutenant-”

“I know, I know. Fine. We’ll do it your way. You’ve got, what, a century or so more of experience than me anyway, right?” 

“Over two centuries.”

“Damn. Ok, old man.” She hefted the cannon she appropriated from the armory and grinned. “At least that means I’ll get to use this baby sooner. Let’s go bring some, what did you call it? Emperor’s wrath!”

Tarchus followed her into the elevator, annoyance at being called “old” overshadowing a lingering sense of doubt.

***

“What-?! HOW?!”

You hid your smile as Victor throttled the mercenary who’d delivered the news of the Imperials’ arrival. Pressing a hand over the ring tucked into your bodice, you thanked the Light for its provision.

I’m here, Roboute. 

“Lord Heir,” the giant sergeant who never seemed far from your cousin’s side drawled, “what are your orders?”

Victor released the messenger, who fell back against a wall, gasping. Spittle coated your cousin’s lips and chin. His eyes darted from side to side like a trapped animal. 

“I… I don’t….” Then, suddenly, he cocked his head as if listening to something. “I… yes. Yes!” 

He rounded on the messenger once more. “Go. Have my personal yacht made ready. NOW!”

The man bobbed his head and ran.

The sergeant smirked. “We’re abandoning the Predator, then?”

“We are, Alroy. She’s served me well, but the old hulk’s on her last legs anyway.” He jerked his chin back toward the blood-spattered communication station. “Relay orders to the crew that the invaders are to be resisted at all costs. Tell them… oh, I don’t care. That reinforcements are on the way, or something. Whatever you need to keep them fighting.”

A slow, cruel smile crept across Sgt. Alroy’s face. “Just like Pangea, eh?”

Both men seemed almost to have forgotten you, crouched against the wall. But you couldn’t hold back a gasp at the name. Your cousin’s eyes snapped back to you.

“Ah, so you haven’t been kept entirely sheltered, have you? Granny told you of my great victory?”

Your mind raced. Pangea. A planetoid on the very edge of TerraNovan space, hailed as a triumph of the new terraforming technology. The videos broadcasted throughout the homeworld showed starry-eyed colonists, giddy with the thrill only a brand new colony can bring. A bright spot in your Grandmother’s otherwise dark reign.

One of the only times I ever saw her genuinely smile.

You wondered if the colonists were ever told how thin the Wards were in that corner of space. You doubted it. Maybe no one knew.

Until the Tyranids attacked.

“Pangea. Such a pretty little morsel.” Victor’s eyes took on a feverish gleam. “I was so confident, you know? So sure in my battleship and fleet. We’d put down rebellions, slaughtered orks in their thousands. We were invincible!”

His laugh sent chills down your spine.

“Grandmother told me the colony was lost.” You whispered.

“We fought hard. We hurt them badly. But it wasn’t enough. They were unrelenting. And they knew so much. Not the animals we thought.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “I had to make a sacrifice.”

Your blood ran cold. “Pangea. Oh, Light.”

“You should have seen the little colonists.” He giggled. “So brave, so proud. Embodying the TerraNovan ideal. They believed me when I said I’d be back with help.”

Horror mingled with rage and you stood to your full height. “You told us they blew the planetary reactor. We built memorials, called them heroes!” You stabbed a finger into his chest. “Did you even try to save any of them before you destroyed the colony, Victor?”

His gaze finally held yours. What you saw sent an electric shock through every nerve in your body.

“You didn’t destroy the colony.”

“Clever little cousin,” he purred, “I’ll never underestimate your intelligence again. No, no. I didn’t destroy Pangea.” He leaned in until you felt his rancid breath on the side of your face. “I made a deal.”

“Does… Grandmother know?”

His incredulous laugh answered you.

“Lord Heir.” Sergeant Alroy stepped away from the computer. “The order is given.”

“Good.”

“The Imperials have breached the hangar bay. From what I could make out before the transmission cut off, Guilliman is leading them.”

Your cousin gave a shocked chuckle. “He’s proven more tenacious than I thought. And for what? A little bastard bitch?” He snorted. “Still, time to leave, quickly.” 

“We’ll make for HQ?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“He will follow.”

