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odileeclipse · 3 months ago

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In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 14

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The morning air was crisp as you and your friends weaved through the lesser-traveled paths of the Academy grounds. The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting long shadows over the cobblestone pathways, the faint hum of morning lectures and student chatter still distant enough to not be a concern. It wasn’t difficult to find the path leading down to the Astral River the shimmering divide between the Academy and the Ghost City. Normally, students would take the officially sanctioned routes: bridges, portals, or authorized ferries. But that wasn’t your group’s style. “Are you sure he’s going to be here this early?” Earl Grey Cookie murmured, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as you all neared the water’s edge. “Of course,” Chai Latte Cookie said breezily, walking ahead. “The Ferryman’s always here. It’s kind of his whole thing.” And sure enough there, standing at the shore, was the Ferryman. A skeletal figure draped in tattered robes, the Ferryman clutched his ever-present scythe, the blade gleaming faintly with an ethereal glow. His hat, adorned with its peculiar crosshatched pattern, tilted slightly as he turned toward your group. Despite his grim appearance, his expression brightened upon seeing you all approach.

“Ah, greetings, little travelers,” the Ferryman drawled, his voice echoing like the wind through hollow bones. “Do you wish to journey across the Astral River?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned in slightly. “Depends. What’s your price today?” The Ferryman let out a deep, rattling laugh, one that sent an eerie ripple across the water’s surface. “The same as always, my dear friends. Company. Conversation to keep this weary soul entertained.” He sighed dramatically. “An eternity of ferrying can be such a lonely task, you know.” “You literally see students all the time,” you pointed out, crossing your arms. “Ah, but they rarely have such charming tales to tell,” the Ferryman countered. Earl Grey Cookie exhaled through his nose, already bracing himself. “Fine. What do you want to hear?” The Ferryman grinned, stepping aside and motioning to the shimmering water behind him. “Tell me a story as we walk.” With that, he tapped the butt of his scythe against the river’s surface. The water rippled, then stilled, taking on an almost glass-like sheen. It was always strange, walking across the Astral River. Each step sent soft waves beneath your feet, yet you never felt like you were sinking. Instead, it was as if the river itself had decided, just for this moment, to carry you.

As you all stepped forward, Chai Latte Cookie took the lead in entertaining the Ferryman, launching into a retelling of a particularly embarrassing Academy mishap involving a misfired spell and a very grumpy librarian. The Ferryman chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, students and their magical blunders. Some things never change.”

As the journey continued, you couldn’t help but steal a glance back toward the Academy, its towering spires growing smaller in the distance. There was something exhilarating about sneaking away like this, even if it was just for ice cream. Soon enough, the mist of the Ghost City curled around your ankles, the outline of buildings and flickering lanterns coming into view. The Ferryman finally came to a halt, tapping his scythe against the air. The shimmering path beneath your feet vanished, leaving you safely on the shore. “And here we are,” he announced grandly. “Your destination, delivered without incident.” He let out another rattling laugh. “See? I am an excellent guide.” “You say that like we’ve ever had an issue,” you teased.

“Ah, but one never knows when adventure may strike.” The Ferryman gave a dramatic bow. “Now, enjoy your time in the Ghost City, little travelers. But remember, should you need passage back, I will be waiting.” “Of course you will,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered under his breath. With a few final words of thanks, you and your friends slipped past the misty streets, leaving the Ferryman’s presence behind as you ventured toward the city’s well-known ice cream shop. Now, the real fun could begin. The Ghost City was unlike anywhere else in the world. It was a place caught between realms, where the past and present wove together like threads of mist. Lanterns flickered with eerie green and blue flames, casting long shadows that wavered like living things. The cobbled streets curved in ways that defied logic, twisting around grand, towering buildings with architecture lost to time. Phantasmal figures drifted through the air, remnants of ages past, some engaged in endless conversations while others simply watched the living pass by. Despite its spectral nature, the city was lively. The market square bustled with ghostly vendors selling goods both familiar and arcane enchanted trinkets, glowing fruits, and books that whispered their contents aloud if one dared to open them. The air carried the scent of spiced cider, roasted nuts, and of course, the unmistakable sweetness of freshly made ice cream. You and your friends wove through the streets, eyes wide with wonder. There was something about the Ghost City that made you all feel lighter, as if the weight of lectures, expectations, and the Academy’s rigid structure had been left behind on the other side of the river. Here, in the lantern-lit mist, you weren’t students of magic, burdened with studying and stress, you were just you.

“First stop! The ice cream shop,” Chai Latte Cookie announced, marching forward with purpose. “No distractions!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed. “You’re saying that? The same person who stopped twice already to admire cursed jewelry?” “I was appreciating craftsmanship!” she shot back, nose in the air. “Anyway, priorities. Ice cream.” The shop was an institution among Academy students. Tucked away on a side street, its glowing purple sign read The Wisp & Whimsy, promising flavors both mundane and magical. A bell jingled as you stepped inside, and immediately, the air was filled with the crisp chill of frozen treats and the rich aroma of caramelized sugar. The glass display cases stretched across the room, holding an array of colors and textures, some of which shimmered or changed hues when viewed from different angles. The owner, a friendly old ghost who had perfected the art of frozen desserts in his afterlife, drifted over with a knowing smile. “Back again, I see. And what will it be this time?”

The four of you lined up, eyes scanning the case with the seriousness of scholars poring over ancient texts. Chai Latte Cookie was the first to decide. “Vanilla bean with honeycomb shards,” she declared, grinning. “Classic, a little sweet, but with a crunch.” She gave you a wink. “Just like me.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, peering over the selection. “Earl Grey ice cream with dark chocolate flakes,” he finally said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “A refined choice, obviously.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t even hesitate. “Hazelnut gelato with crushed biscotti on top,” he said, nodding as if confirming the universe’s natural order. “Perfect balance of texture and flavor. No notes.” All eyes turned to you. “What about you, (Y/N)?” Chai Latte Cookie asked, rocking on her heels. There was no rush. You took a moment, looking over the options, considering your choice carefully before making your order. Pineapple ice cream, with pineapple chunks when it was finally scooped into your hands, the chill of it seeping through the cup, you couldn’t help but smile. With your frozen treasures secured, the four of you dashed back outside, ice cream in hand, laughing like children set loose in a festival. Chai Latte Cookie immediately looped her arm through yours, steering you toward the center square. “Alright, so what’s the plan? We have the whole city at our feet!” “We could check out that bookstore Hazelnut keeps nerding out about,” Earl Grey Cookie suggested, taking a slow, deliberate bite of his ice cream. “Or, if you want to be really adventurous, we could visit the Phantom’s Alley.”

Chai Latte Cookie shuddered. “Absolutely not. Last time we went down there, a ghost whispered in my ear and I swear I lost ten years off my life.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed, already flipping through his ever-present notebook. “We could try and track down one of the wandering storytellers! They always know the best ghost tales.” “Or,” you suggested between bites of your ice cream, “we could just… enjoy the city. Walk around, explore, see where we end up.” They all paused. Then Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “I like that plan.” So that’s what you did. You wandered through the streets, stopping wherever something caught your eye watching a street magician conjure floating lanterns that danced to silent music, daring each other to taste-test one of the market’s glowing candies, peeking through the windows of long-forgotten buildings where books floated idly in the air. The laughter came easy, the conversations endless. It was one of those rare, perfect moments. The kind where nothing else existed outside of the here and now. No responsibilities, no expectations, no looming pressures just the warmth of friendship, the chill of ice cream, and the magic of a city caught between life and memory. For the first time in a long while, you all felt truly, blissfully free. The city pulsed with an eerie yet thrilling energy, its lantern-lit streets humming with a life that defied its ghostly nature. Wandering through the mist-veiled alleys and bustling market squares, you and your friends felt like children again free to indulge in mischief, to chase fleeting joys, to forget, even for a little while, the weight of the Academy’s expectations. Your adventure truly began at the Market of Forgotten Goods, a sprawling bazaar filled with relics from ages past. Ghostly vendors called out their wares, offering everything from enchanted quills that never ran out of ink to books that whispered their own contents when opened. The air smelled of parchment, dried herbs, and something vaguely metallic, as if the very essence of lost time had settled over the marketplace.

Chai Latte Cookie let out a gasp of delight as she tugged you toward a stand displaying jewelry, each piece embedded with stones that pulsed like tiny heartbeats. “Look at these! Tell me they’re not gorgeous.” She held up a delicate ring that gleamed with a soft golden glow, tilting her head in consideration. “Do you think it would look good on me?” “It’s probably cursed,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered without looking up from his notebook, where he was diligently scribbling notes about the marketplace. Chai Latte Cookie huffed. “You always say that. Maybe I like a little mystery.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked, inspecting a pocket watch that ticked without visible hands. “I think what Hazelnut means is that everything here has some magic attached to it. A ring that glows like that? It probably has an interesting history.” You chuckled as Chai Latte Cookie twirled the ring between her fingers, then slipped it onto her finger anyway. “Guess I’ll just have to live with the consequences.” The market held its fair share of curiosities, from bottled moonlight to mirrors that refused to show your reflection unless you asked them a question. You picked up a small music box and turned the key, only for a hauntingly beautiful melody to spill out a tune that sounded familiar yet just out of reach. “Cursed,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said again. “You’re the worst,” Chai Latte Cookie shot back, but there was no bite to her words. As you wandered deeper into the city, the air grew colder, and the streets became narrower. Without meaning to, you all found yourselves standing at the entrance to Phantom’s Alley, a place notorious for its eerie whispers and ghostly apparitions. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the cobblestone, twisting into shapes that shouldn’t have been possible.

Earl Grey Cookie crossed his arms. “Alright, if one of us is going to get haunted today, my bet is on Hazelnut.” “Excuse me?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shot him an incredulous look. “Why me?” “You take notes on everything,” Earl Grey Cookie pointed out. “Ghosts love unfinished business. You’d make the perfect target.” “You guys are terrible,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered, but he still flipped open his notebook, pen at the ready. “You’re all insane for thinking we should go in,” Chai Latte Cookie cut in, eyes narrowed at the darkened alleyway. But when you took a step forward, she immediately grabbed your sleeve, fingers tightening. “I mean, if you insist, at least don’t leave me behind.” The air inside Phantom’s Alley was different. It clung to you, thick and heavy, charged with an unnatural stillness. Every so often, you swore you heard faint laughter just beyond earshot, just out of reach. “Well,” you said, voice deliberately even, “this isn’t too bad.” A whisper slithered through the silence. You shouldn’t be here. Chai Latte Cookie shrieked. Earl Grey Cookie clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes crinkling with barely-contained laughter, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie furiously jotted something down. “What did it sound like? Male? Female? Was it an echo, or-” “It sounded like a bad decision,” Chai Latte Cookie snapped, tugging you toward the exit. “We’re leaving.”

You didn’t argue. Even if it was just playful ghostly mischief, there was only so much heart-racing adventure one could take in a day. A few streets down, you stumbled upon a gathering in the town square. Wisps of spectral light floated in the air, illuminating a group of ghostly figures seated in a circle. At the center stood a woman whose translucent form flickered like candlelight as she spoke. “The Storyteller’s Circle,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie mused, adjusting his glasses. “They share tales of the city’s past. Some say they were part of its past.” You and your friends sat among the listeners as the storyteller wove a tale of lost lovers who could only meet in the Ghost City once every hundred years. Her voice wasn’t loud, yet it filled the space as if whispered directly into your mind. “Kind of romantic,” Chai Latte Cookie murmured, resting her chin in her hands. “Imagine waiting a hundred years just to see someone again.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed. “Sounds tragic.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. But some people are worth waiting for.” You glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at you; his gaze was distant, lost in thought. Before you could dwell on it, the ghost finished her story, and the crowd murmured their appreciation in soft, breathless tones. Eventually, as the sky turned a deeper shade of blue, you all found yourselves back at the ice cream shop, drawn in by the sheer delight of indulgence. “Alright,” Earl Grey Cookie announced, arms crossed, “we need to settle something. What is the objectively best ice cream flavor?” “You can’t be serious,” Chai Latte Cookie groaned. “We just did this earlier.” “I am serious,” Earl Grey Cookie countered. “This is important.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “He just wants validation.” “I think,” you mused, “we should all try something different and compare.” That led to another round of ice cream, a heated debate on the merits of each flavor, and ultimately, no conclusion except that ice cream was always a good idea. As the city lights flickered like distant stars, you made your way back to the riverbank where the Ferryman awaited. “Had your fill of adventure?” he asked, the ever-present grin in his voice. “For now,” you admitted. As he guided you across the astral river, the Ghost City faded into the distance, its lanterns flickering like remnants of a dream. There was a sense of longing in leaving a feeling of stepping out of something magical and returning to reality. But as you glanced at your friends, still laughing, still teasing, still them, you realized the magic of the Ghost City wasn’t just in its haunted streets or its forgotten wonders. It was in the way you had all been free. And that magic? That was something you carried with you, even as the Academy’s spires loomed back into view.

