#cosmos full of stars and dreams

[bitterchocoo]

Platonic Boothill with a male reader who is like Arlecchino from genshin impact

Male reader is Boothill's long lost brother

The Water is Fine

Boothill | M. Reader as Arlecchino [Genshin Impact] (Platonic)

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"Blood runs thicker than water.."

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The children gather in one room as they hear their mother's story. They all look at her in awe, she had told them the story multiple times, but it never gets old. Their mother's story was always wonderful. Once she finished her gaze scanned the children before furrowing her eyebrows. "Where's [Name]? Didn't he want to hear the story?"

"'Scuse me, mother! He's doing a funeral for his spider!" One of the children raised her hand, answering her question. She lets out a sigh at the child's words, her expression showing her concerns. "That child... maybe his curse is flaring up again."

Meanwhile, [Name] crouch down in front of the makeshift grave he had for his beloved spider. How sad.. he looks at it with a blank expression until suddenly someone put a hand around his shoulders. "Hey, [Name]! I bought us cake!!" The other claimed, grinning from ear to ear. In his hand was a box filled with two slices of cake. It looks delicious. "You must know spiders don't eat cake.." "Of course I know that!"

The days spend in the orphanage were always nice, peaceful, quiet. One of the siblings favorite activities were playing tag in the garden. The trees makes great terrain for free running and parkour. Always trying to one up the other. The younger was always full of energy, seemingly excited to explore the world, while the elder was reserved, cold, maybe even cruel but he will have a soft spot for the younger.

Stealing cake from the kitchen, picking fruits straight from the tree, playing tag. Life is.. simple.. fun. The world felt so big..

"Look!" He pointed at the shooting star from their window. His eyes seems to sparkle with joy, his gaze never leaving the starry skies. "One day, we're gonna explore the universe! Travel through the stars! Just you and me!" He says happily, hugging his older brother's arm, the two gaze upon the stars with hopes and dreams. What a beautiful sight.. the sky looks so mesmerizing. The world felt so vast and filled with the unknown. "The two of us could be like Rangers through the vast space! Exploring the universe and upholding justice!"

The elder can't help but smile at the other's words. It's sweet. The though is certainly wonderful. To explore the stars with his younger brother. That truly sounded like a dream. "Yeah, we could do that." "And we could find something for your curse too! Oh just imagine what we could find!"

A child's dream..

..is always so sweet..

So... sickly... sweet..

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"Run! And don't you dare look back!"

"But--!"

"GO!"

He ran.. he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

He run and run.

Like the gingerbread man...

Why...

Why are they fighting..? And for what..? For the title "King"? What is that for? It's just a title. But it seems it means more than that... with his older brother's words. He run.. run as fast as he could. He's fighting isn't he? He's fighting the others isn't he? Why.. why must this be their reality..

He doesn't know what to do.. he wanted to stay with him. But he can't.. his brother told him to run and to never look back.. it's like a game of tag isn't it? Run as fast as you can.. and try not to get caught.. it's just a game.. a simple game... and yet.. and yet...

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"The Knave.. may I know why you're at Penacony?"

"I heard Aventurine had caused quite the trouble.. so I'm here to make this up with the Family. Though it could officially be considered a diplomatic conference, I prefer to see our meeting today as an ordinary tea party. I assume you see it the same way, Mister Sunday?"

"Right, of course. It is an honor to have you here.. Mister Knave.."

"Please.. call me, Arlecchino."

.

.

.

.

.

"What in the cosmos are these kids doing here?" The question come out as harsh, his accents sounded thick as he dodge an attack from one of them. Those three children.. fighting for what? Father was it..? That's who they're fighting for? What a load of Wubbabbo.

"Careful now.. you can't reason with an outlaw.."

"..Father..?"

A man steps out of the room, his gaze is cold, carrying himself in an elegant way that just screams absolute authority. Their gaze locked on each other for what felt like an eternity, a sense of recognition wash over them, until finally..

"You.. why are you with them?"

"Why? I thought you already know.. leave Penacony. The dreamscape is not meant for outlaws like you.."

Gritting his teeth, the other look at the man with betrayal in his eyes. How could he.. how could he side with the enemy? After what they've done... how could he just.. he could shoot him.. he could shoot him now.. he could kill him now.. and yet.. he can't... he can't just..

Even if he sided with the enemy.. he's still.. they're still..

"Come you three, our work is finish."

'Yes, Father."

The days spend in the orphanage were always nice, peaceful, quiet. Stealing cake from the kitchen, picking fruits straight from the tree, playing tag. Life is.. simple.. fun. The world felt so big..

The House of the Hearth...

.....that was their home...

..until it wasn't...

...it all happened at the same day...

where his older brother...

.....was crowned as "King."

...

Blood runs thicker than water...

..is that why it felt heavy when he saw his older brother walk away with three children by his side? One he had turned into soldiers for the House of the Hearth? For the IPC? Because ultimately....

They too once stand in those three children's positions.. soldiers.. unknowingly, that is..

And now... the "King" is continuing the cycle..

His own flesh and blood that he had looked up to.

[chwocolatte]

♪ 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓫𝓸𝔂 𝄞♭♪ . .

yūta okkotsu x reader ﾉ sfw — domestic fluff ﾉ features a sweet doting reader . . (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) ﾉ reader is admiring yūta’s handsum self ( a hundie percent warranted hehe ) ﾉ lottsa lottsa smoochies between reader ‘n yūta . . ﾉ ‘princess’ used as a petname tew refer tew reader ﾉ vrrie yumeshippie coded ‘n self indulgent . .

ohhhh . . . nu words cld ﾉ possibly ﾉ b adequate enough tew describe da sheer gorgeousness of yūta . . i did try m’ vrrie best but .ᐟ .ᐟ he is simply tew beautiful fwor mi tew paint wif jus words alone . . (⸝⸝⸝ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ⌑ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀⸝⸝⸝) doesnt he shine sho pwettily ⭐️ .ᐣ

twinkling like a thousand stars, your eyes shine with a brilliance that could rival the cosmos, the universe itself. you are captivated within his gaze, the pools of cerulean that peer into your own. they hold abundant affection, the adoration evident in the way he regards you, the ardour a tangible thing.

gazing upon his visage, it's easy to lose yourself in the ethereal beauty that is his features. they are sharp, chiselled to perfection, a masterpiece of the gods, an effigy carved from marble. how could anyone compare?

yuuta may be considered average to some, but to you, he is a paragon of celestial splendor. he's the epitome of beauty, the pinnacle of perfection. a small pinch of his essence could send the most stoic of individuals into a frenzy, their minds clouded with the fervour that is him.

to put it simply, the young man is an angel in your eyes. an angel in every sense of the word. the term 'beautiful' fails to encapsulate the full extent of his splendor, the magnitude of his radiance and the depth of his ethereality. but it's all you have to describe him, and so you use it anyway, the adjective a pitiful attempt at expressing the immensity of your devotion.

“beautiful…”

the whisper leaves your lips in a reverent breath, and the sound of it causes the young man to flush a lovely shade of red, the tinge rivalling the vermillion hue of a rose. a shy smile plays at the corners of his mouth, and his teeth are a flash of pearly white as he laughs bashfully. the sound is melodious, a symphony of harmonies that reverberates throughout the room, the tune a cacophony of bells and chimes.

the flush reaches the tips of his ears, and the colour bleeds down the column of his neck, the sight reminiscent of a summer sunset. you can't help but reach out, the desire to stroke his flesh an undeniable pull. and so you do. your digits graze the planes of his visage, the contact feather light and delicate, a whisper against his skin. a lean in to your touch, a pause, a deep breath, and then…

he sighs contentedly, his eyes fluttering shut, the lids a curtain that shrouds his irises— twin windows to his soul. he leans further into your palm now, his profile nuzzling your hand, the gesture tender, loving. a silent plea for more.

and who are you to deny him?

mapping out the contours of his face, you commit each feature to memory, snapshots of him immortalised in your mind.

soft like a dream, his complexion is smooth beneath your fingertips, the texture akin to satin, the skin a silken sheet. his lashes are dark and full, a lush canopy of sable strands that fan out prettily, a feathered brushstrokes against his cheeks. they tickle you— oh, but not as much as the faint cupid’s bow that swiftly steals a kiss from your fingers does, a chaste peck that has you giggling like a fool. the sensation is fleeting, yet the effect lingers, leaving the pair of you smiling fondly.

it's a moment so intimate, the pair of you cocooned within a bubble of your own making, the rest of the world fading into obscurity that a part of you wishes to preserve it. to freeze time, to capture this precious fragment of life and etch it into your soul.

simple, yet exquisite, memories such as these are worth their weight in gold. they're treasures, and you want nothing more than to hoard them, to stow them away in the recesses of your mind, a gallery of cherished remembrances.

with a gentleness that speaks volumes of your feelings, your fingers dance until they meet their destination, the pad of your thumb brushing against his plump lower lip.

the flesh is velvety and inviting, and you can't resist the temptation. you give in, and, with a slight nudge, part his lips, your thumb slipping into the crevice, a small breach, before standing on your tippy toes, feet rising to meet him.

the miniscule space between the pair of you closes, and your breaths mingle, the air shared between your bodies, the heat radiating off of his person and seeping into your own. your nose is a hairsbreadth away from his own, the distance almost non-existent. and, in a moment so quiet and fragile, the tension so palpable it could be slit with a knife, you share a breath.

one, two, three… the beats pass in a pregnant pause. then, with a swiftness that belies his previous timidity, yuuta swoops down, taking your mouth into his.

confectionery sweet and sugar coated, the kiss is a concoction of love and longing, a decadent delicacy you can't seem to get enough of. the taste of him is a nectarine bliss, the sensation a pleasure akin to none. so special, so unique, you doubt there could be anything in this world that could compare.

you indulge yourself, drinking your fill, savouring the flavour of your loved one, the ambrosial treat a luxury. it's a sweet surrender, the submission a mutual one, gooey strings of honeyed saliva connecting the pair of you when you pull away, your bodies clearly unwilling to part.

however, the need for air wins out, and you reluctantly withdraw, the loss keenly felt. a whine, high pitched and petulant, escapes your throat— a child's tantrum, albeit an admittedly justified one.

the separation is a temporary one, though, and you're quickly pacified when peppered across your face are a barrage of kisses, the sticky film of his saliva sweeping over your skin as if to paint a picture. his mouth is an artist's brush, the tip dexterous as it dabs a mélange of imaginary pigments upon your features.

the final kiss lands squarely on your nose, a dot. the finishing touch makes the button twitch, the appendage quivering with a tingle, and the sound that leaves you is an amalgamate of laughter and giggles.

the pair of you are a mess, your visages smeared with the evidence of your affections. and, by the heavens, do you love it. the attestation of his infatuation is a badge of honour, the smudgy slaver a token of his regard. you don't dare to wipe it away. rather, you wear it with pride.

who could blame you? surely not him, judging by the grin he sends your way.

so dazzling, the beam is blinding, the brightness of it akin to that of the sun itself. it's a sight you would die a thousand times to behold.

