#Died yet Reborn (Sky)

[rayshippouuchiha]

Full Metal Sky Ed and Al are surprisingly adept at using guns to everyone’s confusion and dismay bc what the fuck

(Riza taught them before they died, and even if they don’t live in the same reality as her, she’s still scary as shit so they keep upkeep on their gun toting skills)

Ed was ,,, satisfied when he lost his Gate in his first life. Alchemy was a small price to pay for what he got in exchange after all.

But it was a massive change.

In pretty much every aspect of his life.

And after the first time Ed ended up in the hospital after a fight where he clapped when he should have dodged?

Well, Riza stepped in.

And of course Al wasn't about to be left out.

So when Ed and Al realize that shit's obviously going to be going down in their new life? With their new adorable brother? You'd best believe some guns get found/created real quick.

Reborn and everyone else are both in for yet another surprise on that end

[kenjakusbraincum]

Reverence

Sukuna x Reader

Synopsis: Sukuna finds you clinging to life by a thread, trapped underneath the rubble of fallen buildings, after the final showdown. He saves you, deciding you’d make a good pet to keep him company at his lonely mansion. Word count: 8.9k Tags/warnings: Afab reader + gn language but the word ,whore’ is used, true form 2 dicks sukuna, dubcon, masturbation, fingering, penetrative sex, dacryphilia, size difference, biting, bruising, belly bulge, creampie Author’s note: First fic I’ve written in ages!! :> Feedback is very appreciated! This may be a part 1 depending on how inspired I get.

The razed city is quiet around him as he stands and scans the aftermath of his destruction. A moment of calmness after a catastrophe, similar to the rays of sun after a thunderstorm. But when he looks up into the sky, no sun shines down on him. The city is engulfed in dust, and beyond it, dark clouds gather above, weeping over the fate of the world that now lays in his four hands.

Everyone unfortunate enough to be close in the moments the battle went down is gone. Everyone who fought him has either died or escaped. He wasn’t a foolish man. He knew he would win, and once again on top of the world… what awaited him was loneliness and boredom. He let them escape. One day when they think they’ve grown strong enough to face him again, they will entertain him. But for now, they’re gone, and he’s bored.

Then there’s a rustle. Little rocks topple over each other in the ruins. You push them out of your way, crawling out from under blocks of concrete. Bloody, dusted, dirty… and still, he finds you beautiful. He follows you with sharp eyes. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve noticed you were being stared at. But now it’s different. Your vision is blurred by blood dripping from your forehead into your eyes, and every movement of your body hurts. You are dying, you know that. You just don’t want to die under a rock. If you’re going to die, let it at least be in the open. Let it be under the bright blue sky, under the sun, so you’re at peace. But when you turn around to lay a final look at what you wish for, you are met with a heavy gaze of four red eyes.

You’ve sparked his curiosity. A human who survived his divine chaos. A human he’s seen before, in passing, while possessing Yuji. His eyes always did linger on you, but he’s always had something more important to focus on. Now, you’ve fully got his attention.

-

The warmth of sunshine that you so badly wished for in your last moments welcomes you when you wake up. Reborn. You shuffle around in bed, letting out a strained noise. You look around to find you’re alone in the room. Your memories slowly come back to you as you sit up. Fighting alongside your friends. The falling building. Crawling out of it’s remains. The pain, god the pain. It’s all gone now. You look down on yourself, dressed in sleeping robes. Clean. Not a scar on your body. The light soreness you feel is probably from too much sleep. But despite the fact you’re healed, you feel uneasy. You search through your head for your last memory. The realization comes to you grounds you with it’s heaviness, and you feel like you’re sinking into the depths of the earth.

Your friends didn’t come back for you. They either died, or left you to die. But you ended up here instead. This was Sukuna’s home, unmistakably. Where else could you have ended up, after the last thing you saw was him? Who could’ve possibly rescued you from him? Who could rescue you now? Your fate was sealed the moment you were crushed under debris, but you were supposed to be dead. This was a change in plans. This was an impulsive decision, that someone is yet to see prove it’s worth. Or disappoint.

You understand immediately what position you were in. The situation is very clear. The entrance to the garden from your room is closed, undoubtedly to prevent you from running away. But truly, even if it was open, how far would you get before getting caught and inevitably punished? And where would you run? Where in this world, that now belongs to him, is it safe to hide, and how far away is that place? No, running away is impossible. In a way, the safest place from Sukuna was his home. Surely if he let you reside in it, that meant something. Fighting was another foolish option. You discarded it as soon as it crossed your mind. You don’t even have to instigate to know you’d lose. Everyone lost. You were no different, despite of your strength and potential. Besides, your gut told you that running and fighting wouldn’t end in simple terms such as being killed immediately. No, if he brought you here, there was no way he would just kill you. He likes to watch people suffer after all.

Your only option is to stay. You are grateful he gave you this time alone to come to terms with your fate. You understand that staying here, and staying unharmed, would mean compliance. Obedience. Something that went against your very essence as a person, and as a sorcerer. You laugh with unease. Just as you begin to imagine what your life will entail from now on, the door opens, and you’re met with a short white haired person. Sukuna’s minion. You recognize them from before.

‘’You’re awake.’’, they exclaim with no emotion. They look at you, but it feels like they’re looking straight through you.

,,I am.’’, you say after a moment. An attempt to break the discomfort.

,,I didn’t ask.’’, they shoot you with a stare, a warning.

,,S-sorry…’’, you correct yourself immediately, trying to cause as little problems as possible. It’s merely your first interaction in this estate, and you already find yourself backtracking. Giving in.

They let out a tiny tsk sound. ‘’What do you remember?’’, they ask. They sound completely uninterested, and their eyes are empty.

‘’Everything.’’, you reply sadly. It comes across as a smile.

‘’You don’t need catching up then.’’, they sigh, not considering that maybe you would like to be caught up as to where exactly you are right now, and how long have you been sleeping. ‘’My name is Uraume. I’m assigned to help you transition into this new environment.’’, a moment of silence, and they scan your face for a reaction. ‘’Master will see you. The ladies will come to prepare you and dress you up promptly.’’, another pause. Uraume lets you process the information. ‘’When you are around Master, you should act properly. Do not look up at him without permission. Do not speak unless spoken to. Do everything he says with as little delay as possible. He’s your Master now. Obey him and address him as such.’’

Silence drowns the room. The instructions strike a wave of fear and anxiety in you. What bothers you now is not whether or not you’ll be forced to do things you don’t want to, it’s will you be able to do everything right? Will you slip up, or forget an instruction? Will you embarrass yourself, or more importantly disappoint your master?

‘’Understood?’’, Uraume asks, clearly annoyed judging by their tone. You wonder if they’ve asked this twice but you haven’t heard the first time. You simply nod, and your head droops down. Uraume watches you. ‘’When you’re ready knock on the doors, the ladies will come in. Don’t take too long.’’, they say and turn back to the open door. ‘’I’ll see you later.’’

You sit with yourself and think about your future. Every passing second makes it more imminent and clear.  Seeing as there’s no other option, you make peace with your future of servitude. You can only imagine what it entails. You’d be lucky if you were assigned with mopping floors or chopping human meat in the kitchen. Deep down you know that the job you’ll be assigned with is a much less dignifying one. You rationalize things in your head. Since there’s nothing else you can do, you might as well try your best to avoid problems by being good at what you’re tasked with. You sense that it will rid you of all your pride and personhood. Your innocence, that you’ve been saving your whole life for a moment that’s supposed to be special. It will be special, but not in the way you’ve always imagined. It will be ceremonial, a symbol of entering a new chapter in your life. You dread this. But, the alternative is death, or possibly worse. Between those two, you’ve already made your choice. You’re not going to die twice.

You will yourself to stand up and knock on the door. Get it over with as soon as possible, you think. Once the deed is done it will be easier. Two women open the doors and greet you with a deep bow. You’re confused as to what about your presence warrants an extraordinary show of respect. You guess that in the hierarchy of this estate you are above the measly servants. But just by a little bit.

The women guide you down a long hallway, into a bathhouse. They begin to undress you, and there’s not much you can do to protest. Not that you’d say no to a warm bath, but the discomfort is still there. You feel watched, violated, even when their touch is light, even gentle. The women sense this, and they incorporate asking questions into their routine, checking if you’re okay with this, that. It helps you relax, at least a little bit. Over the course of the next few hours you’re thoroughly bathed, shaved, and dried. By the end of it, you don’t mind the little spa treatment you got. It makes the situation seem a little less bad, if you pretend you don’t know why you were taken care of with such precise detail. They dress you up, wrapping you in expensive silk and comment on how beautiful you look.

It’s true, you look mesmerizing. Your skin glows under the dim lights. If it wasn’t for the sadness in your eyes… no one could tell that a day ago you were on the verge of death. Time came to thank your Master for gracefully giving you a second chance.

Uraume waits outside of the bathhouse. They eye you up and down, as if they’re checking if the women did a good job at making you look presentable. They nod and the women are discharged. ‘’Did you enjoy yourself?’’, Uraume makes small talk as they lead you back down the hallway. Nothing in their voice suggests they’re interested in your answer. Everything they do feels like they’re filling out a form.

You don’t know how to answer. ‘’Yes.’’, you answer. It’s not completely truthful, but your emotions are too complicated to explain. Especially since no one here cares about them anyways.

Uraume doesn’t look at you. ‘’Master knows when people lie to him.’’

You’re caught off guard. Are you that bad of a liar? Once again, your impulse to come clean wins over you, and you spew words. ‘’I didn’t mean to come off as ungrateful..’’, you say.

‘’You need to work on it more.’’, they say. You wonder if they could spare you at least one word of encouragement for trying. You wonder if something like that even crosses their mind. If they think about this at all. Or is this a routine they’re used to from before. ,,Master has been busy today. Try not to get on his nerves.’’, they add after a moment.

You stop in front of a huge, monumental door. Uraume faces you. They give you a long stare, fix your collar and tuck your hair behind your ears. Anxiety never left you, but now it’s drumming in your ear, overwhelming you. It feels like static in your whole body, rendering you weak. Your palms sweat and tears begin to pool in your eyes.

Uraume notices. You are their responsibility after all. Master won’t be happy with them if you come in crying and disheveled. They try to come up with something that would console you quickly. ‘’Don’t worry too much. Master wouldn’t go out of his way to heal you from imminent death just to kill you immediately after.’’, even they sound like they’re not sure what they said is completely true. Was Sukuna really above doing such a thing? Somehow the statement has an opposite of the intended effect, and you feel even worse now.

Uraume grabs your shoulders and looks you intently in the eye. What they say sounds like the most sincere thing that’s left their mouth so far during your conversations. ‘’You will be fine.’’. With that, they open the door and enter before you. You try your hardest to stop yourself from crying.

‘’Master, I’ve brought them.’’, they say, bowing deeply. There’s no answer from the inside, but he must’ve approved, since Uraume opens the door fully and lets you in.

You exchange one last stare with them and step into the room. You do as you’ve been told and keep your gaze fixed to your feet. The atmosphere engulfs you instantly. The air is thick and heavy, the room smells like death. You pass by a couple of pools of blood, fresh and dry ones, and you feel your hands start to shake. There are bones piled around his throne. The weight of the air, his four eyes watching your every move, and the aura of evil, pure evil. You feel as though you’re pushed onto your knees. You weren’t instructed to do so, but it comes to you as an impulse. You do it out of reverence, out of instinct. Out of paralyzing fear. You plant your hands in front of you and kiss your forehead against the cold ground.

‘’Master..’’, you say. It comes out shaky and desperate. You get no approval from him either. You feel his stare in your bones.

When he finally speaks, it’s not directed at you. ‘’Leave us.’’, he says, and you hear the doors close a moment after. You feel his stare lift from you for a second, before you’re granted his full attention. He observes you for another moment, that feels like an eternity.

‘’Stand up.’’

You stand up immediately, straightening out your robe with your hands. You stare at the bones before his throne. Some of them human, some animal. Some old and dusted, some fresh with hints of pink flesh and blood on them.

‘’Come to me.’’

You raise your gaze enough to scan where exactly you should come to. You’re disheartened to find that there’s no such thing as stairs to take you to where he’s sitting. You don’t hesitate for too long, suspecting it may anger him. You place your foot on the pile of bones and climb towards him, quite unceremoniously. You come to a stop a couple of steps away from his feet. You needn’t look directly at him to see how huge he is, sprawled in his seat. His head is leaned against his palm. One of his hands taps the armrest impatiently, the other two sit still at his sides.

Your eyes are fixated on the bones, trying your best to maintain balance on the uneven surface. You hear him tap his thigh twice, signaling for you to come closer. You choose your steps carefully as you enter his personal space. There’s nothing but him to hold onto if you fall. You sit on his knee clumsily, keeping your hands in your lap so as not to touch him without permission. One of his hands comes down on your back immediately, and you shiver.

,,Obedient.’’, he notes. ,,But that’s not what I meant.’’

In a moment, his hands are on you, pushing you back up and guiding you into a different position. He grips your hips, and heavy hands settle you in his lap, making you straddle him. Your legs struggle to stretch far apart to accommodate you in this pose. Your heart pounds in your chest, so loud you’re afraid he may hear it.

Once again you fail to control your words. ‘’Master, I’m sorry, I misunderstood...’’, you cut yourself off before you go into babbling. He must have accepted your apology, because his hands pull you closer by the hip, grinding you against his bulge. Your insides throb at the contact, and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

He finds your flustered reactions amusing. ‘’You may look.’’, he says, and meets your eyes with a smile.

You do as you’re told, returning the stare. Your eyes explore his face for a second before settling on his eyes. Everything you do is unsure, even looking at him. You don’t want him to find it offensive. You don’t have any ideas what exactly you’re dealing with. He stares back only for a moment, before he moves on to your body. He feels your cheek, hair, the fabric of your kimono, your hands and nails. You shudder against the gentle touch. You didn’t expect to be handled with such care, even for this short moment. You don’t think for a second that he will stay this gentle. But you want to cherish it while it lasts. You relax into his touch and observe him. Four eyes judge every detail of your presence. Strawberry blond hair slicked back, strands tucked behind his pierced ears. Strong jawline, accentuated by his tattoos. Wide shoulders, bearing four arms. You feel small and weak in his lap, more aware than ever before of just how powerless you are. Just how much your life hangs by a thread that is his good will and mercy.

‘’Beautiful.’’, he observes you, not quite meeting your eyes yet. His gaze lingers on your lips, nose, cheeks. ‘’Well behaved too, it seems.’’. You shudder under his praise, and the hand that trails gently down your back, teasing you. Two hands sit snugly on your hips, holding you in place. The last one travels from your shoulder, to your neck, lingering for a moment as he drags his finger against your throat. It crawls up to your cheek, cupping it, brushing the soft, flushed skin.

‘’Yes.’’, you say, catching yourself spilling words again. Your mind doesn’t quite work in this moment. You’re completely dazed by his energy, his touch, his gaze. You’re helpless as you feel yourself clench around nothing, slick pooling in your most sensitive parts in response to his advances.

‘’Yes what?’’, he asks, thumb hooking under your chin and tipping your face up.

‘’Yes Master.’’, you correct yourself quickly, catching immediately what it is he wanted you to say. In this moment, you think of Maki. You think of how she would have done anything to get herself killed before ever uttering the words of compliance that just escaped your mouth. You have no spine at all. You’re not, and never were nearly as brave as her. You’d always crumble in the face of danger. You imagine the look she’d give you, if she knew what you were doing in this moment.

‘’Good.’’, Sukuna’s low voice snaps you back to the present moment. His thumb finds your lips, swiping over them for a moment before stopping against them. You part your lips in response, and he inserts his thumb into your mouth, pressing against your tongue. You let out a tiny noise in response. You don’t need to be told. You seal your lips around him and start to suck. You close your eyes in focus, feeling the taste of his skin in your mouth. In a moment, there’s a hand on your throat, pressing just lightly enough to warn you. You open your eyes and blink at him, compensating for another mistake by sucking harder. Underneath yourself, you feel his bulge awaken, twitching in response to your efforts. So snugly pressed against him, you wonder if he feels you throb too. Your body works against you. You’re enjoying this.

‘’So willing to please..’’, he says. ‘’As you should be. You have quite a favor to return.’’

You lower your head, his words reminding you why you’re here. He must’ve sensed that you forgot, even for a moment. You pick your words carefully. ‘’It’s true, Master.. you saved my life, and for that I don’t know how to thank you enough...’’, you sound pathetic to yourself. Maki’s eyes loom over you again. She is the devil on your shoulder, whispering to run, kick, scream obscenities. Anything, just not to give in to his command. But you already have.

‘’You needn’t concern yourself with that.’’, he says. The hands on your hips guide you slowly into a grinding motion against his crotch. You sigh at the contact. ‘’You’re here to serve me.’’

‘’Master...’’, your words come out in form of a whine. Your hips move slowly in sync with his hands, your body assumed in complete submission. Pleasure builds inside your core, making you almost forget you stopped mid-sentence. ‘’Whatever you need.’’, you stare into his eyes intently. You’ve truly sunk so low.

Sukuna huffs in amusement, watching you move against him desperately. He’s satisfied that you catch on quickly. But his stare is focused on where your body meets his. He’s leaned against his palm again, pondering what to do, how to test you next.

That’s when the doors open. You freeze in panic, and look back to see Uraume, bowing deeply once again. Next you start to feel shame. You’re straddled snug against the man who razed a city, killed people, innocents, maybe even your friends. And now there’s someone watching you while you’re at it. Uraume pays you no mind, or they pretend not to. They look straight through you, into their master.

‘’Master, I apologize profusely for interrupting. It’s an urgent matter.’’, Uraume says, and looks at the ground.

Sukuna’s finger taps on the armrest in frustration. His demeanor changes, pleased expression exchanged with a frown. You feel the switch in energy in the core of your being, and fear grows in your chest again. He stares at Uraume for a while, then he reverts back to you.

‘’Come back to me tonight.’’, and with that, his hands push you off his lap and you stagger back to your feet. Your body mourns the lack of contact.

‘’Yes master..’’, you mumble and bow, then make your way down the pile of bones again. Sukuna doesn’t react, at least not that you can see or feel, so you guess he doesn’t have a complaint on how you said your goodbyes to him. You walk back to Uraume, swallowing your shame. They wait for you at the doors and lead you outside.

A couple of turns later you’re back in the room you woke up in. Your bed was made in the meantime and a new set of sleeping clothes waited for you nicely folded on top of it. Your eyes linger on the door to the terrace.

‘’Can I see the garden?’’, you ask, and turn back to Uraume.

‘’Master doesn’t allow it yet.’’, they say.

‘’Yet?’’, you narrow your eyes. Uraume starts to get visibly annoyed by your questions. Their voice however remains unchanged.

‘’Good behavior earns privileges.’’

,What a privilege, to go outside.’, you think to yourself, and look back through the window.

‘’You seem to be in Master’s good graces already. I’m sure you’ll be allowed outside in no time.’’, Uraume speaks what sounds like words of comfort for the first time.

Of course you are in his good graces. Because you left all dignity at the doors of his throne room. He stripped you of it, without any effort. His energy alone forced you to your knees, his words struck directly to your core. You wonder how much more you’ll have to endure before being granted the simple mercy of feeling the sun on your skin. ‘’Thank you.’’, you say to Uraume. You appreciate their sentiment.

‘’Are you hungry?’’, they ask. You wonder if anyone in these premises knows, or cares about your name. Or are you that worthless to them.

‘’Yes.’’

Uraume nods and leaves the room to bring you some food. You sit by the terrace door and look outside.

-

You can’t see the sunset from where your chambers are located. All you’re left with is the little piece of sky, uncovered by the surrounding trees, and the limits that windows impose on your view. The outside of the estate looks weirdly peaceful, like it’s not a home to a monster. All sorts of animals appear in the garden, from bugs to birds. As the night falls, you hear the faint sounds of frogs, and even catch sight of a little hedgehog, trotting from one bush to another. The garden truly seems like a little piece of heaven inside what effectively is your prison. Your heart longs to see it, to spend time in it. To smell the grass and feel the earth, your mother, against your skin.

You’re called to him again when the sun has already set, and the last bits of light leave the night sky. Uraume holds the door open to you without a word. You’re forced to part your eyes from the outside, and look to them instead. Their head is low, their stare adorned with what you recognize as pity. You haven’t felt fear about the imminent encounter until you’ve seen them look at you like this. Now it’s starting to creep up on you all over again. Static. Tingling and restlessness. Maybe they know something you don’t, perhaps about what kind of mood your master is in now. You stand up and follow them out. It’s easier to just get it over with, you think again.

Uraume knocks on the door and opens just a crack. ‘’Master, as per your request.’’, they bow. Once again there is no verbal confirmation. You know he’s reacted when Uraume moves to make space for you to come in. You start to see patterns in their interactions.

His chambers are dimly lit, the interior hard to see. He sits on the edge of his bed and stares your way. You feel it again. A lump in your throat. A force of understanding that has you picking up your robes and falling to your knees. If he wasn’t in the mood before, your willingness to serve now puts a smile on his face. You don’t get to see it though. Your face is touching the ground.

‘’Leave, Uraume.’’, he says. You hear the doors close shut, and note that he sounds a bit more impatient than before.

You feel a bit easier when Uraume isn’t there. Something about another pair of eyes observing your ordeal made it all the more difficult.

‘’Come.’’, he says, and you hear the familiar tap. You look up to see his hand on the spot next to him on the bed. You struggle back to your feet and walk over to him hesitantly. Your hands sweat, and you try to wipe them off of each other. You overthink every little detail. How close to him should you sit? Is it better to sit further away and be lulled closer, or sit closer and be pushed away?

‘’Well?’’, he asks, eagerly watching you debate with yourself. ‘’Or do you prefer my lap?’’

You’re not quite sure what’s the right answer. ‘’Wherever you wish, Master…’’, you reply, reminding yourself to stare at the ground.

He sees every doubtful thought reflect on your face. He knows you’re being diplomatic, neither wanting to refuse him, nor make requests. ,,Pick.’’, he challenges you.

Your mind races as you think through the positives and negatives of either choice.

,,I’m waiting.’’, he follows up with a warning. It sounds sinister. Giving up any further mental efforts, you pick up the fabric of your clothes and climb onto his lap again, dipping your knees into the bed besides him. He hums in response, seemingly satisfied with your choice. A pair of hands quickly finds your hips again, drawing you closer, he seems to like to hold you in place. Once again you’re seated snugly against him, layers of fabric being the only thing parting you from his bulge. ‘’Look at me.’’, he says, tilting your chin up. ‘’Let’s continue where we left off.’’

You do as he says, meeting his eyes. You try to gauge his mood. For now, he seems content with you. You let yourself relax. So far, there’s nothing unenjoyable about your encounter. Other than the nature of being made into a servant, of course.

