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whispereons · 2 years ago

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Oracle!Reader Part 18

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 17, Part 19

Warning! This has blood, injuries, and violence! This is a imposter Sagau so you can expect these topics!

The faintest sound of grass being crushed jolts you back into the waking world. Gripping your chest, your mind tries to remember your situation as you take deep shaky breaths. Just how long were you asleep?

The moon glimmers above you and it isn’t very obviously moved, so it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes… How could you have been so stupid to waste your limited time sleeping?!

The sound of heels stomping at a fast pace makes you move quickly. Packing up the medkit, you shove it into your bag and throw it over your shoulder. There’s a slight dizziness, your body is still sore and in pain, but it’s no longer unbearable.

From a 10 out of 10 to a 9 out of 10. Why couldn’t you get some sort of healing power as the Creator? Cursing your shitty luck that unfortunately didn’t change when being isekai’d, you bring up the game screen.

One more try, you reason with yourself. Maybe after that minute-long power nap, it will finally work for you. To your quick dismay, it still doesn’t work, but at least you could finally figure out where the fuck you were and where to go.

Staring at the game screen as your heart rate slowly rises from the sound of shoes stalking closer isn’t the situation you want to be in, but it is what you get from this particularly shitty hand of fate. What’s even worse is just how far away you are from any civilization, teleport waypoints, or statue of the sevens.

You eventually settle on going for the closest teleport waypoint and pray to any god besides Celestia that it reactivates your ability to teleport. Looking across the lake, you frown knowing you’ll have to walk around the whole damn thing.

Standing up, you can’t even pay attention to the rush of blood to your head as the dropping temperature monopolizes it. There’s no more time to waste. Kicking back into full drive, you weave past the Cryo Slimes now that you can actually see, and start to run on the edge of the lake.

It’s pathetic how you couldn’t take more than a few steps before an ice maiden flies beside you and blocks your path. Large waves of ice follow it before it dissolves into Cryo-infused talismans. The only paths you had now were the water to your left or going backward.

Both clearly lead to death.

Just your fucking luck.

“Y/N!” Your name is spoken like a curse, as if you were nothing more than a pest meant to be crushed. Turning around, you look back at Shenhe who still doesn’t have any red ropes subduing her murderous urges.

Her polearm is waved slightly as blue slime flies off it. It’s only now that you realize the slimes near you were missing. The moon illuminates the blood shining off her clothing, both yours and hers. Dirt, minerals, and grass stains stick to her outfit and hair as she prowls closer.

The cold wind blows as she stops just a few feet in front of you. There is no blind anger or desperation for your death in her posture. Iridescent eyes stare you down as her Cryo vision is held in place solely by the gold ornament holding her hair in a loose ponytail. She is more than aware that your chance to survive or escape is low.

“You’ll pay for your crimes. Let my hatred suppress whatever meaningless feelings you have, to prevent you from ever resurrecting as a demon.” Cold. Her voice is cold as she holds her polearm in position and steps closer.

Despite the fear, despite the pain, and anger, you hold onto whatever half-baked plan you have in mind and stay in place. Backing away would only corner you against the ice wall she built.

Determined eyes stay locked onto Shenhe as your hands stay empty. Your silent refusal to bring out your weapon breaks whatever little self-control she has as she lunges at you. Gritting your teeth and throwing away your self-preservation, you rush forward to meet her.

Just as you hoped, Shenhe swings her weapon earlier with her quick reflexes and your heels dig into the ground to pull you back avoiding the fatal blow. The deep laceration on your collarbone is a small price to pay for your hands to grasp her wrists tightly. Growling, Shenhe moves to yank her hands away but petrification begins to overtake your hands and her wrists.

Not wanting to get caught in your petrifying trap again, she releases the polearm quickly, letting it clink out the ground. Your nails strain with the effort needed to keep her in your grasp but it’s worth it as her hands and wrists are successfully petrified. Like this, she couldn’t use her weapon or take out a talisman.

“You know, it’s really unfair of you to hold such a grudge against me for hurting you when you hurt innocent people all the time. Talk about a hypocrite.” With a mocking tone you begin to pull her into the shallow water. She tries to fight back but with your hands locked together and the water lapping at your feet, her resistance is futile.

“I mean, just cause you’re gullible and stupid enough to not pick up on basic social cues or even try to learn them, doesn’t mean you’re free from the consequence!” Your words end with a shout as you use your strength to pull Shenhe down with you into the water.

Falling onto your side with Shenhe in the same position, you raise your head just high enough to not drown. You didn’t pull her into the deep end, that would be suicide for you both but at least now she couldn’t use cryo without freezing herself too.

You could only hope she wasn’t that far gone to be willing to commit a murder-suicide.

Shenhe regains her bearing and quickly gains the upper hand by pinning you down into the shallow water. Holding your breath in the nick of time, your petrified hands push against her weight and flip her over.

Doing your best to hold her down in hopes of forcing her to pass out fails with how she switches the position. Constantly applying Petrify, you're locked in a grapple with Shenhe as the water splashes against your face.

“I don’t care that you hurt me. I care that you hurt my nephew!” Shenhe says in a frosty tone once she’s in an advantageous position.

Frowning at the sheer audacity of her words, pure annoyance gives you the strength to quickly overthrow her. It’s even enough to ignore how the arrow is pushed deeper and deeper into your chest.

“Stop fucking lying! You barely give a crap about him, which is still a leg up compared to how you seem to nearly hate the rest of humanity. The only person you like is the Traveler!”

“That’s not true, it’s not!” She refutes like a stubborn child. “I love the Creator too, more than anything else!” Her harsh breathing is strange, that anger she’s been so intent on expressing seems to hint at something else too…

“Then why the fuck are you still hunting me?! I didn’t do shit to the Creator nor to your precious traveler!” Probing for answers, you hold her down even with the ice spikes melting, unplugging your wounds.

“I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!” Shenhe spits it out the words with rising irritation but her resentment is slowly mixing with visible frustration. “The Traveler is my link to this world, my link to the Creator. I know for sure that I like her because these emotions fill me to the brim when I’m in her presence. That’s why I’m sure that I hate you!”

Shenhe’s feelings hit the limit as her next move slams your head onto the rock in the water. Your mouth opens automatically from the pain, water rushes into your mouth choking you. Ears ringing and body steadily going limp, your mind switches between intense static and terrifying calm contemplation on her words.

That resolute tone she spoke wasn't natural, almost like she’s forcing herself to believe her words. The back of your head feels warm and you can’t tell if you’re bleeding or if it’s just water.

Emotions filled Shenhe when she met the Traveler as you were the one controlling the Traveler all this time. The Traveler is publicly known as your acolyte, probably known as your first acolyte since you start Genshin with the Traveler. As this was her first taste of emotions since her father’s betrayal, she had a positive view of Lumine immediately.

But then what did that mean for you?

Your lungs burn as water blurs your vision and Shenhe shivers above you. The medical care you applied earlier did nothing now that you’re wet. Those useless, meaningless worries fade away as you retreat into contemplation, back to where you weren’t burdened with a fight you didn’t have the energy for.

Meeting you in person must have caused even more feelings to appear but you didn’t have a reputation like the Traveler did. Combine that with the action of stabbing her, it must have warped her perception of what feelings she has toward you.

Perhaps you hit your head too hard, or maybe it was the lack of oxygen that caused a near-manic glee to fill you. With strength unknown to you, you finally push her down and smile wide enough that it borders on being creepy. The water left in your mouth runs down your face with no change in your expression.

“This has to be some bullshit. The world, Celestia, and fate must be dying to screw me over in every way possible.” Your eyes stare unmoving down at the somewhat stunned Shenhe. The slight furrow of her eyebrows and the smallest downward turn of her lips tempt you to speak with mocking joy.

“Congratulations Shenhe, you don’t hate me, you never did! You love me, you love me the same fucking way you love the Traveler. Because just as Yelan said earlier, I’m an oracle, and no matter how much you want to push those feelings away. They. Won’t. Leave.”

Punctuating those last words with more force, you lean down closer to her face which morphs into something mirroring shock and slight fear. It almost immediately turns into an expression of denial as she switches your position to keep your head on the raised seafloor.

It seems she didn’t want to drown you anymore. Your verbalized enlightening words nurtured those little seeds of doubt she tried to stomp out.

“That’s wrong, it has to be. I hate you, I must hate you! I can’t love someone who harmed me. There’s no other choice, I have to hate you.” A strong denial, but it’s all a front. The fear in her eyes is as clear as the silver moon above you.

Why, oh why did you have to deal with a little kid figuring out their feelings in this sort of situation? Just like when adults claim that a boy bullies a girl he likes. You now had to deal with Shenhe’s ‘hatred’ due to her emotionally stunted childhood.

Your luck just couldn’t get any greater!

“I can’t love you. I can’t love someone who hurts me, not again.” Shenhe stares down at you as tears begin to slide down her cheeks. Staring blankly up at her, your mind seems to connect the dots on why she’s so against loving you.

Just like most trauma, it all starts with the parents. Her father’s stupid and abusive decision still has her in a chokehold.

Perhaps if this was a different situation, a different day, you could have dealt with her feelings gently. Slowly talking to her to accept these new emotions. Pushing past any barriers and lousy facades she might use to escape your kind words of advice.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not today, not tomorrow, and probably not for a long while. The water around you has the faintest pink hue, no doubt from all your wounds being reopened. Your ears still ring and your lungs still make your chest heave with effort to regain proper ventilation.

Shenhe’s tears drip down your cheeks as she gazes down at you with watery eyes. The beautiful mirage of colors is swamped with salty droplets as her lips quiver.

Distantly, you count this as the second time you’ve made a Cryo vision holder cry at your words. The love you held for the characters back then has all but been buried deep inside you at this point. You will not survive in this world clinging to your past love for them all.

The petrification crumbles away with Shenhe too lost in her mind and heart to realize. Your dominant hand carefully releases her wrist before clenching around a familiar weight.

If she’s the one with the Cryo vision, then why is it that you’re the one looking coldly at her?

“But you do love me, and living with those confusing emotions is what it means to be human. To be mortal.” With a swish of your sickle crackling with electricity, the blunt side makes direct contact with Shenhe’s temple. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, she collapses onto the water as her body jostles wildly from the electricity.

You aren’t afraid of the Electro hurting you. The trust you place in Teyvat to not hurt you is justified as the Electro doesn’t shock you, even as you grab Shenhe and drag her onto land.

The love you felt for all the characters isn’t being calculated in your decision. Shenhe dying, especially at your hands, is a recipe for disaster. You try to ignore the ache you feel at the thought of Shenhe's cold and rotting body in a coffin.

Touching the back of your head, you pull your hand back into view and grimace at the freckled blood dotting it. Multiple bruises, lacerations, a puncture wound in your chest, the leftover ice lodged in your lower legs, and now a head injury too?

Maybe getting a fracture or broken bone will balance out your injuries.

A slightly bitter chuckle leaves you as you open the game screen again. You only try once to teleport but as expected, it fails to work. Sighing and resisting your rising frustration, you resume your journey to the closest waypoint.

A strong smell of iron and salt clings to you, you're cold and wet but it’s bearable. Bearable compared to the pulses of pain that torment you as you amble to the halfway point of the lake.

The sound of treasure hoarders laughing and clinking of coins throws you off. Even from this distance, you can count at least five hoarders. An impossible battle in your state, you would surely die trying to get past them.

It’s hard to forget how many people they’ve kept in cages, robbed, murdered, and even implied to sexually assault.

Dread and loathing bubble up to the point where you’re almost positive that if you opened your mouth, acid would come out. Doing your best to disregard the pain, cold, exhaustion, and fury you turn around and walk back.

Farther down south is supposed to be where another teleport waypoint is built. Supposedly: it’s right above the Chasm in Lumberpick Valley. Just some climbing, not like you can’t push your bleeding body a little farther, and then a straight shot to the waypoint.

Checking the game screen one last time to be absolutely sure, you start your journey. You avoid looking at Shenhe’s peaceful appearing body laying on the grass. Mindlessly your hands apply your leftover medical supplies to your battered body.

There’s no time to rest. No time to stir on what direction to go, on how you should react to Yelan if she appears. No time to collapse on the soft grass and just let yourself bleed to death.

Yelan was bound to be on your heels and you would be damned to let her be the death of you.

-----------------------

Sweat dripped down your skin as your haggard breathing could be faintly heard. Knuckles pale from the tight grip you enforced, you pulled yourself up over the last ledge.

You couldn't just backtrack and go back the way you came, the chance of running into Yelan or other enemies was too high, so now you were stuck climbing hill after hill.

Crawling away from the edge, you pick yourself up tiredly. Wincing from the throbbing pain in your head, you held it gently. The bandages wrapped haphazardly around it were slightly bloody.

Each drop of ruby and ticking second was precious. You didn't have much energy left.

Following the vague instructions you remember from looking at the map, you followed the hill down. As you got closer, the sound of conversation was recognized.

Slowing down, you crouched low and laid down near the edge closest to the waypoint.

Two treasure hoarders stood below walking together. Scanning them up and down, you noted the crossbow and throwing knives arming them.The men stopped almost directly below you making a smile creep onto your face.

Your specialty was gathering information. To be more specific, blackmail.

And while you doubt they know any good blackmail, whatever they know could be useful.

"Isn't it great that we finally got word from Brass Bull and Flower? I was so sure that we would never receive another letter after what happened…"

"You shouldn't speak about Big Sis and Flower that way! I mean, the Madam from the Treasure Hoarder Association came in person on Big Sis's request."

"What are you doing trying to scold me while openly referring to Brass Bull as Big Sis?!"

The hoarders squabble with each other below you as you stir on their words. A Madam from the Treasure Hoarder's Association? That doesn't seem suspicious on the surface layer but from what you remember…

There never was a Treasure Hoarder Association in the game. The most impressive thing about them was how disorganized yet large their group is.

Keeping a hand over your mouth to halt the manic giggle from escaping, your eyes gleam with malice.

Everyone has some sort of tell when they lie. Experienced liars have learned to hide their physical tell but that makes it evolve into something else. A pattern for lying, a favorite lie to rely on.

And if you remember correctly, Yelan almost always claims to be a part of some organization while conveniently avoiding her name.

All that built up excitement at seeing past Yelan's lie falls the moment you realize that she must be near the waypoint. Maybe you should just turn back?

Standing back up you grimace at the blades of grass dotted with crimson. You were losing blood at a rate too fast to play it safe. At most you had another two hours, and that was without combat in the equation.

Ignoring the dull spikes of pain from your skull, you keep low and sneak past the treasure hoarders. The various large rocks and swaying trees served as a good concealment. The night sky was just another bonus that helped you along.

The path clears and after walking a bit on edge, you slowly rise to your full height.

There wasn't another soul in sight.

As much as you would like to be suspicious and keep to the shadows, you couldn't afford to be so guarded. Merely thanking your lucky stars, you follow the path quickly.

Slowing down, you come across a wooden structure with stairs leading up to the teleport waypoint. The blue glow was a comforting sight. Finally, you can try to escape this place by activating it.

With one more wary glance around the area, you quietly climb the stairs. Not a sound is heard as you dash closer to the waypoint and reach your hand out.

Chills run down your spine and Teyvat cries out in your mind with what sounded like an animalistic scream. The glimmer of something shiny blue comes from the teleport waypoint but it's too late.

Not even your instincts can push your lightheaded and muddled mind to process the situation fast enough.

Hydro lifelines cut into your hands, letting your blood reveal the criss-cross patterned trap guarding the waypoint.

A yelp of pain leaves you from the burn of your nerves and you startle back just in time to not get your face smashed into it.