"you really are the most beautiful boy, yuu.." the compliment tumbles from your mouth unbidden, truthful and raw. your words are nothing but an echo of your thoughts, an unconscious murmur of the musings that occupy your headspace.

"not as beautiful as you are, princess.. not even close." his response is immediate, spoken with that simper of his, the curl of his lips so pretty and soft.

in preparation for a protest, your mouth opens, the objection ready on the tip of your tongue, but a single finger to your lips is all it takes to silence you. a pout forms at the contact, the expression a puerile pucker.

"let me love you." the plea is a soft thing. "let me love you like you deserve. let me love you.. like you love me." yuuta repeats, a quiet request. his tone is a beseeching, the desperation written clear as day across his countenance. it's an entreaty that melts the last dregs of resistance left in you.

so, with a nod, you acquiesce.

you hear a suspire of relief, and then you're swept into the arms of a boy so in love, he's willing to do anything to show you just how much. and as you're carried off into the depths of his heart, the place that's reserved only for you, a singular thought occurs: perhaps, just this once, you'll allow him the win.

for a boy as wonderful as him, there's no harm in giving him the upper hand, is there?

[the-real-fandom-person]

SAGAU-related brainrot knocking around my skull lately: Lady Maria!Creator.

Noble, graceful, remorseful, powerful, melancholy, otherworldly Lady Maria. The Creator isn’t a pure and untouched soul, she’s a scarred and battle-hardened warrior, ridden with guilt. Trauma has made her cold, yet paradoxically gentle.

Teyvat makes lumenflowers blossom everywhere to herald Maria!Creator’s arrival. Big ones, small ones, towering ones, blooming after sundown alongside the glaze lilies. Even in extreme temperatures, the cold, pale flowers make themselves at home. Slotting peacefully into the local ecosystems without becoming invasive. 

The Pari and the Aranara wake up to find lumenwood groves just outside their respective homes. The Melusines become enamored with these new ‘moon blossoms’ sprouting throughout their village, even the parts that are completely underwater. Amurta students and Fontaine researchers scramble over each other to study this new species. Nilou makes M!C a lumenflower crown, and it replaces her hunter’s cap for the day. Nilou gets the first ever hug from the Creator. Suck it, Azar.

Albedo and Sucrose experiment on these new plants immediately. Xiangling is already using it in some strange new recipe, something Chongyun will actually eat for once. Tighnari, Ganyu, and Shenhe take curious bites out of a lumenflower cutting. The taste isn’t unpleasant, just incomparable to anything else in Teyvat.

Inazuma characters, especially Kazuha, are absolutely fascinated by the Rakuyo (and maybe a little jealous). So graceful is M!C with her strange weapon, so easily she wields it on the battlefield. Every blacksmith in Teyvat hears the words ‘trick weapon’ and takes it as a challenge. Many come close, but none can truly replicate the genuine articles. May they never have a true need for beast-slaying weapons.

Imposter AU? With one of Bloodborne’s toughest bosses? Laughable. RIP anyone stupid enough to try. And if there’s a fake Creator pulling the strings? Not after a quick visceral attack, there isn’t. M!C pulls a blood blade to cut down the imposter’s guards (she notices the stars in her blood that weren’t there before) and the imposter receives the most satisfying visceral ever. 

Up to this point M!C put no stock in the ‘god’ thing. All she sees is mad cult, led by a petty and jealous brat on a power trip. But then she sees the stars in her blood, hears the voice of Teyvat itself, puts two and two together and just… laughs hysterically, because this whole situation is patently ridiculous. Byrgenwerth and the Healing Church failed in their quests for ascension, their heinous crimes being all for naught. Now here she is, thrown headfirst into unwanted ‘godhood’ and getting hunted by her supposed worshipers. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

Once people see the cosmos reflected in M!C’s blood, they fall over each other trying to apologize. Since she’s reached negative patience for everyone’s bullshit, she ignores them and fucks off to the Nightmare. After coming into Teyvat, M!C gained the power to enter and exit the Nightmare at will. The Nightmare doesn’t bend to her will, but it doesn’t treat her as an intruder. The Silverbeasts and Winter Lanterns don’t bat an eye at her presence. She’s a true denizen of both the waking world and the world of dreams, now. 

That night, every soul in Teyvat has the same nightmare - the Celestial gods attempting to forcibly summon the Creator, only to have themselves snatched from Celestia and dragged into a hostile, eldritch world of unfamiliar mish-mashed environments. At every turn, it is full of nightmarish creatures out for their blood. One by one, all but a select portion of Celestials become beast food, with M!C protecting the final ones herself.

Celestia, responsible for planting the fake Creator, falls from the sky the next day, its grand architecture reduced to mere rubble that rains from the heavens. Found amongst these ruins are the mangled, blood-drained and half-eaten bodies of Celestial gods. Spears made of blood impale many of the bodies, spears that seem to have sprouted from inside the flesh. Those that still have intact faces bear identical looks of horror. They find The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles in literal pieces - crushed and torn apart by hands that must have been the size of a grown man.

New stars and constellations appear in the night sky, as the illusion created by Celestia slowly fades. The curse placed on the people of Khaenriah gradually dissipates as well - the hillichurl tribes withdraw from the world, content to leave it alone. Every day, the curse lifts a little more from the people of Khaenriah; one day, Dainslief, Pierro and all the rest will finally be able to die. 

In Celestia’s place rises a second moon - a snow-white harvest moon, always full, large and visible even when clouds blanket the sky.

The Archons try to follow M!C into the Nightmare, but like Celestia, they get their shit wrecked by the denizens of the Frontier. The Archons don’t die for real, they’re just permanently cut off from the Nightmare. It takes Nahida, with dream powers of her own + Traveler and Wanderer in tow, to reach M!C and convince her to give the people of Teyvat a second chance. Nahida succeeds because she has the sense to treat M!C as a person, not some untouchable idol.

Sumeru is warm and welcoming, nothing like Yharnam or Cainhurst. M!C has fond memories from her time as a Byrgenwerth scholar, and the Akademiya feels like home. Sumeru becomes M!C’s preferred nation by default, to the pride of the locals and the despair of everyone else.

M!C has trouble wrapping her head around how mundane Teyvat’s supposed ‘gods’ are. Elemental powers or not, these Archons are too human to be divine; the only divinity M!C knows is eldritch, alien, far beyond mortal comprehension. The Traveler is fractionally closer to true godhood than any Archon. But then, just as the Great Ones were beyond human comprehension, so too are humans beyond the understanding of the Great Ones - perhaps it’s better for humans to have human gods.

Speaking of gods, M!C and Nahida bond over their dream-related powers. If this is before the climax of the Sumeru quest line, the Akademiya gets real quiet, especially when M!C publicly points out how asinine their logic is (she was closely associated with Byrgenwerth and Laurence, she knows their kind all too well). For all of his failures, all the disastrous consequences, Vicar Laurence at least had genuinely good intentions; these fools only care about themselves and preserving their own power. Scaramouche, Azar, the traitorous Sages - selfish, ignorant children all, meddling with forces they only pretend to understand. Crushing them herself is merciful compared to the other outcomes.

Through tactical manipulation of dream worlds, M!C busts Nahida out of baby jail long before Traveler and co. have to, and the Akademiya goes into panic mode because the Creator herself is coming for them. Traveler and co.’s plans turn instead to finding the hidden laboratory under Sumeru City - the combined power of dreams horrifically distorts the battlefield around the Shouki no Kami, even after his defeat. M!C doesn’t kill Azar after the fact, but she doesn’t let him go into exile empty-handed... because she cuts off his hands. Cyno is too unsettled to laugh.

Scaramouche resents her for her part in ruining his apotheosis (and because the Creator didn’t do shit for him in his tragically long life) but as the Wanderer, he and M!C bond over a shared disgust for the Second Fatui Harbinger.

And speaking of the Fatui... Well, they try to recruit her to the cause, and she has this to say:

“I’ll not serve your organization while any part of Dottore yet lives. For too many years, I stood by and did nothing while so-called ‘doctors’ brutalized the innocent and vulnerable for their supposed research, their dreams of godhood and divine revelation. Never again. If your leaders possess a shred of self-preservation between themselves, then perish the thought this instant.”

Fatui agent(s): ...

They don’t give up, of course. The less friendly ‘recruiters’ get sent back to Snezhnaya in pieces. The only Fatuus M!C tolerates is Tartaglia, because aside from being the Traveler’s friend, he’s a decent punching bag/sparring partner. She finds his Foul Legacy transformation cute, like a kitten baring its teeth at a lion.

Related idea: M!C meets Dottore’s remaining segment, and after everything she’s heard (let’s say from Collei and Wanderer, maybe Nahida too) she barely lets him get two words in before cutting his head clean off. Will this affect Dottore in the long run? Probably not. Does it make her feel better? Yes, actually. Collei certainly isn’t upset by the news. Wanderer is, only because he feels M!C was too merciful. She lets him dismember the segment so they can stuff it in a box and send it back to the Doctor as a warning.

If a scourge of beasts were to descend on Teyvat, probably because of Dottore M!C would lead the defense. This is not a war that mortals alone can fight, she insists. By her orders, every available god (herself included), adeptus, dragon, and most of the older allogenes are on the front lines, staving off the worst of the horde. Pyro users are in high demand, for the beasts fear them the most. In lieu of blood ministration, the various healers of Teyvat are working ‘round-the-clock. An entirely new crop of Vision-wielding healers spring up, because Teyvat’s top god herself unconsciously wills them into existence. Because M!C would never make use of the Old Blood, not after seeing and experiencing its effects firsthand. The burden of being a capital-H Hunter, the sweet, intoxicating call of blood - M!C remembers Byrgenwerth’s sacred adage, and she has learned from the mistakes of Vicar Laurence. Yharnam was merely the latest in a cycle of destruction, all because of the Old Blood. She will not doom Teyvat to suffer the same fate.

[moondirti]

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts. 

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel. 

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them. 

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between. 

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?) 

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this. 

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing. 

Deep space, your stars – your Sol. 

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.) 

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it. 

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing. 

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies. 

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next. 

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour. 

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.) 

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened. 

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place. 

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement. 

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution. 

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror. 

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected. 

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–” 

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,” 

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul? 

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway. 

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.” 

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.” 

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.” 

“Whit is it this time?” 

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?” 

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame. 

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?” 

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?” 

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression. 

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time. 

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come. 

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–) 

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please. 

Just this one thing. 

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut. 

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns. 

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care. 

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance. 

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you. 

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right. 

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved. 

Huh. 

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology. 

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh. 

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it. 

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side. 

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like. 

The day pass? 

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse. 

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds. 

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him. 

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion. 

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should. 

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple. 

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you. 