‘’Do you know why you’re here?’’, he asks, rocking you slowly against him. Your hands sit at his hips, clinging to the scrunched up fabric of his kimono. You’re not quite sure you’re allowed to touch him deliberately. You wish to, though. You yearn for a connection, after all you’ve never been in this position before.

‘’To serve you, Master.’’, you reply, blinking at him with doe eyes. Nothing about this situation should be arousing, yet you find your insides clenching at your own words. Effectively you’re trapped, with no chance of another untimely interruption. You’re going to be made to do things even if you’re unsure of yourself. Even if you don’t want to. But you’re still pushing against him, searching for more of him, on your own accord. He has a power over you.

‘’True.’’, he tucks your hair behind your ear, leaning closer into you. You can feel his breath on your face, hot, dangerous. ,,But you’re not my servant.’’, he thinks out loud. ,,Or a slave, for that matter. Let’s crown you as my pet.’’

Another throb.

,,A source of entertainment. A subject of training. My little human jester.’’

You imagine looking at yourself in the mirror, at what you’ve become within a day of being under threat. A piece of you wants to mourn, a piece of you wants to spit on your reflection. What comforts you is that, even if your friends are alive, they will never know the extent of your compliance. They will never know the words that leave your mouth as you sit upon a monster’s lap, wanting more. ‘’How can I entertain you, Master?’’, you ask.

A reserved, but wicked smile graces his face. ‘’Undress.’’

Your heart sinks. But you move, standing up from his lap and taking a step back. So he has a better view. You hesitate, but eventually undo your obi and unwrap your kimono and undergarments, discarding the clothes on the ground. The cool air touches your skin, making you shiver. Your hands sit at your sides, feeling your goosebumps. He observes you carefully from his seat, his eyes exploring your naked form. When he’s satisfied, he motions for you to come closer with his finger. You follow, drawn in by desire.

He doesn’t let you sit back yet. You stand between his legs, as his cold hands start to feel you up. Plush soft skin, reactive to his every advance. His touch is gentle, but hungry. Impatient. He grasps at your waist and behind, fondles your chest between his fingers. One of his hands teases your thighs, your stomach, before finally dipping between your folds. You whine out loud as his finger brushes against your sensitive bud, and feels up your wet entrance. Pleased with your reaction, he draws his finger back to your bud, spreading your essence to ease friction. Your knees buckle and you gasp again.

‘’So responsive.’’, he comments, as he starts to rub circles around your sensitive spot. ,,Has anyone touched you like this before?’’

‘’N-no, Master, just me..’’, you say, hiding your face in shame.

He likes your response. He likes your shame. He will make you feel so much more of it than just this. You’re all his for the taking. ‘’Lay down.’’, he commands, and withdraws his hand from between your thighs. He stands up, and just for a moment before you climb into the bed, you get to see how tall he is in comparison to you.

‘’Not that far away.’’, he says. You wiggle back so you’re closer to the edge of the bed. You lay on your back, propped up on your elbows, legs spread wide for his viewing. You try to do your best. He looms over you now, fingers finding your private parts again. He rubs you carefully with one hand, the other feels your entrance again, and one finger dips in. You sigh, head leaning back at the foreign feeling. Two fingers and the pain of the stretch already pricks at you. A whimper escapes you, but you lull yourself to be quiet. It’s only his fingers, after all. They’re thick and long, and practiced, as they explore your insides. He’s doing you a favor.

‘’You’ve been such an obedient little human. You deserve a reward.’’, he says, his words making you squeeze his fingers. You moan as sparks of pleasure rattle your body, his fingers effortlessly finding the spot inside you that makes your leg shake. You forget about your manners. He stops, and you look back to him in desperation. ‘’What do you say when I reward you?’’

‘’Thank you Master!’’, you look at him through hazy eyes. Standing above you like this, he looks like a god. In complete ownership of your smaller, sprawled out body. You feel filthy, but his fingers inside you make you see stars, make you completely forget how you got here in the first place. You’re overtaken by a perverted, primal instinct, as you near your orgasm and force your legs open wider. The squelching noises of his fingers working out your hole fill the room.

Sukuna responds to your movements with a devilish grin. ‘’’Close, little pet?’’, he asks you, almost mockingly. His fingers massage your spongy walls, the sensitive spot in the depths of your fragile body.

‘’S-so close… Ahh!’’, you mewl through the moans, squeezing your fingers in a fist.

‘’Don’t hold back.’’, he says, eyes fixated on you, his own erection starting to strain unbearably against the fabric of his clothes. ‘’I may be generous, but that doesn’t mean I’m patient.’’

His words are truly your command. His energy, his presence, it strips you of any agency you have over yourself. Your body shakes to his words and pleasure washes over you, blacking your vision out as your eyes roll back. It rocks you, your hole throbbing, squeezing hard around his fingers. He rubs you through it gently but persistently, until you’re so sensitive you’re closing your legs to make him stop. You don’t have time to be embarrassed, coming down from your orgasm. He is entertained, but his hands are on your knees in no time, spreading them back apart, reminding you you’re far from done. When you look back up at him, his stare spells a warning. You quickly react by symbolically spreading a little wider, and tilting your hips to give him access.

‘’Would you rob me of my turn, pet?’’, he asks, undoing his obi.

‘’No! Never, Master..’’, your eyes travel down his figure as he discards his clothes. Even from this angle, his sculpted body looked massive in comparison to you. You wonder if it would engulf you if he lied over you right then and there, leaving only your clinging arms and legs as evidence that there is someone underneath him at all. Adorned by tattoos and muscles, he looks monstrous, imposing. You look at him with admiration, as your gaze drops to his hips, and the essence of his manhood. The two of them that hang from his crotch, rock hard and throbbing at the sight of you. At first you are taken aback, but after a moment you realize the math is right and it’s weird this hasn’t crossed your mind earlier. He does have a pair of everything else, so it makes sense he’s double gifted down there too. The base of his cocks is crowned with a low hanging set of balls, plump and ready to be drained. Nervousness that paints your face and changes your demeanor. You’re suddenly very aware of just how small your frame is compared to him, and the size of his cocks.

He likes watching people’s reactions. He is a cruel man after all. He likes his subjects nervous, fearful. A little resistance even excites him. But your pale face and tense body almost make him feel sorry for ruining your relaxed composure. Almost. It also happens to make him throb with desire. Underneath him, your face is contorted in fear. You think he might just kill you. What a painful and degrading death it would be, to die split on his cock like at the stake.

‘’Don’t like what you see?’’, he smirks at you, teasing, his demeanor seeming to change in an instant.

‘’Master, it’s not that... it’s just that...’’, you stutter over your words. Embarrassment and horror cojoin in your excuses. ‘’I’ve never done this before. I don’t think I can…’’, your eyes meet his and you trail off, leaving your thoughts unfinished. Sukuna doesn’t consider his subjects. He is a man who takes and takes, without a second thought, or a look at the person he’s taking from. His stare does linger on your fearful eyes though. He notices that in himself, feels himself slipping up from his usual behavior. An impulse comes to him to assert dominance aggressively, but he doesn’t react. He remembers how easily you submitted to him in the first place. He doesn’t need feats of aggression to scare you into compliance. You’re very compliant anyways. It’s just that you make him feel the closest emotion he’s felt to guilt in a very long time.

‘’Scoot back, pet. Hands and knees. Just one will do for tonight.’’, he says. You doubt he tried to comfort you, but thinking of it like that makes it easier to bear.

You obey him and turn around, crawling further onto the bed on all fours. He follows you, knees dipping into the mattress. His words are of little comfort as he crawls over you like a predator over his prey. Fear rises in your chest and you feel your heart start to pound again. He settles over you, heavy hands landing on your hips and pushing your thighs further apart to accommodate him between them. Another hand lands flat on your back, the plane between your shoulder blades, so small against his massive palm. So fragile against his brute strength. He could break you if he wanted to. Yet, he barely even pushes you.  

‘’Down.’’, he says, urging you to bend, allow him better access. You follow instructions, letting his hand guide your torso lower until your chest is pressed into the mattress. You feel uncomfortable, bent into this position that is completely new to you. Your slick folds are exposed for his viewing, your opening gaping with a shameless noise. He’s going to take you from behind, like an animal. You won’t even see, or feel your suitor, the man who will claim your innocence.

‘’Master..’’, your voice trembles and you turn your head to the side, searching for his gaze. He looks from your body back to you, listening. ‘’I’m scared..’’

He huffs, his expression not changing to signal he’s unhappy. Rather, he seems amused. Noticing that doesn’t help you feel any less scared. His first reaction is ,you should be.’. But he doesn’t want to send you into hysterics. He likes the peace and quiet. ‘’Relax pet.’’, he says, more of a command than a suggestion. ‘’It’ll hurt less.’’

You will yourself to relax, trying instead to focus on something else. However there’s little else to think of in a position like this, just him, his hands on your hips and back, keeping you snugly in place for him to use and enjoy. Your mind wails in anticipation.

You feel his wet tip grind against you, feeling the familiar need slowly come back to you as it rubs at your clit. His grip is unfaltering on your hips, holding you in place as he starts to enter you. You cry out loud, and your body instinctively tries to wriggle out of his grasp, escape the intrusion.

Sukuna growls, his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, and he pushes you back onto him.

‘’Where do you think you’re going?’’, he says, audibly displeased. His rock hard member protrudes deeper into you, and you shut your eyes tight and grip the sheets so hard your knuckles go white. You wanted to be brave and quiet, wanted even to babble an apology, but as he advances, stretching you open painfully, you cannot help but cry out loud. Tears drop from your eyes and you bury your face into the bed.

He grunts as you envelop him, coating him in a mixture of your blood and wetness. He pushes through your resistance, the feeling overwhelming, even for him. Your walls cling to him so tightly he has to put mental effort into not releasing right then and there. He moves slowly, caring just enough to not break you. In no time he’s fully sheathed in, his balls pressed against your clit. You’re so incredibly full, you think you may just pop. Sukuna bends over you, and you feel his hot breath on your back. You turn around to see him through a blur of tears. You’re a sobbing, mewling mess. Filled to the brim with his want for you. It brings a smile to his face.

‘’How does it feel, pet?’’, he asks. He truly doesn’t care for your answer, he’s just entertained by your measly crying voice.

‘’H-hurts..hurts so much, Master!’’, you sob.

‘’Shame.’’, his head leans in closer to yours, and you can see nothing but his glowing red eyes. ,,Because it feels heavenly to me.’’

With that, he starts moving. You gasp, holding onto the sheets as he rocks your body with his thursts. Slow and deep, mercifully you think, his cock heavy inside of you, spreading you thin. His hips meet the soft flesh of your ass with a slap at every stroke. The stretch burns, but the discomfort dissipates slowly, as his fat tip stroking your sensitive walls, sending hints of pleasure through you. You feel him whole, every vein and ridge and curve of his cock.

Slowly your tears begin to dry, and your painful sobs are replaced by lustful gasps and moans. His eyes keep coming back to you from time to time, observing your reactions to his every move. Your head is turned to the side, and at first you avoid his gaze, ashamed of crying like a weakling. You know there’s nothing he despises more than that. Now that you’ve began to accept him, welcome him inside of you, you look back. Eyes blinking back at him idly, innocently, as your mouth drops open. He grunts as he fucks you, the sound low and masculine. He picks up the pace and the room echoes the sounds of your squelching wet cunt and the skin of his hips, thighs and balls meeting yours with every push. His cock rummages through your depths with abandon. Your moans follow his frequency, as you feel pleasure build in your core slowly, each of his movement coaxing you closer to another orgasm.

Your hands ache with the need to touch his body, to feel him close, feel his muscles tense and relax as he breaks you. The pleasure sparks inside you and you’re restless, craving another release so bad. Your legs tremble, toes curl, you start to push back, meeting his hips mid stroke.

‘’Enjoying yourself, pet?’’, Sukuna asks, dipping his head closer to you again, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. Straight to your core. You tighten around him, nearing your release and he growls.

‘’M-m, yes Master! So big... Feels so good!’’, you stutter, reduced to a trembling mess, clinging desperately onto anything you can get a hold of, in hopes of delaying your orgasm. He hasn’t moved a finger to please you this time around and you’re already fluttering around him. ‘’M-master..please.. Wanna touch you, feel you..’’, you open and close your hand in tune with your words.

His hand digs into your hair and tugs, picking the upper half of your body up from the bed. ,,What was that, pet? A demand?’’

‘’No! No Master.. I wouldn’t.. I-I was begging!’’, you backtrack immediately, your neck straining from the force he’s pulling you with.

He relaxes the hold and you fall back into the previous position. He is satisfied with your answer, but he won’t grant your wish. ‘’You may not.’’, he says, and exhales shakily as you tighten at his words again. ‘’But you’re cute when you beg.’’, you do it again, and he knows you’re close. ‘’Such a horny little human. How quickly you’ve changed your mind.’’

‘’A-ah, Master.. Gonna, gonna cum..’’, you whine, his cock hitting your insides perfectly, his pace steady, unfaltering.

‘’I’ll allow it. Whore.’’

With his last word, you’re tipped over the edge and your orgasm drowns you. Your breath hitches, hands grip the sheets, and the whole world stops as pleasure shakes through your body like electricity. You trash against him helplessly, your body not fully under your control. His hands finally release your hips, and your quivering body slumps against the mattress, your cunt fluttering around nothing as you lose contact with your master. You’re left a moaning, sensitive mess, sticking to the sheets in your sweat and juices. Your shaking legs still, and you feel numbness envelop your body

Sukuna gives you a moment to ride out the aftershocks. Then he straddles you and leans his weight against you. His hand crawls under your body, stopping to grip your breast and continues to pick up your cheeks between his fingers, turning your face towards him. His eyes are threatening, and he doesn’t need to tell you anything. You know what he wants.

‘’T-Thank you, Master. S-so good... Thank you! ’’, you say, your hand itching to feel his face. He chuckles, takes both of your hands and traps them underneath his on either of your sides. Tonight, he is adamant on not allowing you to touch him.

Satisfied with your answer, he guides his cock back into you and continues where he left off, chasing his own end. With your legs closed like this, you feel even tighter around him. You’re trapped between his heavy body and the mattress, unable to move a muscle as he picks up the pace, withdrawing and snapping back in with each powerful thurst.

‘’Good pet. You know where you belong.’’, his grip tightens on your wrists as he nears his release, growing weary and relentless. ‘’Under me. Always.’’, he growls into your ear.

You meet his eyes and hold his gaze, enticing his pleasure with your words. ‘’Yes Master! When-whenever you need me!’’, you moan, and let your mouth hang open in an ,o’ shape.

His pace slows, strokes getting sloppy as his orgasm draws close. He breathes hard, face close to yours. You feel him waver, feel him slowly lose his composure. Feel him come apart slowly nestled in the warmth of your insides. His brows are furrowed, eyes tight shut, mouth hanging loose. One of his hands crawls under your belly, propping your ass up just a bit, for a better angle. He feels himself inside you, a bulge protruding in your lower belly as he holds you in place. This is the final push that makes the coil of pleasure inside of him snap. He comes with a guttural, animalistic groan, and comes down biting your shoulder. His cock twitches violently, kissing your womb as he empties his load inside you. He groans through every spurt, hot and sticky as he paints your inner walls. His thighs shake against yours, his whole body rocked by the powerful orgasm. One he hasn’t experienced in what could be hundreds of years.

You feel so completely full of him. As he comes down from his high, he licks up the blood off your shoulder, tongue hot over the place where his teeth punctured your soft skin. He finally lets go of your wrists and sits up, slowly withdrawing his cock. Beads of his cum follow his cock, leaking out of your empty cunt. So much of it, you feel dirty letting it drip out of you like this.

He takes a moment to observe you, laying there fucked out, marked and utterly claimed by him. You let out a helpless noise, feeling your hurting wrists. The bite on your shoulder will leave a bruise, same as the place his finger dug into your hips. Your cunt aches from the assault of his cock inside it. Weakness takes over you, and you feel like you can barely move. He doesn’t consider healing you. He wants you to be reminded of him, constantly. When you stand up on wobbly legs, when you take off your clothes to go the bathroom. When you turn in bed. When you look into the mirror. He won’t let you forget, even for a moment, where you are, and who you belong to.

He stands up from the bed, and you turn your head to search for him. ‘’Master? Have I..’’, you stutter when you meet his eyes. His gaze is attentive as he fixes his ruffled hair, slicking it back. He gives you a moment to finish your sentence, but you don’t. You just sit up in his bed, pulling your knees to your chest. Hiding from him, as if in shame. Your hand searches for covers to pull over yourself. You’d most like to disappear under them. How pathetic you are, you think. Searching for approval, for praise, from a man who took you with no regards to your wishes or feelings. Why would he compliment you? You’ve hardly been anything but a fucktoy for him, not even worthy enough for him to fuck you looking at your face. Tears begin to pool in your eyes, emotions from your first experience overwhelming you. You crave touch, affection, anything to contrast the treatment you’ve received until now. If he would let you, you would cling to him like a newborn would to it’s mother. Like your existence depends solely on him, and he is your entire world. But he is not a man who likes to be touched. Not a man who likes intimacy. You could only dream of a kiss, of tenderness of any kind.

When you look back, Sukuna is standing above you, a piece of clothing already wrapped around his waist. His hand feels your cheek, the expression on his face almost soft, but still dominating. Seeing you cry in doubt you haven’t done a good job truly somehow makes him more satisfied with you. You show a great concern for your master. He likes to be the center of people’s worlds.

‘’Weep not, my pet. Your efforts will not go unnoticed.’’, he says, voice still as stern as ever. ,,I’m happy with your servitude.’’

Your eyes lighten up as you look up to him. His stare is docile, but threatening, as you remember that after all you are supposed to keep your head low. You duck down in apology. ‘’T-Thank you, Master.’’, your voice falters, but Sukuna is still satisfied with how quickly you pick up on your mistakes. He finds you’re quite easy to work with. He turns and leaves you, for only a moment, to sit and reminisce about this whole encounter on his bed.

‘’Uraume.’’, he then says, in a relaxed, almost quiet voice. You don’t think you’ve even heard the doors open, but the white haired monk stands in the corner of the room. Have they been there the whole time? You spiral in shame as they nod and approach you, their hands finding yours. They pull lightly, urging you off the bed. You didn’t think about where you’ll spend the night, but it makes sense it won’t be here. Sukuna wouldn’t let you touch him, see him, he wouldn’t kiss you, much less let you share his bed while he sleeps. You feel used, dehumanized. It hurts, but you stand up. Uraume picks up your clothes from the floor and wraps them around you lazily, doing enough just to cover you up until you’re back in your room.

‘’Rest up, pet. I’ll keep you quite busy during our times together.’’, Sukuna tells you, and gives you one last look, before he disappears in the shadows of his chambers. You bow to him and follow Uraume out.

What follows is a walk of shame. There is no one in the hallway, and Uraume walks in front of you, but you feel the weight of a thousand eyes. You watch each wobbly step with care, so as not to make further cause for embarrassment. Uraume lets you in your room. It is lit by a single candle. You stare at it’s faltering flame as Uraume disappears, leaving you alone for a moment. So this is what your life will look like from now on.

Uraume returns with a warm, wet towel. ,,Clean yourself up. You have a fresh set of clothes on the bed.’’ Their stare, empty as ever, finds your eyes and lingers for one last moment. ‘’Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.’’

You stare at the towel in your hand, not returning their gaze. They eventually move, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone in the room. You do what you can to clean yourself, wrap yourself in sleeping clothes and lay on the bed. Squeezing your knees to your chest, you long for comfort, for warmth. For any reminiscence of humanity that you’re yet to find in this mansion.

[slavicafire]

something ends, something begins.

reflection, rambling, and ritual for the winter solstice - and beyond. part two: shortest day.

as the labours of nature and patient hands end in bounty during the weeks of harvest, the labours of the spirit culminate when most of nature lies embraced by winter — tired, hardened, and burdened by months of ever-growing darkness, the soul seeks to be renewed and soothed from pain. in a cycle older than humans and lakes, things die and things are born, light dies and light is born.

as the cold sun triumphs over the dark, as the light bites back at the night and slowly overtakes it, let yourself triumph with it: as you go through the longest night and enter the time of light reborn, unburden yourself - and sing, and rejoice as you rise with the sun:

unyielding.

look inwards to understand what the light - and its triumph - mean to you. whether it is more sunlight making the hardships of every day easier to bear, whether it is reborn joy and hope, or perhaps a symbol of personal improvement and deep recovery, physical or emotional - reflect on it. think of ways in which you can recognise the impact of this light, ways in which you can appreciate it, and ways in which you can reward yourself for noticing it or acting on it.

witness the sunrise: if you can, stay up through the night to see the sun rise on the shortest day, or wake up earlier, or find a moment to focus on it away from everyday responsibilities. find a place where you can see the sun, even if there's clouds. tomorrow the sun will rise again, and the day will be longer, bit by bit. witness its path, witness its effort - the night was so long and so dark, yet the sun rises again, and again, and again. light triumphs.

pay attention to the sun throughout the day: whenever you can, look out the window or look up at the sky, find the sun. track its path through the skies, and each time you look at it, make the effort to think something good in connection to yourself.

think of something you achieved this year, against all odds. think of something good or hard you managed to do. think about something you like about yourself. recall a good childhood memory, a song you love, or a moment you were happy. make plans to do something kind towards yourself in the upcoming days or months: think of small rewards, vacation plans, favourite treats, orgasms, rewatching a favourite movie or reaching out to someone who makes you feel good. every single time you see the sun, think of yourself and something good.

fast and indulge: this does not have to be fasting in the strict food-related meaning, but a focused effort on consciously refusing yourself a given pleasure until sunset, and then appreciating it twofold after.

it can be food, of course, with just a light breakfast and water throughout the day, but it can be music, it can be sweets, it can be a different comfort you can safely bar yourself from for the duration of daylight. once the sun sets - knowing it will rise tomorrow again, stronger and brighter - rejoice and indulge! eat your favourite meal or have your favourite coffee, listen to a favourite song, take an elaborate indulgent bath with soft and comforting clothes to keep you warm after. or sleep, and sleep a lot, and happily! a symbolic death or denial - and a symbolic rebirth and rejoicing later.

make sure this day is as about yourself as possible. be kind to yourself, find pleasure and joy, reward yourself for persevering through the darkness -

and for the fact that, like the sun, tomorrow you will rise again. stronger and brighter, and unyielding.

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Rec 47

I'M BACK! I hope everyone had a Happy Holiday and a lovely New Year :) I think this might be my longest fic rec list yet! Enjoy everyone!