“Yes, I suspect he will. The timetable will have to be accelerated, but our… new allies… should be recovered enough by the time they arrive.” Victor cackled. “Oh, to see the smug superiority wiped off your fiance’s face when he realizes, sweet cousin!”

All this you heard in a frozen haze. The scope of Victor’s lies… the depths of his betrayal… of his delusion….

And no one knows but me. No one knows!

The Sergeant stepped out of the communications room. Victor turned to speak to him.

They thought you a scared little rabbit. But rabbits were quick.

With a bound, you were back inside the room. Your hand hit the door controls, shutting it in Victor’s shocked face. Grabbing the bloodied knife from the floor, you thrust it hard into the locking mechanism. Circuits sparked as the door jammed. 

Dead eyes stared up at you from the floor. The mercenary you’d killed. The brave Ensign who’d died for you. Blood, so much blood.

Only a merest prelude of the oceans to be spilled if you didn’t act.

“Time to be what they all think I am.” You murmured as you took a seat before the transmitter.

***

The burning blade swung in arcs of flame and blood. Dozens died with each swing. Like insects.

For insects they were, in the eyes of The Avenging Son.

“My Lord!” Sicarius’s voice reached him as if from a great distance. “Wait!”

He did not. He would not. Doors not meant for the breadth of his armored shoulders burst asunder before him. Bodies crunched beneath his feet, alongside discarded weaponry. The enemy fled.

The growl that came from his throat would have sounded more at home in the maw of a Space Wolf. 

Where are you, my love? 

“My Lord!” A restraining hand on his arm. “Forgive me, but-”

He shook off Sicarius’s gauntlet with a snarl.

To his credit, the Commander held his ground. “We’ve located Brother Tarchus, my Lord.”

The red haze faded long enough for his analytical mind to function once more. 

Julian Tarchus, the Ultramarine I sent to guard her. He lives!

“Take me to him.”

He followed Sicarius through corridors his gene-son navigated with difficulty. The Primarch had to bend nearly double, pauldrons and halo scraping along the walls and ceiling with every step. He noticed grooves already carved into the metal.

How far ahead did I charge?

His rational mind berated him for his foolishness in outdistancing his guard. His hearts screamed at him to continue.

It had taken all of three minutes and fifteen seconds for the TerraNovan mercenaries to break formation when he leapt from the still hovering Thunderhawk. He remembered pursuing, not even bothering to fire his heavy bolter. Just slashing without thought.

It had been… cathartic.

A helm he’d never thought to see again appeared before him. Guilliman felt a pang of guilt. So focused had he been on you, that he hadn’t spared your bodyguard a single thought.

“My son.”

Tarchus knelt. “My Lord!”

Beside him, a machine the likes of which he’d never seen before also dropped to one metallic knee. “What is this?”

A hiss of air, and a hatch opened to reveal a disheveled young woman seated at the machine’s controls. She stared at the center of his chest, mouth agape.

Tarchus spoke. “This is Fren- Lt. Calderon, my Lord. A fellow prisoner aboard this voidship. She is loyal to the Lady.” He hesitated a moment. “She saved my life.”

Guilliman nodded to the woman. “My thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Holy fuck,” was the only response.

Sicarius huffed. “Of all the disrespectful-”

Guilliman’s raised hand silenced him. “Enough. Tarchus, is the Lady still….” the word caught in his throat.

Tarchus met his eyes. “She is, my Lord. She has commandeered a communications hub in the upper decks. The Lieutenant and I made contact and were approaching when we heard of your arrival.”

Relief almost weakened his knees.

Alive. 

And so… very… close!

A thought struck him. “You deviated from your path to come here, Tarchus.”

The Ultramarine’s face tightened. “The Codex dictates-”

Guilliman kept his tone calm and measured. “Damn the Codex to the Warp.” 

Every Ultramarine in his retinue stiffened. Something that might have been a hysterical snicker came from the TerraNovan lieutenant.

Tarchus bowed his head. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

“If she remains safe, I shall.” He glanced at the Lieutenant, wiping the smile from her face. “You know the way?”

“Y-yeah?”

His glare was enough to have her pushing buttons and raising her mech to its feet, hatch closing once more. Just before it locked into place, he heard her mutter.

“Holy fucking fuck!”

Sicarius spoke again. “We should send scouts ahead, my Lord.”

