#Indulgence of Divinity

[mutslutt]

baby's first forcemasc. hello

[gayvephelis]

we are locking into BEAST MODE to unleash our SUPER MONSTER BLAST chip

[gothic-ouji]

⸺⠀⠀🥀⠀⠀Death is beauty..

⠀⠀⨟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Necro 𓏴 aesthetic !

⏖ Definition :

An aesthetic attraction where one is physically attracted to the appearance of corpses, of the dead and/or of the act of dying.

if this has already been coined before, consider this an alt flag!

[meechiipost]

[kupidachillea]

Achilles x You x Patroclus hcs

Author note: this took way too long. But this is respond to the request I got for more of these two and the reader. Ngl- I’m with them- I’m a sucker for those boys (Patroclus save me-)

TW (Trigger warning): Not much. It starts off as fluff then slowly branches into angst sort. Has a few Yandere themes. Achilles being possessive along with Patroclus. Slightly out of character (but hey, it’s a fan fic). Achilles and Patroclus are lonely lads and want a third-

CW (Content warning)⚠️: Slight coercion, manipulation (?), drugging with magical fruit. Forced imprisonment (?), Achilles and Patroclus are being selfish. This takes place in the modern world.

Basic summary: What happens when you decide to visit the underworld and meet two long dead heroes? Do you make new friends and form a bond or do you awaken something darker..?

🌿- You were granted permission to visit the underworld. A privilege that wasn’t given to many. It wasn’t as simple as finding a secret passage and letting yourself in.

🏺- No, Hades had gotten more stricter with all that. Not like the days of old where many heroes and mortals were able to just waltz on inside the land of the dead. You, however, were blessed enough to have the opportunity to explore and experience this world. Hades was kind enough to pardon you. As long as you followed a few simple rules of course.

🌿- One such rule was ‘Do not eat of any fruit or food in the land of the dead.’ Of course you took in his words and tried to honour them as best you could..however the moment you were granted access, that important rule slipped your mind. Now only full with excitement and wonder.

🏺- You would traverse through the foreign terrain and territory of the underworld. Occasionally seeing Hermes and giving him a greeting or so. You saw unique plants and creatures..not to mention the Shades.

🌿- For the most part the Shades were like people, living their lives in the Asphodel fields. Most of them paid you know mind while others would give you a simple wave.

🏺- Eventually though m you find yourself in the Elysian. You weren’t aware that you had traveled so far until a certain fiery blonde approached you.

🌿- He was a bit taller than you, piercing green eyes and olive skin. He looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place where you had seen him before. “A mortal in the land of the dead? Haven’t seen one in years…” He would mutter. A slight confused smirk on his face as he took you in.

🏺- He had that thick Greek accent that Hades would have and that’s when it hit you..this must be Achilles. He was a bit surprised to see a human all the way down here unscathed but he actually didn’t mind all that much, especially after you introduced yourself.

🌿- The two of you got to talking as you both walked through the valley together. He would ask you about how you ended up down here and you would explain your story. Of course he was a bit confused but he seemed to understand for the most part. It’s been awhile since he had a conversation with the living..and he was enjoying this little blessing in disguise.

🏺- Soon enough you both stumbled upon another man. He was a bit taller than Achilles (even if he was sitting by a tree you could tell) and his hair was a dark brown with lovely curls..his eyes were as grey as a brewing storm. His skin darker than the blonde next to you and he had visibly more scars than Achilles.

🌿- It took you a moment to realise that this was Patroclus; only when Achilles went up to greet the other did it finally click in your head.

🏺- Achilles obviously introduced you to his companion. And from there you all talked and got to know each other better. By the end of your visit you all made arrangements for you to come back and meet them.

🌿- So over the course of the next few days you’d come down to the under world just to check up on the pair of ancient warriors. You’d talk to them about life in the 21st century and they would teach about the ancient world.

🏺- Obviously you took this to your advantage. Who needs google when you have the (not so) living proof right in front of you?

🌿- But unbeknownst to you, a new feeling started to emerge inside both men. They liked you…they both did…every time you would come down to meet them, they dreaded sending you away when it was time to leave.

🏺- They hated it. They couldn’t help but worry. They didn’t think it was right. How could they protect you if you weren’t with them? Anything could happen once you left the safety of the Elysian.