5 Times Tim Spends the Night at Wayne Manon + 1 Time He Comes Home by motleyfam - Batfam, complete. Part of the Settle Our Bones series. Tim joins the batfam early. I'm pretty sure I've read this fic before, but I really enjoyed it. It was nice to read while I was on break.

Rail-Splitter, Brain-Splitter by motleyfam - Batfam, complete. Part of the same series as above. Dick, Jason, and Tim go on an outing together and Dick gets a killer migraine. Hurt/Comfort ensues.

locked in, locked out by scarletazure - Superbat, complete. Bruce gets stuck in a dating simulator. Shenanigans ensue.

Reborn as a scum villain in a novel by Speechless_since_1998 - Superbat, wip. Bruce dies and is transmigrated into the scum villain character in a novel. Shenanigans ensue.

Steady hands (ragged breathing) by loosingletters - Batfam, wip. Instead of growing up as rich heir to the Wayne family, he grows up as Bruce Kane, bastard child of Thomas Wayne, in the Narrows. Don't worry, he still becomes Batman :)

My Thanks to Ms. Monroe by loosingletters - Batfam, complete. Domestic abuse. Janet and Tim leave Jack. They go to Bruce for help.

everybody talks, everybody talks by fantalaimon - Superbat & Batfam, complete. Clark and Dick start a Bruce support group with other batfam and loved ones. Bruce finds out, feels ensue.

I saw dad kiss Santa Claus by Speechless_since_1998 - Superbat & Batfam, complete. Clark dresses up as Santa and kisses Bruce. The kids catch them in the act.

A kindred bond by Nyszu - Superbat, wip. Bruce gets kidnapped by an evil Superman, but is rescued by his Superman. I might have done a happy dance when I saw this fic update again :D :D :D

anything in your life more wonderful by januariat - Timkon, complete. A lovely, smutty Timkon fic :)))))

slow dancing in the dark by scarletazure - Superbat, complete. Omg, I loved this fic SO MUCH. I remember one of the updates happened when I was driving 10+ hours to my parents for the holidays. It was a nice little treat to read at the end of the day to decompress :) Anyway, Bruce and Clark get temporary amnesia, sleep together, get there memories back, but continue to sleep together as a "Friends with Benefits" thing. These fails when they both catch feelings for each other. Shenanigans ensue.

Sure on this shining night by mediant - Superfam, complete. Kara tries to recreate a Kryptonian dish for one of their holidays. It fails, but she gets some help from Martha, as well as some bonding time with Clark and Kon.

flash in the pan by shipyrds - Superbat, complete. Another fic where the whole "Friends with Benefits" thing fails miserably. Clark and Bruce get caught in there civilian personas making out at a gala. They try to do some damage control by fake dating and then an eventual break-up. Feelings ensue.

everybody says shipyrds - Superbat, complete. Bruce gets kidnapped by some aliens that say he's Superman's soulmate, and they want to use him as leverage to get Superman's help. The whole soulmate thing is news to Bruce. Shenanigans ensue.

Place we were made by loosingletters - Batfam, complete. An interesting take on Omegaverse! Omegas can claim territory, so Bruce (an omega) as Batman claims all of Gotham as his territory. Shenanigans ensue.

a diamond sky by TheResurrectionist - Pennywaynes, complete. Pennywaynes my B E L O V E D. From a room full of coral series. A look at Alfred, Thomas, and Martha's relationship in an omegaverse setting.

'Cause Heaven Only Knows by loosingletters, papered_king - Batfam, complete. NECROMANCER JASON NECROMANCER JASON NECROMANCER JASON NECROMANCER JA-

glitter & silk by sparkycap - Batfam, complete. A newly adopted Jason meets some of Bruce's friends after a night out as "Brucie". A neat fic about Bruce being bisexual, hanging out with some lady friends (painting his nails! love!!), and comforting Jason.

So Sweet Saluteth Me by Lishalalalalala - Batfam, complete. A sleep deprived Jason hangs out with Dick and they go to a farmers market. The sleep deprivation is why Jason agrees with Dick to take lunch to Bruce. Yeah, sure :)

bitty batty baby vigilante crew by deargalileo - Batfam, complete. BABY TIM AND STEPH AS VIGILANTES!!!! This causes some minor (major) stress for Batman.

Half in Love by timeturners - Superbat, wip. Another identity porn fic! I'll always read them, you can't stop me!!!

incendiary by pomeloquat - Superbat, complete. Fem Bruce tries to hide her feelings about Clark. This fails. Sexy shenanigans ensue.

Darkest Little Paradise by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) - Superbat, complete. It's New Years Eve! Bruce is lonely at a gala and Clark is alone in Metropolis, so they both need someone to kiss to bring in the New Years. Kissing happens, as well as other, lovely smutty things :)))))))))))))

i told you something safe by quidhitch - Superbat, complete. Batman and Superman get injured and pinned down in an explosion with Kryptonite. Clark almost dies. He deals with the realization that he almost dies and the emotions that come with it. Bruce helps.

hold on loosely by TheResurrectionist - Batfam, wip. A 5+1 fic! Five times the batkids get sick and benched and the one time it happens to Bruce.

10 times they slept together, and one time SLEPT TOGETHER by JarJarBlink182 - Superbat, complete. A 10+1 fic! I think the title speaks for itself :)

ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat - Superbat, complete. THIS FIC!!!!!!!! IT'S FINALLY COMPLETE!!!!!!!!!! If you haven't read it yet, PLEASE give it a read!! An identity porn fic where Clark becomes a fic writer to pay some bills. He writes for the ship Bruceman (Batman/Bruce). Bruce becomes a fan artist for the ship too. SO MUCH SHENANIGANS ENSUE.

The Brothers Wayne by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) - Superbat, wip. Bruce Wayne and Wade Wilson (Deadpool) are brothers. NEED I SAY MORE????

Toes in the Sand by minnow_doodle_doo - Batfam, complete. Ngl, I was sobbing at the end of this fic, it was sooo gooood! A peak into the future, where Jason has kids and Bruce is a grandpa :)

Just A Little Bit... by HaleHathNoFury (My_Trex_has_fleas) - Superbat, wip. What if Clark was a little more alien and Bruce (as well as Gotham) was a little more eldritch? The latest chapters have been A TREAT to read!!!

Patchwork Pod by KtKat9 - Superbat, wip. Mer Bruce fic! Connor is getting to know Clark and Mer Tim a bit more. Adorable sheep are involved :)

(Love) Triangles Have Multiple Centers by frozenpotions - Superbat, wip. The latest chapter of this identity porn fic almost had me on the floor laughing, omg. Robin stole the whole chapter for me, he was so ADORABLE and SASSY!

Emergency Contract by Elegitre - Batfam, complete. Tim lists Bruce, his next door neighbor, as his emergency contact, not expecting him to ever be contacted. GUESS WHAT HAPPENS???? :)))))))

a sky of honey by TheResurrectionist - Superbat, wip. More of the omegaverse Superbat fic that I have been OBSESSED about. Jason finally meets Superman. Unfortunately, he was not aware yet that Clark is Superman.

Happy reading!

[radiance1]

In a place far above the soil and waves, a realm held above the sky and within the stars.

You awaken.

A world of twisting mirrors, of shooting stars, an endless expanse of drifting stardust and stars trapped in an endless succession of dying and being reborn anew.

You look down, expecting to see what you've come to know as a familiar sight.

It's you.

Or rather, a distorted version of you. Cracks running along your skin that looks drenched in blood, originating from right where your heart would be placed, now nothing but a black void.

They stare back, far too black eyes taking you in just as you take in yourself.

You look back up and walk forward.

Ripples are made beneath your feet as you step forwards into a world familiar yet unknown to you. Your distortion, and the sound of soft popping the only company you find yourself with as you try and navigate the unknown.

You stop by a star, a tiny one, compared to some others, and reach out a hand towards it, yet pause just a touch away, an instinctual reaction, despite knowing it won't hurt.

You can feel it above your palm.

The heat.

Yet, not hot and scorching, but warm and pleasant.

You tap into a new memory.

Like a fire started in the midst of snowfall, wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a couch and sipping away at a mug of hot chocolate as you idly watch Tv.

A woman, a man, and a girl were on the couch with you. Faces blurred, features not quite visible, you have seen them before, in other memories.

A moment later, you were ripped from the memory as the star dies with a quiet pop.

Warmth suddenly replaced by a cold void as glittering stardust scatters across your palm. Slowly picking itself up to restart the process for as long as whatever rules will it too.

You close your hand, trapping the stardust within before it could spread too far, then resume walking.

You walk on.

And on.

And on.

And on.

At one point, you reach around in your pockets, looking for something, yet all your hand retrieves is nothing.

You heave a heavy sigh.

You should've known you wouldn't have been so lucky this time.

You continue walking.

More and more stardust coat the area around you as you move, slowly reshaping themselves into stars, from tiny, to small, to big, to large.

The tiniest ones always take the longest, as if struggling to recall the details of the memories held within.

You stop.

Sitting there, once again, never moving, is a child.

A child you know well, yet not at all.

Sitting on a throne, head resting on the back of his palm as he stares out into the endless expanse of nothing. Glowing hair and toxic green eyes, a small crown floating just above his head and a cape of stars that's end falls to the bottom of the boy's throne.

These stars, each and every memory, and this realm, is undoubtedly his. You know who he is, yet you don't know who he is.

You have received bits and pieces of his memories, some blurry, some clear, and some sitting between that fine edge between the two.

You don't know why, but your question would never be answered, even if you asked.

You walk forward, stopping in front of the small boy, and crouch down. The focus of your intention, for his part, merely regards your presence with a shift of sight.

You have his attention.

You slowly move your hand up from your side, fully in view of the boy and careful to not move too fast.

The child, unlike the last time, doesn't immediately force you away, face holding a hint of curiosity.

You open your palm, a reborn star gently floats in place.

His eyes widen briefly, before collapsing back to neutrality. He reached a hand upwards, slow and unhurried.

He gently touched it with a finger.

Toxic green eyes became glazed, lost within the memory contained inside of the star.

You wait.

and you wait.

And you wait.

Until finally, something changed.

Small, glowing green tears formed at the corners of the child's eyes, before running down his face.

Slowly, carefully, he takes hold of it. Cradling it as if it were something precious, something, fragile.

And perhaps, it truly is something fragile.

He slowly brought it to his chest, tears still running down his face. He looks at you, yet now, expression different.

He looks at you now as if you weren't something unneeded, someone most definitely intruding, and perhaps, and eyesore. Now, he looks at you with relief, gratefulness, and happiness.

Out of the corner of your eyes, your reflection presses against the glass, pressing against it intently as cracks spread from its touch.

You turn your attention back onto the boy, to see him mouthing a few words with a warm, small smile, tears still running down his cheeks. Words you cannot hear yet are able to get the general gist of by reading his lips.

"Thank you."

The ground beneath you cracked, and before your distortions hand could grab, you take their hand. Not quite keen on being dragged at an extreme speed down below as every other time.

This time, they pull you along gently.

===

John Constantine slowly blinks open his eyes, quite thankful that this time he isn't waking up to a racing heart and feeling as if he were about to hit the ground.

Still, he's been having that dream for a while now.

He looked down to his hand, the one that held onto the star, and tightened it into a fist.

He changed something.

___

Get over here @stealingyourbones my curse bearer and behold the product of my test!

[quest-for-pluto]

G.O.A.T. Avatar Fic Recs:

One of us (Neteyam x Human/Avatar!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter, eventual NSFW

Author: forever--darling

Status: Complete, 8/8

Summary: neteyam sully was the next olo'eyktan and for years had been focused on his training and his responsibilities only. he had never accounted for you to become one of them. when you got your avatar body and ended up in the forest alone, being brought to the village and offered to be taught the ways of the people wasn't what you expected. let alone it being neteyam, future olo'eyktan becoming your teacher.

In Love With The Enemy (Lo’ak x Female!Avatar!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: vandnana

Status: Ongoing, 3/?

Summary: during the time when jake became toruk makto, you were quaritch’s youngest and most valued soldier, the daughter he never had. but, pandora changed you and you died during the final battle, betraying quaritch and wishing that you had been able to do more. now, you have been reborn again, as a na’vi, tasked with quaritch’s new military avatar crew to kill Jake Sully. taking advantage of this second chance at life, you help the Sullys and fall in love along the way.

On this fateful night...two hearts danced (Neteyam x Human!Female!Reader) —One shot, NSFW

Author: arachine

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

Fire Of Souls (Tsu’tey x Jake’s sister!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: pandorafairy

Status: Ongoing, 4/?

Summary: N/A. Slow burn, Enemies to Lovers.

Something sweet ~ (Human!Neteyam x Human!Female!Reader, Modern AU) —One shot, probable eventual NSFW

Author: maxlonz

Status: Potentially Ongoing, 1\?

Summary: basically Neteyam doesn’t like sweet things, but for you, he’ll make an exception <3. Enemies to Lovers, mature themes.

Tìtunu (Tsu’tey x Human!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter, eventual NSFW

Author: hinataashoyos

Status: Complete, 4/4

Summary: Perhaps the Sky People had injured Tsu'tey beyond repair when they had hurt him and pushed him from their enormous metal bird. That is the only reason he can think of to explain why the one person who has captured his thoughts so wholly is you, the little human demon that is constantly lurking around the Omaticaya camp.

Tìsom (Tsu’tey x Human!Female!Reader) —One shot, NSFW

Author: hinataashoyos

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: Spin-off of Tìtunu, but can be read separately. Tsu'tey is a strong mate; he is cautious, considerate, and protective, and he always provides for you. And yet, human/Na'vi relationships come with a learning curve. That learning curve comes with surprises regarding certain biological urges.

Mountain Dweller (Kiri x Rotxo) —Two shot

Author: k-roi

Status: Ongoing, 1/2

Summary: A moment of distraction during a lesson with Rotxo leads to one of the best questions of her life. If only they could just be less awkward about it.

Tacenda (Neteyam x Metkayina!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: cherrycxla

Status: Complete, 25/25

Summary: Tacenda - Things to be left unsaid; matters to be passed over in silence. Or:

Tsa'tvayi gives Neteyam a purpose, while caring for his family as if they were her own.

The Sully’s in American Public School —Headcannons

Author: pandorafairy

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: N/A.

Lo’ak and Tsireya (Lo’ak x Tsireya) —One shot

“Tell her” (Lo’ak x Tsireya)—One shot

Author: pandorafairy

Status: Complete, 2/2

Summary: These are actually seperate posts but I suggest reading them together. The first one is Tsireya comforting Lo’ak after Neteyam’s death, and the second one takes place a little later on, when Lo’ak confesses his feelings to Tsireya.

Star Girl (Lo’ak x Avatar!Female!Reader) —Multi-chapter

Author: lovemyavatar

Status: Ongoing, 9/10 (with bonus scenes!)

Summary: Eywa isn’t supposed to choose sides. she maintains the balance of life. so, a question arises. are you worth saving?

Push (Neteyam x Female!Omaticaya!Reader) —One shot, NSFW

Author: lovemyavatar

Status: Complete, 1/1

Summary: you love teasing the Olo'eyktan's oldest son, but how much will he let you push before he snaps? Childhood friends to rivals to lovers. Enemies to lovers.

Will continue updating…

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Ode to Artists Pt 1

Part (1) of Ode to Artists, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Am I well past when I was supposed to finish my Bingo sheet? Yup. Am I still counting this one toward the "Bed" prompt? Also yup. I meant for this to just be a one-parter, but I just can't write those... so it'll be 2 or 3 parts of mostly (emphasis on mostly) fluff before we get into the next whump-tastic arcs I have planned. (Also, after my appointment today, the midwives say I could literally go anytime from tomorrow to 5 weeks from now, soooo if I vanish for a bit... well, you'll know why)

Warnings: This arc will mostly be fluffy stuff, but there will be references to past torture here and there. This one has some flashbacks, profanity, and loads of emotions like guilt, fear, anger, and general angst, as well some brief mention of wanting to die (not SI - with relation to ending torture), and I supposed some dependency

WC: 3,405

Rough Mando'a translation:

hut’uunla chakaaryc - coward and a rotten, low-life, (considered worst possible insult)

When we’re children and we first learn that the sky is endless, when we’re told of the countless lives beyond that stunning blue and the thousands of planets that we’ll never visit; when we’re first taught that the impossibly distant stars who’s lights danced in the darkness of night had died and been reborn long before we’d ever glimpsed them, and we discover just how small we are amidst an existence that would live on unchanged in spite of our hopes and dreams and fears, unmoved by our short lives and inevitable deaths; when we’re children and these harsh truths rob us of that innocent sense of invulnerability and infinite potential innate in the brilliance of youth, there is a wound that is dealt in the wake of that revelation regardless if the words are spoken with unapologetic honesty or gentle wonder, and those wounds may scar or they may fester, but they never fully fade.

I remembered when I learned how big the galaxy was. I didn’t feel that loss then. At the time, I’d felt inspired, enamored by the vast stretches of possibilities I’d never before considered and lightened beneath the new sense of freedom granted by those possibilities, but I felt those scars now.

Used bandages lay forgotten in small piles atop the medbay counter as my eyes stared blindly at the still pink bands encircling my wrists, fingertips just whispering over the newly knit skin. The freshly formed nerves shuddered beneath that delicate touch, unaccustomed, yet, to even gentle sensation. I hadn’t seen the damage wrought by how violently I’d thrashed against those restraints, not until after Comet had done his best to clean and sow them back together, and bacta gel had regrown most of what surely still dirtied a floor already coated with too much blood, but I could imagine it. For the scars to still shine so starkly against the unmarried flesh beside it, I didn’t doubt how near I’d come to severing tendon and exposing bone, and the simple fact that I could remember no sense of pain beyond the panic of drowning held its own morbid wonder.

It was as I stared unseeing at those scars, thoughts coming and going absent a moment’s true consideration, that I felt small. I’d never known fear could cut so deeply, that the body was capable of such terror, and yet I’d suffered beneath it for so long as the worlds around me continued in blissful ignorance. Children played as I screamed. New lovers relished the touch of another as I died. Stars were born as I begged for everything to end, and yet I now stood in the same room of the Marauder that I’d lived in for well over a year. The air still held the stale taste of too many rotations through the recyclers. The engines hummed with that same subtle rumble fading into the ambiance of the occasional beep of an alarm, and beyond the door, if I bothered to listen, I was sure I’d hear Wrecker’s boisterous voice or catch a sharp retort from Crosshair.

Even in that haze of wandering memories, my heart still leapt at the thought of him. He’d refused to let me so much as change my own bandages during the week we’d remained on the Negotiator. What arguments I’d tried to offer failed beneath the gentleness of his touch, the way his eyes hardened and his lithe body curled over mine. It didn’t feel possessive. It felt safe, and that was far too precious to refuse. Between those moments, however, I’d rarely seen him.

Only after noting his absence for several days did I learn that he kept vanishing to the training rooms, seeking anyone foolish enough or brave enough to spar and ensuring what minor injuries he sustained had been tended long before returning to my side. I wanted to talk to him about it but found myself unable to force the question past my lips, too worried that I already knew the answer to risk asking, because what could I say if he was fighting as a means of distracting himself from everything I wasn’t yet willing to speak of? If he felt driven to escape a helplessness I knew too well, a helplessness he only felt because of me? It had been something of a relief to get word of our latest assignment if only to break that routine.

With my wounds now all but healed and the lot of us en route to Alderaan, some semblance of normalcy was finally beginning to return. Friendly bickering again flowed between the brothers, free of that tension that had made my heart twist since Devaron, and no one shot away to hide the instant the medbay door opened or purposefully avoided eye contact if we were in the same room. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. That return to normalcy, however, brought with it a quiet I wished I could appreciate, but the thoughts it granted freedom to were ones that robbed me of breath and left me staggering amidst memories I couldn’t force back.

“Doc?” My attention snapped away from those lingering scars, chest hitching in a small gasp at the suddenness with which that daze fled me. Echo stood barely a handful of steps away, brows draw lightly together above eyes full of the beginnings of worry. I hadn’t noticed the hiss of the door opening or closing, hadn’t heard whatever initial greeting he’d offered as he entered. Had he asked me something? How long had he been speaking before falling silent at the realization that I wasn’t even aware of his presence?

“Sorry, Echo; guess I got a bit lost in thought.” I said softly with a gentle smile that did little to chase the concern from his gaze. “What did you say?” He hesitated a moment, jaw tensing, and I couldn’t help but fear I’d missed something vital in whatever words he’d spoken while my mind had floated absent intent.

“Just… wondered if you’d eaten yet? Figured I’d grab you something since I was headed there anyway.” My heart sank at the offer, certain that had nothing to do with why he’d really come here, but the tentative truce between us was still too delicate to strain beneath blunt questions. I turned my attention back to the counter, using the excuse of gathering the discarded cloth to hide the threat of disappointment from my gaze.

“Probably a good idea.” I sighed despite how unappealing one of those flavorless bars sounded. “I’m finished here, anyway, so I’ll come with you.” A stranger wouldn’t have noticed the tension steal through him, the delay preceding that forced smile. A close friend wouldn’t have hesitated to address them. I noticed and said nothing, caught in the lingering uncertainty of where we stood, terrified that I might push him away again with one poorly chosen word.

“Have you reviewed the mission brief, yet?” He asked, vying for some attempt at nonchalance as we started from the medbay. I nodded, still a bit confused by it. We were making a delivery to the governing body. Given the relatively safe location of the planet, using a squad with the immaculate record Hunter and his brothers boasted made little sense. Echo let out a small chuckle at my expression, and my heart leapt at the sound.

“I think Cody sent us on this one as a bit of a break.” I didn’t fight the look of surprise that drew my attention back to him, though the darkness that followed left me turning away just as quickly. He was babying us because of me… sending us as a glorified delivery service. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for the reprieve or enraged at how badly I needed just that: a respite from the unending horrors of this nightmare of a war.

“I don’t think he meant it as an insult.” At that, a quick huff escaped me, cheeks warming from how effortlessly he read me.

“I think he meant it as an olive branch more than anything.” I retorted, pleased to glimpse the smirk those words brought to his lips.

“Or an excuse to get Crosshair off his ship as soon as possible.” He mused, voice lowering as he leaned subtly closer to me, and I found myself biting back a string of laughter at his conspiratory tone.

I wasn’t surprised to find Wrecker in the small kitchette as we entered, a few empty wrappers already littering the table with a third already half eaten. His eyes lit up when he saw us.

“Did he tell you?!” The vibrant excitement in his voice was almost enough to make me hesitate, eyes flicking back to Echo for a moment.

“I’m going to guess not yet?” I replied, brow hitching expectantly. The arc didn’t bother even trying to explain before his brother jumped to his feet.

“They got this celebration tomorrow on Alderaan! Tech says they only do it every five years!” He purged the news in a loud, eager rush of glee that I was helpless against, lips instantly drawing up into a broad grin.