Sneaking back into the Academy was a delicate art, one you and your friends had perfected over time. The night air was cool, carrying with it the last remnants of the Ghost City’s magic, as you all crept across the grounds with hushed laughter and hurried footsteps. The Academy’s towering silhouette loomed ahead, its ancient stonework bathed in moonlight. Chai Latte Cookie led the way, light on her feet, barely making a sound. Earl Grey Cookie followed close behind, adjusting his coat as he kept an eye out for wandering professors or night sentries. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, ever the meticulous one, checked his pocket watch and muttered something about making better time than last week. Once inside, the grand halls were nearly deserted, the only sounds being the soft flickering of candlelight and the distant ticking of the enchanted clocks that lined the corridors. It was late very late but you all moved with purpose toward the dining hall, not necessarily out of hunger, but for the sake of tradition. The dining hall, once filled with the clatter of conversation and the warmth of candlelit meals, was now eerily quiet. Only a few enchanted lanterns remained lit, casting soft pools of light over the long tables. The food left behind was nothing special; cold rolls, half-eaten platters of roasted vegetables, and the last remains of soup that had likely been simmering for hours. Still, none of you hesitated. You each grabbed a plate, sitting at your usual spot, keeping your voices low despite the empty space around you. The Academy was ancient, and its walls had a way of listening.

“That was so much fun,” Chai Latte Cookie sighed dreamily, resting her cheek against her palm as she poked at a slice of fruit. “I haven’t felt that free in ages.” “You say that every time we sneak out,” Earl Grey Cookie pointed out with an amused smile. “And I mean it every time.” She huffed before turning to you with a knowing look. “But I think someone had an especially enchanting time.” You blinked, mid-bite, suddenly wary. “What?” She tilted her head. “You seemed really caught up in the Storyteller’s Circle.” At that, a hush fell over the table. You felt their eyes on you, expectant, curious. The image of the ghostly storyteller drifted through your mind, her words still lingering like a haunting melody. You set your fork down. “It was just… beautiful,” you admitted, voice softer now. “The idea of someone waiting like that of a love that lasts centuries just for a fleeting moment together. I don’t know. It’s tragic, yeah, but… in a way, isn’t it kind of romantic?” Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I knew you’d say that.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie scoffed, flipping through the notes he had taken from earlier in the night. “Sounds miserable to me. A hundred years apart? That’s not love that’s torture.” Earl Grey Cookie hummed, contemplative. “I don’t know. Some people are worth waiting for.” You glanced at him, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he returned to his meal. Chai Latte Cookie stretched her arms above her head, letting out a breath. “Well, if I had to wait a century to see someone, I hope they’d at least make it worth it.” She shot you a teasing glance. “What do you think? Would you wait?” You hesitated, letting the question settle deep into your chest. “…I think if you love someone enough, time wouldn’t change that.” The words left your lips before you had fully thought them through, but as you said them, you realized they felt right. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered something under his breath and jotted it down in his notebook.

Chai Latte Cookie raised a brow. “Oh no. What now?” “Just adding it to my notes,” he said simply. Earl Grey Cookie leaned over to peek at the page. “You’re actually taking this seriously? It’s just a hypothetical question.” “You don’t ask questions like that unless you already have an answer,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie countered. “And I think our dear friend here has a very interesting way of looking at love.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you guys.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her hands. “No, you love us.” The conversation dissolved into hushed laughter and teasing remarks, the weight of the night settling into something warm and familiar. Eventually, when the last scraps of food were gone and exhaustion began creeping in, you all stood, stretching and stifling yawns. “Alright,” Earl Grey Cookie said, rolling his shoulders. “Time to get some sleep before we all end up sleep-deprived disasters in class.” You all murmured your agreement, quietly making your way out of the dining hall and down the corridors, the Academy’s ancient walls standing silent around you.

As you finally slipped into your dorm, shutting the door behind you, you exhaled, the events of the night playing over in your mind. The laughter, the stories, the feeling of freedom in the Ghost City. And yet, more than anything, the storyteller’s words lingered. Would you wait a hundred years for someone? You had answered so easily before, but now, alone in the quiet of your room, you weren’t sure. Because what did waiting matter… if you didn’t even know who you were waiting for?

Monday arrived sooner than you wanted, dragging you out of the warm cocoon of your blankets with an unrelenting pull. The Ghost City’s lingering magic felt like a dream now, distant and fleeting, replaced by the mundane rhythm of the Academy’s routine. You went about your morning as usual freshening up, gathering your materials for class, and heading to the dining hall, hoping for a breakfast that would soften the blow of another long week ahead. But when you stepped inside and scanned the options laid out before you, your stomach dropped just a little. No waffles. You weren’t sure why that detail bothered you so much. Maybe it was how often they’d been served last week, to the point where you’d begun to expect them, to look forward to them. Perhaps they’d had an overabundance and were simply trying to get rid of them, and now that the supply had dwindled, so had your small morning indulgence. Rationally, it wasn’t a big deal, but still, there was a quiet disappointment that settled in the pit of your stomach. With a sigh, you let your eyes drift across the breakfast spread, searching for something else, something to fill the void left behind. And then, almost absentmindedly, your gaze landed on a dish that looked familiar not because you had ever chosen it before, but because you’d seen him choose it. Shadow Milk Cookie.

You had watched him, in the way you watched many things, from a comfortable distance. His choices had always seemed so… deliberate. Carefully selected, refined in a way that made you wonder if there was something to be learned from them. So, without thinking too hard about it, you reached for the same dish. As you settled into your usual seat, taking your first bite, you found yourself dissecting the flavors more than you normally would. Was this good? Was this a meal worthy of someone as renowned as the Sage of Truth? You weren’t sure what you expected some grand revelation, some deeper understanding but instead, all you got was… breakfast. Not bad. Not life-changing, either. Still, you took another bite. Your friends eventually found you sitting alone at your usual spot, your fork idly prodding at your food. You hadn't been waiting for them, but the moment they arrived, the lively energy of their presence swept in like a fresh breeze. Chai Latte Cookie sat beside you first, sliding into place with effortless ease. She nudged your shoulder playfully before setting down her tray, steam curling from her tea. Across from you, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie took their seats as well, their expressions far too knowing for your liking.

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was the first to speak, his voice laced with amusement. "So," he drawled, leaning forward with his hands clasped together. "Did you dream of long-lost lovers pining through the centuries?" You blinked, caught mid-bite. "What?" Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin in her hand. "You know, the story. The tragic romance. The waiting-a-hundred-years-just-to-see-each-other-again thing?" Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "It was quite a beautiful tale. Wouldn’t be surprised if it followed you into your dreams." Earl Grey Cookie took a sip of his tea, watching you closely. "They wouldn't admit it if it did." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie tapped his notebook yes, his notebook against the table thoughtfully. "True. But if they did have some swoon-worthy, star-crossed-lovers kind of dream, I want to know." His grin turned sharp. "So? Anything?" You rolled your eyes, stabbing your food with a little too much force. "You guys are ridiculous. It was just a story." "But a good story," Chai Latte Cookie pointed out, stirring her tea as if this was a casual discussion rather than a full-on interrogation. You scoffed. "I didn’t go to bed composing poetry about it, if that’s what you’re asking." "But you thought about it," Earl Grey Cookie said, setting his cup down with an almost victorious air.

You hesitated, but only for a second. Of course you had thought about it. The tale had clung to you, lingering in the quiet space between wakefulness and sleep. Not just the story itself, but the feeling it left behind the weight of devotion stretching across time, of love strong enough to defy centuries. You thought about it now, even as they pressed you for answers. Your silence was enough. Chai Latte Cookie exchanged a look with Earl Grey Cookie, while Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned, flipping open his notebook. "Knew it," he muttered, scribbling something down. You narrowed your eyes. "What exactly are you writing?" "Oh, nothing," he said far too innocently. "Just taking some notes." "For what?" "You," Earl Grey Cookie said simply. "You’re a very fascinating subject, you know." "Great. Love being psychoanalyzed before I’ve even finished breakfast," you deadpanned. They laughed, and you shook your head, pushing your plate away. But even as you tried to dismiss their antics, a quiet thought gnawed at the back of your mind.

It wasn’t just the story that had lingered with you. You hadn’t seen Shadow Milk Cookie yesterday not once. It wasn’t like he was always around, but after last week, after everything, his absence had been noticeable. No keen observations over your shoulder, no well-timed interjections, no presence hovering at the edge of your awareness. And now, here you were, absentmindedly choosing a breakfast he’d favored before. You sighed. Maybe you really were reading too much into things. Because, really… it was just a story. That’s all. As the morning rolled on, the four of you made your way to Almond Custard Cookie’s lecture hall, the familiar path winding through the academy’s grand corridors. The air was thick with the hum of students preparing for the day, parchment rustling and quiet conversations blending into a soft symphony of scholarly ambition. Your friends chatted as you walked, but you were more focused than usual. Today, you weren’t bracing yourself for inevitable confusion. Today, you weren’t dreading the lecture like a battle you were bound to lose. Because at some point, despite your hesitations, you had asked Shadow Milk Cookie to help you review ahead. It had been a quiet request, one you barely managed to voice without second-guessing yourself. But he had agreed graciously, eagerly even and had guided you through the future material with the same careful patience he always showed.

And now, for the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just trying to keep up. You were keeping up. "You’re awfully quiet," Chai Latte Cookie noted, nudging your side playfully. "Are you dare I say actually confident about this lecture?" Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. "A rare sight indeed," he mused. "Should we be concerned?" You rolled your eyes. "I just… studied ahead, that’s all." Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. "With his help, I assume?" You didn’t dignify that with a response, though the warmth creeping up your neck probably gave it away. Chai Latte Cookie grinned, linking her arm through yours. "Well, well, well. Look at you, being all prepared. I’m so proud!" "Don’t be," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie deadpanned. "If they start answering questions before us, we may have to revoke their status as our perpetual academic underdog." "Harsh," you muttered, but you couldn’t help but laugh. The teasing didn’t last long, though soon enough, you had arrived at the lecture hall, filing in with the rest of the students. You took your seat, your fingers tapping absently against the desk as you glanced at the notes in front of you. You could feel a strange anticipation bubbling beneath the surface, a readiness that hadn’t been there before.

Because this time, you weren’t just hoping to scrape by. This time, you knew you could keep up. As the lecture began, Almond Custard Cookie took his place at the front of the hall, his crisp, even voice cutting through the murmurs of students settling in. He adjusted his glasses before tapping the board with the end of his cane, the subtle golden glow of magic trailing in its wake as complex runes and equations appeared. “Today,” he announced, “we will be continuing our discussion on the fundamental laws governing enchantment stability. Recall that last lecture, we examined the properties of self-sustaining magic and the principles of balance that keep an enchantment from unraveling under duress. Now, tell me what is the primary countermeasure used to reinforce unstable enchantments?” A hush fell over the hall as students scrambled through their notes, some hesitating before slowly raising their hands. For once, you weren’t frozen in place, uncertain of the answer. The concept was familiar to you now the nights spent reviewing ahead had made sure of that. You raised your hand. Almond Custard Cookie’s gaze flickered to you, his brow lifting ever so slightly in intrigue. He gestured for you to speak. “Anchor points,” you said, voice steady. “Stabilizing an enchantment can be done by binding it to a fixed locus whether it’s a physical object or an existing magical structure. This disperses excess energy and prevents the spell from collapsing in on itself.” A pause. Then, to your absolute shock, Almond Custard Cookie smiled. “Correct,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased. “Anchor points serve as stabilizing mechanisms, allowing enchantments to persist without degradation. A strong enough locus can even sustain high-energy spells that would otherwise fail under their own weight.” He glanced back at the board, adding a few additional notes. “It seems you’ve taken the time to study ahead. An admirable effort.”