🌿- They both ended up talking and discussing a plan..a way to keep you down here with them. There’s no harm in that..right?

🏺- “We’re just trying to protect the poor dear…right?” Patroclus would say, as if he was trying to justify what they were about to do to you on your next visit.

🌿- Achilles would scoff as an impish smile graced his lips. “Of course..the mortal should be grateful. It’s the only right decision..”

🏺- They both nodded to each other. Their plan was set.

🌿- The next time you came to visit, it went as usual. You all talked, joked, and conversed about each other’s day. You really enjoyed being around them and they LOVED being around you..

🏺- Eventually though, your stomach grumbled. You were hungry, you would let out a soft groan. Whining about how you wish you packed snacks. Both boys grinned..perfect.

🌿- They could now put their plan into action. Patroclus got up and went over to a fig tree, beckoning you over along with Achilles. “Well if you’re hungry, dear- why not take a fig from this tree..?” Patroclus asked softly. His voice was cool and calm, hiding any form of deceit or manipulation.

🏺- You would stare up at the fruit before going on your tip toes and picking one. It was a pretty looking fruit and you figured it would be the same as the ones on the surface..however just as you were about to take a bit you paused. Didn’t Hades warn you about having any form of food from the underworld?

🌿- Your thoughts were interrupted when Achilles spoke up. He could see the doubt and hesitation growing in your mind and he was desperate to make you forget your uncertainty. “What’s wrong? Do you not like figs? We could get you something else…” He would say.

🏺- You blinked and shook your head, telling him it was fine before you pushed your doubts aside and took a bite of the fruit. Besides, what could possibly go wrong? More than you think.. unfortunately for you..you had just made a grave mistake..

🌿- You felt a little weird but you brushed it off as being tired, meanwhile the two men looked much too happy that you had eaten the fig from this land. Their plan had worked, you were as good as theirs.

🏺- When you expressed you were feeling a bit drowsy they took it upon theirselves to get you a nice place to rest. Patroclus allowing you to rest your head on his lap as you drifted off. Achilles’ hand playing with your hair as you started to sleep.

🌿- “It’s alright, dear..just rest..we’ll be here when you wake up..” Achilles uttered, a slight smirk on his lips as he ran his calloused fingers through your hair. With his words you finally submitted to sleep.

🏺- It was done…you were now theirs. You had sealed your fate, for better or worse..

[fiv3ology]

Their beef was fun for the one episode it existed in

[spotted--hyena]

Hi, sorry for not posting in like forever, I've been cooking up a Half-life + Ultrakill AU because they've both taken over my brain.

Have a design and some info on Gordon.

"A war machine V4 model who fought in the Great War. After the war ended and the New Peace began, he was repurposed into a testing robot for the research of Hell. After an experiment gone wrong that brought Hell and its creatures to Earth, he was forced to fight his way through, survive and escape the facility. His journey brought him to the very depths of Hell and its Treachery layer where he fought a monstrosity known as the Nihilanth, a powerful demon that threatened to destroy all life on Earth. The machine slayed the demon and then disappeared as the rest of Hell quickly spread its influence and took over the Earth, Heaven and Purgatory."

[empty-dream]

Loose-haired Bedi

[blackknight-100]

Finally got around to writing the Apollo fic I'd planned on. The lore is long and convoluted, but I'm in too deep, and this is probably about to become a series.

Anyway, here's an excerpt:

“Oh dear,” the voice coos, resonant and girlishly gentle. “Hera will not touch you here.” It is a pitiful reassurance. There are few who can truly stop her, and none who would do so, not even Zeus. Especially not Zeus. Not when he is father and infidel all at once, a lover to a titan and a traitor to his wife. “You do not need Zeus. I am here.” “He sent Boreas to help me,” Leto says, outraged and defensive, still in love. The island laughs. It is a bitter thing, born of sorrow and hysteria. Leto puts her hand over her swelling belly, frightened at the change. “Oh sister,” it croons again, “do you not know?” Know what? Leto knows nothing, has known nothing save rejection and pain, and miles and miles of land passing beneath her weary feet, none of it a place to rest. The wrongness itches in her head, harder to ignore. The air congeals, choking her; a face emerges – as familiar as her own. The woman bends towards her, titaness and island all at once. Her skin, dark as Nyx’s dread night, is dotted with stars, her eyes glow bright and cold. Leto gapes, horrified. “Asteria…?” “She comes.” Asteria touches her chest and Leto wakes up gasping.