“Tomorrow? Are going to make it?” A quiet whisper of fear coiled in my chest, images of too many strange faces milling about overly pretentious floors as music danced through the air, but I refused to grant it purchase in the wake of Wrecker’s delight.

“Yup! Hunter even said we’d have the whole night to see it while the ship gets fueled up!”

“It’s outside,” Echo added softly, and I couldn’t quite meet his gaze despite how my body automatically shifted toward him, too aware of what prompted him to offer the gentle reassurance. “Up in the mountains.” Alderaan’s snowy peaks were renowned for their timeless beauty, and the knowledge that we wouldn’t be confined to some inescapable prison veiled in the guise of splendor and finery proved the perfect balm to the quickening of my heartbeat.

“We’ll have to bundle you up with a couple extra layers.” I didn’t doubt that he heard the gratitude warming my words as I finally found the strength to look at him, and the kindness in those eyes shown untainted by the distance that still haunted us.

“Pretty sure I’ll be thawing out the whole trip back regardless how many sets of blacks I put on.” He grumbled, but there was no heat to the complaint. I offered a sympathetic smile and bumped my shoulder lightly against his chest before treading further into the small room to retrieve some rations for us.

“Did Tech mention what all we might expect at this event?” I knew Wrecker would have seen through the subtleties of how Echo eased that fear from me; knew he’d likely understood the instant my gaze first turned away from him, just as I knew he understood the true reason behind my question, and I loved him for how readily he answered my unspoken plea for a distraction as he raptly described what he remembered of Tech’s earlier explanation: of the group of artists that had lived and died centuries prior, but who’s works of Alderaan’s beauty became so renowned throughout the galaxy as to alter the very fate of the planet, inspiring countless others to seek out those natural landscapes to witness that beauty for themselves. He spoke of the promise of endless venders offering unique food and drink and all manner of goods, and he drew no attention to why I sat so quietly beside him, why I failed to respond with my usual glee to his animated retelling, but he was not silent in the face of my stillness, powerful body shifting ever so subtly about mine, hand gentle in every brief touch that somehow never lasted too long, and I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but relief at his unspoken offer for a comfort that was so soft as to barely be noticeably beyond the unwavering sense of safety it granted me.

It was late. Offensively late. The medbay lay illuminated in the faint glow of a monitor I hadn’t been able to bring myself to turn off, knowing what darkness awaited me the instant I flicked that switch, what terrors lingered in the shadows vying for any excuse to strike. Crosshair had said nothing about it as he shifted atop my bed, groggily holding the blanket open with feigned impatience, but I couldn’t dismiss that flare of shame at yielding to that fear. The instant I settled into him, however, the warmth that enveloped me as he fit himself perfectly around my too tense form and let out that deep, quiet sigh of contentment robbed me of all thought beyond the feeling of his chest dancing with unhurried breaths against my back, the strength of his arms holding me with a covetous need, and I’d found myself drifting into a far kinder sleep that I had any right to hope for.

I loathed the unknown disturbance drawing me from that gentle slumber, jaw tensing beneath an attempt at denial that I might simply ignore whatever it was and slip back into that blessed nothingness. Crosshair lay perfectly limp against me, face tucked into my hair with that precious stillness of sleep. Resigned to a late-night visit to the privy, I reluctantly tried to slip away from him, laughter threatening to bubble past pursed lips at the tiny groan that escaped him as his arms tightened petulantly around me, but he showed no signs of waking as I finally managed to detangle myself from his embrace.

Footsteps as near to silent as I could manage, I tread carefully down the hall, tiptoeing past the bunkroom, though only Wrecker and Echo lay within, both far too lost to their own blissful sleep to note my movements. It wasn’t until I’d nearly reached the privy door that something on the very edge of perception left my blood running cold. I couldn’t say what it was, not yet, but my body seemed drawn toward it, wide eyes locked on the fore of the ship as my legs carried me forward despite the sudden urge to flee.

Even after some recognition began to note the sound of broken gasps amidst free-flowing water, I couldn’t bring myself to stop. There was a haunted sense of familiarity in the way I watched myself move through the ship; in the automated motions I didn’t have the presence of mind to even try to stop.

“…severe forms of torture.” There was a weight to that normally clinical voice; a dread that even he couldn’t fully suppress.

“Tech.” Hunter’s hushed voice barely registered as he turned sharply to face me, but I couldn’t focus on him. I hadn’t even noticed myself climb down the ladder into the cockpit.

“Who ordered the hit?!” I don’t remember when that man’s voice had filled with such anger.

“It’s rare for anyone to endure longer than a couple minutes… what she went through”

“Tech!” Hunter barked, finally ripping his brother’s attention from the audio clip. I didn’t see the look in his eyes as he followed Hunter’s gaze toward me.

“Just tell me who planted the kriffing bomb!”

“I don’t know!” It didn’t sound like my voice. It was enraged and terrified and ruined by hours of screaming. Hunter’s hand flared toward Tech, but he sat frozen – caught – as I approached on strides faltering beneath the tremble just beginning to steal through me.

“That’s krayt spit, and you kriffing know it! Who ordered the hit?!” Part of me wanted to be impressed at how clear the recording was, mind eager to detach from the rush of liquid that followed my every response, the way my lungs panicked and burned with the afterimage of that agony.

“Just kill me, you hut’uunla chakaaryc!” I’d heard Warthog say that once… even Wolffe had been taken aback, and only Sinker would tell me what it meant when I’d asked. That man surely had no idea what I’d called him, but the violent slap that tore from the speakers followed by the seemingly endless flood of water and desperate coughs left no uncertainty that he’d fathomed a guess.

“…Doc.” My hand was reaching out, senses dulled to all but the echoes of my nightmares screaming with such haunting clarity from the speakers, deaf to Hunter’s quiet call.

“Who was behind the attack?!”

“I don’t know!!” That voice was sobbing and screaming and so utterly broken.

My fingertips barely brushed the console before the recording stopped, but I could still hear it… the gush of water… I could feel it’s chill tear the warmth from my flesh; felt it flooding my mouth and nose… and I felt that undeniable, visceral fear of death creeping through me.

Hunter shifted hesitantly toward me, but I merely shook my head. The movement was so slight, I barely felt it, but it instantly left him frozen, shoulders sinking beneath emotions I was still far too raw to try to name.

Without a word, I stepped away from them, away from whatever apologies or questions or murmured reassurances might be festering atop their tongues, my eyes still staring blindly at the endless buttons and switches decorating the console, and when I turned away, when I began to leave in the same silence in which I’d arrived, neither could bring themselves to try calling out again.

Any other night, I would have cringed at the thought of waking him. I would have strained myself to slip back into his embrace as carefully as possible, breath held in my chest until I was sure my intrusion hadn’t robbed him of that empty sleep, but I could spare little thought toward such things. He was warm. And he was safe. And I didn’t bother to even slide beneath the blanket before pressing myself against him.

Crosshair’s torso swelled with a sharp inhale, brows drawing together with some mixture of annoyance and confusion, but then he went still. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, body curling into his as though I might hide from the memories still raging through my mind. He studied me for mere seconds before shifting in careful, unhurried movements, one arm slipping beneath me to wrap around my shoulders while he brought his other hand up to just whisper against my cheek, the unspoken question clear in that tender gesture.

Again, I felt my head give the slightest shake, unable to offer anything more. His thumb trailed the ridge of my cheekbone, touch featherlight, before letting his hand brush gently through my hair to rest against the back of my neck, holding me with just enough force for me to feel his strength, and a shuttered exhale escaped me that left us both clinging just that much harder to each other.

He didn’t speak throughout the night, but the occasional dance of his fingers or touch of his lips in something too gentle to be called a kiss reassured me that he was still awake, still holding me until that tension began to slip away. I don’t know how long we laid there, letting the minutes and hours pass in that perfect quiet, but when I finally heard the steady thrum of his heartbeat over those horrid screams, I wanted to sob. I wanted to shout beneath the disdain I felt toward myself and the apologies I didn’t have the strength to voice. I wanted to tell him that he could leave; that I wouldn’t blame him for needing to separate himself from the mess I’d become, but I couldn’t stop my grasp from tightening around his shirt at the very thought, and when he responded without hesitation, when his arms nearly crushed me against him, I abandoned even the memory of fear that he’d want me to grant him that escape.

In the morning, I’d thank him. In the morning, I’d try to offer some manner of an explanation that he was long past due, but for what few hours still remained in that façade of night that meant nothing in the emptiness of space, I let myself give in to the simple need for his presence and the quiet it granted me. I let myself be weak that I might find solace in his strength, and I let myself love him with every atom of my being for the selflessness of his comfort.

Next Chapter

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[aislingyngaio-games]

Junon and Nibelheim Tifa symbolism through Rebirth lore

This tumblr post is actually further expansion from this twitter thread I made on the relationship between Tifa and Junon that I've noticed. Now that Rebirth is out.... hoo boy idk if I'm overthinking this or if the devs are just this big-brained. Spoiler alert for Rebirth, OBVIOUSLY. You have been warned.

Part 1: Phoenix, Deity of Junon Region

So to begin with, I'd like to draw your attention to what actually first attracted my attention to the possibly deliberate symbolism of Junon: the combination of the regional deity (Phoenix) and the regional chocobo (Belle the mountain chocobo).

As is obvious to any Final Fantasy fan by now, Phoenix is the summon of fire and life/rebirth, two themes important to Cloud and Tifa, both of whose childhoods "died" in the Nibelheim fire and massacre five years ago and yet "reborn", or rather survived, from the ashes of their fallen hometown because of their promise and bond with each other. They are each other's proofs they are who they are: Cloud and Tifa from Nibelheim. As a sea-facing town with an underwater reactor (even Under Junon is named "Sea Dragon Square"), wouldn't it have been more thematically appropriate to have Junon worship either the Leviathan (admittedly Leviathan is the guardian deity of Wutai in FF7 lore, but Wutai was pushed to pt3, and it didn't stop Leviathan from being a Chadley-earned summon in Remake either) or Shiva deities (which is the summon you get in OG Junon from Priscilla) instead of Phoenix, unless the switch was a deliberate narrative choice? After all, as I've posted in my original Twitter thread, Junon is the first place Real Cloud truly tries hard to "awaken" SOLDIER Cloud into speaking with Tifa. This is translated in Rebirth into Cloud and Tifa's reconciliation after their falling out at Kalm, and Tifa's relationship wheel being the non-optional, story-mandated dialogue choice in this chapter. The Rebirth-themed summon in the Rebirth-named game being set in the Junon region over all other regions? HMMMMMMMM. (And nobody better forget that Mr Dolphin <-> Tifa's limit break Dolphin Blow parallel either ;) )

Also, OG callback: Phoenix summon was actually obtained from Fort Condor in OG, and guess what huge ass creature immediately appeared the moment the party exited the Junon-side entrance of Mythril Mines? Aye, the Giant Condor. The protorelic sidequest in Junon is also linked to the Fort Condor minigame (a variation of the boardgame from FF7 Remake Intermission) that specifically chose to magick both Cloud and Tifa (as well as Barret) in to do battle. And of course, the "Dreaming of Blue Skies" Tifa-related sidequest in Junon region involves baiting the Giant Condor with bovine meat to take a picture of (and while waiting, they sky-gazed together at the clouds).

(Side Crisis Core tangent: Phoenix's materia is obtained from - guess where - NIBELHEIM WATER TOWER, as the first part of the Seven Wonders of Nibelheim sidequest)

(Side simulation tangent: The Phoenix simulation Chadley makes for the Rebirth team to fight can summon Bombs, which is one of the two bracelet charms Tifa is prominently featured with in the Retrilogy, the other being Chocobo, which usually symbolizes Cloud)

(Side LOVELESS tangent: The summon that Rosa calls to defeat Varvados looks amazingly like the Phoenix summon, and the resultant ending motif - the fiery destruction of Guardia, the mutual protection of Alphreid and Rosa, and the unpromised promise of fidelity and reunion - most resembles the destruction of Nibelheim, the mutual protection between Cloud and Tifa - Cloud as Tifa's physical protector & Tifa [being Cloud's motivation] as Cloud's emotional protector, and the fulfilled yet voluntarily continual fulfillment of the promise at the water tower between them)

Part 2: Odin, Deity of Nibel Region

Now what of the actual place of Cloud and Tifa's births? Well the regional deity is, appropriately, Odin, Norse god of death, while the regional chocobo is Selena Shirena (in JP romaji), the blue ocean chocobo.

Odin in OG is also obtained from Nibelheim (specifically Shinra Mansion), and interestingly, when linked with "Added Effect" materia on an armour piece, can provide immunity to instant death on the wearer, while if the same pair of linked materia is equipped on a weapon, it can cause instant death. This is a most curious and most pertinent symbolism for the birthplace of not only the only two people in the FF7 party to have ever tasted Masamune blade first and survived (rip to the other Nibel villagers though) but also, thematically tragically, the birthplace of Sephiroth, whose destructive powers with said blade are legendary. Not forgetting of course, that central in the stories of Nibelheim is "the other side of the mountain" being a local reference to the mythical/thematic land of the dead (remember which two characters are pictured on the Mt Nibel side of the two Rebirth Nibelheim keyarts?).

Part 3: Junon/Nibel Connection via Regional Chocobo Abilities

From Junon region, we have Belle the grey mountain chocobo (which btw, is a requirement to reach the Phoenix summon crystals that will both weaken the simulation fight and strengthen the summon materia), and a clearer parallel cannot help being drawn to Cloud and Tifa hailing from the village of Nibelheim located at the base of MOUNT NIBEL, where both share memories being on that mountain (once when Tifa was 8 and Cloud 9, and again when Tifa was 15 and Cloud 16 - SEVEN years apart). Similarly, the Nibel region chocobo - required to access the Odin summon crystal - is Shirena the blue ocean chocobo, making both Junon and Nibel chocobo abilities the diametrically opposite elements of their region's most significant landscape/towns - Junon the ocean-facing city with the mountain chocobo, and Nibelheim the mountain-shadowed village with the ocean chocobo.

(Side Costa del Sol tangent: Cloud's blue shirt swimsuit is named "Ocean Chocobo" which makes for it being the Nibel region Chocobo ability seems accidentally on purpose appropriate, as well as being the more "real Cloud" of the two swimsuit options for him imo, while the Wild Surf option seems too... Zack minus the sunflower, so basically the SOLDIER Cloud option)

So, let's now look at the symbolism of Junon and Nibelheim together, as both mirrors and opposites, as parts of a whole.

Junon and Nibelheim

Phoenix and Odin

Life and death

Mountain and ocean

East continent and west continent

Taken together, the bond between Junon and Nibelheim almost looks like the endless cycle of death and life/rebirth, which is very symbolic of how the Lifestream works (those who are born from the Lifestream return to the Lifestream). Just as Phoenix is both life and destruction, just as Odin can be both death and protection, it is the complementary, symbiotic love of Cloud and Tifa, at once opposites yet similar, at once separate but a team, both strong yet each having their own weaknesses that the other balances, that ultimately is most emblematic of the lifecycle of the planet.

It is no wonder then, that Tifa is the one chosen by the planet and the WEAPONs, both in OG when Sapphire Weapon caused the distraction that allowed her to both embody yet subvert her role as the Andromeda of Greek legend by enabling her to save herself from her execution at Junon with the help of friends, and in Rebirth when the Gongaga WEAPON choose to show her the true struggle of the planet that she might reach Final Heaven, and be the heroine who will save and stay by the hero's side till the end.

[imagine-darksiders]

Hi Ellie! First time asker here so kind of nervous but I love your stuff so I’m finally gonna stop lurking! I was wondering, a few months after death resurrects humanity if y/n had like a serious ptsd episode about like being attacked by demons, what would the horsemen do about it if they felt she was a serious danger to herself and humans around her? Maybe she got her hands on a weapon and barricaded herself up somewhere and is shooting at whoever gets near?

Anyways thank you and I love your art and your amazing, talented brain!!

Hi hi! Thanks so much for this interesting ask.

I got a little carried away with this one, admittedly :)

Very self indulgent with lots of overprotective Horsemen, but I want it on record that I don't suffer from this kind of PTSD, and I may not have accurately portrayed the symptoms, which I hear are nearly innumerable and very difficult to define.

CW - flashbacks, triggers, blood, mentions of death, threat to children.

Kind of an idea-dump about how humans are adjusting to life after the Resurrection.

Spoilers, not all of it is good.

----------

Haven is a city full of ghosts.

On every street corner, in every dark alley, in every building from the dingiest apartment to the grandest skyscraper, there exists the haunting echo of death.

One hundred and five years ago, the Biblical Apocalypse had proved itself to be more than just a story, and in a mere matter of weeks, all of Humanity was wiped out, reduced to a single, lonely number.

One.

Just one.

You.

Slung over the shoulder of one of the very Horsemen who was supposed to start the Apocalypse, you’d watched as Haven City – your home – burned alive around you.

Everywhere you looked, you saw the mangled remains of your fellow humans, strewn about like withering, autumn leaves. Innumerable. Lifeless. And always looming over them, the very demons that had come to eradicate your species from the chronicles of History.

Iron and rust slicked the back of your throat with every breath you took. The city screamed, seven million souls rattled the windows and howled through the streets, joining together in the most bloodcurdling, ongoing orchestral note ever to have split the sky asunder.

One hundred and five years ago, everyone died. Not just Haven City – The entire human race.

But the thing is… they didn’t stay dead.

Ironically, it was Death himself who restored the souls and bodies of more than eight billion people in one, fell swoop.

Eight billion were brought back, mended by ancient magic, right to the place they’d died.

But for humans, one hundred years hadn’t passed.

To them, between one blink and the next, they’d died and were subsequently reborn with their bodies and minds intact, with their last and lingering memory being solely that of the monsters who had been bearing down on them.

The world had screamed anew.

That was the worst of it, you suppose. The remembering.

It didn’t take long before everyone realised that humans could recall how they’d died, and as such, the city itself became wrapped up in terrible, haunting memories. And when enough bad memories gather in certain places, the sorrow seeps like rot into the infrastructure, turning every building into a tomb, even without a body to keep it company.

Everyone could point out a different place where they’d been cut down or crushed or burned alive or swallowed whole. Some could still see themselves laying there, glassy eyes pinned wide open, staring up at the fiery sky.

People were haunted by their own ghosts.

Haven is a city full of ghosts.

But on this night, as you meander down a residential street with your nose tipped towards the sky, breathing in the crisp, October air, you can’t help but note that there are far more ghosts flitting about than usual.

Though these, at least, are a little more palatable.

You can scarcely believe that Halloween has rolled around for yet another year.

A small blur of white darts past you down the path, almost tripping over the long, tattered bedsheet that’s been thrown over their head. You’re rather proud that you only flinch at the unexpected movement, you don’t recoil entirely. Bemused, you watch the little, orange bucket swing perilously from the ghost's elbow as they totter through a garden gate and hammer on the front door of a house, belting out a well-practiced ‘trick-or-treat!’ before the residents have even turned the handle.

Somewhere across the road, a different child screams.

Yours isn’t the only head that immediately whips towards the sound.

Naturally, when you and at least fifteen other adults turn to look, you only see a little girl being hoisted up onto her father’s shoulders, whooping and shrieking with gleeful excitement. To his credit, the man’s mouth is pulled into a grimace, and he raises his hand to offer the onlookers an apologetic wave as if to say, ‘It’s all right. She’s safe. Carry on.’

He knows what they’re thinking.

The whole street seems to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Everybody starts to move at a normal pace once more, though it had all happened so quickly, no one really even broke their stride.

When the sky burst open over a century ago and rained hellfire and demons down onto an unsuspecting Earth, nobody had been spared.

But it was the children – weaker, smaller, slower – who had fallen first.

Everyone remembers the sound of a whole city dying.

You know of several parents who still struggle to sleep at night, because when they do, they’re plagued by the cries of their children who they simply couldn’t save. The children, of course, are alive and well today, but there’s no forgetting that there was a time when they hadn’t been, not until Humanity was brought back from the dead by Death himself.

Nightmares are so much worse when they echo the past.

You may not have children, and you may have been spared a miserable end on Earth thanks to the actions of one Horseman of the Apocalypse, but you still have license to say that you too have felt the terrors that haunt Humanity.

In cruel clarity, you remember the day the world ended.

Heaving out a shaky exhale, you watch a jet of white air puff from your parted lips as you carry on down the leaf-strewn road, sidestepping a young boy whose face has been painted to look like a tiger.

You smile approvingly at the choice, all the while trying not to jump at every sudden noise.

Kids were the ones who wanted to bring back Halloween, while the older folks, yourself included, were a little more hesitant about the matter.

There was something… different about the holiday following Humanity’s resurrection.

People used to say that All Hallow’s Eve was a time when the veil between Earth and other hidden realms is at its thinnest, allowing spirits, demons and monsters to pass through an invisible barrier, all to cause havoc for one, glorious night.

Of course, then you’d all discovered that demons are real.

So are monsters.

So are spirits.

And suddenly, Halloween seemed a lot less like a harmless, fun tradition meant for children to enjoy.

You have first-hand proof that the veil isn’t thin. It’s completely passable, all the damn time, apparently.

But children don’t care about that.

For most of them, Halloween is still the fun, if spooky night where they can don their costumes and stuff themselves so full of confectionary that they’re nearly sick.

And so, it was brought back. But not without a few stipulations put into place.

It seemed to be a unanimous, but unspoken decision that sporting any imagery pertaining to demons was a big no-no.

Out went the little, red horns, the plastic pitchforks, and the spade-tipped tails. Even fangs were discarded. Nobody wants to see a visceral reminder of the very things that killed them running through the city streets.

The same rule eventually extended to white, feathery wings and halo headbands, avoided out of general politeness for the angels who’ve started frequenting Earth enough that it’s now a relatively common occurrence to see one soaring over the city skyline or bothering librarians for human literature.

In the case of the demons, however, ditching their imagery had been more for humans’ benefit than out of any mark of respect or an attempt at maintaining social cordialness.

You weren’t even killed by a demon, and you still feel that bubble of apprehension rising in your throat if the Hell-born merchant, Vulgrim, pops up in your path without warning.

You’d seen what his ilk did to yours, even if the glimpses you caught were brief and blurred.

So, for humans who were cut down by a demon, you can only imagine what harrowing thoughts must ricochet through their heads if they ever catch sight of one.

Of course, demonic visits to Earth are very few and far between, and if ever they do occur, their presence is heavily monitored by at least one of Humanity’s ferocious protectors.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, world-enders turned world-savers, and your best and dearest friends.

It occurs to you that they may already be waiting for you at your apartment, no doubt arguing over which of your horror movies they want to watch first.

It’s rare that you manage to get all four of them in a room together nowadays, rarer still if you manage it without anyone suffering a bloody nose, but human holidays, it seems, have become important to them.