The warmth in his voice, however subtle, sent a flicker of pride through you. Chai Latte Cookie, seated beside you, shot you a look one of both surprise and approval. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie muttered something under his breath, scribbling in his ever-present notebook. Earl Grey Cookie, on the other hand, leaned back slightly in his chair, expression unreadable but undeniably impressed. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t just sitting there, lost and overwhelmed. You were engaged. As Almond Custard Cookie continued, you nodded along, absorbing his explanations more easily than before. When he opened the floor for further questions, you found yourself raising your hand again, inquiring about the specific limitations of anchor points when dealing with unstable ley lines. The professor blinked at you, clearly taken aback but his lips quirked upward once more. “An excellent question,” he mused before delving into an explanation. The lecture carried on, and while Almond Custard Cookie continued as he always did methodical, precise, ever so slightly intimidating there was a distinct shift in the way he regarded you. It was subtle, but there nonetheless. By the time the class ended, you could hear the murmurs around you, a few curious glances thrown your way. You ignored them, barely containing the thrill of having actually kept up for once.

As you gathered your things, Chai Latte Cookie nudged you with her elbow. “Look at you, star student,” she teased, a grin on her face. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie merely huffed. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll start answering everything. That’s my job.” You rolled your eyes, but Earl Grey Cookie, walking beside you, murmured just loud enough for you to hear “Well done.” And somehow, those two words made the whole morning even better. The transition from morning lecture to evening study had become seamless in a way you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t a forced shift, like stepping into an entirely different world, but rather a natural progression like the slow dimming of sunlight into dusk, the air shifting to something quieter, more introspective.

And here you were again, in Shadow Milk Cookie’s office, seated across from him as the candlelight flickered between you. The study sessions had changed. They weren’t just lessons anymore, not in the way they once were. Before, you had approached them with a quiet, nervous reverence, careful not to overstep, to take up too much space. Shadow Milk Cookie had been patient then, as he was now, but there had been an undeniable distance between you. A formality. That distance had faded. It was in the way he sat, more at ease than before, his arm resting against the edge of the desk as he gestured through an explanation. It was in the way he didn’t just lecture but engaged tilting his head when you questioned something, waiting for you to puzzle through it aloud before offering guidance. It was in the way you leaned forward without thinking, elbows resting on the wooden surface as you traced patterns idly along the margin of your notes. There was something about tonight that made it feel smaller like the rest of the Academy had faded away, leaving only the soft hush of pages turning, the warmth of candlelight, and the quiet weight of shared understanding.

But despite that comfort, something lingered in the back of your mind. You hesitated, fingers lightly tapping against the parchment. You had learned their names now Camellia Pith, Serrano Bark, Fennel Drizzle. The weight of them settled uneasily in your chest, not because they frightened you anymore, but because you had a feeling Shadow Milk Cookie already knew. And you weren’t sure what he would do with that knowledge. You swallowed, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “Shadow Milk Cookie…” He hummed, not looking up immediately as he made a small notation in the margins of his book. “Yes?” A pause. Then: “You know who they are, don’t you?” That made him stop. His quill stilled against the page, though he did not immediately respond. His expression remained composed, unreadable in the low light, but the flicker of his gaze toward you was sharp. After a beat, he leaned back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. “I do.” You had expected as much, but hearing it aloud still made your stomach twist. Of course he knew. He was the Sage of Truth; there were few things that escaped his notice. The silence stretched for a moment, and then, calmly, he asked, “Why do you bring this up?” You let out a slow breath, organizing your words carefully. “I just…” You hesitated, then met his gaze. “I don’t want you to do anything.” A flicker of something crossed his face

For a moment, Shadow Milk Cookie merely regarded you, his expression unreadable in the dim candlelight. He did not interrupt, nor did he immediately refute your words. And because he did not stop you, you took it as permission to continue. “I don’t want you to do anything,” you repeated, quieter this time, steady despite the slight tension in your chest. “Not because I think they deserve kindness, or because I think what they did was right. But… I understand where they’re coming from.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze did not waver, but you knew he was listening. “They’re ambitious,” you went on, fingers curling slightly against the parchment before you forced them to relax. “And they’re scared. Not of me specifically, but of what I represent a disruption to what they thought was a given. They’ve worked hard, and suddenly, I’m here. To them, I must look like some sort of obstacle, someone who doesn’t belong.” His brow arched slightly at that, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might interrupt. But he didn’t. He let you speak. “I’m not saying they were right to do what they did,” you clarified. “But I don’t think they’re beyond reason, either. And besides…” You exhaled, leaning back in your chair. “It doesn’t bother me as much as it did before. Not when I have people who remind me that I’m worth more than just what they say about me.”

Your thoughts flickered to Chai Latte Cookie’s teasing reassurances, to Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s grumbled but sincere encouragement, to Earl Grey Cookie’s quiet, knowing nods. Your friends had made all the difference. “And,” you added, with a small, almost self-deprecating smile, “it’s not like I come across them often. A rumor here or there doesn’t change anything.” Silence stretched between you, comfortable but weighted. Shadow Milk Cookie observed you for a long moment, his gaze impossibly sharp, as if seeing through every word you had just spoken, examining them from every possible angle. Then, slowly, he closed the book in front of him, folding his hands atop the cover. “I see,” he said at last. You weren’t sure what you had expected him to say, perhaps a reminder that their cruelty was undeserved, or an argument against giving them the benefit of the doubt. But instead, he only studied you for a moment longer before inclining his head slightly.

“If that is your wish,” he continued, voice steady, measured, “then I will not bar them from my work.” A pause, deliberate. “But know this I do not tolerate those who act with dishonesty and malice under the guise of scholarship. Should their ambitions lead them down such a path again, I will not turn a blind eye.” Something about the way he said it sent a small shiver down your spine not out of fear, but out of the sheer certainty in his voice. But he would leave it be. Because you asked him to. You let out a slow breath. “Thank you.” For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to. The air between you felt… different. Not tense, not heavy, but changed in a way you couldn’t quite place. And then, as if to ground the moment, Shadow Milk Cookie reached for the book once more, tapping the spine with his fingers before giving you a knowing look. “Now,” he said, as if the previous conversation had not just altered something between you, “shall we return to the matter of anchor points? I believe you were on the verge of an insightful conclusion before we strayed.” You blinked, caught off guard for only a moment before a quiet laugh escaped you.

“Right,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly, feeling something ease in your chest. “Anchor points.” And just like that, the conversation shifted. The study session continued. But the space between you felt warmer now, quieter in a way that spoke of understanding. The shift back to familiarity was subtle but unmistakable. The moment passed, and with it, so did the quiet intimacy that had lingered between you. Shadow Milk Cookie resumed his teaching with the same practiced cadence, his tone even and assured, his presence once more untouchable. That barrier, the one that had always separated you returned as if it had never wavered in the first place. He was, once again, the Sage of Truth, a figure illuminated by knowledge, impossibly distant, his wisdom something to be reached for rather than held. And yet, the difference remained. Because now, you knew that distance was not born from indifference. It was not meant to keep you away. It was a reminder, a challenge, an unspoken expectation that if you wished to stand beside him, you had to work for it. “Anchor points,” he repeated, drawing you back to the present, his voice smooth yet unwavering. He gestured toward the parchment before you, quill tapping against the edge of your notes. “You were on the cusp of something, were you not? An observation that has yet to be spoken?” Right. Your thoughts, your conclusions you hadn’t quite finished them.

You straightened slightly, looking down at the diagrams you had been sketching just moments before. “Right,” you murmured. “Anchor points. I was thinking…” You hesitated only briefly, then pressed forward, confidence threading into your voice. “If a locus can absorb excess energy and keep an enchantment from unraveling, then hypothetically could an unstable enchantment be sustained by multiple anchor points, even if none are strong enough on their own?” A beat of silence. And then Shadow Milk Cookie smiled. “An interesting proposition.” He leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with something keen and knowing. “Tell me how do you intend to prove it?”

The barrier was there, but now, you understood what it meant. It was not a wall to keep you out. It was a threshold. A line drawn between what was and what could be. If you wanted to reach him if you wanted to stand beside him in the pursuit of truth you had to keep moving forward. And so, you did. Your fingers skimmed the edges of your notes, but you weren’t searching for the answer; you already knew it. The knowledge sat firmly in your mind, stitched together from the hours spent combing through the library’s archives, cross-referencing theories, and scribbling annotations into the margins of your own texts. You inhaled, steadying yourself, and spoke with newfound confidence. “By distributing the load between multiple anchor points, the enchantment’s energy would be diffused rather than concentrated on a single locus,” you began, your voice even. “If structured correctly, it would prevent any one point from being overwhelmed, allowing the enchantment to hold even in unstable conditions.”

A pause, then you continued, “This method is particularly effective when dealing with ley lines that shift in response to external forces. I came across a study in Theoretical Applications of Arcane Stability that proposed a similar concept, though it focused more on geographical stabilization rather than constructed enchantments. The researcher compared it to the way bridges are built how weight distribution is key to preventing collapse. If enchantments were layered in the same manner, using a reinforced framework rather than relying on a single stabilizing force, the risk of failure would be significantly reduced.” Shadow Milk Cookie had been watching you carefully from the moment you spoke, but now, something shifted in his expression. He was intrigued you could tell by the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers lightly tapped against the desk in thought. Encouraged, you pushed forward. “And in cases where the enchantment still fails, it wouldn’t be a full collapse. The energy would disperse across the weaker anchor points first, like controlled failure points in architecture. Instead of shattering completely, it would degrade in sections, allowing for reinforcement before it’s too late.”

The words left your lips effortlessly, not because you were reciting something memorized, but because you understood it. The long hours in the library, the frustration of deciphering unfamiliar theories, the moments of realization when things finally clicked it all led to this. Shadow Milk Cookie leaned back slightly, his ever-present smile shifting into something more contemplative. “Ah,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “You have been busy.” You didn’t respond right away, letting the statement settle between you. It wasn’t a mere observation. It was recognition. And perhaps, just perhaps, a hint of something close to pride. You frowned slightly, tilting your head. “What do you mean by that?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s expression didn’t shift immediately, as if he were weighing his response before offering it. His fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping against the desk, folding neatly together instead. “You have been busy,” he repeated, though slower this time, as if letting you sit with the words. “The depth of your answer, the connections you’ve drawn, is not the result of mere memorization. It is the mark of someone who has sought knowledge beyond what was simply given to them.” You blinked, not quite sure how to take that. “I… just wanted to be prepared,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled softly. “Preparation, yes. But also curiosity. You are no longer merely struggling to keep up, you are actively pursuing understanding. That is a distinction many fail to make.”

You pursed your lips, glancing down at your notes. You supposed there was truth to what he was saying, but it hadn’t felt all that grand when you were elbow-deep in books, squinting at complicated diagrams under dim library light. To you, it had just been necessary. Still, hearing it aloud acknowledgment from someone like him sent a strange warmth curling in your chest. “…I guess I have been busy,” you admitted, almost shyly. Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but whatever it was, it softened the usual sharpness in his gaze. “Indeed,” he murmured. “And it does not go unnoticed.” Something about the way he said it made you pause, unsure of whether the slight flutter in your chest was from pride or something else entirely. You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a sigh before setting your quill down with an exaggerated motion. "I think we've earned a break," you said, a playful lilt in your voice. "Don’t you?"