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?” 

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”) 

You really hate him sometimes. 

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.” 

He squints. 

(Rightfully so.) 

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass. 

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve. 

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero. 

You hope that one day, you will too. 

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues. 

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief. 

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.” 

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?” 

“You bet on my survival?” 

“Silver linings!” 

“Lyra.” 

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.” 

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving. 

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?” 

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.” 

“Explain something to me, would you?” 

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath. 

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation. 

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place. 

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours. 

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion. 

Get a hold of yourself. 

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.” 

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–” 

“You can’t control your powers, can you?” 

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options: 

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit. 

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here. 

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again. 

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.” 

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously. 

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?” 

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.” 

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud. 

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference. 

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,” 

“There was a thing with a super-collider.” 

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk. 

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.” 

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command. 

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.” 

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile. 

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced. 

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense. 

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.” 

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you. 

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how. 

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.” 

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice. 

chapter eight

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[thesharktanksdriver]

Being a Magical Girl in Gotham (Platonic)

Y/n is 15 in this and started being a magical girl at 10

I don’t read the comics so the timeline is likely fucked along with some characters maybe being out of character. I don’t care tho cause this took a long ass time to write and I had fun writing this. So please enjoy

Part 2 Part 3 part 4

3302 word count lol

Becoming a magical girl like in the cartoons you watched as a young girl initially seemed like a dream come true

A wish wrapped in a big pink sparkly bow that when unwrapped opened Pandora’s box to the amount of responsibilities that would be carried over to you

You were naive back then, but after years of being one your much mature now

That initially girly sense of joy soon fading away as the glitter and glam could no longer shield your eyes from the weight of something bigger than yourself was voluntarily placed on your shoulders

Doesn’t matter much in the end. there's no turning back time no matter how you longed to reset its hands

You hunt shadow-like creatures you had nicknamed shadowmites. Entities from a different realm that feed themselves off of traits like greed and anger before sucking out its targets life

You hunt shadow-like creatures you had nicknamed shadowmites. Entities from a different realm that feed themselves off of traits like greed and anger before sucking out its targets life

You hunt shadow-like creatures you had nicknamed shadowmites. Entities from a different realm that feed themselves off of traits like greed and anger before sucking out its targets life

You hunt shadow-like creatures you had nicknamed shadowmites. Entities from a different realm that feed themselves off of traits like greed and anger before sucking out its targets life

You hunt shadow-like creatures you had nicknamed shadowmites. Entities from a different realm that feed themselves off of traits like greed and anger before sucking out its targets life

You hunt shadow-like creatures you had nicknamed shadowmites. Entities from a different realm that feed themselves off of traits like greed and anger before sucking out its targets life

It’s no surprise that they ended up gravitating towards earth. Even more so Gotham, a breeding ground for the worst of the worst

Their mindless creatures. Just feeding and taking over entire universe’s to suck them dry until moving to the next

You used to feel sympathy for them, how horrific it would be to one of them. but now you feel nothing for them. 5 Years of watching them shrivel into nothing and hurt others made that go away though

Their screeches of pain becoming background noise along with their snarls of hunger.

You're now desensitised to it all. The loneliness and sadness at watching others you age enjoys their lives oblivious to everything.

Sometimes it makes you smile though. Knowing that because of your actions those same girls can live their lives, happy and full of joy.

At least you're not truly alone though. Your mentor/companion/eldritch-type being in the form of a ferret named Rigel.

They're an odd company. A being of seemingly endless knowledge and power, one that traversed through countless dimensions and universes, something that could end the world with a single thought…in the body of a adorable ferret that curls around your neck and perched on your shoulder

Rigel is stern but caring. A mentor who pushes you to your limits but knows when to stop and when you need a break despite how much you protest.

Someone/something that cares for you despite the fact that compared to them you're a single dim star in an entire cosmos of brighter shining ones.

As a Gothamite you know the streets well, and its people even better. Giving you the advantage at tracking down and stopping shadowmites as the midnight hour ticks onwards

You usually get rid of around 7-16 a night. Most being weaker varieties but occasionally having to toughen up to defeat the strong ones who had found a particular rageful host.

During the 5 years you had been doing this ever since your 10th birthday you surprisingly (and luckily) hadn’t had the chance to meet Batman face to face

Sure, they had been times you saw him off in the distance but you hadn’t fully talked to him by a stroke of chance

His enemy’s on the other hand, oh boy do you know them well

You had saved quite a few of them.

The goal was to eliminate the shadowmites, it didn't matter who you saved in the process…unless it’s Joker.

Even Rigel would allow you to let Joker be sucked dry like a cool-aid packet lol

Anyways

Because of you saving a ton of them you're on their good lists. A metaphorical safe card given to you as you spend your nights saving more people

After saving Penguin the older man allowed you free use to the iceberg despite your complaints of not wanting anything

You have your own little private table set up.

Mr.Cobblepot insists you don’t need to pay but you do so anyway

The food is much better than the McDonald’s you buy on a daily basis. It deserves the money you insist to spend on it

Most of His goons now know you. Sometimes joking you when off duty to talk while you eat

Most are pretty nice (to you anyways), often times rambling about their day or talking about their families

Some have kids your age. Some of them you even recognize from Gotham academy

The waitresses are also nice. Most of them very pretty and always fawning over how cute you look.

Penguin himself occasionally joins you in his spare time. Making causal talk, asking of your hunting and how your life has been

It’s….nice?. Kinda weird to be having a mob boss ask about your day but it’s a change of pace from your relatively lonely life

Kinda reminds you of some rich uncle who swoops by every now or then. Spoiling you before being whisked off on a new endeavor

He tells you that you're welcome during closing hours as well. This place serving as a safe haven of sorts if you should need it

Riddler is another though you see him less than Penguin

It’s the occasional blink and you see it kinda encounters but their amusing

The green clad man finds it fun to bitch about how the Gotham time’s riddles are too easy or how Batman is a dick

He (of course) also tells riddles. Seemingly getting a ride out of watching you try to figure them out

He also seems weirdly protective. Warning that if the bat gave you trouble then come to him

He’s not the only one to say that to you but you appreciate the sentiment

Seems oddly worried that if your in school and if your getting a good education

You tell him you are but don’t specify where just in case

He’s satisfied with that answer though. Even offers to help with math and or science homework

Gloats a lot and talks even more. Seems to appreciate that you actually listen to him and his ramblings

At one point he suggests making your colour scheme to match his

You politely decline saying you couldn’t pull it off like he did which makes his ego expand

Sometimes he hacks into security cameras or large screens to give you a riddle cause he’s bored

May or may not slip Rigel a 20 for you to have some spare change that you desperately need

Harley, Ivy and Catwoman fucking love you

You had initially only saved Harley but after that the two just joined in with her on basically becoming your honorary aunts

You end up running into them a lot during your long nights. Usually stopping by Ivy’s and Harley’s apartment for small breaks

They patch you up as best they can, ivy fixing you a cup of tea as Harley’s hyena’s curl up near your lap

Catwoman usually stops by during these breaks. Sometimes with a box of kittens whom she has you name

All of them are worried for you both mentally and physically so they make you a deal. On Saturdays after 12am unless super urgent you have a girls night with them, in return you have their help in patching up your wounds

They prep popcorn, drinks and the whole 9 yards to give you a break. They play a movie (usually a chick flick) and just let you rewind

If they hadn’t made this deal you probably wouldn’t have taken any breaks

Their all silently impressed that you’ve not only survived this long but also somehow ended up befriending half the villains in this damn city

You say that their just acquaintances but Ivy argues that Mr.Cobblepot is a cheapskate who wouldn’t give you a basically lifetime pass to his lounge for nothing

Harley warns you to stay away from Joker no matter what. And that if he even walks 10 metres near you he’s getting a lifetime trip to deadsville

Red Hood is the first of the bats that you run into. During his whole escapade to take over the underworld something that was kinda considered a myth to the rest of Gotham but was confirmed by the many people you saved

The meeting was ok…but then derailed when you noticed the black clawed tendrils clinging into his shoulders

His shadowmite that feed off his rage was fucking hard to beat. It took a lot out of you, almost killed you and left you hobbling to Harley’s for help before passing out

You woke up in a warehouse, patched up by him personally before he began to question you

Like usual you gave him the rundown of things. The entities that feed off negative emotions, eventually drained their life force, your the only one who can stop them with your magical powers etc etc

What catches you off guard though is when he asks if your parents know

The silence answers his question. One that feels deafening to his ears as he realizes that your basically alone in this

Pitted against a cruel world with no one but yourself and the kindness of literal criminals to accomplish an impossible task

It seems to shake something in him, something that’s not your business to ask about but makes him seem fragile in that moment

It’s not a word you’d associate with him yet that’s the only thing you can describe him as in the moment

The dim blue glow of his helmet’s eyes seeming now less intimidating to your smaller shaking form

He then asks how you got away with this so long without the bat (he says it with a certain poison in his voice) didn’t stop this

You just answer that you were just lucky in evading his notice. You were careful not to gain public attention and just focused on your job (his fists tightened a bit at this wording)

He helps you after this, dropping you off at Harley and Ivy’s

He seems hesitant in letting you go but trusts your decision enough once he sees the two fuss over you from a distance

He appears commonly to you after that. Inviting you to sit atop the old Gotham library with a bag of Dairy Queen in hand

It makes you wonder if he has younger siblings, if this is how it felt to be cared for by a older brother

You used to wonder what that felt like along with having parents. It makes your normally hollow chest feel warm and fuzzy

Couple months later he ends up working with batman. Whatever disagreement with the man now resolved as his uniform now has a red bat added to his chest

Your initially nervous until he promises not to “rat you out to the old man” as he put it

He opens up a bit more during your talks with him. Talking of how he grew up in the slums, had to rely on himself to survive just as you do

It’s kinda comical to see the gun wielding, motorcycle driving, leather jacket clad vigilante talk about Jane Austen but it certainly becomes a fun pastime as you work on an english essay

Just like the Gotham Sirens he worries. But even more than they do

He suggests tagging along with you on some of your hunts but you decline. Appreciating the sentiment but making a clear line in what you are comfortable with.

He accepts but there’s still a sense of worry that seems to claw at him everytime he finds you with cuts, bruises and dried blood caking your elaborate uniform

Eventually during your meetups with him your talk of pride and prejudice is interrupted by Nightwing

It’s kinda awkward sitting there eating ice cream with Rigel as the two grown men bicker like brothers about you

You end up leaving midway though to hunt again

But then the blue wearing hero ends up finding you much to your displeasure of just wanting to get back to work

He’s much more cheery and charismatic compared to Red hood. More of a people person by how he easily seems to break down your hesitation to talk to him

Like hood he’s definitely worried for you but seems to hide it a bit better with humour and general polite talk

You notice he does acrobatics a lot, leading to you asking him him about it

He kinda ends up being your teacher and you now know how to cartwheel and a few other tricks

Like hood he promises not to tell Batman he even jokes that at this point he should get red Robin and Robin so Batman is the last to know

He talks about a variety of subjects but kinda focuses in on how you have a healthy way to relive the stress you have

Doesn’t exactly approve of you stopping by the Gotham sirens for that but he relents after red hood calls him out on also being friends with villains before (an apparently more than friends in some cases?)