Strife says it’s because you’re important to them.

But then, Strife says a lot of things.

A dainty smile wobbles tentatively across your face at the thought of them waiting for you, so, with a slightly lighter heart, you round the corner of the last house and continue on your path towards home, your steps a little surer than before.

Behind you, you can pick up the distant chatter of a group of youngsters following the same path as you, likely heading home after filling their pumpkin buckets to the brim with sweet things.

It’s as you’re strolling past a nondescript, dead-end alley that it happens.

The sound of rustling alerts you to the presence of… something. You’ve spent enough time around Death to be a little more in tune with your surroundings than you used to be.

In a snap, your head whips towards the shadowy entrance to the alley.

At the exact same moment, something tall, sinewy and dark lurches towards you.

“SHIT!” you holler, stumbling backwards, your heart soaring up into your throat as the thing howls shrilly into the night.

You catch the flash of a red face, pointed teeth protruding from black lips, horns that spiral towards the sky.

That’s all you see before a switch in your mind flips, like something inside you has snapped in half, and the world around you goes blank and quiet, only impeded by the ringing in your muffled ears.

-----

War is not overprotective.

He’s simply honouring the duty he set out for himself. Keeping you safe is not unlike a mission, and the youngest Horseman has always adhered to his missions with a dogged and unrelenting tenacity.

That said, if he could somehow find a way to glue you to him, perhaps keep you nestled safely in the depths of his soul, he’d certainly be a lot less agitated every time you’re left on your own for too long.

Tonight, for instance, he was the first Horseman to arrive at your home, squeezing himself through your front door with begrudging care. You’d seemed so distraught the first time he simply bulldozed his way inside, shoulder pauldrons tearing off enormous swathes of your doorframe, and he’d rather avoid a repeat of the scathing looks his siblings had sent him for a week after the fact.

It wasn’t long before he was joined by his brother, Strife, who spent a few moments griping that he wasn’t the first Horseman there before he quickly got over his minor annoyance and began to make himself right at home, kicking his boots up on your coffee table and burying himself into your well-worn sofa.

They were soon joined by Fury, and finally, Death.

But still, there was no sign of you.

They managed to wait together for all of twenty minutes before someone – Strife – had made the tentative suggestion that you might be in trouble.

And after that…. well.

There was no harm in just… checking the surrounding area, was there?

Death stayed outside your apartment building to wait for you, just in case you came back, though he’d sent his crow, Dust, to scour the city for you in his stead.

In the meantime, Fury, Strife and War set out to roam the blocks surrounding your home, summoning their steeds to cover more ground.

The youngest Horseman has to keep his horse’s reins in check.

Ruin - an ebony beast of a stallion with a mane of smoke, and legs like molten rock – can sense his rider’s agitation, keeping his thick neck arched high, nostrils round and wide as he tromps heavily down the road, sending sparks flying from his hooves with every step.

Without warning, Ruin throws his enormous head up, ears shooting forwards to point down the street, and his muscles tighten rigidly beneath the saddle.

“Y/n?” War asks his steed, standing in the stirrups and squinting through the streetlights to try and spy anything recognisable in the darkness.

Tossing his smoking mane, the almighty horse’s body suddenly jolts as he lets out a deep, guttural bellow, more akin to a roar than a whinny. The sound echoes over the rooftops, until it’s swiftly answered by a shriller, metallic neigh from several streets back.

Mayhem, at least, has received the message.

The street goes quiet again, and that’s when War hears it.

The unmistakable sound of crying.

Metal-clad heels have barely tapped Ruin’s flanks before the horse launches forwards into a dead gallop, thundering down the street towards the noise that drifts out from the darkness of a narrow, unlit alley.

War pulls his arm back as they draw close, gauntlet fisted around the heavy chain that serves as his horse’s reins.

With a squeal, Ruin plants his hooves against the tarmac and digs in, sparks flying as the pair come careening to a halt just outside the alley’s entrance.

The dim glow cast by Ruin’s legs isn’t much, but it’s just enough to allow his rider a glimpse into the shadows.

It takes much of War’s self-restraint to keep himself from gasping out your name.

There, in the gloom, you stand before him, hunched shoulders, still as stone, eyes ablaze in Ruin’s molten firelight.

War’s eyes flick rapidly over you from head to toe. His first instinct is to scan for injuries.

But although your nostrils flare and your arms are spread wide out to either side of you, palms tilted backwards, he can’t discern anything glaringly obvious.

Even still, the Horseman isn’t satisfied with just a brief glance.

Shaking his boot from the stirrup, War heaves himself out of the saddle and drops heavily to the ground, shaking the earth as he lands.

And you crack like a whip.

An arm is thrust forwards at the Horseman with a jolt, tiny fist clenched as though you’re holding an invisible weapon. You widen your stance to stabilise yourself and rip your lips back, revealing blunt, unimpressive teeth. As you move however, War hears it again, crying. More specifically, a loud, childish sob.

But the sound hadn’t come from you.

All at once, he stops in his tracks, shifting his eyes down to the shadows behind you.

Three pairs of wet, glistening eyes blink back at him.

War’s brows shoot up into the darkness of his crimson hood, taken aback by the trio of human younglings cowering against a brick wall behind you.

Now, War isn’t the type of Horseman who would ever proclaim to be out of his depth in any situation… But when human younglings are involved, he’s only too willing to let Death, or even Strife take the lead. He has a hard time wrapping his head around how small you are compared to him. Children leave the titan especially perplexed.

As if summoned by the mere thought, the sound of hoofbeats steadily swing around the corner at the end of the street, galloping hell-for-leather towards him.

Ruin’s head twists sideways and he wickers deeply in greeting. An answer follows, the haunting, melancholy whinny of Despair.

War doesn’t tear his eyes off you though, not even when the powerful presences of three, ethereal steeds skid to a halt behind him, nor when their riders immediately launch into a frenzy of questions, each crowing to be heard over one another at the same time.

“War! Is she here?”

“Mayhem just turned and bolted over. The Hell is goin’ on!?”

“We heard Ruin’s call. Y/n. Is she all right?”

Rather than add his own voice to the confusion, War merely jerks his chin towards the alley, guiding the eyes of his siblings inside it.

Death is the first to spot you, and he’s the first to slip silently from Despair’s saddle, taking a slow, testing step towards you.

“Y/n?” he murmurs.

The very fact that you don’t even twitch at the sound of his voice is indication enough that something is very wrong.

“Death-“ Strife’s voice cuts in, armour clanking as he leans forwards in the saddle. “-She’s got kids with her…”

Kids…?

Their eldest lowers his gaze from where it had been studying your blank expression, and… Ah.

Three little ones - the tallest standing no higher than your hip - are squashed together against a wall, only a foot or so behind you, half hidden by your wide, protective stance.

Death would be embarrassed to admit that he’d missed them upon initial glance, especially given their bright, painted faces and unorthodox clothes indicative of tonight’s festivities. He’s supposed to be the observant one, not Strife. But in the moment, all the old Reaper could focus on was you.

“My,” Fury muses from her seat on Rampage’s back, “She really has been busy since we last saw each other…”

Despite her flippant tone, Death and his brothers know their hot-headed sister well enough to catch the strain in her words. She’s trying to pick apart this mystery, just as they all are.

“It’s the Horsemen,” hisses a boy wearing a straw hat best suited for a scarecrow.

Cowering behind your right arm, an older girl stammers, “That… that means, they can help us? Right?”

The Four give a rapid blink, all at the same time. It isn’t often they meet humans who have accepted the fact that the Horsemen are on Earth as protectors, not destroyers.

The girl turns her eyes onto Death, and he has to commend her effort to meet his stare before she drops it again, quivering under his gaze. Green makeup is swiftly washed away as tears stream in rivulets down her face.

“She won’t let us leave,” she hiccoughs at the ground.

There’s no question as to who ‘She’ is.

You don’t react to the voices around you. But the sudden clang of metal… that does garner a reaction.

Strife can never do anything quietly, it seems. He’s too preoccupied with getting to you; his best and only friend. So, when the sharpshooter drops from Mayhem’s saddle and lands with a cacophonous clamour that doesn’t sound a million miles away from a gun’s retort, Death is hardly surprised that you duck your head as if you’ve been shot at, back-peddling towards the children until you end up pinning the smallest between the wall and your leg, arms once again throw out wide to keep the other two restrained against the brickwork.

All three of the younglings let out bleats of alarm, and the smallest pushes half-heartedly at your calf, sniffling and shaking, her eyes glued to the Reaper. She looks as though she can’t decide whether she wants to stay concealed behind you or take her chances with the fabled Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

“Damn it, Strife,” Fury reprimands.

But her brother isn’t looking her way. In fact, he can’t seem to take his eyes off your face, his own expression crumpling slowly underneath his metal visor as you stare through him, face blank and empty. You’ve gone quiet. So quiet. And so still, just as Death had numerously ordered you to do when you travelled with him across this ruined city all those years ago.

But it isn’t your silence and stillness that troubles Strife so.

You’d recoiled from him.

And perhaps it’s testament to how highly he holds you in his regard that your supposed fear of him is so crushing.

He takes a step towards you, hand outstretched and ready to try and rebuild whatever rift has grown between you.

His stomach nearly bottoms out when you stiffen in response, shoulders prickling like a furious stalker.

“Brother, stop.”

War’s immense gauntlet drops heavily onto his shoulder, jerking him to a halt.

If Strife hadn’t once promised you that he’d make an effort to stop antagonising his siblings so much, he’d have thrown his brother’s arm right back into his face, or perhaps he’d have simply wrenched the prosthetic off in frustration. There’s something upsetting his human, and it isn’t something he can shoot, so the pressure is building up inside his chest like a submarine filling with water.

“War?” Death calls lowly, stepping back and flicking a glance across at his youngest brother, “You’ve seen this before?”

“Not in her,” War replies, studying the eerie stillness of your chest. Are you breathing? You must be, if you’re standing upright.

And then Death utters something in the Nephilim language, a sharp, harsh word that rises on the second syllable, rolling from the back to the front of his mouth. Nephilim isn’t an easy language to speak, nor is it really put into practice now that the species has been reduced to four.

But War understands why his brother uses the word here. He doesn’t know of its translation into the Common tongue. If he were pressed to translate it, the closest he might come is something along the lines of ‘battle-trapped.’

“Mm,” he nods, his crimson hood rustling in the Autumn breeze as he repeats the word.

Strife and Fury share a glance upon hearing it, their gazes sharpening in sudden comprehension.

The former turns his helm towards you, raucous and righteous anger churning in his gut. “So, what did this?” he growls unevenly.

“That’s the problem. It could have been anything, or perhaps nothing at all,” Fury returns, no less incensed on your behalf. You’re not afraid of them. Hell, you’re probably not even seeing them right now. You aren’t really looking at her, nor at her siblings. Your gaze is centred past all of them, blind to everything around you except for whatever it is that only you can see.

They have seen this before, War more-so than the others, given his extensive history with large-scale conflicts.

“We have to get her out of this fugue,” Death addresses his fellow Horsemen, “We’ll worry about why this happened when she’s home.”

There’s a silent moment of agreement that passes between the four of them before their eldest returns his attention to you.

“Y/n…” he murmurs, and his siblings know better than to raise their brows at how gentle his voice is, “It’s us. Death, my brothers and sister. We’re all here.”

There are very, very few beings in the Universe that could draw even an ounce of gentleness from the ancient Nephilim. The fact that you’re one of them told his siblings all they needed to know about what you meant to their eldest brother from the moment you were first introduced to them.

“The area is clear,” War jumps in, “Fury and I swept the city. You’re safe.”

“So are the kids.” This time, it’s Strife who speaks up, following his brother’s lead, “You kept ‘em safe until we could get here.” Then, as an afterthought, he lowers his voice and adds gently, “You did good.”

Death’s keen eye immediately picks up on the minutest slouch of your shoulders.

He’s almost surprised. The Horsemen are not naturally a comforting bunch, but apparently, if it’s for you, they’re willing to make changes to their own nature. You’d always told Death not to underestimate what a powerful force friendship can be.

Seems you were right.

“Keep at it,” he tells his siblings, trying not to let on how shocked he is that they actually seem to be saying the right things for once.

Luckily, it doesn’t take much more coaxing before they see a little more life flickering across your face.

“… Wha-…” you breathe sharply, squeezing your eyes shut and prying them open again in a painfully slow blink, “What’s…? Guys?”

At once, Strife’s expression brightens, Fury’s fearsome scowl grows a touch softer, and War dips his head to hide his eyes behind the shadow of his hood, letting them slip shut in a moment of selfish relief.

You, however, immediately shrink in on yourself, drawing your arms up against your chest, breaths coming hard and fast.

“It’s all right, you’re safe,” Death shushes.

It’s all you can do to shake your head rapidly from side to side and blurt, “I… I think I have to go.”

“Hey, slow down,” Strife coaxes, “Take a breath, you don’t need to-“

But the Horseman is interrupted when your head snaps up and in a shrill voice, you shout, “- No, I have to go now! I-I can’t be in this fucking alley!”

It takes enormous effort to peel your feet off the ground, but you start to take a strident step towards the road, your vision tunnelling into an inherent and desperate need to get out of the open and into somewhere familiar and secure. But just as you begin to move, somebody whimpers behind you, and you’re ashamed to say that you whip around with a defensive snarl curling your lips back… only to come face to face with a trio of small, wide-eyed children.

The tips of your fingers turn to ice, but in your chest, there burns a feverish heat that feels as if it’s creeping up your throat to suffocate you.

“I’m… I sorry,” you insist shakily, trying so hard not to wince at the uncertainty plastered across their faces, “l… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

You’ve turned away before you can even finish your own sentence. Every molecule is insisting that you get away from this alley. Something bad happened here. Something terrible wanted to hurt you. Your body flushes with sudden, scalding panic that lights a fire beneath your heels and sends you hurrying straight to War’s side.

When Death introduced you to his siblings, War was the last Horseman you approached. There was nothing about him that signalled an interest in getting to know you. Strife had been only too eager to snatch you out from under Death’s wing and bully his way firmly into your day-to-day life. Fury had at least spent time learning about humans and found you worthy of respect, especially after hearing of the trials you were subjected to on her eldest brother’s quest.

But War? War was just… there. Like a mountain looming on your horizon, always in the periphery of your vision, always with that severe glower on his face that would have been terrifying if Strife didn’t tell you that it’s just his default expression, and that War was simply taking his role as your personal guard far too seriously.

That was the first you’d heard of the Red Rider’s apparent undertaking. It wasn’t just Fury who’s respect you’d earned by staying at Death’s side until the very end.

Now, if ever you’re in the mindset to look for safety, War’s side is the first place you head for.

He stands still and unaffected as a statue as you slot yourself carefully next to him, not close enough to touch him, but close enough to feel his powerful presence engulf you as tangibly as the natural warmth his body kicks out. The Horseman knows better than to press you to step closer. With your arms wrapped defensively around your torso, chin tucked almost to your chest and your eyes fixed solidly onto the glow of Ruin’s hooves, you’re all but radiating agitation. If he tries to touch you and you lash out and strike his impermeable armour, it won’t be him getting hurt.

Strife tries to inch his way over to you, but a deep, thrumming growl from his largest brother halts him in his tracks. When War gets a mind to guard your space, he can sound like the engine of something very large and very powerful revving itself, warding off potential intruders.

The sharpshooter clicks his tongue irritably but is at least wise enough to maintain a safe distance, opting to try and catch your eye instead.

“Hey. What happened?” he murmurs.

It is, evidently, the wrong thing to ask.

Your head is suddenly thrown from side to side with a ferocious refusal, the words locked behind your gritted teeth. You don’t want to think about it. You just want to go home and forget it ever happened.

“It was… Leon…”

You’re equal parts relieved to hear someone else speak up in your stead and mortified that a child has to explain for you.

Christ, but you’re tired…

It’s the youngest of the three children who steps forwards, wringing her tiny hands together and swallowing thickly when the Four apocalyptic riders turn to look down at her in curiosity.

Dwarfed by the giants in her path, she points a trembling finger at you and says in a voice as small as she is, “I think he scared her. My daddy gets real scared like that when he sees red wine…”

The other two younglings are gaping down at her as though she’s grown a feline tail to match the badly drawn whiskers flecked across her cheeks.

Death bends to one knee in an effort to appear smaller, less threatening, though with a countenance so grim, the endeavour is in vain. The children still cower from him as though he’ll pounce on them like a hungry panther. If only they knew how seldom the Horseman takes a knee, they might not be so frightened.

“Who is this Leon?” he questions, urging his anger to remain at a safe, unprovoked simmer. It isn’t the fault of these young ones that he’s growing impatient, but he for one would rather like to know the whereabouts of the wretch who scared his human.

Wide eyes peep up at him, squinting curiously at his mask for a moment before she speaks again, a little emboldened by his manner, if not his appearance. “Leon Korby. He’s a bully,” she tells him firmly.

“He’s just some teenager who lives on our street,” the older girl pipes up, sweeping a calculating look at the Horsemen. It occurs to Death that she hadn’t thrown in the word ‘teenager’ by chance.

She probably thinks she’s just saved the boy’s life, believing that his age might deter the Nephilim from tracking him down and putting the fear of an uncaring god into him.

She’s probably right.

… Probably.

“Teenager? The guy turns twenty next month. He’s been bragging about his stupid plan for weeks,” the boy grumbles, deeming the Horsemen safe enough, now that his friends have already engaged with them. “He said he was going to get a demon mask and use it on Halloween to screw with people’s heads.”

Fury’s teeth gnash and she spits out a Nephilim word that you’d likely tell her off for if she said it in Common in front of children. Force of habit has Death grunting reproachfully at his sister, but he has to admit, he concurs with her sentiment. Whoever Leon is, teenager or no, he really does sound like a little shit.

“Dumbass,” Strife hisses poisonously, earning a hard glare from War.

“You walloped him good though!” the littlest human points out, though she only serves to make you bury your face in your hands, mortified.

“I did,” you agree miserably as your memory stirs up a flash of wide, startled eyes gawking at you through the holes of a red, horned mask. And it was a mask, you realise, struck by a wave of vivid mortification that threatens to knock you off your feet.

Just a dumb kid in a cheap, plastic mask who was too young to foresee the consequences of his actions and took a fist to the face for his error in judgement.

You’d punched a kid.

Your stomach twists itself into a knot of coiling, curling guilt that only seems to wind tighter and tighter with no end in sight.

You don't know how long you stand there, drowning under the weight of regret and embarrassment whilst Death picks a few more details out of the children you'd inadvertently tried to 'save.' Everything seems to blur around you as fatigue sets in, an emotional crash that drains the muscles in your legs of any strength.

You only start paying attention again when Death rises to his full height.

“Fury,” he announces, turning to face his sister who still sits astride Rampage. Ever since they were reunited, she and the horse have been inseparable, as if she’s glued herself to the saddle and is simply too embarrassed to admit she can’t dismount.

Pale, white eyes burn through the darkness at Death as he continues, “See these children home.”

“What?” she hisses between her teeth.

“Make sure they get there safely.”

“And why am I the one assigned to be babysitter?” the irate Horseman bristles, “Strife loves humans so much, let him escort them!”

One of Death’s eyelids twitches as he heaves a rough sigh and relents. “Fine” the word leaves his lips like it always does; reluctantly. But he isn’t in any mood to argue with Fury, not while your state of mind remains to be determined. “Strife?”

The Sharpshooter’s head lifts in acknowledgement, and he turns his golden gaze onto the trio of younglings huddled together in the alley’s entrance. Death regards him coolly for a moment, knowing that there’s an internal struggle in his brother’s mind right now, with one side anxious to stick by you, whilst another part of him – the part that’s slowly grown fonder of humans since meeting you – urges him to see a bunch of scared younglings safely to their caretakers.

“We don’t need a chaperone,” the oldest girl states testily, “Our houses are just around the corner.”

It isn’t clear whether her defiance or the promise of a short trip is what ultimately sways Strife’s decision, but in the next second, the Horseman has banished Mayhem to the outer realms and planted his metal gauntlets squarely on his hips. “Yeah? Damn, n’here I was hopin’ to come with you, and maybe catch a couple of houses on the way back. What’d you call it? Track or tricking?”

It’s a shame you don’t have it in you to smile because Strife’s attempts to add levity to a grim situation are usually rather grin-inducing.

At least the children, specifically the little girl, indulges him in a giggle. “It’s Trick or Treating,” she corrects him in that exasperated way only the young do when they’re convinced an adult is being dense.

“Oh yeah,” Strife perks up, cocking his avian helm and gesturing down at himself, adding, “Wonder how much of the sweet stuff folks’ll give to a costume this cool.”

Suddenly, the older two children look a little more interested, and you feel your pulse tentatively start to ease itself back to a normal pace.

Turning briefly to his siblings, Strife mutters, “Get ‘er home safe, got it?”

It’s bold of him to phrase it like an order, not a request, but neither Fury, Death nor War can honestly say they wouldn’t command the same thing of each other if roles were switched.

As it stands, the other three merely offer their brother resolute nods, or in Death’s case, the tiniest upward lift of his chin. Acknowledgement.

They all know how important you are to Strife.

You watch on in idle contemplation as your friend ushers the children from the alleyway, a spring in their steps, each gazing up at the towering, armoured giant with varying levels of curiosity and fascination.

You’re glad it’s no longer with horror.

Vivid, blue light flares across your shadow for a moment as Rampage plods up behind you, tossing his electric mane and stretching his neck out to flex his wide nostrils into your hair inquisitively.

“Would you like to ride with us?” Fury asks when you tilt your head to glance blearily up at her.

Even in the dulled state of exhaustion you find yourself swept up in, you have enough of your wites to recognise that you’re being offered a very rare opportunity. Even as endeared to you as she is, it isn’t often that Fury invites you up onto Rampage’s saddle.

Sucking down a steadying breath, you haul the corners of your mouth into a weary smile and raise an arm towards her, knowing very well that you won’t be allowed to take no for an answer.

----

You get a lot of looks on the ride back home, though most are fleeting, a passing curiosity. Most people around here have grown accustomed to seeing you sitting astride at least one of the almighty steeds.

“I’m sorry to drag out here like this…” you mutter under your breath, stretching your hand forwards to twist cold fingers into Rampage’s erratic mane.

“Don’t be foolish,” Fury is quick to reprimand, her tone sharp like the whip strapped to her saddle. She must have felt you tense against her stomach, because when she next speaks, her voice has a tad less edge to it. “You couldn’t drag us anywhere we didn’t want to be…”

Letting her words sink in, the Horseman falls silent, turning to catch the eye of her youngest and oldest brothers, who’ve both guided their horses into stride at each of Rampage’s flanks.

