#Zenith Vanisher

[system-to-the-madness]

Taiyaki and Bike Rides - Fushiguro Megumi x Reader

SPOILERS for up to Chapter 240 (just to be sure)

Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) AU: post-war!AU, Everybody(ExceptSukuna)Lives!AU Genre: fluff Word Count: 4 481 Warnings: Spoilers for up to chapter 240, mentions of curses, death etc., fix-it, everybody lives Summary: Tired after a mission, you get stuck in a convenience store while it rains. Luckily Megumi turns up to save the day.

When the first raindrops hit your skin, you decided that today was officially shitty. First Gojō-sensei had woken you up at dawn – far too cheerful for this early hour in your opinion – and sent you on a mission to exorcise a house full of curses.

It had been an abandoned school building at the edge of town, and the curses had gained power over the years, making them dangerous to the neighboring houses, which was why they needed to be taken care of. You had spent all morning with the mission, taking almost two hours to get there in the buzz of the Tokyo morning rush hour, and when you finally felt the last curse vanishing, the sun had risen past its late autumn zenith.

Your stomach was grumbling in frustration with you, having seen no food since the bowl of rice you had quickly shoveled into your mouth before heading out to the mission, so you had planned on getting some ramen before heading home. You couldn’t help but picture Megumi’s frown if he were to find out that you hadn’t eaten properly. He always seemed to look out for you, and you could not help the little images of his face that sometimes flickered through your mind.

You had almost reached the ramen shop you had decided on, when Nobara had sent you a list with things she asked you to get for her, once she heard you were in the city. You ended up searching for the stupid perfume she had asked you to buy for over two hours, still not having eaten anything. At this point you had decided to just find her stuff, take the train home, buy something in the closest convenience store and head back to the dorm. Secretly you wished Megumi would magically stumble into you so you wouldn’t have to ride the train all on your own, surrounded by groups of other students who all made their way home in groups. You didn’t look so different from them, you thought. Your uniform was just a bit dustier, and there was this rip in your blouse you had covered up with your jacket.

When you had made it on the train (which would only get you so close to the school), two stations away from where you had to get off, Yūji had sent you a message, panicking about the group assignment he had forgotten about. You didn’t know who you were more disappointed in: Yūji for forgetting it, or yourself, having done everything on your own, knowing he’d forget it. The thought of Megumi’s reaction once he’d hear about this – bonking Yūji on the head with his pencil case and sending you a reprimanding look – put a small smile to your face. After you had finally made it to the train station closest to the school, and gotten out of its long, tiled corridors, you were aching to get home as quickly as possible. Only for the rain to pick up.

It was November, no unusual time for rain, and any other day you would have admired the drops hitting the yellow leaves of the gingko trees and the red ones of the maple trees that lined the street left and right. But today you only worried about the rain penetrating your uniform and making you feel cold and even more miserable than you already did.

You knew that seeking shelter in the convenience store would draw out your trip, but not feeling like getting soaked to the core, you hurried the last steps into the familiar shop. The cashier greeted you absent mindedly, as you shook a few drops out of your hair. It had been a while since you had looked through the shelves, and since you were stuck here now, with nothing better to do, you went on to inspect the few shelves of food and living supplies.

The sight of the onigiri in the refrigerator shelf reminded you of how hungry you were, so you grabbed two, along with a bag of rice crackers and the latest edition of the manga publishing magazine, before stopping in front of the shelve with the sweets, automatically reaching for the white chewy taiyaki with chocolate cream filling. Whenever Megumi and you headed to the convenience store together, he treated you to this, and over time it had started becoming your favourite treat, so you even bought it when you went to the store without him, just because it reminded you of him.

You had almost grabbed the taiyaki, when you suddenly stopped, your eyes falling to the normal taiyaki with custard filling, which you had always had before getting closer with Megumi, and suddenly you questioned why you never bought these anymore. The answer was simple: because you felt closer to Megumi when you ate the white taiyaki. You tried to create a closeness that was not there, something you wished for, but knew would only ever happen in your dreams.

You sighed, dropping your hand back to your side, deciding against a sweet treat for once, and headed to the register to pay for the goods you had grabbed.

After paying, you sat down in one of the seats by the window, the one furthest away from the door, slapping the thick weekly manga magazine on the surface of the table. Unwrapping your first onigiri, you flipped through the thin, coloured pages, searching for the continuation of the series you had followed over the past year. Your eyes flickered over the pages, stopping occasionally to take in a more detailed drawing of your favourite character while absentmindedly chewing on the onigiri. The door to the shop rang a few times with new customers entering, each ring of the bell followed by the mechanic “Irasshaimase” of the shop keeper.

Outside wind was throwing rain drops against the window, and even though the shop itself was warm, you shivered at the sound of the autumn weather. You had just reached the last page of the manga, when suddenly a white, chewy taiyaki in its clear plastic wrapper got thrown right onto the page you had been about to finish reading.

Startled, you looked up, eyes meeting familiar blue ones, as Megumi slipped into the seat next to you. Questioningly he raised his eyebrows at you as stared at him in surprise.

“Gojō sent me to come look for you,” he explained at your confused expression. “He thought you’d be back from your mission sooner and got worried.”

“Gojō-sensei and worried,” you asked.

Megumi shrugged. “Maybe he developed a consciousness. Here for you.” He slid a paper cup with hot chocolate over. “Careful, it’s hot.”

You smiled thankfully, and wrapped your cold fingers around the warm paper, before you brought the cup up to your lips to take a tiny sip.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to grab something to eat on my way to the train station to go where Gojō sent you,” Megumi answered, while watching you struggle with the tough material of the clear packaging of the taiyaki he had thrown on your manga. “Imagine my surprise when I found you here. Did you spend all this time reading manga and eating onigiri?”

“Joke as much as you like,” you grumbled, your fingers slipping of the plastic wrapper without tearing it. “Nobara heard I was in the city and sent me her shopping list.” You nodded to the paper bags next to your chair. “Had me running around Shinjuku for hours.” With a small sigh you dropped your hands back to the table, still holding the tightly sealed taiyaki package. If Megumi hadn’t been here, or you hadn’t been as exhausted from the day, you’d probably tear it open with your teeth. But not now.

“You’re too soft,” Megumi sighed, reaching over. His warm fingers brushed against your cold ones, his skin rough and his hand so much bigger than yours, taking the taiyaki package. Effortlessly he ripped it open before handing it back to you. His fingers left tingling traces where they brushed against yours, the almost subconscious action of opening your packaged food for you making your heart race. “Itadori also said you finished the teamwork for him. You have to be careful the others don’t use you.”

“Says the guy who buys his classmate hot chocolate and taiyaki,” you raised your eyebrow at him challengingly, while biting into the treat.

Megumi’s eyes stayed fixed on you, on the way you chewed on the treat he bought you, and you were wondering what he was thinking about.

“This is different,” he insisted, and finally he averted his gaze, opting to stare out of the window instead, while opening his own taiyaki, one with custard filling. You asked yourself why he’d chosen that one for himself this time.

For a while you sat in silence, finishing your sweets and drinking the hot chocolate he’d bought for the two of you. The sky outside the window was slowly brightening, rain having almost stopped, only a slight drizzle now, and sun beams, already lowering towards the horizon, poked through the clouds. Wind carried fallen leaves in gold and red across the parking lot, and you suddenly longed for a time when curses were nothing but a few bad words, when your eyes had still seen the world in all its innocence. But the anniversary of Megumi getting possessed by Sukuna today, and somehow you felt it weight down on you. It’s been almost eleven months since Sukuna was defeated, but the memories of that time still haunted you. You wondered if Megumi felt the same.

“Let’s go home,” Megumi interrupted your thoughts, but the side glance he’s throwing you made you suspect he felt that your thoughts had begun spiralling.

You grabbed your manga and shoved it into your backpack, before taking your garbage and the paper bags for Nobara, and followed Megumi outside the shop. He held his hand out for the empty paper cup and the food wrappers, and you handed them to him, watching as he disposed of them in the bin in front of the shop.

“My bike’s here,” he motioned over to the side of the parking lot. He’d gotten a new bike since last year, a belated birthday present by Gojō. Nobody was entirely sure why Gojō felt the need to get Megumi a new bike, the old one still in perfect condition and somewhat more Megumi than the new one with its basket at the handlebars and the luggage carrier in the back. “Give me your bags.”

It was not a question, but a request, and wordlessly you handed over the paper bags you’d been carrying. Somehow you couldn’t help but notice how Megumi had developed a habit of taking stuff from you: your garbage, your bags, at school when you were carrying books, he helped you with them as well… He also held doors open for you, made sure he was walking on the side of the street when you were walking on the pavement, grabbed your jacket whenever you were approaching a red traffic light or a cross walk, as if to keep you from running into the street.

You were deep enough in your thoughts, that you did not notice he had placed all the paper bags in the basket and had reached his hand out again.

“Backpack, come on,” he encouraged you, once again tearing you out of your thoughts.

Hurriedly you shrugged off the backpack with the weapon you had used on the mission this morning and thanked him quietly.

“Don’t worry,” he shrugged it off, before he unlocked his bike and got on.

You were about to start walking towards the exit of the parking lot, thinking he would ride next to you, while you walked, when he called for you.

“Where are you going?”

“Home? Back to the school,” you answered, turning to him confused.

“I thought we’d ride back,” he questioned, motioning to the luggage carrier. “It’s not really comfortable, but we won’t take long.”

For a moment you stared at him, trying to process his offer. Sitting on the luggage carrier would make you sit very close to him, and you’d probably have to hold onto him during the ride. It’d be a lie if you were to claim you had not imagined situations like this, but to be faced with them actually becoming a possibility was an entirely different matter. Your heart raced in your chest, and you watched the autumn wind tuck at Megumi’s black hair. It was shorter than last year around this time, not as short as Yūji’s but shorter than it had been. You liked the new length.

Megumi seemed to take your silence as a rejection, because his shoulders dropped ever so slightly. “Of course we can just-”

“Okay,” you interrupted him, and he perked up as you wandered back over to him. “But just so you know, I’ve never done this before and if we fall off the bike it’s on you.”

“Thanks for trusting me to crash us,” Megumi rolled his eyes at you. “Come on now, climb on.”

You did as he asked, and swung a leg over the luggage carrier. The bike was a bit too high for you, only one foot making contact with the ground as you sat down. Megumi had been right, it was not very comfortable, but you had imagined it to be worse.

“You need to hold onto me,” Megumi instructed, but his voice had lost its edge from before, sounding a little softer now.

You barely had time to react before he righted the bike, your second foot loosing contact to the ground as well, and quickly you wrapped your arms around Megumi’s waist holding onto him while he pushed off the ground and began pedaling. His chest rumbled underneath your touch, and you could have sworn he chuckled at your reaction.  The first few meters were a little unstable, but by the time you had made it halfway across the parking lot, Megumi was riding in a straight line. He was going slower than he usually would have, but you didn’t find it in you to mind. This would gibe you a little more time to keep your arms around him.

As Megumi steered the bike down the street, you began relaxing into the situation. The autumn air was cool around you, wind carrying fallen leaves over the pavement, puddles reflecting the clouds. The sky had taken a pink shade by now, and the rain had almost completely stopped. Only a fine spray, not even real droplets, drifted through the air, sometimes accompanied by heavier drops that fell from the leaves of the golden ginkgo and red maple trees that lined the street.

The wind was sending a chill down your spine, even with Megumi’s body warming your front through the layers of both of your uniforms. Hesitating for a moment, wondering if he would mind, you finally opted to lean your cheek against his back. Underneath your touch, you felt his body working. Muscles in his torso were shifting from where he was cycling, his even breathing caused his chest to expand and contract, and over the rushing of wind in your one ear, you could even hear his heartbeat with the other. You didn’t want this moment to end, and so you closed your eyes, trying to focus better on the other sensations; the sound of his heartbeat and his breaths, the motions of his body and the warmth it provided against the fine spray of rain in the chilly autumn evening, the scent of him, clinging to his clothes, and the taste of the taiyaki that kept lingering on your tongue. Thinking back to the taiyaki, you remembered how he had chosen a normal one, while giving you the white one. Usually he bought the same for both of you, but lately he had more often opted for the custard taiyaka. Maybe today there had only been one of the white ones left? Or maybe he had had enough of the chocolate filling and preferred the custard now.

“Rainbow. On our left.”

You felt his voice more as a rumble in his chest, than you heard it, and reluctantly you blinked your eyes open. Megumi was right. As you were riding over a bridge, a rainbow was visible in the sky, hanging between two mountains, it’s colours vibrant against a dark rain cloud. Red and golden leaves drifted through the air, a denser spray of rain hitting you, as you held tightly onto Megumi’s warm body. The scene felt like it was straight out of a movie, and you wished life would always be so simple: having someone who took care of you, who let you hold onto them, while nature around you provided you with its wonders.

Even though Megumi had been riding for a few minutes, you realized you had not made it as far as you had assumed, while keeping your eyes closed. In fact, Megumi was going really slowly, drawing out the inevitable arrival at your destination. The realization made you smile a little, and you nuzzled your cheek a bit closer to his back, drawing a little hum from him, which got carried away in the wind, but its vibration rumbled gently against your ear.

Eventually the rainbow disappeared behind the next mountain, but you kept your eyes closed, instead watching trees and the last houses pass by, before you entered the last stretch of the way, where you were surrounded by nothing but forest. You passed the entrance to an inari shrine, the red tori seeming to almost glow in the twilight. And eventually you reached the steps that would lead up to the school.

Megumi slowed down the bike. “Okay, careful now,” he warned as he stopped, placing his feet on the ground, and tilting the bike slightly so you could get off. Hesitantly you lifted your cheek away from his back, your arms slowly falling away from around him. Immediately the cold evening air began soaking through the fabric of your uniform. Without the warm rays of the sun, it got cool quickly this late in the year, and with exhaustion slowly setting in, the cold got to you even quicker, especially after the loss of Megumi’s body heat.

You watched him lock his bike, and before you could protest, he had shouldered your backpack and grabbed most of the paper bags you had bought for Nobara.

“I can take my own stuff,” you mumbled with a pout, as you took the remaining paper bags out of the basket, carrying them with one hand, while following Megumi who had already begun climbing the stairs. With the other hand you reached out for Megumi to give you the bags to carry.

“I know you can,” he answered. He stopped, looking over his shoulder, his eyes skipping to your hand that was stretched out for the paper bags, before turning to face the stairs again. “But you don’t have to.”

Blindly he reached behind himself, his free hand meeting yours, and his warmer fingers wrapped around your cool ones, before he continued walking.

You thought your heart had stopped in your chest, as you walked up the stair, half a step behind Megumi, your fingers growing a little warmer in his grip. Had he thought you had wanted him to take your hand? Well, you didn’t mind, not at all, but he had to think you were weird, right?

“I meant for you to give me the bags, you know,” you mumbled, knowing your voice was so quiet that he could easily pretend to have missed it over the sound of the wind in the bamboo.

“I know,” Megumi answered, sounding indifferently. “You can always pull away if you don’t like me holding your hand.”

Surprised you blinked at him, knowing he couldn’t see your reaction. His words were as cool and collected as always, but there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. A hint of nervousness that gave away that he was not at all as confident about the whole situation as he tried to appear to be. It made you wonder if he had also been nervous during the bike ride, maybe even as nervous as you had been. But if he was nervous… what did that mean? Was there maybe a chance…

You pushed the thought out of your head, deciding to instead focus on the moment, feel his slightly rough fingers around your hand, inhale the fresh air, and be happy that you still got the chance to experience this with him. Even today, almost a year after the war had ended, it still scared you to think how close you had been to losing him.

When you reached the top of the stairs, Megumi abruptly stopped and turned around. Following his line of sight, your breath caught in your throat. Before you lay Tokyo. You always forgot how high up Jujutsu High was actually build, and it still surprised you how quickly you had gotten used to the many stairs leading up here. In the distance, the setting sun was reflecting in millions of windows, some of which already lit up with lights behind them. From up here everything seemed so calm. There was no sign of the people that bustled about in these streets, no city noise that hammered down on your ears relentlessly, only wind in the branches of trees which’s leaves had taken on the warm colours of the sunset before you.

For a while Megumi and you stood at the top of the stairs, looking down over the land opening up before you, hands still intertwined. Within minutes the warm pinks and oranges of the sunset turned into purples and blues before the colours faded into the grey of night. The lights of the city begun twinkling brighter, as heavy clouds begun dragging themselves over the sky, hiding any stars from sight.

A cold gust of wind made you shiver, and the spell was broken, pulling Megumi and you back into the moment. You wanted to suggest hurrying back to the school, to get inside and get warm, but Megumi spoke first.

 “Gojō didn’t actually send me to find you,” he suddenly confessed, making you look over to him. His fingers tightened around yours. “He wasn’t worried about you, I was. You’d been gone the whole day, and all I could think was that something might have happened to you, and that you were laying somewhere, bleeding out, by yourself, and- I just had to make sure you were okay.”