The lifelines move to wrap around your limbs and fling you back. There's a split second of being airborne, your heavy body floats for felt like an eternity.

Until your back collides with the insignificant stack of crates that break at your weight. Splinters tear your worn out clothing and stab into your back. It's not deep but the blood is obvious. Pain floods your senses and your ear

The remaining crates fall onto your face and there's a sickening crack of your nose. All you can do is gasp from the pain and bite back tears.

"A little birdie told me of someone messing with the Creator's holy structures. Those who aren't chosen by the Creator can't touch them."

Even through the blinding pain, ringing ears and bloody spit, you make sure to bite out "Just like you?"

Yelans blurry figure enters your vision that fades in and out of consciousness. What a shame that you couldn't see the snarl her lips curled into.

Lifelines pull you by your wrists into a standing position. Blood rushes to your head, causing you to gasp from the sharp spikes of pain. Your vision comes back into focus, showcasing a smirking Yelan.

Clean and bandaged, the exact opposite of you.

“Keep them still, don’t bother with the rope. Restraints would be wasted on a captive as beat up as them.” The off-hand words are followed by the lifelines breaking away and leaving you to sway. Almost immediately, a larger pair of hands grab your arms and force them behind your back. Calloused fingers dig into your wrist to hold them still, the lacerations throb at the rough handling.

Not bothering to fight the new hold, you slowly turn your head to examine your surroundings. What was once an empty platform is now filled with treasure hoarders. Both possible exits are blocked off by groups as Yelan stands in front of you with her back turned.

“We got them, Madam! This is who we needed to capture to finally be connected with the Fatui, right? With this masked target caught, we can get Big Sis and Flower back!” A cheerful treasure hoarder speaks up first. Perhaps he's the leader for this bunch of hoarders?

The rest of the hoarders chime in too, big smiles stretch across their faces as they celebrate. The names ‘Brass Bull’ and ‘Flower’ are mentioned multiple times as they grow louder and more excited.

“Oh yeah?” Even with Yelan’s back to you, the smile in her voice is easily heard by you.

“Then it’s almost a shame to say that I caught the rest of you too.” The confused and wary expressions turn into realization as lifelines appear all around the treasure hoarders. The hands around your wrists tighten up as you peek up at the hoarder holding you captive.

Silent and still, the masked hoarder tightens his grip on you as the other members begin to fight back against Yelan. Only some though, most are too scared to move and get filled by the laser-beam structured lifelines.

Yelan, as calm as still water, walks to the stronger hoarders, determining them as the only threats. The noise in the area heightens as fighting ensures but your mind seems to work properly amidst the confusion. Fingers twitching with the desire to hold your sickle and break free from the flimsy man’s hold, you take a shaky breath. Not yet, you tell yourself, just one more step and then you can break free.

Yells of anger and betrayal ring out as the hoarders curse Yelan out. The names Brass Bull and Flower are spoken with so much affection that the familiar tug on your memory finally makes sense.

A past Genshin event involving the traveler helping the Milleth arrest a group of treasure hoarders comes to mind. As per usual: it ended with the Traveler arresting the leaders Brass Bull and Flower, along with what seemed to be their full group.

Seems this group was just the leftover that must have been somewhere else during the time of the event. They’re simply the leftovers that Yelan is obliged to clean up. Yelan never helps an enemy without helping herself first.

“I almost feel bad for you all.” A dry chuckle leaves you after speaking as the hoarder holding you shoots you a nervous glance.

What easy prey.

“Did you really believe that Madam so easily? Brass Bull’s letter has to leave the Milleth prison meaning anyone could have peeked into the contents. Forging a letter to catch you all is just one possibility. It would be even easier to just replace the true Madam to infiltrate for any information you might withhold in captivity.”

His body stiffens up and his eyes look down at you with not quite a glare but something harder than a stare. “H-How did you kno-”

“About the letter? Yelan, or rather your fake Madam, bragged to me about it of course. A public servant for the Ministry of Affairs like Yelan can’t help but flaunt her misdeeds.” There’s a wariness in his eyes as he stares at you, his guard is lowering by the second.

Tone shifting into annoyance, you continue. “Don’t give me that look, ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’, don’t you know that? I was the one undercover to bring the real Madam back here. When I couldn’t find her, that's when I met Yelan.”

Biting your bleeding lip, your expression scrunches into one of anger as treasure hoarder after treasure hoarder are sent flying. “Yelan explained in detail how she tortured my dear Madam for information, all while inflicting these wounds on me. I’m not surprised to see that she infiltrated your group by lying her ass off.” His brows begin to furrow and his hands begin to steady.

“You wanna know something else?” His nod makes you smile widely and much like a devil to a wronged soul you whisper into his ear. “The Fatui you all were supposed to meet on Brass Bull’s orders have already been taken care of by Yelan. She could have just captured you all without any unnecessary fighting, but she wanted to betray you all.”

“Just like how she helped the Traveler arrest everyone all that time ago…”

His complexion turns red as he releases your hands quickly and grabs the sledgehammer hanging from his waist. He sprints swinging it widely while yelling-

“-That woman is a fake! A fraud! She’s responsible for the past arrest and now this arrest!” Yelan jumps back, barely escaping a broken jaw as he continues to yell. “She’s the one responsible for Brass Bull and Flower’s sentence! Everything from then and now is all her fault!”

That knowledge makes every treasure hoarder's eyes grow in size and lock in on Yelan. Your hands pick up your bag from the floor as the hoarders lunge for Yelan.

Emerald eyes, wide and panicked, lock onto your tired yet satisfied ones as you send a shit-eating grin her way. ‘Eat shit’ you mouthed to her before watching the remnants of the group jump her.

It felt great, amazing even, to give her a taste of her own medicine after what happened with Shenhe.

Only the smallest bits and pieces of wood were stuck in your back as you lug the back onto your shoulder. Flexing your body despite the pain and slight sway, you survey the battlefield.

You still needed to touch that damn waypoint.

“Ugh!” With a wince, you press a hand against your head before ducking as a blue arrow whizzes above you. Your skull sends sharp jolts of pain down your body as your back grows wet with blood.

This battlefield was too risky, every hoarder was blindly shooting and Yelan was still targeting you!

Putting pressure on your calves that still drip with blood and melted ice, you march through the battle. Limbs and heavy bodies bump into you harshly as weapons narrowly hit your fragile body.

With laser focus on the teleport waypoint, you escape the constantly moving current of fighting and come into proximity of the waypoint. The cool feel of the waypoint is soothing against your feverishly hot fingertips, just when did you get this hot?

A gold glow shines from the teleport waypoint as you wretch your fingers away quickly, uncaring how your ruby blood left its mark on the object.

Shit, shit! How could you forget?!

The battle stills as everyone’s eyes are drawn to the dimming glow and new color of the waypoint. Yelan stares at you past the remaining hoarders before you jump to the side when multiple Hydro projectiles are shot at you.

It snaps the treasure hoarders back into reality as they glare at Yelan again. Taking advantage of what little time you can get, your body moves automatically to the closest exit.

Only to stop as the lingering hoarders who are too scared to fight Yelan but feel too guilty to run away aim at you with pale complexions. “D-Don’t come any closer!”

A bloody and messy unknown traveler on the other hand? The chance of them actually shooting you is high. Spitting out the blood pooling into your mouth, you back away from them. Turning back, you try the other exit but it’s just as bad.

Neither way was going to let you through and Yelan was starting to seriously cut down on their numbers. The small mountain next to you was starting to look increasingly tempting…

A passed out treasure hoarder is flung in your direction by unstable lifelines with you pressing your aching body against the stone to avoid getting hit. Your skull hits the stone and your mind goes blank for a hot minute.

Did you really have any time to be picky? You weren’t even sure if the waypoint would even work.

Sucking in a painful breath, you wrap your cut up fingers around the rocks and begin to climb. Sweat rolled off your feverish body as every movement made waves of pain wash over your body.

Blood dripped from your nose, spilled out of your mouth, and mixed with the slightly bloody dents you got from Yelan’s nails. Hot stings pricked at your head as the bruises beneath your body made itself remembered.

Finally at the top, you pull yourself up and gaze at the Chasm as the cool night air nipped at your skin bringing sweet relief. Lumbering closer to the ledge toward the Chasm to avoid any stray arrows, your fingers tremble slightly as it brings up the map.

Strange, when did you start trem- “Argh!” The cry is pulled from your lips as an arrow pierces your back. The pain and force behind it is too great forcing your body to collapse to the ground.

Your broken nose makes contact with the groan pulling a pained groan from you. Weakly, you roll to your side as heels begin to head your way. Body sore and sensitive, your eyes stare up at Yelan’s casual stride.

She’s slow and beaten up too. That arrogant smile is gone and those demeaning eyes have changed into something akin to hatred. Pulling yourself up as she stops just a few feet away, you watch her draw her bow.

Taking a step back just to get some distance, maybe even enough to dodge, it’s stopped short when all you can feel is the edge beneath you.

It’s a dead end.

Yelan is quiet as she aims at you, her trembling bloody fingers are more than enough proof of how far you pushed her. Should you be satisfied seeing someone who basically had their whole life play out like you wanted and craved suffer?

“I guess you really will be known as a hero, Yelan, just like your ancestors.” The words are sad and bitter on your tongue. A sharp contrast to the iron taste as you cough up blood.

“It cough must be nice! Knowing that every-cough thing in your life worked out in the end! Hack” A clot of blood is forced out of your throat as Yelan narrows her eyes at you.

“I hope you thank the Creator every damn day for the people in your life…” A sardonic wet laugh leaves you as your body shakes. “Especially Ningguang as she's the reason you didn't have to struggle to find a new job.”

A bloody coughing fit consumes you and pain accompanies it as the bow’s tension is released.

The incoming arrow isn’t something you can avoid or block, the force of it pushes you off the edge. Time slows down as you blankly watch Yelan’s form begin to get smaller from above you.

You have no energy to panic, just a faint realization of your quickly coming death and a conflicting feeling of acceptance. The wind howls in your ears and the world blurs together, all you can truly see is the starry sky above you.

Is this how you will die? Is this how you want to die?

No, maybe you should at least be thankful that you’ll be dying from being a liar rather than being an imposter.

Would that make your death more acceptable in your eyes?

Your body is weightless and the pain you suffered from no longer torments your body. Closing your eyes, you let all those lingering worries fade away.

Why weren’t you dead yet?

Opening your eyes, you find that your fall is a lot slower than before. It’s gotten softer from a howl to a murmur in your ears. Aches begin to plague you as pressure compresses your body and lungs.

Rocks and other edges move past you and the incredible thing you realize is that you’re floating. Will you actually survive? Is there a big difference between falling to your death and floating to it?

Struggling to breathe through the thin air and blood in your mouth, no scream of pain can leave your lips as your back meets the grass. Several cracks can be felt and a tip of the arrow pushes through your body until the metal tip pierces your lung.

The pain is unbearable as you lie there helpless.

Teyvat traded a quick painful death of being splattered and compressed on the ground for a slow painful death of bleeding out?

‘What a fucking joke!’ You think to yourself as tears run down your face, and your skin turns cool and clammy. Warm blood seeps through your clothing and it begins to form a sticky puddle beneath you.

Skull aching as your spotty vision fades in and out, the several new broken bones that leave you unable to move, and the agonizing pain of something stabbing your insides as blood bubbles in your mouth?

It’s torture, you conclude. You’re fated to die a torturous death no matter what.

“...herbs….here…” It’s a slight mumble that you can’t hear.

“Maybe…here?” A little closer and the voice catches your slowly dying consciousness.

“The last herb is here.” A slow, childlike voice reaches your ears and you turn barely enough to watch a zombie-child walk your way.

A small basket is stiff in her hands filled with plants. “I need to gather the herb.” She speaks not quite to you but past you.

To a snow-white Qingxin, the petals droop beautifully dotted with crimson beads of your blood. Qiqi walks closer with empty eyes unflinching as her shoes are stained with your blood.

Qiqi can carry Xiao and she goes straight to Baizhu who is not only a healer, but also the best doctor. This agony and suffering would be worth going through if you would actually live.

The only thing in the way was her current order...

Good thing you already know how to cancel it.

Qiqi’s stiff fingers wrap around the stem and freeze when your larger, shaking one's weakly lay on hers. Dull pink eyes look up at you as if seeing you for the first time. Her pupils widen minuscule as your warm eyes stare back.

Forcing a small bloody smile, you weakly whisper sweetly. “Qiqi, I love you most.”

The basket in her other hand drops to the ground but Qiqi’s eyes never stray from yours. Her small grip on the stem stiffens and you continue. “It’s true Qiqi, I love you most.”

“But I won’t be able to love you if I die here. Bring me to Baizhu.”

Her eyes dull immediately and she releases her grip on the herb. “Order received.”

With that, she takes the arrows embedded in your chest and snaps the majority of the parts sticking out. The pain you feel from Qiqi’s lack of restraint isn’t unbearable but the continuous feeling of your conscious fading scares you.

Within a minute Qiqi has you on her back with your arms draped over her front as she holds your legs up. The position is painful as her readjustment and movement make the leftover arrows in you jolt, but it works.

Not a single part of your body is dragging on the floor and she even has your bag hanging from her neck. It would be a cute sight if she wasn’t going to hike back to Bubu’s Pharmacy carrying a dying body.

You admittedly held some negative feelings towards Baizhu for using that method of canceling orders. He may take good care of Qiqi but he only loves her as a patient, rather than as a parent.

Qiqi hikes back with no stumbles or enemies in the way. Even with your weight, she walks as if unburdened. That doesn’t stop the mind-numbing sting plaguing you and your body.

What right do you have to judge Baizhu for giving Qiqi false parental love for his own benefit? You’ve now done the same exact thing. If anything, you should know better.

You don’t have much time left as your head sags onto her, your consciousness is at the brink. Unknowingly your thoughts begin to spill out in a hoarse voice “Sorry Qiqi, I shouldn’t have said that. What I should say is sorry.”

With that, everything fades to black.

This was one long chapter, but I did not want to split and risk losing the momentum. I'm happy to conclude this women hunting you down arc! I swear this chapter was done when I was freed from the shadowban, it just took a long time to edit. Thank you to my editor for helping me edit this document from hell. It definitely would have taken at least another few days. Next chapter might take a bit longer as I have to finish Baizhu's story quest for a proper view of him. I'll admit that my series can get confusing so if there is any questions, feel free to ask! I appreciate all the likes, comments and reblogs!

Taglist - if you're name is in italics, that means I couldn't tag you!

@vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @liansh3ng, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @shellofthewell, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet, @yandematic, @atrcclovsxoxo, @0lshadyl0, @esthelily, @t-rex-red, @ck123, @steadybreadbluebird, @118gremlin, @stratonia, @time-shardz, @farelady-fate, @valeriele3, @francisnyx, @byakuren100, @waveto-earth, @flyingpansaurus

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winxanity-ii · 2 months ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 54 Chapter 54 | the shape of his grief⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Your boots tapped lightly over the cobbled path, each step familiar now. It didn't take long to retrace your way back. Everything on the island was walking distance—tight and crooked, half-stacked atop itself like someone had built the town out of clay and too many dreams.

The streets curved more than they straightened, each one layered with flowerpots, drying laundry, and the smell of old lemon soap or frying oil depending on which bend you took.

You turned a corner near the old olive press—just past the rusted bell where some child had tied a ribbon to the clapper—and that's when you saw her.

Eione.

Standing in the middle of the street like she'd been waiting there all along.

You stopped. Full stop. No breath, no blink. Just... stopped.

