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psychopassera · 4 months ago

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Let's cry (it's a translation from Psycho Pass Genesis 2, im currently translating it to spanish)

The wisteria hung in cascading waves from the trellis, forming a violet silk veil that separated the interior of the cabin from the outside world.

Masaoka peered inside cautiously. And in that instant, he understood. He should never have come here.

The words Yahiro had spoken to him in the past echoed in his mind, spinning in endless circles.

"What a man can hold in his hands is minimal. And if he forgets that and begins to desire everything like a spoiled child, he will end up losing it all. Everything will crumble and fall to pieces."

Chasing criminals as a detective. Lowering his crime coefficient as a citizen. Protecting his family as a father. He had believed those were modest aspirations. But reality did not work that way. Fulfilling even one of them was nearly impossible. Expecting to achieve two, or even all three, was a ridiculous fantasy. Life had never offered him an easy path. There was no fate where everything could be resolved perfectly. Not for someone like him—someone who had dared to challenge the oracle’s judgment.

Why had he never realized it before?

She looked even thinner than the last time he had seen her. But she did not seem to be suffering. On the contrary, her expression was one of absolute serenity. Like the other patients, she sat in a wheelchair, wrapped in a light blanket from the waist down. Her hands rested gently, interlaced on her lap. On her left ring finger, where her wedding ring used to be, there was now a small empty space. And yet, since her body remained motionless, the ring would never fall.

Masaoka called her name. There was no response. He took her hand. No reaction. Sae was right there, in front of him. And yet, she showed no sign of recognizing his presence. Her eyes were open, slightly narrowed, but still clear. They seemed to reflect him. But when he reached out, ran his fingers gently through her hair—always well-kept, always immaculate—she simply let him. She did not flinch, not even by reflex.

"That tickles, doesn’t it?"

Nothing. He wanted to see her smile. But it never came. Not even a flicker of recognition. It was as if her time had stopped long ago. Or as if she had become trapped in a world he could never reach. It was as if they lived in completely separate worlds. As if the person before him was nothing more than an illusion.

Masaoka softly pressed his ear against Sae’s chest. He could hear her heartbeat. He could feel her warmth. She had not become a lifeless doll. She was alive. Her warmth confirmed it. But still, she did not react at all. He could not push her, could not shake her roughly. If he did, Sae would simply fall to the ground without resistance, without even trying to stop herself.

Suddenly, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small fabric pouch. Inside, there should have been the artificial gemstones Sae had sent him. But when he opened it and emptied the contents into his palm… all he found was dust. The gems had crumbled. During the investigation, with constant friction and inevitable impacts, the stones had lost their form. They had lost all their brilliance.

"…Inspector Iwanaga…"

Was he even pronouncing the words correctly? He wasn’t sure. The entire world wavered around him. A deep, relentless buzzing rang in his ears. Everything blurred, as if his vision were suddenly deteriorating. Inside the cabin, barely any sunlight managed to filter through, and Sae’s figure faded into the dimness. He clung to her hand. If he let go, she might truly disappear. She might cease to exist.

"…Sae… you… you're still alive, aren’t you?"

"Her body is still alive… but in terms of consciousness, she is dead."

He could not turn around. He could barely move. He knelt carefully, staring up at the silent Sae from below.

"Psycho-color-altering drugs generally fall into two major categories: stimulants and sedatives. The synthetic compound Yahiro developed first induces an extreme psychoactive shift, forcing a state of sudden euphoria. It completely suppresses the negative emotional weight that clouds the hue."

A forced erasure effect.

"But if you attempt to purify a color so aggressively, it imposes an even greater emotional burden on the mind. To compensate, the drug simultaneously acts as a powerful sedative."

It was like trying to achieve the perfect hue on a canvas by applying layer upon layer of paint—without restraint, without control.

"However, the problem with Yahiro’s drug is that it does not account for the subject’s resilience."

His "cure" was nothing more than imposed salvation. Or perhaps, a one-way ticket to self-destruction.

"The only type of people who could withstand such a color shift using this method are those who survived the darkest times in history. People who endured unimaginable emotional burdens and managed to move forward. But ordinary people, the citizens of modern society, do not have that strength. The moment they take the drug, their psycho-color doesn’t even have the chance to clear. Their minds shatter before that can happen."

"Yahiro’s mother, his father, the living corpses who clung to their privileges, the former director of the special unit Kaneko… Compared to people today, they had monstrous mental fortitude. If they hadn’t… If they hadn’t possessed that strength, they never would have survived that dark era. But in her case… I cannot say the same. I can find no other word to describe it but… tragedy."

That was why she had become someone alive… yet dead. Masaoka knelt in the shadows, where no one else would come, still holding her hand. Sae, who could no longer speak, who could no longer respond, remained there, motionless, with a faint, serene smile on her face.

Had that gesture of peace been the result of a sacrifice far too great? He thought about it, again and again. But he did not shed a single tear. To find the answer, he began to speak. He spoke of the day he met her. He spoke of the days they had spent together. Of everything they had shared. He told her their story, without stopping, regardless of whether she could hear him. Because crying was not a right he could allow himself. In time, all the words he needed to say were exhausted. The memories he needed to summon were left behind, along with the present

And then, he understood something. Despair was not a pain of the soul. It was not a sickness of the mind. It was something physical. It was the sticky dryness in his mouth after speaking without pause. It was the weight pressing down on his chest. Yet still, the tears did not come. As if his emotions had frozen.

And in the end, the only thing that tore him away from Sae was something cold, mechanical, and absolute. Something he could not defy. Some things, a son can never rebel against. For him, at least, this was one of them. He was dragged away from the veil of wisteria. And under the soft sunlight, on the stone pavement that, at that moment, felt like an execution platform built solely for him, he fell to his knees. And there, before him, stood the small judge who would decide his fate.

A child. His son.

His face, still youthful but with defined features, was covered in scars and bruises. In those eyes—the same ones he inherited from me—there was a dark, red hematoma. The corner of his lips was split. Each of those wounds was proof of the suffering that society had inflicted upon him. And they were also the scars of the burden I had forced him to carry.

Only then did I understand who was the one that had to die, who was the one that had to be judged. That was when I knew. I was probably going to die. Perhaps Yahiro Waji would see to that. But even if I managed to survive, one thing was certain: I would never be allowed to stay by my son's side. They wouldn’t let me. Society wouldn’t let me. And most importantly, Nobuchika would never forgive me.

If that was the case… then who would protect Nobuchika? Who would take care of Sae, who could only continue her slow march toward death? Akiho was someone I could trust, but she wouldn’t always be strong enough either. Could this society protect them? But if the danger came from society itself, then who would save them?

The Sibyl System, which proclaimed perfection, had given birth to a monster like Yahiro Waji. Many lives had already been lost, and many more were about to be sacrificed. This country, this society, might very well be on the brink of collapse. If we had only been born a little later, if fate had allowed us to enter this world at another time… would we have been able to live a truly happy life?

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

Nobuchika’s gaze was filled with hatred.

"Mother said… that you…"

"What?"

"That you would come back."

"That you made a promise a long time ago."

"That you would come to protect us… no matter what."

"But you never did."

A promise. So that was it. That was everything. She used to say it. That one day, she would be my wife. That we would have a child. That, even if just for an instant, she would give me something real, something genuine. The woman who gave me that brief moment of truth had once told me, with a radiant smile:

"Then, after this, let’s do something incredible."

But Sae’s wish was so simple. So small, so natural, so reasonable. She only wanted me to do what any father should do. The obvious thing. Protect his family. Just that. And yet, I couldn’t even do that.

If only I had managed to leave the isolation facility earlier… If I had found a way to escape, to return to her and Nobuchika… If I had been able to forget everything—the atrocities I had witnessed, the cursed memories of having killed my own comrades… If only…

But that wasn’t the path I chose. That future never came to be. It became a past that never existed. And now, there is nothing left for me to reclaim. Even if I had another chance… what would I have to sacrifice in exchange?

I can’t. There is nothing I am willing to lose. That is why, in the end, I ended up here. I surrendered to my own fate. I am a failure.

But listen to me, Nobuchika…

"This… is not over yet."

It is not your fate.

"Live… for us as well."

These were my last words.

"I will protect you. And I will protect this society."

I embraced him.

Nobuchika remained still, his body tense with surprise. But in the end, he pushed me away with force. I fell to the ground, hitting the stone pavement. From there, I looked up at him.

He had grown. He had become strong.

His gaze was filled with unmistakable contempt.

I didn’t care. The reason didn’t matter. The feelings didn’t matter.

I only wanted him to keep moving forward. To live.

That is why this is our farewell.

No matter what happens, I will never appear before him again.

That is the punishment I must bear for my sins.

Goodbye, Nobuchika. My son.

I started the engine of the Public Safety Bureau’s vehicle and drove.

Instead of Iwanaga, I was the one behind the wheel.

I remained silent for the entire drive.

There was nothing left to say.

There were no words that could fill this emptiness.

#ginoza nobuchika #psycho pass #psycho-pass #masaoka tomomi #sae ginoza #psycho pass genesis

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talonabraxas · 28 days ago

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Mercury Enters Gemini

Get ready to enhance your sharpness and intelligence.

Have you sensed a shift in the air, marked by an increased curiosity and a touch of scattered energy, especially in your conversations and social media interactions? You might be tuning in to the effects of Mercury moving into Gemini.

Mercury: the master of travels, the voice of expression, and the essence of intellect; a bard, oracle, healer, fortunate cosmic body, and guide through the underworld. With a mystical caduceus in hand, Mercury guides newly liberated souls from the depths to the heights.

As Mercury resided in Taurus these past few weeks, we’ve embraced the beauty of a slower pace, nurturing ourselves, and staying true to who we are. The revered cow embodies indulgence. Taurus prioritizes her security to ensure she can fully enjoy her pleasures. What other ways will she finance her indulgences? With just a spark of motivation, Taurus can transition from lounging to productivity in no time at all. Present her with undeniable security, and she will commit wholeheartedly, driven, and determined.

Mercury governs Gemini (and Virgo), making this cycle a comfortable one for him. The seasons of Gemini and Virgo are undeniably among the most bustling periods of the year.

A planet returning to its home constellation is a sign of good fortune. Before long, a pristine mercurial essence will cascade from the heavens. Effortless execution of plans is on the horizon. Gemini embodies a clever storyteller, a joyful sprite, and a wandering artist, seamlessly blending these vibrant personas into one captivating being. Now is the moment to unleash your creativity, connect with others, and express yourself through writing, singing, dancing—whatever ignites your passion and intellect.

Don’t let his outgoing nature deceive you; Gemini is a deeply private individual, shrouded in mystery. Gemini brings forth a whirlwind of anxiety and nervous energy, prompting us to not only harness this breeze but also to master it. We will focus on calming the mind, finding relaxation, and embracing deep breaths.

Gemini tends to move on quickly from relationships, jobs, or places, rarely settling in one spot for too long. Captivated by the allure of the unknown, Geminis often find themselves enchanted by new faces or concepts, only to swiftly move on from these fleeting fascinations. The twins’ infamous detachment is on full display here. One twin yearns for connection and affection, while the other is eager to break free and never return. Gemini consistently ventures beyond his comfort zone to satisfy an insatiable craving for authenticity, intensity, and exhilaration, only to return and be gently swayed by a comforting cycle of familiarity.

Gemini embodies a dynamic essence, constantly navigating the dualities of life and perpetually in flux. Gemini represents the constellation of the twins, making it a perfect time to reflect on sibling relationships. However, at its core, Gemini embodies the essence of a social butterfly, effortlessly connecting with diverse circles. The vibrant energy in the atmosphere is set to elevate our spirits, making us feel more optimistic and outgoing. Now is the perfect moment to forge new friendships or rekindle old ones. Imagine a powerful gust of wind rushing through the doorway of your existence, clearing out the clutter from your mind.

Mercury in Gemini 2025: Important Astrological Dates

May 26th: The New Moon in Gemini presents a perfect opportunity to embrace new beginnings and uplift the community.

May 27th: Mercury trine Pluto Retrograde in Aquarius. Pluto’s powerful presence casts a shadow, challenging Gemini’s airy nature with deep-seated fears from past emotional scars. Proceed with caution.

May 29th: Mercury conjunct perfectly with the Sun in Gemini. Gold star day! Bursting with energy and productivity, a whirlwind of pure adrenaline.

June 8th: Mercury wraps up its journey in Gemini, forming a powerful conjunction with Jupiter in the same sign. Limitless, endless energy. The opportunities are limitless. We will delve into relationships and ideas from a variety of cultural perspectives. Highly advantageous for innovative endeavors and exploration.

- Conscious Reminder

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lev-berryz · 3 months ago

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Rafayel's Oddyssey ch2

Synopsis: In Ancient Greece, you encounter an unknown ocean deity.

Pairing: Rafayel x Reader

Tags: Greek mythos, God of Tides, angst, it will get worse later on

WC: 2,628

Chapter 1

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I lie curled upon the coarse, gritty sand, choking on memories of my mother's laughter, her warmth contrasting sharply with this cold reality. My body shakes with sobs, worlds apart from all that I once knew. Rafayel stands rigid, refusing to meet my gaze, his frame coiled tight, as if preparing for an unbearable blow. "Why?" I choke out, the raw anguish in my voice resonating against the ceaseless rhythm of the waves, crashing far too serenely for my shattered heart. Rafayel stands rigid, an unwilling sentinel to my grief, his frame coiled tight like a spring, as if bracing for the unbearable weight of my unanswered questions. The words pierce through the fragile silence, heavy with accusation.

Time stretches unbearably as we linger in this wretched moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is a strained whisper, mingling with the salt-laden breeze. "It was not my doing," he says, his multicolored eyes darting restlessly over the bay, as if searching for salvation in the unyielding sea. I hang on his words, breath hitching, heart racing. "I was angry—yes—but I never intended to harm her; I meant to take you as payment." Each declaration cuts deeper than the last, infused with a bitterness birthed from anguish and regret. "Your mother was collateral damage," he continues, the air between us heavy with unsaid grief and guilt, "but you were the target, girl."

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I lie curled upon the coarse, gritty sand, desperate to clear the blurriness of anguish from my eyes. Memories of my mother flood back, my body shaking with sobs, as the grittiness of the sand embeds deeper into my skin, a harsh reminder of my swelling despair. The tempest of emotions colliding on Rafayel’s visage is palpable, an electric storm beneath the surface of his ethereal countenance, and for a moment, I see the celestial light flickering dimly, as if dimmed by the weight of his own sorrows. "Him," Rafayel hisses, the name emerging like a poison from his lips. "He seeks vengeance, driven by jealousy over my defiance in his realm."

"Who?" I venture to inquire, raising my gaze to the figure silhouetted against the twilight sky—an ominous specter entwined in shadows, evoking dread as his presence sends chills through the very marrow of my bones.

"I seek not to utter his name, child; names wield great power. Yet, you are aware of whom I refer." Rafayel’s voice trembles, draped in fear and reverence; the air around us thickens with the weight of his unspoken truths. My heart stumbles, crashing against the jagged cliffs of my own dread.

Every breath I take feels heavy with dread as the impending chaos looms, mingling with the salt-laden air around us. Of course, it would be Poseidon, the stormbringer, guardian of the deep, yet also a leviathan of wrath. His jealously simmered like a tempest, eager to unleash chaos upon this fragile world.

"What now?" I ask, wiping the remnants of tears with the hem of my chiton, though the fabric feels like a betrayal against the grief that clings to me. I can't just forgive you for what happened to... my mother... My voice quakes under the unbearable weight of grief, yet a flicker of fierce determination ignites within me.

Rafayel met my gaze, determination etched in his features. “We need to find the Oracle of Delphi,” he proposed. “She holds the wisdom we require to confront Poseidon.”

“The Oracle?” I echoed, uncertainty creeping in. “What if she refuses to help?” “It's a risk we must take,” he replied, stepping closer. “Staying silent only invites more chaos. With the Oracle's guidance, we can approach the Earthshaker not as enemies, but as equals seeking balance.”

"I can’t just forgive you for what happened to... my mother..." My voice falters beneath the unbearable weight of grief, yet a flicker of determination stirs in me, pushing me to confront the past. “And if we succeed?”

He reaches out his hand. "I do not know what lies ahead; only the Oracle can guide us to true redemption with the Tidebreaker."

I watch out over the bay and take his hand hesitantly. He hoists me on my feet, guiding me to the waves in the distance, but before we can even get close, the water starts to foam and the waves grow larger. Poseidons rage still palatable in the azure stretch before us. Rafayel pushes farther, almost dragging me behind him into the foaming waves, but he keeps getting pushed back with every step he takes.

Rafayel's eyes blaze with an eternal flame as he confronts the unyielding sea. "Let me in, you overgrown coral!" he commands, his voice resonating with the power of a god. "The sea is as much my domain as it is yours!" The waves crash against an invisible barrier, as if the very waters themselves have turned traitor. Rafayel's gaze burns with a tempestuous fury, his grip tightening around my hand. Raising his free hand, Rafayel summons his divine essence, a radiant flame igniting in his palm. "Do you think you can keep me out?" he growls, the fire flickering with his rising anger. "I am the master of the tides! The currents answer to me!"