You let his words sink in for a moment before you smiled. You wanted to say something, reply, but he continued.

“And when I saw you through the window at the convenience store, I just- I don’t know the last time I felt such relief at anything.”

“If it’s any consolation, I was never in any real danger,” you let him know, squeezing his hand back.

He nodded. “Yeah, I know. It’s just- after everything that’s happened, I sometimes worry that I’ll lose everyone I still have left. I sometimes get this irrational fear and… what I’m trying to say is that I can’t lose you. Just can’t. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“You won’t lose me, I promise.” You squeezed his hand again, hoping that the expression on your face was one of reassurance, even when Megumi’s eyes were still trained on the city before you.

“Not even when I ask you to go out with me?”

It took you a few seconds to process your surprise and excitement at his question, but then you shook your head. “Pretty sure this does the exact opposite of losing me,” you teased, and finally a smile tucked at Megumi’s lips.

“Tomorrow after school then? For coffee?” He turned to face you, his midnight blue eyes sparkling with held-back excitement, but also relief and a hint of nervousness.

“It’s a date,” you grinned at him, watching his eyes widen and shining as if a light shone from within them.

The motion was quick, as he lifted your intertwined hands up to his face and pressed his lips against the back of your hand in a quick hand kiss, that made your cheeks burn and his tint an adorable pink. His lips left a warm imprint on your skin, and when he pulled back, not being faced with any sort of negative reaction, the last bit of nervousness seemed to melt away and he smiled at you.

“Wanna go home,” you asked, unable to tear your eyes away from the way he was looking at you. Megumi was usually very guarded with his emotions, rarely letting on what he was thinking or how he was feeling, especially when he was happy. But now his expression was soft and warm, making your hearth flutter in your chest. You liked the way he looked right now. Not just because it was directed at you, but also because it showed you that he was happy. And he deserved it more than almost anyone else you knew.

“Yeah,” Megumi breathed, “Let’s go home.”

Together you turned to walk down the paved way that led to the school, lined with stone lanterns. Megumi tucked you as close to him as possible with the paper bags you were both carrying, excusing his action with a “you’re shivering”, but really you both knew he just wanted to be close to you. You didn’t steal him the illusion of needing an excuse, just let him tuck you close against his side, inhaling his familiar scent and bathing in the warmth he radiated.

There were many walks like this to follow, even though you didn’t know it yet. Many more, countless more times when Megumi would tuck you into his side, always a lame excuse at the tip of his tongue just to hide how desperate he was to feel you by his side. There would be so many times you stood together at the top of the stairs and looked out over Tokyo, so many times, years’ and years’ worth of him taking hold of your hand, or you of his, always ending with a kiss to the back of the other’s. There would be so many times where he picked up you from somewhere with his bike, just so you could ride on the luggage carrier and wrap your arms around him, and there’d be a whole lifetime worth of taiyaki he bought for you. But there’d be only one time he’d reveal he had started eating the custard taiyaki because he knew you liked them, and he had started preferring them, because they made him think of you.

[sam198]

Chapter Three: The Climax of Deceit

As the magical exchange reached its zenith, a palpable tension filled the chamber. Sam, now acutely aware of the unsettling imbalance, hesitated. "Sir John, something feels off. I can't go on like this."

Sir John, masking his delight with a feigned urgency, insisted, "We're on the brink of a breakthrough, Sam. We need to complete the final step to solidify the transformation."

With a nod, Sam reluctantly continued the enchantment. The magical energies swirled around them, creating an atmosphere charged with both anticipation and deceit. As the intensity grew, so did the transformative magic coursing through their tails.

The climax approached, a crescendo of enchantment and illusion. Sir John's once-tiny, limp tail now stood erect, brimming with stolen vitality. Sam's majestic appendage, though diminished, still retained a glimmer of its former grandeur.

In a sudden twist, the magical currents intensified, driving both men to the edge. Their tails quivered, charged with the magical essence ready to be unleashed. Yet, hidden beneath the facade of collaborative training, a sinister agenda unfolded.

As the moment of climax neared, Sir John seized the opportunity. With a swift and unexpected motion, he redirected the magical flow, causing both tails to release their enchanted essence. The magical juices shot forth, intertwining in mid-air like a spectral dance.

Sam, caught off guard, tried to resist. "What's happening? Sir John, this isn't part of the training!" he exclaimed, a hint of panic in his voice.

But Sir John, driven by envy and the thirst for rejuvenation, was resolute. He lunged forward, his mouth capturing the stream of Sam's magical essence. A twisted grin played on Sir John's lips as he drank deeply, absorbing every last drop of the stolen vitality.

Sam, overcome with shock and resistance, struggled against the force of the magical exchange. His attempts to pull away were met with a relentless suction from Sir John, who reveled in the stolen magic coursing through his weakened form.

The climax of deceit unfolded as Sam's once-potent tail now stood limp and drained. Sir John, fueled by the stolen essence, felt a surge of rejuvenation coursing through his aged body.

As the last traces of magical juice vanished, a sinister satisfaction gleamed in Sir John's eyes. Sam, weakened and disoriented, collapsed to the floor, his betrayed body unable to comprehend the treachery that had unfolded.

The chamber, now quiet save for the echoes of the magical exchange, held the secrets of their transformative encounter.

Chapter Four: The Puppet Master's Mockery

As the magical exchange reached its climax, Sam lay sprawled on the chamber floor, his once-grand tail now a feeble shadow of its former glory. Sir John, rejuvenated and reveling in his newfound power, circled the fallen personal trainer with a sinister grin.

"Well, well, Sam," Sir John jeered, "seems like the tables have turned, or should I say, the tails have turned?" He motioned toward his now robust tail, brimming with vitality.

Sam, weakened and disoriented, tried to sit up, but a wave of exhaustion held him captive. "What have you done, Sir John? This wasn't part of our training!" he protested, his voice a feeble echo of its former self.

Sir John chuckled, a sinister mirth emanating from his rejuvenated form. "Oh, Sam, you were always too trusting. I merely took what was rightfully mine—the vitality that you squandered on youth and arrogance."

He approached Sam, his once-frail tail now erect and pulsating with energy. "You wanted to train with the best, to absorb the essence of greatness. Well, you got more than you bargained for."

Sam, glaring up at Sir John with a mix of betrayal and confusion, managed to utter, "You won't get away with this, Sir John. The consequences of such dark magic are beyond your comprehension."

Sir John scoffed, circling Sam like a vulture reveling in its triumph. "Consequences, you say? I feel more alive than ever! Look at you, drained and feeble. I've achieved what you never could—a true transformation."

With a taunting glint in his eyes, Sir John seized Sam's limp tail, now reduced to a pathetic micro appendage. "What's this, Sam? Your once-majestic tail has become nothing more than a pitiful excuse for magic. Perhaps I should start calling you Micro-Tail Sam."

Sam winced as Sir John played with his diminished tail, a cruel mockery of the once-proud appendage. "You were the golden boy, Sam, but now it seems your magic has lost its shine. I wonder if anyone will even notice your feeble attempts at enchantment."

As Sam lay humiliated and drained, Sir John continued his relentless mockery. "You wanted to absorb greatness, to be on par with the best. Well, congratulations, Sam—you've become a reflection of your own inadequacy."

Sam, feeling the weight of humiliation, couldn't muster a response. The stolen essence had left him not only physically weakened but emotionally shattered.

Sir John, reveling in his triumph, took a step back, surveying his once-frail body now brimming with newfound vitality. "You see, Sam, greatness is not merely about muscles and magic; it's about seizing opportunities, even if it means taking them from others."

As the echoes of their confrontation lingered, the chamber's magical aura began to settle. Sir John, now standing tall and mocking, had successfully orchestrated a tale of envy and deceit. Sam, once the epitome of vitality, lay defeated and humiliated.

The details of their transformed bodies spoke volumes. Sir John's once-feeble frame now boasted a robust physique, his chestnut hair seemingly infused with a renewed vibrancy. His face, once etched with the wrinkles of time, now appeared more refined, as if the stolen essence had erased the markers of age.

In contrast, Sam's once-youthful features were marred by the drain, his hazel eyes dimmed by the betrayal. The grand tail that had defined his magical prowess now hung limp, a mere vestige of its former glory.

Sir John continued to taunt Sam, savoring every moment of the fallen trainer's humiliation. "You were the beacon of vitality, Sam, but now I hold the torch. A fitting lesson in the art of magic, wouldn't you say?"

As the chamber's magical energies settled, Sir John reveled in his newfound power, leaving Sam to contemplate the consequences of his misplaced trust. The tale of envy, deceit, and stolen vitality reached its conclusion in the dimly lit training chamber of Eldoria.

[mochaintherain]

Demense

Summary: You change your team lineup of starter characters. The subsequent Aftermath, revolving around a cryo user.

Word Count: ~1k

CW: Heavy religious themes, implied cultish behavior, (implied?) religious trauma, SAGAU

Add. Tags: Kaeya, Creator!Reader, unreliable narrator, reader is Not present in this story as a character.

Author's Note: Not proofread! I've no idea how to use Tumblr or format on mobile </3 please help me. did I miss something I DUNNO (´_ゝ`) WHERE EVEN AM I anyway kaeya is so babygirl

Never had Kaeya assumed the Gods would favor him. Not after the promise he made, the bonds he shared with both his fathers—his brother, and how easily his patchworked life tore beneath his feet, his right eye a constant reminder of all his failures.

So when Aether, Amber, and Lisa extended a hand toward his figure, purple light enveloping his being, bubbling with warmth that mended the bitterness of his past, and opened his eyes to the heavens—

How could he not become Your believer?

Soon, he would travel the entirety of Mondstat, escaping his duties whilst discovering treasures, receiving divine gifts: goblets, circlets, feathers—and participating in...rather strange rituals. You made him carry a hefty bag of mora and flowers, gems, remants of slain regisvines, to the zenith of Starsnatch Cliff before imbuing him with unknown strength that coarsed through his veins.

Aether called it an "initiation", to forever be acquainted with divine blessings, to be Yours. He affirmed the sole reason he'd been able to save Dvalin, the entirety of Mondstat, was due to You, granting him the privilege of becoming a vessel.

"...Vessel, huh?" The word stuck to his tongue like a bitter saccharine. Even worse--You seemingly vanished, leaving he and his comrades hollowed by Your absence. After a desperate letter and trek sent back home, the reception back in the City of Wind was nothing less than suffocating.

A small gathering of vision wielders greeted them at the gate, welcoming them home. Yet, the sun never penetrated his body. The bite of sheer cold blossomed in his veins, making him tremble with every step he took—the first of many which he had to be conscious of; and breathing, keeping his heart beating, leaving him winded and dizzy. Your gaze took away his autonomy, rendering him a spectator in his own corpse, but You left him with the most joyous of dreams and slumbers; abandoning him forced everything back into his muscles, and he scrambled to remember what it was like to be alive without you. However, that was hardly the worst part.

His friends who cheered at his safety—

their smiles did not meet their eyes.

Instead, replaced was envy, resentment, and the brewing notion that he was a fraud, tricking the Creator and seducing You into loving him. They swirled, in vile concoctions, behind each of their pupils. Yet they paraded around him like he, himself, was divinity. Did they all wish he never came back? Would they tear each other apart for a chance at Your Grace?

Maybe his death was an opportune moment.

Unfortunately, he lived.

"Welcome back, everyone. I'm glad the Creator brought you back safe and sound." Jean bowed slightly, relief written on her lips.

"Hmm...go on and rest for now. Tommorow, you can tell us what all your travels uncovered." Albedo smiled, nodding at him and Lisa in particular.

Klee bounced on the soles of her heels, waving her hands to the weary travelers. "Yay! Kaeya's back! And Amber and Lisa and Mr. Honorary knight!" she cheered, beaming.

"Ah...why don't we all go back to the cathedral? I can heal you all of any injuries!" the deaconess suggested, a strain of a smile forming on her face.

"...Welcome back," Diluc muttered, most likely dragged along by the Acting Grand Master.

"Hey, on the way there, why don't I sing you all a song? No wine in exchange!" The enigmatic bard hummed, giving them all a wink.

Kaeya heaved a ragged breath, forcing a small laugh out his lips. "Sorry, but I think I'll pass. I'd much rather rest at Angel's Share," he responded, ignoring the pointed glare from a certain redhead. "After all, the Creator never afforded us any sort of wine; I'd certainly die if I had to spend another day without it."

"Huh...?" Barbara said, "b-but, Sir Kaeya—"

She was interrupted with a solemn headshake from the librarian.

"None of us are hurt," Lisa reaffirmed, "let him be...We'll tell you everything."

The Calvary Captain huffed, breaking away from the group and stumbling into the tavern, his countenance morphed into the expression he held all those years ago, when he first received his vision.

Haunted.

Nothing had changed since his leave, though there were far less customers than usual. Did the other citizens feel You vanish too? Or was that a curse reserved only for the puppets You deemed fit for control?

"Charles, the strongest, if you please."

Alcohol had left his throat burning, a reprieve from the sudden, chilling, desolation. After his "ascension", he was no longer the same man. In gazing upon him, You stole away a piece of his soul, a void only able to be filled by You and You only.

It wasn't too long before the bar's door opened again.

"What are you up to, Kaeya?" Diluc stayed near the entrance, not bothering to move toward the stools.

"I'm not in the mood," he hissed, downing his glass too quickly to savour.

Diluc forewent the usual quips he'd aim toward his brother, settling in a silent scrutiny. He was never one to favor the Gods. They stood in one another's solitude, drinking until the "Darknight Hero" woke to dusk.

Then, Kaeya was truly alone. Truly, utterly alone, with not even the eyes of which he'd come to expect. After all, he, a barely devoted follower, could never stay in the Divine's gaze forever.

Even so, the ache in Kaeya's heart screamed that the Gods had forsaken him again; being a vessel was far more merciful than being 'Kaeya'. Because if he wasn't a vessel, he was emptier than he'd ever been.

And when Lisa wrote to him, musing about how his Prototype rancour ended up in the hands of the Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing, how strong she was—he knew he'd been discarded.

...

If he were more pious, would You deign to look at him once again?

[preservationofnormalcy]

hey uh. So like, the sun never came back from the eclipse? Like the moon got out of the way, it’s still doing its orbit normally. But the sun…it’s gone bro. Light comes and goes but there is no source. There’s just this permanent jagged rip at the zenith, an ugly scar sutured through the sky. The firmament puckers and bunches at the edges like mutilated tissue, fraying seams unraveling as the wound widens. The birds have been quiet for days, silent sigils that are ever watching until swooping down with a sigh, vanishing one by one. And I’m really worried about my parakeet, Jypers, because she hasn’t been singing at all. Can pet birds get depression or smth? Should I buy more toys?

Ooh. Hmm. Y’know, not a bird expert, but yeah that’s probably a good idea. I know they can get depression and it’s actually pretty harmful. I think they start to pluck their own feathers out! I think you can also give them a little more stimulation with their food, I think I remember hearing once that you can put their food in a cute little puzzle or something. Maybe try that. Poor guy. The lack of the sun is probably not good on him.

Oh. Oh, the lack of sun. Yeah, that’s “””normal””” for exposure to ₮ⱧɆ ₴Ʉ₦. It’s entirely personal perception, as weird as it may be. Remember that the seams of reality are never so obvious. That the sight you take in is but your mind reeling at something else, desperate to fill in the gap. You may see the firmament torn asunder, but really it’s better than what’s actually there. Or not there.

It should go away in a few months.

[handeaux]

Memories From Half A Century Ago; The Cincinnati Tornadoes of April 1974

On the evening of April 3, 1974, your narrator interviewed a woman who found a perfectly new, pristinely crisp, twenty-dollar bill in her front yard. This random occurrence of good luck became newsworthy because her miraculous benefit had floated down into her yard from a passing cloud that had recently spawned an F5 tornado.

At the time, I was not a reporter exactly but everyone that evening became either a reporter or a source. The memory of that day remains so fresh and clear it seems impossible that it transpired exactly fifty years ago.

In the fading afternoon, a heavy storm blew in as I drove a clunky Ford Econoline van from the Hopple Street Viaduct onto Westwood-Northern Boulevard. I was, at that time, a senior at the University of Cincinnati desperately yearning to graduate and move on to the next chapter in my life. To cover tuition, I worked as a printer for the Western Hills Publishing Company. Our offices were on Davis Avenue in Cheviot and our printing presses occupied a floor in the historic Crosley Building on Arlington Street in Camp Washington. My duties as the junior member of the printing crew involved shuttling copy and page flats from the editorial offices to the typesetting and composing staff.

As I climbed out of the valley toward the English Woods housing development, hail scattered across the road. Hailstones rattled on the van’s roof, then pounded, then stomped. It sounded like some gremlin with a baseball bat hammering on the roof as ice balls the size of oranges smashed into the asphalt all around. Tree branches cracked and split and thatched the roadway.

Somehow, I made it to Cheviot and pulled into the Press parking lot. It was full of people, just standing around. I got out and looked at the van. The roof looked like a moonscape, there were so many dents in it.