[viinas]

A collection of the promotional art I've done for the last few Bookish Songs Collective projects! All of these are streaming now sans Treachery which is available for pre-save.

Legacy is a Legendborn inspired EP A Treachery of Swans is an official soundtrack for the book of the same name (dropping THIS FRIDAY) last words is a They Both Die at the End inspired album Of Flame and Fury is an official soundtrack for the book of the same name Empress of Nightmares is an Iron Widow inspired EP (approved by @xiranjayzhao!!) Postscript is a Divine Rivals inspired EP

[sealestialangel]

 

　　  𓏲　we happy few npts　｡　　💊 　　₊ ˚⊹

　　　　　   self—indulgent + fem╱neu╱masc ᵔᵔ　₊

　

⠀⠀❛ 🎭｡ ⠀names

arthur，artie╱arty，aretha，arthea，theo╱theodore，atropos，reine，savana╱savanaudis⦂ sally，sal，salamander，salem，chemical⦂ ollie，oliver，olivia，oleander，myles，tank⦂ jack，margaret，maggie╱meggie，meg，meganne，worth，broadcast，doll，dollie╱dolly，fog╱foggy⦂ victoria，vickie╱vicky，victory，victor╱viktor⦂ helena╱helen，fara╱farah╱pharah，faraday，day，rocket，science，portal⦂ nick，light，muse╱musa，music，ecstasy，acid，pixie，aurora，arlo⦂ bob╱bobby，doc╱doctor，enforcer⦂ joy，merry，mirth，whimsy，bliss，sun╱sunny╱sunnie，edie，blythe，jubilee，joyce，felix，felicity，gwenyth╱gweneth，flower，flora，sky，rainbow⦂ pip╱pippa，anne╱annette，jemma，imogen，charles，nimmy，petula，talfryn，cedric，lulu，mimi，prentis，eleanor，céline，leslie，thea，florence，sylvain，ethel，mervyn ｡

⠀⠀❛ 🚂｡ ⠀pronouns

joy╱joys，sun╱suns，sun╱shine，sun╱sunshine，sunshine╱sunshines，ob╱oblivion，oblivion╱oblivions，drug╱drugs，pill╱pills，pop╱pops，straw╱berry，straw╱strawberry，strawberry╱strawberrys，choco╱chocos，choco╱chocolate，chocolate╱chocolates，vani╱vanilla，vanilla╱vanillas，coco╱cocos，coco╱coconut，coconut╱coconuts，hap╱happy，happy╱happys，sad╱sads，sad╱sadness，well╱wells，well╱wellie，wellie╱wellies，down╱downer，downer╱downers，eye╱eyes，hallu╱hallucinate，halluci╱hallucination，hallucination╱hallucinations，sick╱sicks，ill╱ills，plague╱plagues，infect╱infects，mush╱shroom，mush╱mushroom，mushroom╱mushrooms，mask╱masks，mask╱masked，hide╱hides，hide╱hidden，secret╱secrets，lie╱lies，fake╱fakes，make╱believe，60╱60s，1960╱1960s，mote╱motilene，moti╱motilene，motilene╱motilenes，fuel╱fuels，future╱futures，tech╱techs，tech╱technology，technology╱technologys，peep╱peeps，peep╱peeper，peeper╱peepers，jubi╱jubilator，jubilator╱jubilators，zap╱zaps，zap╱zapper，zapper╱zappers，broad╱cast，broadcast╱broadcasts，tellie╱tellies，tellie╱television，television╱televisions，tv╱tvs，hollow╱hollows，papier╱mâché，paper╱mâché，paper╱papers⦂ 💊╱💊s，☀️╱☀️s，🔆╱🔆s，🍇╱🍇s，⚫╱⚫s，🕳️╱🕳️s，💉╱💉s，🧪╱🧪s，⚗️╱⚗️s，🧫╱🧫s，🚀╱🚀s，🚂╱🚂s，🧳╱🧳s，🪪╱🪪s，📇╱📇s，🗺️╱🗺️s，📰╱📰s，🗞️╱🗞️s，🖨️╱🖨️s，📺╱📺s，🎙️╱🎙️s，📢╱📢s，🍵╱🍵s，☕╱☕s，🫗╱🫗s，🌹╱🌹s，🥀╱🥀s，🌺╱🌺s，🍃╱🍃s，🌧️╱🌧️s，☔╱☔s，⚡╱⚡s，🌈╱🌈s，🎭╱🎭s，🧟╱🧟s，🍄╱🍄s，😷╱😷s，🏥╱🏥s，🧑‍⚕️╱🧑‍⚕️s，🎉╱🎉s，🎊╱🎊s，🪅╱🪅s，🐀╱🐀s ｡