The moon hung low behind her—thin, curled like a hook, but bright. It casted her in a soft glow, wrapping her white shawl in silver, turning her hair to seafoam light. She didn't look surprised. She didn't look lost. She just stood there, calm as tidewater, as if she belonged to this hour.

Your throat bobbed. "...Eione?"

She smiled at the sound of her name. Soft. Almost warm. "I heard you've been looking for me."

Your breath hitched. "I—" You stuttered, words falling out clumsily. "I mean—yes. Kind of. I wasn't sure—didn't know if you'd still be here."

She took a few slow steps forward, her sandals barely making a sound on the stone. "Then I suppose I ought to answer, don't you think?"

You blinked. Confused. "Answer?"

"It's only right," she said simply. "You asked. The sea heard. The stars watched. So I came."

You stared at her, heart tripping. "I... don't understand," you finally whispered. "What do you mean?"

Eione tilted her head, the moonlight flickering in her eyes. "I'm a devotee of Apollo," she said. "Blessed with vision. Some say seer, others say nuisance. I say I serve."

Your pulse skipped.

"You serve him," you repeated, slow. "You serve Apollo."

"I do," she nodded. "And you... are his favorite."

The word hit harder than expected. Not boastful. Not even complimentary. Just... factual. Weighted.

You opened your mouth, closed it again. Your fingers curled lightly at your sides. "That's—" You huffed out something between a laugh and a breath. "That's kind of a lot, isn't it?"

Eione's smile didn't fade. "It should be."

Because gods, it was. It really was.

You weren't just a favored mortal now. You weren't just a servant or a student or a girl on a ship with a dream tucked under her ribs. You were someone that oracles bowed toward. Someone whose decisions could shape visions.

The thought made your stomach twist. You weren't sure if it was pride or panic.

You looked at her again—this woman, this vision, this quiet answer you'd asked the wind for weeks ago. And now here she stood, looking at you like you'd summoned her by name.

And maybe you had.

Maybe this was the moment where things started shifting again.

Just not how you expected.

Eione's gaze stayed on you. "There'll be no interruptions this time," she said softly. "No tournament bells. No soldiers calling you away. Just truth."

She paused, then held out her hands.

"Do you wish to see your prophecy?"

Your heart thudded once. Then again. Harder.

You didn't answer right away. Your mouth parted slightly, then closed. It wasn't fear that kept you still.

Not exactly.

It was knowing. Knowing this would change something. Knowing you couldn't unsee whatever she was about to give you.

But your hands moved anyway.

Slowly, you reached out and placed your palms against hers.

They were warm. Calloused at the edges. Steady.

You nodded once. "Alright," you whispered.

Eione gave the smallest smile, then turned, and you followed her.

She didn't say where she was leading you. She didn't have to. You walked behind her in silence, the night folding tighter with each step.

The air shifted.

The breeze picked up—gentle at first, brushing your cheek like a sigh. Then again, sharper this time. The kind of wind that carried warnings. It tugged at your cloak, made the hairs on your arms rise. You glanced around.

The street began to... flicker.

Not visibly at first. Just the edges. The cobblestones looked less solid. The walls shimmered faintly, like heat rising off pavement. The lamps above you swayed without wind.

Your steps slowed. "Eione?"

She didn't answer.

The world around you darkened—not black, but... colorless. Faded. Like all the pigment had been drained. The buildings grew hazy, edges softening into charcoal smudges. The trees looked like someone had drawn them in ash.

You opened your mouth to ask again—

And that's when her voice filled your ears.

But it wasn't the same.

It didn't come from her mouth.

It came from everywhere.

A soft, echoing murmur, like breath caught in a shell. Detached. Distant. Yet unmistakable.

You turned to look at her and froze.

She wasn't walking anymore.

She was standing still. Perfectly still.

Her eyes were glowing white.

Not bright. Not radiant.

Just... lit. Quietly. Steadily.

A faint, curling wisp of smoke drifted from the corner of her mouth as she exhaled—slow, even, like she wasn't breathing air anymore. The wind circled her ankles like it knew something you didn't. The hem of her robe fluttered without sound.

Your feet stayed rooted, heart thudding in your chest as her voice filled your head again—detached now, layered, like someone speaking both through time and behind it.

"Look."

And then the world bent.

Not violently.

Not with a snap or a shatter.

But with a hush.

A slow tilt, like everything around you had been waiting for permission to fall apart.

You didn't scream, but gods—you felt like you should've because the street was gone.

And something else was beginning.

It wasn't sound.

It wasn't movement.

It was knowing.

Your vision flickered—not shut, not open, just... pulled.

You felt your body tilt but never fall, like the street beneath your feet had turned to smoke and decided not to tell you.

The air wasn't cold or warm anymore—it was thin. Like the world around you had stretched, the same way a thread does before it snaps.

And then—you saw it.

Not your own memory. Not your own time.

But his.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

Centuries before the child. Before the flower. Before the prophecy whispered its name into the smoke of Delphi—there was Hyacinthus.

And there was loss.

At first, it was only light.

No shape. No form. Just rays.

But they weren't golden like the sun. They were dim. Burnt amber. Like candlelight seen through grief. Like a torch too tired to fight the wind.

You saw a figure then—tall, still, drenched in that exhausted light.

Apollo.

He sat alone in the great hall of music, and everything around him was wrong.

The walls were too quiet.

The wind didn't carry sound anymore—it only scraped. Like bone dragged over strings. Like grief trying to hum a tune it had forgotten halfway through.

His fingers hovered over the strings of his lyre, and still... he didn't play.

Because what was the point?

What was the point of light if Hyacinthus couldn't see it?

What was the point of song if he couldn't press his ear to Apollo's chest and murmur, "Sing it again. Just for me."

He had meant to stop time.

He had meant to shield him.

And instead, he had killed him.

The wind had turned the discus, yes. Jealous Zephyrus, sulking from the edges of the grove. But Apollo had thrown it.

He had made the disc.

He had called Hyacinthus over.

He had smiled when the boy stepped forward, hair tangled in sun, and said, "Catch me."

Apollo did.

Just not the way he wanted to.

And now, he sat, alone—drenched in that exhausted light.

He stared off his palace's balconey, staring down into nothing. His hair was loose, tangled. His skin held the glow of divinity—but it was dimmed.

The ocean roared below him, waves crashing without rhythm.

The gods around him didn't speak. Didn't dare.

Because Apollo—the sun itself—was grieving.

The breeze carried it like a secret. The petals on the wind remembered. Even the stars had dimmed just a little, holding their breath with him.

Hyacinthus was gone.

And Apollo... Apollo had unraveled.

He hadn't turned the boy into a flower yet. Not yet. That would come later. After the rage. After the despair.

But now?

Now he sat in silence.

Unmoving. Unburning.

His light pulsed weakly against the sea.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

Years passed. Then centuries.

You watched them in fast blur. The world moved. The mortals moved.

But Apollo was never the same.

He wrote songs no one heard. Hymns too sad for mortals. Sonatas without resolution. A quiet rebellion against his own domain.

He stopped attending festivals, but he still kept the sun moving—though it stuttered. Sometimes it rose late, others, it set early. The seasons bent under the weight of his sorrow.

Olympus whispered.

They said he was fading.

That Apollo—radiant, golden Apollo—had gone gray at the edges.

That his laughter no longer warmed the groves.

That his temples stood colder than they used to.

Even the Muses avoided him. Clio cried once when she found him crouched on the temple steps, staring at his own hands like he didn't remember what they were for.

"Leave me," he'd said. "Please, just—leave me."

And so they did.

Until—Delphi.

A whisper.

A vision.

He hadn't gone himself. He rarely did anymore. But when the priestess slipped into trance that day—when her mouth opened and smoke filled her lungs—her voice was his.

"One shall come, born of light delayed. A death too soon, spun by mischief. You will know them by what was taken— And by what your heart creates in its absence."

Apollo said nothing at first. But something in his posture shifted.

A thread pulled taut.

He left before she finished.

Didn't even wait for the ceremonial offerings.

He returned to his chambers, pulled every unfinished scroll he'd ever written about grief, and started something new.

A Muse.

He didn't know what they would look like. Or when they'd come. Only that they would. That Delphi had spoken it. That the ache in his chest had shape again. A shape that hadn't formed since—

"Hyacinthus," he whispered one night, forehead pressed to his lyre. "I wasn't ready to stop loving you. So I didn't."

And so, he began to wait.

For centuries, he waited.

But not idly.

He wrote.

Oh gods, he wrote.

You saw the scrolls. The fragments. The symphonies only he could hear. Each one about someone he hadn't met yet. Someone who would arrive late, but mean everything.

He composed for you before you existed.

He dreamed you out of grief.

And in doing so—he made you real.

You weren't fate.

You weren't born chosen.

You were born because he needed you to be.

Because his sorrow had nowhere left to go. Because Hyacinthus' death cracked something inside him, and the only way he could fill that break was by turning it into longing.

Into prophecy.

Into a you who hadn't even drawn breath yet.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

Apollo sat perched atop the outer wall of his temple, his golden cloak draped lazily across one shoulder, his fingers plucking absentmindedly at the strings of his lyre.

The melody was half-finished—just like all the others.

It was a quiet tune tonight. Softer than usual. Sweet, maybe, but hollow at the edges.

He'd been writing it for centuries. Shaping it. Reworking verses in his mind. But no matter how many times he rewrote the middle, the ending never came.

How could it?

The Muse he was writing for didn't exist.

Not yet.

But they would.

He believed that.

He had to.

And so, Apollo played. Each note a prayer to a person who had no face. No name. Only a place in his heart he couldn't explain to anyone. Not even himself.

He didn't notice the shouting at first. Not really.

Just a flicker. A distant noise.

But it grew louder. Louder still. Echoing up the marble steps, cutting through the warm air, tugging at the edges of his focus like a stubborn child.

Apollo's eyes narrowed. His fingers froze on the strings. A discordant note hung in the air, unresolved and unwanted.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Callianeira," he called without turning.

One of the nearby nymphs—resting in a bed of thyme blossoms near the fountain—lifted her head. She blinked, sleep-stunned, and scurried upright. "Yes, my lord?"

Apollo tilted his head toward the noise. "Go see what that is. It's disrupting my music."

The nymph nodded and darted off, curls bouncing, skirts fluttering.

He went back to tuning. Back to remembering. Back to not remembering.

The prophecy had come so long ago.

And yet, he hadn't forgotten a word.

A child, born too early.

A death not meant to happen.

And in the wake of it—a presence. A muse.

Someone who would change him.

He'd believed in it with a quiet, patient ache. And when the ache grew too big, he'd turned it into sound.

Always sound.

Always song.

He didn't write for mortals anymore. Not like he used to. The muses danced for others now—poets, priests, kings. Let them have them. Let them scribble verses in dirt and paint hymns on wet clay.

Apollo's muse would be different.

Sacred.

His.

And then, Callianeira returned out of breath, voice shaky. "It's Eileithyia," she said quickly. "She's late."

Apollo looked up slowly. "She's what?"

"She was summoned for a birth—important, apparently—but she hasn't arrived. Ate's been meddling again."

Apollo's eyes flickered gold.

His breath caught.

Not just a birth.

A delayed one.

A child robbed of timing.

A death pushed forward.

His heart stuttered. "Where?" he asked.

The nymph hesitated. "Earth. A place called Lyraethos. Small island. Not far from Ithaca."

That was all he needed.

He stood, light flaring beneath his heels. A new melody bloomed in his chest—louder, clearer, tinged with something like hope for the first time in centuries. He didn't pause. "Hermes!" he shouted, his voice ringing like sunlight against the stones. "Get down here!"

There was a flutter of air, a flash of winged sandals, and then the god of messengers appeared mid-hover, biting into a pomegranate.

"You rang, big brother?" Hermes mumbled through a mouthful.

Apollo turned to him with a look that bordered on divine impatience. "There's a birth. A soul. I need it saved."

Hermes blinked. "Do you know how many births happen every second? You're gonna have to narrow that down."

"Lyraethos. The goddess of childbirth was delayed. A child died before their time. It's them." His voice softened, filled with an emotion Hermes didn't quite recognize. "It's the one I've been waiting for."

Hermes raised a brow, now mildly curious. "The muse thing again?"

Apollo nodded once, slowly. "It's real. I feel it. This is it."

Hermes took another bite. "You're really going all in on this prophecy, huh?"

"You don't understand," Apollo said, voice sharpening. "This isn't just prophecy. This is... correction. A course set wrong by Ate's meddling. The child wasn't meant to die, anyways. I'm fixing it."

"Riiiggghhht," Hermes drawled, flicking a pomegranate seed off his robe. "So what do you want me to do? Zap the baby back to life with divine jazz hands?"

Apollo ignored the sarcasm. "There's a flower. From my grove. The golden one that glows at night."

Hermes frowned. "The Hyacinth-rooted ones? The cursed blooms?"

Apollo didn't flinch. "They're not cursed."

Hermes lifted a brow. "They grow from the ground where Hyacinthus died. That's not exactly neutral soil."

"It's powerful," Apollo snapped. "Sacred. I've spent years cultivating the strain—infusing it with sun and song and silence. It can reverse death, but only if it's applied fast enough. Before the soul crosses."

Hermes whistled low. "That's big magic, sun-boy. Hades know about it?"

Apollo's face didn't soften. "I don't care if he does. I'm not letting this one go."

There was a pause. Hermes' gaze turned thoughtful. "And you want me to deliver it?"

Apollo nodded. "You're the fastest."

Hermes smirked as he turned to go. "That's not up for debate."

Apollo stepped forward, and this time, there was something strangely vulnerable in his tone. "Don't tell them what it means."

Hermes blinked, stopping. "Excuse me?"

"Don't tell the parents what it costs," Apollo said. "Don't tell them about the prophecy. About what it means."

"Bit of a bait-and-switch, don't you think?"

"They don't need to know," Apollo said quietly. "Let them think it's luck. Let them believe it's just mercy."

Hermes tilted his head, chewing slowly. "So, you want me to lie?"

"I'm asking you not to ruin it."

A pause.

Then Hermes grinned. "Alright," he said, wings twitching behind him. "But I get to have a little fun."

Apollo narrowed his eyes. "Hermes—"

"I won't say everything," Hermes assured, already vanishing in a blur of wind and citrus. "Just enough to keep the father sweating."

"Hermes—!"

But he was already gone.

Apollo stood alone again.

The sun dipped lower, brushing the edge of the world in sleepy gold.

He turned back to his lyre, lifting it slowly, fingers curling over the strings.

And for the first time in a long, long while—

He played.

Not in mourning.

Not in longing.

But in hope.

And somewhere, far below, a baby's cry cracked through the veil.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

And the vision shattered.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

You gasped—choking on breath that tasted too old, too thin, like it had been waiting in your throat for centuries.

The world spun.

Your eyes snapped open and you staggered back, blinking hard as colors returned—too fast, too bright. The air was sharp with woodsmoke and salt, the stones beneath your sandals real and uneven. You reached for the wall behind you, steadied yourself and found nothing.

The alley was empty.

You were standing outside the inn.

Where you were initally headed.

Except you weren't.

Not really.

Because Eione was gone.

No trace of her voice. No trail of her robes. No whisper of incense or divinity or smoke.

Just silence, just you, and just the weight of what you now carried pressing sharp and terrible beneath your ribs.

You swallowed, but it didn't help.

Your throat felt bruised, like the truth had been poured down it all at once and left your skin scorched from the inside out.

Your name hadn't always been written in stars... it had been carved into the soft clay of Apollo's pain.

It hadn't been fate.

Not really.

Not the way you thought.

Not the way the bards sing about.

Apollo hadn't seen you and chosen you because you were bright. Or strong. Or worth something more.