Both he and Red hood argue quite a bit but it’s funny especially when it has both grown men throwing fries at one another like 10 year olds

He has you swear not to drink coffee cause apparently red Robin is addicted to that shit and he doesn’t need another coffee adict

Briefly mentions how he has a friend named Raven whom you should meet

Y’all have mock battles cause he wants to see you in battle. Safe to say he likes the sparkles and the glamour of it all

He finds it interesting that your magical girl weapon can change depending on the situation and still looks cute

Those once cold and lonely nights that you spent fighting evil shadow creatures has changed seemingly for the better

Despite the fact that frost nips at your fingertips through your gloves, attempting to suck the warmth from your flesh you feel oddly warm inside

During the day your a seemingly normal 15 year old student at Gotham academy. Someone who blends into the Background, someone who no one really knows about but doesn’t question why

The only really noticeable thing about you is your above average grades and quiet nature

You're just known as that one seemingly nice student. That’s really the only thing people can label you as, you don’t really mind.

It was your goal to be unnoticeable, to just be another face to everyone.

It kinda becomes a bit complicated though as through your normal school year you notice the infamous Damien Wayne seemingly gaining an interest in you?

Odd. You never really interacted with him other than polite hello’s and the occasional moment you’d sit near somewhat near him in the library for lunch

Hell he wasn’t even in the same grade as you. He was 13, you never even had a project or something that led you to actually talk to him.

And now for some reason he decided to have a curiosity in you. The one thing you didn’t want happening.

During lunch you end up eating in random places. Randomly Rotating between areas and locations like the courtyard, library, empty classrooms and the gym

He’s smart though, scarily so. Almost as if he was experienced in tracking people down. Leaving you light on your toes as you dance to weave past and try to outsmart and outlast him until the bell rings

It doesn’t get any better when you leave for the end of the though. He waits for a few minutes by the front of the school, limo ready to take him home yet he still tries to spot you as you leave.

Eventually you up and ask him why he's been stalking you for the past 2 weeks, turns out Damien saw Rigel and wanted to pet them plus his older brothers encouraged him to make a friend

Safe to say he got to pet Rigel who crawled out your bag and scurried up his arm

The friend bit is a bit more complicated

You never had a friend your age after gaining your abilities. Being so busy had deterred people at the orphanage before you ran off, faked some paperwork and found yourself an apartment who didn’t ask questions as long as you paid for rent.

You had purposefully made yourself invisible to everyone, to avoid becoming gaining attention and becoming attached knowing they’d leave you for being so busy

You know you should say no but…your heart tugs at the somewhat nervous look he has in his eyes despite how much he tries to hide it along with the feeling of joy clawing at your heart

For the first time at school you smile genuinely as you nod. His eyes light up with joy, a small somewhat prideful smile painting his face

Your days at school after this are much more eventful, less of a cycle like it was before

Due to your new friendship with the elusive and loner wayne it causes some stir but the young boy quickly silences all hushed talking with his infamous glare

He’s actually quite fun to be around, always talking about his pets or how his step-brothers were a pain in the ass

He still sometimes has an attitude but you got to eventually see past that. To see the real Damien who nerded out over random animal facts or had his dog as his screensaver

It took a long time to get to this point but you don’t find yourself regretting the decision because of the fact he’s understanding of you being busy or having a far off look in your eyes that looked eternally tired.

His are the same sometimes, drained and empty of colour and life

You asked him one day while you both ate lunch in the courtyard, laying down on the dark green grass, why he decided out of all people to befriend you. The wallflower, the name without a face, the kid whom everyone just knew as nice and that’s it

He said it's because of your eyes. How they reminded him of himself, not in personality per say but in the fact they held untold secrets and a weight that no one else but you would understand.

That day he invited you to his home. The glorious wayne manor as to finally meet his canine friend Titus

It feels kinda out of nowhere but with some hesitance you agree, hopping into the limo that picked him up everyday as a old butler greeted you with a surprised smile

Damien greets him with the same fondness he seemed to hold for you, introducing the older british man as Alfred

[afuntimepartyy]

Dandys world wings of fire!!! Since there’s so many in the post I’m not going into full descriptions but here they are! Def want to revise tisha a bit to give her slightly more obvious icewing traits and a wider rectangle shape. And cosmo isn’t feeling cosmo to me yet, so I’ll be revising him too but yay! (Astro will get really tiny changes probably, giving his cloak that copies his blanket a hood so he can have SOMETHING on his bald head)

Each characters and their tribes though because some of them are cut off

Sprout - Leafwing / Skywing, powerful leafspeak but no skywing abilities. Has big wings though! Currently not under dandys control

Astro - Nightwing / Seawing, born with powerful mind reading to the point of being able to go into others dreams. Animus cursed by dandy with powerful future sight with good intentions, the first to be controlled by dandys own silly version of evil leafspeak. Can’t breath underwater, can’t even breath fire! But can fully speak aquatic if he wanted to.

Dandy - Rainwing / Leafwing, born with absolutely no leafspeak and can’t spit venom but he does have full color changing abilities. Second active threat on the island, supposed to be the “friendly face” you can trust.

Vee - Hivewing / Silkwing, Hivewing stingers in tail and wrists with the abilities that comes with having silkwings antennae. Not under dandys control, but no friendly face either.

——

Cosmo - mudwing, distant nightwing which manifests in some star shaped patterns! Not under dandys control and is actively protected by sprout. Sprout used his animus magic once and that was to create a charm for him to makes sure dandy won’t hurt him

Tisha - Icewing / Leafwing, came to the island with teagan and was her childhood friend and maid. Originally assigned to Teagan as a dragonet to keep them company, and just sorta became her personal maid when they got older. No leafwing ability’s and is cold to the touch. Has icewings frost breath though weakened by her leafwing genes. Not under dandys control

Rodger - Nightwing with future sight, detective and came to the island to get answers. Toodles was not supposed to come with him, but she managed to sneak by and now him and toodles, teagan, and tisha are stuck on the island thanks to vee. Had an ear torn in his youth and early detective days, which is also how he got his eye scar. Not under dandys control.

Glisten - Silkwing / sandwing, pretty much all Silkwing abilities. Has a sandwing barb but it’s ineffective and small, so no sandwing scorpion action going on. Yada yada I already talked about him. His design and traits are made to mirror (heh) vee though, soooo… not under dandys control

Flutter - silkwing, just a small fat fluffy silkwing with big ol eyes. Currently under dandys control, though wasn’t drawn with that in mind (all drawings of these dragons are before things go REALLY bad so far). Overcome by flowers instead of vines.

For your patience with my rambling have some of the design processes for their shapes

[kuwdora]

Saturday Morning Vid Recs - Space and Robots

@tafkarfanfic asked me for vid recs that are similar to the following vids:

Data’s Dream by GayleF (Gayle) and TasheryS which premiered at Escapade in 1994 - made on a VCR!! - and was remastered by morgandawn in 2004. Definitely check out the Fanlore page about Data’s Dream. Star Trek + multi-source.

Starships by bironic. Multi-source. The history of Starships on Fanlore.

These two vids are iconic. Please check them out and learn about their history from the Fanlore page, it's a great look at some vidding history and culture. Amazing vids, do love. As for some recs. I love this kind of prompt. More vids like [this vid] is so much fun. I dug deep into my vid rec archives and brain and bookmarks. I’ve also crowdsourced some recs from the vidding discord. Thank you to @rukbat3, @sandalwoodbox, @fairestcat, @monkeyswithjetpacks, @grammarwoman for the reccing help! And everyone else I might have forgotten.

From Land to Sky - and kicking ass while you're there!

Landsailor by @singlecrow/raven. Multi-source. Swades (We, The People); Master and Commander; 3 Idiots; The Dish; The West Wing; Parks and Recreation; Flight of the Phoenix; NASA archive footage; Apollo 13. ❤️ We're gonna need a bigger boat. Come O’ Eclipse by melodytree. Tenchi: The Samurai Astronomer. Calendar-making! Math puzzles! Astronomy! Politics! Eclipses! Oh my! Galaxyrise by starlady. Multi-source. Apollo 13 (1995), Interstellar (2014), Gravity (2013), Europa Report (2013), Contact (1997), The Martian (2015). This vid is full of so much wonder! The sky calls to us/If we do not destroy ourselves/We will one day venture to the stars. Going through space with the world by bironic. Space Exploration RPF. ❤️❤️❤️ From "day in the life of an astronaut" videos to international stardom; or, Chris Hadfield and his adorable mustache. Monsters of the Cosmos by CherryIce. Thor/MCU. Jane Foster/Science.Cherry’s editing is goddamn incredible. In the last century, black holes have gone from being mathematical curiosities to real objects in the cosmos. This is a vid about Jane Foster and her one true love, Science. Also, Thor is there. Toxic by JinkyO. The Planets (TV - 2019). Humanity/The Solar System. This vid is so fucking brilliant and makes me cackle in love and awe so much. It's dangerous, I'm loving it. Sci-Fi Friday in a Blender by Luminosity. Multi-source. Farscape, Battlestar Galactica and Doctor Who. So much happening in this vid. This is among one of the earliest vids I remember watching and became obsessed with back in the day. Supernova Girl by @usuallyhats. Multifandom. Doctor Who, Star Wars, Babylon 5, Steven Universe, Andromeda, Farscape, Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, Mass Effect, Stargate. So many wonderful brilliant amazing EXCELLENT supernova women and girls. Zoom, zoom, zoom. Space Girl by @aurumcalendula. Multi-source scifi. Inspired by Charmax’s Space Girl vid and Bironic’s The Greatest. This vid has a great selection of newer tv shows and films and it’s fun to play spot that character. But also this vid will grab you by the heart, too. Utterly brilliant, perfection. A must watch!! 'I've been as far in hyperspace as anybody can.' One Girl Revolution by bessyboo. Star Wars, original and prequel. Padme and Leia!! Seeing these two focused on in one Star Wars vid is an adventurous kickass ride. I'll be everything that I want to be. Space Girl by charmax. Multi-source scifi. One of the most beautiful epic space vids out there! I know I’ve recced this before and I’ll rec it again and again and again. My momma told me I should never watch Sci-fi but I did, I did, I did.

Robots! More than wires.