Shadow Milk Cookie arched a brow, his hands still poised over his own notes. "Oh? Is that so?" You nodded, leaning back slightly in your chair. "I've worked hard. We've worked hard. Surely even the great Sage of Truth can acknowledge that?" For a moment, he simply regarded you, as if assessing whether your request was a serious one. Then, to your surprise, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Very well," he said, leaning back as well, though with far more poise than you. "A break, then." Your eyes widened slightly before a small grin crept onto your face. "Just like that?" He hummed, his gaze drifting to the window where the fading evening light cast long shadows against the shelves. "You make a compelling argument," he said, tilting his head slightly. "And… I suppose I can admit that you have worked hard." You nearly laughed. "That almost sounded like praise." His lips twitched. "Take it as you will." There was something oddly satisfying about it the way he had agreed so easily, the way he had acknowledged your efforts without hesitation. It wasn’t the first time he had praised you, but this time, it felt different. More natural. More like he had expected nothing less from you. Leaning forward, you rested your chin on your palm. "So, how do you usually spend your breaks?" Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with mild amusement. "Ah. A break and conversation. You truly are pushing the boundaries of indulgence today." You laughed, shaking your head. "Come on, humor me." He let out a long-suffering sigh, but there was no real exasperation in it. "Reading, usually. Or organizing my research notes."You groaned. "That doesn’t count as a break." His eyes glimmered with something unreadable. "Then tell me what does?"

You tapped your fingers against the desk, pretending to think. "Oh, I don't know… maybe something that doesn’t involve more work?" Shadow Milk Cookie simply smiled, resting his chin against his hand as if waiting to see what else you'd say. And somehow, in the quiet warmth of his office, with papers scattered between you and the weight of study lifted just for a moment, the space between you felt smaller than before. You tapped your fingers idly against the desk, your mind drifting in the quiet lull of your break. Shadow Milk Cookie had gone eerily still, as he often did when lost in thought, his expression unreadable as he absently traced the spine of a nearby book. A slow smile crept onto your lips as you recalled something from a past conversation. "You know," you began, tilting your head slightly, "I remember you once mentioned that you play the harpsichord. And that you compose, too." Shadow Milk Cookie’s fingers stilled. His eyes flicked to yours, his expression unreadable. "Ah," he mused. "So you do listen." You rolled your eyes. "Of course, I do. I just think it's interesting. You never bring it up on your own." "Because it is not relevant to our studies," he said smoothly, but you caught the faintest ghost of amusement in his tone. You leaned forward slightly. "Still, I’ve heard people say you play beautifully. And that your compositions are…" You hesitated for a moment, recalling the exact words you'd overheard in the library. "Otherworldly. That when you play, it sounds like something from another time like the echoes of a forgotten truth." That earned you a soft chuckle, brief but undeniably genuine. "Poetic." "Fitting, isn't it?" You smiled. "You said earlier that we deserved a break. Why not make it a proper one? I'd like to hear you play." Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you in silence, his gaze searching. You had learned by now that these pauses were not a dismissal, but a consideration. You held steady under his watchful eyes, refusing to shrink away. Then, finally, he sighed, shaking his head in quiet surrender. "...Very well." Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. "Really?" "Do not mistake this for indulgence," he said, but there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "It is simply… a brief detour." You nodded, hiding the giddiness threatening to show on your face. He rose from his seat with that same effortless grace, and you followed as he led the way. There was something different about this moment, something softer. Perhaps, just this afternoon, he was allowing himself to let you in. You followed him through the sunlit corridors of the Scholars’ Wing, your footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floors. The afternoon light filtered in through tall, arched windows, casting long golden streaks across the walls. Eventually, he stopped before a set of grand double doors carved with intricate filigree, faint traces of enchantment woven into the wood. The air here felt different, quieter, almost reverent. Shadow Milk Cookie pressed his palm against the doors, and with a quiet click, they eased open. Inside, the room was bathed in warm sunlight, illuminating rows of instruments resting in careful arrangements. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and parchment, the unmistakable hush of a space meant for creation rather than conversation. At the center of the room, placed as if it were the beating heart of it all, sat a harpsichord, its ornate frame gleaming in the afternoon glow.

You hesitated in the doorway, taking in the grandeur of it all. “This place…” You glanced at him, brows furrowing. “This is where the best composers practice, isn’t it?” Shadow Milk Cookie walked forward, his steps unhurried as his fingers trailed along the edge of the harpsichord. “A common misconception,” he mused. “Just because something resides within the Scholars’ Wing does not mean it is solely for the best. It is for those who seek knowledge. For those willing to listen.” You blinked, turning his words over in your mind. His voice carried the same layered meaning it always did, never quite saying everything outright, always leaving space for something more. Your gaze drifted back to the harpsichord. “And you?” you asked. “Did you come here because you were ‘one of the best’ or because you wanted to listen?” He paused, his fingers stilling against the polished wood. There was something unreadable in his expression before he finally spoke. “…Both.” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Of course.”

A/N I hope this update is to everyone's expectations next update is hopefully Friday!!! But I'm not sure if I'll be able to update this weekend, I have to lock in. Also, I want to hear no harpsichord slander/j, seriously, I don't know, but I have this strange fascination with that instrument.

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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orangesaek · 1 month ago

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'a soul and a can of tuna' | grim!reaper Haechan

summary: just one, clumsy grim!reaper named Haechan (& his cat named Mr. Bubbles)

pairings: grim!reaper Haechan x gn!reader | genre: fluff, crack (tried) | word count: 1.1k

warnings: mentions of death but nothing serious, promise! just the nature of Haechan’s job

a/n: not proofread; inspiration from my grimreaper!Sunwoo fic

The first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes was not the pearly gates, nor a blazing pit of fire.

No, it was a boy tripping over his own scythe.

“Son of a—!” he yelled, faceplanting into what looked like an immaculately maintained graveyard lawn.

You blinked. “Did I die?”

The boy—dressed in all black, a hood slightly askew, cheeks pink with embarrassment—jumped to his feet.

“Uh, yeah! Technically. You slipped on a banana peel. Very tragic. Very… Looney Tunes.”

“I what?”

Haechan, your newly assigned Grim Reaper (as per the sparkly name badge crookedly pinned to his cloak), flipped open a glowing clipboard.

“Banana peel, cracked skull, instant departure. Classic comedic exit. You’re trending in the underworld forums, actually.”

You just stared at him.

He grinned. “Anyway, I’m here to guide your soul to the next phase of existence. Hopefully, if I can figure out where I put the keys to the portal… one sec,”

He patted his pockets, then his sleeves, then somehow pulled a cat out of his hood.

“Wrong pocket. That’s Mr. Bubbles. He likes naps.”

You tried not to laugh, but it bubbled up anyway.

“You’re the least grim Grim Reaper I’ve ever imagined.”

Haechan beamed. “Thank you! I pride myself on being a one-of-a-kind experience. You only die once, right?”

Suddenly, he froze, looked back at his clipboard, and then squinted at you.

“Oh. Uh... oops.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oops?”

“You weren’t supposed to die. Turns out you’re just in a very realistic coma… classic rookie mix-up! You’ve got about three more decades left. My bad!”

“Wait, so I’m not dead?”

“Not anymore! I’ll just… escort you back.”

He waved his scythe in a circle, muttered something in what sounded suspiciously like baby talk, and a glowing door appeared.

Before you stepped through it, you turned to look at him.

“Do all near-death experiences involve clumsy reapers with cats in their hoods?”

“Only the lucky ones,” he winked. “Tell your soul not to wander next time, okay?”

You smiled, warmth filling your chest.

“You’re kind of sweet. For a reaper.”

“I’m multi-talented,” he said proudly, “and extremely underpaid.”

Later, when you woke up in the hospital, your first words were, “Tell me someone got that banana peel on camera”.

—

You were sipping on hospital-grade orange juice, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you technically died a few days ago, when the window creaked open.

Not the door—the third-floor window.

You turned, expecting a nurse. Instead, you saw a familiar black cloak tangled in the curtains and a very flustered Haechan whisper-yelling, “I meant to be suave! Dang it!”

“You again?” you blinked. “Aren’t you supposed to be… I don’t know, ferrying lost souls or playing chess with Death?”

“Shhh!” he tumbled into the room, shutting the window behind him. “This is highly illegal Grim Reaper behavior, okay? I could get demoted to haunting empty office buildings.”

“Why are you here?”

He looked sheepish, scratching the back of his neck.

“I just… wanted to make sure you were okay. Coma exits can be disorienting. Plus, I accidentally bonded with your cat while you were out.”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“You do now, Mr. Bubbles moved in. Long story.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped.

“You broke into the mortal plane for a wellness check and to return a cat?”

He flopped onto the visitor’s chair with all the dramatics of someone who’d spent too long around death.

“Also to see if you remembered me. Most people don’t. Souls blur dreams and all that. But you seem freakishly grounded, so… hey.”

You looked at him.

The same boy who tripped over his own scythe, accidentally almost kidnapped your soul, and now sat in a hoodie with a scythe keychain clipped to his jeans like a fashion statement.

“I remembered,” you said softly. “It’s hard to forget someone who fumbled death so charmingly.”

He smirked, “Flattery will get you everywhere. Even the afterlife.”

Just then, a nurse knocked on the door and poked her head in.

“Everything alright?”

You looked at the empty chair. Haechan had vanished, poof, like a ghost with stage fright.

“Yeah,” you said, lips twitching, “I think I was just… daydreaming.”

But as the door shut again, you noticed a sticky note on your tray.

It read, “Glad you lived. Try not to die weirdly again. P.S. Your cat likes tuna. —H”

—

You were not planning to almost die again. But after your last dance with the afterlife—and the chaotic, cat-carrying Grim Reaper who visited you twice—you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

So you did what any rational person would do.

You Googled ‘how to summon a Grim Reaper’.

Turns out, most of the internet thinks you’re either goth, cursed, or both. But buried deep in an old forum with suspiciously good grammar, you found a spell titled,

“For When You Just Wanna Talk to Your Reaper Crush 💀❤️”

“Seems legit,” you muttered, lighting a candle on your nightstand and opening a can of tuna (just in case).

You whispered the words. Nothing happened.

Then, from your closet, came a muffled voice.

“Okay, I swear if this is another cult—oh COME ON.”

The door flew open, and out stumbled Haechan, one arm tangled in your winter coats, the other holding a portal scroll like a disgruntled delivery boy.

He looked around, spotted you on the bed in your pajamas, and froze.

“You. Summoned. Me.”

You gave him a small wave.

“Hey.”

“That’s a Level Three Soul Violation!” he hissed, stepping out and closing your closet like it was a crime scene.

“You can’t just summon a Grim Reaper for—” He paused and sniffed the air. “Is that tuna?”

“For Mr. Bubbles,” you said innocently. “Thought he might want to visit, too.”

From under your bed came a meow.

“Traitor,” Haechan muttered at the cat before turning back to you.

“You risked the balance of life and death for… what, exactly?”

You looked down, suddenly shy.

“I just… missed you.”

That shut him up. For a full five seconds. Then he sat beside you with a soft thud.

“I’m not supposed to get attached, you know.”

You nodded. “I’m not supposed to die twice in a month, but here we are.”

He sighed. “You’re trouble.”

“Not deadly trouble.”

He laughed. “That’s a low bar, but I’ll allow it.”

You hesitated, then reached for his hand. He let you.

“You could get in trouble for being here,” you said quietly.

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I hear haunting office buildings isn’t that bad. Free Wi-Fi.”

You smiled. “So… you’ll visit again?”

He squeezed your hand and softly smiled at you.

“Next time, just leave the closet open. Saves me the coat battle.”

accepting requests atm ₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎♡

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lunar-eclipse-bunnies · 2 years ago

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crying once again over cole's symbolism

death being tied to him, the earth ninja, makes so much sense. all that comes from the earth (students, children, mothers) someday return to it in a never-ending cycle. not even cole, a manifestation of the element of earth, is free from it

and the fact that his initial weapon is a scythe, a farming tool,

and is ANOTHER symbol of death and mourning hits me so fucking hard because this was NEVER intended in the beginning of the show but naturally evolved from it

and then transfering his weapon to a hammer, a symbol of revenge and justice, building up to master of the mountain where he truly comes into his own, avenging his mother AGHHHHHHH

and despite the fact that he is the strongest, has the most to be angry and vengeful for, cole chooses to be good and kind. just because his mom asked him to, because he knows the good he can cause:

"I will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust."

AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON DAD COLE. ON THE SYMBOLISM BETWEEN COLE, THE EARTH, NURTURING AND GUIDING YOUNG WU, HES ARGUABLY THE BEST WITH CHILDREN, AND DOMESTIC WORK REGAURDING THEM, UGHHHH

even just between cole and his own mother; keeping her son grounded and whole, despite her passing, the fact that decisions she made as the earth elemental master had ripple effects that long outlived herself, the fact that she lived on not only through her son, but through her reputation among the mountain inhabitants and the good she did for them--

their NAMES, even! Cole -> coal -> victory, or literal charcoal black.

Lilly -> lily (flower) -> passion, rebirth, purity, abundance. literally white flowers.

she was the flower that nurtured a victorious coal.

#gah i just get so emotional over these two #ninjago cole #cole ninjago #cole brookstone #cole brookestone #lilly brookstone #lilly brookestone #lego #lego ninjago #ninjago #speculation #analysis #character analysis #ninjago analysis #lilly ninjago #ninjago lilly #word vomit

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lxkeee · 1 year ago

Note

I want to know more about Azrael Hfvbafhvbaefhjv 💗

I don't have any art of him (unfortunately, because I cannot draw)

Manifesting that someone will draw him omg 👀

APPEARANCE:

Azrael is a throne angel, his angel form consists of four golden rings that are filled by countless dark black eyes, his angel form is also accompanied by two pairs of black angel wings.

His semi-angel form is a male gendered body, except his head is a mini version of his actual angel form just floating above his neck.

Now to his humanoid or human body,

Azrael is tall, is 243.84 centimeters tall, has very long and slender legs and arms, skinny and slender body build (yes, he has a slutty waist), pale skin, dark black monolid eyes, long eyelashes, sharp jawline, pretty face (ethereal and out of this world, his facial features differ to the souls he's guiding. Terrifying to sinners, angelic to winners), clean and trimmed fingernails (sometimes he wears a black or gold nail polish), and his halo as dark as the abyss floats stop hiss head.

I don't know what hairstyle this is called but his hair is like this(https://pin.it/5WZCzuwcU) but his hair color is black.

He has the touch of death and he can activate and deactivate it at will. When activated, darkness crawls up from his fingertips up to his elbow, creating an ombre color of light and darkness.

Azrael Pinterest board (https://pin.it/L5weDj6X9)

PERSONALITY & BACKGROUND:

Azrael is a mystery amongst the three triads of heaven, doesn't make an appearance often amongst his kind.

Azrael has a laid back yet teasing personality; teases anyone if he has the chance to, he finds it amusing to see the person's reaction.

He always has a smirk on his face.

He has a bit of a flirty personality, he knows he has the looks and won't hesitate to use it to his advantage.

Especially asking the angels underneath his leadership to do favors for him, such as doing paperwork or doing boring tasks that he doesn't feel like doing.

Due to his laid-back personality, he sometimes doesn't take serious situations seriously and often cracks a joke during it.

He usually skips meetings unless it's a meeting that is held at the First Triad Embassy.

The First Triad Embassy is where angels who commit serious crimes are to be judged.

As the angel of death, he couldn't possibly roam the mortal realm on his own.

That is where the angels underneath his leadership come in.

Each virtue oversees their assigned angel types

He watches over the thrones and dominion angels, giving them lists of souls they needed to reap, usually souls of winners.

He wants to personally reap the souls of sinners, he wants to scare them.

When guiding a winner he just summons a portal that leads to heaven's gates.

When guiding a sinner, he just opens a portal underneath the soul's feet and drops them to hell without notice.

Azrael was born into existence when earthly creatures were created, no, humans aren't the first creatures on earth.

He was created because mortal creatures existed.

He is death, he is what awaits them after their time ends.

Yes, he also sends animal souls to heaven.

Azrael is currently seventh in rank among the seven main virtues, embodying the virtue of humility.

MISCELLANEOUS FUN FACTS:

• His favorite flower is a red spider lily.

• He is a cat person, he loves cats. His favorite are the orange ones.

• His bird form is a black swan.

• He doesn't like doing paperwork.

• He likes drinking black coffee with two cubes of sugar.

• His favorite colors are black, white, and gold.

• He wields a black scythe with golden edges.

• He gets distracted easily.

• Slightly narcissistic.

• Amongst Luke's ocs he is the favorite child.

#lxkeee answers #hazbin hotel #Lxke's Azrael character

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darylsbitchboy · 8 months ago

Text

Word count: 1477

Proofread?: Yes

Proofread by @wannabekook

Male Reader x Daryl Dixon Fanfic

Summary: You and Daryl are alone on a run and it brings back old memories of your first encounter with one another.

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It was hot outside as me and Daryl were on a supply run, just chatting about what supplies we mainly needed to bring back to the prison. I was a pretty skilled guy and my capabilities were mainly my brute strength and stealthiness. Daryl was talking as I was spacing out, looking out the window of the moving vehicle. I was reminiscing about the days when me and Daryl were going on bike rides together. Daryl on his harley sportster and me on my Kawasaki.

Daryl grabbed me by the shoulder and lightly gave me a shake. “Wake up Y/N. We’re here.” He said, snapping me out of my zoned out state.

I nodded to acknowledge him and blinked back to reality before climbing out of the car. My head is still reeling from past memories. The sound of groaning from the walkers that had taken notice to the two of us, fully drawing me to the present time. Daryl drew back his crossbow and shot an arrow into one of the walkers’ heads.

“Look out.” I called out, pulling my knife out and stabbing the other walker in the back of the head. The surrounding area filled with silence once more.

Daryl gave me a respective nod as a thank you. He put his crossbow away and began to lead the way towards the warehouse. The comforting silence made the atmosphere more relaxing. I soon started to follow right after Daryl, carefully watching in all directions for potential dangers. I couldn’t help but think of all the times Daryl had saved my ass from absolute death. I rushed up to the man with a shit-eating grin.

“You don’t have to be so quiet, we’re in the clear as of now.” I hummed my words, lightly nudging Daryl in the side with my elbow. A grumpy moan leaving Daryl’s lips in response.

A smile crossed my face at Daryl’s grumpiness. “Awe come on man.” I said with a laugh.

Daryl let out a dragged out sigh, “Stay focused, we can’t be goofing off out here. It’s dangerous.” he groaned.

It was clear that he wasn’t trying to be mean, he was more focused on getting the run done and over with. As we reached the warehouse, Daryl tapped on the metal sheet to attract any walkers that may be trapped in the warehouse. We listened carefully, waiting to hear the groans and growls of the dead. Two minutes passed as nothing was heard so Daryl slowly pushed the door open, aiming his bow just to be safe. I followed behind him as he began to walk into the building, drawing my scythe from my back.

Once we were sure the coast was clear, we put away our weapons. The two of us diligently made our way through the warehouse and grabbed everything we needed and grabbed some ‘things’ that we wanted.

After finishing the run, we made our way back to the prison. The trip wasn’t too long but I wished it was. Thoughts filled my head as I began to imagine what me and Daryl could do in that time. I glanced over to Daryl, a small smiling crossing my lips.

Now at the prison, while everyone else was getting the supplies we had gathered, I followed Daryl into prison. I wanted to confess my feelings for the man but feared how he would react. Daryl stopped in his tracks and looked back at me. He could tell I was contemplating something.

I wasn’t paying attention and bumped into him, letting out a huff. ”Sorry man, got-”, I went to say before Daryl spun around. He grabbed my chin and guided my head up to make eye contact.

“What’s going on in that head?” Daryl asked, his thumb softly grazing over my cheek.

Blood rushed to my face as the taller man held my chin up and asked that question. I went to say something else but the only thing that left my lips was a shaky breath. My reaction made Daryl smirk, getting a slight understanding of what may have been running through my mind.

The silence was loud and felt as if it lasted an hour. Daryl eventually broke the stillness in the air. “Spit it out Y/N, we don’t have all day.”, his voice a rough whisper.

I gulped audibly and began to fidget. “Well, it’s just that.” my voice slowly dying out as Daryl leaned in as if to hear what I had to say more clearly.

“I like you Daryl. It’s okay if you dont-”, right before I could finish my sentence, I felt his other hand embrace my waist and pull me in closer.

Daryl’s strong arm holds me against his chest as he leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a soft kiss. My eyes widened in surprise, not expecting him to do something. I had figured the man was straight but seeing his reaction, I knew I was wrong to some extent. I let myself melt into it, closing my eyes and kissing him back.

Our lips moved against each other in a slow and passionate kiss. I pull back for a moment to catch my breath, opening my eyes to look at the rugged man, surprise still evident in my crystal blue eyes.

“I tolerate you too..” His tone was soft yet rough at the same time as he whispered to me.

In that moment, my heart filled with emotion as I looked into Daryl’s eyes lovingly, speechless and unsure of how to react. I was brought back to reality at the sound of Maggie’s voice.

“Get a room for you two.” She teased me and Daryl as we just stood there, staring at each other.

Me and Daryl just let out a simple laugh and walked away to my cell in the prison to continue our emotional moment. I removed my scythe from my back and leaned it against the wall before taking a seat on the bottom bunk bed. I then looked up at Daryl, my eyes sparkling with anticipation as if I was waiting on him to make a move.

I watched as Daryl put his crossbow on the ground and sat next to me, his eyes unreadable. ‘What is he thinking?’, I asked myself in my head. There was something in the way that he moved that set something a blaze in my stomach.

Daryl turned to face me, looking me up and down to analyze my body language.

He then spoke up, “Come closer.”

I didn’t hesitate for even a second, needily moving over to him. His hand reached out to lightly grab my amber brown curly hair, pulling me in to kiss him once more.

I didn’t resist, kissing back and slowly pulling Daryl on top of me. When he didn’t stop me, I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. A few moments passed as I pulled away. I relaxed against the mattress and let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re a pretty boy, you know that?”, Daryl stated as he brushed a strand of my hair out of my face. His sweet gesture made my heart flutter.

He was so harsh but sweet at the same time. The man I fell in love with years ago.

I began to reminisce once more, the day me and Daryl had first met.

We were sitting at a gas station, filling our bikes with gasoline. We made eye contact a few times but I was too shy to walk over to him and introduce myself. I glanced down at my bike. My bike was a beautiful red with white and black pinstriping. From the corner of my eye, I seen the mysterious man approach, his eyes glued to me and my bike. Though his expression was unreadable, I knew he would be the first to speak.

The man extended his hand to me, introducing himself. “The name’s Daryl Dixon. I like your bike.” his voice was scratchy when he talked.

I froze up a bit before smiling and accepting his hand shake. “I’m Y/N, your bike is nice as well.” I gave a similar response, Unsure of how to act around the stranger.

Daryl gave a simple nod, pulling his hand away and pocketing them both. “That’s a nice name you got there.”

I just smiled and turned back to my bike, closing the gas cap and putting away the nozzle. I wasn’t sure of what to say to his compliment but I was sure that he could tell I was a bit uncertain when talking to an absolute stranger.

Daryl watched me move around nervously as I mounted my bike. “We should go for a ride sometime.” He suggested.

I was brought back to reality to Daryl moving to lay beside me.

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#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #male reader #the walking dead #smut #daryl x y/n #male y/n #twd x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #male x male #reader x character #male reader x male character

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theveiledreaper · 6 months ago

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“The ghost hidden behind her veil.”

Heads up: This is not roleplay or delusion. I am an irl magical girl who practices via the astral. Please DNI if you don’t believe in this. This particular entry is regarding my concept.

Stories about ghosts have run rampant throughout the history of humanity. As far back as you can imagine, concepts of the afterlife have existed. But what if I told you not all of these stories were just myths?

Ghosts have roamed our society as far as we’ve existed. However.. in recent times, ghosts have grown stronger. As despair and negativity have become prominent in the modern day, some ghosts have been attracted to it. Latching onto it like a moth to a flame, a mosquito to your flesh. The constant source of energy transforms them into unimaginable dangers. There are 2 types that they can transform to: Roamers and Devils.