He had written about you before you existed.

Wished for you.

Wove you from the same thread he used to stitch his sadness into songs.

You fit a shape he'd been dreaming of for centuries.

And when Ate tripped the goddess of childbirth—when your soul hovered in that blur between not-quite-here and already-gone—he didn't pause.

He reached.

Because the story he told himself—the one where he got a second chance, where someone stayed, where the ending was different—needed a body.

And yours... just happened to be there.

You weren't born divine.

You were rewritten that way.

A prophecy bent into you.

Your life spun on the tip of a god's loneliness.

You were his mourning in disguise.

A self-fulfilling thing.

There had never been anything special about you—not at first.

Not until he made it so.

Not until he poured centuries of unfinished songs into a fate no one asked for.

Not until he turned you into a balm for a wound that still bled every time the sun set.

And now... now, you stood on a quiet street corner, heart pounding like it didn't belong to you, and finally understood—

The gods don't wait for destiny.

They write it.

And sometimes...

They write it wrong.

You stumbled back a step, then another—until the door of the inn was behind you no more, until the faint comfort of its light was swallowed by the crooked shapes of the alley. Your hand flew to your forehead, pressing hard like you could squeeze the thought out of your skull before it settled.

No. That couldn't be right.

It couldn't be true.

You gripped your temples, fingers trembling as you turned sharply and started walking. Fast. Anywhere. Somewhere. Nowhere. The streets blurred around the edges, the orange glow of torchlight stretching too far, too thin.

Your breath picked up. Too loud. Too rough. Like you couldn't pull in enough air no matter how wide your mouth opened.

He made me.

You gasped—short, shallow bursts. The kind of breathing that made your chest burn, not ease.

You tripped.

It was stupid, how simple it was. Your boot caught on a raised stone in the path, and suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet you. You hit the cobblestones hard—knees first. Your palms scraped against the rough stone, and a dull sting lit across your skin.

But it didn't matter.

Not really.

You stared down at your hands—scraped, red, dirty—but the pain barely registered. It wasn't sharp enough. Wasn't deep enough. Nothing could cut as deep as what you already carried.

Cleo had been right.

Gods, Cleo had been right.

It was supposed to be you.

Not her. Not anyone else. You were the one meant for death. For nothingness. For the dirt. But then a god—a sad god—looked down and said, "No. I want that one."

And so, the story shifted.

Not for justice. Not for goodness. Not because you deserved saving.

But because he couldn't stand being alone anymore.

And if Apollo hadn't been grieving? If he hadn't been staring at his empty temples, whispering songs to the air and calling out to a muse that didn't exist yet?

Then you wouldn't exist.

You would've never been born.

You never would've known the smell of the palace kitchens, or the warmth of Penelope's hand smoothing your hair.

You never would've seen the cliffs of Ithaca under the morning sun.

You never would've heard Callias' laugh echo through the halls, or touched Lady's fur, or run your fingers across the strings of a golden lyre and felt something answer back.

And worst of all—your heart seized—you never would've met him.

Telemachus.

Your lips parted, a dry, broken sound escaping as you crumpled forward, your elbows resting on your thighs, your head hanging low. You gripped your sides like you could hold your ribs together if you just clenched hard enough.

Telemachus wouldn't even know you.

No laughter shared in the courtyard. No sleepless nights passing bread across the table. No worried glances. No half-smiles. No almost-confessions passed through wine and starlight.

He would have grown. Yes.

But without you, who would he have become?

Would he still lie awake wondering where you were? Would he still watch your face from across the room like you were the only thing that steadied him?

Or would he be lighter?

Would he be better, without the gods tangling his fate with someone who was never meant to be here?

You pressed your forehead to the cobblestone, cold and gritty against your skin.

And then—you broke.

It started as a hiccup. Just one. Small and sharp, like it had caught you off guard. But then another followed. Then another. And suddenly you were sobbing—no, screaming into the street in a voice no one would answer.

"Why?" you choked out, fingers curling into fists against the stone. "Why me?"

Your voice cracked.

"Why—why did you do this?"

You screamed it again, louder this time, until your throat stung and your chest caved in and your body felt like it was folding into itself. Your knees ached on the ground, and still you didn't move. Didn't care.

You didn't know who you were screaming at—Cleo, fate, the stars.

Or him.

Especially him.

Your vision blurred, tears streaming so hard they soaked your lashes. You rocked forward again, pressing your palms to your eyes like that might stop it. Like you could cry the wrongness out.

But it didn't go away.

Because even in your grief—even in the storm of your unraveling—you still loved the life he gave you.

And that made it worse.

Because your voice cracked again. You weren't sobbing for yourself anymore.

You were sobbing for him.

The one who built you out of grief and prayer and a hundred unfinished songs.

The one who wrote you into being, not because he wanted to love you, but because he couldn't stop.

"Why..." Your voice broke, barely a whisper.

You curled in tighter.

Alone in the street. Shoulders shaking. Heart shattered into too many pieces for your hands to hold.

You didn't know how long you sat there. You just knew the street never answered back.

But then—warmth.

Soft at first.

So gentle you almost didn't notice it.

A golden warmth brushing along your spine, curling beneath your knees. Like the sun had decided to rise early—just for you.

It wrapped around you slow, spreading down your arms, through your ribs, into the hollow where your voice used to live.

You gasped—shuddered—as it got heavier. And heavier. And heavier.

Until suddenly, something touched you.

A hand. Gentle. Steady. Smoothing down your hair like it had done it a thousand times before.

You froze.

Your breath hitched, your body stiffened, and then you heard it.

Soft. Barely a breath.

"My muse."

Your entire chest caved. A sound left your mouth—wrecked and torn and so full of confusion it barely counted as human.

You should've pushed him away.

You should've.

Should've screamed. Fought. Bitten. Told him to leave you alone.

But instead—

Instead, you reached for him blindly. Like a child lost in the dark.

You buried your face in his chest—shaking, sobbing, hating how familiar it felt. How solid. How warm. How much you wanted this, even when you didn't want him.

His arms curled around you tight. Not desperate. Not rushed. Just sure.

Like he'd always meant to hold you like this.

Like this was how the story ended.

The glow of his divinity folded around you, layers and layers of light wrapping over your shoulders, up your back, under your ribs, until you didn't know where your grief ended and his love began.

He held you tighter.

And in that moment, with your face buried in the chest of the god who rewrote your fate—

You weren't sure if you hated him, or if you were just too tired to remember how.

Your breath hitched—once, then again. Then a sob clawed its way up your throat before you could stop it.

You pulled back. Just barely.

Enough to look up at him, your face streaked with tears, your body trembling beneath the weight of it all.

"Why?"

He blinked, golden lashes catching the low glow of his aura.

Your fists curled against his chest. Tight. Shaking. "Why did you choose me?"

Apollo's lips parted—but you didn't let him speak.

"Why me?" you cried, louder now, the question cracking wide open inside you. "None of it makes sense—nothing makes sense!"

Your voice broke. The words spilled out like they'd been waiting too long, bottled up and begging to shatter.

"You could've chosen anyone—anyone! Someone already alive! Someone stronger! Someone who wanted it! I wasn't even supposed to be here!"

You hit his chest once with your fist. Not hard. Not cruel. Just helpless.

"...I was supposed to be dead."

Another sob tore through you, raw and breathless.

You shook your head, trembling under the weight of it all, your knees tucked against yourself like they were the only things keeping you from breaking open again.

"I'm not special," you wept. "I'm not—I'm not anything. I'm just what you needed. That's all. That's all I ever was... That's all I'll ever be."

Your voice cracked again, thinner this time. Frailer. "You were hurting... and I was convenient. That's it, isn't it?"

He hadn't summoned a ghost. He hadn't rewritten Hyacinthus. He'd just... made you. Because wanting wasn't enough anymore. He needed to hold it.

And you meant it.

You meant every word. You meant this was never yours to begin with.

That you were pulled into the world because a god couldn't stand to be alone. That your body was a replacement. That your soul was borrowed. That the you you knew—every laugh, every wound, every thread of affection—was a ripple in someone else's grief.

But Apollo? Apollo heard something else entirely.

His expression didn't twist in guilt. Didn't dim with regret. No realization bloomed behind those burning gold eyes.

Instead, his brows pinched—softly, like a man hurt.

Not for you.

But for himself.

"Oh," he whispered, brushing a knuckle along your cheekbone like he was handling something glass-thin. "You still don't see it."

You flinched.

He didn't let you pull away.

His hands came up to cradle your face—thumbs brushing through the tears like they didn't belong, like he could simply shush them away the same way you might comfort a frightened child. "I hate this part," he murmured. "The part where you look at yourself and still can't understand what I see."

His forehead dipped until it touched yours, breath warm against your lips.

You tried to speak—to say no, that's not what I meant—but your breath just shuddered instead. A sob lodged in your throat like a stone.

Apollo's eyes fluttered closed. He leaned in further, nudging the tip of his nose against your cheek. It was gentle. Almost clumsy. Like he thought closeness was the cure. Like this was intimacy, not avoidance.

"You're not convenient," he whispered, and his voice was so low it barely stirred the air between you. "You're divine."

You tried to shake your head.

He hushed you instantly. "Don't," he breathed, his hands tightening on your jaw just slightly, enough to still you. "Don't do that. Don't doubt. I hate when you doubt."

He never mentioned what you said.

Not about being born from grief. Not about how it could've been anyone. Not about the pieces of you that were stolen from fate and rewritten by hands too bright to fight.

He didn't hear it.

Or he did—and didn't care.

To him, your sobs weren't proof of something wrong. They were just more proof you didn't love yourself enough.

And that broke something deeper.

He leaned down again, kissing the tears from your cheeks one by one, as if that would fix it. As if your pain wasn't truth, but confusion—something he just needed to love you out of.

"Shh," he murmured, voice soft and aching. "You don't need to understand. That's not your burden. That's mine. You just need to be. To shine. Like you always do."

Your hands trembled. Your mouth parted. You wanted to scream you're not listening. But it didn't matter.

Because he was already pulling you in.

His arms wrapped around you like they'd done this a hundred times before. One beneath your knees. One behind your back. He gathered you like a prayer someone had tried to toss into the sea—and he couldn't bear to let you sink.

You didn't fight.

You couldn't.

Your face pressed into his shoulder as your body shook—too tired, too broken, too far past the point of sorting out comfort from control.

And then—

The wind shifted.

The sky peeled open.

And in a breath, he lifted you from the earth.

You didn't know what waited for you, but you knew one thing as your tears soaked into his tunic:

You were leaving the world behind cradled in the arms of the god who made you, and somewhere in the stars, a prophecy sighed in satisfaction.

And above, Olympus opened its gates.

A/N: y'all don't know how proud i am of myself for finally reaching the very first daydream that started this book 😭literally was chilling with my sis and was like: oh shii, what if the god of prophecies was so stuck on hyacinthus that he made a self-fuffling prophedcy??? but yeah...SUPRISE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD... lolol i hope i did good sprinkoign throughout hahahah. but yeah i know it was kinda drawn out but like i said before, this fic is the foundation of my isekai fic so i just had to make it like a real fic hahahah but yeah ahhhhh im so proud of myselffrfr like ack! also, sorry for faslely making yall think things were good lolol but hey... WE GOING TO OLYMPUS 🎇🧨👩🏾‍🚒🎇 p.s. sry for being gone so long, things have gotten pretty hectic irl, so i'll be updating the divine whispers in a sec because im not sure when i'll get the next chance, so next update may take a minute (i'm making sure i keep up with all fanart being sent in and they each get the praise they deserve ❤️❤️)

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 1 year ago

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Pick a Card: Who's been thinking about you? Why are you on their mind?

Take what resonates and leave the rest behind, baby. But always be open to new experiences. Decks used are the necronomicon tarot, alchemy oracle, wizard tarot and the crystallary oracle.

🌊Tip your Reader🐋

PILE ONE

Astrology: Taurus, Libra, Leo

Song: Taking What's Not Yours by TV Girl

Vibes: Blue, green, yellow, orange, overactive third eye, prophetic dreams, gold jewelry, masks, vulnerability, candles, 555, 7777, swings, volcano, picture books, Hephaestus, Apollo, Aphrodite

Cards: The Empress, Knowledge, 5 of Pentacles, 10 of Books, Autumn, Mystical Sister, Labradorite, Larimar

Hey, pile 1. I see 2 different people who have been thinking about you. I see one of them used to be your other half. Someone you felt close enough to they felt like family. I think y'all had a falling out of some kind. The second one is someone you only knew briefly. You met them right before they started to know themselves. You weren't destine to really know them and they weren't destine to know you. You may have worked with them or went to school with them. It looks like they have been talking about you to each other. It isn't gossip talk by the way. It seems very positive. They both feel like Leo's by the way. I could also see them as Aquarius's.

The former friend is telling this former acquaintance about you. The friend has needed to talk to someone about what happened between you two. They want to make up with you but are a bit too stubborn and prideful to admit they were wrong about whatever you two were fighting about. They miss you a lot. They think they made a mistake by causing such a fuss about this. They regret the falling out. They saw how gracefully you handled the conflict and they feel pretty guilty about acting so childish.

The former acquaintance is learning so much about you from the former friend. They knew little to nothing about you before they started talking to this person. Before, their view of you was very vague but they loved how you dressed and wanted to emulate their style. They really wanted to know you but were too shy to really ask to hang out or to ask where you got your clothes from. The more they learn about you the more they wished they had taken a chance because even though this ex-friend is the one telling them about you they aren't saying anything bad. They hear the stories of you and I think they feel envious of how close this former friend got to you.

You probably know these two are hanging out now. You don't really care because you have moved on from that part of your life. You would totally be open to forgiving your ex-friend and getting to know your former acquaintance but they won't take the chance. You shouldn't reach out either. They have to be brave enough to seek you out on their own. You are very forgiving and kind. I think the only reason they wont come forward is because of their own insecurities. They don't feel they are worthy of your light. They know you are a strong independent individual and they might not know how to handle how good you are at setting boundaries.

__________

PILE TWO

Astrology: Capricorn, Cancer, Pisces

Song: Welcome to the Family by Watsky

Vibes: White, blue, orange, silver, apples, trees, storms, ex-christian, reflection, boomer, garden, moon cycles, sea gulls, POS, irregular periods, feminine, 222, 4, birds, Demeter, Hera, Persephone, Artemis

Cards: 5 of Cults, Shame and Decay, Growth, Ace of Wands, Tin, Dissolution, Almandine Garnet

Hello, pile 2. There is one person thinking of you. It is a family member. I feel a feminine energy but it could be someone of any gender. I feel that this person believes you inherited your power and your abilities from them. I don't think this is true, this is just a belief of theirs. They have a lot of believes about you that aren't true to be honest. When they look at you all they can see is a mirror and they see nothing beyond that pre-existing belief. They could be a Taurus or a Libra but I also see Leo energy here too.

This person does not like how you live your life. This person has a predetermined idea of how you should be living. They can't seem to get the idea that you aren't their copy. They think because you aren't following the life they think you should that you are somehow sinning or demonic. They can't seem to understand you are an individual. In their eyes you are an extension of themselves. This way of thinking is really cancerous. They make wild and outrageous claims about your life that are made with no proof or evidence. They are honestly just poisoning their own mind by doing all of this. I hear them praying for you but they don't really know what they are praying for. What they say they are praying for is your uprising and for you to "come to your senses" but they are just praying for your down fall. They gossip to their friends about you and honestly some of the friends that have stood up for you and said that this person was being ridiculous. This person immediately and immaturely cut off anyone who didn't agree with them.