If a Machine by caramarie, Multi-source. Robot narrative focusing on machine origin, intelligence, and interaction with humanity. And Human fallibility. An incredibly rewarding watch and rewatch. This is the story of cables and copper wirings. Electric Avenue by @monkeyswithjetpacks. Multi-source robots! Nate’s multi-vids are always so fun, especially when it’s showcasing classic cinema and all these excellent serials. Electric Avenue has source from 1919 to 2015. His editing is always on fucking point. Don’t miss this vid. We’re gonna rock down to electric avenue. Everybody by @kuwdora. Star Trek, the Borg. This vid was actually inspired by the Backstreet Boys original music video. I still have the vivid memory of watching or rewatching the original music video in @ars-amatoria ’s kitchen. And then at some point realizing it is perfect for the Borg. Am I original, am I the only one? Fembots by Grammarwoman. Multi-source. Sexy sharp editing and fun use of all the sources. The intersection of women and technology: a spectrum of clones, AIs, gynoids, cyborgs, and other artificial creations. On by @rhoboat77. Star Trek: Picard. A Soji fanvid. Rho has the sharpest editing skills this side of the Internet and this Soji vid is so fucking badass and worth 100 rewatches. Can’t hold me down cuz you know I’m a fighter. Que Sera Sera by @ohvienna. Star Trek Voyager and Picard. Seven of Nine.Nobody vids their Seven of Nine love like @ohvienna. You gotta watch this if you love Seven. Whatever will be, will be…"

Journey through Space.

To Touch the Face of God by destina. Multi-source. The Right Stuff (1983, )The Dream Is Alive, From the Earth to the Moon (TV).This is one of the most beautiful moving vids you will EVER, and I mean EVER see. From Chuck Yeager, to the Mercury 7, and on to Apollo and the Space Shuttle Program (STS) - a very human history of the triumphs, joys, and tragedies of the USA's journey into space. Doctor Who on Holiday by sisabet. Farscape, Battlestar Galactica and Doctor Who. A mashup vid of Luminosity’s Sci-Fi Friday in a Blender. This vid inspired me so much. And I have 10 very intense ideas about how I would do my own remix of this vid if I were to make it right now. Fly Me To the Moon by thirdblindmouse. Multi-source. This vid has everything! Alien sex! Xenophilia! Zero-gravity sex! Mpreg!!! Because everyone knows this song is about space sex. Game Night in Space by garrideb. Multi-source. This vid!!!!! IS! SO! MUCH! FUN!! Game on! How are you going to spend those long nights on your starship? Play games, of course! Space poker, space chess, space Monopoly… this is a fanvid celebrating game night in space, set to Don't Stop Me Now by Queen. Starships (Monochromatic Remix) by @monkeyswithjetpacks. Multi-source. See the Fanlore page on the history of Starships (Monochromatic Remix). ALSO check out jetpack-monkey’s extensive notes and side-by-side comparison vid of the original vid and his vid!! He matched Starships shot-for-shot! Most brilliant work ever. The vid notes aren’t on the ao3 page so I HIGHLY recommend checking out the notes on his dreamwidth page! This vid is 10 million kinds of brilliant and technical prowess and perfection.

Vidshow Rec

Alien Invasion! - 30 vids curated and organized into a show by @tafadhali for VidUKon 2024. Featuring films and tv shows: Nope, Attack the Block, Pacific Rim, Venom, Doctor Who, Stargate Atlantis, Star Trek, Prey, Smallville, Rowswell, Supergirl, Arrival, Starship Troopers and more.

Follow these tags to keep up with vid recs this summer:

#saturday morning vid recs

#kuwdora recs

A helpful guide I wrote:

How to Leave Feedback on Fanvids

[perfectlyoongi]

SECOND-CHANCE!JIN who dreamed that there was an apology and woke up decided to go talk to you.

SECOND-CHANCE!JIN who asked if he could stop by your house after dinner. Jin didn’t know you anymore. you had been separated for so long that Jin lost any knowledge about you: your work schedule, when you went shopping, when you went on your monthly outing with your friends, Jin didn’t know anything about you anymore. so he thought it best to text you. when he grabbed his phone and opened your contact, Jin’s heart started racing with all the possible scenarios. but it was with the hope of a response from you that Jin slowly wrote the message and read and reread and read and reread and rea—

SECOND-CHANCE!JIN who felt the fire light up inside him when you answered yes. you gave Jin permission to meet you at your house. how could Jin not burn inside? with a simple word of yours, you were able to rekindle a flame that had long been extinguished — what were you capable of doing with your voice? your confirmation came like a firelight to Jin’s heart, burning his entire soul and giving fire, life, essence to Jin. all with a simple message. how would your conversation go?

SECOND-CHANCE!JIN who didn’t know if he should sit next to you on the couch. when you invited Jin into your house, his eyes immediately went to the two sofas in your living room: one with three seats, one with one seat. where should Jin sit? where would you sit? upon entering the room, Jin stood in the middle of the couches, taking his time to take off his coat as he waited to see where you would sit. on the three-seater sofa. would this be your invitation for Jin to sit next to you? or would you be testing Jin and seeing if he had the audacity to sit next to you? Jin just stood, looking at the two couches, looking at you. “where… where should i sit? do you want… do you mind… can i sit next to you?”

SECOND-CHANCE!JIN who didn’t know how to speak, he just knew he had to speak. when Jin ended up sitting next to you, leaving a seat away, he stared at you for mere seconds. Jin had never thought that you would agree to his visit, much less invite him to sit next to you, so Jin didn’t know what to say. he knew what he wanted to say, his heart had already rehearsed so many words so many times that the script was already part of Jin’s soul. but how should he speak? how could Jin apologize to you and ask you for an apology and ask you to come back to him? words were complicated to manufacture. how could Jin express himself? “i have so much i want to tell you that i don’t even know where to start. or how to start, to be honest. i don’t know. there is a river in me full of questions and confessions that want to flow into your heart. please, listen to me.”

SECOND-CHANCE!JIN who finally manages to ask you to stay. going round and round in his head, it took Jin a while to be able to verbalize what was in his soul; but when the words finally escaped his mouth, a whole weight was lifted from Jin’s heart and the flame within him burned with tones of hope. Jin told you everything. Jin said he never forgot you, that he still loved you, more than when he was with you, and that he wanted you back. among the whirlwind of words inside Jin, he managed to ask you for a second chance, and that was all that mattered. “i know what i’m going to ask you is a shot in the dark, but i need to ask you this. more for me than for us. i want a second chance. let me show you once again that i am capable of loving you.”

SECOND-CHANCE!JIN who felt happiness returning to him when you answered yes. you wanted the same thing as Jin. you had been thinking for days about how to make that same request to Jin. in a cosmic line, you and Jin synchronized in the dust of the star of your love, sharing the same dream, wanting the same request. and Jin apologized. and you apologized. and you asked for a second chance that had long been written in the cosmos. “i promise that i will make this opportunity my only reason for living. i promise to show you that i was created only to live for our love.”

[zaczenemiji]

Morpheus x Goddess!Arianrhod!Reader

Synopsis: In the Corona Borealis, Arianrhod finds herself preoccupied with thoughts of Morpheus. Unexpectedly drawn into The Dreaming, Arianrhod encounters him again, leading to an exchange that hints at deeper connections and future

Author’s Note: From this part onwards, alterations on the lore and nature of Arianrhod from the Welsh mythology was made to better fit the plot.

Word Count: 2,217

PART ONE

PART TWO

✧ Dream Upon A Star ✧

In the swirling galaxy of stars deep within the cosmos, there nests an ethereal realm. A mystical domain inhabited by celestial beings: the star fairies, moon guardians, cosmic weavers, seasonal spirits, and celestial animals. All of which were created and governed by their supreme ruler.

At the center of the realm towers a magnificent fortress that rises high into the cosmos—Caer Arianrhod, the Spiral Castle. Its walls glow with soft celestial light, creating an ever-changing display of colors reminiscent of the auroras. Its towers reach into the heavens, crowned with observatories.

In the heart of the castle is the Hall of Stars, a grand hall with an open ceiling where stars and galaxies are visible in their full splendor. Here, Lyrael, the first weaver of the celestial loom, awaits her queen.

Not long after, a silver light appeared. It turned into a swirling vortex of stars, and from there, Arianrhod emerged. Her arrival resonated within the realm, informing its inhabitants of their queen’s return.

“Welcome home, your highness,” Lyrael greeted with a bow. Before Arianrhod could even respond, her celestial owl flew quickly towards her, landing on her arm.

“Lunara!” the goddess greeted as she petted her owl’s head. “Hello, Lyrael,” she said, acknowledging her attendant. She walked towards her throne, owl still on her arm, as Lyrael followed.

“How did the convention go, my queen?” Lyrael asked the moment the queen had sat. Arianrhod told her the events that transpired, especially about the certain Endless.

“I am glad to know that you had a great time, Lady Star,” Lyrael replied. “Surely, the Lord of Dreams had one as well.”

Upon the mention of the Endless, Arianrhod’s curiosity peaked. “Is there anything you know about him?” She asked.

“Not much, my lady,” Lyrael answered. “Only from the fate of those whom he loved.”

Arianrhod decided that it was a story for another day as it was time to return to her duties. Lunara flew off her arm as she stood from the throne. Quickly, she made her way into the Chamber of Destinies where she did most of her work.

The queen can mostly be found attending to her duties in two places: the Chamber of Destinies, and the Stellar Observatory.

In the Chamber of Destinies, ornate pedestals are arranged in a circular formation around the perimeter of the chamber. The pedestals radiate outward from the center in spiraling patterns. They are also arranged in tier levels, with each level rising slightly higher than the one before it.

On top of each pedestal are the Fate Wheels, miniature versions of the much larger Silver Wheel found in the Hall of Stars. Each wheel represents the path of an individual. It is Arianrhod’s duty to ensure that they continue to spin. Otherwise, it would disrupt the Silver Wheel that holds the collective destiny of humanity as a whole.

The Stellar Observatory, on the other hand, is located at the top of the castle’s towers. In there, Arianrhod, together with the Cosmic Weavers, control the cosmic energies that govern the universe. They ensure that the movement of stars, planets, and galaxies synchronizes the rhythm of time.

However, a duty unique to the goddess, aside from the maintenance of the Fate Wheels, is the mending of rifts in the fabric of space-time. She is the one who repairs the cosmic anomalies and deals with those who intend to disturb the cosmos.

This is how the goddess had spent her life since the beginning of time, and how she will continue to do so in the entirety of her immortal life. Or so she thought.

She rarely leaves her realm; only on situations that require her presence—like the recent convention—and her intervention on mortals that negatively affects the Silver Wheel.

Before she knew it, it had been months, in mortal terms, since the convention. Specifically, the first time she met Morpheus. Often, she found her thoughts returning to him.

But as many times she thought of him, were the times she tried not to care. However, in moments like this where her presence is not needed in the chamber nor the observatory, when she is solitarily sitting on her throne, she wonders about him.

“My lady,” Lyrael called, disrupting Arianrhod’s thoughts. “Have you been feeling unwell?”

Arianrhod looked at her. Confused, she asked, “No, why?”