With a swift motion, Rafayel slams his hand against the unseen wall, the barrier rippling and distorting as the eternal flame licks at its surface. "Break, you accursed limestone!" he demands, the fire surging with his words. "I will not be denied my rightful place in these waters!" The cracks widen, seawater seeping through, but the barrier stubbornly mends itself, the limestone-like surface hardening once more. Rafayel's expression twists with outrage, his jaw clenched tight. "Curse you, Poseidon!" he roars, the flame in his palm flaring brighter, scorching the unyielding wall. "This is my domain as well, and I will not be kept from it!"

With a mix of awe and terror, I watch as Rafayel's divine power radiates through the air, bending the very elements to his will. Yet, despite his might, the sea remains stubbornly defiant, denying him access to the depths he claims as his own. “Let us go, my lord,” I plead softly, my voice trembling like the waves lapping at the shore. “It’s futile to challenge Poseidon’s claim over Corinth. He is far too powerful here.” As my fingers interlace with his, I feel the heat of his fury—a storm barely contained. His eyes blaze with the fraught beauty of a tempest battling the tranquil sea. Though my words offer little solace for his wrath, he allows me to guide him away from the tumultuous bay. The weight of divine destiny looms heavy between us, and I can’t help but yearn to shield him from the fate that awaits.

"We shall take the land route," I murmured, my voice barely a breath against the tumult that surrounded us. A shiver ran through me as the salty air twisted with uncertainty, but I felt a flicker of defiance kindled in my core. "The path will be fraught with challenges, yet it promises safety from the wrathful tide of Poseidon." I turned to meet Rafayel's blazing gaze, the storm within him slowly ebbing at my words. "Away from the ocean’s clutch, we can gather our strength, prepare our hearts, and navigate the shadows encroaching on our fate." The determination in his eyes ignited my resolve, and together we could face whatever lay ahead.

With a resigned nod, Rafayel replied, “Very well. We’ll take the land route to Delphi.” As we turned away from the turbulent sea, I felt a flicker of hope igniting within me. The journey ahead was uncertain, but together we would forge our path, facing each challenge as it came. “I may be without powers on land,” Rafayel said quietly, his weary tone laced with determination, “but I won’t let my weakness define us.”

“Nor will I,” I promised, a newfound strength welling up inside. “We will find the answers we seek, even if it’s against the odds.” With our resolve binding us, we stepped into the shadows of the land, ready to navigate the unknown. The weight of destiny hung over us, but together, we would face whatever awaited in the dim light of dawn.

Chapter 3

#lads #lads rafayel #lnds #lnds rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #slight angst #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #qi yu

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nagiwrites · 3 months ago

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Starlit bonds

A/n: hi I’m back with the myth stories so urs is first so a long chap ahead. Also there will be a poll at the end. Thanks for reading.

Characters: sylus, y/n

📌 Synopsis:

In the myth event, Sylus fights through illusions, deception, and dark magic to rescue Y/N from the grip of the Wicked Step-Mother. From twisted trials to a powerful final battle, he proves that fantasy or not he would always come for her. And when the dawn rises over a freed kingdom, Y/N gives him one thing they’ve never given anyone else: a kiss.

[← back] [→ next]

Sylus hovered over the screen, thumb poised to pull, when a maintenance notification abruptly popped up. He sighed, leaning back in frustration. Of course. He’d have to wait. Impatient but resigned, he set his phone aside and tried to distract himself. Time dragged—but eventually, the maintenance ended. As soon as he reopened the app, a new event banner flashed across the screen, vibrant and shimmering with stardust. The Starbound Myths were here and he wasn’t going to miss this chance to pull.

[Limited-Time Event: Starbound Myths ✦]

Special 5-Star Myth Cards Available! Unlock exclusive alternate universe stories for each crew member.

Sylus grinned, already navigating to the event banner with practiced ease. A fantasy-themed alternate storyline? Yeah, he was definitely pulling for that.

On the event screen, each of the girls had their own Myth Story, represented by unique character illustrations:

Nova – The Wandering Swordswoman 🗡️

Kaela – The Cursed Alchemist 🔮

Reyna – The Icebound Oracle ❄️

Y/N – The Lost Cinderella 👑

His gaze lingered on Y/N’s card, and he tapped on it, triggering the preview cutscene.

[Myth Preview: “The Lost Cinderella”]

The scene opened with a grand ballroom bathed in golden light, chandeliers hanging from towering ceilings.

The camera panned downward to reveal Y/N, dressed in an elegant yet delicate gown, their f/c hair cascading over their shoulders, their expression hesitant yet longing as they stood at the edge of the dance floor.

A narrator’s voice-over began:

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom lost to time, there was a girl who did not belong. She had no title, no riches, no claim to the world that ignored her.”

The screen zoomed in on Y/N, showing the way they fidgeted nervously with the fabric of their gloves, eyes darting toward the grand clock above the hall.

“Yet, for one fleeting night, she could pretend… that she did.”

A masked figure—Sylus’ avatar in this world—approached them, bowing slightly before offering his hand.

Y/N’s eyes widened, their cheeks darkened as they hesitated.

“Why would you ask me?” they murmured, uncertainty laced in their voice.

A dialogue preview flashed, showing potential choices the player could make during the story:

1. “Because you deserve this moment.”

2. “Because I’ve been looking for you all night.”

3. “Do you trust me?”

Sylus exhaled, more invested than he expected to be.

If he pulled this card, he wouldn’t just unlock a new combat buff—he’d unlock a new storyline.

The temptation was too strong.

He tapped the Wish Pool, ready to pull for his Cinderella.

Sylus tapped “Draw 10,” watching as the familiar wish animation unfolded.

A meteor shower of glowing orbs streaked across the screen, each one bursting into cards of varying rarity. His pulse quickened as he scanned the results—most were decent pulls, some upgrades, but then—

A golden glow erupted from the center of the screen.

[MYTH CARD OBTAINED: The Lost Cinderella – Y/N ✦✦✦✦✦]

Sylus smirked, leaning back in satisfaction. He got it.

The screen faded to black, transitioning into the fantasy myth storyline.

[Myth Story: The Lost Cinderella]

The ballroom was alive with music, the soft hum of violins carrying through the grand hall. Y/N stood at the center of it all, though their posture remained uncertain, hands delicately folded before them.

They weren’t like the other guests—the noblewomen adorned in dazzling jewels, the men wrapped in silks and royal embroidery.

They were something different.

Something unnoticed.

Until now.

The masked Prince—Sylus’ avatar in this world—approached, his hand extended toward them.

“Why would you ask me?” Y/N murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

A dialogue choice appeared, and Sylus selected the first option.

“Because you deserve this moment.”

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, they hesitated—always hesitant—before placing their hand in his.

The moment they did, the world seemed to disappear around them.

The music softened, the background faded into something distant, unimportant.

It was just the two of them.

“I… don’t know how to dance,” Y/N admitted, their grip on his hand just slightly too tight, as if they expected him to change his mind.

“Then let me lead.”

The game transitioned seamlessly into a mini-game, where Sylus had to time his taps to the rhythm of the waltz.

He guided Y/N across the floor, and for the first time, they looked at ease.

Y/N glanced down at their feet, clearly overthinking every step. Sylus gave a small chuckle.

“Don’t worry,” he said, lowering his voice as they moved into the waltz rhythm. “If you step on my foot, I’ll only cry a little.”

They let out a startled laugh, covering their mouth with one gloved hand. “You’re not exactly easing my nerves, you know.”

“Good,” he smirked. “That means you’re not thinking about running yet.”

Y/N shook their head, a soft smile breaking through their nerves.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are… dancing with me.”

For a moment, the tension lifted. Their steps fell into rhythm, the music guiding them across the floor. Y/N laughed again—lighter this time, real—and Sylus felt something settle between them.

Not just warmth.

Trust.

As the dance slowed, Sylus brought them just a little closer, their hands still locked, breaths mingling. The lights above softened into gold, casting a glow over their faces.

Y/N looked up at him—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips parted ever so slightly.

He leaned in, gaze flicking from their eyes to their mouth and back again.

So close.

Y/N didn’t move. If anything, they tilted their head ever so slightly forward.

But just as the space between them narrowed to a breath-

DONG

The chime of the grand clock struck midnight.

The music faltered. The illusion broke.

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as they snapped their gaze toward the towering clock face above.

“No—no, I have to go.”

Sylus’ character instinctively reached for their wrist, but they twisted away, their gown swirling as they turned to flee.

“Wait!”

The game shifted into chase mode, but the path was already set.

Y/N disappeared into the crowd, weaving through masked figures and gilded staircases, slipping through the castle doors before he could reach them.

The screen dimmed, leaving only the soft echo of the final clock toll.

Then—

A single glowing object appeared at his feet.

Not a glass slipper, but something more personal—

[Y/N’s Ribbon – An Irreplaceable Clue]

The camera panned down, focusing on the delicate piece of fabric left behind in their escape.

A new objective flashed on screen:

[Find Her Before It’s Too Late.]

Sylus’ grip on his phone tightened.

He wasn’t just playing anymore—

He was hunting for his Cinderella.

[Myth Quest: The Search for Cinderella]

Objective: Track down the mysterious girl before she disappears forever.

The town was alive with movement, but not the welcoming kind. The streets were filled with shadows, whispers curling through narrow alleyways as cloaked figures darted between buildings.

This wasn’t just a simple search.

This town was dangerous.

Sylus’ prince avatar rode through the streets with his loyal knights, his character navigating the maze-like roads of the kingdom as he knocked on doors, asking for any sign of the girl who had left behind the delicate ribbon now tied around his wrist.

[Mini-Game: Investigate the Town]

• Gather Clues from Locals 🗣️

• Chase Down Suspicious Figures 🏃‍♂️

• Bribe Informants 💰

Sylus moved methodically, interrogating merchants, slipping coins into greedy hands, and chasing down a hooded stranger who had been watching him for too long.

Slowly, the clues built up:

• A merchant woman claimed she had seen a girl in a simple cloak hurrying through the streets at dawn.

• A guard at the city gates swore no noblewoman left the kingdom that night.

• A tavern drunk whispered that he had heard a name muttered by those who lurked in the shadows—“Y/N.”

He was getting closer.

Then, at last, the trail led him to a grand castle at the farthest edge of the kingdom.

A dark, towering fortress, draped in cold marble and twisting ivy, its high walls meant to keep people out.

Or keep someone in.

The moment his avatar and knights approached the front gates, a new Quick-Time Event flashed—

[Knock on the Castle Door]

(Tap now to demand entry!)

Sylus tapped.

The screen zoomed in, focusing on the massive iron doors as his knights pounded their fists against them.

A moment of silence.

Then—

The doors creaked open.

A figure stood in the entryway, clad in royal garments, eyes sharp and scrutinizing.

“You come seeking something that does not belong to you.”

The man’s voice was calm, but firm.

Sylus’ character took a step forward, holding out the ribbon.

“I come for the girl who left this behind.”

The man’s gaze flickered to the ribbon for a fraction of a second before his posture stiffened.

“You’ve made a mistake.”

The screen dimmed, and a dialogue choice appeared:

1. “Then why do you look nervous?”

2. “I’m not leaving without her.”

3. “If I have made a mistake, then prove it.”

Sylus smirked, his thumb hovering over the choices.

The prince had found the castle.

[Inside the Gilded Cage]

Objective: Find the real Cinderella among the deception.

The castle doors creaked open, revealing a grand hallway bathed in soft candlelight. The air was heavy with the scent of perfumed flowers and something unspoken, a lingering unease that settled over Sylus as his prince avatar stepped inside.

At the far end of the lavish corridor stood an elderly woman—her regal gown adorned with subtle gold embroidery, her gray-streaked hair twisted into an intricate bun.

Her sharp, calculating eyes swept over him, a knowing smile curving her lips.

“Ah, Your Highness, what an unexpected pleasure,” she purred, clasping her hands together. “It is not often we receive royal visitors at such an hour.”

Sylus narrowed his eyes at her. She already knew why he was here.

The stepmother.

Before he could speak, movement flickered from the side.

Three young women, all dressed in the finest gowns, stepped into view. Their features were strikingly similar—the same delicate frame, the same painted smiles, the same soft, practiced voices.

“Your Highness,” one of them curtsied, her voice light and airy.

“What an honor,” the second giggled.

“How may we serve you?” the third added, tilting her head coyly.

[A Game of Deception Begins]

A subtle chime rang through the air, signaling that something wasn’t right.

The three girls spoke in perfect unison, their smiles never faltering.

“I was at the ball, Your Highness.”

“I danced with you under the stars.”

“I left something behind… didn’t I?”

Sylus gritted his teeth.

They were mimicking her.

Y/n.

His real Cinderella was somewhere in this castle, but these three were designed to confuse him, to mislead him.

The stepmother let out a soft, knowing chuckle. “You are quite the romantic, Your Highness. But surely, if you have found your beloved, you will know her immediately?”

A new challenge flashed on screen—

Listen carefully, observe the details, and choose the girl who isn’t lying.

Hints:

• The real y/n was hesitant when she danced. Would she speak so easily now?

• She left in a hurry. Would she have remembered exactly what she left behind?

• y/n is quiet. Would she be so quick to seek attention?

Sylus exhaled.

He wasn’t about to let these impostors trick him.

His Cinderella was here.

And he was going to find her.

[Challenge: The True Cinderella]

Objective: Identify the fake and expose the deception before time runs out.

Sylus stared at the three girls, their voices overlapping, their movements eerily in sync. It wasn’t just about picking the right one—this was a deliberate trap, a way to wear down his judgment.

The Step-Mother watched, her smirk knowing, her eyes daring him to fail.

“Come now, Your Highness,” she drawled, amusement lacing her voice. “Surely, if she is the one, you will have no doubts?”

A timer appeared at the top of the screen—

⏳ Time Remaining: 60 seconds

[Mini-Game: Find the Mistake]

Each girl will speak, but one detail will not match Y/N’s real story. Tap the incorrect statement before the timer runs out!

The first girl stepped forward, curtsying.

“At the ball, you told me I had the most captivating smile in the kingdom,” she said sweetly.

Sylus frowned. He never said that.

The second girl twirled gracefully.

“When I danced with you, I told you that I had been waiting my whole life for this night.”

Y/N had been nervous. They never would have said something so bold.

The third girl touched her wrist lightly, smiling coyly.

“And when the clock struck midnight, I placed my hand in yours and whispered that I would see you again.”

That was wrong.

Y/N had run.

The timer ticked down—⏳ 15 seconds

Sylus tapped the third girl words hoping to slash through her lies.

The screen flashed red—he missed!

His heart skipped a beat.

A small taunting laugh came from the Step-Mother.

“Oh, dear. Do you doubt yourself?”

⏳ 10 seconds.

Damn it.

He quickly tapped the first girl words instead slashing through them.

✨ SUCCESS ✨

The girl stiffened, her polite smile faltering.

“W-What? That’s not fair—”

Her voice glitched, like a holographic error, before she and the other impostors flickered away, dissolving into nothingness.

The Step-Mother’s smirk vanished.

A new notification popped up:

[Challenge Passed!]

The deception has failed. The true Cinderella is hidden somewhere inside the palace.

[New Objective: Search the Palace]

Something isn’t right. Find where they’re keeping Y/N before time runs out.

The screen transitioned into Exploration Mode, and Sylus guided his avatar deeper into the castle.

The atmosphere had changed.

The lavish decor felt colder, more suffocating. The hallways stretched endlessly, looping back into themselves, forcing him to navigate carefully.

Then, in the farthest wing of the palace—

He found a locked door.

It wasn’t grand like the others. It was plain, old, almost forgotten. But something about it felt wrong.

Sylus tapped the Interact button, and his character pressed his palm against the wood.

From the other side…

There was a soft, familiar voice.

“…Who’s there?”

Sylus’ grip tightened on his phone.

He had found her.

[The Locked Room]

Objective: Rescue Cinderella.

Sylus’ avatar pushed against the door, testing the handle—locked, of course. But now, he knew Y/N was inside.

Their soft voice had barely reached him, muffled through the thick wood.

“…Who’s there?”

He tapped the Interact button again. His character leaned closer, resting a hand against the door.

“It’s me.”

A pause. Then, a quiet, shaky breath.

“You… you came?”

The screen shifted, fading into a cutscene.

Inside the dimly lit chamber, Y/N lay on the cold stone floor, their delicate frame wrapped in tattered rags, the elegant gown they had once worn nowhere to be seen. Their wrists were bound with rough ropes, their ankles the same.

A faint bruise darkened their skin just above the elbow—a sign of struggle.

They weren’t just hiding.

They had been kept here.

Their dark eyes lifted weakly, searching the shadows, but there was no hope in them.

They thought they had been forgotten.

A dialogue choice appeared:

1. “Who did this to you?”

2. “I’m getting you out of here.”

3. “I swear to you, they’ll pay for this.”

Sylus didn’t hesitate—he tapped the second option.

His avatar slammed his fist against the door.

“I’m getting you out of here, Y/N.”

Their lips parted slightly, disbelief flickering in their tired expression.

“You… really came for me.”

Before Sylus could answer, the screen flickered.

[WARNING: A Presence Approaches.]

Footsteps echoed outside.

The Step-Mother.

She knew.

And she wasn’t going to let him take Y/N so easily.

[Confrontation: The Wicked Step-Mother]

Objective: Escape with Y/N before it’s too late.

Sylus’ avatar tensed, his hand still pressed against the door. The footsteps outside grew louder—deliberate and slow—a predator closing in.

Then, the voice came.

“How very bold of you, Your Highness.”