Do not reach out to this person. If you are still in contact with this person I recommend removing them from your connections. They do not have your best interest at heart and I think contacting them would add more fuel to the fire. They are sick in the mind and refuse to admit that they could be wrong. They do not take criticism well and they do not like anything different than themselves. They surround themself with yes-men who will do anything they say. Please, stay safe and protect yourself from such a mean person. They do not deserve your light.

____________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Scorpio, Sagittarius, Aries

Song: Hey, Runner! by The Arcadian Wild

Vibes: Black, brown, rainbow, teal, tendrils, doorways, stairways, 6666, 1234, snakes, crows, ravens, dogs, squirrels, spiders, animals, burrows, wild, water, skeletons, halloween, keys, cats, Pan, Artemis

Cards: 10 of Curses, Rotation, Darkening, Smokey Quartz, Queen of Pentacles, 2 of Pentacles, 6 of Books

Hi, pile 3! I see one person thinking of you. This person was not good to you. They abused you. It could be a former romantic partner or a family member. I also see you might have worked together. Either way they are not a good person. This person made you feel very helpless. I'm sorry they treated you so bad. You deserved better. They did something awful to animal you really loved. They somehow removed this beloved pet from your life. They didn't like that you gave more attention to this creature than them. They were jealous of this animal. They wanted to control you and your emotions. They took joy in your mourning. For some of the people reading, I think this person could have hid that it was their fault that this animal left your life. They could have acted totally innocent when you cried about your loss but for others I think it was very obvious that it was their fault.

The reason they have been thinking about you is because they have been feeling bad about themself. They used you to regulate their self hatred and emotions overall. They miss the power they had over you. They miss being a predator. It looks like you found an out from a life around them a while ago. You escaped their grasp like they always said you couldn't do. You made your own life and you made it beautifully. I don't think you have very active social media or at least not social media they have access too. They have tried to find you online but they can't seem to locate you. When they do find you they text you immediately and you block them like always. They don't like how you see yourself as equal to them now. They are such a piece of shit for real. They do not like that you live is flourishing without them. They are so pathetic lmao.

I'm proud of you for getting away from them, my dear. You have taken such good care of yourself since you left. You are a wonderful and lovely person who did not deserve to get fucked over by someone who was supposed to care for you. This person is tied up in knots about not having control anymore. They will never have control again. They used to feel powerful when they bullied you but now your power over your own life makes them feel weak.

__________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Aquarius, Gemini, Virgo

Song: Cherry Hearts by The Shin and RAC

Vibes: Iridescent blue, dark blue, turquoise, gold, cicadas, moons, spilled water, tears, 888, mountains, wings, snakes, mourning star, water, swimming, ocean, copper, eldritch horror, Ra, Horus, Aphrodite Urania, Mother Mary

Cards: Queen of Swords, Moonstone, Chrysocolla, Uranus, Virgin's Milk, Death, 8 of Cups, 8 of Pentacles

Hi, pile 4. So there are two separate people thinking about you. They are unrelated to each other and they do not know each other but they have the same reason for thinking about you. The first person was a friend that was crushing on you hard. I think maybe you had a one night stand with this person and it changed their life. I think they are probably an Aries. The other was a very close friend that moved away. Or maybe you moved away from them. I can see you guys being friends in college. I think this person is a Cancer or an Aquarius. They both were deeply and irrevocably in love with you.

The Aries person followed you around like a puppy. They are a very masculine person but you made them feel a lot different than they usually do. I think you might have been their first real crush or their first fuck. They put a lot of effort into getting to know you even though you made it very clear you did not want a relationship. They still attempted to get into a relationship with you despite your boundary setting. They were a fool. You taught them about their passions which makes me think you have a "Manic Pixie Dream Girl" kinda vibe to you. They really were head over heels for you. I don't think you are in their life anymore. I think this person will think about you for the rest of their life.

The Cancer/Aquarius person was a really close friend of yours. I think either you helped them through a break up or they helped you through a break up. Either way during the mourning process they fell for you so hard but they kept it secret. They didn't know if their feelings were real or if they were just because of the situation. This person might still be in your life but I don't see them ever telling you about their feelings. I think they see you as this really cool and independent person. They don't think someone like you could ever love them. They try to keep their feelings down. They tell themselves their feelings are not real but their heart always skips a beat when they see you. They still catch themselves imagining a future with you. They have some naughty dreams about you too. They can not get you out of their head.

Both of these people love you a lot, my friend. I don't know if it's just your personality but you are just a really lovable person. You might be accidentally flirtatious. I hope this gave you some insight on who was thinking of you, my dear.

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cyb3rtarot · 2 years ago

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What Messages are Coming Through in Your Dreams?

Disclaimer: tarot readings are not replacements for professional advice. Take what resonates; don’t force a reading to fit. This is just a look into some of the energies in your dreams, not a comprehensive reading of what all your dreams mean. I used a recolored Smith-Waite, Tarot of Mystical Moments, Zerner-Farber Tarot, Oracle of the Radiant Sun, the Chakra Oracle, and runes.

pile 1↝pile 2 pile 3↝pile 4

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Pile 1:

Cards: four of wands, the hermit, empress rx, flattery (Venus in Gemini, 3rd house)|| exaltation (Moon in Taurus, 2nd house), queen of swords sideways, sharing (queen of action), completion, page of pentacles rx, page of swords, Ehwaz rune

The Dreams: hi pile one! Your energy came through strongly so your dreams could be more intense and vivid right now. You could also be having more bad dreams. You may feel like you’re in another realm or some kind of fantasy world while sleeping. In these dreams you could feel little control over anything or like you’re a different person. Like you’re “you” but feeling the experience of someone else. This could include very strong emotions. For example, melancholy you don’t feel while awake. Your dreams could be lonely during this time; you may frequently end up by yourself, others are far away, or they turn on you (one scenario I’m seeing is getting ostracized at a party). You might also feel like you’re having similar dreams repeatedly. Some of you are flip-flopping between these deeper dreams and lighthearted ones. Despite the contents, some of you are using dreams and sleep as an escape or coping mechanism.

Themes that could be common in your dreams right now: the moon (especially full), night time, the beach/ocean, planets in the sky. Palm trees, masculine side characters (one recurring in particular), sports jerseys, crying, flowing robes, pregnancy (especially a sudden one), gas stations, corner/convenience stores, brown or brick buildings, a different country, gray clouds or white skies, eating snacks, being a side piece or cheated on, feeling unappreciated, being ostracized or abandoned, a new family, being lied to, real life conflicts or enemies, the dream starting good and turning bad

The Messages: your subconscious is processing a lot right now which is partly why your dreams seem fantastical and out of control. But your dreams are also reflecting conscious fear. There’s a sense of imprisonment in your own mind while awake and it continues in your dreams. Huge themes in your cards are fertility, birth, and abundance. For a chunk of you, this is literal as I was picking up on a pregnancy around 5-9 months. But in general, your dreams are portraying something coming into fruition or being birthed, like something you’ve wanted or worked really hard on for a long time. The cycle is almost complete, but at this last step there’s hesitancy on your end. There’s a split between people in this pile who are making big physical changes like moving, starting a family etc, versus people who have gone through a big internal transformation and are holding onto limiting beliefs (overlapping for many). Whatever developments are coming feel inevitable and time-based; I don’t think you’re “blocking” it. But I do feel like there's a lot of present joy you can partake in if only you will accept it. I am never encouraging you to not think or to do something that’s toxic for you, I am only encouraging you to find a healthy balance between your rational and emotional sides :] When you deny yourself comfort or joy hopefully it’s for a strong reason, not because you’re afraid to be happy. I do see a lot of you have done significant shadow and healing work already, and now you’re in a transitory period. There’s also highly personal signs in your dreams, some from your guides. Your dreams are showing you one half of a story or sentence. You’re being encouraged to fill the other half through your own analysis instead of accepting your dreams as the full picture. It’s important to be realistic with this; don’t immediately take the worst case scenario of your nightmares and say it must be real life lol

Extra Details: just went through an upsetting time, Brazil, dark hair, love interest from another culture, very bright blue eyes, disappointment in love, a brother energy or friend who’s like a brother, Japan, Portugal, conflict with friends/family/neighbors (all 3 at once for some), mermaids, weddings, photoshoots, 4444, fear of abandonment due to trauma. One or some of you experienced a miscarriage in the past and you may be projecting that trauma onto future hopes for a family. For others this is fear caused by something you really wanted falling through and an opportunity to try again. Experiencing healthy, loyal love after toxic past love. Creative projects. Travel delays. Visas. 90 day fiancé?

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Pile 2:

Cards: two of wands, king of pentacles, seven of pentacles, birth (Venus in Cancer, 4th house)|| five of cups rx, ten of pentacles rx, ace of cups rx, friendship (Moon in Cancer, 4th house), the world, Jera rune

The Dreams: hello pile two! Like pile one I see your dreams feeling lonely, though for you it does seem like there are people talking to you in them. These dreams could feel very nostalgic, melancholic, or empty, as if you’re in your own world. I’m also seeing disappointment—dreams where you are longing for something deeply. Dreams where you experience a taste of what you want in real life, and they make you feel worse when you wake up. You might not even get to enjoy those moments. They could feel aimless, like there’s no plot or point to them. I see scenes where people are talking to you, but it seems like both of you don’t really want to be there. Like everyone’s nihilistic or apathetic. The dreams could also be extremely beautiful but you don’t notice it at the time. You could dream about people and places you loved in your youth, even fictional ones. Some of you might feel like you’re playing a game or in a game in your dreams? If you felt drawn to pile one I encourage you to take a look!

Themes that could be common in your dreams right now: childhood home or town, driving down long roads, bright/pretty sunsets, the ocean/coast, small towns or villages, dreams centered on conversations, friends and love interests you don’t know in real life or from childhood, video games, something out of grasp, pregnancy, travel, expensive cars, walking down the street, everyone being unhappy, the countryside, feeling used, being rich, being in a relationship, the Sun as an odd color (like purple), young children

The Messages: you guys have an energy of mourning in two different ways. One, mourning for a part of yourself that was lost from your earlier youth, or something left behind. There might be a loss of innocence, wonder, or happiness; a natural self acceptance that no longer comes easy to you. On the other side of this, I see some of you have lost people who were important when you were younger. For some this is due to a passing, but for others the relationship came to a close. Whatever this perceived lack is, it weighs heavily and comes through your dreams in the form of beautiful but melancholic nostalgia. The good times are right there, but you can’t fully enjoy them. Dreams where people are unhappy, apathetic, or ticked off could reflect a falling out, feeling like you let someone down (including yourself), or that you can’t make amends. Your dreams are a reminder that it’s the natural progression of life for things to end and begin anew. This doesn’t lessen the burden, but as time keeps moving so do you. Grieve and feel your feelings, learn lessons, but remember there’s still life for you to enjoy. There are new things to be found. Try heavy-handed self-compassion and forgiveness. Though there’s a focus on what’s no longer there, there’s a sense of acceptance. A few of you have just come out of a heavy healing period and might be feeling things you haven't felt since childhood. Or, you may suddenly remember things from childhood.

Extra Details: 555, longing for a better life, RPG games (particularly JRPGs), racing or racing games, vintage, having lived with a friend or relative of similar age to you, having lived near water, feeling like the world is changing too much, periwinkle, a child passing (already happened. A cousin or sibling?), going to therapy or being a therapist, a falling out with multiple friends (I’m mostly getting two friends), feeling numb, lonely, a friend who always wears their hair in a ponytail, a masculine friend with dark, big hair and glasses, empty villages, Japan, regressing. I see a lack of adult presence in childhood. Growing up, you might’ve felt like you only had those few friends or cousins to depend on, even though you were too young to take care of each other.

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Pile 3:

Cards: Temperance, four of wands, the Empress rx, devotion (Saturn in libra, 7th house), consciousness rx, devotion, traveling, the outsider rx, new vision rx|| king of wands sideways, king of pentacles sideway, the emperor, the high priestess, the emperor rx, defense (Mars in Taurus, 2nd house), seven of wands rx, Tiwaz rune

The Dreams: hi pile three! I feel like you guys are not remembering dreams as much right now, or only remembering fragments. There are more nights where you feel like you didn’t dream. This is my pile that’s astral projecting at bed time, and this is part of why I picked up on less dreams (both purposeful and not. Some of you just started doing this). Whether through the astral or your dreams, you’re having adventures that are opposite your real life experience. I see you guys having dreams others may think scary—like being chased, but you’re just vibing. There’s a sense of being stuck, trapped, or stagnant in real life; there’s also a lack of understanding and denial about your desires. Your dreams are fulfilling repressed wants by sending you to any and everything you don’t do in real life. The subconscious aspect of your desires is partly why so many fantastical elements make their way into this other life. Many of you also like watching and reading speculative genres (particularly horror, sci-fi, and fantasy), and this is also why those elements are in your dreams. Your dreams seem like a means of escape and fun to balance your day and night. To combat feeling trapped, you could have dreams of running far away from a creature, or exploring somewhere beautiful. A specific part of this pile has dreams of being in romantic relationships, and while you may genuinely not want one right now, it could represent another desire such as socialization. Your day and night are actual opposites haha. This was strange but there was a strong pull between this pile and pile 4, I felt like some of you have friends that would be in pile 4 (or you may resonate with some details yourself if you feel drawn to it).

Themes that could be common in your dreams right now: night time/full moons, fantasy creatures and companions (I saw green goblins? And vampires), historical settings, castles, feeling creepy, eerie emptiness, bats, forests, villages or towns (especially empty ones), pine trees, green meadows and hills, bright flowers, butterflies, cabins, scary situations but not feeling scared, theaters or plays (red curtains?), places that look like fairytales, being attracted to a character in the dream (even the bad guys lol), people you know as background characters, real life events replaying with different outcomes

Messages: your dreams or astral travels are a reminder of your real life potential! You guys don’t always have to hold the fort down. I feel like you portray an easygoing attitude and convince yourself you’re just okay with whatever. There are many highly spiritual people in this group, and you may feel like physical life doesn’t matter as much because your spiritual life has the real depth. But the astral and dream world are not meant to replace the 3D world. Your capacity to have these experiences is proof that you have amazing things in you, and if you wish, you can seek amazement in the waking world too. It’s very much within your capacity! I also feel like some of you guys have a “duty,” like there’s a constant responsibility you shoulder (or that you’re assigned), and you feel like you should just accept it peacefully. Your sense of duty is wonderful, but please also have one towards yourself! A lot of you guys want to travel internationally and the main blockage is your own self limits.

Extra Details: Latino (specifically Mexican for a chunk of you), Eastern Europe, Germany, 414, Titanic (the movie? You might find it romantic), “hit the road,” Indigenous American, travel list, familial responsibility, dissatisfied with a job, straight brown or black hair (reaches top of back), big eyes, stressed but can’t tell under the numbness, going through the motions, feeling on the defense or like a side character in your own life, having a job to pay bills but not a career, wanting to run away, feeling like your spiritual skills are developing too fast, rubbing hands on face when stressed (I see someone standing in a hallway outside their boss’ office, rubbing their face and then carrying on), literally taking the trash out (during the night, or to a dumpster in an alley?), over-sacrificing oneself, court or legal matters (including working in law), believing in fairies, or astral travels involving fairies, fairy rings near ponds?