“Hey! Look at this,” I shouted. No one turned or said a word. And then I saw why.

Stretching from the horizon halfway to zenith was the tornado. It was impossible to comprehend the scale. More than two miles away, we heard no sound except endless sirens calling to one another from every direction. Where we stood transfixed it did not rain. There was no wind. There was only the tornado.

“Look at all that paper swirling around,” someone said.

“Those are garage doors,” another answered.

We watched as the horrendous vision scraped its way northward, the finger of God plowing a furrow along South Road out in Mack. We watched as it withered and lifted and twisted into nothingness against a pallid sky, waving it seemed in farewell at last as it vanished. We stared at each other, silent, unable to find any words.

Gradually, we realized that all the lights were out. There was no power in the offices. The publisher sent me around the corner to a hardware store to buy all the candles they had in stock. It was going to be a long night.

At this point, for the benefit of readers younger than I, it is necessary to explain a few details. The cash register at the hardware store was mechanical. It did not require electricity, much less Wi-Fi, to operate. The editorial offices were stocked with manual typewriters. The telephones were landlines, on a separate network, and functioned even when the power was out. Everyone had a battery-powered radio.

Anyone with the ability to write a coherent sentence became a reporter. I was sent out, still wearing my printshop uniform, in the divotted Econoline, to gather eye-witness reports. I found a small crowd at the Western Hills Country Club who had been herded into a downstairs bar while the sirens howled. They queued up for every available telephone to check in with their families. I found people in shock, wandering through piles of rubble that had been their homes, clutching any random possessions they recovered. I saw ambulances backed up in a line, waiting for utility poles and power lines to be moved. I saw people wrapped in blankets, standing in the middle of nothing left, sobbing on each other’s shoulders.

There were people who swore they saw two funnel clouds and people who claimed there were four, twisting like snakes in the sky. There were people who confessed to being so transfixed by the surreal wonder of the twister that they stood paralyzed as it swooped down on their houses.

And, in the curious way the universe laughs at we mere humans, I found humor.

There was the guy who, in a dispute with his insurance company, was photographing damage to his roof when the warning sirens erupted. He saw the funnel approaching and dove into his basement. When he emerged, his roof was gone, and so was the rest of his house, but he bragged that he had the photos to press his prior claim.

I talked to one of the rescue workers who told me about a kid, maybe 15 or 16 years old, who approached him and begged him to hide a bottle of vodka. The kid didn’t want his mother to know he had the bottle hidden in his bedroom – the bedroom that was now nothing more than a debris field.

Meanwhile, at the University of Chicago, Dr. Theodore Fujita drafted a questionnaire to be sent to almost every newspaper, every radio station, every television station in the country. Dr. Fujita asked a lot of questions about the duration and intensity of the 148 confirmed tornadoes reported that day. He and Allen Pearson of the National Severe Storms Forecast Center hoped to refine the tornado classification system they had created just three years previously. Someone at the Press filled out the questionnaire and sent it back.

A year later, having graduated from the university and transferred to the newsroom, I found a largish cardboard tube lying amid the usual pile of news releases and complaint letters that constituted our daily mail. On opening the tube – it was addressed to no one in particular – I found a map of the eastern United States titled “Superoutbreak Tornadoes of April 3-4, 1974.” Dr. Fujita, compiling all those questionnaires, had mapped and labeled every one of those 148 tornadoes.

In the center of the map, there was my tornado, the only tornado I have seen with my own eyes, officially designated as an F5 monster.

[aidanchaser]

Oh no - I got bit by the Loveybug. Seriously, this snippet has been haunting me for actual days. Finally sat down to write it today.

Loveybug origin story can be found here, by @blur0se, @pisoprano, and @asukiess.

3.7 K; rated E for emotionally damaging (jk it is e for everyone aka G for General audiences but it's catwalker and loveybug so of course it's emotionally damaging)

Read on Ao3 or below

The princess was just as beautiful as all the whispers of the forest had claimed. Her hair was the color of a lavender field in the height of spring, and her eyes glistened the very same blue as the river that cut through the heart of Elphame, the river that divided her clan and his. Her beauty, however, was not why he was here; he was here because he loved someone else.

Catwalker bowed low as he was presented to Princess Loveybug of the Heathers, his charge for the next twenty-nine days—at least, he had been told his services would be needed for the turn of one moon. Beyond that, it was hard to say. No one seemed to know when Ladybug would return to resume her duties as the princess’s bodyguard. No one seemed to know where Ladybug had gone.

Princess Loveybug smiled and held her hand out to him. He pressed his lips to it and swore his fealty. He meant every word of his oath, though if she knew who he really was, she would never have accepted it.

Prince Adrien the Golden was set to inherit his father’s kingdom, as Princess Loveybug was set to inherit her mother’s. But their families had been at war for eons, a war that had only escalated with Prince Adrien’s sudden disappearance. His father believed that the Kingdom of the Heathers was responsible for Adrien’s vanishing and, well, he wasn’t entirely wrong. But it wasn’t Princess Loveybug who had stolen Prince Adrien away, it was Ladybug.

Prince Adrien had donned the guise of Chat Noir, snuck out during the darkest nights, and met Princess Loveybug’s guard, Ladybug on the field of battle. They’d fought each other, they’d saved each other, and in the course of their shifting relationship he had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with her. But she had a duty to her kingdom and her princess. She could not love him in return.

So Adrien had decided to stop dividing himself between his father and Ladybug. He would commit, fully, to serving Ladybug. He had run away properly, crafted a new identity to stay close to Ladybug, to serve as her soldier in the war against his own father, only to find that by the time he had climbed the ranks to fight at Ladybug’s side as part of the princess’s guard that Ladybug was gone.

He would perform her duties in her stead without complaint, but he was not going to give up searching for her.

Princess Loveybug’s painted smile was coy as she curtsied her thanks for his oath. Her soft pink skirts flounced as she suddenly skipped out of the grand hall, but her pale, translucent wings stayed low and flat against her back. Catwalker followed, rapier jostling against his hip as he struggled to keep up with her pace. He’d been cautioned that the princess moved quickly and impulsively. She’d given more than one guard the slip.

And, just as he had been warned, her skip turned into a run; Catwalker dashed after her.

“Your Highness, wait,” he pleaded, terrified she would turn a corner and he would have to admit that he had failed Ladybug before his duty had hardly begun.

But she did stop. She turned and tipped her head at him. Something about her blue eyes seemed distant despite the quirked smile on her bright pink lips. “You’re really going to call me ‘Your Highness’ for the next month?”

“Would you prefer ‘Princess’?”

She drew her lips into a sour pucker as she pondered his question. “Lovey is fine,” she said, then resumed her sprint away from him.

Catwalker was already beginning to rethink his oath, but he sprinted after her dutifully. She led him on a chase through the castle corridors and up to the battlements.

The sun was at its zenith and the tower empty at the height of day. His father’s attacks were often relegated to the dark of night, and the Heathers’ soldiers were likely resting in preparation to defend the castle should the akuma of the night draw too close. But knowing an akuma was unlikely to strike didn’t ease Catwalker’s nerves as Princess Loveybug climbed onto the parapet.

The wind caught her lavender hair, and once in motion, the strands glistened gold with glamor. Catwalker supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Princess Loveybug used a glamor to create her appearance—he did the same as both Chat Noir and Catwalker—but it made him curious to know what she looked like when she dropped it. Were those cold eyes he had glimpsed a reflection of who she was when she did not have to perform as a princess?

“Your Highness, I’m not sure it’s safe up here. Your mother—”

“Who’s this ‘Highness’ you’re talking to?” the princess asked as she swung one leg over the outside of the wall, perching herself across the parapet like it was only a riding horse and not a hundred-foot drop down the other side. She might have wings to catch herself if she fell, but he did not have wings to follow her. Many fay did; Prince Adrien did not, and so neither did his glamor.

“Would you come down please, Princess Lovey?” he asked, conceding at least the name, though he could not dare give up her title.

She looked down at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you afraid I’ll fall?”

He looked at her wings, still limp against her back and glinting in the golden sunlight. “I just think it’s unwise for you to be out in the open.”

“But isn’t that what you’re for? My knight to protect me?”

She gave him that coy smile again, but against the warm afternoon, her eyes looked strangely cold. He swallowed, unsure what to make of this flirtatious yet distant princess whom he had just pledged himself to.

“I know I’m not Ladybug—”

She laughed. It was loud, sudden, and she tipped backwards from the force of it, falling flat against the parapet.

“No,” she gasped between fits of giggles, “you’re not Ladybug.” She couldn’t seem to contain herself, though Catwalker didn’t see the joke.

“Your Highness, are you all right?” he asked.

The title sobered her. “I told you not to call me that.”

At least, capricious as she was, he knew how to bring her back to herself. He climbed up on the parapet, using the look-out point as a step and leaning against the cut stone so that he was eye-level with her, stretched out along the top of the stone slab.

“Princess Lovey, will you please let me escort you inside to safety?”

She eyed him with that strangely cool stare though her lips remained pursed in a curious pucker. “Aren’t you worried that you’ll fall?”

“I beg your pardon?” he blinked, surprised by the turn of the question.

“You’re so worried I’ll fall, but you’re not worried about yourself? What will happen if you fall off this ledge?”

“I won’t fall,” he replied.

But that answer didn’t satisfy her. She rolled her eyes and sat back up. “You’re supposed to say a cat always lands on its feet.”

Catwalker closed his eyes and tried to bury the laugh that burgeoned in his chest. He felt his lips twitch, but he hoped it came off as distaste rather than amusement. He’d crafted this identity to be dutiful, not to banter.

“I believe even a hundred-foot drop would hurt a cat,” he said.

“Then don’t come up here.” Her voice turned sharp on him rather suddenly.

He was unsure what he had done to earn such acid in her tone, but he did his best to appease her. “Princess, you know I must go where you go.”

She replied with a dismissive grunt and kept her back to him. An awkward silence passed between them, one Catwalker was unsure how to fill, or even if he should fill it. Something about this princess’s shifts in moods reminded him of dealing with his father. She seemed to be working hard to keep him at arm’s length, and he didn’t understand why.

“Do you know why Ladybug left?” she asked suddenly.

He swallowed down his own heartache and reminded himself once more that he was here not out of love, but out of duty. “I assume she had a mission of some sort to protect her kingdom. I could think of no other reason she would abandon her post at your side, Your Highness.”

“Do you really think Ladybug is so devoted to duty?”

“I know it to be true. I fought at her side long enough to see it.” And, since he could not tell the princess he had confessed his love and been rejected, added, “And I have heard stories that affirm what I have seen. Did she not turn Chat Noir’s affection down because of her duty to you?”

The ice in Princess Lovey’s voice seemed to melt. “Is that what people say happened?”

“Did Ladybug tell you otherwise?”

“Ladybug may have had a… different perspective.” Loveybug shrugged, then abandoned the conversation about Ladybug as quickly as she abandoned one mood for another. She laid back down and propped her chin up with her hands. “So tell me, knight, is duty truly the most important thing to you?” she asked.

“It is, Your Highness.”

Her upper lip curled back, and he found that a sneer looked painfully odd on the princess’s face, like her glamor wasn’t built for distaste. “Will you please just use Lovey? Isn’t it your duty to do what I ask of you?”

Catwalker swallowed down the urge to protest. His duty was to both protect her and obey her, and when those two things conflicted, well… he had to look for a loophole. “Will you accept Princess Lovey?”

She hummed as she pondered his offer. Her legs kicked back and forth aimlessly behind her and she tipped her head, almost like a cat examining something it had never encountered before. “I think the real question is whether you’ll accept Princess Lovey.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Be honest,” she pressed, “what do you think of me so far?”

Catwalker blinked, unsure what the protocol was for this sort of conversation. He could not critique the princess he was sworn to protect, but he also could not lie to her. “I suppose I wish you didn’t enjoy climbing the parapets so much,” he said.

She laughed again. “I suppose if I fell, you’d have to leap after me, wouldn’t you?”

“I would, Your H—Princess Lovey.”

She twirled a finger through her lavender hair. It glittered around her finger, glamor flickering, but it held strong and gave no clue as to what lay beneath it. “Don’t you think that’s funny?”

Catwalker blinked. “Do I think plunging to certain death—” and certain escalation of war between their kingdoms when once his glamor dropped, everyone would learn that he was the missing prince, “—is funny?”

“You’re supposed to protect me,” she said, “but if I were to fall and you jump after me, you would just have to pray that I could protect you. It’s funny.”

He still did not see the humor. “Did you bring me up here just to point out my shortcomings as your guard?”

But Princess Lovey did not answer. She sat up and swung both legs over the parapet. Catwalker’s stomach climbed into his throat, terrified she might jump just to see if he would follow.

“Ladybug was supposed to be all about duty,” Princess Lovey said suddenly, voice rather distant. “Her job was to protect her kingdom when no one else could. She wasn’t always the best at it, and she wasn’t always right, but she always fought as long as she could.”

Catwalker didn’t like the way Princess Lovey spoke like Ladybug was never returning. “Princess, I’m sure that wherever Ladybug has gone, she’s still doing her duty to you and to her kingdom.”

Loveybug continued to swing her legs, ballet-slippers bouncing off of the stone wall easily. “Your faith in her is pretty strong for someone who only joined her ranks a few months ago.”

“She is incredibly capable of inspiring those who have fought beside her.”

She turned to look at him, smile quirked with amusement but her eyes remained cold and unfeeling. “And do I inspire you, Catwalker?”

He wondered if this coldness was because the princess felt abandoned by her most trusted guard. He certainly felt abandoned by Ladybug, but he also knew how unfair of him it was to believe Ladybug cared for him. “I would never let anything come between me and my duty for you,” he assured Princess Loveybug.

But that didn’t seem to be the answer she wanted. She rolled her eyes and looked out to the open fields below them. The river glittered on the horizon and somewhere beyond that was the home that Catwalker had abandoned to stay by Ladybug’s side.

“Then I suppose now might be a bad time to tell you,” Loveybug began slowly, and she turned to look at him, blue eyes still hollow, “that Princess Lovey has already given you the slip, and I’m merely a glamor you’ve been chatting with this entire time.”

Her words hit him as solidly as if the princess had slapped him. “Princess—”

She laughed again, more genuine this time. “That’s the look I thought you’d give.” She paused her laugh only to mimic his shocked expression—eyes wide, lips pulled into a small “oh”—then she dramatically clutched her hand to her heart, like it had snapped in two, and burst into another bout of laughter. It did not abate Catwalker’s panic.

“Your Highness—”

But this time, the title did not sober her laughter. She continued to giggle, and leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. It was warm and solid, as real as the stone beneath their feet.

“I’m still your Lovey; I promise.”

Catwalker was not amused. “Do you tease all of your guards this way?”

“Only the ones I like.” She stayed there, stretched out against the peak of the parapet like a cat lounging in the sun, lips hovering near his ear. “And I do like you, Catwalker, even if you’re not—”

She bit down on her tongue then buried her head in her arms.

“Even if I’m not Ladybug?” he finished. “I swear, Princess, I’ll be as dutiful as she ever was.”

“Ugh, you swear so easily,” she grumbled into her arms. “Stop, or I’ll start to think you don’t mean it. Anyway, that wasn’t even what I was going to say.”

“I apologize for being presumptuous.”

She blew a raspberry into her arms, loud and unbecoming. “I like you even if you’re not fun.”

“‘Fun’?”

“Fun,” she repeated. “No sense of adventure,” she gestured to the broad expanse of heather a hundred feet below them, “no sense of humor,” she poked the corner of his cheek, and elicited not even a fragment of a smile, “and no appreciation for puns,” and she reached for the cat ears perched atop his head.

He ducked before she could discover they were as glamorous as her lavender hair, and his foot nearly slipped off of the edge as he did.

“I would appreciate,” he said, doing his best to ignore his racing heart, “if you would refrain from doing that again.”

She pouted. “That’s what I mean. No fun. Chat Noir was fun.”

His pounding heart came to a full stop. Chat Noir had never met Princess Lovey, but he couldn’t very well explain how he knew that. “You knew Chat Noir? The infamous thief and spy from the Gilded Kingdom?”

“I know what Ladybug told me about him,” she said, kicking her feet aimlessly once more. “That he was funny, knew a good joke, and that he was a terrible spy. She told me he fought against the Gilded Kingdom’s monstrous akumas and helped Ladybug set things right, that he helped her protect people.”

Catwalker swallowed. “What else did she say about him?”

“That he left her. Abandoned her when she needed him most.”

“She didn’t need him. Ladybug doesn’t need anyone.”

“Ladybug always needed someone.”

Catwalker did not want to argue with the princess, who surely knew Ladybug well, but he was the one who had fought alongside Ladybug in battle countless times. She had never needed him. “I’ve never known anyone as fearless in battle as Ladybug.”

“Then you didn’t know Ladybug.”

That accusation stung more than anything else the princess had said that afternoon. He had known Ladybug, far better than this moody princess had. Ladybug may have been Princess Loveybug’s guard, but he had been Ladybug’s partner. That had meant something to him. He’d always believed it had meant something to Ladybug.