War, to your left, scans the street ahead of you, blue eyes narrowed to guarded slits, as if any of the kids dressed up as vampires and werewolves might actually pose as much of a threat as the very creatures they’re trying to portray.

To your right, Death and Despair glide along, though you can’t help but notice that the rider is just as vigilant as his brother. At least Death is being subtle about it.

Lowering your head, you say, “I still can’t believe I hit some teenager.”

“From what I gather,” Death huffs, “It was a warranted hit.”

Drawing your brows into a hard scowl, you reply, “That’s no excuse… Shit… What if it happens again…?” You trail off for several seconds, listening to the distant sounds of chatter and laughter intermingling underneath the steady plods of enormous hooves on the tarmac.

“What… if I hurt someone else?” you finally whisper, shrinking backwards into Fury’s torso, “I… didn’t even know what the Hell I was doing. I could have really hurt those kids, just because, for like… a second, I couldn’t tell the difference between a real demon and some dumb teen dressed in a shitty, plastic mask.”

“Sometimes…” War grunts, shifting in Ruin’s saddle to look down at you, “… a second can be the difference between life and death. Surely you learned that travelling with my brother.” He sends Death a pointed look whilst you press your lips together miserably.

“But I’m not travelling with Death now, am I?” you utter, “It’s over. I… I know the Earth is safe, I do. I just-…”

But the words fail to emerge.

A familiar burn starts up just behind your eyelids, and you try to hurriedly swipe a palm across your face, smearing flecks of mascara across your cheeks. You fail to notice the three Horsemen exchanging glances over the top of your head.

“Perhaps,” Death sighs, “This is a conversation you can have after you’ve had some rest.”

You’d protest, insist that you’re not tired, but you know it’s written plain as ink across your downcast face.

It isn’t far to your home, and you’re only a few metres from the front door by the time you hear hoofbeats cantering up the road behind you. As is the norm, you hear Strife before you see him.

“Sorry we’re late,” he announces, pulling Mayhem up short to trot alongside Ruin, “Got distracted scorin’ those kids some candy.”

“I trust you didn’t keep any for yourself?” Death asks.

“C’mon, does that sound like somethin’ I’d do?”

The ringing silence from three of the Four Horsemen is telling enough, and you even find yourself smiling a little easier for the first time in what feels like hours.

Strife mutters something that’s muffled underneath his visor, but he doesn’t press his innocence, for once, instead angling Mayhem towards the door of your building and surging ahead, swinging himself out of the saddle. This time, at least, he makes sure to land with considerably less force.

He’s joined quickly by War, who similarly dismounts and strides over to Rampage, hardly waiting for Fury to draw her steed to a halt before he’s reaching up and taking you by the hips, pulling you gingerly from the saddle.

Hanging back, Death watches you safely onto solid ground once more. Then, when he’s satisfied that your legs aren’t going to collapse from under you, he raises his voice and calls out, “War, Strife. Get her inside… Fury. With me.”

“Wait. Where are you going?” you immediately cotton on, squinting up at the Reaper.

Feigning boredom, he merely twists his mask away from you and nonchalantly replies, “Just performing a standard perimeter check. You know we always do them when we visit.”

“Death? Death!” you snap as Strife takes you by the shoulders and begins to coax you towards the door, “Look, just – Just don’t you do anything stupid, okay?”

“Y/n, you do wound me. When have I ever?” the Nephilim returns breezily, though his response does nothing to soothe the suspicion on your face.

Even though it would be only too easy for Strife to simply drag you inside, you plant a hand on the doorframe and root your feet to the ground, twisting about to glare up at Death around War’s hulking mass. “I mean it,” you reiterate, frowning at him meaningfully, “I’m okay. I promise.”

The Reaper only peers back at you for several, silent seconds before at last, he dips his head in a slow nod, ebony locks falling about his mask. “Get some rest,” he tells you, “We’ll return shortly.”

At once, your face falls slack into quiet resignation, and you allow yourself to be shepherded through the door by an insistent Strife. War follows after you closely, blocking you from view entirely as he fills the doorway with his immense frame, though not before he spares his brother and sister a departing grunt, telling them without words that he’ll take care of you.

And in another moment, he shoulders the door closed with a resounding slam, leaving two of the Four outside in the cool, Autumn night, their steeds puffing plumes of white condensation into the air.

“So,” Fury breaks the silence, giving the reins a tug and turning Rampage around to face the street beyond your apartment, “You have a plan, I take it?”

Death tilts his head in a so-so manner as he too nudges Despair around. “In a manner of speaking.”

Restless, the horses begin to paw at the tarmac, shaking out their manes and whickering impatiently.

Fury’s hum is skeptical as she glances at her brother from the corner of a narrowed eye. “I hope you’ve thought it through, at least,” she grumbles, “Y/n will never forgive us if she finds out we tracked down this Leon Korby…”

“You make it sound as if I mean to hurt the boy,” Death responds coolly.

“Mm. You wouldn’t be the only one…” Cracking her knuckles, Fury sends him a wicked grin and continues, “So, what is the plan then?”

Behind his bone-mask, Death’s countenance remains solid and unaffected, business-like, one might call it. Nudging Despair with his heels, he moves the horse into a steady trot, back up the street they’d escorted you down, his sunburst gaze rigidly focused on the path ahead.

“I think it would be prudent of us to pay the boy a visit,” he remarks, hearing Rampage swiftly fall into a brisk pace at Despair’s side, “So that we may remind him why it may not be the wisest idea to pretend to be a demon. Why, suppose he were to be mistaken by the wrong person? A Horseman, for instance, whose purpose it is to rid the city of any rogue demons that might pop up to threaten the human population.”

He doesn’t need to look to see his sister’s gleaming teeth bare themselves in an eager, primal grin.

[puppetmaster13u]

Fun lil Challenge, guess which batkid is being referred to :)

[1] They say she was once a child, a human who became lost in the dark. They say the bat found her, took her, made her reborn in a form of his own blood and bone. 

[2] They say there is a child laughing in the night, one who didn’t bow to anyone’s words or might. They say he came from the bat’s own blood, spilled in the clouds of the sky and formed from the lightning’s laughter. 

[3] They say he emerged from the Narrows, plucked from the very alleys and formed in the bloodstained shadows. They say he died, killed by a man with much hubris, but that he returned of ashen wings and screaming call.

[4] They say the Bat’s shadow spilled from his body, that he dreamed of a child who escaped into the world of reality. They say you don’t see her, don’t hear her until it’s too late, that she slips into the realms of nightmares to tear her prey apart without even a single cut.

[5] They say there’s a pair of twins, a brother and sister of violence and wrath, borne from the Bat’s grief. They say they were the spirits of children who hid in the Bat’s wings for too long, forming from long shed feathers into bodies of their own.

[6] They say the Bat only emerges at night, but needed something for the day. They say he rewarded the signal with life, that he gave it wings and body and mind in return for becoming another of his children. They say it sleeps inanimate at night, that you should never wake it up lest you pay the price.

[7] They say there was a child who cried into the night, who called the Bat with the wish to take him away. They say the child strayed too far, yet others claim he was always one of the Bat’s, that they appear in Gotham for their father to take.

[8] They say the Bat devoured a god of sea who dared to enter his land. They say he stole away a star to craft into a child all his own, of purples and blues and eyes so bright. A creature torn from the skies only to be returned on wings their own. 

[lilpunkrock]

where you go (i will go) — part xvi

Summary: With assistance from Destiny, your war with Desire finally comes to an end.

Words: 10.0k+

AN: It's all come down to this. I hope you all enjoy. x

masterlist

. . .

“All I really know is that you’re where I wanna go,

The part of me that’s you will never die;

So when I’m all choked up, but I can’t find the words,

Every time we say goodbye baby it hurts;

When the sun goes down, and the band won’t play,

I’ll always remember us this way.” 

Always Remember Us This Way, Noelle Johnson

. . . 

part xvi

The seven Endless. Destiny. Death. Dream. Destruction. Despair. Desire. Delirium. 

Of the seven anthropometric beings, Destiny was the most mysterious to you. Funny, considering your paths had been irrevocably intertwined for millenia. He was responsible for your creation, the ultimate source of your daily duties. And yet, you’d never spoken with him, let alone seen him, in all of your divine existence. 

You suppose it’s only fitting, then, that you should finally meet. 

When you open your eyes, the Garden of Forking Ways greets you. You’ve heard myths of its serene beauty, but nothing could have prepared you to witness its splendor in person. The expansive garden you find yourself in is low and flat compared to the green hills and snow-dipped mountains that climb upward and outward far in the distance. A pale mist settles in the nooks and crannies of the elevated landscape, partially enshrouding the remnants of monuments, citadels, and temples that dapple the mountainsides. The sky is a peaceful robin’s egg blue. 

And then, there are the walkways. Paths made of yellow sandstone curl and twist and cut across the garden, branching off into walkways that lead in multiple directions. If you squint hard enough, you can see them curl up and over the hillsides, only to disappear into the mist settling over the mountains. 

“It is said that decisions made in Destiny’s garden determine future paths, ward,” the Crone had advised as she rested a wrinkled hand upon your forehead, preparing to send you here. “Choose wisely.” 

You spin in a slow circle, observing all of the possible forks and branches you can take. No path looks particularly different than another. 

And so, you just start walking. 

The air is cool and crisp as you wind down the paths that curl over the grass. It’s at the edge of the garden that you reach your first fork in the path. One sandstone walkway snakes toward a set of crumbling ruins to your right, while the other curls around a towering stone temple to your left. 

How am I supposed to decide? you wonder, glancing back and forth between the two options before you. Did your choices here really matter as much as the Fates had said? Or was it all just tall tales and mythology?

With a deep breath, you close your eyes in contemplation. There’s a peace that comes from removing the sight of the options in front of you. It allows you to think clearly, to look inward rather than outward. 

Standing at the fork in the path, you draw in deep lungfuls of the crisp air. The only sound that meets your ears is the soft whisper of your breathing. 

There. A tiny shift, almost imperceptible, twinges within your chest. It beckons you to the left, toward the towering stone temple. 

When you open your eyes, you take the path to the left with confidence. 

As you walk along the outside of the temple, you alternate between glancing down the sloping hills to your right and into the open corridors of the temple to your left. Each time, you wonder if you might spot Destiny. But each time you find yourself alone, a solitary figure wandering amongst the Endless’s Garden of Forking Ways. 

It’s not the end of the world, you suppose. It gives you time to think of what’s to come. Time to ponder how you’re going to plead your case to the Endless. 

The day you’d died and been reborn, the Fates had declared that your fate was written in the book of Destiny of the Endless. Millenia spent walking as an immortal had taught you its true name: The Book of Souls. It was the book that your daily assignments were based on. A tome bound in leather made from a beast that had never been born. The book within which all things existed, the book that contained the fate of all things past, present, and future. 

The fates of all eros, philia, philautia, erotoropia, storge, pragma, and agape bonds were in that book. The fates of all of Desire’s bonds were in that book.

The universe required balance between love and desire. Shifts and changes tipped the scales in either direction at any given moment. Balancing these scales was an ongoing challenge, and would be until the end of time. But only as long as you were working blind, like you were now. You were working with limited information, fulfilling the steps in years-long prophecies on a day-to-day basis. Meanwhile, Desire did as they pleased, placing attachments without any regard for the scales at large. 

And that was the heart at the center of your theory. What if changing the process by which you worked could turn the tide? What if you could see the future of love and desire on the grandest scale, all at once? You could find the balance between the two. You could determine the events that needed to occur to ensure this balance was fulfilled. You could foster and protect and insure your attachments in advance, so that nothing could prevail against them. 

Maybe you could even protect your own. 

Do you really think you can succeed? the accursed voice of doubt whispers in the back of your mind. Your power had grown exponentially over the past several months. Each bond you fostered felt more concrete than ever before. You were capable of breaking Desire’s bonds now, too, though it came at a cost.  

You weren’t sure what the cost of a feat like this would be, or if you could even pull it off. But you had to believe that you could. To protect the love bonds of humanity for the remainder of time. To finally escape from Desire’s grasp, to make you an equal in their eyes. To protect Dream. 

When you round the corner of the stone temple, you come to a halt. 

You’ve walked onto another flat, expansive garden off the side of the temple. Lining the side of this garden, however, is a row of towering statues carved from pale stone. All but one stand facing the temple. As enormous as they are, their features are easily recognizable to you from afar: Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Despair, Desire, and Delirium. 

All paths lead back to him. 

Your feet carry you toward the effigies in a trance. You’d once heard that, if you stood watch in Destiny’s garden long enough, you’d notice the statues’ almost imperceptible movements. They weren’t just sculptures, after all. They were manifestations, meant to mirror the condition of their living counterparts. 

When you come to a stop directly in front of Dream’s sculpture, you find his head downturned, his carved stone eyes gazing directly at you.

“Oh, Dream.” 

Your palm comes to rest against the cool stone of the effigy’s shoe gently, as if to comfort him. If you were to make things right–if you were to free humanity, Dream, and yourself from Desire’s meddling–this needed to work. You needed Destiny’s assistance. 

Dream had once told you that his elder brother made no mistakes. You wonder if Destiny of the Endless will deem your plan as just or foolish. You wonder if he expects you here now.

“Greetings, Agape, Goddess of Love.” 

You spin so haphazardly that your soul is nearly flung from your body. “Son of a—so you all like to do that, do you?”

Destiny of the Endless towers before you, his head slightly bowed, the upper half of his features cloaked in shadow. “I have been awaiting your arrival,” he says, his voice low and measured. 

Well, that answers that question. 

Standing before the being who foretold your creation, one of the eldest beings in the universe, you observe his features for the first time. Destiny easily towers over you by at least a foot. His slim form is cloaked in beige robes, his bare feet resting lightly atop the path you both stand upon. The hood of his cloak is drawn low over his face, concealing his eyes from you. His shoulders, though broad, are slightly hunched from eons spent crouched over the Book of Souls. The hefty tome itself is tucked under his arm. The chain that permanently links it to his wrist glints in the sunlight. 

To stand in his presence is both awe-inspiring and disconcerting. He was one of the most powerful and ancient beings in existence, after all. Your entire life–past, present, and future–was contained in the book held under his arm, the subject of his musing on any given day. If you thought Dream’s presence was otherworldly, then Destiny’s aura is transcendent, almost alien.

In spite of the obvious dominion he holds over you, Destiny does not appear haughty. Though no smile graces his wrinkled face, his expression–what you can see of it, anyway–appears calm, reposed. Something in the back of your mind tells you he is appeased by your arrival, the fulfilling of a prophecy he’s likely known about since his first breath. 

With a deep, calming breath, you offer him a small smile. A gesture of good will. “Well, if you’ve been expecting me, then I suppose you also know why I’m here.” 

Destiny’s thumb trails along the spine of the Book of Souls, back and forth. “Your arrival and intentions are within the scheme of things, all of which are known to me,” he says. He speaks with a perfect and polite intonation, almost as if reading from a script. You wonder how many times he’s read of this encounter, if he’s ever rehearsed these lines. “Regardless, I invite you to state your intentions for visiting me, as has been foretold.” 

There is a twitch at the corner of your mouth, the beginnings of a smile. There’s something about Destiny that stands out to you. This regality, this formality, this neutrality–it reminds you of Dream, particularly when you first met him. You can’t help but smile in full at the realization. 

“I’d like to look in your book, if it is the universe’s will,” you say, sounding far more confident than you expected to. 

There is a long pause as Destiny considers you. Only the soft whisper of the breeze and the friction of his thumb against the leather book spine intrude upon the silence. “And what is it you wish to find?” he asks, even though he already knows. 

It feels like the two of you are fulfilling roles in a play. You off-handedly wonder if it’s a comedy or tragedy. “I’m sure you’re aware that, since my creation, I’ve been at odds with your younger sibling, Desire. I’ve often struggled to maintain balance between the scales we share. Admittedly, I used to think that love should prevail over desire in all circumstances. But now, I see things differently. My abilities have grown in recent months. I hope to use my new power to establish balance between love and desire. Not just now, but forever.” You work your jaw, mulling over how to word your request. “Right now, I fulfill attachments on a day-to-day basis. I can see the needs of the present, but not the futures that my people are moving toward. If I can learn the fates of humanity’s attachments from your Book of Souls, I believe I can preset and guard the final outcomes of my attachments. In particular, eros, philia, and agape.”

Destiny’s head tilts ever so slightly. “I see the assurance of your function in this plan. But what of my sibling’s?”

“Eros, philia, and agape have always been close to my heart. Romantic love, soul ties, and selfless love–they're three of the most powerful forms of love in existence. Their fulfillment must be assured. Desire will be free to influence mortals in their philautia, erotoropia, pragma, and storge attachments. It will be a trade. A balance.” A heavy pause. You nibble at the inside of your cheek anxiously. “I hope.” 

“You fulfill your role well,” Destiny muses. He inclines his chin slightly, as if to get a better look at you. As his hood lifts, you catch a glimpse of his eyes for the first time. Clouded with a milky white film, they appraise you as if they are perfectly clear. “I must confess, it was unexpected to see the Book of Souls prophesy the transformation of a human into a deity. I did not doubt its words, but it was surprising, nonetheless.” 

Destiny’s words hang in the air, settling over you quietly. Under the subject of his sightless gaze, you suddenly do not feel like a deity, or a goddess, or a diplomat pleading the case of her function. You feel like yourself, like someone with endless questions, finally coming face-to-face with the one who holds all the answers. A mortal standing in the presence of omnipotence. 

“Why let it all play out this way? Pitting a goddess against an Endless?” You gesture to the statue of Desire that stands towers above you several paces away. Their likeness carved in stone is almost as unsettling as it is in life. “The power imbalance is too great. Even now, this plan of mine is just a theory. I don’t know for certain that it’s going to work.” You pause, working your jaw, mulling over how much to say, how big of a risk to take. “It’s unfair,” you finally dare to accuse. 

For a moment, Destiny is still as the stone effigy of him that oversees the garden. When he does finally move, it is to draw the Book of Souls out from under his arm. His palm sweeps over the bronze leather cover with reverence. “I do not dictate the Book of Souls; it dictates me. I do not choose what is to happen; I am the Keeper that ensures all happens as it should.” Destiny’s eyes drift from the tome in his hands to you. In spite of his blindness, there’s something about his gaze that makes you feel as if he sees straight through to your soul. When he speaks again, his tone is low, matter-of-fact, absolute. “All has unfolded as it was meant to, and all is as it should be. There is a reason for all things, but not all are meant to know the reason.”

Your mouth opens on instinct as a protest leaps to your tongue. However, you catch yourself, pressing your lips together quickly. You were speaking with Destiny of the Endless, keeper of the past, present, and future of the universe. You were already asking for far too big of a favor, for far more than you had ever heard of Destiny bestowing upon another being. Best not to press your luck with protests. 

“There is one piece of information you withhold from me,” Destiny says. “There is one being for whom you wish to protect all attachments. Is there not?” 

Your heart flutters in your chest. He’s found you out, your mind chides anxiously, frazzled with nerves. But, then again, could you really be all that surprised? He was Destiny of the Endless. Knowing everything was his function. 

It’s pointless to lie. And so, you don’t. “Yes,” you breathe past the vice that grips your throat. “Love is about being selfless. I’ve tried to be selfless all my life. Just once…I want to do something selfish. I need to protect him.”

A quiet hum rumbles in Destiny’s chest. You’re not sure if it’s one of amusement, consideration, or displeasure. When he speaks again, there is no anger in his voice. You hope it is one of the former options. “Your desire to protect him regardless of the cost is a mortal quality. The preservation of your mortal qualities into your divine existence was long foretold. They have made you a more effective deity to your people.” A brief pause. A sweep of his hand over the Book of Souls. “They were essential to your connection with him, as well.” 

Destiny inclines his head to look above you, past you. When you follow his milky white gaze, you find yourself staring at the statue of Dream. It still looks at you.

Understanding settles into your heart, soft, soothing, and supple. You turn from Destiny then, resting your palm against the smooth stone cloak clothing Dream’s effigy. Where was he now, at this very moment? Was he thinking of you, as you were thinking of him? Did he miss you like you missed him, with a physical force both sweet and painful? Could he feel it through the bond you shared?

“Was I always meant to love him?” you ask, your voice scarcely more than a whisper. Under the gaze of Dream’s sculpture, you feel soothed, at peace. You suspect you could remain here forever, never looking away. “From the moment I was born mortal, was it always meant to be this way?”

“You will soon learn.”

Hope sparks in your heart at Destiny’s words, bright and jarring. Still, you trail your fingers down the cloak of Dream’s statue slowly, fondly, before you turn to him. “You’re going to let me read your book, then,” you say, a hint of a question in your statement. 

Destiny’s clouded gaze holds yours as he extends the Book of Souls to you. The links in the chain binding him to the tome ring as he does so. “All is as it should be,” he says simply. 

Your eyes don’t stray from his as you take the volume from him with gentle hands. In spite of its size, it’s not as heavy as you would have expected, especially for carrying the entire record of the known and unknown universe. Though the book now rests in your hands, Destiny’s chain extends between you, still binding him to it. A reminder that you are only borrowing his function. A reminder of the significance of this gift he’s giving you. 

No matter what it takes, you won’t let it go to waste. 

Your eyes fall closed as you inhale deeply. As the pages of the Book of Souls flutter open under your touch, the sweet scent of ink and paper greets your nose. When you flatten your hand atop the open page before you, it’s with conviction. 

Show me. 

With an exhale, the world around you disappears. 

. . . 

When the Book of Souls pulls you in, it’s as if you’ve been plunged into lukewarm water. Though the world you float in is neither hot nor cold, it’s no less jarring. When you try to draw in a breath, your lungs refuse. When you open your eyes, you find nothing but solid, suffocating darkness. Your palm won’t lift from the page it rests on. 

For a brief, terrifying moment, panic surges through you. You’ve felt like this before—trapped in darkness, unable to move, robbed of air. It’s almost too much, too quickly. 

But then, a familiar feeling surfaces. A stirring in your chest, a hum that calls from your heart like the sweetest song. A sensation you haven’t felt in weeks. That you haven’t felt since you last saw Dream.

The answer is here.

Show me, you speak into the darkness, sweeping your palm over the book’s ancient pages. Show me what I need to see. 

Fulfilling your function has always been a visual endeavor. Fostering attachments, placing premonitions in dreams—it all required the ability to picture events in your mind, to imagine the future transpiring as you saw fit. 