Lyrael sighed, a bit hesitant. “You don’t seem like yourself lately,” she started. “There are times you stare off in the distance like something’s on your mind.”

“Is there something wrong in the realm?” She asked, knowing that there is highly likely nothing outside of the Corona Borealis that would bother you. Unless there are threats but in that case, you would’ve acted to eliminate them immediately. So she settled with the conclusion that something might be going on in the realm.

“Perhaps, in the Lunar Gardens?” Lyrael continued. She remembered what the Star Fairies said—that the queen had frequented there. It was unusual because Arianrhod is a burner of the midnight oil; all she thought about was her duties. In other words, she isn’t one to spend her time on such trivialities as gardening.

For the first time, Arianrhod was at a loss for words, a loss for explanations. “Forgive me,” she said. “Perhaps I just need to…”

“But The Dreaming will always open its gates to you.”

“My lady?” Lyrael asked, urging Arianrhod to continue.

“…sleep,” the queen continued. Poor Lyrael continued to be baffled but she chose to keep it to herself. She is unsure of what’s happening except for one thing: the queen has never been in her sanctum for as far as she can remember.

In Arianrhod’s chamber, there’s an astral window enchanted to reveal different celestial phenomena. However, this time, it remained an ordinary one that gave her a view of the Lunar Gardens.

The Stellar Blooms mirrored the heavens as they looked like stars on the ground. She thought of the one she gave to Morpheus and wondered how it was doing.

She glanced from the window to her bed. Her canopy bed looked so inviting. She never slept—she didn’t need sleep. Rest was a concept she observed in others, not one she partook in herself.

But for the first time, she was curious.

And so she walked over to her bed, sitting on its edge before letting herself lie down.

Then she closed her eyes.

“My lord,” Lucienne calls to Morpheus who stares at the stained glass panes of his castle. It had shifted back to its original form just before Lucienne could see what he was looking at.

“A divine being has entered The Dreaming,” she informed.

“I am aware, Lucienne,” Morpheus said. “I shall welcome them into The Dreaming.” In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

On the bridge held up by massive stone hands, Arianrhod stands in awe. It was daylight wherever she looked. This realm resembled Earth; she hadn’t been there for a long time—the brightness almost hurt her eyes.

She closed her eyes and gently rubbed it. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” She almost jumped in surprise at the voice that came out of nowhere.

Morpheus stood behind her. As Arianrhod turned, he felt his heart skip a beat. Their eyes met, and the warm feeling inside him resurfaced.

For a moment, he could not believe it. He was just looking at the memory of her on the stained glass panes earlier, as he did every day since the moment he met her.

And now she’s here, in his realm, looking just as beautiful in daylight as she was under the light of a thousand stars.

She smiled, “I am not certain.” She didn’t want to admit that she came here on purpose. “I fell asleep. And it brought me here, to your realm.”

Morpheus looked at her with deep, knowing eyes. “Welcome to The Dreaming, Lady of the Silver Wheel,” he said with a faint smile.

Arianrhod was the first to break the eye contact. She looked around again, now seeing better after her eyes had adjusted.

“This place is beautiful,” she said.

Morpheus kept himself from telling her that The Dreaming pales in comparison to her—and now that she’s here, there is nothing else in his realm more beautiful than her.

Too captivated, Arianrhod almost forgot about the Stellar Bloom. “Oh, does it turn night here?” She asked. “The Stellar Bloom wouldn’t thrive in this condition.”

“The celestial flower is alive and well, Star,” he said. “I made sure to follow your instructions.”

Morpheus held his hand out. Sand swirled on top of it until a small pot appeared. In his hand was the Stellar Bloom, planted in a pot.

Arianrhod was delighted to see the flower. Morpheus saw the twinkle in her eyes as she looked at it.

She held her hand out in an attempt to sprinkle it with stardust. However, to her surprise, nothing came out of it. Then, she realized—she was powerless in The Dreaming.

As if reading her thoughts, Morpheus spoke, “You must come here in person to be able to use your powers.”

Morpheus sent the flower back to its place in his chamber, leaving nothing but traces of sand on his hand.

Arianrhod squinted at him. “Why should I?” She asked referring to his invitation.

Morpheus stepped forward, standing close to her once again, but this time, without the flower in between them. He looked at her eyes intently, his gaze unfaltering.

“Since our meeting at the convention, I have found my thoughts often returning to you,” Morpheus said.

He took another step closer. Morpheus’s eyes reflected a glimpse of rare vulnerability.

“I wish you to be the queen of my realm, Star,” he said. Arianrhod felt her heart flutter. “Will you allow me this?”

“Very well, Dream,” she replied. “I shall allow it.”

But before Morpheus could even smile, she stepped back. “IF you fulfill my conditions,” she smirked.

He was surprised, yet fascinated. “You challenge me, Star?” He asked, his lips forming into a smirk as well.

“Not a lot knows about me. But those who do, call me…” Arianrhod replied, leaning close. “…the goddess who challenges”—and that, she will continue to be. She wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled by any man again.

“What are your conditions, my lady?” Morpheus asked. Someday, that title will no longer be used just for formality. He will make sure—it will be used to refer to her as his woman.

Arianrhod stepped back, smiling. “First,” she said. “You need to show me the entirety of The Dreaming.”

Morpheus looked in disbelief, but he was delighted. “That’s easy,” he said. “We can even start now.”

“I know, Dream Lord,” Arianrhod agreed. “But you can���t show me the dreaming if I’m not here.” She moved to walk past Morpheus

“Which is why,” she continued, turning around when she’s past Morpheus. “Our little tour of The Dreaming would take place only when I stumble upon here.”

Morpheus didn’t know what he would feel, but the challenge added a thrill. Although, he did not understand the need to delay. The only theory he could come up with was that she might be playing with him.

“Second,” Arianrhod said. “You need to be able to find my realm.”

That piqued Morpheus’s interest. No one—not Death, and not even Destiny, who, among the Endless, is the one who could have direct connections to the goddess associated with time cycles, knew the name nor whereabouts of her realm.

“Third,” continued Arianrhod. “You have to make me fall in love with you.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Arianrhod breaks the silence. “You can always find someone else, Dream,” she said. “Maybe I’m worth the gamble, maybe I’m not.”

“I’m just not that easy of a woman, Dream,” she continued. “I have my own realm to attend to. And I don’t want to compromise it.”

It was Morpheus’s turn to speak. “Very well,” he said. “You’ve named your conditions, and I shall give my all to fulfill them.”

Arianrhod nodded. “Well then,” she said. “Until my next visit, Lord of—“

“Before you go,” Morpheus cut her statement. His sand once again swirled on his hand, later revealing a flower.

It had pale blue petals with delicate silver veins. Its center, a cluster of tiny, luminous white stamens. The stem is a deep indigo. Its leaves are broad and velvety, dark green with a subtle silver lining.

“For you,” Morpheus said, handing it to Arianrhod. The goddess was surprised. She carefully took it in her hands, holding it by the stem.

She places it near her nose. Its fragrance, delicate and enchanting. “What flower is this?” She asked.

Morpheus smirked, “You’ll have to come again to find out.”

What Arianrhod didn’t know, was Morpheus created it the moment he returned to The Dreaming after the convention. He ought to give you something in return—something that could also thrive in a cosmic realm, like the flowers at the Nexus. He spent days perfecting this flower, he’s just glad he was able to give it to you.

“Clever,” Arianrhod chuckled. “Well then, Lord of Dreams. We shall see each other again.”

Morpheus gently took her hand and pressed it upon his lips,” I eagerly wait for your return, Lady Star.”

——————————————————————————

PART THREE

I’m a sucker for slow burn romance 🤧

If you'd like to be added to my taglist for updates on this fanfic, just comment below or send me a message!

[intergalactic-romantic]

💖 Dream Goddess Space Lullaby 💖 This chonky calico Goddess embodies the qualities of Playfulness and Mystical Energy. Her eyes shimmer with the energy of the cosmos, and she exudes a playful and curious spirit that invites you to explore the mysteries of the universe. With a flick of her tail, she leads you on a magical journey through the stars, where anything is possible. As you gaze upon her charming face, you can't help but feel a sense of wonder and delight. Her playful energy and mystical aura are a reminder that life is full of magic and joy, waiting to be discovered by those who have the courage to seek it out.

Original | Prints

[iceunhie]

starstealer :: even stars can be swept off their feet. xavier is sure he is when he falls for you.

footnotes: small blurb, slight angst and my first standalone l&d fic! xavier experimentation fic because his character intrigues me to no end, lots of star comparisons

the universe contains approximately almost an innumerable number of stars, and out of an infinitely unquantifiable number of them, xavier wonders why you look at him like he's the brightest one.

stars fall, xavier admits, stars can fall, and xavier knows he's falling. (he's fallen.)

he knows it in the way you rest your head on his shoulder while you watch the flimsy dots of lights litter in the cosmos and his heart soars.

he knows it whenever he sees you hurt even for a fraction—how his feelings die and solidify and coalesce only at the thought of you. how fear climbs up his throat and marred memories of failure creep up his skin.

"you're not fine." he persists, handling you as though you were sand slipping through his fingers; jaw tight when he sees blood staining the white of your sleeve. the gash on your shoulder is shallow, though it spanned a quite alarming size. it makes him anxious. bile rises to his throat and he fights to keep his stomach from dropping. you laugh, brushing him off. "you don't need to take care of me, you know. isn't it tedious?" not to me, xavier keeps to himself. not when it's you. instead he says, "no. it's not. just let me help you, okay?" "fine....." you huff, resigned; and you thank him. 'always.'

knows it in how the stretch of two hundred and fourteen springs feels like a nightmare never dreamed before; with you as his reason to hold on.

knows it when he sees how the night's breeze makes your hair sway, the moon's glow a wink in the vastness that is the universe and the incomparable feeling that his universe, his wish, is right next to him.

he failed you time and time again.

now, xavier swears to never fail you again.

loving you feels like being showered the touch of a thousand flickering embers burning up to become a fire, and xavier doubts he can put it out.

he won't.

you like stars. xavier thinks that should you ask him to pluck one out for you, he'd hate it if only because he wishes to keep you in his arms for a little longer.

(he'd do it anyway.)

one look, one touch; leaving him to be stardust begging to be held in your hands. a star swept off its feet.

leaving him to find sleep a secondary choice in nature so as to burn your image into the scope of his memory. making him feel that happiness he only feels when he's with you.

loving you is painful, but loving you is worth it. he's fallen, and falls even more everyday.

"xavier?" did you know that every inch of his will has promptly devoted itself to you? would bend to your words without a thought and hear your every wish?

"hm?" he exerts, feeling the weight of your eyes on him.

you lean against him and the stars dim. the world falls to a hush. it's only you, it was always you—

xavier doesn't think to breathe; he listens to the sound of your heart thumping steadily in your chest, the rhythmic beat a reason to live again, to love you again. no words are needed more, not when your presence permeates across the void words cannot hope to fill.