The Step-Mother’s voice dripped with amusement, but underneath it, Sylus could hear a cold edge—one that hadn’t been there before.

The screen transitioned into a tense cutscene as the camera zoomed in on the shadow just beyond the doorway.

“You broke into my home. You disturbed my daughters. And now you think you can steal away what is mine?”

Sylus tapped the Interact button, making his character step back, fists clenched.

“Y/N isn’t yours.”

The door rattled slightly, as if the force of her presence alone had made it tremble.

“Isn’t she?” the Step-Mother mused. “Then tell me, Your Highness—why did she not call for you? Why did she sit in silence, waiting to be forgotten?”

The game gave him no response options.

He had to watch.

Inside the room, the camera zoomed back in on Y/N, still lying on the cold stone floor, their wrists bound, their expression a mix of exhaustion and… something else.

Guilt.

Their lips parted, but they didn’t speak.

Sylus felt his pulse quicken.

They had never called for help.

Had they believed… no one would come?

[New Dialogue Choice Unlocked]

1. “Y/N, don’t listen to her. You were never alone.”

2. “Did they make you believe you deserved this?”

3. “No more running. We’re leaving—together.”

Sylus hovered for a moment, his chest tightening. The second option… felt too real.

He tapped it.

His character softened his voice, stepping closer to the door.

“Did they make you believe you deserved this?”

Inside, Y/N flinched.

For a long time, they didn’t speak. Then—

“I… I don’t know anymore.”

The Step-Mother chuckled.

“She knows where she belongs. But you… you’re too blinded by fantasy to see the truth.”

The door lock clicked.

The camera snapped back, revealing the Step-Mother’s pale hand resting on the iron handle.

She was opening the door.

[New Objective: Prepare to Fight]

She had no idea who she was messing with.

[Boss Battle: The Wicked Step-Mother & The Shadows of Deception]

Objective: Defeat the Step-Mother and her cursed daughters to free Y/N.

The door swung open, revealing the Step-Mother in full form—no longer just an elegant noblewoman but something twisted.

Her once refined gown shifted like black smoke, tendrils of darkness creeping from its edges, rooting her into the very foundations of the cursed castle. Her eyes glowed an eerie silver, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

And behind her—

The three stepsisters, no longer perfectly composed noblewomen but warped, hollowed figures, their limbs unnaturally elongated, their faces frozen in soulless grins.

[BOSS FIGHT ENGAGED]

Survive the illusions and break through the deception!

Step-Mother’s Abilities:

• Lies That Bind – Y/N hesitates, unable to act for a short duration.

• Illusion Waltz – The battlefield distorts, causing fake versions of the stepsisters to appear.

• Final Judgment – Instant KO attack if the player falls for too many illusions.

Shadows of the Stepsisters’ Abilities:

• Echoed Voices – They repeat Y/N’s voice to confuse the player.

• Mirror Step – They imitate attacks, making it hard to tell which one is real.

• Draining Gaze – Slowly saps health if looked at for too long.

Sylus immediately dodged as the Step-Mother raised a gnarled, blackened hand, sending waves of dark energy toward him. The shadows of the stepsisters laughed in sync, their forms splitting into five copies each, surrounding him.

“She was never meant for you,” the Step-Mother crooned, her voice overlapping with Y/N’s own.

The battlefield was warped—a spiraling ballroom twisted by dark magic. The marble floor cracked with each step, reflections rippling beneath like water. A constant whisper filled the air, echoing Y/N’s voice to throw Sylus off balance.

The Step-Mother raised her arms, smoke curling like claws from her fingertips.

“Lies That Bind!”

Dark chains burst from the floor, coiling around Y/N’s legs. She staggered, caught mid-step, eyes glazed in confusion as her form flickered—hesitating.

Sylus gritted his teeth.

“Y/N—stay with me!”

Suddenly, the Stepsisters scattered across the room, their limbs elongating, distorting like puppets in a nightmare. Their voices echoed in eerie unison:

“He’ll never choose the real you…”

One lunged forward—“Mirror Step!”—mimicking Sylus’ last combo exactly, forcing him to dodge his own moves.

Another locked eyes with him—“Draining Gaze.”

The screen dimmed subtly. His health bar ticked down.

“Don’t look at them too long,” Y/N called out.

Then the game hit him with a challenge—

[Which One is the Real Y/N?]

• Five versions of Y/N appeared on-screen.

• The wrong choice would stun him, making him lose health.

• If he hesitated too long, the illusions would merge and attack all at once.

The countdown began—

⏳ 5… 4… 3…

Sylus quickly scanned the options. All of them had the same face, the same trembling expression… but one detail was different.

One Y/N still had the faint mark on their wrist from where they’d been bound by their ribbon.

He tapped their image just as the timer hit ⏳ 1.

✨ CORRECT! ✨

The illusions shattered, the false stepsisters screaming as they dissolved into shadows.

“No!” the Step-Mother snarled, her voice losing its composed façade.

TAP to launch a synchronized attack!

Sylus smashed the screen, activating his strongest attack.

His prince avatar lunged forward, sword glowing with light, slashing through the dark chains that had kept Y/N bound.

The Step-Mother let out a piercing wail, her form splintering like glass, the cursed shadows dispersing into nothing.

The screen flashed white, the castle’s dark aura lifting as the curse broke.

✨ VICTORY! ✨

[Boss Battle Complete!]

Y/N is Free.

The golden light of dawn spilled across the shattered remains of the cursed room. The dark energy was gone. The shadows, the illusions—they were nothing but dust on the wind now.

“I didn’t think anyone would really come for me…”

Their voice was quiet, almost broken.

A dialogue choice appeared:

1. “Always.”

2. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

3. “Let’s go home.”

Sylus selected the first option.

Sylus knelt in front of Y/N, still offering his hand.

“Always,” he said.

Y/N stared at him, eyes glossy with disbelief and something softer. Their fingers trembled as they reached out and took his hand, letting him gently pull them to their feet.

For a moment, they just stood there—quiet, close, the castle crumbling behind them.

Then Y/N leaned in.

It wasn’t a bold kiss. It wasn’t dramatic.

It was hesitant, trembling—like they weren’t sure this moment was real until their lips touched his.

Sylus didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He just kissed them back—steady, warm, grounding them both.

The game faded out, the castle dissolving around them as dawn broke over the kingdom.

[Myth Story Complete: The Lost Cinderella]

✨ 5-Star Bond Strengthened! ✨

Sylus leaned back, exhaling sharply.

That… had been incredible.

And as the game returned to the main screen, Y/N’s new myth-themed portrait now replaced their normal one, their gaze softer, trusting.

They had been freed.

And Sylus had been the one to save them.

A/n: thanks for reading this was long but hopefully not too boring. Don’t forget to vote in the poll below please for who’s myth u wanna see next or none at all.

Tags:

@kaylauvu

@codedove

@crazy-ink-artist

@animegamerfox

#sylus x y/n #sylus x you #sylus fic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus

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owlintheskies · 2 months ago

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One of Them

Relationship: Apollo & Percy Jackson | Words: 737 | Tags: Canon Divergence, Post-The Battle of Manhattan, Deity Percy Jackson

The first thing Percy registered upon opening his eyes was an unfamiliar ceiling of white stone that reached up far away from him and curved in patterned archways.

He attempted to bolt upright except as he lifted himself his head swayed, waves crashed in his ears and his vision blacked out.

The second thing Percy registered upon opening his eyes were a pair of golden, so bright it was as if they glowed, eyes, dark tanned skin decorated with a splatter of freckles and a cascade of golden hair.

Percy squinted his eyes, the action causing a fresh shoot of pain across his forehead.

“Percy! You’re awake!” the person- no, God grinned.

It took him a moment to find his voice. “Apollo?”

“That’s me,” Apollo replied cheerfully. “Plus, if you recognise me that means your memory is working fine which is amazing news.” He then winked as he added, “Of course there was no way you could forget my good looks.”

“My memory… Where am I? What happened?” Percy quizzed, eyes frantically scanning the bit of room he could see without jolting his head too hard.

“You’re in my Infirmary up on Olympus. Luckily the west wing survived your fight with Kronos so we had space for you,” Apollo rattled off before he paused, his tone sounding less confident when he spoke again. “For what happened, I’m not sure I’m the best person to explain that to you.”

Percy sat, ignoring the way his head complained and his vision attempted to black out. He couldn’t be injured. He had the curse of Achillies to prevent that very thing from happening.

“Don’t sit up! You need to rest!” Apollo shouted with a frantic wave of his hands.

Apollo’s nails were painted yellow but Percy ignored that observation and shot a glare at the God in question. “What I need is answers.”

Apollo’s golden eyes scanned to an arched, closed door and Percy followed the action. He trusted Apollo, as much as Percy trusted Gods anyway, but it was a comfort to know where his closest exit was.

“Why am I still on Olympus? I- I left the throne room, met my mom and Paul then Nico said something about Rachel stealing my pegasus,” Percy processed slowly. “Wait. Rachel! She’s in danger!”

The warmth of Apollo’s warmer than average hand pressed into Percy’s thigh, preventing him from standing. Apollo’s eyes softened both around the edges and also in colour, the golden colour now tinted with a small hint of orange. Percy swore Apollo’s eyes weren’t that colour the last time he’d seen him. He would have remembered such unique eyes if he had.

“Rachel’s fine, Percy,” Apollo comforted with a smile. “Better than fine actually. She’s now my Oracle.”

The relief of Apollo’s words that had eased his racing mind vanished as quickly as it had come. It was only then as Percy looked down to Apollo’s hand did he notice he was no longer in his jeans or camp shirt. Instead, a white cotton hospital gown rested over his thighs, cutting off just below the knee.

Percy casted his gaze back up. “How long have I been here?”

Apollo’s eyes left his own for a moment but the hand and its radiating warmth remained.

“Three weeks,” Apollo finally answered. “Look, Percy, I promised I’d tell your father once you were awake-” the warmth on Percy’s leg left and he resisted the urge to pull the comfort he hadn’t noticed it had brought him back- “so we’ll discuss this in more detail once he’s here.”

As Apollo stood Percy pulled his eyebrows together, a fresh brand of confusion tugging at his mind. Apollo was dressed in an off-white linin chiton decorated with golden embroidery along the fabric edges. It joined on top of both his shoulders and the waist heightened with a gold and leather belt so that the fabric fell around his mid-thigh exposing Apollo’s well-toned legs. It was all very Greek.

Those golden eyes met Percy’s again and the situation hit him with such a force he choked out a broken sound.

Apollo wasn’t toning down the essence of his Godly power.

“I ascended, didn’t I?” Percy voiced, sounding oddly small.

The look of pity Apollo gave him confirmed Percy’s question before the God even had the chance to speak and Percy’s chest sunk.

“Yes. I know you didn’t want it but you’re one of us now.”

#this is a warm up from a few days ago but i might continue/expand on this one day #(it would lead into perpollo if i did)#pjo #the last olympian #percy jackson #apollo pjo #pip's writing #(edit as i forgot to add that this is a god!percy fic to the 'tags')

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primamchorus · 29 days ago

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Day One :: Beauty

Done for the @daily-writing-challenge. Because I like challenges.

While Noctis is away during his meeting with the First Secretary of Accordo, Prompto approaches one of two Arms of the King. Given everything that happened to Insomnia and that being the last place he saw her, he is eager for the opportunity to catch up. Especially since it seems that those he cares about most could slip through his fingers at any moment.

Word Count: 808

"So, Prim…" Prompto started, drumming his hands against his thighs as he walked forward. He was soon standing side by side with Primam at the railing overlooking the waters. She had not met his gaze, only continued to stare out toward the cascading falls beyond that created a mist along the cliffs of Altissia. Looking over Primam, Prompto chewed on the inside of his mouth while he took in the fact that she had this weariness about her.

"The brown hair is…new…" Prompto continued, having wanted to comment on it for a while. It was then that Primam finally looked over at him.

"Yeah…" Primam began in response. She leaned one arm on the railing and looked at Prompto more directly. "Tan and I decided it was for the best to dye our hair while we were with the Lady Oracle. For her safety while Niflheim scoured the lands for us since their narrative wouldn't have worked if we were alive and well."

Slowly, Prompto nodded. It made sense. "Right… Your leucism…"

Reaching up, Primam held up a lock of brown hair and scoffed slightly. She rolled the lock between her fingers.

"I mean…it looks more natural and prettier this way, doesn't it?" There was this disingenuous intonation to Primam's words. Even if she tried to feign a smile, Prompto noticed a distant look in her eyes in addition to her tone. Reading her facial expressions had come more more easily when he had so many photos of their friend group to pick out when there was more to their expressions than met the eye. "No one gives me weird looks anymore when they just see…a normal girl with normal hair."

'Normal'.

Prompto was brought back to a previous discussion he had with Tandem about that. That nothing about them was normal and that it never would be normal. The adventures both their groups must have undergone was proof of that — at the very least, the trip with Ignis, Gladio, and Noctis was absolutely proof of that.

"I kinda liked the white more… I mean, I have since we were all the way in school. Just…it's…you…" Prompto truthfully replied. He crossed his arms over the railing, leaning on it and looking out over the water. "But if you like it, then…" he shrugged, "That's what matters more, right?"

Prompto did not want to push the issue if she still felt some sense of shame or self-consciousness over it.

The lapping of the water filled the air between the two of them along with the murmur of Altissia's residents going about their day behind them. Both of them had their attention cast out past the waters again, simply remaining in each other's silent company.

"… I can probably grow it out again," Primam finally said with a neutral sigh. She looked over at Prompto, a more genuine smile growing on her lips. She then bumped her shoulder against his and teased him gently, "I didn't think you'd be that concerned about it."

Prompto felt his ears and cheeks flush before he waved a hand at Primam dismissively with a grin. "Me? Psh! I mean…what? I've known you since we were ten! The brown is just…it's jarring! I can get used to it if you like it more!"

Both of them laughed gently alongside one another, and when they eventually settled, Primam rested her shoulder against his. Her weight was this affectionate pressure against him, and Prompto felt himself leaning into her. All things considered—

"It's been so damn long since we could just hang out…" Primam said. She leaned her head over and rested it against his shoulder.

"Months on the road and at sea, doing our own things…" Prompto concurred, recounting the different trials and tribulations he was part of and witnessed Noctis have to go through. His expression faltered after a moment and he moved to look at Primam more directly. He searched her face, tempted to reach out and place his hands upon her shoulders. It just still felt so surreal and relieving to have her standing there in front of him.

To hells with it.

Prompto pulled Primam into a hug and just held her close.

"… I'm…" Prompto began, his cheerful and sunny mask melting away. "I'm glad you're safe, Prim…"

Primam's own arms hovered for a long moment before she finally wrapped her arms around him. The beauty of Altissia faded away and was simply replaced by the beauty of being reunited with her best friend — her best friend that must have been worried sick about her and the others who remained in Insomnia during the fall. Closing her eyes, she buried her head against his collar as she tightened her hold on him.

"I'm glad you're safe, too," Primam quietly replied, her voice muffled against his vest.

#maydwc2025 #ffxv #ffxv writing #my writing #ffxv oc #oc: primam chorus #prompto argentum #ship: quicksilver dancers #ffxv: reimagined

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icarusignite · 2 years ago

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These Violent Delights (1)

Chapter 1: Marigolds and Mayhem

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x OC

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Academic rivals, Coriolanus Snow and Artemis Highbottom must compete for the Plinth prize. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: Check out the masterlist for a better synopsis lol. As usual, don't be a ghost reader. I live for yalls comments/questions/concerns/reactions, even a keyboard smash is highly appreciated and encouraged ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Masterlist

Drip.

It was the third nosebleed of the night and Artemis was just about tired of it. She didn't even bother stemming the flow, allowing the carmine rivulets to trace an unhurried path from her nostrils to the marble below.

The hush of running water met the heavy rhythm of a beating heart, and there she stood—a lone figure, framed by the harsh edges of the sink, her grip upon it almost desperate. She could feel the sharpness imprinting into her skin, and yet still she clung, her skin stretched across her knuckles almost comically grotesque.

She watched the blood, in an almost detached sort of way. It could be art, she mused, the juxtaposition of sanguine against sterile white. A whispered revelation danced at the edge of her consciousness—anything could be art if you framed it the right way. Even the bloodiest of carnages. A spectacle, a thing to be enjoyed.

Artemis looked up, and her reflection stared back, menacingly. The mirror, an unforgiving oracle, revealed a distorted visage, one she both did and did not recognize. Her dark hair, cascaded in disarray, entangled in the aftermath of sleep's elusivity and her eyes harbored shadows akin to a painter's bruised palette. The reflection mocked, a cruel mimicry of the composed persona she so ardently sought to maintain.

Out of control.

Unbidden judgment pierced through her thoughts, a verdict she loathed to acknowledge.

No that could not be right.

Artemis Highbottom was always in control.

She despised this discordance, this disruption to her meticulously curated world. To her, it was anathema, but nature could not be controlled, and what was more natural than blood? Perhaps it was fitting, that this fundamental of humanity could not be dominated.

Blood could never be dishonest, and it had the power to reveal one's innermost truths.

With unyielding determination, Artemis scrubbed at the remnants of the crimson tide that painted her face, an act of restitution against the chaos that dared to invade her pristine sanctuary. Each abrasive stroke was an attempt to erase not just the physical residue but a deeper discord. She worked quietly, although there was no one else to hear. There was never anyone to hear her, her gilded halls always vacant, but Artemis spoke silence like a second language and old habits die hard. She spared her father a brief thought, wondering where he could possibly be at such a late hour but it didn't really matter. He just wasn't here. He never was.