⠀⠀❛ 👁️｡ ⠀titles

the joyful one╱noun，the joyless one╱noun，prn who is joyful，prn who is joyless，the wellie╱wellette，prn who is well，prn who takes prn joy，the downer，prn who is a downer，the wastrel╱wastrelette，the shunned（ one╱noun ），the outcast，the banished（ one╱noun ），prn who can’t take joy，prn who was chased out of the village，the seeker of truth，prn who knows the truth，prn who remembers，the revolutionary，prn who started the revolution，the eye，prn who sees eyes，the sick one╱noun，the infected one╱noun，the plagued one╱noun，the plaguie，prn who is sick，prn who is infected，prn who contracted the plague，prn who went on holiday，prn who made it off of the train，prn who got on the train ｡

[chaosherald]

Writing Challenge Weekend

This is for @thedissonantverses Writing Challenge Weekend found Here

(I got "Character A made a deal with Character B and were enthralled/made to serve contractually for five years. Character C then takes a liking to Character A while still trapped by Character B" for the prompt. This dovetailed into my wildly self indulgent Veilguard headcanoning, so now we have a Solavellan Fairy Tale)

Once upon a time in ancient Arlathan, a lost Halla was summoned before the gods. It is the Queen who speaks to her. Wandering Child, she said, we are calling in your debt. Far and away down the rivers of time, you drank of the well of knowledge and bound yourself to us. The ripples have reached this time and place and so you have been called. Serve us well and when your tenure is spent we shall return you to the future’s distant shore.

And the Halla knew she was trapped. She knew the dangers of walking out of time and had seen a world unraveled once before. She knew the course the river would take and how tempting it would be, how devastating, to try and correct its path.

And she saw the Wolf, at the edge of the gathering. She knew how precious and perilous crossing paths with him here and now would be.

And she feared how much she wanted to.

But this was the collection of coin already promised. There was no choice to be had. The Halla was brought into the Queen's household and bid to serve.

And she did. The Halla served and learned and was enmeshed in the history she had once sworn to uphold. Keeper's First, child of genocides once left but scraps of identity gifted the awful beautiful whole of her people's lost empire. Never had her heart been so full and so broken.

The Wolf had been haunting her dreams before she was called to serve. Now, he haunted her waking steps. Two servants in the same household. Unavoidable. Undeniable. The Halla tried to keep him at arms’ length, but they were lodestones, drawn towards each other in spite of themselves, caught in each other's orbits.

Necessary tasks became unnecessary dawdling. Hours lost in conversation, camaraderie. Excuses made, schedules altered, buying them more time in each other's company. Fleeting touches growing more bold. And finally, there is a moment, clear as crystal, calm as freefall, a point of no return when the Wolf leans in to claim her.

It would be almost justice, to let him fall, to taste, without knowing who she is, without sharing the history between them yet to come. A skewed reflection of her first foray down this path.

But no. The Halla places a hand on his chest, bidding him stop without pushing him away. There is a truth you must know she tells him. A secret I need to share before we fall further, but one you cannot know, cannot keep, lest we unmake the world with our folly.

The Wolf, the clever Wolf, hears and considers and bids her find a loophole. To tell him what she must, to omit what she must, and be assured he will push for no more than she offers.

A moment of choosing, a moment when the Halla should flee. But the heart wants what it wants and in distant Arlathan where spirits weave in and out of the everyday, emotions can suffocate sense.