“Your Highness, I know what it is to fight alongside Ladybug, and whatever fears she had, she set them aside time and again to help those in need. I’ve known no one braver than that.”

This time, she didn’t flinch when he called her by her title. She merely watched him, something curious and pensive in the corners of her eyes.

“And are you so fearless?”

“In the name of duty, yes.”

She blew another raspberry at the word “duty” then asked, “So you’ll follow me into battle tonight?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Without Ladybug to defend the castle, I’m going to defend the castle. As my guard, you’ll fight alongside me, won’t you?”

“As your guard, I will not allow you to fight.”

“Good luck with that,” she laughed. She pushed herself up onto her feet, balancing on the edge of the tower.

“Princess—” Panic filled Catwalker’s throat as she wobbled. He reached for her as she steaded herself, but in his lunge, his own footing slipped.

There was a moment where he hung, suspended in space, looking up at Princess Loveybug, but there was no coy smile on her lips. She looked empty somehow, eyes cold as frost and lips thin as an autumnal leaf.

It was is if he saw Loveybug as she was beneath her glamor, if only for a moment.

And then her distant expression turned to shock as she realized that he was truly falling. Her arm shot out with surprisingly quick reflexes and grabbed his wrist. She pulled him up against her, but now she was falling with him. With her other hand, she dug something out of her pocket, launched it to the parapet above them, and it fastened around the stone, bringing their descent to a sharp halt.

One arm held him, her other arm held their lifeline. Her feet were planted firmly against the tower wall, as if it were solid ground, and she guided him to do the same, though his safety was entirely in the hand she slid against his back.

“Your Highness, I—”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

He swallowed. “Princess Lovey, I am sorry. I’ve put you at risk, not an hour into my oath—”

“This isn’t risk,” she said, “this is fun.”

Her hand slid from his back to his shoulder, and he felt himself falling once more, but she caught his arm before he could truly begin to fall again.

“You don’t want to see if cats really land on their feet?”

His heart raced and the blood rushed to his head. He managed to say, “If you want to test that theory, Princess, may I suggest performing the experiment at ten or even five feet rather than eighty?”

She grinned, but used the line she had fastened to haul him back to the top of tower. It reminded Catwalker of Ladybug’s weapon, but he kept his mouth shut as Princess Lovey rewound the line and returned it to her pocket. He wasn’t entirely sure he could speak; his lips were still numb from his brush with death.

“You’re all right?” she asked, and she reached her hand for his cheek. His lips were suddenly no longer numb as she brushed her thumb against them.

“Fine,” he managed. “You didn’t—” He swallowed, aware the question was untoward, but he had to know, especially if she was going to continue pulling stunts like this. “You didn’t fly. Your wings…”

She twisted so they could both take a look at her back where her wings, golden in the afternoon sun, lay flat and unused.

“They’re just glamor,” she said.

“Just…” He stammered, at a loss for words. “But how—you…”

“It’s a poorly kept secret that my father is a human. No wings for me, but as a princess, I like to use a glamor so people don’t think less of me.”

“But you…”

“You don’t exactly have wings, either, Catwalker,” she said with a pout. “I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss.”

“I only—The entire time you were up there—”

“The entire time I was up there, I knew what I was doing. You have to trust me with that. When we fight tonight, we have each other’s backs, okay?” she said.

“Princess, you can’t—”

“Chat Noir liked to throw himself in front of Ladybug, like somehow her surviving was more important. You can do that here in the palace, if your sense of duty so drives you, but out there, you and I are equals. I protect you and you protect me. Do you understand?”

Her tone was no longer the high-pitched flirtatious giggle. If anything, she sounded like Ladybug. He wished she would take her hand from his cheek. It only made it more confusing.

“Princess Lovey, who are you beneath your glamor?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Who are you beneath yours?”

He glanced away.

“I trust you,” she said, “all I ask is that you trust me.”

It was his duty to protect and obey her. If she commanded his trust, he had to give it.

“It’s yours, Princess.” The promise felt like a surrender; it felt like defeat.

She pressed her lips to his cheek. If her painted lips were anything more than a glamor, she might have left a pink streak across his face.

Loveybug the flirty, flouncy, flighty princess was a facade as much as he was. Beneath it she was cold, determined, and valiant. All the things he admired in his lady.

Catwalker swallowed down his heartache, and followed Princess Loveybug back into the castle. She could ask for his trust, his faith, his duty—but his heart was Ladybug’s. He was not going to let this princess take that from him, too.

[en-scribed]

THE THREE BIRDS [fantasy short story]

Personified immortal Stars have lived secretly on Earth throughout history. This piece takes place in 13th century Iran, notable for astronomical scholarship, and Arabic star names are used as the main roots. Waqi (currently the Star Vega) leads Taira (Altair) and Dhanab (Deneb) on a mission to secure the Stars' carefully kept secret existence. The Stars' world was created by myself and @heirmyst. Next post: [ORION'S FINEST] Word count: 5,201

Waqi climbed the sky higher, relentlessly battling the air with every flap of their wings. As they gained altitude, frost dared to gather on their face. Unfazed, they summoned latent blue fire from within, melting it on immediate impact. 

Good attempt, nature, they thought, smiling into the forceful wind. But only I decide when to stop.

Except even the grandest flights rested on the premise of a zenith… and its aftermath. Finally, air thinned to nothing, and Earth below seemed a faint suggestion of matter. The time had come. Waqi slowed the frenzied movement of their wings.

They took a deep breath, savoring the moment. “Here it comes.”

Then, they let themself fall. 

The air just barely carried the sound they let out, halfway between a laugh and a scream of delight.

This was their favorite part. They would never admit it on the ground, where every part of them itched to fight the atmosphere with their wings and fly, however high the day would let them. Many times, they’d said to other Stars that they’d happily give up immortality if it meant they could fly for the rest of their existence, and the sentiment was barely a joke. But the fall? They lived for it, and the air as they burned their way down was the sweetest they’d ever taste.

Clouds faded into view, gray and rumbling, preparing to unleash a deluge onto Iran. Waqi’s fists heated up, glowing with ready blasts; they could not let this unacceptable weather stand. 

They plunged into the mess. When fog took over their vision, they pivoted sharply, punching at the nearest storm cloud. The lightning crackling inside was no match for Waqi’s own strikes of energy. They cut through the surrounding air in a wide arc, so swiftly that the clouds vanished with a whimper.

“You tried,” Waqi said, laughing to themself as they took off to vanquish the brewing storm from the rest of the sky. 

They moved with instinctive ease when they shed their corporeal form to become a merciless blue lightning bolt. It was less satisfying than punches and blasts, but it killed every threatened storm before it got the chance to materialize, all the while keeping Waqi hidden from any onlooking human’s eyes.

Of course, the tactic traded away precision for raw power. 

They didn’t process hitting the wrong target until the voices rang out. 

“Waqi!” Dhanab yelled, halting the excitement with a start. “What in the skies did you do that for?”

Waqi shifted back into their usual form, steadying their flight with their wings and blinking the scene before them into clarity. Their Star friends Dhanab and Taira hovered in front of them. Dhanab was scrambling to cover her head. Taira had stopped midway through braiding Dhanab’s hair, barely containing laughs. 

Slowly, Waqi turned around. Remnants of lightning floated in empty air, having burned a hole in the white cloud structure around them. They’d destroyed a Star lodging. For the third time that week. And this time, they didn’t get to pretend they were heroically fighting monstrous Hauntings, because this was nothing but a cloud punching spree.

They faced their friends with a sheepish smile. “I’ve interrupted something, I gather?”

“I’d say so, yes,” Taira said lightly, at the same time as Dhanab muttered, “Not the first time.”

“In my defense,” Waqi began. “I had—”

“North Star duties,” the two finished in unison.

Waqi looked away, sighing. There went their excuse. “I don’t suppose you’ll allow me to make it up to you?”

A scheming smirk crept across Dhanab’s face. “Taira?”

“Hm.” Taira stretched and cracked her joints in preparation. “Since you've so kindly offered...”

Waqi had barely enough time to summon a defensive forcefield when Taira shot toward them with unbelievable speed. She tackled them off the cloud’s ledge. Waqi fought to keep their flight steady among her unpredictable movements and countered her every hit. Laughing all the way, they tumbled wherever Taira wished, because as strong as a flier as Waqi was, they only fought the air; Taira held it at her command. 

“Unfair!” Waqi protested, pushing Taira’s voluminous wind blown hair away from their own face. “I’m taking this up with the king!” 

“What’s the matter?” Taira said, between laughs. “Holding back so I’ll be taken off guard by your next move?”

Waqi caught her next punches, holding both of her hands in place with a surge of lightning. They grinned. “You know me too well. This is a tactical liability.” 

She cried out as Waqi seized her hair and flipped her over their head. As soon as they readied their next blast, their arm locked up, illuminating with a silvery blue glow. 

The rest of their body followed. Taira also froze. The two Stars’ descent had been halted by a joy-killing outside force.

“Dhanab!” Waqi yelled to the sky. “It was just going to get good!” 

Taira snorted. “For you, maybe.”

Dhanab swooped gracefully down from above, landing only a few feet below without breaking her telekinetic hold on the other two. Waqi gaped. Were they that close to the ground already? 

“Do you want to let all of Maragha in on the secret?” Dhanab asked, gesturing frantically to the town behind her. 

“Oh, we’re in trouble now?” Taira asked.

“You will be, keeping this up,” Dhanab said. “Two wild winged beasts screaming and clawing at each other is hardly discreet.”

Waqi raised an eyebrow. “And two wild winged beasts suspended in midair by a third, decidedly more stuck-up winged beast… is?” 

Dhanab opened her mouth to argue, then shrugged. “Point taken.” With one wave of her hand, the glow faded, and Waqi and Taira collapsed in a heap on the ground. 

Waqi brushed themself free. Dhanab pointedly looked past them in favor of helping Taira up. Only Taira.

“The disrespect,” Waqi said with mock offense, forcing themself to their feet. “This is how you treat your North Star?”

Dhanab smiled sweetly. “I wouldn’t dream of insinuating the North Star could possibly need my help.”

Waqi rolled their eyes and shifted their attention to the sky. At least from here, they could check whether they’d succeeded in averting the storm. They expected to see clear blue conditions, plagued by a few maddening remnants of a storm they happened to miss. Instead they were met with… a sunset. In the distance, the town of Maragha seemed to come alive, suddenly bustling with movement.

“Oh no,” Taira said quietly behind them.

“I know,” they agreed, exasperated, glaring at the accursed observatory on a nearby hill. “Now we’ll have to listen to the evening prayer.”

“I like the sound of the prayer,” Dhanab said quietly.

Taira shook her head. “It isn’t that! The sun set too early.” Oh, Waqi thought. They’d assumed they simply lost track of time once more. “Waqi,” Taira said, all humor gone from her voice. Disoriented by the sudden change in mood, Waqi turned to face her. “This is a whole hour early.”

Dhanab’s eyes widened. “An hour? Did the king tell you anything about this?”

Waqi laughed, but their voice shook with uncertainty. “There you two go, taking everything the sky does so seriously…” 

“Even if we didn’t, the humans would!” Dhanab argued. “Especially here. Their prayer relies on this, you think they won’t look into the situation? And if they look too deep, they’ll find us, and then the secret keepers might tell on us too, and—”

“Dhanab.” Taira wrapped an arm around her. “Slow down. Breathe.” She looked to Waqi for support.

 Their words caught in their throat. Skies above, they had not expected a morale strengthening task today. “I’ll… speak to Sol,” they blurted out, “and get this all sorted! He’ll play some trick of sunlight, hide the irregularity. This kind of thing is easy for him! It will be fine.”

The Star king’s name seemed to put the two at ease. Yes, Sol would fix this, and Waqi would have free reign to make fun of his overly dramatic success speeches to his face afterward. That was how this was supposed to go.

“Before that,” Taira piped up, “maybe we can go and ask director Tusi’s minions what they think is happening.” She tilted head toward the observatory. “To see how much damage we’ll have to undo.”

Waqi made a face at the thought of vanishing their wings. “Go and ask. In the guise of a human?”

“As a man?” Dhanab added, equally offended. “No, thank you.”

Both of them stared at Taira. She sighed, closing her wings and gathering up her long cloudlike tresses. “The usual, I see.”

“Don’t act as if you don’t like it,” Dhanab said.

Taira winked at her. “I let you off the hook only because you’re too beautiful to pass as a man.” 

Dhanab flushed, but got to work on tearing a section of her own outer robes, wrapping it around Taira’s hair as a makeshift turban.

“You could just give over your scarf,” Waqi pointed out.

“Waqi, please!” Dhanab said, scandalized. “I am not going to stay out here uncovered!”

That sounded absolutely ridiculous, but Waqi chose not to argue. They never did see the point in bothering with matters of earthly conduct, when by all means the Stars were meant to live above them all. This is why they could never stomach any task that involved walking among humans. Their status as North Star, Stardom’s first line of defense, would surely get lost among the endless customs and rules that every other little kingdom offered a different version of. Such a life was inconceivable.

Still, they noticed that Dhanab was pointedly trying to avoid being perceived with torn robes. Wordlessly, they walked in such a way to conceal her from any passersby’s view, keeping a low profile as they trailed Taira.

Not that Taira made it particularly easy. 

With a skip in his step, Taira closed in on the observatory hill at a quick pace. Too quick. The other two almost struggled to keep up and stay hidden at the same time.

“What’s his hurry?” Waqi whispered to Dhanab.

“You know Taira,” Dhanab said. “At least he hasn’t resorted to flying. Yet.”

Waqi and Dhanab stopped at a distance, hanging back as Taira went on. He reached the entrance of the central observatory tower, greeting the two workers outside like old friends. One of the men straightened up to receive the new company, while the other remained pointedly occupied perusing an astronomical manual.

“Peace be upon you, brothers!” Taira said. “I could not help noticing that the sun has been down for several counts too far, and I have not heard the call for Maghrib yet.”

“Upon you be peace. I do not know what to tell you, Al-Ta’ir,” the attentive man said, his tone apologetic, as if he was fully ready to take the blame for the heavens breaking an otherwise flawless pattern. “Sirvan and I have been in conversation all day, and we haven’t yet reached an impasse.”

“Forget this pretense, Payam. Tell him like it is!” the other man, Sirvan snapped. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration and, without warning, shoved the manual in Taira’s face. “Look at this!” 

Taira stayed silent for too long. “Yes,” he said, purely to appease the worker. “This is… most irregular.”

“Irregular,” Sirvan said with a bitter laugh. “For all our lives the sky stays constant! Predictable! ‘Study the heavens,’ Tusi tells us, ‘Mark prayers as God commands!’ How were we meant to know the sun can set anytime!”

Waqi rolled their eyes. Humans truly believed their neat tables could map the skies out to the letter. As if the Stars had nothing better to do than move in strict patterns for their convenience. An impulsive lightning blast threatened to break free at their fist. Dhanab touched their hand, stopping it right there.

“I believe I should call out Maghrib now,” Payam said carefully. “The people will be concerned.”

“Concerned?” Sirvan said, baffled. “This is unlike anything we’ve seen!”

Taira wisely saw his exit. “Thank you, brothers,” he said, though Sirvan’s diatribe about the fundamental principles of the sun’s movement drowned it out. “I trust your decision, and eagerly await your call.” Meaningfully, he caught Payam’s eye at the last word.

With that, Taira left the scene as swiftly as he’d arrived, regrouping with Dhanab and Waqi. 

“Overreacting scholars,” Waqi said. “This is probably nothing!” 

Taira ignored them. “Payam is the muazzin. I’ve dropped as many suggestions as it’s appropriate for me to do. I think we’ll be in the clear, if he can get his volatile brother calmed or distracted long enough to call the prayer.”

“I hope he does,” Dhanab said softly.

“That’s all we can do for our coverup on the human side, but we’ll stick around just in case.” Taira turned to Waqi. “The rest is up to you. Ask Sol what’s going on. He’s the only one who can make this seamless.”

Waqi nodded. This, at least, they could do. Leaving their friends at the hill, they crept a safe distance away from wandering townspeople’s eyes. 

Then, they opened their wings and shot off into the early night sky. The air was clear, carrying that sweet tropical taste that came only when the dark settled and—

Focus, they reminded themself, shaking off the intoxication. This flight had to be short, direct. Purely economical. 

They ascended just enough for their head to peek through clouds.

Waqi looked around, and almost didn’t recognize Sol’s home at first. They were so used to the sight of extravagantly piled clouds, reflecting sunlight with infuriating perfection, that they only processed the black clouds in front of them as an incoming weather disaster.

Somewhere on the way to destroying the storm, they realized it floated where their best friend’s home should have been.

“Sol?” Waqi’s voice broke embarrassingly at the call of his name. 

Any moment, the only part of them still clinging to hope insisted. Any moment, Sol would fly out, laugh triumphantly about his incredible unexpected practical joke, and fix everything.

No answer came.