Roamers are the lower level of the two types. They’re often found in urban areas, with neighborhoods being a hot spot. They usually latch onto a specific person or group of people. They pick out those mentally weak or troubled and consume those emotions to gain power. Humans who’ve been latched onto often become extremely exhausted and stop engaging with others, doing nothing but getting worse and deteriorating. After a few days to weeks, it can become physically dangerous to the person(s), as Roamers will begin to get every last drop of energy until they’re an empty husk, and then move to their next victim(s). It is important to dispatch of Roamers as soon as they’re spotted, but it becomes urgent when they reach that stage of feeding. Roamers don’t have a specific look to them, they come in all shapes, sizes, and range of abilities.

Devils are the strongest of the two, and the most dangerous. Devils latch onto areas and buildings rather than specific human hosts. They prefer desolate areas as they can terrorize and bring destruction to their liking. It’s also a way to avoid being spotted in order to continue growing their power. Devils often have extremely frightening appearances, and sometimes come in packs. Devils also have an ability to form portals, a sort of pocket dimension they rule over and have complete control over, similar to a witches labyrinth from Madoka Magica. Humans cannot sense Devils, (or Roamers), and so they won’t see the danger directly in front of them. Humans who’ve wandered into portals typically don’t make it out alive. It is vital to deal with Devils as soon as possible, they can easily cause emergencies after a mass destruction has taken place. Devils are serious and need swift action.

Thats where I come in, as half ghost and half human, I can sense these dangers, and ghosts in general. Only non humans can even slightly pick up on them. I was chosen by the divine, by Archangel Michael, to help take down these rampant ghosts consumed by corruption. But this isn’t my only duty, there are tons of souls who’ve been trapped in this world? unable to move on. Those who met untimely ends, those who suffered, and those who can’t believe they’re dead, and cannot leave their loved ones sides. The other part of my job was to help guide these souls to the afterlife. Bringing them the well deserved peace they need.

I was always destined for this fate, for the duty of aiding these lost souls and defending the mortal realm, but it never dawned on me until fairly recently. I typically spend my days doing school work and enjoying mundane life. But when night falls, thats when I tend to my duties. You see, Roamers and Devils make themselves more known when the sun falls. It makes my job easier if I go out during the night unless it’s an urgent emergency. I wear a veil in my magi form that helps me see ghosts and other creatures better.

I wear a ring, called “Specters Ruby”, and it helps me communicate with my familiar and helps me to locate Roamers and Devils. I fight with a scythe, daggers, and a wand I use. My scythe is called “Mortals longing”, and was made to take down these threats. In order to defeat them, I need to decapitate them. When Roamers and Devils die, they leave behind gem like things called Nightmares. They can be used to track Roamers and/or Devils depending on which type the nightmare originated from. Nightmares have another important use though. When fighting Devils inside their portals, I can use the nightmares they dropped to seal the portal. I always keep nightmares on my person for these reasons

My wand, called “Angels Calling” is something that I use for multiple purposes. It helps me with my more magical attacks, and can also be thrown into threats and release bursts of magic inside of them. I can also use it to seal portals. I normally fight more physically, but I do use my wand when I feel it’s necessary.

I believe this is all I should cover, thank you for reading.

#irl magical girl #irl magical hero #irl mahou shoujo #magical girl #original concept #mahoublr #pop culture magic

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d-z20 · 7 months ago

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The Ballad of Agatha Harkness Chapter 9

Summary: Rio tries to continue her work but is finding something has shifted within her.

Warnings: death, Rio being an emotional (almost) wreck

Words: 1.9k

A/N: Of course Agatha is all Rio can think about when she's just trying to do her job. This should be the final chapter before get to see them together for the rest of the story :)

Save it for later with AO3 | Master List

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Death’s Dilemma

The fog rolled in thick, cloaking the world in a shroud of grey as Rio stepped lightly into the crumbling remains of an old infirmary. The building was more of a makeshift hospital, hastily constructed with wooden beams and patchy, smoke-stained canvas walls. Inside, the smell of damp earth mingled with the sharp, metallic tang of blood and the sour stench of illness. Low moans and the occasional wheezing cough echoed in the silence, a chorus of suffering that only the dying can produce.

Rio moved unseen among the rows of narrow, straw-filled cots, her presence a ripple in the air, colder than the November chill that seeped through the cracks in the walls. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, their flames fighting a losing battle against the encroaching darkness. She trailed her fingers along the coarse fabric of a blanket, feeling the warmth of a feverish body beneath it. Her touch is imperceptible to the living, but to those on the brink, it is a gentle invitation, a beckoning toward the next world.

Tonight, she was not here to judge or to condemn. Her role was simply to guide, to be the hand that led them away from the agony of their final breaths. A young boy, no more than ten, stirred in his sleep, his face slick with sweat. His chest rose and fell with laborious effort, each breath a struggle. Rio paused beside him, her expression softening. There was no fear in his features, only a strange serenity, as though he’d already begun to see beyond the veil.

Her hand brushed against the weathered wood of the bed frame, then slid down to her side, where her weapon hung—a mix between a Jambiya and a Karambit, sleek, deadly, far from the scythe depicted in myths. Its blade was forged from a dark, almost obsidian-like metal. The design felt ancient—a weapon not crafted by mortal hands but by something far older. The hilt looked like a knarled tree branch, curving gracefully, nestling perfectly in Rio’s palm as if it were made for her grip alone, every line and contour a seamless match to her delicate fingers. It looked like it could cut through reality itself, the edge so fine it seemed to blur against the air.

It wasn’t just a tool for her duty; it was part of her, an extension of the shadows she commanded. The blade pulsed faintly with a cold, unsettling energy, a constant reminder of its purpose. It was a weapon designed for intimate strikes, for the silent, final moments when life and death brushed fingers. And tonight, its presence felt heavier than usual, as if it sensed her inner turmoil.

Rio twirled it absently, the tip glinting as it caught the light, reflecting a fractured glimpse of her own face—beautiful yet haunted. It was almost ironic how the dagger, cold and unfeeling, seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

Across the room, another patient lay—a frail, elderly woman with thinning grey hair and a face carved with deep lines from a long life. Her breathing rattled like dry leaves in the wind, the familiar, final note of a life’s melody. Rio knew without looking that her time was up. Usually, she would have ended it then, a slice of the blade releasing the soul from its mortal coil. But tonight, she hesitated.

The woman’s lips parted, and though her eyes remained closed, her expression was one of peace, laced with a wistful sadness. "Please... just a little longer,” the woman croaked, her voice barely more than a breath.

Rio felt a twist in her chest, a sensation she struggled to name. Sympathy. It was foreign to her, an emotion she had no business feeling. She had witnessed countless pleas like this and heard the desperate bargaining for just a few more moments. She knew time was not hers to give; it upset the natural order of things. And yet she found herself stepping back, the dagger held loosely at her side, the edge no longer threatening.

The woman’s breathing steadied, if only slightly. Her fingers twitched, as though reaching for something invisible, something only she could see. Rio stood there motionless, granting her those extra moments despite every instinct honed over millennia telling her to finish the task. It felt monumental—this small mercy she had never given before.

Finally, when the time came, Rio lifted the dagger with reverent grace. The blade cut through the air, leaving a faint, shimmering trail, as though it were slicing through the very fabric of reality. She stroked the woman’s cheek with the back of her hand, a gesture softer than a whisper. The woman’s soul slipped free with a sight, looking around with quiet confusion. Rio offered her a gentle smile, kind and understanding, as she guided the soul onward. It was a simple act, but tonight it felt different. Heavier, somehow.

“You’re different,” a small voice said.

Rio turned her head sharply; the boy’s spirit hovered beside his motionless body. The boy’s eyes seemed to see right through the mask Rio wore. His voice is gentle, his gaze knowing.

Rio forces a smile, dismissing the notion with a flick of her hand. “Nonsense,” she replies smoothly. “I am as I have always been.”

The boy just smiled—a small, enigmatic smile that makes Rio feel exposed in a way she hadn’t in centuries. Rio watched the boy’s spirit fade, but his words lingered, a needle pricking her long-held detachment. She had always been gentler with souls, she realised. In life, humans were so full of hatred and bitterness, weighed down by the scars they inflicted on one another. But in death, they were stripped bare, small and vulnerable like children. The souls she ferried seemed so different from the people they had once been; it was as if death was a balm that smoothed away the jagged edges of their lives.

The room was quiet again, filled only with the faint rustle of the wind against the old walls. Rio clenched her fist, trying to dispel the restless feeling gnawing at her. Thoughts of Agatha crept in, unwanted but persistent. It had only been a few days since their kiss, but the memory clung to her, an echo she couldn’t silence.

With a frustrated huff, she stepped away from the beds, her form dissolving into shadow as she moved towards the door. The fog outside was thick, swirling like smoke, and as she slipped into the night, she felt the tug of the river calling to her—a place where the veil between life and death thinned.

Rio stepped through the veil, emerging at a riverbank shrouded in mist as dawn began to creep over the horizon. Pale light shimmered on the surface of the water, casting an ethereal glow across the landscape. It was a place she often retreated to, a sanctuary where the rushing water drowned out the noise of her thoughts. The last remnants of moonlight danced on the surface, casting shimmering ripples that mirrored the turmoil within her. She lowered herself onto a large rock, her fingers tracing patterns in the dirt as she stared into the water. For once, there is no smirk on her lips, no playful glint in her eyes. Here in the solitude of this place, the weight of her thoughts pressed down on her like the river’s current, constant and inescapable.

The river had always been a place of clarity for her, a palace where she could feel the boundary between worlds. But tonight, it offered no answers. Only more questions. She dipped her fingers into the water, watching the ripples spread. “What is this feeling?” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the sound of the current

She scooped up some water in her palm, staring into her own flickering reflection. It shifted between her beautiful, serene visage and the hollow-eyed, skeletal form of Lady Death. “You’re losing yourself,” she whispered to herself, half in fear and half in wonder. It wasn’t a complete loss of self but a change—an unsettling new understanding of the emotions she had spent eons observing but never experiencing.

Rio tried to laugh, but it came out empty. For the first time, she felt the urge to connect rather than merely pass through. Agatha... Agatha had done this to her, brought these feelings bubbling to the surface. It wasn’t just curiosity or a passing infatuation. It was a pull she couldn’t resist, a connection she didn’t fully understand but is desperate to explore. It was terrifying in its unfamiliarity.

The connection she feels to Agatha is undeniable, and that’s the part that scares her. It’s been there from the beginning, from the moment she was drawn inexplicably to the child’s birth. She had watched from the shadows, then whispered her guidance unseen, and then finally revealed herself.

Rio had always assumed that her connection to Agatha was a fleeting thing, a curiosity born of watching a life unfold from its fragile beginning. She remembered the first time she saw Agatha’s spirit flicker into existence—how she had hovered unseen in the shadowed corner of the room. At first, it was just another life she was bound to oversee, an interest that would wane as Agatha grew, lived, and eventually died. But something had shifted when she watched Agatha defy death—deep and imperceptible, like a fault line cracking beneath the surface. She had planned to leave once she knew Agatha was free, to return to the shadows where she belonged. It was supposed to be a game—light flirting at best, nothing more.

Instead, she found herself wanting to stay, wanting to see the woman Agatha had become and to be a part of her story. It was shocking—this yearning that made her feel exposed, as though Agatha could see the parts of her that she kept hidden even from herself. It wasn’t just about protecting Agatha anymore; it was something deeper, something that made Rio’s chest ache in a way she hadn’t ever felt.

Rio hadn’t meant for this connection to grow, hadn’t imagined it could transform into something that felt so undeniably real. She was Death, after all—detached, unfeeling, a constant presence who slipped in and out of lives without leaving a trace. But now, each encounter felt like a rope wrapped tightly around her, pulling her closer to Agatha. It’s ridiculous, impossible even. But the feeling was there.

“Damn it,” Rio mutters to herself, raking a hand through her hair. It falls back into place, as dark as the shadows that cling to her like a second skin. She stands abruptly, as if movement might shake loose the thoughts tangled in her mind. Her dagger materialises in her hand without a command, a familiar weight, comforting in its simplicity.

It’s a reminder of who she is. What she is. She isn’t meant to feel this way—conflicted, yearning. She has a job to do.