Tarchus shook his head. “Unnecessary.” He looked at the carnage throughout the hangar. “This ship is operating with minimal crew, as difficult as that is to believe. The majority of its defensive forces seem to have been in this hangar. What remains will pose little threat.”

Guilliman felt his anger toward his son ease slightly. “Then we move as one, en force.”

“Let me lead the way, my Lord.” Tarchus stood, face eager. “Let me-”

“No.” Guilliman turned to the woman and her strange machine. “Go. I will follow.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” 

The Primarch and Ultramarines made their way through the all but empty ship. Guilliman gritted his teeth at the glacial pace. Already his fingers ached to draw his blade. The walls and ceiling seemed to close in around him, as if holding him back, the whole ship an obstacle to overcome.

Where are you? Where are you?

He fought the urge to demand how far they were like an impatient child.

He fought the urge to tear through the confining metal with blade and gauntlet alone.

He fought the urge to chase down and slaughter each fleeing baseline they encountered.

He fought a losing battle.

Just as he felt he must charge ahead or burst, a message came through his vox receiver.

“Lord Guilliman.”

“Captain Takahashi.”

“We’re receiving an all-frequency transmission from the Predator. It is the Lady Heir!”

Both hearts leapt into his throat. “Patch it through.”

And then, your voice. 

Oh… Throne….

It flowed over him like cool water. It burned like fire. Soothing and stimulating. Everything… and not nearly enough. If you knew how you could break him with a word…. When this was over, he’d make sure you knew. 

Only slowly did the actual words register.

“...call to arms! People of TerraNova, you have been deceived. My cousin is no war hero, but a traitor. And not only of our people, but of all humanity.”

The terrified determination in your words filled him with equal parts pride and horror. Theoreticals and practicals began their unstoppable cascade once more as you brought the sordid truth to light.

“No longer as the Lady Heir do I call upon you, no longer as your Princess in the Tower,  but as your Matron Uncrowned. Military, merchant, and civilian alike. In every voidship that can bear soldiers or arms. Come to these coordinates and ally with the Lord Guilliman, your Patron To Be. We must eradicate this evil before it can take root and spread among us.”

Guilliman had heard speeches beyond count. Speeches full of evocative language designed to manipulate. But the sweet sincerity in your words roused something in him he’d thought long dead.

“We are TerraNova, we are the heirs of Humanity That Was. United with our stalwart brothers and sisters of the Imperium, we will prevail. Light guide us all.”

A long pause, and then….

“Roboute, if you can hear me, I love-”

The transmission died.

He didn’t think. He whirled upon the TerraNovan lieutenant and she understood.

“Not far now!” 

Her machine burst into a thunderous sprint all but drowned out by the pounding of his own sabatons.

A sobbing groan tore from his chest as they reached the broken door of the communications room. The sight of blood almost deprived him of his sanity, until he realized neither body resembled you. Then,in the brief moment of stillness, a soft scuffle from far up the corridor.

He pursued, cursing the ever tightening corridors that clutched at him, cursing his unwieldy armor, cursing everything and everyone….

…but you.

The air he dragged into his lungs bore the faintest trace of your scent now. 

So close.

Fleeing footsteps around the next bend.

So close!

The hiss of a door closing.

SO CLOSE!

Ripping through metal he burst into the smaller hangar just in time to see…

You.

Bruised, bloodied, clothing torn. Your cousin’s arm wrapped around your throat as he dragged you up the ramp of a hovering voidship. 

“Roboute!”

Before Guilliman’s very eyes your cousin dragged your head back and covered your mouth in a savage mockery of a kiss. Then the ramp closed and the ship’s engines flared, sending it soaring out into the black.

So close….

Guilliman activated his vox.

“Hear me, you motherless bastard. I will find you. I will drown everything you send against me in blood to take her from you. And then I will crush you… with my bare hands.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

@n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou @zamzmak @elita1

@ilovewolvezz @primordialsneeze @summersong2262 @nereidof40k @ahrianee

@sunsetlobster @nekotaetae @toto-the-cactus @thevoidscreams

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Before I end up making that post I want to talk about briefly with the release of IS5 again, the concept of each IS havin a fundamental theme of unreality to them. I really like this, because it feels like in a pretty unsubtle way a solid way to ground the structure of a roguelike setting into what is normally a pretty grounded storyline.