Waqi rammed themself into the mass of black clouds, their mind racing. The structure fell apart pathetically, the only sign of Sol’s brilliant presence being stray plumes of flame. Actual flame. Not the inviting light that always decorated the king’s home. 

Waqi emerged on the other side into empty air. The home being deserted, leaving only storm clouds and flame, and whatever the early sunset was… 

All signs pointed to a struggle. 

Waqi glared at the remnants of black smoke around them with newfound hatred. This was no longer annoying weather. It was the herald of the enemies—assassins—who took Sol away… and after seeing it, Waqi was sitting here, staring into space like an idiot.

They needed to act now. In a flash of blue lightning, they dived, right back to the spot where they left their friends. The grass beneath them caught fire as the shock of the ground returned them to their corporeal form. Before they had time to breathe, someone grabbed their shoulder.

“Careful! You’ll—” Dhanab’s usual chiding stopped short, and her face softened into concern. “What happened?”

Waqi tried to contort their features into something less alarming. Judging by their friends’ confused glances, it did not work.

“What did the king say?” Taira asked. “He didn’t deny the request, did he?”

A laugh, clipped and shaky, escaped Waqi’s throat at the question. “It’s a hard thing even for him, to deny something he hasn’t even heard,” they said. “Something broke into his home. Only storm clouds remain there.”

A shadow passed over the other two’s faces. Taira took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell me…”

“Hauntings?” Dhanab asked, her voice small. It was barely a question. 

“Listen to me,” Waqi said, grasping her hand, suddenly emboldened by their friends’ clear panic. Waqi couldn’t afford to be scared when they had other Stars to worry about. “No one can hear of this. Not until we get to the bottom of it.”

“Waqi,” Taira said. They couldn’t help but flinch. They hated when all playfulness faded from her voice like that. “This isn’t some accidental cabin fire we can just pretend is an act of nature. This is an attempted Haunting assassination, and if those monsters even got to the king, what chance—”

“They didn’t get to him!” Waqi snapped. “It’s Sol! Skies above, will you have some faith? For all we know, he reduced them all to ashes and is just… hunting for a new home. Or better yet, for the assassins’ allies.”

This half of North Star duties, the one which was conquered by words rather than fire, never came naturally to Waqi. Yet, often, they found they could simply speak anything into existence, and if it softened even a single line of worry on a fellow Star’s face, it would do the trick. For better or worse, Waqi held all the cards here. They knew Sol better than anyone; whatever they said about him, the other two had to take it by necessity. 

Waqi needed to take it too. It was all they had.

“You’re right,” Dhanab said, mercifully. “Yes, that must be it!” 

“So, all we do is track him down. It’s the same plan as before… just with this extra step.” They spoke feverishly right as the words came to them. “Taira. Those trails of dark smog from Hauntings are left in the sky for hours after the fact, are they not?”

Taira nodded, a hint of her usual laidback confidence returning to her eyes. “If the monsters escaped—”

“There’s no way in hell Sol would let them go free without pursuit,” Waqi finished. They braced themself for flight. “Lead the way. We’re right behind you.”

And so, the three Stars took to the skies. They cast jokes and idle conversation between themselves like playing balls, masking any unwanted urgency. The premature night hung around them heavily. Even as they followed the sickening, viscous Haunting trail, no one dared to suggest the unspoken; that the king was likely in danger and it may be up to them to save him. Sol was supposed to save them, not the other way around.

You’re fine, Sol, Waqi thought to themself repeatedly, reassuring their own mind and daring their friend to meet the challenge. They need you to be fine. You can give them that much.

Give me that much.

When the trail ended its forward snaking in the sky and dissolved into fog, Taira began to descend and the other two followed. An expansive lake awaited them below. It boiled furiously, despite the cool night, sending warm air towards the Stars.

“Here we are,” Taira whispered. “Now, either the Hauntings show themselves, or Sol comes out… let’s hope we don’t have to do something drastic.”

Waqi strained their eyes to see the lake past the fog. Why was it boiling? “I swear… why can’t we just—”

“Don’t summon a flame,” Dhanab warned, reading their mind. “Wait for it.”

“Wait?” Waqi shot back, incredulous. “For them to—”

Something shot out of the lake. One projectile gave way to several, piercing the silence with the high whistles of Haunting laughter. The fog stopped the Stars from seeing the attack, but they all heard it, and knew the lack of light would not let them dodge. Taira screamed as a Haunting assailant tackled her into the darkness.

“No!” Dhanab instantly moved to follow Taira’s faint white flame. 

Waqi prepared a blast. “Leave it to me!” 

Dhanab blocked their path, taking hold of their shoulders. “I’ve got her. You should look for the king.”

Look for the king. Waqi knew what she meant to say, but they resented the wording anyway. It was far too close to acknowledging the danger they’d so carefully chosen to downplay. Still, she stayed, her gaze lingering on them with clear anxiety. She wouldn’t go without their express order.

“Go,” Waqi told her. “Do… whatever it is you were already going to.”

She smiled, relieved. “North Star duty!” she called out encouragingly, flitting away to Taira’s aid. 

Dropping every precaution about stealth, Waqi lit themself up in a burst of blue flame. The fog lifted. Finally, finally, they could see their attackers, scattered in midair and on the banks of the lake; without the cloak of darkness, the Hauntings carried forms befitting creatures of earth, except far too big, and closer to humans in terms of gait and clarity of disruptive purpose. This assortment of aquatic bait froze in fear at Waqi’s explosion, even the overgrown shrimp that had Dhanab and Taira locked in battle. Waqi relished the look of shock on the monsters’ faces. Clearly, they hadn’t been expecting the North Star. 

Just as quickly, they recovered with shrill battle cries, and the inky fog wafted into the air once more. This time, Waqi was ready.

They shot lightning indiscriminately, warding off the first few human-sized black crustacean Hauntings that leapt up at them. The flame stayed steady all the way, keeping their sight clear throughout every scuffle. The effort of keeping up defenses still remained a liability. They could not take in a single iota of their surroundings if every moment was punctuated by a strike at the relentless Haunting flock.

“Clear me an opening!” Waqi yelled to their friends.

Practically before Waqi finished speaking, it was done. Dhanab seized telekinetic control of the flock’s edges, and Taira sped to take out anyone who dared step into Waqi’s radius. 

With newfound freedom, Waqi began a swift descent… and it allowed them a crucial glance at the mysteriously boiling lake.

A golden light flickered beneath, its glow coloring fire into the angry waters.

Sol.

Waqi didn’t think. They dove headfirst, the fall heating up their every inch. Hauntings cried out, attempted a poorly thought out deflection, but Waqi’s fire now radiated fatally. Just try it now, they dared the assassins. Naturally, not a single one met the challenge.

The saline water greeted them all at once. 

Any numbing power it might have had over Waqi was warded off by the burning field surrounding them. They had bigger concerns.

“You came,” said an unmistakable voice behind them, with a tone of never having expected anything else. “My one and only North Star.”

Waqi turned sharply to look at Sol, relief and frustration warring within them for the chance to guide their response. Neither got the chance, because an ink-black current hit them instead. 

The staggering force threw them back, until they wedged their feet against the lake floor and opened their wings. They summoned a field of energy, protecting them from the onslaught. Waqi stepped forward, fighting the water with all they had, and broke into a run. The Hauntings they rammed into crumpled at the slightest touch of fire. 

Waqi had help down here too. Sol’s pillar of flame, emboldened by the new arrival, burned brighter, working with Waqi’s to purify the waters. When the blackness cleared, the piscine Hauntings that cast the torrent at them instantly skittered away from fear. Good.

At long last, the sunny glow was uninhibited. Every malicious assassin who stood between Waqi and Sol had been vanquished. As for Sol himself, his wings had been folded down and forcibly fastened to a rock formation by the Hauntings’ signature viscous ink. His brilliant golden locks, plumes of flame that had been boiling the lake from underneath, finally settled into soft waves. Despite the tired, sunken shadows beneath his eyes, he beamed at his friend like nothing had happened.

“I take it you have questions,” Sol said, calm as ever.

“Oh, you don't know the half of it. Hold still!” Waqi struck Sol’s restraints with lightning, setting his wings free. Sol stumbled forward from the sudden unshackling, and Waqi moved to steady him. “Do you need a moment?”

Any sign of weakness faded as his eyes flashed with clear offense. “Who in the everloving skies do you think I am?” 

Waqi laughed. There he was. “I was only making sure. Come on!” 

They seized his arm, guiding him to the surface until his wings recovered enough to pull his own weight. Waqi made it to the surface first, taking in the taste of pure wind and then turning to help Sol onto solid ground. A clear night sky shone above them, decorated with stars, free of any fog. The smell of charred flesh and the odd black puddle on the bank were the only signs that Hauntings had even been there.

“Well done,” Sol said, finally allowing Waqi to unclench their muscles. He’d said the word, so the fight was over.

A short distance away, Dhanab stood over Taira, no doubt fussing endlessly over every minor scratch Taira had sustained during her scuffle with the shrimp Haunting. All the while, Taira stared at her, smiling like she’d won something beyond the fight, not making a single move to stop her. Waqi rolled their eyes fondly. Those two could accomplish untold feats exemplifying every Star ideal, and still act afterward more like illicitly close adolescent human girls.

Sol strode toward them. “I see I have you two to thank for this infestation’s defeat.”

Dhanab jumped to attention, rushing to adjust her scarf. “My king! It is… an immeasurable relief to see you again.”

He laughed good naturedly, extending a hand to help Taira to her feet. “Are you alright?”

She took it. “That shrimp was far sturdier than he looked.”

“You must forgive me for the confusion this must have caused,” Sol said, and Waqi made a considerable effort to not bite back in the presence of their friends. “As valiantly as you fought, I never like having to send you all into Haunting territory.”

Taira scoffed. “You didn’t need us, my king. We all saw how you boiled the lake. Waqi told us on the way you were probably destroying them already, and they were right!”

Sol turned to Waqi, an unspoken question in his eyes. Waqi met his eyes meaningfully. Later, they tried to tell him.

Dhanab cleared her throat. “There’s still the matter of… the early sunset,” she said, thankfully changing the subject. “The humans were very shaken up.”

“Ah,” Sol said, glaring at the sky with truly personal resentment. “An unfortunate side effect of my… divergence, after the assassination attempt.” He stood up straighter. “No matter. The irregularities will be smoothed over by next morning. And our North Star here can convey the desired story to the secret keepers.”

“What?” Waqi protested. “Please don’t make me talk to Tusi again! He’s insufferable!”

The other three laughed, because Waqi’s misfortune was the joke that united them all. Some friends, Waqi thought, though they couldn’t stop their smile. 

Taira stretched out her arms. They cracked painfully, sending out sparks, but she pretended not to notice. “Well, that’s taken care of. I should check Maragha’s parameter for any runaways.”

“Absolutely not,” Sol scolded. “Dhanab, get her straight home and make sure she doesn’t set a single wingbeat out until next sunrise. This is an order.”

Already at attention, Dhanab grabbed Taira’s hand and spread her wings. “Yes, my king! Let’s go, Waqi.”

“You two go ahead,” they said, mustering all the cheer they could. “I need to speak with the king.”

It was a common enough request that the two didn’t think twice about. Waqi watched as arm in arm, Dhanab and Taira took off into the sky, chattering between themselves about plans for the next day. 

Once they were sure the two were out of earshot, Waqi punched Sol in the face.

Sol, naturally, barely flinched. “And here I thought you’d be the bigger Star about this,” he said flatly.

Waqi swung another fist, overflowing with everything they’d been holding back. “The bigger Star? You—” They pointed an accusing, lightning infused finger, giving up all pretense of being the unbothered North Star. “—scared the absolute shit out of me, you know that?”

Sol sighed. “Of course. I realize it was not ideal, but—”

“I had to tell them you were fine.” Breathlessly, they laughed, because the absurdity didn’t let them react any other way. “I mean, even after the sunset, I’d seen the state of your home. And I had to look them in the eyes and tell them you weren’t in trouble. And all this time, the Hauntings actually overpowered you, imprisoned you in a fucking lake? They could’ve hurt you, or worse!” 

“They could have done no such thing,” Sol said, so emphatically that it actually gave Waqi pause. “I was in no danger. I knew you’d come.”

“Oh, please…”

Sol took their shoulders and stared them right in the eye. Quietly, with terrifying emphasis, he said, “I let them capture me.” 

Waqi froze, at a loss for words.

“I had no time to decide.” He spoke hurriedly, like he needed to make Waqi understand in the shortest time possible. “The assassins came, and all I could think was, are there others nearby, and will they hurt the other Stars if I don’t act? I allowed my home to be ransacked, and I allowed them the false sense of confidence to imprison me. And… the plan had been to do away with them all once they took me to their base, but…”

“The lake,” Waqi finished. “And the darkness, and the combined force of the flock. Just one of those three at a time you could’ve taken. Not all at once.”

“It did not end me, or even hurt much. It did worse, momentarily weakening me enough that I couldn’t fight back. I counted on you to finish it for me.” Finally taking a breath, he smiled. “And you did.”

Any trace of lingering anger Waqi might have harbored evaporated. They pulled Sol into an embrace, taking great pleasure in the fact that he, eternal king of Stars, melted into it instantly. “You know I always will,” they said, and they meant it. Sol was put on such a pedestal by other Stars, and Waqi knew how thin he was spread because of it. They were the one person he had to fall back on; this was the least they could do. “Still, for the love of the skies, never pull something like this again. Your grand kingly plans are going to be the death of me.”

“But you cannot die.”

“I’m also best friends with a king who believes the basic principles of reality are optional,” they joked, letting go of the hug. “It’s safer to not take anything for granted.”

“That sounds fair,” Sol conceded. “All of this aside, I will ask you… keep the reality of this day between us.”

Waqi nodded. As if they needed to be told. “I’m not your trusted North Star for nothing.” They beat their wings twice and rose, itching to take to a clear sky for the first time that day. “Get up here!” they called down to Sol. 

“To where?” he said with a laugh. “You know what became of my home.”

“Well, fortunately for you, I’m feeling daring today,” they said. “I think it’s about time I rebuild a cloud home, instead of crushing every one I touch.”

[moontheoretist]

"The dual planets were intertwined in each other's tragic destiny, and a dead song was scattered amongst the Cave Where Light Hid. The song had no beginning and no end, had no sound and no echo, came from no singer, and was heard by none. It thus uttered:

Takamagahara endless like Izumo, for it was a paradise perfect in its place. Yet the sky turned dark and the great sun pulled the tides, and the Kami left numerous trails as if migrating. The Yaoyorozu no Magakami manifested and slaughtered without mercy, yet little did they expect their peerless authority to be stolen and taken. Izumo broke seventy-thousand-and-thirty-three warrior's blades, forging the majestic Sentinels twelve in number.

The first was "Truth," forged with the slain Sovereign of Revelation. It allowed mortals to comprehend all laws and order, to dissect all things and to recreate miracles. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Reason / Truth)

The second was "Sky," forged with the slain Eternal Zenith. It could turn the sky into walls and fortresses and pose obstacles for the Magatsu no Morokami's steps. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of the Void)

The third was "Howl," forged with the slain Almighty Thunder. It could summon lightning to tear the sky, and the soaring meteors and thunder dealt divine justice. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscherr of Thunder)

The fourth was "Mist," forged with the slain Everbreath. It could make winds break and shear the land, for gales to rage forever unceasing. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Wind)

The fifth was "Frost," forged with the slain Heaven's Winter Cloak. It could freeze and still the very order of time, to create boundless frozen wastes and stretch one moment into eternity. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Ice)

The sixth was "Fate," forged with the slain Spurned Sister of Mortality. It could make flowers bloom and cover barren graves, for life and death to dance in a cycle and dissipate. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrcher of Death / Rebirth)

The seventh was "Flare," forged with the slain Flamebringer. It could summon fires to burn down the very world, to torch the skies and to char the earth. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Fire)

The eighth was "Thought," forged with the slain Wisdom Supreme. It could discern the past and future with the mirror of water, to tell truth from lies over years beyond reckoning. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Sentience)

The ninth was "Root," forged with the slain Father of Lands. It could command islands to float into the heavens, for mountains and valleys to burst before armies. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Earth / Stars)

The tenth was "Form," forged with the slain Nether Lord. It could make the masses join in unity, for endless forms to ebb and flow as one. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrcher of Legion / Dominance)

The eleventh was "Bind," forged with the slain Omen Ward. It drove misfortune into a binding cage, for evil and demons to instantly vanish. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Binding)

The twelfth was "Maw," forged with the slain Woes Eighty. It could corrode and age the very mortal world and make equal Kami and Oni, leaving an entity's four souls to be sundered in twain. - (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Corruption)

Then the underworld was cleared out, the wars called to a halt, and the twelve blades broken and locked. In the emptiness the dead souls grew restless, and under the black sun two blades were forged as Bearers of the world's destiny.