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Pile 4:

Cards: egotism (mars in leo, 5th house), eight of swords rx, ten of pentacles rx, the lovers rx,|| truthfulness (throat chakra), imagination (brow chakra), riches (saturn in capricorn, 10th house), fulfillment (saturn in sagittarius, 9th house), the fool, eight of wands, eight of pentacles, nine of pentacles, king of swords, the magician, Fehu rune

The Dreams [CW for creepiness]: hi pile four! First I’ll say there was a strong link between this pile and pile 3, so if you feel drawn to it maybe check it out! There are similarities with you two having dreams with fantastical creatures popping up, and having dreams that others would deem as nightmares. You might also only remember little fragments right now. However, I feel you guys out of all the piles are having the most actual nightmares. I saw dreams that started out nice and calm then suddenly flip. There could be random characters popping up out of nowhere that don’t match the dream at all, like clowns or mascots. You might also have a lot of dreams where you feel watched, or are being watched by something in the background. Dreams where you feel a strong need to escape; you might feel preyed upon, followed, or anxious. It mostly seems like any weird things in your dream just “linger” instead of actually harming you, though there might be the occasional attempt. There’s also a strong sense of nostalgia, but tainted? Like you can’t enjoy it because of whatever else is going on, or it’s a reminder of what’s been lost as you’ve grown up. These dreams feel like you’re often alone except for whatever is loitering around you. Or when there’s someone else there, it’s like they’re kind of flat? Like a memory being replayed. A lot of you guys could dream of your grandmother. You might have dreams that actually look like “dreamcore.”

Themes that could be common in your dreams right now: beautiful places (I’m seeing a village by a gigantic mountainside, very bright blue skies, fluffy white clouds), cozy homes/cabins, grandmacore, cooking or eating, bananas?, PB&J?, having extremely different dreams everyday or in one night, scary creatures just standing there, feeling like you have to fight or survive, friends or partners from years before, caves, grimace??, eyes (floating eyes?), shadows, jumpscares

The Messages: Your cards got me riled up! I feel like a good chunk of your life, maybe up until right now, has been very tumultuous. You had to hold on and just find strength to survive, and this caused you to repress a lot. Your dreams are calling you to face what you’ve repressed—your shadow—because you are quickly entering a completely different era. It feels like all the ways you’ve had to struggle and fight are going to start giving way to a new life filled with things that bring fulfillment or contentment. I’m not sure exactly what these blessings are but they spoke of freedom, abundance, and new opportunities. It did seem like these are blessings you’ll bring about by your own hand instead of completely unexpected ones. Despite how off-putting or strange your dreams may be, they are prompting you to resolve things from the past that would make the future difficult to appreciate. We all carry scars, but doing our best to heal them will allow us to create a more joyful existence. What are the things you’ve pushed deep down that have been begging to come out? I do feel like some of you have been manipulated into staying silent, maybe about the way you were treated and harmed, and this has created a stifled feeling. I don’t know your individual situation, but I greatly wish for you to find a space where you can safely and truthfully exist. If you feel you need the help of a professional to do healing work or to escape any dangerous situations please research what’s accessible to you!!

Extra Details [TW abuse mention]: swears a lot, childhood trauma or abuse (some of you are still in contact with harmful people from your childhood and this is influencing you), Central Europe or Belgium, very close to a grandmother (especially one who’s passed), blockages in throat energy (could have trouble speaking up for yourself, saying what you mean, stumbling on words, or you REALLY want to talk about something), toxic or abusive friends, having no one to support you, you might just want to scream, seeing sequential numbers (like 234) or 8 a lot, feeling pulled towards a career where you use your voice or express yourself (writer, singer, motivational speaker, artist, communications), absent parents, a great new job or financial opportunity, lots of astral projection and lucid dreaming in this pile but also physically moving and traveling (some of you could go look at places you want to travel to in the astral or dream realm lol, or some of you AP into space? Cool. I also see someone AP-ing or lucid dreaming somewhere with a lot of vegetation), environmental activism, your childhood home or town being renovated/changed, rectangular glasses (thin frame), major Capricorn or Saturn in chart. If you already felt drawn to pile 2, you may resonate with it also.

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reynaisbetterthananyman · 14 days ago

Text

Star Light, Star Bright.

nico diangelo x male!reader

wc: 18.6k

warning: kinda graphic descriptions

a/n: i recommend reading this chapter on a03. It’s so long that the whole thing doesn’t fit on here (oopsies?) most of the chapter is written here but the ending is on a03!

previous, orginal version here, masterlist, ao3, next

It was safe—except maybe around Thalia—to say your team had been utterly wrecked by the Hunters. Not only had Zoë Nightshade single-handedly annihilated your defensive line with alarming elegance, but the rest of her squad brought psychological warfare to a whole new level.

You and Nico had been running—bravely escaping—when they unleashed their most feared weapon: the Fart Arrows.

You weren’t prepared.

The moment the gas hit, you staggered to a stop, gagging. It was as if a thousand gym socks had died, fermented in a sewer, and come back for vengeance. Your lungs burned. Your eyes watered. Your will to live wavered.

With a dramatic wheeze, you dropped to your knees.

“This is it,” you rasped. “Tell my story.”

Nico spun around, panicked. He crouched beside you, grabbing your shoulders. “What happened? What’s wrong?!”

He looked perfectly fine—of course he did. His helmet, too big for his head, had slipped low enough to cover his nose. He was protected.

Lucky him.

You coughed again, weakly gripping his collar. “Nico… don’t forget me.”

Nico blinked. “Are you seriously—”

“I said tell my story!” you groaned, flopping to the ground.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Nico sighed and, despite himself, muttered, “You died bravely. Death by stench. I’ll etch it into your gravestone.”

“Make it smell-proof,” you croaked.

“I’ll ask cabin nine,” he smiled, tugging you back onto your feet. “Come on, drama king. We’ve got to regroup.”

You staggered forward, leaning on him with a groan. “I see the light, Nico…”

“That’s the moon.”

“Tell it I love it.”

He kept dragging you along.

Thalia was yelling at Percy for leaving your base undefended—which, frankly, you found personally offensive. Sure, the defense had crumbled in record time, but that wasn’t the point.

Still, you weren’t about to argue with the girl who had literal sparks crackling from her fingertips and lightning practically simmering in her irises.

Luckily, Percy handled it himself, standing his ground and—rightfully (why wasn’t he captain?)—defending his decision.

Unfortunately, it didn’t end there.

Thalia, never one to back down gracefully, shoved Percy—okay, flung him—straight into the creek. Percy, to no one’s surprise, responded by sending a wave crashing into her face.

A weird, tense power standoff commenced. Sparks crackled in the air. Water rippled at their feet. The temperature dropped by about ten degrees, and your skin prickled like you were standing between two natural disasters.

You sighed internally. Great. Everyone’s going to die because these two are asserting their dominance.

Then Nico tugged your arm.

You turned, and his voice came in a low, uncertain whisper.

“Hey…what is that…?”

You followed his gaze—and immediately your stomach dropped.

Something was moving in the woods.

A shape, half-obscured by a curling green mist, drifting like smoke through the trees. The air around it shimmered strangely, like the space itself was warping. Goosebumps erupted across your arms.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t part of the game.

“This is impossible,” Chiron said, his voice trembling. “She… she has never left the attic. Never.”

The smoke swirled and parted, revealing a withered, mummified figure—and you instantly paled. You’d heard about the Oracle in the attic, the dried-out woman who did nothing but spew ominous prophecies from her cobwebbed corner of the Big House.

But you always assumed you were safe from ever having to see her, so long as you stayed far, far away from the attic.

Clearly, the universe had other plans.

Beside you, Nico suddenly clutched his ears, and you turned to him, ready to ask what was wrong—until a voice echoed inside your skull, sharp and echoing like it was bouncing off the walls of your brain.

“I am the Spirit of Delphi. Speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python.”

You covered your ears, but it didn’t help. The Oracle turned to Zoë, its hollow voice echoing: “Approach, Seeker, and ask.”

Zoë stepped forward. Her jaw was set, but her eyes wavered. “What must I do to help my goddess?”

Your brow furrowed. Her goddess? What was she talking about? What happened to Artemis?

The answer came fast—and unpleasant. The sharp stink of sulfur hit your nose, making you gag and raise a hand to cover your face. The mist swirled and reshaped, revealing an image of a young girl.

At least, she looked young—but the power rolling off her form was ancient and wild.

You leaned toward Nico and whispered, “Is that Artemis?”

He nodded slowly, his expression tight with concern. “Yeah… but what happened to her?”

The vision sharpened. Artemis was bound in chains, tethered to a jagged mountainside, straining against her restraints with raw defiance. She was in pain—but even so, she fought, glowing with that fierce, untouchable light.

The oracle’s voice boomed, “Five shall go west to the goddess in chains,

One shall be lost in the land without rain,

The bane of Olympus shows the trail,

Campers and Hunters combined prevail,

The Titan’s curse must one withstand,

And one shall perish by a parent’s hand.”

And just like that, the green smoke drifted back into the Oracle’s mouth. Its body stilled, joints locking in that unnatural way, and it settled once more on the rock—like it had never moved at all.

A heavy tension coiled through the clearing. No one spoke. Not Chiron. Not Zoe. Not even the Stolls, who usually couldn’t stay quiet for more than a few seconds.

For once, you didn’t feel the urge to crack a joke or ease the silence with a snide comment. The air didn’t feel breathable enough for humor. What you’d just seen… it wasn’t like anything you’d encountered before.

You’d seen monsters before—been attacked, even, on your way to camp—but this was different.

You had never seen a prophecy spoken aloud, never imagined what it would feel like to watch the future unravel in cryptic lines and haunting images.

And you definitely hadn’t anticipated the silence it would leave in its wake—the kind that felt less like peace and more like pressure. A storm on the horizon, waiting to break.

“[Name].”

Nico’s voice cut through the fog in your brain, grounding you just enough to blink out of the beginnings of a cold sweat.

“Huh?” you mumbled, still dazed.

He frowned, worry etched deep into his face.

“Everyone’s leaving,” he said gently. “Percy and Grover are taking the Oracle back up to the attic.”

You hadn’t even noticed the others moving. Your eyes flicked toward the path, where Percy’s shoulders were tense as he and Grover carried the motionless figure away.

Nico’s hand found yours, his thumb rubbing slowly across the back of your knuckles. The motion was soft and careful. It was the same gesture Bianca used on him whenever he was afraid.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly. “You look like you’re about to hurl.”

You swallowed hard, the pressure in your chest stubborn and unshakable. “Yeah… I just…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain the lingering weight in your ribs. The way the prophecy still echoed in your bones.

“Come on,” Nico said, tugging you gently toward camp. “We missed dinner, but maybe we can still find you a snack. You’ll feel better.”

You didn’t argue. Your legs moved on autopilot, following his lead like a rag doll while your thoughts swirled uselessly in a fog.

You’d just made it to the edge of the woods when—

“Nico, wait!”

Both of you froze and turned at the sound. Bianca was sprinting toward you, her brows pinched.

Nico’s face hardened instantly. Without a word, he turned back around and tried to pull you along faster. You barely had time to process the change in pace before Bianca caught up and grabbed his arm.

He recoiled like she’d burned him.

“Move, Bianca,” he demanded, his voice low and sharp in a way you weren’t used to hearing. Bianca huffed, her grip on his arm tightened, and her feet remained stubbornly in place. “I’ve been trying to talk to you, but you’ve been avoiding me!”

“You’ve got a whole cabin full of new sisters—go talk to them!” Nico snapped, his voice rising. “You don’t need me anymore. You chose them. You left me. Now let go!”

Bianca let out an exasperated sigh. “Nico, that’s not true. I didn’t leave you. I’ll always be here. But I can’t take care of you the way you need. The way you deserve to be cared for.”

“That’s such garbage!” Nico snapped. “You joined the Hunters because you were done with me! You saw them as your way out. We were fine before they ever showed up!”

His voice wavered near the end, and you felt the tremble in his hand where it stayed locked with yours. In the faint glow from camp, his eyes shimmered with unshed tears, which he stubbornly blinked away.

“Just admit it, Bianca,” he said, quieter now, but no less raw. “I’ve only ever been a burden to you.”

The words sat heavy in the air, like a weight no one could lift. That kind of pain—gods, you knew it.

The ache of believing you were too much for the people you loved. Too loud. Too sensitive. Too complicated.

You remembered the way your mother’s eyes used to tighten when you asked too many questions. The way she’d sigh, exhausted, like even your presence was something she had to manage.

You weren’t stupid. You’d heard the whispers at family gatherings—before she cut them off completely. Heard how they talked about you like a burden. How they wondered why she “put up with all that,” like loving you came with a manual she’d chosen not to read.

You didn’t know exactly what happened, only that one year, the holiday cards stopped arriving and the phone stopped ringing. Your mother said it was better that way, that they didn’t deserve you—but a part of you still wondered if she was just tired of defending you.

If she wished you’d come out quieter, easier.

Normal.

And now, watching Nico—shoulders tight, voice cracking, hand trembling in yours like it was the only steady thing left—you recognized that pain like an old bruise. The fear of being someone’s reason to leave.

Bianca stood just a few feet away, but it might as well have been miles. And you, caught between the girl who raised him and the boy who was breaking right in front of you, didn’t know what to say.

What could you say, when every word Nico spoke sounded like something you might’ve said once, too?

So you stayed where you were. Silent. Steady. Trying to hold together what little you could—your hand in his, your presence the only offering you had—and wished that love alone could be enough to undo this kind of hurt.

“Nico,” Bianca said, barely more than a whisper. Her voice wavered, eyes wide with hurt. “How can you say that? I do love you—but I… I need space to live my own life too. I have a right to.”

Nico’s face went still.

“Then go,” he said, voice cold and brittle. “Go and don’t come back.”

Here is when you decided to open your mouth, ready to say something—anything—to soften the sharp edge of Nico’s words. But before you could speak, a faint jolt pulsed from the chain around your neck. It was subtle, like static against your skin, but enough to startle you.

Your hand flew to your chest, where the glass dome lay, and you noticed the small flower inside beginning to tremble, its petals quivering unnaturally.

Confused, you blinked down at it—only for a wave of sorrow to slam into you like a tide. It filled your lungs like water, thick and drowning. The ache was overwhelming—grief that didn’t have a name, sharp and endless.

Your knees buckled slightly, and the world tilted, the conversation around you slipping into a distant hum.

Bianca paused, the instincts of an older sister kicking in as she caught sight of you swaying. She stepped away from Nico, quickly closing the distance to steady you by the arm.

“Nico, what’s wrong with your friend?” she asked, voice sharp with concern. You blinked at her, but her face was already starting to blur, smeared at the edges like a painting caught in the rain.

“Hey,” she said more gently. “Are you okay? Do we need to get someone?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The weight in your chest had become unbearable, grief pressing into your ribs until your lungs forgot how to breathe. Then your legs gave out.

Nico lurched forward with a panicked shout, catching you just before you hit the ground. “Bianca—go! Call for Chiron!”

But his voice was already drifting away. The last thing you saw was his wide, frightened eyes staring into yours. Then the world slipped out from under you like the ground itself had vanished.

And everything went dark.

Tick. Tock.

“Psst…”

Tick. Tock.

“Hey, kid.”

Tick. Tock.

“D’aww, well, isn’t he a sweet little thing!”

Tick. Tock.

“Should we pinch him?”

Tick. Tock.

“No, that’s rude!”

Tick. Tock.

“Well, got a better idea to wake him up?”

Tick. Tock.

“He’s fine. Sleeping like a baby!”

Tick. Tock.

“We don’t have time for this. Wake him up now.”

Tick. Tock.

“Well, I would’ve if I was allowed to pinch him!”

Tick. Tock.

“No pinching!”

Tick. Tock.

“You—!”

Tick. Tock.

“Enough. Look—he’s stirring.”

Tick. Tock.

Why was it so loud?

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Was that a clock? Who buys a clock anymore?