"can i lean on you just a bit longer?"

(yes. always.)

"....as much as you want." his eyes soften, and his words are tender. "as long as you need."

he sees you smile, watches as your cheeks become full by the way your joy lights up your face, and xavier's world does too.

you're everything, xavier thinks. to the point he feels as though all the stars up in the sky shine if only to witness you.

a/n pls don't judge me for this half-baked fic and the possible in corrections of xavier lore; did i mention this was supposed to be a rafayel fic but ya girl decided to tap out

[९] 2024 © iceunhie do not copy or repost my work. do not use my work for your own use

[small-tragedies]

(Click on pictures for better quality)

Lisa Simpson lay on the rooftop of the Simpson house, gazing up at the starry night sky. The cool breeze rustled her hair as she sighed deeply, feeling the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. She had always found solace in the stars, but tonight, even their twinkling beauty couldn’t lift her spirits.

Suddenly, a strange, triangular figure materialized above her. Bill Cipher, with his single, glowing, and mischievous eye, floated in the air. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he said in a voice dripping with curiosity. “A troubled mind seeking answers in the cosmos?”

Lisa sat up, startled but not entirely surprised. She had encountered many oddities in her young life but was still weary. “Who are you?” She asked, her voice steady despite her surprise.

“I’m Bill Cipher, a muse of sorts,” he cheerfully replied, tipping his top hat. “There’s a crazy amount of ‘weird’ energy surrounding this place, and I thought I would check it out.”

Lisa gave the one-eyed little creature a flat look. “And why did you appear in front of me then?”

“I’ve been watching you for a while, kid, and I think out of all these meatsacks here, you’re the most interesting one.” He said as he gave her a wink—but since he only had one eye, it honestly just looked like he blinked as if he had something in it.

Lisa grimaced. Well, that was creepy. She was pretty sure he was trying to be flattering toward her, but she didn’t quite think he understood social cues.

“So if you’re some kind of ‘muse’ then what makes me so special?” She asked while she crossed her arms over her chest in skepticism.

A fascinated glimmer twinkled in his eye. “Ooh, skeptical, huh? I like it!” His one lone eye looked around, seemingly lost in thought. “Well, then let me tell you why I’m here~ I appear to those who are troubled, those who think outside the box.” He said while spreading his arms out before pointing at Lisa. “And you, Lisa Simpson, are quite the outside thinker.”

Lisa raised a brow, slightly concerned with him knowing her full name, but responded with a flat. “Uh-huh.” Well, that was a first, since not a lot of people commend her for her ‘outside thinking’.

Bill floated closer, his eye narrowing in a conspiratorial manner. “Kid, I don’t know if you know this, but you got a lot of inner turmoil going on. You’re at a crossroads, aren’t you? Something about college and your mother giving you a hard time?” He said sounding not unlike a mentalist—whom Lisa knew more than not—could be con artists. 

Lisa’s shoulders slumped as he hit the nail on the head. She sighed. “Yeah. I don’t really want to go to college. I feel like it’s not the right path for me, but my mom... she just doesn’t understand. She thinks it’s the only way for me to succeed.”

Bill chuckled softly. “Ah, college-schmollege, who needs it?!” He said it with a wave of his hand. He sobered up a little, becoming slightly serious. “You see, Lisa, you and I aren’t so different. Let me tell you a little story. I came from a place called Euclydia, a flat world with flat minds and flat dreams. I was different, always thinking beyond the confines of my dimension. My ideas made me an outcast, but they also made me who I am.”

Lisa listened intently, an unsure light reflecting in her eyes. “...Why… Why are you telling me all of this?”

Bill said, his voice growing more animated. “Because your outside-the-box thinking is what makes you special~ College isn’t the only path to success. You have the potential to carve your own way, like I did. Stick with me, kid, we’ll go places.” He winked, “I’ll make it worth your while~”

Lisa looked at him and commented dryly. “‘Worth my while,’ huh? Maybe I should go to college.”

Bill’s eye narrowed just a smidge. “Well, I can see you need time to think about it.” He floated down, reached into his non-existent pocket, pulled out a crisp one-dollar bill, and placed it into the palm of her hand, using his much smaller hands to close her fingers around it. “If you ever want to see me again,” Bill continued, his single eye narrowing playfully, “just hold this bill up to the light. You’ll see the color-shifting ink and some other strange symbols. It’s a little trick of mine~”

Lisa examined the bill, noticing the intricate details and a pyramid with an eye on it. She looked back up at Bill, who was already starting to fade away.

Bill tipped his hat once more. “Until then, I’ll be watching you.” He said in a chipper tone. “Always watching~ And remember, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy crypto, bye!” With that, he vanished into the night, leaving Lisa alone with her thoughts and the twinkling stars above.

****

Notes:

(Whatever is blue and underlined is a link)

The two manips were made by my sister, @twisting-echo Thank you, sis. They look fantastic!

So... I'm not going to lie, I've secretly shipped Older!Lisa Simpson with Bill Cipher ever since I watched the Bill Cipher cameo in the Bart's in Jail! episode back on October 3rd of 2021, and in light of "The Book of Bill" and BillFord craze that's sweeping the internet, I thought that I'd share my mini-fic idea of how Bill and Lisa met based on the events of the Mother and Child Reunion episode.

The reason I ship them is because Lisa is often portrayed as an outcast in Springfield due to her outside-the-box thinking and intellectual pursuits. Her interests in science, literature, and social issues frequently set her apart from her peers and even her family. Her struggles to fit in due to her progressive views and high intelligence make her similar to Ford Pines in a lot of ways. And Bill’s attraction to Ford Pines was primarily driven by Ford’s intelligence and curiosity. Ford was a brilliant scientist and researcher, which made him an ideal partner for Bill’s plans. Bill saw Ford as someone who could help him unlock the mysteries of the universe and achieve his own goals.

🚫IF YOU DO NOT LIKE THIS SHIP, PLEASE DON'T COMMENT OR REBLOG🚫 🚫PLEASE DO NOT STEAL OR REPOST MY SISTER'S EDITS🚫

[leodette]

Take Your Shot | OB38

fandom: Formula 1 / Formula 2

pairing: Ollie Bearman x OC (not named)

names/faceclaims: -

summary: she likes younger men... so what?

warning: age difference (older woman / younger man)

requested: yes / no

**********

She could've been his mom. And if not mom, then at least older sister. Him freshly 19, her for a few years already closer to 30 than to 20. She should be ashamed, should feel dirty. But surprise motherfuckers, she felt none of those emotions when he slipped in her hotel room later that evening, shoulders slumped and dark circles under his eyes.

Barcelona wasn't treting him well. Fucked up qualifying, then penalty in sprint, and in the final he had to take penultimate position, only managing to keep Roman behind him. Add in pressure from the big league aka F1 about his potential upcoming season in Haas... and one wouldn't be even surprised with the state young Ollie Bearman found himself in. Tired, and in desperate need to let the steam out. And if letting the steam out meant going behind his girlfriend's back and taking a refuge in the arms of older woman? He was tired to even care.

They started earlier that year. After Saudi. She was there as one of the minor sport journalists, although her face wasn't unknown in the paddock, given that that was her job for a better part of a decade. And he was the surprise, the shining star, the future champion. That's what everyone called him. She still remembered those eyes full of excitement that looked at her during post-race interviews in media pen. He was so excited, so alive, the energy bursting out of him so much that everyone in his perimeter found themselves smiling.

They ran into each other that evening after race, in the bar of the hotel where they stayed. He collided with her on his way to the bathroom, managing to caught her so she didn't fall, his look falling in the deep v of her neckline, not being able to keep his eyes away. She was tall, almost matching his height, probably thanks to the heels she was wearing that particular evening. Ollie felt like hypnotized, his eyes moving from her clevage to her lips, slightly opened, adorned with a deep maroon lipstick.

In one moment, the energy between them shifted. Something very primal rumbled deep in Ollie's chest, his instincts yelling at him to pull her back inside the bathroom she just left. And a blink of an eye later, she snapped out of that delirium, shaking her head and quickly apologizing before shaking his hands off of her arms and almost running away from him. She was the sensible one back then.

Their roles reversed in Monaco. Although Ollie wasn't in a cockpit of F1, he managed to do a great job during Sunday in feature race of F2, finishing only a second away from podium. They met, once again, in a bar. She celebrated her birthday that collided with Monaco GP, he was there with his friends and colleagues. She was sitting at the bar, waiting for her Cosmo to be made, when he slipped behind her, motioning to the barman for two drinks. His hand slipped on her back, only as a precaution so she wouldn't fall from her chair, since the place was packed and he was pushed at her by the crowd. And her, already a few drinks deep, turned and looked up at him through her lashes.

If anyone asked him later what they were talking about, he wouldn't be able to say. What he would remember though would be the pendant of her necklace, falling in the valley between her breasts, the glittery body oil making her tanned skin shimmer, her lips caught in between her teeth. But when she put her hand on his stomach, her siren eyes looking in his, he felt like he woke up from a dream, suddenly remembering where they were, who they were, how many pair of eyes were probably looking at him. So despite wanting nothing more than take her away, he pulled himself away, allowing himself a discreet brush of her hip before taking his drinks and returning to his group.

The next morning, she felt ashamed for her behavior, especially when tiptoeing around an unfamiliar hotel room, a sleeping man in bed whose name she already forgot spotting a mop of dark curly hair.

And so came Barcelona.

Did she put on a dark red dress with deep neckline? Affirmative. Did she choose it with him in mind? Affirmative. Did she intentionally ask for covering F2 instead of F1? Also affirmative.

He looked so sad after the sprint, his eyes filled with tension and stress. She later caught him in the paddock, walking towards Ferarri hospitality. For a moment he was alone, people mingling around turning their attention towards Lando Norris who was passing by, on his way to qualifying.

She recognized the emotion on his face. Sadness turned into anger. And with anger came frustration. She had his phone number. Had a lot of them since she was sometimes covering F2 as well.

[hotel; room number], 9pm. delete

She watched as two grey check marks turned blue, and smirked to herself. She was playing a dangerous game. If he decided to show it to someone? She could very easily loose her job. But she has decided to play the gamble.

And so she ate dinner, showered, put on a sheer bralette and simple white panties, and thrown an off-white linen shirt over, keeping only two buttons in the middle. It was now or never. To see what the tension between them could bring.

Her phone beeped. 9pm. A knock on the door, followed by a tall figure in a dark t-shirt and jogger slipping in.

Ollie stopped on the spot, watching her. Her lips between her teeth. Again. She was playing with him, knowing damn well what it did to him.

"Wanna let the steam out?" she murmured, lifting one of her eyebrows, leaning her hip against the table.

Ollie shook his head, quickly turning away from her and back towards the door. Her heart dropped to her stomach, but then she heard it. The click of the lock.