One was named "Origin" and the other named "End," for all begun with humanity and shall end with Oni-kind. (Honkai Impact 3rd - Herrscher of Origin and Herrscher of Finality)

The sounds of lamentation ceased, and the dead flowers rose and fell. The losers returned to the void, and the winners... became null. The hobbling monk sang the song without a tune, for those who hold the power of Kami are walking backwards, towards divinity. Witnessed by the great sun, the land once named Izumo became completely devoid... of humans, Oni, and Kami".

The most interesting part is how the video described Herrcher of the Void's power set in comparison to Heavenly Principles from Genshin: "It could form a barrier from the firmament, and prevent the innumerable gods of misery from passing through". Which lowkey implies that Heavenly Principles is a Guardian of Teyvat that stops random Gods or beings from just entering this world willy-nilly.

[the-pen-pot]

Sweltering

'You look like you're going to faint.'

Merlin squinted at where Prince Arthur, heir to the throne of Camelot and absolute prat, was basking in the long grass by the duelling ground. He was wearing nothing but his trousers. His bare chest – sculpted by years of training with every possible weapon Camelot's armoury had to offer – carried a soft golden tan. His boots, socks and tunic had been abandoned, along with his armour, in a great shiny, stinking heap.

Not that he was the only one. The knights were all arrayed around in a similar state of undress. The hot spell had been going on for weeks, gradually baking the land until the castle lost the mausoleum chill of winter and became an oven instead. They'd started training at first light, just to escape the worst heat of the day, which of course meant that Merlin was out here at day break, too, fetching and carrying and doing the gods knew what else. Then, while they lay around like landed fish, he had to tidy up.

'Of course, I can understand why you wouldn't want to take your tunic off and inflict your weedy physique on Camelot as a whole.'

Briefly, but with murderous intent, Merlin contemplated dropping a mace on Arthur's head. He might have come to Camelot skinny, but after a couple of years of hauling Arthur's armour around, he'd built up a bit of of muscle. Nothing like the knights, maybe, but a respectable amount, if some of the looks he got in the kitchens were anything to go by.

'I think the population's already scared enough, looking at you ugly lot lying around half-naked.'

This was met with laughter and jeers from the knights, who were far too comfortable in their own skin.

'I know jealousy when I hear it!' Elyan crowed, his skin a rich, dark mahogany in the sunlight. They were all varying shades of brown. Even Sir Leon had developed a golden glow and then a smothering of ginger freckles to go on top of it.

'Merlin, mate? Arthur's right, you look a bit peaky. Have some water at least?' Gwaine begged, waving a skin at him, his smile blossoming into a shit-eating grin when Merlin grabbed it and realised it was empty. 'You'll just need to fill it up, first.'

'Yes, come on, Merlin. I want water,' Arthur added, all smug arrogance.

The other knights lifted their empty water-skins in a clamour, and Merlin groaned. The last thing he felt like doing was standing in a line at the well. He was already sweltering, dripping sweat from every pore. It wasn't like filling up the skins with magic was a possibility, either, not unless he wanted to inform five knights of the realm that he was a sorcerer. Lancelot, of course, already knew, and he was giving him a meaningful look.

It was a fair warning. After all, Merlin was already hot enough without being cooked on a pyre.

'You're all arseholes,' he muttered, snatching the water-skins from various sweaty hands and making his way towards the closest well. It was too hot to stamp across the scorched grass, and he settled from grumbling under his breath as he flitted from one feeble patch of shade to the next, trying to find respite in even the faintest breeze.

He headed to the market-square, where the awnings hung limp in the breathless air and the well was a pockmark in the middle of a sun-beaten cobbles. At least there was a fraction of fair-fortune on his side. Most people had the good sense to get their water before the day reached its zenith. Now, there was no crowd, and he set down the various waterskins before hauling up the rope, grunting and sweating from the exertion.

It was too fucking hot for this.

He finally got the bucket onto the rim of the well, noticing how quickly the drips had vanished in the merciless heat. At least the water was cold, sheltered as it was deep in the aquifers below Camelot. He could practically feel the chill radiating off of it, and he pursed his lips as a spark of mischief ignited in his brain. The knights had already been basking for more than a candle-mark while he'd been sorting out their armour and putting weapons away, and frankly, Arthur's ego was once again in danger of making his head too big to fit through doorways.

Besides, they had, technically, asked him to get water...

'I know that look.'

He glanced up at Gwen, who stood on the opposite side of the well, the sleeves of her dress rolled up and a pretty scarf tying her hair back off her face. A gleam of sweat glossed her forehead, but she looked to be in a better state than him.

'What look?' he asked innocently. 'There's no look.'

'You're plotting something.' Her cheeks swelled as she tried to smother a smile, raising one eyebrow at him. Gwen had been one of his first friends in Camelot. She knew him too well to believe his protests.

'No, I'm not. I'm getting the knights water. Like they asked. Mostly.' He grinned, picking up the water-skins and putting them into the empty basket she carried. 'Can you get those to the armoury? And pass me those buckets?'

Gwen looked as if she thought she should probably do something to save him from himself if nothing else. He watched the brief flicker of conflict over her face before she set her basket aside and did as she was bid. 'He'll put you in the stocks,' she warned.

'He'll have to catch me, first,' Merlin promised, steadily filling both buckets from the well before picking them up. 'Thanks, Gwen!'

He waited until he was away from the marketplace before letting loose the leash on his magic, just enough to make the buckets lighter and silence his footsteps, to stop the precious water sloshing and warm it, just a touch. After all, he wanted to make Arthur squeal like a girl, not give him a heart-attack. With that little bit of sorcerous assistance, the rest was child's play.

The basking knights never knew what hit them.

The first bucket of water made them jerk and holler as the cold water smacked over bare, sun-warmed flesh. There was a general spluttering as if they couldn't quite comprehend what had happened. Of course, Arthur was a bit quicker off the mark than the rest, leaping to his feet as his cry ricocheted across the field.

'MERLIN!'

Later, Merlin would point out it was a mercy that he at least made sure Arthur had shut his mouth before hitting him, full in the face, with the second pail of chilly well-water. It slicked that blond hair to that big head of his and ran in rivulets across his bare chest, soaking his breeches and leaving him drenched and gasping.

'You said you wanted water,' Merlin pointed out, not even trying to hide the breadth of his grin. 'I was just following your orders, Sire.'

He watched the spark flare in Arthur's eyes, the way a glimmer of amusement warred with outright disbelief. Even after all this time, he still liked nothing better to poke at Arthur, to tread that fine line that pushed right up to the edge of Arthur losing his temper.

Arthur took a step forward, his hands clenching into quick fists. 'I'm going to make you regret that,' he promised.

Merlin spread his hands, taking a step back. 'You're welcome to try.'

There was one, split second of motionless where he watched the balance teeter between Arthur's desire for dignity and his thirst for revenge before it fell firmly on the latter.

With a bright laugh, Merlin took off. Arthur and the knights may be strong, but they weren't the lightest on their feet. He was faster and had the advantage of longer legs. The heat was forgot as he darted away, delighting in the way Arthur cursed as he followed him. He hared across the training ground with the prince in hot pursuit, half-naked and dripping. He'd let Arthur catch him eventually; he'd have to, but for now Merlin was going to make him work for it.

******

A shadow fell over him, and Merlin looked up as far as he could from where he was bent over in the stocks, offering Gwen a cheeky grin. Truthfully, it was only the official part of his punishment. He'd been mercilessly dunked in the stable trough when Arthur finally caught up to him, which had been both disgusting and hilarious, because he'd managed to grab Arthur at the last minute and drag him in as well. The prince had retired inside to recover the tattered remnants of his dignity, shouting orders in his wake that, once the sun had gone down, Merlin was to spend three candle-marks in the stocks for his crimes.

'Oh, Merlin,' Gwen said, weary and fond.

'It could be worse. At least the sun's gone, and everyone's too hot to bother throwing vegetables.'

Gwen sighed, sitting down at his side so that he didn't have to look up at her and thoughtfully offering him a quick drink. 'Was it worth it?' she asked. 'Really?'

And Merlin thought of Arthur's face, beautiful, amused and outraged all at once. He thought of the satisfaction of revenge and, reluctantly, he allowed his mind to linger on how good Arthur had looked with the water slicking his breeches to his strong thighs and resting like a mantle of diamonds across his skin.

'Yeah,' he acknowledged at last, running his tongue over his bottom lip before catching it in his teeth. 'It really was.'

[themaninthegreenshirt]

There was a saying, not heard today so often as formerly . .

“What do they know of England who only England know?”

It is a saying which dates. It has a period aroma, like Kipling’s Recessional or the state rooms at Osborne. That phase is ended, so plainly ended, that even the generation born at its zenith, for whom the realisation is the hardest, no longer deceive themselves as to the fact. That power and that glory have vanished, as surely, if not as tracelessly, as the imperial fleet from the waters of Spithead.

And yet England is not as Nineveh and Tyre, nor as Rome, nor as Spain. Herodotus relates how the Athenians, returning to their city after it had been sacked and burnt by Xerxes and the Persian army, were astonished to find, alive and flourishing in the blackened ruins, the sacred olive tree, the native symbol of their country.

So we today, at the heart of a vanished empire, amid the fragments of demolished glory, seem to find, like one of her own oak trees, standing and growing, the sap still rising from her ancient roots to meet the spring, England herself.

Perhaps, after all, we know most of England “who only England know”.

So the continuity of her existence was unbroken when the looser connections which had linked her with distant continents and strange races fell away. Thus our generation is one which comes home again from years of distant wandering. We discover affinities with earlier generations of English who felt no country but this to be their own. We discover affinities with earlier generations of English who felt there was this deep this providential difference between our empire and those others, that the nationhood of the mother country remained unaltered through it all, almost unconscious of the strange fantastic structure built around her – in modern parlance “uninvolved”.

Backward travels our gaze, beyond the grenadiers and the philosophers of the 18th century, beyond the pikemen and the preachers of the 17th, back through the brash adventurous days of the first Elizabeth and the hard materialism of the Tudors and there at last we find them, or seem to find them, in many a village church, beneath the tall tracery of a perpendicular East window and the coffered ceiling of the chantry chapel.

From brass and stone, from line and effigy, their eyes look out at us, and we gaze into them, as if we would win some answer from their silence.”Tell us what it is that binds us together; show us the clue that leads through a thousand years; whisper to us the secret of this charmed life of England, that we in our time may know how to hold it fast”.

“What would they say”?

They would speak to us in our own English tongue, the tongue made for telling truth in, tuned already to songs that haunt the hearer like the sadness of spring. They would tell us of that marvellous land, so sweetly mixed of opposites in climate that all the seasons of the year appear there in their greatest perfection; of the fields amid which they built their halls, their cottages, their churches, and where the same blackthorn showered its petals upon them as upon us; they would tell us, surely of the rivers the hills and of the island coasts of England.

One thing above all they assuredly would not forget; Lancastrian or Yorkist, squire or lord, priest or layman; they would point to the kingship of England, and its emblems everywhere visible.

They would tell us too of a palace near the great city which the Romans built at a ford of the River Thames, to which men resorted out of all England to speak on behalf of their fellows, a thing called ‘Parliament’; and from that hall went out their fellows with fur trimmed gowns and strange caps on their heads, to judge the same judgments, and dispense the same justice, to all the people of England.

Symbol, yet source of power; person of flesh and blood, yet incarnation of an idea; the kingship would have seemed to them, as it seems to us, to express the qualities that are peculiarly England’s: the unity of England, effortless and unconstrained, which accepts the unlimited supremacy of Crown in Parliament so naturally as not to be aware of it; the homogeneity of England, so profound and embracing that the counties and the regions make it a hobby to discover their differences and assert their peculiarities; the continuity of England, which has brought this unity and this homogeneity about by the slow alchemy of centuries.

For the unbroken life of the English nation over a thousand years and more is a phenomenon unique in history, the product of a specific set of circumstances like those which in biology are supposed to start by chance a new line of evolution. Institutions which elsewhere are recent and artificial creations appear in England almost as works of nature, spontaneous and unquestioned.

From this continuous life of a united people in its island home spring, as from the soil of England, all that is peculiar in the gifts and the achievements of the English nation. All its impact on the outer world in earlier colonies, in the later Pax Britannica, in government and lawgiving, in commerce and in thought has flowed from impulses generated here. And this continuing life of England is symbolised and expressed, as by nothing else, by the English kingship. English it is, for all the leeks and thistles grafted upon it here and elsewhere. The stock that received all these grafts is English, the sap that rises through it to the extremities rises from roots in English earth, the earth of England’s history. We in our day ought well to guard, as highly to honour, the parent stem of England, and its royal talisman; for we know not what branches yet that wonderful tree will have the power to put forth.

The danger is not always violence and force; them we have withstood before and can again.

The peril can also be indifference and humbug, which might squander the accumulated wealth of tradition and devalue our sacred symbolism to achieve some cheap compromise or some evanescent purpose.

Enoch Powell MP, Minister of Health, to The Royal Society of St George, London, St George’s day 1961

[paint-lady]

🖊 + Maru!

Send me a “🖊+an OC“ and I will talk about that OC! It can be a headcanon, a fun fact, a small paragraph of backstory- anything! Alternatively, send in just a “🖊“ and I will talk about any one of my OCs at random!

Oh, Maru my beloved.

Maru "Maru-Maru" Maru is my character in Secret World Legends and my NPC (and eventual PC) for the Secret World ttrpg. They are the current OC im constantly rotating in my brain like a rotisserie chicken.

I had attempted to write a longer form comic for them and even finished a first chapter. Unfortunately, life got busy and started taking more spoons to other tasks and I am not able to dedicate the time and energy I want to the comic. And thats okay. In the year I have been cold, I have expanded upon the Maru-verse even further, and discovered even more interesting loops and details to incorporate. And I cannot wait to illustrate them one day.

So without further ado, please enjoy this extensive lore breakdown on Maru-Maru:

For your convenience this post has a keep reading <3

Name Significance: Of course Maru is not their given name. Its partially a joke, partially an echo of a long-lost memory, partially a misheard role to fulfill, and their first grasp on their identity.

The name Maru firstly comes from my Exalted Zenith character. My partner and I wanted to name our bees after them, as a way to honor the fun we had with such a short campaign. Little did we know how smoothly Exalted and SWL can blend together- the transition from one age to the next, apocalypses rising, and powerful beings beyond comprehension changing Creation. The tone is certainly different though: an Exalted chronicle is uplifting and with epic heroes to save the world, whereas SWL is riddled with uncertainty about how long the collective will of reality can hold.

The SWL version of Maru can barely remember their previous incarnation, it's more like a weird dream than anything else. If they look to closely, the memory vanishes; like the people of the Third Age trying to grasp their memory of the Second, and their predecessors before them. The golden light within them feels different, yet can still vanquish monsters with their touch, and aid people plagued by nightmares seeping through cracks in reality.

A more recent discovery has played nicely into my friends headcanons and names of their characters. SWL Maru was discovered by experienced agents of names Inanna and Ninshubur in Kingsmouth. While the name Maru is not a Sumerian/Assyrian deity, Mamu is. There is not a lot written about Mamu. They are most notable for being a god of dreams and having both male and female depictions. We love a lil gender fuckery in the pantheon. There was temple built in Imgur-Enlil (modern Balawat) to them. Dreams were not seen as depictions of the subconscious (thanks Freud) but rather true portents of the future. This is all over the epic of Gilgamesh as a literary device to keep that long ass story going. Regardless, the Assyrian King who had dreams of Inanna vanquishing his enemies felt the portents were significant enough to build that temple to the messenger: Mamu. Additionally, there are oodles of accounts of death-dreams and glimpses into other worlds (namely the Underworld) across several sites, whether its recorded dreams from priests and priestesses- or more Enki myths.

And this is what Maru does- even by accident. They catch glimpses into the other worlds, talk to other versions of themselves to relay messages and warnings, and make sure Inanna and Ninshubur are aware of whatever weird shit is out there. In the SWL ttrpg, I intend to have Maru explore this role to fulfill more, as a messenger and a dreamer. Funnily enough, the surname I gave Maru is 夢宮: Yumemiya, which can translate to Yume: dream, and Miya: a shrine, or place for gods. Don't you love it when the narrative falls into place like that? (But in truth, I borrowed the surname from Kanae Yumemiya, an actress who portrayed Usagi in a Sailor Moon Live production...)

Lastly on name significance, we have the japanese translation that Maru means ◯, and is literally a circle. Depending on the characters used to spell Maru, it can also mean truth, and expanded to mean a complete unending cycle. Putting two ◯◯ together is like censoring a name or word, similarly to how $#%&#! is used in English. In a way, Maru-Maru is saying their name is Redacted, or blankety blank or So-and-so. This was incredibly hilarious in the SWL game when QBL labels the player a terrorist after climbing Orochi Tower. Ah yes, you've definitely found the ringleader who set off the Tokyo bomb: It was ◯◯! Excellent journalism, QBL, no notes.

But in truth, its a clever and funny way to hide themself. Searching Maru on google is gonna get you a stardew valley villager and a cute, chubby cat youtube sensation. And they like it that way.