If she was to understand these feelings, she needed to see Agatha again. She took one last glance at the river, as if seeking its silent blessing. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped through the veil, disappearing into the night with a swirl of shadows. She wasn’t sure if she was running toward something or away from it. But either way, she couldn’t stop herself.

The riverbank was left empty and still, save for the whisper of wind that seemed to carry her name into the darkness.

Next Chapter >

(it's going to be an emotional confrontation and we all know what happens when these two get emotional...)

#agatha x rio fanfic #agathario #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha x rio #fanfic #fanfiction #agathario fanfic #agatha all along fanfic #agatha backstory #evanora harkness #agatha all along backstory #agathario fic #rio x agatha #rio vidal x agatha harkness #rio backstory #rio vidal backstory

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icyboiiii · 6 days ago

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top 5 books :3?

Thank you for asking!!

Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (fantastic sci fi novel)

The Wasp Factory (absolutely horrifying but compelling story about a very disturbed teenager)

Spellslinger (First in a series with absolutely fantastic world building. Manages to combine wizards and cowboys)

Scythe (you know this one (start of a very cool dystopian series for anyone else))

A study in Scarlett (Sherlock Holmes novel)

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thebiscuiteternal · 3 months ago

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Been so long since I dreamed it that I'd thought it wouldn't be a recurring dream but it came back.

Anyway, a game where each night you have to set out on a quest for an item to sacrifice at a statue.

There are two paths with distinct sets of sacrifices, but for both paths, the last two sacrifices are the same.

Each sacrifice is harder to find/obtain/deliver than the one before it.

Some of the sacrifices are straightforward items (weapon stolen from a place of reverence for the other sidd), others are more esoteric (convince a hero to give you a vital part of their equipment with the knowledge it will end their career), and still others require harming/saving yourself or others, especially the last two.

The sacrifices are "building" a thing you're carrying. One side is a scythe (and each sacrifice makes it bigger and scarier-looking), the other is a small statue (haven't gotten to see properly what the sacrifices do to it).

Whichever path you take, the other side will try to coax you to quit or switch.

You can switch at any time, but the further down your original path you are when you do, the madder your original side will be and the harder they'll try to stop you.

Try to switch or quit during either of the last two and it's an auto-game-over, as your original guide will be so angry they'll immediately teleport to you as soon as you leave the ruins of the church/ruins of the cursed cemetery and kill you.

The whole game is distinctly Southern Gothic-flavored, especially the swamp bits, but throws in some locations that don't fit, like a crumbled-to-bits island where the clothing looks more New England.

Finishing a path nets your original body dying and your soul being sent "elsewheres" (kinda nebulous on that since I never got that far) for round 2/sequel.

For some reason in the dreams, I kept alternating between playing the game and living it, with no idea of what would cause the switch. Like, one minute I'd be complaining about load lagging because of lack of internet, the next I'm sneaking around the church ruins because my guide from the other side is outside cussing and complaining at me for having switched. Also I never made it out of round/game 1 due to waking up at the dying part.

#this is a much more coherent explanation of the 'game rules' than what i dreamed #dream wtf

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xinalith · 2 months ago

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the revelation of fear.

in which xinalith learns more on humanity, as well as discovers something about their new being.

not proofread. no real plot point. contains character depictions regarding death as an entity. xinalith here is not able to communicate well but they're trying. this is set years after they have formed a consciousness, allowing them to possess thought and therefore collect souls intentionally.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: none.

Death was imminent amongst mortals.

It was what they feared most, after all. The end of one’s life, where the idea of what happens to you afterwards was still Unknown. Many had their beliefs, of course, but it was never a confirmed answer. Many believed that you would be judged by the Heavens above regarding the way you lived your life, either being guided to Heaven or condemned and thus tortured in Hell. Some believed you would be reincarnated once you passed, your next life predetermined once more by how you originally lived your last life. Few, at this moment in time, believed that you were met with nothing. Complete emptiness.

Once you were dead, that was it.

It was the 17th century in London, and thousands of corpses wrapped up with little resources were scattered across the city. It was recorded later in life that over 100,000 citizens died at the hands of the Black Death, and would have been recognised as the last major outbreak surrounding this disease. Morale was at an all time low, humanity slowly collapsing within the capital whether it was economically, emotionally or physically. As a result, demons flocked this area, seeking out broken minds that may have all but given up, choosing to instead seek out the supernatural in order to save their families or themselves.

Xinalith was one of these demons. However, they were not yet interested in striking deals with mortals. Instead, they were more fascinated at the growing smell of something unknown that lingered in the air, more stagnant than the general stench that remained due to such poor hygiene. Curiosity was a feeling they had recently discovered since they gained consciousness, and now they sat on top of a nearby building as they watched the crowds below.

Individuals dressed as plague doctors wandered the streets, entering various homes and promising good medical practice. Mothers sobbed on the pavement as they clutched onto their dying child, shouting and pleading for aid with their little one, not yet ready to let go of their kin. Children that remained healthy would be urged to stay inside, being ushered into their family homes by their own parents, as if life around them was mocking them for what they had and what others no longer did.

The myriad of scenes unfolding was ever so fascinating for this demon. The idea of death haunted them all, and for what real reason?

“Mortality is the greatest gift Man is given,” a low voice stirs beside them, followed by a strong yet quiet presence. Xinalith blinked a few times before they turned their head, their crimson hues falling upon a new being. Their smell linked their origin to the Infernal realm, but their overwhelming power was almost threatening to the young demon. A daunting, shuddering feeling ran down their vessel’s spine, yet as the entity slowly looked back at them, they found that there was strangely no ill intent lingering in their soulless eyes.

A being cloaked in darkness, a skull with a long, sharp beak poking out, carrying a large scythe in their skeletal, human-like hands. They didn’t seem to have any legs, and were simply floating on dark mist as they stood beside Xinalith. From this visual alone, Xinalith was able to determine just who this entity was.

Death. Humans dubbed them as the Grim Reaper nowadays, but their true name was simply Death. And they were highly respected within the Infernal Realm and even partly the Celestial Realm. Death was an entity who manifested in this form thousands of years ago, but had always existed as a mere shadow. When Lucifer fell from the Celestial Realm, Death was one of the first beings to accompany Him. When a mortal died, no matter what species, it would be Death that would collect them and take them to where they would be judged. Some welcomed them, some feared them, others attempted to avoid them through desperate attempts of immortality via rituals or even deals with demons.

But it would not matter. Once your lifeline came to an end, Death would seek you out.

Death raised their hand and gestured towards the scene once more, before continuing.

“Many of these humans view Life as a blessing by the Gods. That they were chosen specifically to live in this world, and are offered a chance to make a difference to appease Them. But when they start to lose their balance and come close to passing, they fear they have not done enough. That they risk being sent to our home, where their souls will remain to suffer. That is when they start to fear me.”

Xinalith listened to them speak as they followed their gaze once more. The same scenes described before continued to play out. However, with Death’s words now ingrained in their growing mind, it raised questions.

“What wants?” Xinalith asked quietly, still trying to find their words. Death simply hummed, not at all bothered by their lack in ability of speech.

“A reason to be sent to the Celestial Realm. A reason to be remembered. A reason to smile as they take their last breath. Each human is different in what they want from Life, but each reaction when they are threatened is the same. Some have even gone to demons to beg for extra time, but fail to understand the terms. You cannot be granted life by demonic beings, you can only have it taken from you. It is, after all, the great price to pay when requesting demands from yourselves.”

Xinalith stayed quiet for a moment, glancing down at their vessel's hands for a moment. Slowly, they’d point towards themselves, before staring up at Death once more.

“Demon… death?”

Death returned the stare for a moment, before they shook their head. “No. Demons do not die. Not like mortals.”

Xinalith tilted their head in confusion. Death took this as an opportunity to explain.

“Demons do not possess souls like mortals. Therefore, they cannot die like mortals. Instead, you are merely forgotten. That is considered a Death to us. When you are forgotten, you lose all of your powers, and therefore cease to exist. It is similar to Gods and Angels. Hundreds of Gods have either been lost to time and lack of belief, or are nearing their end.”

The demon remained quiet when this was explained to them, and just slowly nodded. Demons cannot die, they are considered immortal, but they can be forgotten. Something about that made something twist in their mind, something they were not yet aware of. It brought them an ache that was borderline painful, a shot that traveled from the top of their head to the core of their being, enough to bring their hand to their chest and clutch tightly. Unaware of this sight being witnessed by the one who implanted this knowledge into their mind, they would flinch when they heard their voice once more.

“Fear,” Death simply said, their expression unknown yet their voice hinting at amusement. “Is something you are capable of feeling too, young one. We are all victims to the concept of fear.”

Xinalith pointed at Death then, silently questioning if they were too. After all, what could Death, the very being summoned to the end of someone’s lifeline, could possibly be afraid of? The one whose name has been uttered since the beginning of time, whose existence has transpired even before the idea of Gods came to be.

However, they were merely met with silence. Only a piercing gaze, as if they were analysing them from the inside out. That feeling from before returned briefly, only this time as a chill down the vessel’s spine. Death would then slowly turn their head away from Xinalith. Nothing was uttered, not even a whisper blown against the wind. A secret that Death seemed to want to hold close to them.

But as their form eventually shifted into that of mist once more, their skeletal figure dissipating as if it had never existed, Xinalith did hear one last thing from them before they were gone for good. That very whisper against the wind the demon had sought out.

“It is as I said before. We are all victims to the concept of fear.”

#xinalith writing

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jarlshall · 2 months ago

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Lessons From the Grand Sage XI: On Magic (Spirit)

Celdos reveal, your grace.

Today we cover the last of the Five Elements of the Cycle: Spirit, the magic of force.

The Grey is power, in its most pure and raw form. It is iron as ore or ingot – full of as-yet untapped potential. Spirit is that iron, forged through the fire of will. It is blade and the armor, tempered and focused with purpose.

Spirit bridges the gap between the untethered Grey and the purposeful Green. The cosmic power of the Grey is focused into shards, which become the souls of living things. When this life passes from the world, the soul leaves behind much of its outer layers in the form of life force in the mortal realm. Thus does the power of the Cosmic Infinity rejoin and renew the World Bones.

As for the magic of Spirit, it is an element associated with war and battle.

Positive Spirit is known as the ‘Sword’. It deals with the conjuring of elemental energy like fire, ice, and lightning. Breath of ice, bolts of lightning, and blasts of flame – each culture brings with it new combinations and martial arts. But so too can it heat a meal or chill a drink.

Negative Spirit is, likewise, known as the ‘Shield’. Where the positive conjures and destroys, negative banishes and protects. A bonfire snuffed out. A ward that scatters elements. A slight force that can turn away a knife’s cut. These and more are the arts of negative Spirit.

The two counters of Spirit are Mind and Body .

As to Mind – “Mist Evades the Blade.” Spirit deals with physical elements – both conjured and blocked. Mind is too intangible to strike, and impossible to be repelled by ward alone. A blade is useless is against what cannot be cut.

As to Body – “Scythe parts the Wheat.” Body is calm and patient: easy prey against the swift fury of Spirit. Flame springs to life at a moment’s notice, while life force flows along its desire paths, loath to be shifted. A wound dealt by Spirit is not one that is quickly healed.

Warriors call shields of force before them to turn a blade. Cooks heat pots and pans with touch alone. Healers chill a fever with whispered words and an icy touch.

Spirit is known well by the more bellicose peoples of the continent. Hydrisians, renown sailors and warriors, ply the seas in ships warded in runes. The Omark, horse nomads of the Thundering Plains, shout war cries that thrum with force as they hunt dragons. And the Tereshi, the Tower Elves, build their invincible spires that saved them from the Grey Doom.

So ends our lesson for today. Meditate upon what you have learned here, and carry it with you.

Celdos guide you.

- The Grand Sage

#cycleverse #the grand sage #cycle magic #original setting #cycle spirit #hydris #omark #Tereshi

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naisilla · 1 year ago

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The Emperor's New Muse Part .3

Odyssey Kayn x Reader

content: References (see if you can catch them all), meeting the morning star crew, unedited.