But this—this is different. This isn’t visual—this is a feeling. Standing at the center of the universe, you feel attachments unfurl around you. Expanding outward, they curl and curve and twist like the Garden of Forking Ways. Glowing brightly amidst the darkness, the threads of white, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple spring outward like tree roots. When they reach their destination, a glowing outline of the mortal they belong to springs to life. Suddenly, you’re no longer alone, as millions upon millions of souls are revealed in the darkness. The threads continue to unspool, gaining speed, connecting mortals in an intricate web of divine design, expanding onward and onward and onward—

And suddenly, stillness breaks the rush of momentum. A soft gasp escapes you as you watch seven radiant threads unfurl from your own chest. Philia. Eros. Philautia. Erotoropia. Storge. Pragma. Agape. 

They stretch outward, seven lights that outshine the darkness. When they find their home, a familiar silhouette burns to life. Tall and slender, with a wild mop of hair. When his radiant silhouette is complete, he turns toward you. 

And you smile. 

. . . 

Retracting your hand from the Book of Souls feels like coming up for air. You heave in great gulps of it as your eyes fly open and the book falls shut between your hands. In a daze, you look around, gathering your bearings. When your eyes rest on Destiny, you find him watching you expectantly. 

“Wow. You do that all day, every day?” you ask, still trying to catch your breath. 

“I suspect my experience looking into the Book of Souls is different than yours, but yes,” Destiny says, his voice matter-of-fact. “To do so is my function, and my function is my purpose. 

Yep, he’s definitely Dream’s brother. 

You hand the Book of Souls back to him with care. As it leaves your hands, you feel lighter and heavier all at once. The knowledge you’ve gleaned from it burns at the forefront of your mind. Now that it’s back in Destiny’s possession, a realization settles over you. “You know how this is all going to end,” you say quietly. 

Destiny returns the Book of Souls to its rightful place under his arm. His thumb sweeps over its leather spine with something like fondness. “I do,” he says. 

“And I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a head’s up about anything?” 

There is an understanding in the silence between you. 

“I’ll try my best to do right by your book. And both of your siblings. I assure you,” you say, offering the Endless a firm nod. Then, you lift your chin, preparing to make one last request. “Before I leave, I do need your help with one last thing.”

“I know.”

. . .

The coffee shop buzzes with quiet chatter as you step through the front door. In another time–in what seems now like another life entirely–you would have been eager to approach the counter and find a unique item on the menu to try. The local special, something you couldn’t get anywhere else.

But today, your mind is not on coffee. You are focused on how the hum of conversation and the movement of patrons through the small shop will make it easy for you to slip away unnoticed. Your conversation with Destiny from mere hours ago plays on a loop in your mind. 

“The scales of love and desire lie within the pane where the Realm of Attachment and the Threshold meet. The sharing of your scales allows both you and Desire to traverse one another’s realms. Desire crosses this boundary each time they venture into yours.”

“But how do I find the pane? I’ve never seen the place where our realms meet.”

“How do you normally travel to your realm?”

When your fingers graze the shoulder of a mother sharing a muffin with her young son, your touch is featherlight, unnoticeable. The Realm of Attachment beckons you, urging you to step into this coffee shop on another plane of existence. When you reach out and through her, however, you don’t simply seek the alternate reality of this shop. Instead, you have a specific destination in mind. 

Take me to the place where the Realm of Attachment and the Threshold meet. 

A warm breeze ghosts across your cheeks, dancing through your hair. When you open your eyes, the sight that greets you steals the breath from your lungs. 

The world you’ve stepped into has been split in two. The half on which you stand is a kaleidoscope of colors, an intricate web of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and white threads that braid and twist and intertwine. The tapestry they weave is radiant, prismatic, as intricate and delicate as the fibers of a human iris. 

As the threads stretch out before you, however, they begin to bleed like watercolors. Where the threads blur and dissipate, clouds form in their place. Far in the distance, a humanoid citadel rises up from within them. Hands outstretched toward the sky, an enormous heart lies exposed in the center of its chest. Even from this distance, you can see the pulse of each heartbeat. You can even make out the familiar features on the citadel’s face. 

“So, this is how you’ve been visiting me all this time,” you whisper into the open air. As your feet carry you forward, toward the place where your worlds melt into one another, your hand rises of its own accord. When you extend your palm forward, you feel it rest on a flat surface that is invisible to the eye, but cool to the touch. Like a window between worlds. 

When Destiny had referenced a pane, it seems he’d meant it literally. 

“Fancy meeting you here, darling.”

At the familiar sing-song of Desire’s voice, you immediately pull your palm from the invisible pane. Turning to your right, you watch as the Endless walks toward you, feet ghosting over the clouds with feline grace. That was the thing about windows, you supposed–they worked both ways. 

Throughout your divine existence, you’ve had many encounters with Desire. Often, they incited feelings of panic, terror, anger, or annoyance. But today, it is an eerie sense of calm that settles over you as the Endless approaches. You wonder if they can sense it. 

“Correct me if I’m mistaken, but it appears that you and my dear brother Dream have had a falling out,” Desire coos, drifting from cloud to cloud like a phantom clothed in black. When they come to a stop across from you, they place their hands on their narrow hips, golden eyes wide and flashing. “You just can’t play along, can you?” 

You draw in a long breath through your nose, exhaling slowly through parted lips. Encouraging yourself to remember what your purpose is, the reason you’ve traveled here. One hand slips into your coat pocket, allowing your fingers to dance across the soft cloth of Dream’s sand pouch. Your memento. Your good luck charm. 

In spite of Desire’s taunting, the calm remains. 

You suspect your lack of response comes as a surprise, because Desire quirks one eyebrow at you. Slowly, they begin to pace back and forth on the other side of the invisible pane, eying you like a lamb led to slaughter. “No, I suppose you can’t. You’ve always had a little rebel in you, right from the beginning. Normally, I’d find that endearing.” Desire pauses to tilt their head at you. Their tongue flashes over their bone-white teeth. “Please, though–do share, darling. How did it feel to rip my brother’s heart from his chest? To hold it in your hand and squeeze? I’m dying to know.” 

Your hand closes around the pouch of sand in your pocket, a subtle movement that maintains your composure. “That’s enough, Desire,” you warn, your voice firm and even. 

The Endless’s eyes flash at your retort. Their delicate features contort with agitation. When they speak, their voice is sharp with malice. “Be honest, little goddess. Look at yourself–exhausted, battered, broken, and alone. Was it really worth it? Dying for your dear first love, all those years ago? Just to end up here?”

A thousand memories flash through your mind at Desire’s words, a highlight reel of your entire divine life. A re-living of all the things you would have missed if your life had ended that night by that fire with those hands around your neck. Long conversations with Death at funerals and battlegrounds. The pure elation of fostering billions upon billions of attachments, including Matt and Ava’s. Laughing over cups of hot tea and mugs of cold beer with Hob. Sharing cream cheese and morning cuddles with Theo, basking in the selfless love you shared. Quiet mornings spent reading and organizing the library with Lucienne. Dirty jokes, walks through Fiddler’s Green, and drops of coffee shared with Matthew. 

Seeing Dream for the first time, a single run of black ink against a vibrant wall of stained glass. The thinly-veiled awe in his eyes when you’d shown him your world, when he’d locked eyes with you at the wedding in the forest. Marveling at a sky full of stars when he swept you under his cloak. Quiet hums of intrigue as you fed him ideas for new dreams and nightmares. Teal and lavender stardust swirling in his eyes under a midnight sky as you combined your functions to create something new. 

The feeling of Dream’s warm palm against your tentative fingers. The silken sense of safety you felt as you sat together on the Dreaming’s beach after a night plagued with memories. Tossing him seashells on the honey-gold beach he’d created for you. The surety that had blazed in his eyes when he’d vowed to protect you. The soft vulnerability in his eyes when he’d admitted that he remembered you. 

The sweet cashmere press of his lips against yours. Opening up into each other’s arms on the honey-gold beach under a starlit sky. A vow lovingly whispered into your ear. And the pain that had come after, when the greatest act of love you could give was protecting him by stepping away. It was a love worth giving anything for–worth giving everything for. 

It’s time. 

You smile. “Yes. Yes, it was.” 

And with that, you lift your hand to touch the invisible pane between you. 

When your palm rests against its cool surface, you exhale slowly, reaching out, reaching through. Just like you’ve done countless times before. Under your influence, the once-invisible pane shimmers like stars. 

Desire’s face falls in an instant. “What are you doing?” they ask, taking a jolting step toward you. 

You breathe in and out slowly, maintaining your composure. You can feel the destination that lies not on the other side of the pane, but within the pane. The scales of love and desire call out to you like a song you’ve always known. “I’m ending this,” you say, your voice calm and sure. “I’m balancing our scales once and for all.” 

Desire’s eyebrows raise, then furrow. “Impossible,” the Endless spits angrily. “That’s out of your league, darling. You don’t have the strength.” 

The small smile that had lifted your lips moments ago evolves into a full-fledged grin. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” 

Closing your eyes, you begin to reach out, searching for the realm that calls out to you beyond the pane. The sound of Desire drawing nearer makes you pause. You fight the urge to open your eyes, to display any hint of indecision. “No matter what you do, Love, you still won’t escape me. As long as you love my darling brother, I can control him. And you.”

A pressure builds in your chest, bubbling forth until you can’t contain it any longer. Laughter. Tension radiates from Desire at the sound, prickling against your skin. “You see, that’s the funny thing. You can’t. Because if you do, I’ll throw your scales off-balance.” You can feel the Endless drawing nearer, almost close enough to touch. “You shouldn’t have made me leave Dream. Because it gave me so much time to think. So much time to grow stronger. I’m done playing nice, Desire. Dream doesn’t fear you. And now, neither do I.”

Just as you feel the tips of Desire’s fingers swipe across your forearm, you reach out, reach through. 

For a moment, you’re falling, falling, falling. The world tips and spins like an aerotrim as you slip into the plane between worlds. 

And then, solid ground beneath your feet.

When you first try to open your eyes, the sheer brightness of your surroundings forces you to close them again. It takes several moments for your pupils to adjust to the brilliant white you’re enveloped in. When they do, you find yourself standing in a near-featureless world. There is no ground, no sky, no walls–only a vibrant, endless white that extends in all directions, as far as you can see. 

The only occupant of this void besides yourself is the balance scale that towers before you. It’s enormous–easily three times your height. With its gleaming gold construction and intricate engravings, it looks like it was pulled straight from antiquity. The links of chain that support the scale’s pans clink softly as they tip back and forth, constantly in motion. 

Above one pan hovers a familiar heart cut from black glass, glowing from within with crimson light. Desire’s sigil. Above the other pan hovers a heart cut from clear crystal. Prisms glisten off its surface, catching and scattering in the white light. Though you’ve never seen it before, you know in your bones that it’s your own.

You watch as the scales tip back and forth almost imperceptibly, responding to the fulfillment and expiration of attachments in real time. In spite of their constant movement, it’s Desire’s pan that hangs lower, outweighing your own. They carry the favor–for now.

Breathless, you gaze at the scales in awe, your lips parted, your jaw slack. The scales of love and desire had been a presence in your life for millennia. And yet, they’d always seemed far off, more of a myth than a reality. To see them in person is stunning, awe-inspiring. 

And, above all else, it’s exhilarating. Standing in the scales’ presence is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Your power, normally a sweet hum beneath the surface of your skin, is loud, insistent, demanding. It bellows through your veins like a choir, rattling your bones with seismic force. Your fists clench tightly at your sides as the sheer magnitude of it floods your senses.  It’s almost too much. But it’s not—it’s exactly enough. 

For the first time in your entire immortal life, you truly feel divine. 

It’s time to show Desire what you can really do. 

You cross the space between yourself and the scales with surety. When your hand rests against the golden support between the two pans, the air is ripped from your lungs with supernatural force. Molten warmth pours through you from your soul to your fingertips, a liquid light that illuminates every nook and crevice, filling you up, up, up. It leaves room for nothing else.

“Show me,” you command with a voice that is both your own and a stranger’s.

In an instant, the once-white world around you is cut through by billions of threads. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white, and black. They cross and twine and interlace across every inch of this world, from the heavens above to the expanse beneath your feet. 

Your heart sings in their presence, every nerve in your body thrumming like a tuning fork. In spite of the intricate design of the tapestry that surrounds you, you can see who each thread belongs to, and exactly where each one leads. The knowledge that the Book of Souls gifted you burns like a brand upon your mind.

Somewhere out there, seven threads call to you. One in each color of the rainbow. The ones that you and Dream are destined to share.

With a shuddering breath, you pull from within, coaxing the future you saw in Destiny’s book to the forefront. All at once, a billion images flash through your mind. A billion meetings, a billion acts of selflessness, a billion touches, a billion ‘I love you’s.’ 

Eros, philia, and agape. All of them, for the remainder of time. The seven attachments you’re meant to share with Dream. All waiting to happen. All waiting on your word. 

“In this way, it shall be.”

And the world around you rejoices.

Every eros, philia, and agape attachment surrounding you illuminates at once, bathing you in red, white, and gold. Though they’re hidden from your view, you feel your own attachments call out to you, singing songs of gratitude, their voices sweet with joy. 

A wave of vertigo washes through you, nearly robbing you of your balance. You grip the pillar supporting the scales with white knuckles, breathless. Before you, the scales creak and groan. Desire’s pan rises slowly as favor tips from their side toward your own, inching closer to balance. 

Then, suddenly, it stops. Your eyes dart to the pointer at the top of the support, the piece that indicates whether the scales have reached balance. It remains tilted ever so slightly to the right. Ever so slightly in Desire’s favor.

It’s not enough.

Panic surges through you in a fury, making you hot and dizzy. No, no, this couldn’t be. You hadn’t come this far, hadn’t sacrificed this much, only to fail. You couldn’t fail. You had to succeed for them. For Dream.

Your eyes scan the tapestry of attachments that surround you, desperate for answers. You can sense the threads of desire that are interwoven alongside a multitude of the eros, philia, and agape attachments you’ve just ensured. In spite of your fortification, you know their presence is still a risk, a threat. 

There’s only one way to be certain that they’ll never be corrupted by desire, a voice whispers in the back of your mind, it’s tone low and grave. 

That wasn’t part of the plan, another retorts, it’s tone urgent, insistent. 

Your breath hitches as they bicker. Blood pounds in your ears, the palm of your hand slick with sweat against the golden support of the scale. Unlike the voice of doubt that often whispered in the back of your mind, both of these voices were earnest. They both spoke the truth. 

But there was only one way forward. Only one way to put an end to this. 

You hesitate for only a moment before flattening your palm against the cool surface of the scale. You hesitate for only a moment before you raise your opposite hand into the air. You hesitate for only a moment before you picture yourself grabbing the threads of desire strung alongside your eros, philia, and agape attachments, and make a fist.

You think of all of them. You think of Dream.

And then, you rip them all apart.

A thousand black threads dissolve from the sky instantaneously. The pan that holds the prism heart shifts downward, falling level beside Desire’s. The scale’s pointer reaches resolution with a resounding ring.

And your body is cleaved in two by a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. 

A brilliant light floods your vision, swallowing the attachments, the scales, everything in sight. In an instant, you’re ripped backwards, as if pulled along by a string. Agony roars through your veins, blistering your nerves like fire, biting at your skin like ice. 

When you’re flung back into the Realm of Attachment, it’s on your hands and knees. Your body trembles as you hack and wheeze. You draw your forehead to your knees, curling into yourself, trying to shrink away from the pain. It offers no relief. This isn’t a pain you can shrink away from. This is a pain that comes from within. 

Your lungs burn as if lit with kerosene. Your body feels as if it's been drug from a moving vehicle. Blood oozes from your lips in long, sticky ropes. Your eyes throb with exhaustion. When you close them, a familiar darkness swells up to drag you under. 

You’ve been here before. 

“What have you done?” The roar that reaches your ears is guttural, inhuman. With a moan, you raise your head to look for the source. Several paces away, on the opposite side of the invisible pane that divides your worlds, you find Desire hunched over. Their fingers clutch desperately at their chest, as if in pain. 

When their eyes meet yours, there is a fury in them unlike anything you’ve ever seen. Teeth bared like an animal, they straighten, crossing the invisible pane into the Realm of Attachment as if it was nothing. Something instinctive and primal surges through you at their approach, at the sight of their hand reaching toward you. “What the hell have you done, you insolent–”

Adrenaline floods your veins like a drug. In a blink, you’re on your feet. You grip Desire’s forearm with a force that could bruise. “Do not touch me,” you growl through bloodstained teeth. 

Desire’s face falls slack at your command, their skin pale as milk. There is something in the pinch of their brows, in the twitch of their eye, in the tightness of their lips, that you thought you’d never see in them. Fear.

Pain pulses at the edges of your awareness, the darkness crowding close behind. They’re present, but distant. Only adrenaline and sheer will keep them at bay. Just a little longer. 

Your palm presses against Desire’s chest with trembling fingers. Power thrums through your veins like a heartbeat. You wonder if the Endless can feel it, too. “This is over,” you say, your voice a gurgle in your throat. You swallow down the bitter taste of copper. “Leave. And don’t come back.”

Desire’s golden eyes widen. In an instant, the Endless is ripped from your grip, jerked back into their realm as if attached to their own invisible string. In a blur, they disappear from sight, pulled into the clouds. There is a bright shimmer of silver as the pane that once stood invisible materializes, solidifying into a wall that blocks the Threshold from sight. 

You are alone. The world is completely, utterly silent. 

You’ve done it. 

As the adrenaline wanes from your system, a new sensation rises to take its place. Something so sweet and warm, it’s almost painful. Joy. 

A soft laugh of disbelief bubbles up from your throat. It’s cut short by a sharp, piercing pain in your gut, a knife that digs and twists. 

You move to take a step, to turn and walk away from the wall that now divides your realm from Desire’s. But it doesn’t come. Instead, you fold like paper, crumpling to the ground. When you try to stand with a groan, your body refuses. Instead, you sink lower. 

Your breathing is quick and shallow as you lean back, resting your head against the ground. It feels good to relieve the pressure of gravity from your battered body. Too good. When you close your eyes with a sigh, a numbness creeps into the tips of your extremities. It’s…familiar. 

Yes, you’ve been here before. Don’t you remember?

When you’d awoken all those millenia ago to hands around your neck, you’d walked into a future you couldn’t turn back from. You’d had a penchant for doing that all your life. When you’d met Dream. When you’d committed to fighting Desire, whatever the cost. When you’d opened the Dream Lord’s book. When you’d given yourself to him on that honey-gold beach by the sea. 

And now, it seems you've done it again. 

Woozy and disoriented, you almost swear you feel a rush of hot air by your cheek, accompanied by the familiar sound of Desire’s voice in your ear. “Was it worth it?” 

When you open your eyes, you’re alone. The silver wall remains in place, a reminder of what you’ve accomplished. 

But it was worth it, wasn’t it? You had accomplished the task you’d set forth to complete. Your function was fulfilled; the eros, philia, and agape attachments that mortals would share for the remainder of time had been fostered, fulfilled, and protected. Any thread of desire that could hope to overthrow them had been destroyed. And you had made your trade, allowing Desire the opportunity to interact with philautia, erotoropia, storge, and pragma attachments, if they so chose. Love and desire co-existing together. A balance. 

It was a shame you wouldn’t get to see it for yourself. 

And then, of course, there was Dream. The Book of Souls had shown that your life had been fulfilled according to its plan. You were always meant to love him. Always meant to end up here. Your destiny was to share all seven forms of attachment with him. Even if only for a brief time, it was enough. That true, all-encompassing, soul-deep kind of love was one so few got to enjoy. You’d never imagined that such a blessing would be yours. 

“Yes,” you whisper into the empty air. “Yes, it was worth it.”

You needed to tell him. You needed to let him know, before it was too late. 

Your hand reaches into your pocket with trembling fingers. They slip and fumble as they try to undo the cloth tie on the Dream Lord’s pouch of sand. When you bring a handful of grains to your lips, your tongue feels heavy, your mouth bitter with copper. 

“I don’t know if you work the opposite way, but bring me Dream. Please,” you croak. Your lungs wheeze as you send the grains scattering through the air. 

The world is still and silent. Though you wait on pins and needles, nothing happens. When the exhaustion behind your eyes becomes too great, you close them. 

And that’s when you feel it–a breeze across your cheek, dancing through your hair. A gentle warmth unfurls itself within your chest, sweet as honey, supple as silk. Distantly, you remember crafting Fawn with the Dream Lord on your second visit to his realm. The dream that was meant to make mortals feel weightless and free. If she could have visited your own resting hours, you imagine her presence would have felt like this. 

And when you open your eyes, he’s there. Dream of the Endless stands just a few feet away, the back of his long, dripping cloak facing you. Though you can’t see his face, you can sense his surprise. There is a tension in his shoulders as he cranes his neck, looking back and forth, taking in the sight of the silver wall and the rainbow-woven world he’s found himself in.

Then, he turns to you. As he does, he catches sight of the six radiant threads that link you. Red, romantic eros; the white soul-tie of philia; the calming blue of self-love, philautia; the flirty purple of erotoropia; the firey orange of companionship, pragma; and golden, selfless agape. As his eyes follow the trail that connects his heart to yours, the glow of your attachments catch in his pale blue gaze like the aurora borealis. When they rest on you, the outside world melts away, as it always has. Shock, awe, and relief rear in those eyes in equal measure. When the corner of his rosebud lips upturns ever so slightly into the ghost of a smile, it feels like coming home. 

It hits you, then, like a freight train, like a ton of bricks. Just how desperately you’ve missed him. Just how raggedly, haphazardly incomplete you’ve been without him. And just how little time you have left. 

That’s when he sees them–the bloodstains on your chin. The Dream Lord’s face drains of what little color it has.

“Hey, Dream,” you croak, strumming your attachments with quivering fingers. They glow and sing under your touch, infusing your chest with a warmth that serves as a momentary distraction from the pain in your core, the numbness in your toes. You strum them again. “Surprise.” 

The Dream Lord is on you in an instant. Crouching beside you, his hands make a frenzied sweep over your body, searching for wounds. Of course, he’ll find none on the surface. A fresh wave of pain courses through you, sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head. With a grunt, you pull them downward, focusing on him, only him. When your vision clears of stars, he’s looking at you. 

“What are these?” he asks, grazing his fingers along the attachments that bind you. When the bonds hum under his touch, his lips part ever so slightly in awe. You can still remember his first visit to your realm, when he’d tried to touch the elderly couple’s philia attachment. The confusion on his face when his hand had passed through it had been amusing, endearing. This was different, though. These attachments were his. They were yours. Together.

In spite of the pain, you smile. The red of your teeth is reflected in his pale eyes. “There may be a couple of things I haven’t told you,” you whisper. The action pulls another round of coughs from you. Blood drips down your chin like saliva. 

Dream catches it swiftly, wiping the trail away with the gentle press of his thumb. There is a frenzy in his eyes that you’ve never seen before as he assesses problems and grapples for solutions in real time. You wonder if he’s finding any answers. His voice is tight and forced when he asks, “What has happened?”