IS1, Ceobe's Fungimist (please Hypergryph let it return), is a hallucination caused be Ceobe eating weird forest mushrooms. Nothing that happens in IS1 is real, explicitly. However, IS1 is fundamentally drawing from something, and in Ceobe's case, it seems to be drawing from her memories of traveling abroad Terra looking for the origins of her axe (and food, of course). What are things Ceobe's remembers happening to her, what are hallucinations filing in the gaps, and what are Ceobe catching glimpses of fundamental truths of the world (the Black Procession and the Feranmut skeleton that is Maybe? Lifebone for instance) is left extremely vague. Characters such as the Frozen Monstrosity do seem to genuinely exist, but there was no Frozen Monstrosity in Lungmen. Was Ceobe using something she herself experienced in place of Frostnova, or is Ceobe hallucinating the entire thing regardless? Who knows. Ceobe probably doesn't have the answers for you.

IS2 has explicit themes of madness and deception, and although I do not find him a particularly compelling character or plot device, a playwright who can literally warp reality with his plays. Much of the stage design recycles echoes the stage design from IS1, almost as if the Troupe is welcoming you, the player, onto their stage. You aren't here to discern the truth behind the Troupe, you're here to save one man, and while you are able to peel back the curtains somewhat, you never really do learn what the Troupe is. There are puppets who come to life and whose music damages your souls, there are actors driven so fully into their roles that they end up traveling to Sami to carry out their destined end, there's a Troupe Leader whose defining imagery is puppets and strings, and yet, you're no closer to finding out how this all happened than you are trying to explain why the Knights' Duel node exists.

IS3 asks the question "What if time is like evolution?" and presents its unreality in the form of a sprawling, massive bundle of alternative timelines to your own. It feels almost impossible to line up most of the events and memory mappings and endings on top of each other, and even the endings seemingly branch off into several versions of themselves. While, for example, the Irene encounter maps onto her own memory mapping story, we never see the timeline involving Lumen's memory mapping in the game at all. There is no Seaborn version of Gladiia in-game for you to fight. This is made seemingly all the more uncanny by the fact that there is actually a canon timeline going on, and the implication through the Bosky event that you are only seeing these alternative timelines because curiosity got the better of you. You came into contact with technology alien and yet familiar, and as a result, your good little timeline where you just save a girl who tries to commit identity death turns into you having to watch from the third person a version of the world where you and Mizuki are potentially the only intelligent life left on Terra for all eternity.

(No seriously, this ending is fucked up, what the fuck.)

IS4, on the other hand, gives us a reality that is unraveling, so fragile and malleable that you can cause things to manifest out of sheer force of will, something there are explicit warnings about not doing. It's a land where the living become the shambling, almost mechanical dead, and the mechanical being living creatures. It's a world where the abyss looks back at you, and finds you to be worth destroying. Gravity isn't right, time isn't right, language isn't right, snow falls black and the dead rise once again to beckon you home. There's nightmares in the shadows, and they're eating away at everything.

Sorry shit I got dark there. IS5 is Nymph's happy little storytime where she explores future and alternative versions of Kazdel through the imagination of her and her compatriots. What if Theresis and Theresa worked together and Nasti completed her designs (and maybe committed a genocide????) and Kazdel was a flying utopia city? What if the Teekaz all walked in a different direction and became the Sankta, or all became the Anasa? You know, sometimes you lose your sense of reality and become dependent on the visions you see from the Revenants, sometimes you need a little bunny to pull you out, and sometimes those Revenants might have actually caused a new reality to exist but haha, don't worry about that.

What if, hahaha, just saying what if, there was a version of Amiya in a world where the Sarkaz barely exist, where she was given the crown by a dying Theresa with no guidance on how to use it ethically? Haha I mean, what if Kal'tsit wasn't around? What if, just theoretically, there was a version of Amiya for whom the most formative person in her life was the decaying mind of a man stuck as an AI program who kept his people alive for 10,000 years? What if, hehehehe you know, what if, there were special endings you got for each of the stories you told where you went onto fight her, showing up closing up those stories, those worlds, to eternally protect them until she can find the answer to all troubles? What if the Sarkaz prophecy from Chapter 7 kept coming up, over and over again, the prophecy of an Amiya who would melt millions of lives into memories over and over again? What if this was an Amiya so immediately dangerous that the Sankta version of Buldrokkas'tee doesn't hesitate in trying to kill her?