Raw skin met her touch, and the blood, now vanquished, left in its wake a battlefield—a canvas of sacrifice for the sake of semblance.

The mess was an unwelcome intrusion there were far worse ways to be awoken. If she was busy cleaning up after her nosebleeds, then she wasn't sleeping, and if she wasn't sleeping, then she wasn't dreaming.

The walk to the Academy's Heavensbee Hall was a brisk one, although, in the sweltering heat, Artemis found herself increasingly short-tempered. She was going to be late, but she kept her pace measured. She would not arrive a panting sweaty mess like some savage. It had been a foolish idea, she knew that, but she had given her own driver the day off anyway, waiting instead for her father. His presence was expected, and she imagined it would have been a pleasant change of routine to accompany him. He was probably running late, she told herself. After all, she hadn't seen him return, and she would know, she was awake half the night.

The grand staircase up to the Academy could hold the entire student body, so it easily accommodated the stream of officials, professors, and students headed for the reaping day festivities. Artemis sped up, taking three steps at a time, while still attempting a casual dignity. Every other person she passed stopped to wave her down and exchange pleasantries, and although her impatience was rising, she kept a placid smile stretched across her lips as she greeted them all in turn. She nodded when they asked after her, and then nodded some more, albeit less enthusiastically when they asked about her father.

She made her way through an entry draped in black banners, then sprinted down a vaulted passage, and into cavernous Heavensbee Hall, where they would watch the broadcast of the reaping ceremony. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that she wasn't quite as late as she believed, and the official ceremony hadn't yet started. The hall was humming with faculty and students and a number of Games officials.

Avoxes wove through the crowd with trays of posca, a concoction of watery wine laced with honey and herbs. One passed by Artemis, and despite her parched throat, she waved him away. On principle, she avoided any and all intoxicants. It was stronger than most people thought, and in previous years she had seen many make complete fools of themselves by imbibing too deeply. Artemis would be damned if she allowed herself to lose control like that. That and given her father's dependence on morphling, she imagined she must be genetically predisposed to addiction.

In the great hall, she was once again forced to make her rounds, as faculty and students alike beckoned to introduce her to their circles. She eventually travelled past the hundreds of cushioned chairs set up for the occasion and onto the dais, where the communications professor, Satyria Click was regaling a mix of Academy professors and Games officials with some wild story. Amongst the gathered crowd was the biology instructor, Alfred Stanton, who stood off to the side, eyes deliberately wandering the area as if to make a show of his boredom. When his eyes caught sight of Artemis, he brightened, his face lifting in a smile as he waved her over.

Oh great, more greetings. If Artemis had to utter another false pleasantry, she'd lose her breakfast.

No, she wouldn't. She knew better than that. Besides, she was Professor Stanton's teaching aide, and it was quite literally in her job description to be at his beck and call.

When she arrived, she scowled internally. It was inevitable, she knew that, but she was hoping that at least today of all days, she'd be delayed in setting eyes upon the one person who held the power of ruining her mornings.

"Oh, Coriolanus!" Satyria drawled, as the blonde boy gave her the customary kiss on the cheek. "Here’s my star pupil.”

Artemis held no qualms against Satyria, not really. She was amusing and not overly uptight, one of the few professors who allowed students to call them by their first names. It was her teaching aide against whom she held a grudge.

Professor Stanton, not to be outdone, clapped his meaty hand on Artemis's shoulder, making her stagger. Maybe the man needed to lay off the weightlifting for a bit. He announced her presence to the circle enthusiastically, earning a scowl from Satyria.

"And Artemis, my star pupil. We were afraid we'd miss you this morning."

Artemis ducked her head bashfully, mumbling something about running late, but Professor Stanton only laughed boisterously, as he continued to speak.

Coriolanus Snow was seething. Well, no that was perhaps a little extreme. Artemis Highbottom did not deserve such a reaction from him. She didn't deserve the energy. When he hadn't seen her earlier today, he had deluded himself into thinking that she simply wouldn't come. She was never late after all, so the fact of the matter must be that she simply wasn't coming. With her gone, he could be the sole beneficiary of the crowd's attention, networking his way into their hearts.

Then he had seen her arrive, panting and slightly out of breath and he had to admit he marveled at the sight. Her coffee skin flushed and her hair thrown over her shoulder haphazardly as if she'd been running. Coriolanus had been amused, to say the least. He had hoped that she wouldn't wander over to his little corner, that he would be able to have Satyria's circle all to himself, but it was wishful thinking. People knew of him of course, being the son of Crassus Snow and all, but he realized that they tended to forget about him in her presence. After all, it was far easier to garner the good graces of one's father if he was still alive. Even if said father was Casca High-as-a-Kite-Bottom. Snow sniggered at the nickname, a creation of his own genius.

Almost as if she could read his mind, Artemis shot him a withering glare, and Coriolanus stiffened, standing straighter to shoot her one back. The circle had shifted, placing him right next to her and if he stretched his fingers, they'd brush against hers. Not that he'd want to of course. How utterly repulsive.

“Beautiful shirt. Where did you get such a thing?” Satyria was addressing Snow now, surveying him carefully.

He looked at the shirt as if surprised by its existence and gave the shrug of a young man of limitless options. They didn't have to know that all that was left to him was his name. The world still needed to think of Coriolanus as rich.

“The Snows have deep closets,” he said airily. “I was trying for respectful yet celebratory.”

Artemis held back a snort.

Celebratory, my ass.

The Snows' closets were as deep as their pockets, which was to say, containing all the depth of a bottlecap. Standing this close to him, she could almost smell the faint scent of dead marigolds and potato starch his shirt was emitting.

"Is something funny, Miss Highbottom?" Coriolanus turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

Just your pathetic fibbing skills, she wanted to say. Perhaps she had not been as discreet with her expressions as she thought she'd been because he was still waiting for an answer.

"Not at all, Mr. Snow," Artemis gave him one of her very best saccharine smiles. "I just agree with Satyria. That is indeed a lovely shirt."

Their professor beamed, happy to be validated.

“And so it is. What are these cunning buttons?” Satyria asked, fingering one of the cubes on his cuff. “Tesserae?”

“Are they? Well, that explains why they remind me of the maid’s bathroom,” Coriolanus responded, drawing a chuckle from her friends.

This was the impression he fought to sustain. A reminder that he was the rare person who had a maid’s bathroom — let alone one tiled with tesserae — tempered with a self-deprecating joke about his shirt.

He nodded at Satyria. “Lovely gown. It’s new, isn’t it?” He could tell at a glance that it was the same dress she always wore to the reaping ceremony, refurbished with tufts of black feathers. But she had validated his shirt, and he needed to return the favour.

As he did so, his eyes couldn't help but return to the figure at his side. While Satyria's renovated dress made him feel better about his own attire, brought to life only through his cousin Tigris's efforts, Artemis's had the exact opposite effect. It was new, almost obscenely so. Wasteful extravagance, he thought to himself bitterly. What a vain and shallow creature, but such was the case with all the Capitol women he supposed.

"What a wonderful ensemble, Artemis!" Satyria crowed once again. "You absolutely must give me the details of your dressmaker. Doesn't she look lovely, Coriolanus?"

Snow blinked. The question was directed at him, clearly, but he couldn't force the words out, even as his professor looked at him expectantly.

“Elegant,” he finally stated blandly.

Liar.

Artemis's eyes flashed at him triumphantly, almost as if calling him out.

The adults wandered off, and their company was replaced by that of their classmates. Arachne Crane slipped her arm into Artemis's as soon she was within range, and Artemis sent her a smile that was only slightly less false than the one she had been wearing all morning.

"Finally, and here I thought our star pupils would be too busy to give us humble folk time of day," she complained.

"Don't ever use the word humble, Arachne," the boy to her right, Festus Creed, scoffed. "It does not suit you."

Arachne rolled her eyes and sipped her drink petulantly.

"Have you tried this lamb, it's scandalous!"

The only thing scandalous is the president's son eating with his hands, Artemis thought to herself, but she knew better than to say it out loud.

Lucky for her, Festus didn't.

"Only the vulgar eat with their fingers, Felix," he chastised. "What, daddy not teach you table manners?"

"Maybe he would have if he wasn't so busy running the country!" Felix retorted.

The conversation veered off in the direction of the Plinth Prize, and their eyes were drawn to the family standing off to a corner, speaking amongst themselves.

"Who would have thought that you could buy yourself into the capitol?" Felix muttered derisively.

"You can buy god himself, provided you have the resources," Artemis finally commented.

"You can't buy class though. Did you see Sejanus's mother's outfit," Festus paused for dramatic effect before sniggering. "Sorry, his ma's."

At least he had a mother who cared for him, which is more than Artemis could say for the imbeciles around her exhibiting motherless behaviour.

"Dress a turnip in a ballgown and it'll still beg to be mashed," Snow jeered.

Artemis scoffed. And here was the biggest motherless moron of them all.

"Interesting that you of all people should say that, Coriolanus," she eyed him carefully. Gone were the honorifics she had addressed him by earlier in front of the professors. This was a battlefield and there were no pleasantries in war.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

The two stared at each other, neither wanting to be the one to look away first and their classmates glanced between them uneasily.

Eventually, Coriolanus blinked, his ears burning, and Artemis flashed him a grin. If he wasn't thinking about carving the smile from her face, he might have thought it suited her.

If it was a battle of wills, Artemis was a born victor.

Their conversation about Sejanus came to a halt when he approached them. He didn't bother greeting any of them but he smiled at Artemis, which she heartily returned. Arachne shot her a questioning glance, but if the Capitol was a hierarchy, Artemis outranked her, and therefore did not have to answer to her.

Coriolanus eyed their interaction sullenly. He was a charmer, it was the only currency he had access to after all, and over the years he had made his best efforts to charm the Dean's enigmatic daughter. Perhaps he thought it'd make Dean Highbottom detest him a little less, if he had Artemis's favour, but although it appeared that she shared nothing else with her father, she shared in his disdain for Coriolanus. There was nothing he could do to endear himself to her, and he had long since stopped trying.

It especially irritated him, that it was Sejanus of all people who had managed to make friends with her. He did not even need the networking opportunity it provided. Snow observed the brunette boy now, his soft charcoal gray suit that reeked of money.

Sejanus’s father was a District 2 manufacturer who had sided with the president. He had made such a fortune off munitions that he’d been able to buy his family’s way into a life in the Capitol. The Plinths now enjoyed privileges that the oldest, most powerful families had earned over generations. It was unprecedented that Sejanus, a district-born boy, was a student at the Academy, but his father’s lavish donation had allowed for much of the school’s postwar reconstruction. A Capitol-born citizen would have expected a building to be renamed for them. Sejanus’s father had only requested an education for his son.

For Coriolanus, the Plinths and their kind were a threat to all he held dear. The newly rich climbers in the Capitol were chipping away at the old order simply by virtue of their presence. It was particularly vexing because the bulk of the Snow family fortune had also been invested in munitions — but in District 13. Their sprawling complex, blocks and blocks of factories and research facilities, had been bombed to dust. District 13 had been nuked, and the entire area still emitted unlivable levels of radiation. The center of the Capitol’s military manufacturing had shifted to District 2 and fallen right into the Plinths’ laps. When news of District 13’s demise had reached the Capitol, Coriolanus’s grandmother had publicly brushed it off, saying it was fortunate that they had plenty of other assets. But they didn’t.

Sejanus had arrived on the school playground ten years ago, a shy, sensitive boy cautiously surveying the other children with a pair of soulful brown eyes much too large for his strained face. When word had gotten out that he’d come from the districts, Coriolanus’s first impulse had been to join his classmates’ campaign to make the new kid’s life a living hell. He was glad he didn't because when Casca Highbottom's daughter befriended him, it put an end to all public acts of cruelty. They still mocked him in private, but that couldn't be helped. His district blood simply invited the scorn. Coriolanus's decision to simply ignore the boy had only reinforced his image. The other Capitol children took it to mean that baiting the district brat was beneath him, and Sejanus took it as decency. Neither take was quite accurate, but both worked in his favour.

"Sejanus," Festus grimaced. "You made it to the reaping for once."

"And you made it to graduation Festus, we're both shocked," the brunette boy responded.

"Spill it, who won the prize?" Arachne inquired.

Sejanus scoffed. Like any of these rich Capitol children even needed it.

"Oh no, I'm not going to ruin my father's big day. No one here actually likes him, but they all love his money. You know what that's like, don't you Arachne?"

Arachne scowled, leaning up to whisper in Artemis's ear about what a stuck-up thing he was. Artemis did not grace her with a response, but when the bell rang, and the students began to assemble in front of the dais, she took the opportunity to slip her arm out of Arachne's. Sejanus fell into step beside her then, taking the opportunity to slip a bottle of water into her hands.

"And this is for?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I know you can't stand the posca. Thought you might need something to drink, given all the talking they have you doing around here."

"And you thought I couldn't get myself some water?"

"I thought you shouldn't have to," he rubbed his neck ruefully. "Although I realize I might be a little late."

"I appreciate the gesture anyway. Thank you, Sejanus."

Artemis granted him her only real smile of the day. His sheepish smile reminded her of the day they first met, when this district boy with the cloddish accent first wandered up to her, offering her his bag of gumdrops.

She followed him to where a special section of chairs, six rows by four, had been set up for the mentors. To her chagrin, he took a seat to the right, leaving the only vacant seat next to one Coriolanus Snow. She felt the childish desire to kick his chair out from under him as he went to sit down, but shook away the traitorous thought. It was beneath her.

When her father began to speak, Artemis suppressed a sigh of exasperation. Dean Casca Highbottom, the man credited with the creation of the Hunger Games, presented himself to the students with all the verve of a sleepwalker, dreamy-eyed and, as usual, doped up on morphling. Artemis zoned out as he went on his usual spiel of how the Hunger Games, his displeasure at the whole event evident in his tone, although perhaps that was just the drugs talking.

"There has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth, because the esteemed citizens of the Capitol have grown bored of the Games and simply aren't watching anymore. And if the Games are to continue at all, there must be an audience," he continued rambling. "Head Gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair. Starting with you. The Plinth Prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades...but by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games."

Nervous whispers fluttered among the students, as they exchanged uneasy glances. A subtle unease threaded its way through the crowd as they leaned in, both captivated and unsettled by the Dean's cryptic words.

Artemis had been aware of this turn of events, and so did Sejanus, as it was his family's money involved, but she took great satisfaction at the dumbfounded expression on Coriolanus's face when he heard the news. It made the dourness of the entire situation as a whole much more bearable.

"Your goal is to turn these children into spectacles, not survivors," Dean Highbottom announced.

Artemis was right. Anything could be art. Anything could be turned into a spectacle, even the most depraved of carnages, and what greater carnage was there than the Hunger Games?

Artemis did not need the Plinth Prize. She imagined her father would finance her higher education as he did all her other luxuries, but perhaps he might look at her differently if she won it. Perhaps it might gain his admiration. Perhaps he might respect her if she earned something of her own for once. Perhaps he might finally return home sometimes.

She did not care much for the Games, in the sense that they held no significance for her, so far removed were they from her daily life. Her classmates were a varied spectrum on where they stood, ones like Sejanus speaking out firmly against the ritual, and others enjoyed the butchery, the slaughtering of district lives. Artemis simply did not care. They were irrelevant, but if it meant gaining her father's approval, Artemis would make herself care.

As the large screens in front of them came to life with life footage from the reapings, Dean Highbottom began to recite the mentor assignments.

"District One, boy, goes to . . .” he squinted at the paper, trying hard to focus. “Glasses,” he mumbled. “Forgot them.” Everyone stared at his glasses, already perched on his nose, and waited while his fingers found them. “Ah, here we go. Livia Cardew.”

Livia’s pointed little face broke into a grin and she punched the air in victory, shouting “Yes!” in her shrill voice. She had always been prone to gloating. As if the plum assignment was solely a reflection on her, and not on her mother running the largest bank in the Capitol. Purely by chance, Artemis exchanged a cursory glance with Coriolanus just then, secretive like a private joke, which left her feeling quite unsettled.

Coriolanus felt increasing desperation as Dean Highbottom stumbled through the list, assigning each district’s boy and girl a mentor. After ten years, a pattern had emerged. The better-fed, more Capitol-friendly districts of 1 and 2 produced more victors, with the fishing and farming tributes from 4 and 11 also being contenders. Coriolanus had hoped for either a 1 or a 2, but neither was assigned to him, which was made more insulting when Sejanus scored the District 2 boy, and Artemis the girl.

Unlike Livia, Artemis received news of her good fortune with tact, pushing her sheet of raven hair over her shoulder as she studiously made note of her tribute in her binder. Their brief moment of camaraderie during Livia's outburst was forgotten as she shot him a smug smirk and he seethed.

District 4 passed without mention of his name, and his last real chance for a victor — the District 11 boy — was assigned to Clemensia Dovecote, daughter of the energies secretary. Something was amiss when a Snow, who also happened to be one of the Academy’s high-honour students, had gone unrecognized. Coriolanus was beginning to think they had forgotten him — perhaps they were giving him some special position? — when, to his horror, he heard Dean Highbottom mumble, “And last but not least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

#coriolanus x oc #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #sejanus plinth #sejanus x oc #sejanus x reader #katniss everdeen #academic rivals

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depraved-love · 16 days ago

Text

Pour us anouther cup.