Exiting the Fractal Shear, you weren't prepared for what lay beyond the ship. Years of hatred for the empire couldn't stop you from letting out a shocked gasp. The palace port, which you assumed was underneath the palace itself, was unbelievably massive. The station stretched out far beyond your line of sight. An expanse made of cold, dark metal lined with sterile lights.

Thousands of troops patrolled this underground base, stoically staring ahead as they marched to wherever they were headed. Yet underneath the dark visors, you could feel judging glares towards yourself. Even in demaxian clothing, you still stood out to them, probably because you were in "casual attire" and they were in uniforms.

Oh, how ironic were the circumstances right now. How you would claim to be the biggest threat to the empire, talking big about tearing down the metropolis of the capitol. You would daydream about being like Katniss Everdeen, the symbol of rebellion leading a large revolution.

But you were no such thing, instead you were being walked out of the empire by the locus armada like you were a teenager in detention. How shameful. The many footsteps echoed through the facility, you were no longer cuffed or restrained, no soldier bothered to touch you. Not when the Ordinal was right next to you holding that scythe.

"I have a personal meeting with the King" Kayn states "My men will escort you out of the palace through the underground system and you will go with them willingly. Don't try anything stupid in the heart of the empire, we have thousands of personnel that can and will dispose of you for even sudden movements." You nod as Kayn separates from his troop heading toward a grand entrance which you assumed led up to the palace.

You don't get to see much more as a firm nudge from one of the soldiers reminds you to keep walking. As you walk you can’t keep your eyes from scanning your surroundings, you may have heard of the empire being extremely wealthy but actually seeing the wealth in the form of a technological marvel is jawdropping. The metal hallways are wide, and the floor is immaculate and perfectly maintained, you’d expect such a massive structure to have a few imperfections but all you can see is beauty. You wonder how many workers are needed to maintain such a massive structure, as your escorts walk you down a side corridor.

You are led through to the exit, stepping out into a secret passage behind the palace itself. They continue to guide you wordlessly until you are officially out of the series of gates bordering the property. From what you had seen this place was highly secured and had safety measure after safety measure, it must've been a chore to get in and out of the palace. The commutes to get through the entrance must've been at least twenty minutes....soo pretentious.

Finally, you were officially out. The locus armada threw you to the ground and without a word disappeared into the palace. You made sure to flip them off with both your middle fingers the moment they had turned their backs. Sighing in defeat you turn on your heel to face the metropolis, The city stretches as far as you can see, a sea of neon lighting up the night sky. There isn't a single patch of darkness. Awe strikes you as you behold one of the most lavish cities in the Empire. Everything is a technological masterpiece, the bright lit metal buildings are so well designed with their smooth corners and vibrant lights. You realize that the people of the city must be extremely wealthy, as even the lower sections of the city are well maintained and luxurious. The city is like a giant gem, the bright lights and shining metal creating a captivating display of beauty and awe. You can’t help but look around in astonishment and wonder.

You are filled with mixed feelings as you gaze upon the lavish metropolis. While it was an undeniable work of beauty and sophistication, the thought of so many people struggling to survive while others were surrounded by excess was heartbreaking. You wondered how the Empire rationalized such disparity and the implications of such a lopsided economic system.

But you had bigger concerns right now, the prospect of traveling all the way back home seemed impossible without a hyperdrive. But there was no point in dwelling on the problem, the first thing you should do was find someone who could provide you with a ship or transportation. The distance between planets was astronomical but there were plenty of ships that traveled between each of them for travel or cargo, you just needed to catch a ride...

Days later and you had found yourself in a new routine, with no money to your name you had taken up ship hopping to make the journey back. It has been an arduous journey, with many close calls and several days of waiting for your next ship. You are now back among familiar stars and planets. Your home planet of Piltron lies ahead, the final leg of your journey.

You would day dream about having your own ship sometimes, life would be so much more exciting and fulfilling if you were able to space travel more freely. It certainly would save you the trouble of illegally smuggling yourself on cargo ships to get back home, then again...what was stopping you from taking your own ship and commendeering it? You rejected those thoughts as quickly as they came into your head. You may be a bit of a street rat who committed a few petty crimes (mostly towards the Demaxian Empire because fuck them.) But you weren't going to just steal someones ship for selfish benefit. Perhaps you could join a crew and start a new life? Wishful thinking was all that was, you sigh.

For such a draining and demoralizing trip, the prospect of returning home filled you with hope. Finally a conclusion to this dramatic story you had lived through, sure you were not done with being a menace to the empire but that chapter could be revisited later.

But life was never easy for you now was it?

The cargo ship you were currently tucked away in was facing a serious dilemma. Due to engine problems the ship had to make an unexpected landing a few planets short leaving you stranded on an unfamiliar planet. From the conversations you would eavesdrop on from the vents it seemed that the crew aboard the ship were taking a pit stop for an indefinite amount of time.

You couldn't wait aboard any longer with no clear means of getting home, you hadn't eaten in days and you were desperate to get home. After the crew had left their ship you slipped out from your hiding space, stashing some money you had watched one member store earlier in a compartment. You. Were. Starving. So now your priority was finding the nearest place to get some food. Exiting the cargo ship you were met with the urbanscape of Bildporter.

Densely packed buildings stacked upwards towards the sky, unlike the sleek and clean architecture of coreworlds like Demaxia_Alpha theses structures were much more drab, make shifted of hazardly welded sheds and shipping containers. The neon signage were dull and flickering. The streets are filthy and littered with rubbish, creating a seedy and depressing atmosphere compared to the glamorous and beautiful cities you had seen previously. The general rule seemed to be: the further a planet was from the coreworlds the more poor and run down they were.

That didn't mean Bildporter was lifeless. The streets buzzed with swarms of people and alien species minding about their business. Compared to your clothes they were dressed much more casually than your current outfit. Everyone in this city seemed to have a shady air about them the majority of the population seemed to be made of space pirates. The atmosphere of the city is much more laid back and relaxed compared to the organized, orderly nature of the capital. In contrast to the opulence of the empire, the city seemed to be a stark reminder of the disparity and inequality between those who live on coreworlds and those who live on the fringe. It actually reminded you of home.

You knew you stuck out like a sore thumb, You couldn’t help but be on edge as you felt eyes watching you, people passing by with the occasional side glance in your direction. Stashing your (stolen) money down your bra and keeping your head down you made sure to not look at anyone in the eye and you shrunk into the crowd making your way through towards the first place that advertised food.

"Rough day?" casualy asks the bartender who takes in your appearance. You probably looked awful with how dirty the air vents are. Turns out they are never clean like those spy scenes in movies make out to be, those duct systems are actually filthy with dust and cobwebs, it was a struggle to not give away your position when sneaking aboard by sneezing.

"Rough week" you reply, the bartender chuckles before sliding you a plate with chili dogs on it. Your eyes are drawn to the crustacean-like arm he bore before flicking to his name tag: Bort. Shortly he was off to serve over patrons and make orders, allowing you to enjoy the solidarity.....or so you hoped.

The empty seat next to you gets taken by a man who you don't spare to look at, but you feel his eyes on you.

It's not long before the stranger finally speaks up. Apparently avoiding eye contact wasn't enough of a deterrent. "Can I buy you a drink?" He asks "You look like you need it".

Well, he wasn't wrong. You figured you can swallow some pride and suck up to this man if it means a free drink or two, reducing that stress and anxiety before going back to ship-hopping home would be nice. Nodding you take up his offer, ordering a cocktail of dark rum, white rum, pineapple juice and coconut cream.

You spare the man a glance and take in his appearance as the sweet and tropical taste of your drink goes down. He looked disheveled with white locks of hair messily tied into a ponytail, a line of light stubble forming an extended goatee and a scar across the bridge of his nose. You knew this man, he was one of the wanted "space pirates" of the moring star.

Peaking over your shoulder curiously, you spot three familiar faces tucked in the far corner of the bar. They looked back at Yasuo and you, mostly Yasuo as the girl with crazy orange hair and the giant blue space alien watched on with eager excited looks on their faces.

"I have to ask why you chose to hit one me" You ask taking another sip from your drink. "Fallen on desperate times?" You snicker feeling more playful as a warm and fuzzy feeling comes over you from your drink.

Yasuo shrugs "Thought I'd shoot my shot, I haven't seen someone such as yourself before. I was curious" You snort and swirl your cup in your hand.

"What? Never layed eyes on a filthy woman?"

Yasuo stammers and shakes his head, his cheeks turning pink. "Filthy? I never said-" You cut him off laughing as the rum in your system lightens your mood. He sighs before chuckling with you. "I swear its not just that you just stuck out from the crowd and my friends made a bet I couldn't break the ice." You roll your eyes with a smile.

"Well since we're here why not share some stories you look like someone who has a few tales to share." You extend a hand invitingly for Yasuo to shake. "I'm (Y/N) by the way". Yasuo flashes a charming smile and takes your hand with with own. "Im Y-"

"Yasuo I know" You interject to Yasuo's surprise. "....I'll explain. Its a bit of a story"

After a couple of hours you had moved to the back of the bar joining the morning star crew. You had just gone over how you managed to get away with destroying a locus armada ship and survived an encounter with the infamous Ordinal (leaving out what happened after) and that had earned you the respect of the crew who revelled in your story.

You were now situated between Yasuo and Sona while Jinx retold the many adventures the crew had gone through together. It was nice being with lively company, even with how chaotic this group seemed to be there was something comforting a bout this dynamic. Your eyes wandered from each member before landing onto Sona. You were informed about how the Templar was not one for words, when Yasuo introduced you to her earlier she offered a small polite smile and a soft wave. You couldn't help but be mesmerized by her, especially her eyes, the moment you looked into them you felt like you were being drawn into these deep and endless pools of gold. Sona was mysterious and it intrigued you especially with what you know about her being the key to Kayns plans.

"So I chased after that Hydraxal Super Squid and blasted it with my trusty Pow-pow and after tearing up its goopy insides I got my camcorder back!" Jinx exclaims after finishing another story. She slams her hands on the table and leans over towards you so that her face was inches from yours. "Do you wanna see it? The recruitment video!? Its super professional plus I made it myself!"

You had jumped in your seat when Jinx loudly addressed you, she was quite the high energy person and you were certain a few screws were loose in her head. Before you can even form a response Jinx fishes out a tablet and shoves the screen to your face forcing you to watch the recruitment video.

"You know what would be so cool? You should totally join our crew!" Jinx blurts looking at you with wide eyes. Malphite also seems excited as he looks at you with a wide smile, it was an amusing sight seeing such a tall hulking alien cramming himself into a booth. He seemed to parrot the enthusiasm of Jinx which you didn't find surprising. After all they were best buds. Jinx turns to Yasuo pouting. "Please can we keep her? Pleaseeeeeeee?" You stare at Jinx perplexed 'Why was she asking in a way that made you feel like a pet?'.

Yasuo sighs shrugging his shoulder making his space lizzard bounce a little. "I suppose if (Y/N) is looking for that kind of new life path we are open for more recruits." You take a moment to consider this.

Joining this rag tag group of junkies would certainly assure you a life of comfort, not only would you no longer need to worry about your essential living needs but you would also have company, and the opportunity to properly stand against the empire. Yes this group weren't exactly rebels to the Demaxian empire but with all of them being wanted as criminals there were plenty of opportunities for you to get revenge against the empire and its ruler.

Plus there was also the mysterious adventure that Sona promised, You hadn't forgotten Kayn's words. She was the key to opening the Ora Gates and that was fascinating to you. Now it's not like you had maleficent intent to use this opportunity to get close to and use Sona to unlock whatever is behind the gates but rather you wanted to tag along for the ride and see where it goes. Besides with the fate of the universe in the hands of these three...they were going to need all the help they could get.

Just as you are about to accept, the doors to the bar are thrown open, swinging so hard they slam against the wall. In march a familiar Ordinal and his Locus armada, the lively atmosphere of the bar is killed as Kayn's single blue eye scans the sea of patrons before landing on you and the morning star crew. His lips curl back baring his teeth in a snarl and he hisses under his breath.

"You.."

Thank you to those who have supported this series so far!

Part 4 out now!

#kayn shieda #shieda kayn #kayn league of legends #kayn x reader #league of legends x reader #kayn league of legends x reader #odyssey kayn

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