I mean that would be a really scary story if it was true. Really it's Nymph's special storytime with the revenants. Don't worry about it.

Anyways I love pretty much each of these takes (IS2 is definitely the weakest though) and it shows a lot of thought from the storywriters about how they wanted to integrate a roguelike mode into their game.

[project-lumen]

Project LUMEN: APPLICATIONS ROUND 2 OPENING SOON!!!!

As you can see on our lovely lil poster (made by @pinkish29) we're opening applications for the next round on the 30th of April! The period the apps are open will be for nearly three weeks (ending on May 20th) to give anyone plenty of time to apply. See below the Project Lumen banner for more info on the roles we have open!

Have you ever wanted to know what the life series would look like as a video game? Well we've got the answer for you! Project Lumen is an RPG-like game revolving around all the series of the life smp, with twists and turns, multiple storylines that can possible diverge from the 'canon' timeline. There will be mini games, quests related to each episode of a season, and much more!

Here's a basic rundown of what we're doing:

You, the player, are introduced as the Watcher Child (WC for short. They're the character in the poster above!). You are an apprentice within the Watchers, and your job is to follow and guide the champions chosen by the Watchers themselves through challenges and enemies. Featuring unique leveling systems, DnD inspired classes, and, most importantly, the ability to impact the story with the choices you make… because, after experiencing all the Life Series seasons from both the Watcher and the Player side, maybe you’ll have a change of mind. After all is said and done and seen, the world is yours to shape, Watcher Child.

We are looking for both writers and background artists!

Writers will be in charge of helping getting the script together, creating dialogue and helping create both canon timelines and alternate timelines. Your job is to make the world real through the characters, the story, and the world. You don't need script writing experience though, you'll be given opportunities to learn if you're selected. We're just looking for those willing to learn and dedicate time towards this beautiful game!

Background artists, which are the most awesome people ever you should really become a background artist, will create the backgrounds for things like fights and loading screens. It's your job to mold the world of the life series for this project. You get to draw things like the Secret keeper from secret life, the relation-ship from double life, the forest burning and the desert deserting in third life, and everything in between!

Please keep in mind this project is a long-term project that takes many months to complete. The workload, though, is extremely manageable and everyone currently working on it is having a blast!

If you have any questions at all, give us a shout (an ask)! We'll be extremely happy to answer any questions, especially of what it's actually like creating for this project (it's awesome), because we're already partway through third life.

Looking forward to seeing all of your applications, and meeting all you lovely people who manage to get in!!!

-Team LUMEN

[supdudes95]

The first part of the new story in my Lumen series is out!

I just wanted to add a little extra pic from my pretty big folder of Hazbin doodles XD (It's an older one from a few months back when I was still learning how to draw him... I did edit it a little bit after figuring out the royal outfit)

[theresattrpgforthat]

Last year I wrote a quick rundown of three game systems: Powered by the Apocalypse, LUMEN, and Forged in the Dark, and this year I'm hoping to do it again! Help me to decide which systems to talk about!

[horsegirlhob]

In another life Helena Eagan and Harmony Cobel would be doing numbers on tumblr dot com and getting into arguments about their shared blorbos. Unfortunately they were both raised in the lumen cult and never learned this was a viable outlet so instead they have to latch onto the most sad pathetic man they can get their hands on and play mind games with each other in a conference room. Bad news for for Mark S but great news for me

[swim-forthemusic]

picspams:  Elemental (2023)

I had regrets when my dad died, but because of you, I've learned that you don't have forever to say what you need to say. I love you, Ember Lumen. And I'm pretty sure you love me, too.

[motthe]

I was just rereading the house call the other day so I'm super stoked you're doing Arcane fics again! I adore the lumen au SO much. May I request academic rivals lumen au with Viktor? Him and reader both being incredible academics competing for the same position, but up til now haven't met in person and don't realize it's their soulmate they're trying to beat. However short/long you want and whatever format you prefer!