Dionysus had many lovers of course he did. And to some extent, he cared for all of them in his own way. That said, there were those he cared for a little more than others. There is, after all, a difference between a consort and a true lover. But then... there was one who rooted himself in Dionysus’ mind more deeply than either of them ever expected. Ampelos.

How this damned satyr managed to get so deep under his skin is a question not even his half-sister, or any oracle, could answer. There was something about that boldness… Especially watching him taunt and mess with the other satyrs, like he was doing right now.

The god sat surrounded by maenads and a few older satyrs, the younger ones burning off a good chunk of their energy nearby. It was a rare moment between the wild haze of celebrations and orgies - but even a god knew that peace and rest were sometimes needed, though the younger crowd would probably argue otherwise. Dionysus didn’t complain, especially not while watching the golden-eyed satyr, with those messy dark curls flailing loosely around his cocky face as he rammed against the others, proudly showing off his curved horns. It was playful, but Dionysus knew most of Ampelos’ taunts were genuine. The young man just couldn’t help himself, and that boldness was beyond attractive to the god. The two were often affectionate. Ampelos knew damn well how to get his god to play along, and Dionysus saw right through him, but neither felt the need to acknowledge it. They liked the roles they played. Bold, dumb, and probably won't end well- Before the god could finish that thought, though, a yell tore through the air. Ampelos had taunted a slightly stronger satyr than he could handle, and now he was thrown flat on his ass,taking a hard hit on a sore spot just beneath his horns. He puffed up, ready to ram right back, until he noticed the god watching him. Instantly, he grinned, sprang to his feet, and pushed his way toward Dionysus. “Did you see that, my god? That brute almost took my horns off!” He nearly jumped into the god’s lap, knowing full well he could get away with this particular brand of ‘disrespect.’ Of course, the god only smiled and pulled him in. “Oh, you poor thing,” he said through held-back laughter. “Well, why don’t you stick with me for now, at least until that poor head of yours gets better.” Dionysus planted a kiss atop his companion’s head, and Ampelos, of course, returned it threefold the moment he pulled back. What was Dionysus thinking about before? Well, it couldn’t have been that important if he didn’t remember.

The two weren’t just together in the peaceful times, of course not. In fact, most of their moments were spent in one of those hazy dances, with Ampelos completely dependent on Dionysus… or the other way around. Like just today. Dionysus had indulged in just one goblet more than usual, and it showed, though everyone around him was far worse off. Hands wandered where they pleased, eyes drifted lazily from face to body, wine spilled like blood, and of course, a few more exotic ingredients were in circulation. By the middle of the evening, Ampelos was already searching for his lover in the storm of dancing. “Damn it, Wine God, where are you?! You’re the most fun like this, and everyone’s going to get a piece besides your favorite!” And the next thing the satyr knew, two strong arms wrapped around him. Long purplish-black hair, woven with vines, cascaded over his shoulders. “Called me, pretty thing?” “Of course I did!” Ampelos, ever the impulsive one turned, giving the god a teasing look as he guided Dionysus’ hands to the soft fur covering parts of his body. “I want some of you too, my lord.” "You're like a bottomless cup of wine you know?" The two wasted no time in their pursuit of passion. By now, they had each other’s bodies memorized, and the fact that others were watching only fed Ampelos’ need to claim. And what kind of god would Dionysus be if he were to deny him?

Dionysus, believe it or not, took his duties quite seriously, though he absolutely despised when they interrupted his time with his lovers, like today. His group had stopped near a sacred forest, and he and Ampelos were indulging in some games when their discus flew off and got tangled in the branches of a nearby tree. He was just about to retrieve it, despite Ampelos’ protests, who clearly wanted to impress him by climbing up and getting it himself, when Hermes appeared, carrying news of a trial the wine god “absolutely had to attend to.” “Who are they to tell you what to do or not do?!” The satyr dug his hoof into the dirt, fuming. “I’m not happy either, dear, but it’ll be quick, I promise.” “Hmph! Well, I’m at least getting the disc-” “Oh no, you don’t!” The god pulled the satyr away, just as he was reaching for the tree. “This forest isn’t ours - no climbing.” “Since when are there so many freaking limits?!” “That’s enough, Ampelos. Why don’t you go ram around or have a beauty contest with the others? I’ll be back in a few hours max.” Ampelos rolled his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and stomped back toward the group, leaving Dionysus to sigh and follow Hermes into the trees.

It wasn’t a few hours, let’s just say that. He returned in the morning, stepping into the camp and immediately looking for his pouty satyr. Except, he couldn’t find him anywhere. And why was everyone so tense? Why were they all staring at him like that? “Okay, I’m not dumb. What in the world happened? Where is Ampelos?” The younger satyrs immediately ducked behind the older ones, who solemnly gestured toward the tree. “Um, sir, you see-” The god didn’t bother listening. Ampelos was impulsive, sure, but not that impulsive. He’d told him he’d get the disc. Why did that trial have to take so long? Surely, he was fine. Just a broken horn, maybe, and now he was sulking out of embarrassment… But the sight before him shattered that hope. His beloved lay on the ground, blood pooling around his head. One of his horns was broken. The discus rested nearby, but worse - far worse - were those clouded eyes. That chest, still. Not rising an inch. The god fell to his knees beside him, frantic. Listening. Feeling. Searching for any sign of life. But the satyr’s body was already cold. Others gathered just close enough to hear him… and to see the purplish fire ignite in his eyes, to see horns begin to rise from his scalp, and to hear the growl tear from his throat. “What in Tartarus?! Why didn’t any of you stop him?!” “W-we tried, sir!” one maenad cried. “He… he wouldn’t listen! He said something about needing to be equal! We just - we couldn’t get to him before he-” She didn’t finish. Her voice broke into a scream as her mind clouded with maddness. The others backed away quickly. They had seen their god angry before, yes. But rarely like this - and never directed at them. The next few months were hellish for his followers. Dionysus, grief-stricken and unrelenting, unleashed the full weight of his fury on the world. And even after the rampage, after the wine god calmed and the blood dried- he still could not push away the deep, aching sorrow of losing Ampelos.

The gods were, at least, a little kind to him. Not much - Hades still wouldn’t allow Ampelos past the river to see his beloved. But they did help. They helped turn the few drops of blood the earth hadn’t swallowed into delicate, thriving wine shoots. They tried. But in the end, Ampelos had caused his own fate, hadn’t he? Even the gods have only so much compassion to give. Years passed. More satyrs, more maenads came and went, and the wine god wore his old persona like a half-forgotten mask. Nowadays, he was more often drunk than not, and he hadn’t let a single satyr serve him since Ampelos died. Unless he was too far gone to care, he kept to himself, tending to the vine born from his lover’s blood. Wallowing in that tragedy. Drinking, now and then, with Apollo, who wasn’t much better off. And then came [Reader]. A bold satyr. A very bold satyr. One who had never known Ampelos, had only heard whispers. But one thing he did know: the god whose troupe he had joined was exactly the kind of man he desired. The others warned him not to get too close. Not to touch sore wounds. But in stubbornness, he matched an actual goat. So, when yet another celebration came around, wine spilling and drums pounding, he wasn’t far behind his god.

Carrying a carafe of wine, the satyr approached the god whose goblet was already dry. He began pouring a cup. The god wouldn’t have spared a glance, if he hadn’t felt that it was a satyr. “Wasn’t I clear? Only maenads are to serve me.” “Oh, you were, sir. But how am I meant to stay away when the prize of the cult is right here...” He shot the satyr a sharp look. “Scram. If I were you, I’d stick to the orders you’re given.” “And if I were you, I’d lay off the wine.” A goblet flew in his direction within seconds. “Oh, did I strike a nerve, dear Wine King?” [Reader] teased before quickly blending into the crowd, leaving the god in awe. Normally, he’d probably be fuming. But he couldn’t bring himself to cast a single spell while watching the satyr dart through the others. If he finds out Aphrodite had her hands in this, he’s definitely going to sneak her some poisoned wine.

The next time they crossed paths was during one of the stops. Just like all those years ago, Dionysus was conversing with the older members, giving the younger ones space to burn off their energy while allowing some rest for the others. And, just like back then, the younger satyrs were ramming against each other, interlocking their horns as if in friendly sparring. Of course, [Reader] was right in the middle of it, making sure all his sparring matches happened right in front of the god, showing off his own body. His [Y/E/C] eyes shone with youthful fire, and his [Y/H/C] hair swayed around his head as he rammed his smaller horns against his partner’s. The god couldn’t lie and say the satyr in front of him wasn’t testing him. He was bold. And as we’ve learned, Dionysus loved boldness. Another ram sent [Reader]’s partner stumbling back, breaking out in laughter. [Reader] quickly followed, only to meet the god’s gaze. When he did, he immediately responded with a grin. Dionysus tensed, ready to send the satyr flying, but instead, [Reader] knelt before him. “Not a bad match, do you think, My God? If only not so exhausting.” Tension rippled through the others. Surely their god wouldn’t welcome this intrusion. “Not the worst match I’ve seen. And if you’re tired, there’s plenty of moss to lay your head on and rest.” “Moss is lovely, sir...” The satyr grinned, looking up at his ruler before laying his head upon the god’s thigh. “But I think I know of a better way.” By that point, all the followers backed up, thoroughly convinced this couldn’t end well. And Dionysus wanted to believe that too - but his heart was fluttering in a very familiar rhythm. He reached over, running his hands through the hair covering the satyr’s face. “...Well then, rest. But only this once...” From then on, after every match, [Reader] spent at least a little time with his head in the god’s lap. And neither of them seemed to mind.

Seeing how close they had become, even through the wall the god build around himself others eventually decided to tell [Reader] about the vine Dionysus cherished so much, about Ampelos, about the tree, everything. They assumed the satyr would pull away from the god, not wanting to reopen old wounds. Oh, how wrong they were. Dionysus was giving his cherished vine a much-needed trim when the satyr knelt next to him, picking up the shoots the god cut off. "What are you doing here, [Reader]? No sparring today?” “Some peaceful activities are in order,” the satyr answered, weaving the shoots into a crown. “Hm, wouldn’t have guessed it was something you’d do.” They stayed silent for most of the time. Dionysus expected [Reader] to be at least tense, but no… he was as relaxed as he could be. Did he actually feel safe around him? Dionysus knew [Reader] was probably as impulsive as Ampelos, but this? When the crown was finished, before Dionysus could get up, [Reader] reached out and placed it upon his head, starting to weave it into his hair. “…So you can have him close.” The god wasn’t surprised. He knew. He was sure others had already spoken about it a thousand times. “As long as the shoot lives, I have him close.” “He must have been absolutely extraordinary.” “He was.” “I hope I can reach that in something too.” “Huh?” The god looked at him in confusion. “Well, he was an extraordinary lover. Then I have to find something to match.” [Reader] answered the silent question. “You’re not trying to be a lover?” “There’s nothing I wish for more, my god. But I’m not him, am I? He was ever deserving of you, and you were ever deserving of him. I can’t compare.” “…No, you can’t. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a place as my lover.” [Reader] let out a somber chuckle that probably would have turned into a full laugh if the god hadn’t captured his lips in a soft, tender kiss. The satyr’s eyes widened in surprise, ready to pull away that second but the god didn’t let him. So he just leaned in, closed his eyes, hoping, praying this was true and not a wine-induced dream.

The bond they formed from there was fragile and needed almost constant maintenance. Thankfully, [Reader] was more than eager to provide it, whether through his usual bold teasing or his silent presence when his god’s grief became too much. Unaware, Dionysus began returning to his older self, the more carefree self. This change was most evident in the fact that he actually took to ramming with [Reader]. He didn’t show his horns often, but here it felt natural. Reader was bold, yes, but there was purpose behind that boldness - run away from his nightmare. That is, until they were playing a game and a discus ended up stuck in a tree. Without hesitation, Reader started climbing. “H-Huh?! No! Get down!” the god yelled. This couldn’t be happening. No! He couldn’t lose another! He was ready to let the shoots grab Reader, just ready to climb up and stop the satyr himself when- “Got it,” Reader called from the thick branches, throwing the discus down onto the soft moss. “H-Huh?! Okay, okay, just come down!” The panic betrayed the god, slipping into his tone. He was mortified watching the satyr balance on the branch. Reader started climbing down, clearly worryless, while the god approached the spot where they’d land. “I’m sorry... I acted on impuls-” Crack. His hoof slipped on the bark. He wasn’t high enough to seriously hurt himself yet, but Dionysus immediately gripped his waist and pulled him close. Neither moved. Neither wanted to. One out of fear, the other out of guilt. “Am I even worth the panic?” “You’re worth every tremble.” It would still take work. One was inexperienced and the other was still a mess. But they were both worth the change to the other. By now, being near [Reader] had become as important to Dionysus as keeping the shoot alive

#x reader #y/n #greek gods #greek mythology #ancient greek #dionysus #dionysos #dionysus x reader #dionysus x ampelos #ampelos #greek mythology x reader #x y/n #x you #mlm #gay pride #pride

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uzumaki-rebellion · 1 year ago

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"King Killmonger: The Golden Jaguar" Chapter 11

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

"They're calling me, back to the stars

Deep out of space, they're calling me

Back to the stars

They found peace in the ocean (peace with the pain)

Now they guide my way, guide my way…"

Meshell N'Degeocello—"Virgo"

The Royal Talon Fighter approached the opening of Warrior Falls.

Okoye and Ayo scanned a twenty mile radius before flying over the valley of gushing water walls to the other side.

"Kumkani, I've found the hover bike…"

Ayo glanced over at the king who sat in a pensive position behind her. Okoye flew the aircraft lower to the base of the Falls as N'Jadka stood next to Ayo and looked at the viewscreen that projected the image of a broken hover bike floating in an undertow where it was caught between two boulders.

"No signs of Queen Yani," Ayo said with a soft tone.

N'Jadaka's jaguar suit swarmed around him and he tapped the opening of the circular floor exit. He dropped eighty feet and splashed into a deep plunge pool of cold black water. Below the surface he scanned for signs of life around the bike before dragging it onto land. A flash of pink caught his eye and he lunged for it in the water.

Yani's walking shoe. It was drenched and unmarked, unlike the damaged hover bike. She had to have fallen trying to fly over the giant falls. He quelled the rise in panic in his demeanor. She was alive somewhere. He willed it.

Okoye's voice broke through his reverie, loud and clear inside his face mask.

"There are no other traces of anything. That is a good sign," Okoye said.

N'Jadaka dove below and searched underwater. Yani had a strong body. If she were injured somewhere he would find her. He scanned for her kimoyo beads thinking they may have been snapped away from her wrist, but there was nothing.

Breeching the surface he leaped onto the land and surveyed the surroundings. Okoye and Ayo dropped down from the gravity tracking beam. Aneka stood watch over the Talon Fighter. High above, stinger aircrafts circled the sky.

"Kumkani…here…" Ayo said.

Footprints in the moist earth. He recognized the pattern of her sandals. The king gave a grateful sigh of relief. His wife was alive and somewhere out there searching for God knew what. It wasn't like her to disappear like that without telling him where she was. He stared at the height from which she fell and all the dangers that could've swallowed her up. Was she under the influence of something? Did someone…or something lure her away? He remembered the panther cubs he couldn't see back in Ekuqaleni. Did they trick her into coming here?

Worry knotted his brow.

Wakanda was still a wondrous and mysterious place to them both. Anything could've happened to her.

"Come on," he said.

They followed Yani's tracks until they came upon two more that were bigger compared to hers. They made deeper impressions in the mud and directly faced Yani's footprints. Men. She followed them willingly because there was no sign of struggle in the area.

They scanned and tracked until the ground changed into grasslands and decomposing leaves. The grass was so thick like shag carpet that it didn't even bend to give an indication of what direction they went.

"They're gone…can't find anymore markings," Ayo said, crestfallen.

"She's gotta be around here somewhere. Let's spread out for a mile and check in," He tapped his kimoyo bead, "Aneka, contact Dr. Chidubem discreetly and have him flown here in case the Queen has major injuries."

"Yes kumkani, right away," Aneka said in his earbuds.

N'Jadaka shook out his arms and charged into the mountain forest on high alert.

He had to find his wife and return her to his side.

Warm balmy water cascaded all over Yani's body as she stepped through the birth waters. The entrance of the oracle's cave hummed and vibrated and the sounds made her jumpy. Passing through to the other side led her to the tranquil natural pool of glowing turquoise waters with steam rising from it.

"You made it Queen Yani."

Yani recognized the voice of Jabulile.

The woman was dressed in a long green robe like the men that brought Yani there. She was alone and holding a folded royal blue robe.

"Please bathe in these waters, from head to toe. I will help you put on this robe when you are finished," Jabulile said.

"Where are the other two women that were with you?" Yani asked.

"With Nolwandle…the oracle. They are waiting for you in the interior of the womb. Please kumkanikazi…bathe."

Jabulile turned her back to give Yani privacy as she willingly stripped down. She dipped a toe in the water first, and it wasn't too hot. Submerging herself, she gave into the heat and liquid comfort. The water smelled like sweet perfumes and tingled all over her skin. Dunking her head below, she quickly rubbed herself down. The water reflected against the ceiling and walls of the cave. She noticed inscriptions written in a language other than Wakandan, with pictographs depicting waves and sea creatures painted with neon blue paint. Some images were carved into the walls and looked older and eroded in some places. The bandage on her wrist fell away, and so did the dull ache of pain she carried since the Falls.