Her feet suddenly felt like made out of concrete, she was unable to move. Ollie walked past her to the window overlooking Barcelona, took the curtains and drawn them shut. The room was only illuminated by a lonely lamp on her side of the bed.

In a second, Ollie was standing in front of her, their breathings raged, the tension pallable. He slowly unbuttoned her shirt, letting it slip from her shoulders.

He gently grabbed her chin in his hand.

"On your knees," he whispered.

[blooming-gwens]

The first 1,200 words of For Everything Chapter Two

Hey guys! I’m really, super excited to be back in action, working on this monster of a fic. It’s still going to take me a considerable amount of time to finish, but to tide you over, I am releasing to you the first 1,200 words of what I am expecting to be a 45-50k chapter. Enjoy~

»oO{|~|}{|~|}Oo«

.

.

.

Time seemed to slow as she descended from the shadows into a brilliant night sky.

She’d never seen the stars so close before—Glittering like polished jewels caught in the light of a craterous, full, yellow moon.

Not even perched from the highest point of the city had the sky been so crystalline—above her an abysmal sea of a million luminous lights, glinting against the empyrean curve of the fathomless cosmos that retreated further and further away from her, falling out of reach, out of touch—smaller and smaller until they were just pinpoints—until they were absorbed by the silvery clouds she sliced through.

She couldn’t breathe, the air whipping around her stealing any breath she could greedily inhale. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t cry.

There was nothing she could do.

Miguel had warned her. He showed her, as if knowing would be an advantage, as if knowing would slow her fall. As if knowing would inspire her not to take it all for granted—but she did, and there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say to change it now.

And there was so much she wished she could have changed.

.

.

.

»oO{|~|}{|~|}Oo«

“Wait, I think there might be a way to figure out where the Go-Home-machine sent Miles.”

Gwen didn’t mean to roll her eyes, but she also didn’t fight the instinctual movement that reflected the otherwise unwarranted annoyance that curled through her. To be fair, the feeling had been festering for the past four minutes as she petulantly sat through a whirlwind of ideas—some good, some bad, some questionable at best.

That had been the first time Margo had chimed in through the plethora of plans being shoved into the mix, and Gwen had already been steadily losing her patience with every dead end they met.

Time was not at their disposal, yet there they were, on some secluded rooftop on Earth-616B, wasting more than they could afford, missing every mark they shot for.

And Miles…

Miles was missing in a finite cluster of multiverses, and Miguel was also on the prowl—armed with rage, and the numbers, plus every advantage they could only dream of possessing. Meanwhile they didn’t even know where to start looking or how, but all of a sudden Margo did.

“Well don’t leave us in suspense, pig tails.” Ham groaned.

“You’re one to talk.” Peter B huffed with a raised brow. Gwen leered at him, shaking her head once. “What?” He asked, meeting her narrowed eyes.

“Oh, I get it! Because he is a pig, and he has a tail!” Pav perked, gesturing down to Ham, who was glaring daggers at the pink robed Spider-man.

“Nice, Pav.” Hobie said, lounging with his arms folded behind his back in a web spun hammock suspended between two air conditioning units.

Mayday squealed from the carrier strapped to Peter B’s chest, kicking her chubby legs with a giggle and reaching towards the talking pig. She had been wholly fascinated by Spider-Ham since first glance as if he was a character from one of her storybooks.

“Right…” Margo sighed before continuing. “So the Go-Home Machine keeps an archive. Just the consequential details like the variant, where it was sent, stuff like that. The data is wiped intermittently as a security measure, but knowing Miguel, there could be a backup.” She explained promptly, Gwen scrutinizing her glowing figure with arms folded over her chest

“That guy does have some major trust issues.” Gwen heard Peter B mutter from behind her. Her eyes rolled again. At this rate, she expected them to be stuck upwards by the end of this conversation.

“Assuming you’re right, would LYLA have access to this back up?” Gwen questioned, her tone bristling.

“LYLA has access to everything.” Margo answered, turning to face Gwen, her holographic form glittering under a flickering flood light mounted to a wall behind her.

“Can you access it?” Gwen emphasized, her tone clipped. Already she could see all the ways her idea could go–none of them consisting of a successful resolution. “Without getting caught.”

A smile spread to Margo's lips. Gwen’s stayed set in a subtle scowl.

It turned out Spider-Byte also had access to everything, it just took a little more effort, and she would have to directly hack into the machine's mainframe on E-928. Any other way would significantly heighten the probability of LYLA’s security protocols being triggered.

“That sounds like a suicide mission if I ever heard of one” Noir added, tipping his hat forward and cupping his masked chin with his pointer finger and thumb. “And I have planned a couple myself.”

“Noir’s right.” Peni said, sitting inside SP//dr, the front hutch of the mech suit propped open. ”Miguel would never leave HQ without surveillance, especially if he knows some of us have gone rogue. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Margo nodded before gesturing to herself. “I’m an avatar. They can’t catch what they can’t touch.” She waved one hand through her forearm, and everyone watched in astonishment when her arm wavered as her fingers passed right through it.

“Oh, that is creepy.” Pav whispered, covering his mouth with his hand.

”I’ll be quick. In and out. Easy.” Spider-Byte confidently continued.

“But what if—“ Peter B started before Gwen curly cut him off.

“She’s not going alone.”

All eyes turned to her as she spoke, silence following her decree.

Ham was first to break the seemingly long, awkward stretch of stillness. “Now it’s actually a suicide mission. Well, at least for Gwen who can’t do that cool arm thing like Margo.”

Spider-Byte took a single step towards Gwen, her brows knitting together. “I don’t need the back-up. Like I said, I’m untouchable.”

Gwen couldn’t trust that. She couldn’t trust her.

There had been no intention to harbor shock or malice towards Margo, but there was still an itch about her Gwen couldn’t scratch. She never really went out of her way to talk to the avatar, but they would pay each other a respectful acknowledgement anytime they crossed paths—which wasn’t often.

Margo spent a majority of her time in the confinement wing of HQ, where all the anomalies were stacked up to be sent back to their respective dimensions. Maybe it was Gwen’s uneasiness towards the machine, but she never strayed to that side of HQ on her own volition. If she was needed, she would report, but she kept her interactions and time there minimal.

In turn, the two girls remained distant.

Though Gwen couldn’t help but notice how her and Miles had looked a little longer, said a little more than she ever bothered to say to Gwen.

(And vice-versa.)

Her and Miles?

Perhaps the insistence of her blatant jealousy could have better timing. Her focus was needed elsewhere and her emotions were clearly clouding her judgment, right?

“You’ll need the back-up if things go south.” Protested Gwen, leering down at Margo.

“What happens if something happens to you?” Pavitr all but squeaked, his stress tangible.

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Pav.” Gwen hissed, her eyes still locked with Margo’s.

“Is it just me, or is Gwen being very intense?” She heard Pav ask in a hushed whisper.

“S’not just you.” Hobie replied flatly.

{|~|}{|~|}

And scene. I hope that satiates the pain of waiting. I appreciate all your patience, and above all, support! Much love <3

[rosaren2498]

"If you could control what you dream, what would you dream of?"

You blinked, surprised, before canting your head back to look up at him. His twin star eyes shined with unbidden curiosity and you smiled, placing a gentle kiss along his jaw.

"Close your eyes."

His lips twitched with amusement but he obeyed. You closed your own and began to imagine, willing him to see what you dreamt. Given who he was, it wasn't particularly difficult.

"I would dream that I had wings and could fly. I would leave the earth and fly amongst the cosmos, seeing all the stars, galaxies, and clusters that the universe has to offer, in every color imaginable."

You felt him breathe in deeply as the images you pictured, your dreams, were shared with him and your smile widened.

"I would dream of a forest in the middle of Autumn; not too warm, not too cold, but the trees full of impossible colors. Flowers of all different kinds would scatter the forest floor and they would carry the sweetest of scents.

"I would dream of a clearing far from the reaches of any light pollution. A place where the sky is several shades of deep, dark blue, except you almost can't tell because every inch of it is smothered in stars."

You felt your eyes burn with tears at the beauty of it behind your closed lids.

His mouth opened, as if to speak, but instead, his breath left him in a rush as the dream actually filtered through.

"I'd dream that I could breathe underwater and explore various undersea cities full of different creatures and cultures. And it wouldn't matter if I looked human, or if I looked like them, for they'd welcome me as if we knew each other."

You opened your eyes, unshed tears making them shine. You smiled at his awed expression and cupped his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones. His eyes fluttered open and you beamed at him.

"But most of all, I'd dream of this, right here. Of you and me, forever. Because you may be the King of Dreams and Nightmares, but... you are my dream."

His twin stars burned as he drew you into a passionate kiss, saying with actions what he could never express with words. You were all too eager to return the dizzying kiss and when you finally parted, you gasped for breath, a flush spreading across your face and down your neck at the expression on his.

"I do not dream, but if I did, it would be of you. You are my everything."

Your world tilted as he gently laid you back, resting on top of you and in between your spread legs.

"Let me worship you," he whispered, pressing gentle yet heated kisses along your exposed collarbone.

"Yes," you breathed, and shuddered as his lips connected with yours again.

[moonsfantasyworld]

Do you think there was a possibility for Cosmos and pre-corruption Shadow Milk to be together? Or to at least find each other?

yes! there are two possinilities in fact if cosmos had started exploring the dream worl much more sooner and if pre corrupted shadow milk had sneaked inside the archives of the wizards and found the files about cosmos, freeing her out of curiosity

which is! part of the plot of my au ''right cookie right time''

i think i've talked about it before! but basically, blueberry milk (my pre corruption name for sm), being the curious silly guy he was, in the search of knowldage he would decide to break inside the archives of the wizards one day, finding the files about a failed attempt at the perfect cookie, sealed somewhere amongs the stars and out of full curiosity, he decided to find a way to free her and when he did boy was this cookie so gorgeous to him..

fell for cosmos at first sight! cosmos took sometime, since she was just calming down still about the events of being sealed away..

in present times of this au, shadow milk is partly corrupted, as when they met he was already suffering the first effects of corruption, but thanks to meeting in time, with help from cosmo's small knowladge on wizard's magic and the help of the witches they figure out a way to stop it, but sadly arent able to help the others in time

due to this shadow milk no longer holds the light of truth, instead he has become more of a protector of it till the next chosen one appears and becomes its next holder, and at the same time holds power over deceit, altough controlled of course, but barely uses this power out of fear of being fully consumed by deceit, this being a constant fear of his

he is the original founder of the blueberry academy, but after some years decided to step down as a teacher, but is always more than happy to lead in a helping hand when asked

cosmos never gave up her name, in fact, she happily would help blueberry around and the other cookies. after learning of her sister moonlight, despite her grudge with the wizards, she aids her taking care of the city so she can have her rests.

she still has her facination over dreams and still ends up gaining the title of the princess of dreams as well

oh and, her and milk are married here and adopted pure vanilla :] i cdan go in depth about it too if ya want!