I hope you don't mind, I did fem!reader for this drabble. If not I can go back over it, no problem!

Professor Heimerdinger did his best to not show favoritism amongst his students. Each and every one of them had a grand mind, reaching aspirations, and a passion to learn. They were the stars to his sky and he would not trade anything for a single one.

But there were those who earned their place in the elite, guiding those with their brilliance onto a path of achievement some might fail to find. Heimerdinger did not make it any easier on them in their greatness, if anything he asked for more. And now with it being time for a new assistant he was having a hard time choosing from his collection of constellations. 

“I’ve finally narrowed it down to two of you,” he said to Viktor, taking a moment to sip his tea. “You’ve shown marvelous progress this semester as you have for all the others—a constant, you are, my boy!”

Viktor swirled the amber liquid around in his cup. He had known what the meeting was about as soon as Heimerdinger had invited him to his office. It left his stomach in knots. 

A softness grazed his ear, adding pressure as it traveled under his jaw. He allowed himself a small moment to bask in the touch before he raised his hand to gather your light and bring it down to sit on his leg. 

Lumens all had their shows of affection, always doing their best to help when they sensed stress. You preferred to pull him out of his head by taking up his attention. From running through his hair and making a mess of it to nudging his cheek, you would do anything to get his eyes on you. Right now, he couldn’t have you distracting him, so he kept a hand over you, biting back a smile as you wiggled against his palm. 

“And the other student you are ruminating on?” he asked.

“Hm?” The wise yordle’s ears perked up as he swallowed another sip of tea. “Oh, no need to worry about that. The point of this meeting is to gauge your overall interest in the job at hand.”

“Consider me interested, Professor.” Viktor set his porcelain cup down, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Is there to be a contest? A, eh, battle of the wits?”

“By the spirits, no!” chuckled Heimerdinger. “I would never pin you against one another like that. The last thing I need is having two of my best students at each other’s throats!”

“And, yet, you seem…concerned about me knowing of the other candidate.” Viktor raised an eyebrow as his professor coughed, turning in his chair and hopping down. The young man grabbed his cane and stood as Heimerdinger approached. 

As soon as he raised his hand from you, your bright form went twirling up into the air. He blew a short breath at you as you tried to hover in front of him, clearly irritated if your budding red color was any indication. You bounced against his nose in retaliation, floating down to sit on his shoulder.

“I only mean to keep the mystery alive, my boy! There are many times in life we are faced with the unknown and must navigate blind.” He slowed his pace to remain by Viktor’s side as the two made for the door. “By the end of the week, I will have come up with something suitable to decide which of you will become my assistant, but for now, I ask you to think on it and be sure the job is something you truly want for yourself.”

“Of course, Professor,” said Viktor as he stepped through the doorway, cane clicking against the ground. 

“Spectacular! Now off with you! I know finals are right around the corner for you two.” Heimerdinger waved before shutting the door, leaving Viktor out in the hall with an inkling he was not too fond of.

As he began his walk to the library, he noticed your stillness on his shoulder and grinned to himself.

“Pouting, are we?” he hummed. A flash of crimson light had him glancing over, but the majority of you was still a soft yellow. It made him chuckle.

Entering the library, he went straight to the front desk, nodding to the librarian as she looked up from her paperwork. 

“Hello, Viktor, anything I can help with?” she asked.

“Just a pickup. I sent the requests this morning,” he answered. 

“Let me check the cart.” Pushing her chair out from the desk, a purple lumen rolled off the counter to follow her as she went to the back office in search of his books. He waited by patiently, taking in the peaceful ambiance of turning pages and scribbling pens. 

You nudged at his neck, done with your little strike. He brought his hand up to rub a finger over the top of you, returning the sentiment. The yellow light phased into that lovely pink shade he adored—the sign you were content. 

“Here we are.” He looked up, surprised as the librarian sat down his books. He hadn’t heard her returning. “One of them was already checked out, it seems, but you’ll be the next in line for it as soon as it’s turned in.”

“Many thanks,” he said, gathering the study material against his side before heading off to his dorm. 