Stepping out of the pool, Yani looked for a towel.

Jabulile turned around and unfurled the robe she carried.

"No need to dry yourself, put this on quickly…here, I'll take those bandages for you. Follow me this way please…"

Yani trailed behind Jabulile. The light source used to illuminate their way couldn't be pinpointed by Yani. The cave floor was soft black sand that didn't seem to belong to that particular ecosystem. Her robe swished at her feet and stuck to the wet parts of her body, contouring itself like a designer dress. They walked through a purple mist that swiped across her skin like spiderwebs breaking across her face and body. She waved her hands around only to find that it was a sensation only…nothing was on her skin.

Her eardrums throbbed with the pounding of the drums…no…they couldn't be drums. The two young women who had drums were too far away to emit the sound she heard right then. Yani tuned in closer and realized the sound was a heartbeat, as if the cave was a living thing pumping its heart in a soothing rhythm.

Strange.

Yani walked a normal rate of speed, but her body felt like it was slowing down.

"We are almost there Queen Yani," Jabulile said.

Jabulile's voice sounded far away, the way it would if Yani were deep underwater listening to speech high above her head. Her heart thumped faster and she inhaled air through her mouth to calm down her fear.

They reached a narrow opening where the two women Yani asked about, Khanyisile and Nolwazi, stood watch holding torches. Both women smiled, relief evident on their faces.

"Go through there and you will find her," Jabulile said.

The passageway was dark and had only enough room for one person to pass through at a time.

"By myself?" Yani asked.

All three women nodded.

"Do not be afraid Queen Yani. Mama Wati protects you," Nolwazi said.

Yani shook her fingers and stepped past the women into the foreboding passage. Darkness swallowed her and she heard her own breathing speed up. Claustrophobia threatened to paralyze her from moving on, but she swallowed thickly and mustered the courage to keep walking, even as her shoulders hit the sides of the unseen walls. Step by step. Inch by inch. Yani staggered through thirty yards of pitch black until her cone and rod cells worked again to detect light and movement ahead.

Her eyes adjusted.

A woman with skin the color of freshly made Jamaican black castor oil sat crosscrossed on a bright green rug with painted sea turtles and stingrays. Her hair was wrapped in a large seagreen headwrap and her neck was heavy with seashell necklaces and sun-yellow glass beads. She could've been thirty, or she could've been seventy, it was anyone's guess with Wakandan people. They aged gracefully and seemingly slow. Bright eyes the color of glowing jade in the center and dark amber at the edges peered at her with a welcome kindness.

"Queen Yani Udaku of the Black Panther Tribe…and the unofficial adopted daughter of the River Tribe…I welcome you home. Sit…right there…in front of me," the Oracle Nolwandle said.

Yani crossed her legs on the long green rug facing the oracle. Nolwandle sat and stared at Yani's face until the young queen squirmed her hips.

"You look the way my emissaries said you did…youthful and full of energy. Very beautiful. The king loves beauty I hear," Nolwandle said.

The oracle's unnatural jade-powered gaze pierced through Yani's defenses of trying to appear stoic and queenly. Sitting in front of her made Yani feel like a young child chatting with her grandmother.

"King N'Jadaka's energy can be felt all throughout the kingdom. He carries his ancestors well. They are strong on the other side. The king is on his way now to retrieve you. I can feel his worry over you."

"I don't want him to worry," Yani said.

"There is apprehension in your voice my queen. Mama Wati wants you to be at ease here."

"It's hard…I don't know what to expect…I don't know what to do…"

"Ease…my queen…breathe in deep…"

Yani inhaled and Nolwandle urged her to do more. Behind the oracle, a small fire burned inside a stone fireplace. To the oracle's left side was a wide opening in the cave that led to a river of water not found on any Wakandan map. A pile of stones held another fire that lit up the roof of the cave leading out into the open water where other large mountains touched one another leaving gaps for water to flow past. Part of the walls shined like the sparkling emerald water reflecting shimmery images dancing on the walls. The interior felt dark, warm and mysterious and the waterway hinted at sunshine and an upperworld.

"Breathe…yes…deeply…slowly…"

Nolwandle reached behind her and lifted a bundle of herbs tied with bright white string. She tossed them into the fire and it sparkled and puffed out dark blue smoke.

"Breathe daughter…yes…deeper still…allow the smoke to enter your lungs."

"Are you drugging me…it feels thick in my chest…" Yani gasped, clutching her throat.

"I am opening the path for us to travel. Mama Wati will partially lift the veil for you to receive the message meant for you…"

"I can't breathe…I'm having a hard time…oracle! Help me…I can't!" Yani choked out.

"The message is coming, daughter. Mama Wati has opened the veil…"

The unseen presence of an entity larger than the cave itself came first.

It its wake was a pressure, like an ocean's weight of water pressing down on Yani's body, threatening to flatten her. The pressure in her ears changed too. She clutched at her throat and yet Nolwandle remained calm, her lips moving but no sound coming out.

The presence wrapped itself all over the cave and a roar thundered in Yani's ears. She looked toward the placid water outside and a mammoth ocean wave rolled toward her in slow motion. Yani couldn't move, her lower body locked to the ground helpless and unprotected. She could still mover her head though.

"Nolwandle!" Yani shouted.

Yani glanced at the oracle again and the woman's head fell back. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth stayed wide open. Yani whipped her head to brace herself for when the wave would hit them, but it was gone. The opening was covered in a tranquil water barrier that made the outside scenery look blurry, fluid, and dreamy.

"Yani…"

A voice behind the water barrier came out of the oracle's mouth. Confused, Yani looked at Nolwandle again. Her mouth stayed agape and frozen in that position.

"Yani…JaJa's wife…"

Yani heard the voice come from the oracle, but it sounded like it was behind the water barrier too, as if it bounced out to use the oracle as its frequency to the human world. The queen rose from her seated position and walked toward the barrier. The shadowy outside world was there, rippling behind the veil.

Two figures walked forward.

Yani held her breath and waited until they stood before her. One was older and the other younger. Her breath hitched in her chest and she stumbled back, unable to believe her eyes.

The younger woman had fiery brown eyes and big ginger hair that crowned her head like a giant sunburst. Yani recognized the same freckles her son had. The older woman was shorter with an exquisite face etched with wisdom that matched the younger woman. Her hair was looser in texture and had faded streaks of light brown mixed in with white that was cornrowed in four thick braids going straight back. Yani knew right away the two women were related. Long pearl-white tunics shrouded their bodies.

"You know who I am. Don't you?" the younger woman said.

Yani nodded.

"Califia Stevens Udaku…N'Jadaka's mother."

"Yes…this is JaJa's great-grandmother, Nana Jean."

"Hello, ma'am," Yani said, instantly genuflecting to them both.

Nana Jean laughed and Califia joined her. The older woman held up a hand.

"We are family baby, you don't bow to us," Nana Jean said.

The presence pushed down on the cave and the water barrier vibrated, blurring the women from Yani's view.

"Califia!" Yani shouted.

Their images shimmered back into view seconds later. Yani wiped frantic tears away from her eyes, so terrified her mother-in-law and great-grandmother-in-law had vanished. Califia held her hand against the barrier. Yani raised hers to try and touch it. The cool blue kinetic liquid would not allow them to connect.

"I wish I could comfort you, Yani. Mama Wati has warned us. Bast is awake inside of my son. I'll have to speak quickly before we lose contact," Califia said.

Yani was spellbound by Califia, the woman's beauty staggered the imagination. She carried a vibrant charisma that was like N'Jadaka's times ten. No wonder Prince N'Jobu stayed away from his home and defied a nation. Califia was priceless.

"You're going to conceive a baby who is so important that they'll have the power to split the world into pieces in the future. I apologize having to sound so cryptic but I'm breaking so many rules to be here with you. I took what I could decipher from the realm of time in the spirit world with my limited understanding. Although I'm an ancestor now, Bast still shrouds us from telling humans too much."

"When?" Yani asked.

"Soon...two or three years at most from what little I could decipher from the time threads. A man is also coming there who will challenge my son for the world. I need for you to survive the war they may wage—"

"More war? In Wakanda?"

"War all over the world. You're the key to preventing their battle from consuming JaJa. If anything happens to that baby or you…my son will burn the world down and the future will become bleak for everyone on the planet even more than it is. Your baby must survive at all costs in order to claim their birthright and keep Wakanda secure years from now. That child will turn the nation into an empire. No matter the cost, it must happen!"

Califia stepped closer to the veil, unable to penetrate it. Her voice came from behind Yani through the oracle's mouth, but Yani focused on Califia's face.

"My son has lost too much in this world. I don't want him suffering again if I can warn you. I couldn't come to him because Bast would block me directly, so I had to come for you through Mama Wati," Califia said.

"I understand. I'll do all I can to protect our baby."

"Not just the one to come, but Riki and Joba too."

"Riki and Joba? What's going to happen to them?" Yani yelped.

The cave vibrated with the force of an earthquake. Califia and Nana Jean glanced behind them. Worry clouded their faces.

"Nothing will happen if you can prevent it," Califia said.

Nana Jean became agitated and looked over her shoulder again.

"We should leave now, Cali…Dayclean is coming," Nana Jean said, grabbing Califia's arm, pulling her back from the veil.

Califia gently patted her grandmother's hand, stood her ground, and locked eyes with Yani.

"Joba and Riki will be the ones to help the baby become what she needs to be in order to rule the future. But that future will face turmoil if none of them live once a foretold prophecy begins at your pregnancy. When Namor returns, be ready Yani. This is all I have to give you," Califia said.

"Namor," Yani repeated, searing the name into her mind.

"You must stay away from him…you and the children—"

"Califia!"

The booming voice of a distraught man flew out of the oracle's mouth making Yani jump. He appeared next to them in a long white tunic.

N'Jobu.

N'Jadaka's father.

Seeing N'Jadaka's parents together knocked Yani's knees. Never would she have dreamed of seeing them alive and looking so well from the other side. N'Jobu turned his kind eyes toward Yani.

"My daughter…Yani…you shouldn't be here with my wife or Nana Jean. Certain knowings belong to Bast, and only her. What you have heard is forbidden knowledge to that existence there. Your life must be lived with my son and grandchildren in ignorance," N'Jobu gently urged.

Califia shook her head and challenged her husband.

"No! I won't let that happen this time. Our son deserves happiness. Too much was stolen from him and I refuse to let anything be taken from him again. I don't care if I have to go against Bast or any other god to protect them."

N'Jobu put his arms around Califia. Her voiced raged from the oracle's open throat. N'Jobu's somber tone brought levity to Yani's predicament. Califia had gone above and beyond from the ancestral plane to reach her family. Her love bled through the water barrier and cloaked Yani with its comfort and legendary warrior spirit. Her willingness to defy gods was a trait Yani hoped she could live up to for her own babies.

N'Jobu gently scolded his wife.

"You have stolen free-will and burdened our daughter with fear and more confusion. That isn't fair to Yani. Now she will worry about our family needlessly," N'Jobu said.

The cave vibrated with the presence yet again. Mama Wati's collusion was weakening. N'Jobu held his wife lovingly as Nana Jean watched over them both.

"We must go back my love…please. JaJa will live a glorious life…"

"His children—"

"—will live out their destinies, whatever they will be, without interference from now on. Let them be…let them have their own lives. We are always here for them as a comfort and a reminder that life doesn't end at death."

"Yani," Califia said, still reaching for her daughter-in-law.

"You see death for us? Me and the children?" Yani asked.

Califia clutched at her temples and her mouth twisted into a horrid grimace. She appeared to be full of pain.

"Bast is jumbling up my mind…she's stealing the future threads from me…" Califia wailed.

"Califia!" N'Jobu cried out, grabbing her by the waist to keep her from falling.

A dark foreboding shadow loomed over them behind the veil in the shape of an enormous panther stalking tiny prey.

Bast.

"Forgive her Bast! Please!" N'Jobu shouted.

Bast's dark shadow scattered and floated away. Califia closed her eyes. Yani did the same as something slithery, warm, and invasive cleaved to her temporal lobe. The words of warning Califia gave her were plucked from her gray matter one by one until nothing was left. Yani struggled to grab onto anything, her brain synapses crackling with electrical impulses to store and hide any morsel. She was able to hold onto two words, and only because she sensed a benevolent shield from Mama Wati to allow her to grasp onto anything her mother Bast had culled from her mortal skull.

"It's gone, all of it. I can no longer see it," Califia said in a defeated tone.

Yani blanked out mentally as Bast swiped her mind clean too.

Nana Jean cradled Califia's face and N'Jobu nuzzled his nose against her cheek, comforting her. Soft footfalls from behind Yani captured her attention.

"Mom, Baba…"

N'Jadaka strode into the cavern with a shocked expression. Califia perked up and clung to N'Jobu's arm as she gazed at her beloved son.

"JaJa…your wife is fine. I needed to see her to tell her…." Califia glanced around trying to remember her thoughts.

N'Jadaka reached for Yani and pulled her into his chest.

"Thank the gods you're safe," he huffed into her hair. He kissed the top of her head and rocked her in his arms.

"I'm sorry I tricked you…I had to come. Your mother needed me."

N'Jadaka faced his parents. Their eyes shined bright with love for their only child. N'Jobu held Califia's hand.

"Nana?" N'Jadaka said, stepping closer to the water barrier to see his great-grandmother.

Nana Jean grinned. She swelled with pride at seeing her great-grandson as a grown man.

"Look at you… so big and handsome like your father. You did everything to hold onto our bond…my sweet great-grandson," Nana Jean said.

Pressure popped in Yani's ear. N'Jadaka experienced it too and winced like her.

"Leave here quickly son. You two aren't meant to be here like this. Your mother has been forceful as usual," N'Jobu said.

The water barrier rippled and the images behind the veil began to cloud and fade.

"Watch over each other, JaJa…love one another at all times," N'Jobu said.

N'Jadaka rushed the barrier and called to his mother. Califia gazed at him with a mixture of adoration and longing.

"Mom, why did you come to Yani?"

Califia's gaze fell upon Yani. The presence in the cave began to lift. N'Jobu tugged on Califia and Nana Jean to follow him back from where they came.

"Bast stole the memory from me, JaJa. I had it and she took it away. Yani, whatever I told you, hold onto it. I may never get to reach out like this again, but I want you both to know I tried my best to make life there good for you," Califia said. She gave N'Jadaka a winsome smile. "Take care of each other JaJa. We love you," Califia said.

Her voice sounded weary.

"Mom…Baba…wait…"

"We must go back, son. Feel us in your heart as always," N'Jobu said.

Nana Jean pressed her forehead against the barrier. N'Jadaka lined his forehead with hers and pressed against it.

"You have done well, JaJa. We are here with you at all times," Nana Jean said.

Califia blew Yani and N'Jadaka kisses and the water barrier snapped into a blurry whirlpool of foamy water. Yani turned to look at the oracle. The woman stayed in the same odd position with her eyes closed and mouth open.

"I soon come, Mama…Baba…"

A soft childlike voice came out of the oracle's mouth. It sounded like a toddler just learning to speak. It gave Yani chills, but not as much as seeing her body still sitting crossed legged in front of Nolwandle…with N'Jadaka sitting right next to her in the same position. Yani glanced back as a loud rumbling whooshing sound reverberated around them. The water barrier transformed itself into another mighty wave. It moved backward in slow motion beyond the mountain barrier. A strong force knocked Yani in her solar plexus and she gasped, finding herself punched back into her corporeal body still sitting cross-legged and staring at Nolwandle. The oracle's head fell forward and she closed her mouth, exhausted from the ordeal. Perspiration dotted her forehead and soaked her clothes. Her once glowing jade eyes had become a delicate dark brown since Mama Wati released her as a vessel.

N'Jadaka shook himself back into their side of the veil. Tears rested on his lids and Yani moved onto her knees and hugged him.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…" Yani said repeatedly.

"It's okay. I found you and you're safe. You left for a good reason if my parents and great-grandmother sent for you."

Nolwandle shifted to her knees and bowed her head low to the ground, holding her folded hands toward N'Jadaka.

"I beg your forgiveness, kumkani. I was directed by Mama Wati that your mother and great-grandmother wished to see the queen. I am a mere servant of the divine. My intention was not to maliciously trick you or your wife but to service the needs of your ancestors," Nolwandle said with fear laced in her tone.

N'Jadaka looked Yani over.

"Did you hurt yourself? You fell didn't you?"

"Yes," Yani said. "I may have fractured my wrist, but it feels better."

"I sent for Dr. Chidubem. He's on his way here to look you over."

Yani turned to the oracle.

"Thank you, Nolwandle. I appreciate everything you had to go through to help me."

"Blessings to you, Queen Yani. I pray that the message you received is one that will please you and prepare you for what is to come."

Yani shook her head in disappointment.

"I'm afraid I made this journey for nothing and your body suffered needlessly. Bast took away my memory of the message. Mortals can't know the future."

"Baby, it's okay," N'Jadaka said trying to soothe her depressed mood.

"I have been instructed to prepare the queen's body by Mama Wati."

"What are you going to do?" N'Jadaka asked.

Nolwandle stood and shuffled over to the fire where she lifted two wooden bowls. She brought them to Yani and placed them on the rug. She pulled a small stool out and planted herself in front of the queen.

"May I?" Nolwandle asked, pointing to Yani's damp robe.