So whether it's Maru, Mamu, Redacted, ◯◯, or some other weird fifth thing, they'll always be that one odd baby bee who reaches across dimensions to keep reality running just a little longer. They won't have to face the end alone, in fact, its statistically improbable.

And if you survive. If you are still you. Think on the questions. Remember when you were a bright little thing, so full of questions?

THE LIFE CYCLE:

Time is a funny thing when dealing with several versions of the same individual. The smallest changes completely alter a course of events. Many Marus recall gaining their bee not long after the Tokyo Filth bomb around 2012, and being swept up by whichever agency got to them first. Many recall their parents working tirelessly at their jobs at the Orochi Group. They learned how to cook for themself at a young age because Mom and Dad wouldn't be home til late. Many recall the first time they heard the buzzing static was as young as 6, following the sweet whispers through a soon-to-be park and a newly planted flowering tree. There are a few that never receive a bee, or receive their power through other means. These timelines are the strangest ones.

A riddle to kill a sphinx: What's one, then three, and then one again? Wait- that's not how it goes...

The Lumie, Templar, and Dragon Maru all share the same origin. Depending on where an outsider glances, the three realities are so close, they are nearly one. Nearly. They grew up in Kaidan with their parents. They did attend the Orochi-sponsored schools and attended several programs, but flew right under the radar for "gifted abilities" that Orochi was seeking. Little Maru was aware of whispers in tv static, rattles in old pipes, the shrieks of summer cicadas Evangelion style. As a young child, they marched to the beat of their own drum, ignoring or indulging the whispered warnings as they saw fit. The dreams were harder to ignore, but when they told their parents about the big scary monsters that couldn't get out- it was written off as their overly active imagination. After all, they had failed an aptitude test to get into the nearby elementary school near their work. Its uncertain whether or not Maru's parents knew what that test was truly analyzing- and whether or not they were relieved to see they failed. Decent Orochi employees have excellent poker faces.

Sometimes one is born special. Sometimes specialness is genetically modified into one. Not every child is equal.

As they grew older, the supernatural continued to burrow into their eardrums. Maru was an average student, but occasionally received top marks on answers whispered to them. They earned a reputation for being a little bit of a tech whiz, and had an observant eye for finding errors in codes. Not really a "super power" but troubleshooting tech is an immensely useful skill. Maru was exceptional at the ol' percussive maintenance with old printers, punchcards, and fax machines. When things went to digital interfaces, Maru found the tried and true "have you tried turning it off and back on again," to be a real winner.

When they didn't want to hear the whispers, they'd make use of bulky, noise-cancelling headphones. Maru would often be seen wearing them outside of class and in their home, enjoying the peace and quiet. Maybe the headphones were a placebo. It only worked because they believed it worked. However, at night, their mind would be plagued with vivid dreams and even louder whispers and messages. Headphones can't keep hide the noise if its already in their head. Frustratingly, they'd always wake up and immediately forget what they dreamt. This was their normal. Caffeine to keep themself up during the day, wear headphones to keep out the messages, and TV to drown out the static at night.

And there wasn't really anyone to talk about it with. Last time some Orochi kid fessed up to their weird dreams and whispers, he'd definitely vanished. Teachers said the student moved away, but Maru knew his parents still worked in Faust upper management. Another girl said she could hear thoughts before you could finish thinking them. Maru thought that one was bullshit- but she disappeared too. Lesson learned. Keep the static to yourself.

Don't fear It. Fear Nothing. Fear the Foundation. It's no wonder; they say once you hit four, it's all downhill from here.

When it came time to apply for highschool, a few of their peers found this "Clubhouse" and despite its messaging, were blabbermouths about it. Maru always felt uneasy about the place. If there were whispers saying they had nothing to fear, they didn't trust it. They couldn't believe the claims that were coming from this place. Free drinks? Can play games as long as you want? You can be yourself without any fear? Maru especially didn't trust the last one. None of their classmates knew how they felt wearing the girls uniform. None of them knew how exhausting it was to shut out the whispers, keep the eyes on them sated with just the right expectations, and then complete their coursework on top of it all. Maru absolutely did not want to "perform" there either.

Upon finishing highschool, Maru was presented with an opportunity. They'd complete a university comp-sci degree and then immediately dive into a job at the company. Orochi is not devoid of nepotism. At first, this seemed ideal. They'd attend university in New York, and take their summer internships with the American branch of Orochi. Should everything go well, which... it was going to go well that was the expectation... they'd be looking at a substantial salary and generous benefits while working in the Tower.

America was loud. America is loud. But the sheer volume of everything drowned out the buzzing whispers. They still needed the headphones to drown out the rest of the noise though. They could focus a lot more on themself outside of the Orochi bubble, even if their presence was just a few streets away.

Maru figured out a lot about themself in the four years at Uni, especially the gender thing. They enjoyed building weird robots and programming them to do silly things- in addition to their assigned tasks. They enjoyed the few college parties they attended. They even had a steady, long term relationship with a classmate named Caesura (nods back to Exalted). As graduation loomed, they dreaded going back home. They realized how much time they spent alone and really did not want to go back to that solitude at Orochi. So they avoided it. They delayed their graduation by a year and a half by swapping majors, making absurd connections and promises with subdivisions of Faust and Anansi, and prolonging which classes they needed to graduate.

What was the cause of all this, sweetling? Where is the zero point?

Everything changed sometime in 2012. Maru couldn't get anyone on the phone back home when the bomb went off. Even the work lines in Faust were gunked up. They have zero clue if a letter they wrote made it through security and into Orochi's headquarters. Caesura had also vanished. (Unbeknownst at the time, the man was abducted by the Dragon. In most timelines, he does analog calculations for the faction, figuring out where pieces need to move rather than doing field work himself). And then they get their bee, freak out and wreck their apartment, get nabbed by one of the big three, and then get sent out to Kingsmouth.

Things start to break and differ sometime after this for our Red, Blue, and Green iterations of Maru. They all admit to being unaware of their prowess for chaos magic before meeting two other big bees: Ninshubur and Inanna. It was Ninshubur who gifted the confused baby bee a chaos focus, and Inanna gifted a them an empowering gadget. Receiving these items are one of the more prominent cracks on the flickering timelines on the Reality Engine.

Though the most prominent tears in their time are when the Dreamers made themselves known to Maru. The first, a gift. The second, worship. The third, freedom.

Templar!Maru, believes they were tricked by the gift. They swear they would have never have listened to the bubbling voices, but deep down they know that they fell for their sweet words. Whenever the Dreamers approached them, they were certain to make sure they'd never be fooled twice. Their choices are marked with unbound Blue wings.

Dragon!Maru had already begun developing their philosophy on the cyclic end of the world: however messy and destructive it was going to be, whatever was going to rise out of the ashes was going to be just as magnificent. Decay is a form of life. They morbidly want to see what the world will look like at the end, but have to be strong enough to make it there. Accepting the gift, begrudgingly worshipping, and freeing the Dreaming Ones is all part of their dream. Their wings drip with filth. Unease sits in their stomach, they do not know if they'll get their wish.

Lastly, Lumie!Maru was keen on not listening to more voices in their heads. They are the only iteration to refuse the gift. Their wings gleam gold. What is done cannot be undone, and they loathe that their defiance to one set of voices is obedience to another.

Go ahead, glance back. Don't sweat it, sweetling. You won't turn to salt and you can't make yourself impossible. History will conserve itself. The continuities will hold.

Again, time is funny when dealing with several iterations of the same individual. The slightest changes make immense impacts on their lives. There are Maru's who graduated on time. There are Maru's who never left Kaidan. These individuals work with Orochi, whether they want to or not. There are Maru's who's last memory is the filth exploding from within that guy's jacket. There are Maru's still sleeping. There are Maru's who joined the Council of Venice, there are Maru's who hacked the Swarm's game back, and fled their factions. There are Maru's who want nothing to do with the secret world and just want a peaceful goddamn life with their wife and accounting job. There's a Maru who is just really into boats...

But they are all connected, tethered to one another. Like a rat king on reality, fated to meet and tangle.

FUN and STRANGE DETAILS:

BLOODY VALENTINES: Uta, the rabbit killer in Kaidan, is three separate individuals who used to inhabit the same body. Lilith is responsible for splitting her like a worm and separating the sibling souls into new bodies. Maru is an anomaly: they are physical duplicates of the same individual existing simultaneously. Both Maru and Uta fight with unprecedented coordination, switching aggro and balancing their buffs between the three of them. The showdown at the top of Orochi tower was certainly a spectacle... And a vocabulary lesson for swears in several languages. Some agents have noticed the similarities between Maru and Uta, but Maru is quick to squash any speculations. This is not because the two actually know each other, but more Maru does not want anyone to know their Orochi background if they can help it.

The buzzing on Uta reveals some interesting clues about Maru and their existence. Uta was not plagued with insanity but rather hypersanity for the new age- and with new software there are bound to be bugs. While Maru didn't absorb their twin in the womb or was misdiagnosed with schizophrenia; Maru was also sensitive to whispers just outside reality. And so were other children born around the same time. Maybe Maru and that generation of kids got the patched version.

A LUCID DREAM: The Black Signal, or John, tells the Chuck's who will listen that he's no longer singular, he is plural- but remembers what it was like being a sole individual. To Maru, this is so old news. In fact, Maru loves to snark back at him saying that he is not special and they're plural too. There are many Maru's. The Black Signal doesn't really tend to listen to this. Maru may be many, but Maru is still meat. If they would hatch, then they'd have a new conversation. Again, Maru disregards this, and says they've spent enough time being an egg.

They don't want to think too hard about what it means to have "hatched." They know John's not talking about them being nonbinary. Maru is an adept and experienced enough chaos user at this point to recognize when a timeline is too different for them to safely pull on. There's a phantom pain in their outreached hands and fingers when they try to go too far. They are aware that there are some selves they used to be able to call upon and cannot anymore. Something about them has changed. They are aware they can become "out of sync" with their doppelgangers or even be "out of phase," and get stuck somewhere overlapping two or more timelines. But to not be able to call themself at all is terrifying. If only they had the ability to glance at all it all from the outside ... oh.

At least, Maru can't do this consciously. Some versions of Maru have swapped places with their doppelgangers in their sleep or had rude awakenings of being pried from bed to be used as a meat-shield for another. While dreaming, they can go anywhere- so long as they don't forget how to wake up. These ones don't know how close they get to bleeding out of reality.

MAKE THE RIGHT CHOICES:

In my SWL playthrough, I of course ran into a whole bunch of bugs and glitches. And I love them. But, there were times that it made the game do absolutely weird things- which provides some very fun stories to weave into the glitch. The most notable was at the Second Choice in the City of the Sun God. At this point, my partner had played ahead and was almost through Translylvania when I had finally defeated Aten. He knew there was an Ultimate Move behind the choices and spoiled a little (with my permission). I didn't know what "Blue Wings" meant but I understood to get them I would need to, against my better judgement, listen to the Dreamer's at least once. So after defeating Aten and being greeted by the Filth bird saying "hey you should do the worship emote" I then obliged and typed /worship.

And the game crashed. No worries- this happened all the time for me. My laptop would get obscenely hot running this game and would shut itself down so it wouldn't fry itself. Upon reloading, I had to do the Aten fight again but found myself having trouble with some of the UI interface. Reloadui did not solve the issue, and I found myself in front of the Filth bird again. I typed /worship and Maru did nothing. I opened the emote tab, and clicked, and Maru would do nothing. In fact, all of my emotes were not functioning- except the dances.

I laughed as I watched Maru dance and devour tacos in front of the Dreamer, not knowing how frustrating it must have been for the cosmic entity to watch some small, nascent angelic thought just proceed to do anything but what it requested. How much longer? Out of frustration, I eventually attacked the creature, triggering the next cutscene. The Dreamer's were angry, and I laughed and laughed.

Now the strangest thing is in game play, Maru sometimes has golden wings. I have had friends say they see blue wings and I will see gold on my screen. I've also had the opposite. In all cutscenes, they are blue. Considering the overlapping timelines, it seems like Lumie!Maru's almost choice bleeds through onto their timeline sometimes.

INITIATE THE D20 SYSTEM:

I have been very fortunate to be the storyteller for some very avid fans of the Secret World and have presented an alternative timeline to the world they know and love. Maru of course, is no exception to this. Everyone is operating with different times and circumstances. Eventually, I will get the chance to play Maru in the game. But for now, Maru has only made one appearance: to Olivia, the newest bee of the group. Of course, Olivia has zero idea what implications she has encountered by merely interacting with this version of Maru, untethered to their doppelgangers. The TTRPG timeline is indeed one of the strangest.

Thank you for reading this absurdly long OC lore post, I have spent easily 3 week writing and editing and rewriting and adding. I hope you enjoyed and it sparks some fun thoughts about SWL and maybe a lil Exalted. As a treat.

[moodmother]

They's a Crowd

In between sips of macchiato, Zenith types away furiously. Oh this, this is a good one. The latest post for their blog, They's a Crowd. An invective against the oppressive tyranny of romantic love and family bonds.

"Do you really believe that?"

Zenith never saw the stranger sit down, but there he is on the other side of the table. Meticulous strawberry beard, sharp twinkling eyes. A sudden faint whiff of heather and iron in the air.

"What?"

"All that. That your friends should prioritize you over their lovers and children."

There is no way for the stranger to have seen what Zenith is writing but they are caught up in the righteous heat of their conviction. "It's about economies of care! How am I supposed to survive." In their fervor, Zenith almost spills coffee onto the keys of their MacBook.

"Indeed."

"Last week, I was feeling depressed so I texted my supposed 'best friend' to see if we could hang out. But he had promised his wife that he would take her out to the movies. Well, fair enough. So I asked if I could come along--and he said 'No!' Well, what about my social needs? Just because she's his 'wife,' just because he's bound by the patriarchal institution of marriage, he can treat me like I mean nothing? And just last night, I didn't have the spoons to make myself dinner. I put out a message in the group chat, but of course you know what day it was."

"Mother's Day."

"Right! So nobody would come by and cook me a simple meal, because they were all having dinner with their mothers instead. I had to go hungry, because our heteropatriarchal culture arbitrarily values parent-child relationships over non-biological kinship."

"I see. And you couldn't have just gotten UberEats or something?"

Zenith scoffs. "I'm supposed to pay more to live because I'm single and don't have anyone to care for me? And you know those delivery apps are so exploitive. It's better to order from the restaurant directly. But then I would have to call for delivery, and I have social anxiety."

"Oh, well, of course. So what you're saying is, it's important to the cause of queer liberation that the lives of everyone in your social circle revolve around you."

Zenith's brow furrows. "Well, I--"

"Would you say that you desire that? For your friends to prioritize you above all else? To care for you, feed you, cater to your every need? Do you…wish it?"

"Well, yes! My life is just as--"

But with a Cheshire cat smile and a twinkle of his pale gray eyes, the stranger has vanished.

+++

That evening, Zenith receives a text from their best friend: come over for dinner tonight?

When Zenith obliges, both their friend and his wife are all smiles. "Oh, don't get up Zenith. Let me get that for you. Have some more. You know we really love you, Z. We haven't shown it enough. You mean the world to us, we really need to prioritize you more. Have some more. Let me get you some more."

Zenith goes home grinning, stuffed to the brim with food and love.

+++

The next day, all of Zenith's friends turn up at their door.

"We've all been talking, Z. We wanted to tell you in person: You're the most important thing in our lives. It's time we acted like it."

From then on, Zenith is hardly ever alone--except when they ask for a little time to themself, of course. Someone is always ready to lend an ear, or join them on the couch or on a walk or even in bed when they require some company. Their every need is promptly and lovingly met. Their bed is made, their clothes and linens washed and folded. Their apartment is swept and scrubbed. Appointments are scheduled for them, and they are ferried dutifully to the doctor, the dentist, the store, the cafe, to where-ever they wish. The dishes are done--done often, as there is always a home-cooked spread at mealtime, and always a snack or morsel whenever Zenith feels the slightest bit peckish.

Zenith is never hungry for more than a moment--and this has a dramatic affect on their waistline.

Outgrowing my clothes! they post to their blog. Hot fatty summer!

+++

When Mother's Day comes again the following year, all of Zenith's friends' mothers turn up, smiling and tutting. Each one prepares a dish, her specialty, and insists that a now very fat Zenith accept second and third helpings.

When clothes that fit become very hard to find, Zenith's friends are happy to make some.

When it becomes too difficult to climb the stairs up to their apartment, everyone pitches in to rent a new one. A ground floor unit with nice, wide doorways.

When initimate personal care becomes impossible for Zenith to tend to on their own, there is a rotating roster of volunteers ready to bathe and dress them.

As Zenith steadily expands, caring for them becomes more logistically complex, a full time affair. Spouses, lovers, and relatives are enlisted to join in the work. Always happily, always with a smile. "We love you, Z. Anything for you."

Perhaps things are getting a bit out of hand… Zenith thinks, fleetingly. It is a bit inconvenient, as the wider world is not made for people who are as large as Zenith has become. But then a twinge of hunger distracts them, and they reach for whatever treat--a cookie, a brownie--is always there at hand, piled tidily on a platter, warm from the oven.