There was mail—the scores from last week’s test, no doubt, and a vanilla envelope stamped with that cursed emblem. He rolled his eyes, attempting to prepare himself for what was to come as he unlocked his door. He went straight to his desk to drop off his books and sit. You wandered down his arm and under the lamp as he switched it on, enjoying the warmth of the bulb as he grabbed his letter knife.

As he scanned the parchment he was met with usual sight. His marks were as predicted in his class, but there sitting on the next column over for the professor’s second class of the day, was that same name that shadowed him since his third semester. He opened the second piece of mail with a sigh.

Guess we’re both head to head for the role of Heimerdinger’s assistant. He didn’t want me to know who I’m up against as I’m sure he won’t want you to, but there’s no mistaking his two, brightest candidates.

P.S. Tied again for perfect scores. I hope you’re studying for finals. Don’t want to end up a point shy again, do you?

He tossed the letter into the bin, jaw clenched. You moved from your spot to rub against his hand, back to your color of neutrality. He let out a slow breath.

“I know,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t get so worked up.”

He knew better. Years had passed but his rival had not lost a bit of their flare. He had met his fair share of competitive students as well as bullies, but this one walked a fine line. 

Viktor never bothered to waste energy on such petty pastimes. He recognized her name and had heard it in passing from professors when they spoke of the highest grades. She was always mentioned—a star pupil. In the beginning, he had been curious, but she was a ghost, then. No classes were shared and Viktor was never a social being to begin with, so seeking her out was never a priority. He wouldn’t know her face if he passed her in the hall.

Yet, somehow, she tracked him down enough to send these little notes time and time again. He never replied, but it did not stop her.

He did his best to push her from his mind, burying himself into his classes. When he checked with the library the next day, the book he needed was returned, so he added it to his growing collection on his desk. The week went by quietly.

A knock came at his door.

“One moment,” he called, a tired breath slipping from his chest as he pried himself away from his chair and towards the door. You tussled along the top of his head as he peered through the peephole, humming. It was only went he looked further down he saw a tuft of hair.

“Professor,” he said as the door opened.

“Good evening, Viktor,” said Heimerdinger, holding up an envelope, “I’ve come to deliver my assignment to you and miss—er, to the other student I’m considering for the role of my assistant!”

He leaned against his door jam, managing a tight smile. “You need not keep secrets. I’m more than aware who your other ‘star pupil’ is.”

Heimerdinger sighed, brow furrowing. “Oh, fiddlesticks! I should’ve known you would figure me out. She did, too.”

Viktor would say it was obvious, but he spared the poor man. It wasn’t as if he knew how cumbersome the girl was, needling Viktor any chance she got.

“Well, it makes things a bit easier, I suppose,” Heimerdinger said, holding up the envelope again. “I know your exams are beginning, so I made this as simple as I could. The details of the assignment are within. I looked forward to it, my boy!”

With that, the yordle went on his way, leaving Viktor to slip back into his room and lock his door. Looking down at the parchment in his hand, he squinted as you fell into sight, catching yourself just in time before floating off behind him.

“Were you up there the entire time?” he huffed, raising a hand to fix his hair. 

You twinkled mischievously, back on his desk and in the warmth of his lamp light. 

Shaking his head, he crossed his room and eased down into his desk chair once more. You nudged the letter opener where it sat beside you.

The assignment was as Heimerdinger promised, simple. He wanted a written answer of what being his assistant would mean to him as both a scientist and a person. There was no word limit and he expected it to be turned in to his office by the end of the weekend before classes began.

“I’m assuming he doesn’t want a basic answer,” Viktor mused allowed, eyes slinking back to you. He smiled as you swayed from side to side, the outer layer of your light trailing with the movement. You were a strange combination of green and orange—excited and nervous. Perhaps plans for the weekends? Or maybe you were facing something just as important as he was—a door to the future. 

“Better to start right away,” he breathed, searching his desk. When he couldn’t find his pen, he began closing and stacking the books to open up the space. One must have been teetering on the edge because the next thing he knew there was a mess on the floor.

Accepting the new chore with a roll of his shoulders, he turned and began to tidy up. He paused, though, at the book that lied open. Sitting in the crease of the pages was some sort of bookmark, thin and metallic if the light reflection off of it had any indication. Grasping the edges, he brought the text back to his desk’s surface, holding up the thin item for better observation. There was an intricate design that changed when angled in different ways. It was quite pretty and likely cost more than Viktor would pay to keep tabs in a book. 