Yani nodded and Nolwandle opened it wide revealing the queen's nakedness. Lifting a brush from the first bowl, the oracle painted a ring of blue waves around Yani's belly button that soaked into her skin like a tattoo marking. She then switched bowls and painted a different ring of twisty swirls in light green around the first ring.

"There. When you return to your honeymoon time, rub oil over them every night. The color will soak into the pigment of your skin deeper. This is your talisman, Queen Yani. Mama Wati has marked you as one of her own. When the time comes these markings will reveal their true intent. Walk out of this womb of the world with your purpose intact."

Yani clutched the oracle's hands.

"I heard a voice come out of you…a young voice…a child."

"I can only transmit, not translate what is for your ears only, kumkanikazi," Nolwandle said.

Yani's lips turned down in disappointment.

"It was our baby," N'Jadaka said.

He stroked Yani's hand. She stared at him.

"My parents came to me after their funeral ceremony…that time I was late coming to the repast at your lake front home…when we were apart. My mom said I had a child coming that I had to show a lot of grace to because she would need it. I felt the energy in that voice when I heard it, Yani. That was our child…speaking to us."

Yani trembled and lowered her head, the knowledge unnerving her. To hear her baby's voice before she was even planted in her womb or even born yet astounded her. The child called to her.

I soon come.

Yani slumped into N'Jadaka's arms and cried. All her fear and worry about the journey to Warrior Falls jolted her emotions. His parents loved her. Watched over her and their grandbabies. His great-grandmother knew who she was and came to bear witness in defiance of a deity. She wept and her husband held her in his warmth and understanding.

N'Jadaka tied the robe back around her and guided Yani away from the oracle. Her wrist felt a little tender, but the pool water helped her endure the slight discomfort longer.

"You go through first," N'Jadaka said when they reached the dark passageway again.

Yani walked through with assured steps. She was proud that she completed her task. Even prouder that N'Jadaka's amazing mother reached out for her, trusting that Yani would heed her words one hundred per cent without hesitation. She waited for the king to join her out of the passageway and they met Okoye and Ayo waiting for them with the three women emissaries.

"Thank you, Jabulile, Khanyisile and Nolwazi," Yani said.

The three woman bowed low to her and N'Jadaka. They passed through to the outside and the two Uyakhusela's greeted them.

"Peaceful journeys to you both," the men said in unison.

The Doras walked ahead of them and N'Jadaka clasped Yani's hand tight and kept them in one spot out of earshot of their security. He exhales softly.

"I'm blessed and happy you got to see them…speak to them."

"Is Bast furious?" Yani said, ready to shrink back into the forest if the goddess set a bush on fire or struck her down with a plague.

N'Jadaka touched his chest and closed his eyes.

"Displeased. But not with you. Mama Wati is her daughter and they have to deal with their family squabbles on that side of the spiritual plane," he joked.

He touched her wrist and looked it over.

"Does it hurt when I touch it?"

"Not as much as before."

"Crazy girl," he teased

He tapped his kimoyo beads.

"Aneka, come get us. You have my coordinates," he said.

"Dr. Chidubem will be arriving soon," Aneka said.

"We'll meet him halfway," he said.

N'Jadaka brought Yani to an open clearing and the Royal Talon Fighter lifted them up high into air. They flew for an hour and stopped halfway to their destination when a quad stinger arrived ferrying Dr. Chidubem to them. He took Yani to the back of the Talon Fighter and injected her wrist with nano bots that stitched her fractured wrist back together. She swallowed painkillers to dull down a fading ache. Dr. Chidubem's short graying locs reminded Yani of Baba Z.

"You'll be good as new in no time Queen Yani."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought," she said.

"Hairline fracture."

They thanked the doctor and bid him farewell after he pumped Yani full of vitamins and electrolytes for good measure. It didn't take long to get back to Umbono Lake and their peaceful houseboat.

Alone once more, N'Jadaka pampered Yani, feeding her a hearty lunch and insisting that she rest after a long warm shower. He rubbed almond oil on her scalp and slathered fresh cocoa and coffee butter all over her naked form, paying special attention to the new markings on her belly. She slipped on a bikini afterward.

"That paint is like ink," Yani said, rubbing her shiny belly.

N'Jadaka made them tea and snuggled with her in their loft bed. The boat gently rocked with the small wind currents. Intense relief rested her husband's body as he held her against him tight. He had been frightened without her being with him. That man could face any evil killer or terrorist without blinking an eye, but not having her near was his only true weakness.

She caressed his face.

"We heard our baby," she said.

His eyes glinted with unshed tears.

"We did," he said.

"We'll have to prepare—"

N'Jadaka took his index finger and held it over Yani's lips.

"I don't want you thinking about anything but getting well and resting. We have a honeymoon to enjoy and I want to live it up without prepping for another baby."

"What? This coming from the man who gets aroused simply thinking about putting a baby in me every time we make love?"

N'Jadaka gave a sly cheesy grin.

"Yeah…I want to make another baby…but…actually hearing the voice of my future daughter reminds me that we'll have four kids to raise. Thinking of it as a hypothetical was cool, but shit switches up when you hear your child's voice. Damn…like my daughter spoke to me. Half of her is still in my nutsack and the other half is still in your ovary…that shit is crazy. Yo, Ma…the fuck? We livin' in wild times girl."

N'Jadaka laughed and his eyes became shiny with the wonderment of it all.

Yani's gaze darted away from N'Jadaka's well-meaning focus. She saw things through the oracle that regular people would never experience. Gods, ancestors, and spiritual realms could come and go in her new world. She heard the voice of her baby, and the unborn child sounded confident and sure. A little girl, too. A girl who would grow up loved beyond measure by her parents and siblings. Something had to be very special about her if Mama Wati permitted her to speak to them from the other side. And just maybe, it was the reason Califia felt it so urgent to seek out Yani without Bast's permission.

Was this how Mary felt when the archangel came to her and said she would birth Jesus?

Yani shook her head at the sacrilege she skirted with her heavy Christian upbringing. Who was she to compare her unborn baby to Jesus. Thee Jesus from the bible.

And yet…

A goddess came for her and opened up a holy realm for Yani to speak to the dead and to also hear an unborn baby. This was the stuff that prophets wrote in holy scripture. Was she not a child of Mama Wati? Wasn't that what the oracle said?

God put her on the path to have that baby with N'Jadaka.

Yani stared out of the window at the water. A slight pressure on the back of her head toggled something loose in the deepest recesses of her mind.

She remembered two things from Califia. Two things Mama Wati hid from Bast in Yani's mind to keep it from totally slipping away.

Prophecy.

And a name.

Namor.

Yani put everything together quickly. Their unborn daughter had to be fulfilling a prophecy Califia had come to tell her about. But the name? Namor. It felt familiar in Yani's gut, and it most definitely gave her a shudder throughout her body thinking about it. A residual reminder of its importance maybe…or a warning. Something hidden and sticky in her mind would not let her forget that name. It sat on her tongue inside a tightly closed mouth. If she just mentioned the name to N'Jadaka, maybe he could help her figure out the meaning of it. N'Jadaka stroked her cheek.

"I can see you fretting about something from the cave," he said.

She nodded, knowing she could never hide anything from him. Not even her private thoughts. Her emotions welled up deep inside. She witnessed a profound gift and it still lingered over her.

"Baby…don't cry. That shit messes me up when you do."

Her lips trembled and she shut her eyes tight.

"Your mother was so beautiful. And your Dad…he was so sweet and kind, so royal…and your Nana…she loves you all over," Yani said.

N'Jadaka broke out into a delighted smile, even as happy tears leaked from his eyes.

"I'm happy for you, Yani. I wished they could be here to meet you, and Mama Wati made it happen. A part of me even thinks Bast let it happen because, trust me baby, Bast does not play."

"She seemed so angry to me."

"Or maybe she needed you to feel that anger out of love to leave well enough alone. This world we live in now, nothing is ever what it seems on first glance. All of this was your journey Yani. Do with it what you want."

"I remember only two things your mother told me. I want to say them to you. If you don't want to hear them because Bast may act out, I'll respect your choice."

N'Jadaka gathered his own thoughts by gazing out at the water.

"My mother told me I was going to live a long and glorious life. That means that you and our children are with me because that is my blessing. Nothing can change that if she said it," he said.

Yani rose from lying on his chest and held his hands in hers.

"Do you want to know the words and what I think they mean?" she asked.

"Tell me."

"Prophecy. I think our daughter is going to fulfill the prophecy of the River Tribe. It only makes sense as to why Califia would do what she did to speak to me. She wanted us to get ready for her. That baby has to be special, destined for some greater purpose in the future."

"I'm down with that. Mom did ask me to be ready for her before."

"Okay…the next thing. Namor."

Yani studied her husband's face carefully. His eyes seemed to bulge in their sockets when she said it, and his entire frame went rigid.

"You know that name," Yani said.

"My mother said, Namor?"

"Yes."

N'Jadaka stared through Yani as if he was watching something of great importance play out.

"Who is that person?"

"A mutant I met some time ago. A dangerous person who rules an empire under the sea," he said.

The word "empire" tipped something in Yani's mind, but it shambled away before she could hold it for closer introspection.

"I think those two things are connected somehow. I wish Bast hadn't wiped everything away in my head."

N'Jadaka stood and cracked his knuckles. His concentration lingered outside. The sky was a beautiful azure with not a cloud in sight. He glanced back at Yani.

"Namor's name can't be spoken outside of us, Yani. I'm upholding an agreement that King T'Chaka made with him thirty years ago."

"You've met him?"

"I have. He looks human, but he has wings on his feet and flies. His strength is ten times of any human and he can breathe underwater and on land. He and his people have killed thousands to keep their existence hidden. They also have vibranium."

Yani jumped off the bed.

"How?" Yani asked.

N'Jadaka sat back down on the bed and Yani planted herself next to him.

"Well, it fell from the sky. Apparently a chunk of it broke off hitting our atmosphere and some of it landed in the ocean near where he is from. They call themselves the Talokanil. Namor's true name is K'uk'ulkan. It means Feather Serpent God in their language. He and his people have powers that…well, just imagine every person in Wakanda having the powers of the Black Panther. That's how powerful they are. We don't even know how many of his people live down there. I've got enough problems dealing with motherfuckers on land, I don't need no shit starting with an unknown entity like that. Hell, there might be more mutants down there with him."

"That's it then. That's what your mother wanted me to know. Namor and our baby are tied together somehow."

"I hope to Bast they aren't. We don't need that smoke coming our way. Humans I can deal with. I've whooped alien ass and plenty of warlords…but Namor. I will continue to act like he doesn't exist."

He wiped the creases in her forehead away.

"Don't worry your pretty head about nothing Yani. We make the future we want, especially with that new little one waiting on us," he said.

He sounded confident. Yani believed him. He rested the side of his face against hers.

"If my mom is aware of Namor then I will be vigilant in keeping him far from Wakanda. Nothing can harm us if my mother and great-grandmother are looking out for us."

Yani touched her stomach. She and N'Jadaka traced their fingers on the colorful blue and green designs.

"How about we call the three munchkins we already have?" he suggested.

Yani tapped her beads quickly, yearning to see her royal brood. She leaned into her husband before the children's images popped above her wrist.

"I'm truly so sorry I scared you," she said.

"It's over and done with. I have you back. We're good, Yani."

"Hi Mama! Hi Baba! Look how Auntie Twyla did my hair today," Sydette said, twirling around showing off her artfully braided hair.

"She did mine too!" Joba chimed in, touching the braided tips of her long tresses.

"Looks nice, girls," N'Jadaka said.

Riki stared at them with a grumpy look on his face. His hair was braided in the same style as Joba's and Sydette's.

"You don't like your cornrows, Dumpling?" Yani asked.

"Auntie always does our hair all the same. A prince should have a different style," Riki grumbled.

Sydette ran her fingers over his hair that touched down to his shoulder blades.

"It's getting so long and he's mad because his friends said he looks like a princess," Sydette teased.

Riki rolled his eyes.

"I like your hair long, Dumpling," Yani insisted.

"Baba's hair is long too," Joba said, trying to encourage her brother to like his braids.

"Mama, what's that on your stomach?" Sydette asked.

Yani looked past her bikini top, forgetting she was resting in a swimsuit.

"I'm trying out some body art," Yani said.

Sydette looked at Yani's stomach and then waved her hand at Joba and Riki.

"Go get your sketch pads…you both left them on the desk," Sydette said.

Joba and Riki scampered off and returned holding up their separate sketch pads.

"Mama, look," Joba said, "your body art looks like this," Joba said.

"And this," Riki said with surprise in his voice.

Yani and N'Jadaka looked at the pictures closely, then stared at one another.

"When did you make those?" N'Jadaka asked.

"Yesterday," Joba said.

"Before we went to Umama's suite," Riki added.

Joba's picture, drawn with the careful flourishes she was known for doodling when designing her fairy garden looks, was an exact match of Yani's blue body waves. Riki's drawing was close to a perfect match of the green swirls of the outer ring.

"Have you drawn anything like that before?" N'Jadaka asked them.

"Is something wrong?" Joba asked, sensing the odd tone of her father's voice.

"No, I'm just amazed that you both created something like this so similar to Mama's marking."

"The green lady showed us how to do it," Riki said, looking over his own design on his mother's belly.

"The green lady?" Yani asked.

"Yes, Umama took us to the museum yesterday," Joba said, "We had our sketch books with us. Riki and I saw her sitting on the floor in front of a painting we were trying to copy with our new art pens, and she showed us how to make this instead," Joba said.

"Why do you call her the green lady?" N'Jadaka asked.

Joba shrugged. "She had on all green…and her eyes were kinda green too. She said that the waves and swirls are symbols used to represent the ocean in Birnin S'Yan…that was the painting we were trying to copy. It had a big ocean wave. Umama wanted us to see it since it's a very famous painting in Birnin Zana. It's called "The Mother of Waters" and was made in 1546. See?"

Joba swiped the image of the oil painting for her parents to see.

"Holy Bast," N'Jadaka said.

Yani covered her mouth. She recognized the wave. It looked exactly like the one that rolled into Warrior Falls. The one that brought the water barrier and allowed Califia to see them.

"Well, that is some amazing work you two. Sydette did you sketch anything?" Yani said, trying to move the conversation elsewhere. Riki and Joba began to look concerned about their sketches and the way their parents looked at them.

"No, I was trying my hand at photography. Umama let me wander and practice lighting and shadow techniques. She was my subject for most of my pictures. I have some very nice ones she wants to frame."

"That's super cool, Sweet Pea," N'Jadaka said.

"Can't wait to see you all," Yani said.

"Will we get to wear body art too?" Sydette asked.

"Maybe," Yani said.

"We'll call you guys back in a couple of days, okay?" N'Jadaka said.

All three children nodded and blew their parents kisses before winking out. Yani stood in front of N'Jadaka.

"It had to be an avatar. There's no way the oracle could've been in Birnin Zana yesterday. Sydette didn't say that she saw anyone and no Dora would let a stranger approach our children like that," Yani said.

"I wouldn't put it past my mother to try and reach our children. They were meant to know these symbols too."

"They didn't seem scared at all."

"Not until they read our body language and the tone of our voices," he said.

N'Jadaka pulled back the covers and helped her get into bed once more.

"More rest for you," he said.

"Everything will be okay, won't it?"

"It will, baby...it will. No god would bring us this far and let us lose what we have now."

Yani accepted his doting on her for the rest of the night. She closed her eyes and knew she could face anything with Califia Stevens Udaku in their corner from the ancestral plane. Tucking Namor into a faraway nook in her memory bank, the Queen of Wakanda slumbered well.

And so did her husband.

Chapter 12 HERE.

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#King Killmonger #King Killmonger The Golden Jaguar #Black Panther Fanfiction #Wakanda Forever Fanfiction #Killmonger Fanfiction #Uzumaki Rebellion #Uzumaki Rebellion Writes #Pantherverse

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keldabekush · 9 months ago

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Ive been thinking about Mij and Oonagh all day. Because ive been listening to You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette & deciding it's Mij's Fuck You breakup song on her next album after Oonagh leaves her band

#kushdraws #oc mij #cascade: the oracle!#literally an angel. i love her #gif #motion

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theresattrpgforthat · 2 years ago

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hi!!!! do you know of any poetry based/centric ttrpgs? solo or for more players!

THEME: Poetry Games

Hello friend, so I’m going to drop a few games that help you write poetry or use poetry creation tools, but I also recommend checking out lyric games! Lyric games are written such that reading them alone is a form of play. This means that reading these games is often an experience in itself, meant to evoke emotion in a similar way to the experience of reading poetry. It’s a movement within the ttrpg sphere that I’ve only heard of, but the conversations I’ve been witness to concerning lyric games is very intriguing.

Now, on to the recommendations.

No One Dies Alone in Revolution, by Robin Rudd.

No One Dies Alone In Revolution is a single-player poetry-writing ttrpg in which you play as an empyromancer, interpreting flame and smoke to identify each new revolutionary soldier's patron saint, all past martyrs of the cause, and composing the prayers they will call out in battle.

This game uses a deck of cards, a dice, and an associated oracle to tell the story of the saints who died, and the prayers you will write in their honour. This is a creative game deeply steeped in ritual, and I think it makes the poetry-creation process feel quite natural. The lines of the prayers have rules depending on the cards you draw and the dice you roll, determining metrical feet, details that must be included, and the emotions the prayer is meant to evoke. If you want a game whose emotions bleed out onto the page, you want to try this game.