The sound gnawed at your ears like a slow, deliberate countdown. Your eyes snapped open—but the world didn’t greet you like it should’ve. Everything was warped. Soft. Like you were staring through water or frosted glass. Shapes hovered at the edge of your vision, twisting and settling with every blink.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

You flinched. That sound again. Close—too close. Embedded in the walls, maybe. In your bones?

As you lay there trying to orient yourself, you realized you weren’t alone. There were voices—quiet, hushed whispers, just above your head.

“Is he awake?”

“No, no, look at his face. He’s still got drool. That’s the face of someone deeply asleep.”

“Should we poke him?”

“Do not poke him. We’ve talked about this.”

“Look at him. He’s taking ages just to focus.”

It wasn’t a voice you recognized. Smooth, but sharp around the edges—like polished glass with cracks underneath. It had the kind of hostility you’d usually expect from an Ares kid right before a fight.

Then came a second voice, bright and airy with a scratch of rasp like laughter after a cold. “Would you quit being so hard on the kid, Phobetor? Oh, I just want to pinch his cheeks!”

Phobetor. The name was unfamiliar.

The first voice—Phobetor, apparently—hissed in annoyance at the scolding but fell quiet. You blinked slowly, trying to will your vision into focus.

Were they new kids?

That was your first thought. Maybe after you passed out and they dragged you to the infirmary, this was some weird welcome party for new campers—though the ticking and phantom voices didn’t exactly scream hospitality.

Your vision finally cleared, revealing a ceiling you didn’t recognize.

The ticking—constant and sharp—seemed to echo louder now, pressing in from every direction. You shifted, expecting the familiar comfort of your cabin bed, but the surface beneath you creaked ominously.

It was stiff, unforgiving. Definitely not a mattress.

And it wasn’t just the bed that was missing. You shivered, suddenly aware there was no blanket draped over you, no pillow under your head, just a thin chill crawling up your spine.

Did I fall out of bed? You blinked, trying to piece things together. That didn’t explain the aches pulsing in your back or the growing unease in your gut.

You slowly sat up—and froze.

This wasn’t the Hermes cabin. It wasn’t any part of Camp Half-Blood at all.

The walls around you were lined with clocks. Dozens of them. No—hundreds. All cuckoo clocks.

They ticked in a discordant symphony, out of rhythm with one another. None of them matched.

One was shaped like a cathedral with golden spires. Another, like a lily pad, had a frog tongue swinging in and out with each tick.

You turned to the nearest one, squinting. A figurine of a boy tugged endlessly on a girl’s braid, over and over in a loop.

“…Is this a prank?” You muttered, unsettled. The clock boy gave another mechanical yank, the girl’s painted face forever frozen mid-scream. Weird didn’t begin to cover it.

Turning away from the bizarre clock, your eyes landed on a nearby shelf. Toys were scattered across each tier, huddled together like they were whispering among themselves.

But they weren’t modern toys—no bright plastics or screen-faced gadgets. These were vintage.

One in particular caught your attention: an antique porcelain doll that looked uncannily similar to the one your mother kept on her bedside table when you were younger.

Your breath hitched. You hadn’t thought of that doll in years.

Carefully, you reached out and picked it up. Its skin—if you could call it that—was smooth but fragile, and the slightest pressure could’ve cracked it. The doll wore a delicate Victorian dress with hand-stitched lace, and a glassy, unblinking gaze stared straight through you.

Then, a sound reached your ears. Faint, distant… music?

You turned, drawn to the source.

A wooden dresser stood tucked into the corner of the room, its surface lined with ornate music boxes. Like the dolls, they were clearly vintage. Each one handcrafted, with the same intricate care you remembered seeing when you had to bunk in the Apollo cabin for a week.

Back when Connor had accidentally let in a swarm of stink bugs, and you’d ended up watching Lee Fletcher fiddle with the tiny gears of his latest project.

With Beckendorf helping him, the two of them had built something beautiful from scraps. The craftsmanship now in front of you reminded you of that—only these music boxes felt more… haunted.

Each one was unique. One featured an angel suspended mid-spin, surrounded by tiny, gleaming stars that winked in and out like real constellations. It was almost mesmerizing.

But then you caught sight of the next one—and snorted.

A baby Eros, all pudgy cheeks and wings, sat in the middle of a pink pedestal, wearing nothing but a golden diaper. Typical mortal interpretation of the gods: either eerily accurate or hilariously off the mark.

“Oh, Figaro! Would you look at this hat!”

The sudden voice made you freeze. You'd been so absorbed in the music boxes and the strange trinkets around you that you hadn’t heard anyone enter. That didn’t alarm you at first—because the voice was familiar. Comfortingly so.

You turned with a smile already forming. “Hey, Chiron—”

But the rest of your sentence collapsed the second you laid eyes on him.

That wasn’t Chiron.

Or at least, not your Chiron. The figure before you looked like a discount version—an uncanny Chiron knockoff fresh off a thrift store shelf.

He had two human legs instead of hooves, no sign of his horse half anywhere.

And he was dressed like someone’s fashionably confused great-grandfather: high-waisted trousers, stiff suspenders, and a pinstripe vest that screamed 1920s.

You blinked, trying to make sense of it. Had the Mist scrambled your brain?

“Oh, he’s even cuter when he’s confused!” said a voice, smooth and teasing.

Your head whipped around, scanning the room. “Who said that?!”

“We’re right next to you,” came the raspier, growling voice—Phobetor again, and clearly still annoyed.

“I don’t see you.” You crossed your arms, deadpan.

“You don’t have to,” he replied coldly. The chill in his tone made it sound like you’d stepped on his dreams, or possibly his dog.

Rude. You’d never hurt a dog. Unless it was the Stoll brothers’ mutt, but that thing probably would’ve had it coming.

Then a new voice spoke—soft and warm, completely different from the others. It drifted through the air like silk, wrapping gently around your ears. “You are confused. I understand.”

You swore you felt a hand settle lightly on your shoulder. There was a calm power to it—soothing but impossibly deep, like lullabies sung in forgotten languages.

“Yeah,” you muttered, your voice quieter now. “Apparently I’m missing a lot lately.”

Your thoughts flickered, uninvited, to your father. To everything you didn’t understand, everything that hadn’t been said.

And to the growing sense that none of this was random.

As expected, the dreamy voice turned cold and unhelpful.

“Now is not the time for questions,” he said. “We will explain—but first, you must pay attention.”

And just like that, something shoved you—not physically, but with enough force to spin you back around to face… Grandpa Chiron.

You scoffed under your breath. The voices had gone silent.

No guidance. No explanation. Were you going crazy and hearing things? Or worse—was this Kronos messing with you? You grimaced.

The world didn’t need another power-hungry psycho. Luke already filled that role. You hadn’t known him personally, but from what you’d heard, he wasn’t exactly Camp’s pride and joy.

Only an idiot sides with the guy who ate his own children?

Still, something weird was obviously going on. Even if this Chiron was some imposter in your grandfather’s closet, he might be the only one around to help.

Swallowing your pride, you marched over and raised your voice:

“Chiron, I’m being haunted!”

He didn’t react. Just strolled right past you like you weren’t even there.

Your jaw dropped. Rude. How could he ignore you? You were, like, obviously his favorite camper.

Who else willingly spent time listening to his longwinded Greek history rants?

You waved your hand in front of his face, annoyed.

“Chiron! It’s me—[Name]! I tried to dye your tail pink last month, remember?!”

Nothing.

He kept moving forward, lost in his own little world.

…Wait. Was he walking through you?

Oh gods.

Your stomach dropped.

Were you dead?!

This was horrible. Chiron was dressed like someone’s great-uncle Larry and you were dead. And those voices? Probably other ghosts, doomed to hang around creepy doll rooms and cuckoo clocks.

Panic began to simmer in your chest.

No one to talk to. No one to see you. Just you, some haunted furniture, and the terrifying possibility that you were stuck in this dream forever, cursed to watch Chiron in suspenders.

With a long, defeated sigh, you sank onto the floor and stared blankly at a nearby trash pail.

“Guess I’m dead,” you mumbled.

Your shoulders slumped. “When Drew dies, she is so making fun of me for this.”

Just as you were contemplating your ghostly afterlife, your eyes caught on the cat weaving around Chiron’s feet. Something about its face made you tilt your head. It looked weirdly familiar.

...Was that Percy?

Before you could fully process that horrifying concept, the Percy-cat leapt onto the workbench Chiron had been fiddling with.

“Figaro!” Chiron scolded lightly, though his voice was full of fondness. “What did I say about jumping on the workbench?”

He reached out to scratch behind the cat’s ears. You watched, dumbfounded.

Figaro.

That name. You’d heard it before.

But where?

Figaro purred beneath Chiron’s smooth strokes, nuzzling into his palm like he’d just been given the world.

“Okay, okay,” Chiron chuckled. “I’ll excuse it this one last time.”

The cat’s purring only grew louder as he curled tighter around Chiron’s hand, tail flicking contentedly. With one final pat, Chiron nudged Figaro aside and pulled something small from his pocket—a child-sized hat.

You frowned. Maybe it was meant for the other dead kids. Even in the afterlife, you were doomed to suffer Chiron’s horrific fashion sense.

Chiron—Geppetto, you guessed now—placed the tiny hat on something resting on the table. You leaned to get a better look, but his body blocked your view.

“Oh, doesn’t he look great, Figaro?”

The cat’s tail twitched as if in agreement.

“Let’s give him a name,” Chiron murmured, stepping aside at last.

There on the table sat a puppet. A wooden one. Plain, but detailed. Hand-carved.

Huh. A strange old man, a cozy cluttered shop, a puppet...

Something in your memory stirred.

You tilted your head. “This is… familiar…”

You squinted at the hat-wearing puppet. A name danced at the edges of your brain. Pinok? No. Piney? Definitely not.

Then it hit you.

“Pinocchio!”

“Oh yes,” Chiron echoed with a wide grin. “His name shall be Pinocchio.”

He swung the puppet gleefully in his arms, completely unaware of the existential crisis you were now having.

This had to be a joke. A dream. A punishment?

But as Chiron twirled around with the puppet, you caught a better look at its face—and your heart stopped.

It wasn’t just a puppet.

The carved brows, the cheeks, even the upturn of the mouth…

Your breath hitched. “Nico…”

This was the afterlife? Living a twisted and reimagined version of a fairy tale?

Fairy tales used to be your escape, back when you were a kid. Your mom would read you every single one.

But now? You were in one. Literally. And with no sign of escape, it seemed like you were stuck here... forever.

Figaro hissed, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts, as Geppetto chased him across the floor with the puppet in hand.

You couldn’t help it—you snorted. Percy, scared of Nico? That was rich. Nico wouldn’t hurt a fly. Maybe glare a fly into oblivion, but still.

��Oh, he’s a cheeky boy, isn’t he, Figaro?” Geppetto cackled.

Figaro did not agree. The cat darted beneath a stool in protest, his ears flattened with clear disdain.

Before the puppet parade could continue, a deep bell rang out.

The sound echoed once—twice—then multiplied.

Every clock in the room began to chime, one after the other in rapid succession. It wasn’t just a ring—it was an overwhelming, chaotic chorus of cuckoo-clock cacophony.

You clapped your hands over your ears, wincing as the sharp peals swallowed the room whole.

This was no choir. This was a clockocalypse

Geppetto pulled out a pocket watch—because apparently, the orchestra of clocks ringing wasn’t enough. Still, he frowned as he checked the time. “Looks like it’s time for bed, Figaro.”

The small cat let out a meow and crawled out from under the stool, looking thoroughly unamused.

But before anything else could happen, your vision abruptly went black.

“AH!” You stumbled back, clutching your face. “Am I blind? Oh no, no, no—”

You’d take being stuck in this bizarre puppet play over blindness any day.

Thankfully, your sight returned just as quickly as it vanished. Light filtered in again, and once everything stopped spinning, you realized you weren’t in the workshop anymore.

Now you were in a bedroom.

Compared to the crowded, whimsical chaos of the workshop, this room was calm—almost too calm. Just two beds: a large one in the center, and a smaller one beside it. “Figaro” was carved on the tiny headboard of the small one.

Which meant this was Geppetto’s bedroom.

The abrupt darkness made sense now. You were transitioning scenes. Like flipping pages in a storybook.

Yes. That was the explanation you were sticking with. It was simple, it was logical, and it prevented you from spiraling further into the “am I actually dead and hallucinating?” debate.

Geppetto entered through the door, Figaro close behind.

Still carrying Pinocchio, he crossed to the dresser and propped the puppet upright against the wall with a gentle pat to its head, like a father tucking in his son. Then he turned to get himself and Figaro settled into bed.

Figaro was already halfway to dreamland, his limbs limp, tail flicking lazily over the blanket.

Geppetto paused, eyes drifting back to the puppet sitting upright, facing them with its lifeless wooden stare.

“Look at him, Figaro,” he murmured, lying back on his pillow. “He almost looks alive.”

The cat meowed in drowsy agreement—or maybe just protest at being kept awake. Either way, his eyes were already closing again.

Geppetto smiled faintly at his sleepy companion, his gaze softening as it returned to Pinocchio. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” he whispered, “if he were a real boy? A boy who could talk and play without strings…”

His voice trailed off, the sentence unfinished as he slipped into a quiet daydream. For a moment, he looked impossibly hopeful, like someone hanging on to the last edge of a forgotten wish.

Then he blinked and shook himself out of it. With a sigh, he turned and blew out the candle beside his bed, plunging the room into gentle darkness.

But not even a full second passed before he spoke again.

“Figaro,” he said suddenly, “I forgot to open the window. Would you mind?”

The cat lifted his head slowly, his face practically screaming yes, I do mind, but he still got up—reluctantly, dragging his paws—climbed onto Geppetto’s bed, and leapt to the windowsill.

With a bit of feline finesse, Figaro slipped through the small crack and tugged the window open with his back legs. The moonlight spilled into the room, bathing everything in silver.

Then Geppetto gasped.

“Look!” he exclaimed, sitting up and pointing skyward. “A wishing star!”

You looked up too, and sure enough, there it was—the highest, brightest star in the sky. You'd never seen one glow so intensely. It shimmered like it had something important to do.

Geppetto clasped his hands, and in a voice full of innocent wonder, began to speak.

“Starlight, star bright,

First star I see tonight.

I wish I may, I wish I might,

Have the wish I make tonight.”

Without meaning to, you whispered along with him.

It was a reflex—muscle memory from your childhood. Back then, you used to whisper that same rhyme to the stars outside your window, thinking maybe they were listening.

Geppetto turned to Figaro and hooked a finger under his chin. “Do you know what I wished for?” he asked.

Figaro, basking in the attention, gave a slow blink.

Geppetto’s eyes drifted to the puppet, then back to the cat. “I wished for my Pinocchio to be a real boy. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

He sighed and let himself fall back into the pillow, clearly drifting. Figaro curled up at his feet without complaint.

“Goodnight, Figaro,” Geppetto murmured.

A pause.

“Goodnight, Pinocchio.”

Once Geppetto’s eyes shut, he started snoring immediately—and was that a horse neigh?

You had half a mind to go shut his mouth for him… but you didn’t want to risk suffocating the old guy in his sleep.

Then, a soft twinkling echoed through the room. Moonlight poured through the open window, growing brighter by the second. A white-blue shimmer blanketed the bedroom, and the highest star in the sky began to descend, pulsing with light.

You recognized this part—it was the Blue Fairy’s grand entrance.

You watched without much enthusiasm… at first.

The glowing silhouette forming in the center of the room wasn’t tall and graceful like you remembered. No elegant, adult figure in a flowing dress.