So she tells him. She is from the future, called here by magic and obligation. That she grew up in a world where Arlathan is a distant fractured memory, where their people live mortal lives, where the spirits and the power infused all around them are locked away, the stuff of dreams and nightmares. She tells him in her time, they find each other, find love, and then find themselves on opposite sides of an ideological war.

She tells him she fears the him of her time is drowning in regret, alone and adrift, but that he chose to walk away. She tells him there are still truths she does not dare share. And that when her time here is done, when she is returned to her proper place, that he will need to bind away all memory of whatever they are to be in the here and now, less they change the future and destroy everything.

The Wolf listens. Considers. And kisses her, soft as a promise. Tells her how lucky he is, to get to fall in love with her twice.

The heart wants. Wisdom submits to desire. The Wolf and the Halla join, spirit and body, and for a time all is joy and belonging and love.

For a time.

Once upon a time in ancient Arlathan, a beloved Halla was summoned before the gods. It is the King who addresses her, for the Queen and the Wolf are both absent from the gathering. Lovesick Child, he said, you have done so well. We know, about you and the Wolf. You have bound yourselves to each other and in your binding called forth a new spirit soon to be made flesh. Did you not wonder why we pulled you here? You are nothing to us, but everything to him. We see glimpses of the shifting currents of what is to come, hear whispers of the Wolf's treachery, of your hold upon him, and we so hoped you would give us the leash with which to keep him under control.

The King continued with a knife sharp smile and poison sweet words. Do not worry. When your tenure is spent we shall still return you to the future’s distant shore. Your child shall remain here, in our service, to ensure the Wolf’s continued loyalty. While we wait, you shall enjoy our hospitality. The King bid the Halla be taken to his household, under lock and guard.

And she was. The Halla raged and plotted, feeling foolish and bereft. Growing with child, rashly made but desperately wanted. Awful, beautiful - never had her heart been so full and so broken.

She called out to the spirits, who weave in and out of the everyday, who care not for locks and guards and less for the King's cruelty. The Halla begged for their help.

The spirits tell her the Wolf is also imprisoned. The Queen is trying to intervene. The immortal court moves slowly by mortal reckoning and her time is running short.

They tell her she is bound in powerful magic, has been since she was brought to Arlathan.

A trigger, that once her child is born the Halla will be quickly pulled back to her time.

A block, holding all her memories of this time. She will return alone and she will not remember.

The Halla begs, can they be removed?

The spirits tell her no. The magic has been woven with the mark of the Well, willingly accepted in her past, their future.

The Halla weeps. Can it extend to her child? Can she take them away with her?

The spirits tell her no. Partially spirit born, partially flesh. The child would not be likely to survive, not without time to settle. And there might not be time before the spells are realized.

The Halla thinks. Can the spells be modified?

Yes.

The memory block is expanded, extended, twisted to make not just the Halla but all she encountered in Arlathan forget. The Wolf, the gods, time will march on ignorant of any deviance and those who do not remember her child cannot use them against their father. It is made manifest, a foci of faceted crystal and veilfire.

They delay the trigger, as much as possible. To give the Halla what time they can.

They promise to hide her child. To keep them safe in one of the many unknowable folds of reality, a place they know where death and life create a Well of energy that can mask any entity to those who know its ways.

And then they wait.

Once upon a time in ancient Arlathan, an angry King felt a surge of magic tear through his halls and his mind. He knows something has been taken from him, riding magic of his own making, but cannot counter fast enough to recover that which was lost. He tracks the source of the magic to a locked chamber, under guard, and none in his household can remember who or what it contained.

Inside there is blood, a foci of faceted crystal and veil fire, and the quickly fading remains of ritual made manifest. The King acts quickly, drawing in power, calling on the blood and its ties to whoever shed it.

He sees a glimpse, two great spirits bending over a woman who cradles a newly born child in her arms. He knows not who she is, who they are, or why they were imprisoned in his home.

We have one last gift the spirits in the recalling say. One more modification. A key to unlock the memories. Tell us your daughter's name. We will try to get her to you. If she tells you her name, it will free the blocked memories.

And the woman speaks, fervently, with hope and love and sorrow, the magic around them and around the King already unraveling, fading, swept away.