The numbness creeps higher, edging into your knees, your elbows. You blink hard, trying to focus, but it’s becoming more and more challenging. The world beyond Dream swims, individual threads blurring together like watercolors. “I did it, Dream. I balanced the scales that Desire and I share forever. I saved them.” Your mind tumbles and spins, thoughts set adrift on a fresh wave of pain. You scramble to gather them. “I saved you.”

You wonder if he thinks you’re delirious from blood loss. A thousand questions wage war in his eyes. “How?” he finally asks.

You offer him a half-hearted grin. “Let’s just say you and your brother are a lot alike.”

Dream’s dark brows draw together, carving wrinkles into his forehead. You imagine yourself spending eternity tracing each one with gentle fingers. Yes–that would be a welcome afterlife. That would make you happy. 

“Destiny?” His voice sounds tight, hurt. His blue eyes flash with something sharp and aching. Betrayal. He thinks his brother betrayed him. You shake your head, opening your mouth to tell him otherwise, to explain that this was your plan. Your voice cracks, broken by a fresh spell of coughs that makes the very marrow of your bones throb. When you  moan in pain, Dream’s arms slip around you, drawing you close to his chest. You curl into him eagerly. “We must take you to the Dreaming,” he says, his voice insistent, urgent. “You must be healed.” 

The earnest determination in the steel of his eyes, in the set of his jaw, makes your heart brim with a painful sort of joy. The numbness creeps forth, stealing the pain from your arms and legs, leaving a blissful nothing in its wake. You release a shuddering breath–part relieved, part terrified. Your eyes prickle and blur. When you blink to clear them, you taste salt. “I don’t think that’s my future, Dream. I…I don’t think I’m gonna get to keep that vow after all.”

Dream’s grip on your body tightens. In that moment, a new sensation grips you. Not pain, not numbness, but panic. Sorrow. When you meet his gaze, his rosebud lips are tight, his eyes glistening and wet. That’s when you realize that it’s him that you’re feeling. You’re feeling his emotions, through the bonds you share. 

“No,” he says, his voice firm. He speaks with the authority of a being accustomed to the world bending to his will. “I will not allow it. There must be a way.” 

The concoction of fear and desperation in his chest crushes your own, robbing the breath from your lungs. You’d transcend realms and multiverses to wipe the worry from his brow, sacrifice every molecule of your being to ease the tightness in his chest. You don’t have much to give now. But you’ll give him all you can. 

It takes every ounce of your waning will to lift your hand to his cheek without crying out. When your palm finds the softness of his cheek, your fingers trace the sharp lines of his nose and jaw with adoration. He leans into your touch with reverence. The shared tightness in your chests eases ever so slightly. You breathe a little more deeply than before. 

“Please, Dream. I don’t want to spend this time left on a quest for a cure that doesn’t exist. I just want you.” Your thumb finds the plush swell of his bottom lip, tracing it fondly. When you make your request, your voice is soft and tired. “Take me to the stars, Dream Lord?” 

For a long moment, Dream watches you in silence. His eyes flicker back and forth between your own, searching for answers, searching for a way out. You can see the exact moment his determination breaks, the exact moment his eyes dim when he finds none. As his eyelashes flutter closed, as he presses his cheek into the palm of your hand, the first tear falls. It trails down his nose, plipping softly onto your cheek, mingling with your own. And, in that moment, you know he won’t deny your request. 

In a slow, practiced movement, the Dream Lord grasps the hem of his cloak, whisking it over the two of you in a flourish. You watch in quiet awe as a blanket of stars unrolls itself around you, encasing you both in the gentle caress of the cosmos. Constellations twinkle brightly overhead. The Milky Way arches over your bodies in a dappled stream of black, purple, and pinprick stars. It reminds you of the nights you spent with Dream on that honey-gold beach, the night he painted you a story in the sky, the night you made your vows to one another. You smile. 

You’re not sure what it is about lying amongst the cosmos. Perhaps it’s the peace they instill in you, or the memories you’ve made beneath them, or how being amongst them feels like coming home. But when the numbness overtakes you, dissolving the pain into nothing, it’s not alarming, or frightening. It feels like being embraced by an old friend. Vaguely, you wonder if Death will greet you as you move into whatever lies beyond this. Did she come for gods and goddesses, or only mortals?

Dream must feel the moment the pain dissipates from your body. His hand leaves his cloak in a rush, shifting to cradle your face, instead. Without the pain to ground you, reality is a harder concept to keep a hold of. All at once, the stars above you begin to twist and spin. You blink, hard, but their dance continues. “Thank you. Looking at them…is so calming to me.” Your gaze shifts to the stars in Dream’s eyes, straining to focus. “I told you that once, didn’t I? Do you remember that?” 

A thick swallow works down the column of Dream’s throat. “I do,” he rasps, his voice quiet and raw. 

Your lips lift in a lazy, contented smile. No longer inhibited by pain, you lift one hand to card your fingers through his wild hair. “I’ve always loved the stars,” you tell him. Your voice sounds far away, sluggish, like it’s been reduced to half speed. “Even…even when I was a mortal. I think.”

Dream exhales quietly, a rush of air that chills the tears drying on your cheeks. His hair is feathers between your fingers. Soft as silk. You want to nestle your nose in it, to press your cheek to it. It would be such a soft place to lay. Such a soft place to go to sleep. 

“Look at me, Love.” 

And you are. Of course, you’re looking at him–you can’t stop looking at him. Because he’s everywhere. Because he’s everything. Dark, disheveled hair; pale skin; blue eyes; soft lips. You want to kiss him and kiss him until he stops talking. You want to smooth the worry from his pinched brow, to light up his eyes with laughter. 

I’ve still never heard him laugh, the realization drifts in from somewhere beyond the stars, settling over you in a daze. Your chest aches at the thought, so much more painful than any wound. 

Suddenly, his thumb is brushing your cheek, the other squeezing your shoulder. He’s trying to be gentle, you can tell. You must have dozed off. His voice seems far away now, as if he’s talking through water. You squint your eyes, trying to read his lips. He’s urging you to move, you realize. ‘Moving will keep you alert,’ he’s telling you. But why would you ever want to move from this spot when you can see him so perfectly clearly? You drink him in like a flower in a drought, a drifter in a famine. Memorizing every slope and curve and line as if for the last time, desperately hopeful that you’ll get to take them with you. His voice is a lifeline, but you can feel your grip slipping. 

Darkness pulls at the edges of your vision. You can feel the sweet things it promises–rest, rejuvenation, peace. Your hand slips from Dream’s hair to his cheek, holding his gaze to yours. You have to tell him. You have to tell him, before you go. 

“I have to tell you something,” you say, your voice scarcely more than a whisper. 

The pain in Dream’s eyes is raw and earnest. You can feel it, through the numbness, through your bonds. It settles in the nooks of your heart like the notes of a sad love song, beautiful and devastating, all at once.  When you first met him, you had wondered if you’d ever coax him to shed his armor, to be vulnerable with you. Oh, how little you’d known back then. 

“Do not.” His plea is quiet, his voice gravelly and broken. “I beg of you.” 

Maker, he’s a fool. You know he wants to know. He needs to know. 

“I read the Book of Souls, Dream. And it’s all been for you. Every decision, every moment–it all led me to you.” You turn your head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the palm that cradles your cheek. “I was always meant to be yours. You’re what I was running to, even when I didn’t know it. You are what I was running for. You are my dream, Dream.” 

For a brief moment, the torment in Dream’s eyes softens. When his eyes fall to the threads of attachment between you, each one glows brighter under his gaze. He swallows, hard, in understanding. 

His body folds over your own slowly, carefully. As if he can shield you from whatever intends to come and claim you. His feather-soft hair tickles your forehead and cheeks as he leans in. His shallow breath is warm and sweet across your skin. When he presses his lips to yours, it feels like a vow, a prayer, a promise. Salt and copper mingle between your lips. When he exhales, you breathe in. You hold his breath in your lungs, a piece of him to harbor close to your heart, to take with you when you go. 

“Maybe you’ll be there,” you whisper against his lips. “Maybe I’ll get to dream of you, in whatever lies after this.” 

The tip of Dream’s nose trails along your own, then across your cheek. When he finds the tender hollow under your ear, that sacred place that only he knows, he presses his lips into it delicately, adoringly. You close your eyes with a soft, contented sigh. 

“There is nowhere you can go that I will not find you,” he breathes against your skin. His voice is raw, but sure. “I will find you.” 

Your laugh is weak and breathless, but happy, nonetheless. It feels good to laugh without the pain. The numbness feels good.

“So stubborn,” you chide softly, nestling deeper into his arms. His skin is warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. You press your cheek against it with a sigh. Until there’s no place where you end and I begin.  “If anyone could find me, Dream Lord, it would be you.” 

His heartbeat is a lullaby in your ear. It coaxes you into a soul-deep sort of contentment, a peace unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You could stay here with him, in this moment, in this feeling, forever. Is this what falling asleep feels like? “I…”

Th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th–

. . .

[seven-oh-four]

trees are freaky dude. imagine living in a world of just animals and for the first time encountering these goliath beings with skin as hard as rock standing on legs that only the strongest of storms can tear down, with their hands reaching to the sky, fingers splitting into more fingers forming a great web of flesh, a being that some animals will only ever know as their entire world, a being unperturbed even when carved into and stabbed and having its limbs broken off, that dies and decays and is reborn every year, that never seems to truly die, no matter how many of its sails shrivel up and fall off, no matter how many of its fingers are hacked off, never even bleeding, not making a sound.

and yet such powerful beasts are everywhere. their presence makes up entire biomes, something no animal could ever do. they are practically a living extension of the earth and the rocks and the soul. they are simply a background detail, setting the stage for the smaller animals and critters to perform on, despite how colossal they are. their impact is so large we don't even notice it.

does it make sense

[slavonicrhapsody]

So: what kind of backstory do you have for your Tarnished and what ending do they go for and why?

this is Cassius he’s the saddest wettest tarnished in the Lands Between

he doesn’t have much of a backstory but in his previous life he was a mediocre mercenary who died in an extremely cringe way. being revived by grace and sent on his path in the Lands Between plunged him into a midlife crisis and he wonders if he’ll ever actually achieve anything or if he’ll continue to die in extremely cringe ways. so far it’s been both

He’s doing Ranni’s ending because, as one of the Nightfolk, he wants to fulfill his Nox heritage in his own way by bringing about the Age of the Stars. It’s implied that the Nightfolk race is descended from the silver tears created by the Nox (“The features of those known as Nightfolk. Few in number, they were said to bleed silver long ago.”): We know that the silver tears have the ability to become humanoid, and they look very similar to the Nightfolk template in the character creator. We don’t know how or when, but at some point the Nightfolk must have made their way to the surface and become their own race of people.

I also have a weird related theory about the Nox Lord of Night… the Nox armor descriptions read, “Now they live under a false night sky, in eternal anticipation of their liege. Of the coming age of the stars. And their Lord of Night.” The silver tear husk item description reads, “The Silver Tear makes mockery of life, reborn again and again into imitation. Perhaps, one day, it will be reborn a lord...” This description is what leads us to conclude that the Nox were trying to create their Lord of Night artificially using silver tears. If your Tarnished is Nightfolk, and they do Ranni’s ending, technically they’re becoming the lord of night as Ranni’s consort… and since the Nightfolk were once silver tears, technically a silver tear really was one day reborn as a lord! (you could also say the same thing if you ever used a Larval Tear to rebirth yourself via Rennala!) Though the Nox don’t seem to realize this and are hostile to us, it could be said that we’re actually fulfilling their society’s destiny… I don’t think my Tarnished fully grasps this yet though I think he’s still reeling from the existential crisis of the origin of his race beating the shit out of him

[ilynpilled]

Gonna get into this in more depth, honing in on a specific part of the color symbolism post. This Cat quote in AGoT, where the moonlight changes Jaime’s golden armor and hair to silver, and turns his crimson cloak to a black one, might be very heavy foreshadowing:

yet she knew it was him. “Even at a distance, Ser Jaime Lannister was unmistakable. The moonlight had silvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black.

The moonlight is so interesting to me. We know the moon can represent phases and change. The moon is emphasized in I believe three very key moments in Jaime’s story:

This is the first one, in Jaime II, before he loses his hand:

The night was strangely peaceful. The half-moon sat overhead in a black felt sky, surrounded by stars. Off in the distance, some wolves were howling. One of their horses whickered nervously. There was no other sound. The war has not touched this place, Jaime thought. He was glad to be here, glad to be alive, glad to be on his way back to Cersei.

It is a half-moon, I think this is a phase before a key transitional period. It is self explanatory how he is feeling here in specific. He has a clear purpose, the one thing he orients his life around (when he is not busy dissociating, doing passive suicidal ideation or seeking a chivalric death): Cersei. This is about to all crumble and change.

Then, we get a parallel passage, the one were Jaime’s drastic shift happens, after he is crippled:

Jaime lay on his back afterward, staring at the night sky, trying not to feel the pain that snaked up his right arm every time he moved it. The night was strangely beautiful. The moon was a graceful crescent, and it seemed as though he had never seen so many stars. The King's Crown was at the zenith, and he could see the Stallion rearing, and there the Swan. The Moonmaid, shy as ever, was half-hidden behind a pine tree. Why would the stars want to look down on such as me?

I talked about this before: the crescent moon can symbolize, in Celtic mythology specifically: phases, growth, and potential. Jaime is about to change drastically. It is about cycles: life & death. We can assume that it is waning if we go by the half-moon established from before. The Jaime we have come to know dies so Jaime can be reborn in the narrative. Then, in the next paragraph, Brienne stops him from passive suicide, so that rebirth can actually happen (the bath scene).

Then we have another half-moon, at the end of his ADwD chapter:

Jaime shook his head. "It would be a bloody business, and for what? These people have done us no harm. We'll shelter in the houses, but I'll have no stealing. We have our own provisions." As a half-moon crept up the sky, they staked their horses out in the village commons and supped on salted mutton, dried apples, and hard cheese. Jaime ate sparingly and shared a skin of wine with Peck and Hos the hostage.

This is another phase. This is his huge Tywin anti-parallel, what happens before he follows Brienne. It is a half-way point in his new story. Another key transition.

With the symbolism that is being followed through, it makes so much sense that it is the moonlight that foreshadows his change in AGoT.

Then we have the passage that suggests that as Jaime continues his story, he will get nearer to the blank white shield at the bottom of his page, distancing himself from the gold lion on the crimson shield at the top:

When he was done, more than three-quarters of his page still remained to be filled between the gold lion on the crimson shield on top and the blank white shield at the bottom. Ser Gerold Hightower had begun his history, and Ser Barristan Selmy had continued it, but the rest Jaime Lannister would need to write for himself. He could write whatever he chose, henceforth. Whatever he chose . . .

Then we actually see part of the foreshadowing from AGoT come to be. His gold hair starts turning silver. He is becoming pale and bloodless, as opposed to crimson & gold:

"Gold? Or silver?" Cersei plucked a hair from beneath his chin and held it up. It was grey. "All the color is draining out of you, brother. You've become a ghost of what you were, a pale crippled thing. And so bloodless, always in white." She flicked the hair away. "I prefer you garbed in crimson and gold."

The white part is also reinforced by Brienne as well:

She did as he bid her. "The white cloak . . ."

". . . is new, but I'm sure I'll soil it soon enough."

“That wasn't . . . I was about to say that it becomes you.”

My overall conclusion is the same I think, I just wanted to zoom in on this part because I think it is so meticulously delineated. I think the black cloak part could probably related to the NW atp, but I also think what I mentioned regarding greyness in that other post applies as well.

[oldwebmlp]

From: http://web.archive.org/web/20020224000007/http://members.tripod.com/mlpflipside/flipside.html

Text from page below the cut:

In every world, there is an anti-world. Every planet has its cosmos, as Heaven has Hell, each world, each galaxy, has its darker matter. There is no purity without poisen, there is no good without the reflections of evil. As with every smile, there are tears. For every act of good, a crime is committed. For every child born, some unfortunate person dies. And this, my friends, is the flipside.

In a world identical to our Earth, a war takes place. Human lives are of no importance anymore. Only one thing seems to matter now. Death.

Defeated, the old wizard fell numbly to the ground, his chest heaving in an attempt to grab at air his lungs could not reach. He turned his eyes to the sky, to the clouds that had rolled overhead, to the threatening storm. His limbs were weak now; his time was drawing to an end, as were the lives of every other creature who had the misfortune to have made their homes in this cruel, evil land. He had tried with all his might, power and heart to overcome the evil, but science and human technology had overcome magic long, long before. Selfish humans had wanted it all....and they all knew that the planet would not be able to sustain a third world war, yet fight they did. The results had been disastrous, yet foreseen. Weakly, the wizard stood to his feet. I have not been able to save the planet, he thought to himself, but I shall try to help it grow again. His eyes were growing heavy. He glanced around at the few animals who were still alive. Many were weak like himself, fighting for life, fighting a death that man had inflicted on them. But, to the old Wizard's astonishment, one creature ran through the haze, head high, mane flowing in the wind. It whinnied, laughing in the face of death.Why! It was a mere horse! One of the fallen warrior's trusty steeds, no doubt!....it had tricked man's machines of death like no other had. As the wizard felt life sipping away,  the image of the pony remained...and he made one final spell. The world would be reborn. It would grow beautiful and strong. But humans will not enter it's realms. They will not hate and destroy as they had done so before. They would be only a myth, a figment of imagination, a flicker in a wise creatures eye, a distant memory of a history that should never have been. The creatures to rule this world would be caring yet strong, loving yet powerful. Equines. Horses and Ponies, Pegasi, Unicorns, creatures of myth alongside those of reality, side by side, together...in peace. The wizard lost his battle with life the second the spell was finalised.

This world shall be known as Equin.

Welcome to a land that is not all it may seem, Welcome to a world in which reality is dream, Welcome to a dreamscape where mysteries unfold, Open your heart and listen to the stories that are told. This place may seem so far away, far in another time, But if you close your eyes, and listen, you'll hear a music that's so fine, It will appear, if you believe it, in the blinking of the eye, Ponyland will be with me until the day I die. ~ Selena Thomas

Warning!! This site isn't your average My Little Pony fansite. Or at least, I sure hope it isn't. I enjoy writing stories and drawing pictures, but have a rather dark nature at times and sometimes what I write may not be everybody's cup of tea. While there is obviously no pornography or anything of that nature here, I view Ponyland, er, I mean "Equin" (all shall be revealed), as a magical and rather gothic place. While they live now in 'peace' and 'harmony', the foundings of Equin were not always so tranquil. My webpage focuses around my version of Ponyland, and the personalities of the ponies within it are all my own ideas. There is very little 'official' fandom here. I found the 'real' Ponyland too....unrealistic.

"Why do you insist on wearing that ghastly thing?" Trojan asked her, his eyes on the thick, coarse rope that knotted crudely around her dainty neck. She turned away, her eyes focused on the ground. "It reminds me." She said, her voice soft as the winter breeze that enveloped them. "Reminds you of what?" Trojan frowned, nuzzling her, feeling her sad emotion. She turned towards him, then. Her eyes burned into his own, eyes that had seen galaxies explode from mere stardust; eyes that had seen the world before time began. Unicorn eyes. Sad eyes. "It reminds me that I managed to escape."

[jellyjutsukeisen]

FAIRY TAIL OC #2:

Karina Moonstar

Karina Moonstar, also known as the 'The Lady', is the most feared and power deity of all beings. There are many myths and folktales about her, but the most famous (and closest to the truth) is the story of Karina, who was an abandoned and rejected star from the sky, raised by animals and creatures of the woods with no human interactions. People called her the boogeyman of the woods, the witch and beast of the greens, therefore nobody ever dared to go through the forest. Not understanding why people hated her, Karina just wanted to be like the other humans and make friends.

One day, a young man dared to step into the forest (as a dare by his friends) but got lost very soon and remained in the cold, dark forest till nighttime. Scared, but mastered all his courage, he tried to find his way back when he stumbled upon the "beast" of the woods, Karina. He dropped his cheap-made sword and reach his hand to the girl. That moment, marked the greatest, most warm, and most generous love ever been told.

And like most beautiful stories, this also had a tragic end... The villagers found out the boy's frequent visit to the woods, and even his relationship with Karina.

They locked up the boy in the dungeon and tortured him, accusing him of treason and betrayal to the kingdom. Finding out, Karina desperately came to his aid and raided the kingdom with animals (not killing anybody) and saved him, retreating to the woods. People started hunting her down, burning down the forest and killing the animals.

Confused, heartbroken and scared, Karina was only able to hold the boy in her arms protectively, but soon ran out to try and save the forest and stop the humans with words of sincerity, but nothing worked. She was shot at by every men present. But the bullets never reached her as she was shielded by the body of her lover. Bloody, he only smiled at her; "I love you... I will love you in every chance I get to live again... You are my everything, Karina... so please,... find me in the future..."

He died in her arms, and as the villagers raided to attack her, Karina let out the biggest and loudest scream/cry/roar anybody has ever heard, ripping her mouth wider (causing the scar across her cheeks) and with only her roar she killed everyone, and destroyed the village and the forest. She was the only one remaining with her dead lover in her arms, and with menacing, yet sad and teary eyes, she stared down at him and promised "I will love you forever, nobody else- not even your next life- ONLY YOU! ONLY YOU, JERALD!"

2,000 years later....

Karina, 'The Lady', the first of the 10 Wizard Saints, the creator of lacrima and magic power, the Queen of Magic.

The Invincible Dragon.

Karina Facts:

~She is a very twisted and menacing person, who does not hesitate to kill.

~She is way too goofy for her level of power, and very unserious and unbothered. (Thinking about it, she is lowkey a female Gojo XD).

~Karina was the first to join Stella's team after the time skip.

~Karina is a dragon and her magic is Maker Magic called Magic Maker: Different ancient marks of different magic types appear on her body which she can combine; for example the symbol of fire magic and air magic appears on her body= Fire tornado, hot wind, fire wind etc.

~Due to her Maker Magic, she is always eager to (sometimes teasingly) coach Gray (but mainly seriously, which Gray does reject, but would take her advice to face value and use them).

~Her jaw can still open very wide, especially when she releases her dragon form.

~Being the most powerful, she barely uses her magic, and usually retreats to a wooden sword (left behind by her lover) and a golden bow 'n arrow (into which she concentrates her magic power to make the blow stronger).

~The strongest Wizard Saint, also known as the 'Godmother of the Council' by most royal servants.

~Her past lover's name was Jerald Ferdinando. He has been reborn 4 times, each time Karina has fell in love with him (even if refusing), but always pushed him away or was (almost always) killed, which only deepened the scars around her heart even more. For the fifth time, he was reborn as Jellal Fernandes.

~Their theme song would be 'One That Got Away' by Katy Perry.