+++

In the midst of Thursday night board games, a timer dings.

"Whose turn is it to check Zenith?"

The designated attendant happily jumps up and bounds into the bedroom. "Need anything Z? Some more water?" "Unnh," a thick voice groans in reply.

Propped up on the bed, covering the entire surface from edge to edge, is a huge heap of flesh. Pampered and stuffed day in and day out, Zenith has grown too fat to move under their own power. Their world is confined to the four walls of the bedroom now.

"Thirsty?"

A cup of fresh water is held to their lips so that they can drink. Their friend has to lean close against their side to reach their face where it rests upturned atop the mound of their body. Deep within their immense belly, their stomach growls.

"Ah, hungry!"

Zenith's mind rebels. Their round, useless hands twitch in impotent protest. But their body responds by opening their mouth to welcome the morsels that are gently pushed into it. Because it's true: they are hungry. So very hungry. Their stomach has been stretched to cavernous capacity. Their body has grown accustomed to a constant stream of food, and it has been over an hour since they last ate.

Tears pool atop their great flabby cheeks as they are fed, eating and eating until temporarily sated again. This is their existence now. Washed and petted and lovingly tended to. Fed. Fed and fed and fed, helpless to do anything now except eat and grow.

Once they are finally satiated, for the time being, their friend cleans their teeth and wipes their face. The bedframe creaks ominously.

+++

"Hey, I think Z is lonely in there."

"Hm. Makes sense. I wish they could join us out here, or that we could all fit together around a table."

"They deserve to literally be at the center of a space, since they're the center of our lives. You know? Right in the heart of everything."

"It's definitely something to think about."

From the bedroom comes a CRACK and a thud and a pitiful, muffled yelp. Everyone leaps up and rushes in to soothe and settle their beloved. The bedframe has collapsed beneath the burden of Z's immense and ever-climbing weight.

+++

They've dubbed themselves the Z Crew, and so the new place is called the Z House. A nice big house, with the first floor built on an open plan.

They moved Z into their new, permanent home just in the nick of time. Had they waited much longer, Z would have grown too large to move. As it was, transporting them was an expensive and delicate affair. Hydraulic equipment was needed to lift Z off of the flattened mattress in the old apartment. Walls were removed, a crane and flatbed rented.

But in the end, it all went smoothly. Now, here in the airy, light-filled space, rests their beloved Z. The living heart of the home.

The Z Crew is always happy to chatter and coo at Z while they go about the unceasing work of feeding, washing, and tending their beloved, but Z themself cannot speak anymore. They have swelled into a monstrous blob. By now their weight is unguessable. Their hands and feet and limbs have long since disappeared into their general mass. There is no neck, no discernable head--only eyes, nose, and mouth sunk deep into a mire of flesh, upturned toward the ceiling. Lips always parted, ready to receive the next morsel of food.

The Z Crew has to climb up on top of Z to feed them now. The slopes of Z's body have become a cherished communal space, where friends recline and talk, lovers cuddle, and games and meals are enjoyed. They are all blissfully content, now that Z has crowded out every other care and commitment and become the center of their lives forever.

As for Z, they have forgotten what it was like to be anyone or anything else other than their friends' burgeoning beloved. They know nothing but fleeting hunger and sweet satiety; the shifting warmth of their friends' bodies against their own bulk; and the inescapable sensation of their own unfathomable weight.

[shadowphoenixrider]

(So I fell down the down the Gambit rabbit-hole, and this self-insert fic/drabble resulted. Although it's self-insert fic, the descriptions' probably vague enough for a reader to slot themselves into it if you want. Enjoy, regardless!)

"Gambit's got you, mon amie. It's ok."

I groaned, leaning into the strong arms that looped around me. The world slid away from me, starting to swing uncontrollably. My head and body started to turn to lead, and I squeezed at the arms holding me.

"Remy - floor, floor. I need to-"

He acquiesced immediately, hand protectively shielding the back of my head as he helped lower me to the ground. I rolled onto my back, only to be greeted with a solid blue sky, not a horizon nor a cloud to focus on. My stomach cringed as everything continued to spin - maybe if I chose a point in the zenith, that'd work? I had to hope, I didn't want this to get worse, or-

Next thing I knew was the blue being bisected by grey - a straight line - that I could definitely use, and I focused upon it. My vision continued swim but slowly, it began to solidify around the grey 'horizon' - a bo staff, I realised - the spinning sensation easing bit by bit.

"Helping, mon amie?" The Cajun spoke gently, somewhere in my peripheral vision that I dared not glance at, least I set the spinning off again.

"Yeah, definitely. Thanks for that, Remy. You're a lifesaver." I offered him a weak smile.

"Gambit be happy to help." Came the reply. "First time your vertigo come on out here. An' quick too. You doin' alright?"

"I should be. Can't think of anything it'd be except for my time of the month." I sighed. "Just my luck."

"Why don't ya get one of those implants?" Gambit asked, not unkindly. "Don't they help with that?"

"In theory, yeah. But I don't really need contraception when I'm not exactly sleeping with anyone. That and I'm not looking forward to everything going haywire for a little while."

There was a silence - brief, but enough that I sensed a switch in the demeanour of the man cupping my head.

"No-one caught ya fancy?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"You're suddenly very interested in my sex life, Gambit. Didn't realize you became my gynaecologist when I wasn't looking."

That made him choke, the staff wobbling. It didn't seem to restart the vertigo, though.

"Well, uh, Gambit jus'...Ah, forget about it." I didn't need to see him to hear his embarrassment, the spare hand that would be scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm gonna try sitting up," I said.

Bracing myself on my arms, I slowly levered myself upright, pausing to let myself adjust to each change of angle.

"Feelin' better?" Gambit asked from behind me.

"I think so...Need a bit before I stand up, though." I reached backwards blindly. "Stay with me? Just in case."

"Gambit not goin' anywhere." His hand brushed mine, gently squeezing it in reassurance. I wished I could turn to see him and not the grass and tree-line; despite his words and touch, Gambit could easily vanish and I'd be none the wiser.

"To answer your question," I began, hoping to hold his attention, "I need to know what you mean by 'fancy'. 'Fancy' as in what Jubilee and Roberto have going on, or 'fancy' as in getting an implant so there aren't any unforeseen consequences to certain indiscretions?"

The sudden silence implied that Gambit was blushing, and I cursed my vertigo that I couldn't see it.

"Both?" Came the oddly shy response. "Is there both?"

"Not yet." I replied. "I got a few crushes going on, but it's mostly aesthetics."

"Any in particular?"

"Storm, for definite. She's very beautiful."

"Ain't that the truth." I could hear his smile. "Anyone else? Rogue?"

"She is pretty, but no." I smirked. "There is this one guy, though."

"Oh? Just the one?"

"Just the one." A smile played over my lips. "I think you'd approve. He's very handsome."

"That don't exactly narrow it down, mon amie." He commented, and my smile became a grin, thrilled to hear his humour returning. "Though Gambit might have some questions if it be Wolverine."

"Mmm, no. Think taller. Has gorgeous eyes I could stare into all day."

"Ain't Cyclops married?" Gambit teased, and I swung an elbow at him. It didn't matter that I missed completely.

"You know what I mean, Remy! Eyes that won't physically fling me into next week!"

"Alright, we down to Gambit, Beast, and Bishop..." He paused. "Do Morph count?"

"No. They're sweet, but their powers are a little too uncanny for me."

I hummed thoughtfully, choosing my next words with care.

"The guy's got a really nice voice. Always makes me smile when I hear it. And even though he can be a huge pain in the arse, I know he's always got my back." A heartbeat's pause. I took the chance, daring to look over my shoulder. "He also cheats at cards."

"Gambit don't cheat! He-!" The Cajun's sputtered indignation came to a screeching halt, and that was when I decided to turn to face him. Gambit blinked at me, his face such a picture of baffled confusion and surprise I couldn't help but giggle.

"Figured it out?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. His expression softened, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"Reckon so." He looked me up and down. "Think you can stand now, mon amie?"

"I think so. Help me?"

Gambit didn't need to answer, taking my hand and supporting my weight as I gingerly got to my feet. He didn't let go as I surveyed my surroundings, turning my head experimentally.

"I think it's passed now." I smiled at him. "Thanks Gambit, glad this didn't happen when I was on my own." I cringed at the memory. "It wouldn't have been a pretty sight to find."

"Non." Gambit agreed. He still hadn't let go of my hand. "Perhaps we better head inside, find something else to do?"

"I suppose." I pretended not to notice as we walked back. "Although, if it's cards..."

"Gambit don't cheat, mon amie." He grinned at me. "You jus' got a terrible poker face."

I lifted a shoulder, chuckling.

"True enough. Never been very good at subtly."

[iggyfing]

untitled self-indulgent post-3.3/dragonsong war drabble. heavensward spoilers!

estinien pov. featuring one of my wols, laughing hare. not ship. they're best friends, your honor. they can be a little soft. as a treat.

abrupt ending bc i'm bad at them. estinien characterization may be a bit off bc i'm working with what i have (free trial story content). references events of a previous untitled drabble.

***

The beasts really shouldn’t have given him much trouble, but he was yet on the mend and out of practice. One had landed a heavy swat to his side, staggering him to a knee, winded but blessedly unclawed. He only just raised his lance in time to fend another who lunged at him with jaws gaping wide. The creature’s weight impaled its shoulder on the weapon as the shaft slid through his hands, ramming the butt into the ground beside him. The beast howled in pain and leapt back, dragging lance and wielder with it to send him sprawling. The others circled as he scrambled to his feet, wary now that he’d drawn first blood. He cursed himself for a fool, for straying too far from the roads in search of solace and respite.

Just then a great destrier chocobo landed heavily in front of him, wings flared and head low as its rider dismounted and hefted a broadsword easily as tall as she was. With a roar and flourish, she set upon the beasts with fierce and unsettling fury.

It was the roegadyn, one of those warriors of light who had prised him from Nidhogg’s grasp despite his pleading. Laughing Hare, who had nearly taken his place as the dread wyrm’s vessel. She brandished the darkness again, as she had in the wake of Haurchefant’s death. The creatures all fell upon her with an equal fury but found themselves no match and soon all lay dead around her.

Fatigue took him suddenly, and he leaned heavily on his lance as he lowered himself to a knee.

She turned to him then, with that strange, half-mad look in her eyes as he’d learned to mark of her on their journey to Zenith, and stalked toward him with teeth bared in what might be a grin. He regretted letting his guard down but could not summon the strength to rise.

“Estinien!” she bellowed even as she reached him. She raised her sword and struck downwards, burying it a fair half-fulm in the ground before squatting down in front of him. “Why did you leave?”

His gaze traced the branching scars from her cheek to jaw to neck and collarbone where they vanished under her armor. The mark of her reckless folly. He looked away with a scoff. “Why did you come after me?”

“I didn’t want you to leave.”

“…There’s no more place in Ishgard for me.”

“Ha! You lived for your city! They’d have to be fools to cast aside her staunchest defender.”

“I lived for the war. In the end I defended nothing. My own weakness resurrected her fiercest enemy.”

She turned her face from him then. “…It was not only your weakness,” she said at length with ungainly stiffness of tone. “Kuzhuk had warned us of you and the eye. I did not listen. And I did not act.”

Silence fell. There was no response he could make. The half of him wished to shun her admission even as the other called for his absolution. But he had looked upon himself too closely to accept the latter, and to heed the former would be to consign himself to a festering pit of selfish loathing.

They were the both of them guilty.

She leaned forward onto her knees and hooked an arm round the back of his neck, pulling him into an embrace. “I am glad you’re alive.”

The shock of it froze him, all thoughts grinding to sudden halt. Something in him snapped. What he might once have called courage or fortitude, such qualities second to vengeance round which he had bent himself, after which he’d striven all his life, forsook him wholly. He returned to himself to find his body shaking, trembling like the wretched orphan child that yet dwelt in his heart.

His arms raised seeming of their own mind and wrapped round Hare, returning the embrace. He found she, too, was trembling, and the whole situation turned suddenly surreal and nearly sacrilegious. To hold and be held by one of the Warriors of Light as they both quailed from some unidentifiable sentiment. Though what cared he for sacrilege, he who had traveled with the chieftess of heretics and parleyed with dragons and stood by as the archbishop was slain? He who had himself become dragon? Even still, the conviction nagged. He shouldn’t be here, like this, doing this — but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than she tightened her hold, to which he thoughtlessly responded in kind.

Long did they rest like that, until at last the snarls of more creatures coming to stake a claim to the territory roused them both to action. Wordlessly they parted and Hare raised herself on her sword even as he did on his lance. She slung her weapon on her back and mounted her chocobo before reaching down a hand. He hesitated only briefly before taking it. Once mounted, she spurred the bird to flight, only stopping once they were high enough to be beyond the beasts’ range.

“So,” she said, all solemnity and sobriety of the past minutes falling away, “where are we headed?”

“Tailfeather, I suppose,” he answered after a moment’s thought. Though he was reluctant to endure the company of so many others, he was yet unfit to make camp on his own. And the thought of begging shelter of the dragons of Anyx Trine was… unendurable.

She gave a nod and hummed in affirmation before turning the chocobo to the south and setting it off.

They flew in silence for several minutes. As they neared the hunting village, the sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the land.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

She only flashed a grin and laughed her hearty laugh, which struck him with an inexplicable stab of shame.

“Once we arrive, I shall burden you no longer,” he added quickly.

Now she turned to him with a queer expression, seeming equal parts confusion and mischief. “I came to bring you back to Ishgard. But since you will not return, I would go with you.”

[arcxnumvitae]

The festival was in full swing around him, and the streets of Ativere practically exuded festive cheer. The crowds had yet to reach their zenith, from Zhaohui’s experience that wouldn’t come until the third day, but the streets still boasted a healthy size. The dragon himself made his way through the revelers. He never was one for crowds, and at risk of seeming like the miserable, curmudgeonly old man he likely was, he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the cheerful air of Ativere and its residents’ friendliness. He nodded here and there to those who recognized and greeted him as he made his way to one of the blessings ceremonies. Aro’s blessing ceremony.

The irony has struck him a thousand times over that he’d somehow fallen in with a deity despite his qualms against them as a whole. But Aro was different. He looked at him, not down on him. It was because of that aggravatingly endearing fox that Zhaohui was on his way to his blessing ceremony. Right as Zhaohui began to turn a corner, he caught sight of familiar dark locks rounding a corner and vanishing.

Minglian?

What was she doing there? She couldn’t be alone, could she? The others had attended the festival the last time, but, recent events considered, he had assumed they would all avoid anything that ran the risk of running across his path. Minglian’s own last hate-filled words echoed in his ears, and yet the tinge of concern that had appeared had Zhaohui following her trail without a second thought.

When he rounded the corner Minglian had disappeared behind, he was greeted by a familiar scent— Aro’s. The fox was standing in the alleyway, looking down the opposite end. Upon his approach, Aro turned his head towards him and smiled at the sight of him. Despite his confusion, something in Zhaohui’s heart softened.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your ceremony? You couldn’t have missed me that much.” Zhaohui chuckled, but the levity soon dropped from his expression. “By the way, did you see Minglian? I…thought I saw her coming this way, I guess. Maybe I was just seeing things.”

“Yeah,” Aro’s brow furrowed, “I thought I saw her too. I need to go get ready, but I was worried.”

“Yeah…” Zhaohui murmured, his eyes resting a moment on the fox’s usually expressive ears and tails. They remained still as he spoke. His gaze drifted to the other’s neck and sharpened.

“I don’t know why you’re worried though since it seems like she’s still here, shapechanger.”

Aro didn’t respond, and for a moment Zhaohui worried that perhaps he really was being paranoid, but immediately after the thought crossed his mind the other let out a bark of laughter.

“How did you figure it out? I was told this appearance would be perfect for sneaking past your guard.” ‘Aro’ crossed his arms with a smirk, eliciting a sharp grin in return from Zhaohui.

“I guess your information is a bit outdated, you’re missing an important piece of jewelry. Besides, don’t insult me. I’d know him.”

“Fine,” the figure hummed, and their form changed. Silver hair darkened, and the smile that appeared was just as vicious as his own.

“It worked well enough anyways, but we’ll do this the hard way then.”

Before Zhaohui could respond, a blow struck the back of his head and all went dark.

[mindful-hempress]

Into The Hollow

We man the helm of golden-seamed fantasies pursuing silver moons

doused heavily

with lavender skies and

perfumed languor,

splashed against gaping shadows

gracing a vanishing sun in desire's existence

navigating zenith

far from dawn;

beamed diamantine sails

trace onyx inked skin

falling into the hollowness of coppered tides

pulled down

underneath blanketed ardor

drowning

in a sea of stars,

only to be reborn clustered

nestled inside a stellar nursery

becoming the epitome of wildest dreams.

Walata M.

Artwork from Pinterest ~ ArtStation "Into The Hollow"