Her name is -

“Amara? What are you reading?”

Amara Ingellvar, apprentice of the Mourn Watch, looked up at her friend, startled. She had read though the papers clutched in her hands twice and still wasn't completely sure what they were describing. “I don't know. Some kind of tragic love story, I think, but it's not finished. One of the spirits gave it to me.”

Sybil frowned, circling around her friend and classmate to better look at the tattered parchment. “Once upon a time in ancient Arlathan” she read aloud. “Huh. Is it an elf story? Why's an old elf story written in Trade?”

Amara shrugged, angeling the fragile papers away from Sybil. She wasn't sure what the story was about, but she felt inexplicably shy about sharing it. “I don't know. Just because I'm an elf doesn't make me an expert.”

“Yeah, I know. It's just weird. Why are the spirits always giving you weird stuff?”

“I don't know. They said it was mine. It's not, I've never seen it before.”

“Well, you should bring it down to the archives. There's time before class.”

“I will,” Amara said. “I just think I need to read through it one more time.”

(In a related note, here's a bad screenshot of Amara "Rook" Ingellvar and Inquisitor Keara Lavellan. I was pretty proud of how much Rook looked like a younger version of her Mom 💕)

[hungryblackbird]

The first time ever I saw your face I thought the sun rose in your eyes And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave To the dark and the endless skies, my love To the dark and the endless skies xx

[gothic-ouji]

⸺⠀⠀🌈⠀⠀The Prinzessin Der Verurteilung! ⠀⠀⨟

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Trans 𓏴 CharFischl !

ㅤ⏖ Definition :

A transcharacter identity for those who feel as though they are / should be Fischl from Genshin Impact !

Already coined? Consider this an alt flag!

[meechiipost]

[cityandking]

dai/zaref. post-campaign. 1.3k for the prompt "breathe just breathe" requested by @forcekenobi // prompts

The worst of it is that he doesn’t notice. It’s a matter of seconds—a bolt of black energy rockets towards the woman who brought them up to the caves in the first place and he reacts automatically, shield up to protect her, splintering the strike. It’s familiar as breathing—he knows the feeling, the brief bracing, the way everything goes to light and steel for a heartbeat.

And then the sparks clear and the world returns and he twists around just in time to see the other wraith, the one with the blackmetal spear, standing over Zaref’s prone form, driving the point down into him again—

and again—

and—

Daichi swears, for a moment, his heart stops. For a moment, everything goes distant and hazy. For a moment he isn’t sure what he’s doing; power sings in his blood, and some vestige of divinity burns through him, and he knows that he thinks no and he knows that he thinks please and he knows that he thinks a great golden nothing, a sweep of sunlight and terror.

And then he blinks and the fight is over, their enemies vanished with nothing but ash and tattered rags in their wake, and Zaref is still—

And Zaref—

“No,” says Daichi. He’s on his knees without remembering how he got there, fingers against Zaref’s throat where no pulse beats. “No,” he says again, fumbling to pull out the diamond he always carries—a backup of a what-if, a failsafe because he’s a healer, a reminder that it was never Pelor who said such things were of evil.

“Zaref,” he says, lips numb, everything numb. He doesn’t feel the casting of the spell, but he watches the diamond shatter, and the fine, shimmering dust clouds the air. Daichi has no attention to spare for the looming cave or the people they are supposed to be here to rescue or the poor woman who led them up here nor anything else, because Zaref is lying still and cooling and dead on the ground and Daichi can’t— he can’t—

“No,” he says again, and the diamond dust burns and vanishes in a flare that is neither the sun nor the forge but a new thing, a dawnlight all his own. He has, vaguely, the sensation of reaching—a certain searching stretch, a way of feeling with not-fingers for a specific texture, a specific warmth.

“Please,” he says, so quiet he isn’t sure he says it at all. Isn’t sure that it’s any more than a breath.

Not this, he thinks. Not now, not here. They have done too much; they have too much left to do. They are owed so much more time than this. It cannot end here.

"Zaref," he says, terror in his chest and his fingertips and unwieldy under his tongue—because he knows the other side of this too. The relief. The way the weight falls away. "Please."

The light fades. The day stills. Daichi is aware, vaguely, of the figure hovering behind him. The sun is high and small in the sky, and the wind cold. Daichi watches Zaref. Daichi cannot look at anything but Zaref.