Flipping to the start, he looked for the checkout slip attached and slid it from the pocket, roving over the names until he found his. Above it was that cursed name.

“For the love of—” He let out an aggravated scoff, glaring at the bookmark. Of course it would belong to her. With all the letters she sends, she probably doesn’t glance twice at the cost of a stamp or mailing fees. She has money to spare if she buys trinkets like that.

He laid it aside along with the mess of books. When he turned in Heimerdinger’s assignment he’d give the bookmark to him as well. He would get it back to her. 

Come the end of the weekend, Viktor was up bright and early to drop off his explication. The halls were mostly quiet, a few teachers offering a greeting as they went by. The students still recovering from whatever activities they got up to. Viktor didn't have the time. He needed to return the textbooks and check out more for the next exam, also grab some more pens. He was running low.

Turning the corner that was attached to Heimerdinger’s office, Viktor stopped as he spotted a figure by the door. The uniform revealed she was a student, her hair pinned back from her face as she opened the mail slot and tucked an envelope inside. He spotted a lumen in the crook of her elbow, a warm brown against the cream of her coat. 

The metallic clap of the mail slot closing broke him from his observation. When he raised his eyes he found the girl had noticed him, eyes wide before a smirk curled at her lips.

“Well,” she chuckled, “we finally meet.”

“I beg your pardon?” he said, repositioning himself as she turned to face him. 

“Oh, c’mon, Viktor.” She crossed her arms, careful of her lumen as she cupped a hand under it. His chest warmed at the sight. Despite such a devil-may-care attitude, she was soft with it. “Another student here this early, turning something into Professor Heimerdinger? Need I say more?”

“Ah,” he muttered, lips curling just a bit in distaste as he let her name slip.

“Ding, ding, ding,” she sang, chin rising. “I suppose it’s about time we met, being academic rivals and all.”

“You enjoy it a bit too much,” he said, shaking his head as you tumble from his shoulder, slowly floating forward. You’re a bright orange, so very excited. If only he wasn’t dealing with her right now, he’d smile.

“Oh, it’s all in good fun!” She glances at her lumen as it hovers up from her embrace before turning her attention back to him. “You’re always all by your lonesome. I’d thought you’d enjoy some friendly competition.”

“I don’t have time for frivolous games. I thought you might have understood that seeing as I never replied.”

You froze, midair, causing Viktor to realize just how far your light had wandered from him. That sparkling orange had dulled to a grayish blue.

He reached for you, concerned before he noticed his rival’s face beyond you. She was looking at the floor, smugness gone, and the lumen attached to her was now slowly floating up, a foot away from yours.

His breath caught in his throat as it moved higher. He let his hand fall to his side as it nudged against you, sending a bright flash that had him closing his eyes. When he blinked again his rival—you—were staring at the two lumens in shock. The dull color of your lumen had gone milky white.

You both stared at one another, then. 

“I change colors?” you muttered.

He sucked in a breath. “Y-you do, yes.”

“Oh,” you said, rubbing your hands over your sides, “weird.”

“No, it’s, eh,” he stumbled over the correct words, bringing a hand to his neck, “you are honest with your emotions. Very, what do they say, er…”

“I wear my heart on my sleeve?” you said, smiling.

“Yes, that,” he murmured, nodding.

“I get that a lot,” you chuckled. It was nothing like the first one he’d heard from you. This one was much weaker. Sadder.

“I apologize,” he began.

You shook your head. “No, I get how irritating I must’ve been. I should’ve stopped when you never sent a letter back. That’s on me.”

“No, I ,” he sighed, taking a step towards you, the hit of his cane on the floor pulling your eyes to his, “I assumed you were ‘poking the fun’ at me. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“No, no I meant it to be friendly, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, bridging the distance bit by bit. “I would never poke fun at you, Viktor. You’re brilliant. I hold such high respect for you.”

“Oh.” He was blindsided by the joy that came from hearing that, especially from his soulmate. “I, well, thank you…”

“Can we start over?” you asked, smiling nervously as you held up a hand. “I promise I’m much better in person.”

You are perfect, he thought, unsure how fate would bless him with something as beautiful and smart as you.