Gentleman Bandit, by allison arth.

They call you the Gentleman Bandit, because no one knows your name. They call you a monster, a villain, a dealer of death. But they don’t know you.

Not your Heart, your Poet’s Heart filled with rage or filth or the expansiveness of True Love; not your Grieving Heart loosed over a chasm, making a sound like the sorrow of wolves as it plummets toward wet river stones, cracked bones left to bleach.

In this writing-focused RPG, you personify the eponymous Gentleman Bandit to write a 13-line poem you'll leave for the dead — and the ones who discover them. Card draws guide the content of each line; optional dice rolls add poetic devices to further shape the experience and ratchet the difficulty. Using a deck of cards, you consult an oracle to determine the theme and topic of each line of your poem. There are optional requirements you can include in your poetry creation, such as writing in meter, applying a rhyme scheme, using double meanings, or using words from a diction list. Your final poem will also help you determine your next poem, as you can compare your hand to different poker hands.

This game also has a multiplayer option, if you are playing with multiple people, and two successors: Moonblind and The Swallowtail. There's also the Gentleman Pirate supplement, for fans of Our Flag Means Death.

Reverie Cycle, by Caro Acersion.

Reverie Cycle is about a group of isolated individuals, each shunning their own troubles and trials. They record their waking thoughts in their journals, reflecting on the world around them. But at night, their dreams — poetic, sensory, abstract — blur and blend with each other, creating a shifting, liminal state of overlapping worlds. The poetry of these dreams cascades and reappears, and eventually tumbles into their waking world as well…

Reverie Cycle is a play-by-poem roleplaying game — it uses poetry as a form of play, and play as a form of poetry. You don't need to consider yourself a poet to play, but by the end of the game, you will be.

This is a game about dreamers, asking for help in overcoming obstacles they are afraid to acknowledge when they are awake. It’s also an online game, with instructions for setting up the game over a private chatroom, such as Discord. The game also comes with safety emojis that you can use as you play, allowing you to react using a shorthand that signals to the players that something about the current play needs to be changed without breaking the through line of messages. Character creation involves answering a number of playbooks for your character, and assigning their unique touchstones that show up in their dreams. If you want a collaborative poetry experience, I recommend Reverie Cycle.

Care for Hecuba, by Hy Libre!

These games are born from caring about helpless tragic characters. Hecuba, Medea, Semele, Medusa-- these are monstrous, vulnerable women whose function in the story is to gravitate toward an inevitable death. By playing these games you are caring for them, because Euripides and his contemporaries are dead and somebody needs to.

These games borrow tools and expectations from poetry, but they're all "playable". You might interact with them by just reading, or by asking a friend to play them with you, or changing them to be "playable" in a way you like, or by saying "Hmm!" and moving on.

These games have the rules written as poetry, and their modes of play may occasionally also bleed into your daily life - eripedes’ favourite game tells you to ‘clean your fucking room’, for example. This is possibly also an example of a lyric game, because it feels like you are playing it as you read it. The games feel very intimate, so if you want an intensely personal experience, consider Care for Hecuba.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #poetry

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hexmaniac-art · 9 days ago

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Your Starter Pokémon have fully evolved!

Specterado, the Outlaw Goat Pokémon

Its ability of sapping nutrients from the ground with its wooden hooves has grown so strong that it absorbs the spirits of those laid to rest in the earth. The wisteria flowers sprouting from its back house the spirits which grant it ghostly powers. The spiritual energy running through its body allows it to float above the ground, moving silently through the night like a ghostly apparition. It stealthily steals food from unsuspecting travellers to give to weaker Pokémon that can’t fend for themselves.

Elduruja, the Oracle Bear Pokémon

The fire it produces can be controlled to deal damage to enemies or heal its allies. When the crystalline flame sacs around its waist ignite, the pink fur cascading down its back stores the heat within its follicles, which Elduruja weaves into healing warm blankets for sick Pokémon. The golden antennae on its head can channel heat into a fiery ball reminiscent of a miniature sun. This ball of fire is said to show visions of the future to the pure of heart, and blinds those who try to use its abilities for evil or ill intent.

Noctarauder, the Captain Bat Pokémon

The star-like patterns on the inside of its fins glow at will, blending into the night sky as it flies above the ocean waves. It flashes these patterns to communicate, even understanding morse code. Ships often have this Pokémon onboard to send messages to passing vessels, as well as for its unparalleled navigational skills. In the wild, it commands a group of Gruffaneer. If a member of the group evolves, a fight ensues to determine who will take the role of captain, and the loser must leave to find another group of Gruffaneer to lead.

#pokemon #pokemon art #pokemon fan art #my art #fakemon #fakemon art #starter pokemon #starter fakemon #grass type #fire type #water type #grass type pokemon #fire type pokemon #water type pokemon #pokemon fan region #unoki region

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bloobluebloo · 1 year ago

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do you ever have any thoughts about Gan's bio mom? what was she like? did he know her at all? how would she feel about having birthed him? like we know that the Twinrova raised him, but I've always wondered how and why he came in their care

Honestly, I do think about her a lot. I never quite settle with one definitive idea of what she would be like (apart from one AU where she is a defining character in Gan's life) because there are so many unknowns to consider when it comes to how the Gerudo handle this rare occurrence. I think that would heavily tie into Ganondorf's relationship with his biological mother. So, in terms of the Gerudo, I imagine that they must have some meticulous system for tracking the birth of a boy so that they can be ready for him when the time rolls around for him to arrive. Given that no one can *actually* control who will give birth to this boy, I imagine they also have certain laws and practices around how the boy will be brought up, that the most respected and skilled of the Gerudo will educate him. Given that the Twinrova are elderly witches who have lived to see at least 4 kings in their lifetime, I can imagine that the Gerudo may have felt that they were the most qualified to handle Ganondorf's upbringing, for example. Maybe the title of "surrogate mother" is given to the Twinrova because they bear the great responsibility of rearing the future king. Now, for his mother. I find myself turning to Ganondorf himself and trying to pick at the attributes he has. Sure, hatred is an emotion that is often tied to villainy because that cascades well into attributes like cold-heartedness, selfishness, and greed to name a few. However, I stand by my theory that Ganondorf's hatred is in an entire category of its own. Ganondorf has survived executions, long imprisonments, and battles against divine weapons sustained on willpower fuelled by this hatred. To me, that sort of hatred cannot be *that* selfish, that it would make a man tear his own flesh and soul apart and bring it back together just to see his will carried out. Looking at TotK, while of course to the player it was rather obvious that puppet Zelda was Ganondorf's doing, it was not the case with Hyrule's people. One argument that is valid is that people were so blindly loyal to Zelda that they followed her word even if it sounded suspicious or ridiculous, but on the other hand there is also the consideration to be made that Ganondorf had to take some time to understand how people felt about her well enough to manipulate them, to appeal to their emotions about her enough that even if they had some reservations they would obey. After all, to be very good at manipulation a person has to understand people and tug at their emotions, like an empath one would say. All's this to say is that I don't think Ganondorf is an unfeeling monster; I think he is quite the opposite. I think he feels things deeply, and I think people underestimate his emotional intelligence. He is cold-hearted and ruthless to those he hates, but I think if there is someone he cares about he will care about them with just as much devotion.

So, how does that link to his mother? I think that behind every villain that has the resilience of a Nokia phone is someone who loved them deeply. Love can be a double-edged sword after all. I mean in the Oracle games the Twinrova, when all else failed, sacrificed their own body so long as it meant that they could resurrect Ganon. Even the Gerudo don't seem to have true visceral hate for him. The sage of lightning says he was their chief until "he changed". To me it just points to the fact that Ganondorf was well loved by the people close to him, and I think that must have been the case when it came to his biological mother. From what we see in TotK, the Gerudo are mindful and loving towards their children, and even if a Gerudo lives outside of Gerudo territory, her child remains with her until she is old enough to return to Gerudo town to begin her education. I can see the same being the case with Ganondorf; even if he is their one male born every 100 years I can't imagine that they would rip him away from his mother so quickly. I can see her being proud that she was the one who birthed the long awaited son, but I think she would just simply be proud of being a mother to a healthy baby. I can see him still seeing her even after being taken in by the Twinrova, or whoever is educating him for that matter.

This is around where I stand with his biological mother. It could be interesting if she could see that her son was starting down a dark path (mother's intuition and whatnot) and be the voice of reason. Maybe her love for him was so intense that she would do whatever she could for him and try to shield him from harm, even if it was to his detriment at the end. Maybe his biological mother enjoys an elevated status amongst the Gerudo for carrying their future king and birthing him. To me thinking about her just puts so many ???? around how the Gerudo just handle Ganondorf to begin with.

#ganonthots

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stardustandash · 5 months ago

Text

Take the Weight

Febuwhump Day 3: Pinned Down

Rook had one last look at Lace’s panicked face as the ceiling finally gave in to pressure and collapsed around them. They could do nothing as the stones came crashing down on top of them and they lost themself before they even hit the ground. Trying to visit the Oracle beneath Kal-Sharok once more does not go well for Rook and the team.

Ao3 Link

It was no secret that Rook would do anything for Harding. They practically jumped at her suggestions and paid her the most attention around the dinner table. But Rook had to admit, going into the Deep Roads for her once again was stretching their definition of anything.

Rook liked to see the sky. Living in Treviso almost all their life, the sky was always visible over the canals and on top of rooftops. Being underground felt unnatural. Like they were hemmed in on all sides. They’d never considered themself claustrophobic, but the Deep Roads were challenging that.

“Remind me again what we’re doing here?” asked Bellara as the trio passed through the gates of Kal-Sharok.

“Stalgard said the Oracle was active again if I wanted to try speaking with her,” said Lace.

Rook sighed inwardly. Bellara hadn’t been there the first time they’d encountered the Oracle, but she’d been told about the frustrating answers Lace had been given about her powers.

“Oh. Well, I just thought that last time didn’t go so great. Not that it isn’t fascinating to learn more about Dwarven history and the mysteries of Kal-Sharok or anything, I just thought she gave you riddles last time,” said Bellara.

“Maybe this time she’ll be more forthcoming,” said Lace, though it came out more like a question.

“We can only hope,” said Rook.

They’d been warned by Stalgard that Darkspawn had been spotted in the tunnels below the city once more, though the Blight hadn’t advanced enough to block their path. They moved cautiously through the labyrinth of ancient Dwarven mining equipment and half-carved tunnels braced and ready to fend off any Darkspawn. Yet none appeared. Though the feeling of eyes on them that was persistent through their last visit wasn’t present, Rook still felt unsettled by the lack of enemies. Their hand never strayed far from their dagger and they kept their orb hovering with magic, ready to attack at a moments notice. Lace and Bellara must have been feeling the same, as Lace kept her bow in hand and Bellara crackled with magic.

“Anyone else find it a little… unsettling that we haven’t come across anything yet?” asked Bellara.

“You’d think if there were any Darkspawn here they’d be all over us in an instant,” said Rook. “Maybe Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan bit it while we’re down here.”

“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” said Bellara.

Rook had to agree. Nothing in the past few months felt any kind of lucky. Except maybe the fact that they’d survived this far.

“It feels like something’s coming,” said Lace slowly. Rook knew that tone. It was the same one she had whenever the Stone was speaking to her. They turned to her, but there was a faraway look in Lace’s green eyes. She was looking at the wall to their left as if she wasn’t really seeing it.

“What’s coming?” asked Rook. “Lace? Are you alright?”

“I don’t think we can outrun it,” said Lace in that same vacant voice.

“What does that mean?” asked Bellara. “What’s coming?”

There was no reply.

For a moment the three of them stood in the tunnel as Lace stared vacantly at the wall before she blinked slowly and the life returned to her eyes. She glanced up at Rook and Bellara, the question on her face before it made it to her lips.

“Rook? What-“

She barely got those two words out before the world around them rumbled low and loud. Rook froze. The sound continued as the stone beneath their feet lurched and heaved. A trickle of pebbles cascaded down from the ceiling and Rook was unhappily reminded of the fact they were deep underground.

“Earthquake!” shouted Bellara.

In the same moment Lace burst into blue light as she raised her hands to try and hold back the anger of the earth. As always Rook was blown away by her power and beauty as she displayed her magic, but they knew it wouldn’t be enough. Her control had gotten better, but what mortal could hope to hold back a mountain.

“Lace, don’t! We need to run!” shouted Rook over the sound of stones grinding together overhead. “Go!”

Bellara wasted no time following that suggestion. She led the charge back up the tunnel towards the city lightning quick. Rook made to follow but Lace was still trying to hold back the rocks around them.

“Let it go, we need to move!”

“I can do it,” growled Lace through clenched teeth. “I can do it, Rook.”

Rook wanted to believe her. They really did. But they didn’t want to see her flattened underneath the weight of the earth either. So they did the first thing that came into their mind. Which, notably, had never gone quite right for them. They grabbed Lace by the shoulders and pushed.

There was the expected dizzying rush of lyrium as their hands made contact. Rook could feel it rolling over them like a wave. Their knees buckled and they staggered, but it did have the desired effect of breaking Lace’s concentration and getting her moving. Relief flooded Rook just as much as the lyrium as Lace began to follow Bellara back up the tunnel. They made to go after but they stumbled in the aftermath of the flood of lyrium. Lace and Bellara got further ahead down the tunnel before Rook found their feet. They made to run, but the ground beneath them lurched again and the rock overhead groaned as it finally gave up.

Rook woke slowly. Their head felt as if it were filled with cotton soaked in honey; all thick and tangled. They blinked slowly. Or they thought they did. There was only darkness as they opened their eyes. For a moment they panicked. What if they were blind? How would they be able to stop Ghilan’nain and Elgar’nan if they had to learn how to re-navigate the world at the same time. In their panic they needed to move, they need to do something. They went to stand and couldn’t. There was something pinning them down, pressing on them in ways they hadn’t noticed and now it’s all they could think about. It hurt. The weight of it on their back made it hard to breathe.

It took Rook an agonizing amount of time to realize they were trapped, pinned down beneath something. They tried to remember their Crow training, how to breathe deeply and calm the mind to assess before taking action. It only partially worked, as they kept getting distracted by how much everything hurts. Their arm was the worst of it, along with their back. Their arm kept verging on the painful edge of numbness before it faded into full blown agony halfway down their forearm, and the right side of their ribs grated against itself with every breath.

As they forced their struggling mind to ignore the pain and the panic, Rook tried to remember what they were doing. Flashes of jagged memories brushed across their mind. Lace lit up in lyrium blue, Bellara’s worried face. The sound of stones crunching against each other. Nothing clear or concrete, but enough to get an idea of what happened. They must have been caught in a cave in and now they were pinned beneath Creators knew how many pounds and miles of stones. They were both lucky and unlucky to not have been crushed instantly. Lucky because they were still, somehow, alive, and unlucky as now they were going to die slowly in darkness and pain from either suffocation or lack of food and water. Neither would be pleasant.

Rook refused to die to a pile of rocks when they’d faced down a dragon, they just had to figure out a way out of this. They tried to get their cotton-filled brain to focus and go through their spells. Maybe they should have learned more gravity or Fade magic instead of focusing on elemental lightning magic. They tried wiggling their body to find space, any space, that might tell them they can get out of this. Stone ground down against bone with the effort, but they were well and truly pinned down. They panted shallowly in the dark and squeezed their eyes shut in frustration.

Then the rocks above them moved.

For a moment panic set Rook’s heart pounding. Any further shift or weight could truly squish them flat until they were nothing but a pile of elf jelly. They braced for the end, but then the unforgiving pressure above them released, and they sucked in a greedy breath of air as their lungs could finally expand. It sent them into a coughing fit. They curled into themself despite the pain. When it finally subsided they realized they could see again, and though the air was dusty enough to dim the light, nothing would ever be able to dim the beauty of Lace Harding wielding her new magic.

Blue light tore through the dust and Rook realized Lace was using her connection to the Stone to lift the cave in off of her. Like some kind of hero from legend. Rook could only stare as Lace moved the boulders with nothing more than a look of concentration and a flick of her hands. Rook barely even noticed Bellara coming up beside her and putting her hands underneath Rook’s arms until she started to tug.

“Fuck!” gasped Rook.

“Sorry! Sorry, but we have to move,” said Bellara. “Everything around here is unstable.”

Rook nodded, biting down on their lip as Bellara dragged them free and tried to help them to their feet. Their back protests, but at least their feet move enough to get them to a semblance of standing, even if they need to lean most of their weight on Bellara to do so. Their arm is another story. There appears as if there is an extra joint between elbow and wrist and the sight of bone straining underneath the skin is enough to make Rook’s stomach roll uncomfortably. They look away and try to find something else to focus on.

“Are you guys okay?” asks Rook.

“We’re fine. We all would have been fine if you hadn’t pushed me,” said Lace as the blue lyrium glow faded from her eyes.

“I had to. It was too much.”

“Still, It wouldn’t have all come down like that. You were almost crushed,” said Lace, and there’s an angry bite to her words.

“Hey, we’re all okay. Well, we’re all alive. We can stabilize your arm once we get back to Kal-Sharok, and then I’m sure Emmrich can do something about it,” said Bellara, trying to keep the peace.

“Sounds great,” said Rook. “And Lace, I’m sorry.”

Lace said nothing back, choosing to take the lead back up the tunnel. But Rook can still see the fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

#dav #datv #dragon age the veilguard #fanfic #fanfiction #febuwhump #rook x lace harding

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