With a great, heaving breath, he wakes.

“Dai,” he starts, and then he's cough, a wet choking sound. Daichi folds forward, hands on his cheeks, pouring life back into him, almost more than his body can take. Through his rent armor, his skin begins to knit together, and his coughing eases to a thick, choking gasp.

"You're okay," Daichi tells him, as if speaking it could make it so. "Breathe. Just breathe."

Zaref sucks in another breath. "Daichi.”

"I'm here," he says. He keeps the spell up, mana leeching away as it sets Zaref's ribs straight and seals the puncture of his lungs and straightens his spine. "I'm sorry."

"Dai," Zaref says again, and his hand rises to touch Daichi's where it sits against Zaref's cheek. It's only then that Daichi realizes he's shaking. He must wear his terror openly on his face, because Zaref’s hand skims up to grip his wrist. "I'm alright."

"Okay," says Daichi, even though he wasn't, even though he barely is now, even though he had been dead on the ground and Dai had been too late. He takes a breath and leans in to press his forehead to Zaref's.

Zaref raises his other hand to rest against the back of Daichi's neck. Daichi’s eyes slip closed as a shudder runs through him. He is aware, distantly, of the prickle of power that lingers around him, the shuffle and movement of the freed townsfolk now that the fight is done and the battle quiet. But he has no energy or thought to spare for them.

"I'm sorry," he says. He has known, of course. He has always known what he did to Zaref deep in the depths of Selto's ocean. But there is knowing and there is knowing, and to see it like this, to feel the full weight of it come crashing down around him— "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

“I’m alright,” Zaref says again. Daichi feels it when he speaks, the way his jaw moves under his hands. And then, “But I could use a little air.”

“Sorry,” he says again, more rueful. He presses a swift, glancing kiss to Zaref’s mouth—soft, warm, breathing and alive—and then makes himself rise, makes himself pull away enough to help Zaref to sit. He runs a hand down Zaref’s front as they rearrange themselves, just to be certain—but he is healed, entire, heart steady and lungs whole. It is almost as if it had never happened, except for the leftover panic in the tips of Daichi’s fingers and the faint glow of fading spellcraft and the rent holes in Zaref armor and—

Oh.

The cave mouth where the wraiths have made their nest is a bleak, abandoned place, and the clearing before it mostly craggy scrub even this far south into the foothills. Except that now, spilling out across the bare earth all around him and Zaref—like ichor, almost—is a ring of golden, flowering grasses the likes of which he has only seen in fragmented dreams and memory. Daichi takes a slow breath and watches the wind cut through the stalks and stems, sending them shivering, a shock of light and life amid the dusty, barren land.

Nearby, the townsfolk mill—a dozen of them, he is distantly relieved to note, all accounted for and caught between staring at the sudden bloom of meadowland and their guidewoman as she touches their shoulders, looking them over. Daichi, too, should look. He should rise and tend to the ill and the infirm, should check for sickness and lingering rot. But he cannot seem to pull himself away from Zaref.

“I don’t think you have done this before,” Zaref says quietly. One hand reaches out to brush through the grasses, and he wears an expression that is part ache and part wonder. Daichi knows what memories this conjures.

“I think I may have been…” He searches for the right words, but there are none. “Carried away.”

“So I see,” says Zaref, but some of the ache clears to make space budding amusement. “And will it always be like this?”

“No,” says Daichi. Whatever happened here, wherever he went, it’s beyond even the grace of the Godling's gift. He too reaches out to run a hand through the grass and it tickles, soft and half-familiar, against his palm. “No, this was— No.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. Daichi leans against him, attentive of his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, the quiet huff of his breathing. He turns, briefly, and presses his forehead against Zaref’s shoulder, wishing he could burrow through the metal and find skin. But— later. Now, he must find the tattered edges of his compute to pull together. There are other people who need him. He cannot be selfish with his fear or his relief.

With a great breath, he pushes himself to his feet, reaching down to help Zaref rise. For a moment they stand in the grass, this impossible shock of life grown from nothing, pressed together. Then Zaref touches his hip and nudges him forward, and Daichi goes to tend to the townsfolk.