No… this one was shorter. Younger. Suspiciously familiar.

As the light dimmed and revealed the figure underneath, your jaw hit the floor.

Standing in the middle of the room, drowning in a dress several sizes too big, was—

“Drew?!”

You barely managed to choke back the laughter, though giggles still slipped out, bubbling up uncontrollably. Of course your borderline evil best friend had been cast as the Blue Fairy.

The Stolls would've lost their minds over this. Why did you never have a camera when you needed one?

Fairy Drew strutted into the room, wand in hand, shoulders squared, her face already bored out of its mind.

She stopped beside Geppetto’s bed and cleared her throat. “Good Geppetto, you have given so much happiness to others—” she paused, lifting her palm and squinting at badly scribbled words, “you deserve to have your wish come true—blah blah—let’s just get this over with.”

Watching her stomp over to Pinocchio made the whole thing even more absurd. Your friends were fairytale characters now. Incorrectly cast, sure, but that somehow made it even better.

You turned your eyes toward the puppet—Nico, or a wooden version of him.

Still, unmoving, dull-eyed. It creeped you out more than you expected. Seeing him like that felt… wrong. Like he was lifeless. Dead. The thought made your stomach twist, and you quickly shifted your gaze back to Fairy Drew.

She lifted her wand, clearly uninterested in dramatics.

“Little puppet made of pine, wake.”

With a spark of blue light, her wand tapped the puppet’s head. The glow pulsed once, and suddenly, his eyes blinked open.

He looked around in wonder, slowly lifting his arms. “I can move!” he exclaimed.

Then, he gasped and pointed at his mouth. “I can talk!”

Drew grabbed his hand and helped him wobble to his feet, more out of obligation than compassion.

“I brought you to life because Geppetto wished for a real boy,” she said. Then under her breath: “For some reason.”

Pinocchio didn’t hear her—or didn’t care. He was too busy spinning around and admiring his arms like they were made of gold.

“Am I a real boy?” he asked eagerly.

Drew blinked. “No.”

The puppet’s smile faltered. “Well then, how do I become one?”

“You have to prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish to make your father’s wish come true.”

Then Drew’s expression shifted.

“Or,” she added, lowering her voice, “I’ll turn you into a ghost.”

Pinocchio’s eyes widened. “Oh no!”

“You’ll be stuck in this workshop forever,” Drew continued, tone dead serious. “Haunting your dad. Wandering the halls. Crying wooden tears. Forever.”

He looked horrified. You couldn’t blame him.

She stood back, letting the horror set in, then burst into laughter. “I’m kidding! You should’ve seen your face!”

She tossed her head back and let out another loud laugh, hands thrown up in mock fright. “Oh no!” she cried, mimicking Pinocchio’s earlier panic. “I’m a ghost now!”

You arched a brow, watching as she practically doubled over from laughing at her own joke. No doubt in your mind: this was Drew in all her chaotic glory.

What shocked you more was that Pinocchio started laughing too. Like, really laughing.

You cringed. The poor boy was too innocent to know he was being emotionally terrorized.

Still, Drew kept laughing. And somehow… so did he.

After what felt like forever, the fairy’s laughter finally subsided, her smile dropping. She pointed her wand back at the former puppet, frowning. “But I will turn you back to wood if you misbehave.”

Pinocchio hastily nodded, clearly not wanting to go back to being a lifeless puppet. “I’ll be good, I promise!”

Fairy Drew patted him on the head, her not-so-comforting smile hovering above him. “We both know that’s not true. You can’t tell right from wrong, silly Pinocchio.”

She turned and walked away, her oversized dress sparkling more with every step. Reaching the window, she stuck a hand outside, searching for something. When her hand came back in, it held a small cricket perched nicely on her palm.

“This’ll do,” she muttered, nose scrunched as she carried it back across the room and placed it down on the dresser.

That’s when you realized—someone important had been missing.

With a twirl of her wand, the once-chirping cricket shimmered in a flash of indigo light and transformed into a furious little bug in a miniature pinstripe suit. He adjusted his lapels like he'd been rudely summoned from a high-stakes meeting rather than a moonlit leaf.

“You’ve got some nerve yanking me out of my late-night stroll!” he barked, pacing in erratic little circles and waving his arms like he was trying to swat away the indignity. His antennae twitched with irritation, and his bulbous eyes narrowed on her as if she’d committed some unspeakable offense.

His voice—sharp, dry, and dripping with disdain—sounded suspiciously like Mr. D on a bad day. You know, the kind of tone that could make a satyr cry and a camper rethink every decision they’d ever made.

Pinocchio gasped, hands flying to his mouth before scooping the bug up with all the gentle awe of someone handling a sacred relic.

“Hey! Put me down! You’ve all got sweaty hands!” the cricket shrieked, kicking his tiny legs.

Fairy Drew rolled her eyes and flicked the bug lightly. “He’s not a real boy. He can’t have sweaty hands. And quit complaining, or I’ll zap your mouth off.”

That ended the cricket’s tantrum real fast.

“What’s your name, cricket sir?” Pinocchio asked, lifting him closer to his face with wide, hopeful eyes.

The cricket turned to shoot one last scowl at Drew, who returned it with an exaggerated, sugar-sweet smile and a sarcastic little wave.

The cricket sighed deeply before crossing his arms. “It’s Jiminy,” he muttered. “Jiminy Cricket.”

And that’s when it hit you. Jiminy Cricket. The wise, moral compass. The voice of reason. That Jiminy Cricket was Mr. D. Grumpy, snarky, passively-hostile Mr. D. The one who ran Camp Half-Blood like he wished it would burn down so he could finally take a nap.

This version of Pinocchio had to be completely deranged.

“Well, Jiminy,” Drew sneered, dragging out his name like it physically hurt to say it, “you’re going to be his conscience. He’d be a menace without one.”

“What is a menace?” Pinocchio asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

“It’s what you’ll turn into if this bug doesn’t take the job,” she said plainly.

Jiminy grumbled something under his breath, his whole body shaking with irritation as he stomped across the top of the dresser. “If you think I’m going to be the conscience of a walking bobblehead, you are seriously mistaken.”

Pinocchio frowned and gently touched his head, suddenly unsure if it really did wobble like that.

Before Jiminy could jump off the edge, Drew flicked her fingers, blocking his path with a sparkling hand. “You don’t get a choice, bug.”

The tip of her wand lit up, casting a warm glow that made it clear she wasn’t bluffing.

Jiminy froze. He looked at the wand, then at Drew, and immediately took a few shaky steps back toward Pinocchio. “Alright, alright, fine!” he snapped, glaring up at the glowing wand like it had personally insulted him. “I’ll do it, okay?”

The light on the wand faded.

“Good!” Drew said, all smug and satisfied.

At this point, you’d completely zoned them out—your eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the room, beyond the glitter and puppet strings and cartoon morality. They were going through the motions like actors in a play you’d seen one too many times. The plot spun on rails, predictable as clockwork.

You knew this story. Every twist, every beat. All the characters were here—rearranged, sure, twisted in tone, some more unhinged than you remembered—but the story was the same.

“Didn’t I tell you to pay attention?” a voice hissed suddenly in your ear.

You jolted like someone had dumped cold water down your back. Your head whipped around, scanning wildly for whoever was behind you—but no one was there.

“You already know you cannot see us,” said the chirpy, singsong voice from earlier—the one that somehow managed to sound both smug and deeply annoying.

You scrunched your nose. Of course. Them again.

“Oh, it’s you,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “Because this wasn’t annoying enough already.”

A sudden breeze brushed across your face, cold and too deliberate to be natural. You flinched, instinctively folding in on yourself like it could protect you from something invisible.

“Now, now, don’t be rude. I do have a name,” the voice said with a lilting laugh, like this was all some kind of game.

“Yeah? Then maybe try introducing yourself next time instead of creeping around whispering in people’s ears.”

Silence.

Typical. Couldn’t even give you a name. Just a voice and some cryptic nonsense, like that was supposed to mean something.

The background noise of Fairy Drew’s glitter-fueled threats and Pinocchio’s head poking continued like nothing had happened. The havoc hadn’t paused for your moment of discomfort.

You sighed and tried to shake it off, turning your attention back to the scene—just in time for a piercing, high-pitched screech to explode through the air.

The sound was sharp and immediate, like a siren made of nails on a chalkboard. It slammed straight into your ears, making your whole body tense.

You clapped your hands over your ears, teeth clenched. “What now?” you shouted, voice half-lost under the screeching.

No answer.

Then, with a sharp snap, the sound cut off.

“I’ll ignore your attitude this time,” the voice said, cold and clipped, “but consider this a warning.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were too busy clutching your ears, the ringing still bouncing around your skull like someone had struck a tuning fork inside your head. Your vision swam at the edges, your balance slightly off.

“Next time, make his ears bleed,” someone else snickered, voice full of glee.

You winced. Next time?!

If these were the ghosts you were stuck with in the afterlife, you honestly wouldn’t mind dying again—preferably into the company of someone quieter. Or at the very least, less sadistic.

An irritated groan slipped out before you could stop it. “Look, all I want to know is what’s going on. Why am I in Pinocchio? Who even are you three? And am I dead or what?”

There was a beat of silence.

Then a loud, wheezing snort came from somewhere off to your right. “Kid thinks he’s dead!” the voice howled with laughter.

You could practically see him doubled over, wheezing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, completely delighted by your confusion.

You took a slow breath. Inhale. Exhale. You were not going to lose your temper. Not with whatever these things were. Instead, you forced a tight smile onto your face and kept your voice as calm and polite as possible.

“I am so sorry for my brothers,” came a third voice—this one soft and clear, like chimes in the wind. It had an elegance the others lacked, layered in a kind of practiced grace.

“Allow me to introduce myself properly,” the voice continued. “I am Morpheus. The one who nearly shattered your eardrums is Phantasos. And the one you probably want to strangle is Phobetor. We are the Oneiroi—spirits of dreams.”

“…So I’m not dead?” you asked slowly, still half-expecting someone to scream welcome! and yank you into a tunnel of light.

“You are not dead,” Morpheus confirmed, calm as ever. Then, after a pause, added dryly, “Although with how often you bring it up, one might think it’s something you want.”

“No!” you yelped, clearing your throat and glancing around. “No. I don’t want to die. I just… thought this was the afterlife.”

Phantasos’s laugh came sharp and unsettling—just as high-pitched as before. “Either way, we’re not here to kill you—”

“Unfortunately,” Phobetor muttered darkly. “

We get it, Phobetor, you’re edgy,” Phantasos said with a groan.

“What’s being edgy got to do with me wanting him dead?”

“Can you not? All you ever spout is nonsense.”

“Nonsense? You’re the father of nonsense!”

“Lalalala, not listening!”

“Oh, wait till I get my hands on you—”

A loud, deliberate cough snapped them into silence.

“Now… where was I?” Morpheus asked, sighing tiredly.

You raised a finger. “You were about to mention why I’m being harassed in my dreams.”

“Ah, yes,” Morpheus said. “As I explained, we are the Oneiroi. Think of us as… guides.”

“Guides?” you repeated, doubtful.

But before he could explain further, everything around you shifted.

Frozen.

The air stilled. Sounds dropped out like someone had hit mute. Fairy Drew was stuck mid-eye-roll. Jiminy’s foot hovered above the floor, never landing. Even the clouds above had stopped drifting—painted on the sky. Geppetto sat statue-still, eyes blank, chest unmoving.

“Wait—what’s happening—?”

Then you felt it. Something behind you.

A presence. Cold and close. A shadow pressed against your back like it had always been there, just waiting for you to notice.

And then—a hand.

Fingers settled gently on your shoulder, cool and precise.

You went rigid, breath caught in your throat.

A low, teasing snicker curled around your ear.

“Don’t be afraid,” the voice whispered—soft and smooth.

Slowly—every nerve in your body screaming—your eyes trailed down to the hand on your shoulder, then followed the arm upward.

And then you saw the face.

Morpheus was not what you’d expected. He wasn’t horrifying or monstrous—he was... ethereal. Calm. His skin was pale like moonlight filtered through gauze, with a faint shimmer beneath the surface, as if dusted in sleep-sand.

His eyes glowed faintly lavender, drowsy yet all-seeing, like someone who had just woken from a long, prophetic slumber.

Waves of soft black hair fell around his shoulders like velvet curtains, and his robe flowed around him with the slow grace of drifting clouds. He looked like someone you could trust—someone who had lived in dreams for so long, he had become one.

Your body relaxed the second you got a proper look at him.

“Huh,” you muttered. “I thought you’d be… you know, hideous. No offense.”

His smile faltered and the glow in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly, narrowing with restrained annoyance.

“None taken,” he said, voice cool but clipped enough to say some offense was definitely taken.

He cleared his throat with a half-hearted cough. Then he withdrew his hand from your shoulder and gave a sharp snap of his fingers.

“Brothers, you may come out now.”

The room shuddered, like something had tugged at the edges of the dream itself. A tremor ran beneath your feet, the air vibrating with anticipation—but nothing else moved. Nothing except you.

Your knees wobbled suddenly, your balance thrown off by the unnatural pause in gravity, time, whatever this even was. You stumbled, reaching out on instinct—and grabbed hold of Morpheus’s sleeve.

He flinched at the contact, startled—but his hand shot out by reflex, steadying you. For a second, neither of you moved—his arm tense beneath your grip and your hand clenched tighter than you meant to.

“Finally! I was getting claustrophobic!” A voice shouted, loud and chaotic.

“I hate you,” another voice rumbled darkly—low, dry, and bitter as thunder crawling through stone.

The shadows thickened in a spiral. And then they emerged.

Still steadying you, Morpheus let out a long-suffering sigh, eyes fixed on the scene past your shoulder. “This has been the longest introduction ever,” he muttered, and with a light push on your shoulder, gently turned you around to face the others.

You blinked—and immediately wished you hadn’t.

The two gods towered over you like opposing halves of a dream gone wrong.

Phobetor was shaped like fear itself. Tall, broad-shouldered, and sharp around every edge, his entire form seemed sculpted from dark stone.

His skin had the grayish-blue hue of midnight shadows, and his hair hung like black smoke, constantly shifting. His eyes were pitch-black with pinpricks of glowing red in the center—like the eyes you imagined monsters had under your bed.

His lips were pressed into a deep scowl, his brow furrowed like it had never known rest. There was something very not okay about the way he looked at you—like he was scanning for weaknesses just for fun.

Phantasos, by contrast, looked like a dream wrapped in a nightmare’s grin.

He had deep, smooth skin the color of polished obsidian—rich, dark, and radiant like the surface of a still midnight lake. It shimmered subtly under the strange dreamlight, not with sparkle, but with an inner gleam, like the memory of starlight caught in a shadow.

His features were striking, otherworldly even: high cheekbones, a narrow nose, and lips curled in an ever-shifting smile that danced between warm and wicked.

His hair was a dense halo of soft coils, the same dark hue as his skin, though streaks of dream-dust clung to the strands like dew on grass. Feathers—silver, gold, violet—were threaded sporadically into his curls, and they shimmered when he moved, accentuating the bounce of his unpredictable energy.

His eyes were full moons of pale violet, round and far too wide, like he was always seeing something no one else could.

There was beauty in him. Beauty that made you want to look longer than you should. But the longer you looked, the more your stomach curled.

Not because he was ugly—far from it—but because his elegance had edges, like a painting where something’s always just slightly off. A living paradox: comforting and uncanny. A lullaby sung in reverse.

“He looks terrified,” Phobetor noted with dry disdain.

Phantasos scoffed and rolled his eyes so hard you were shocked they didn’t fall out of his head. “Because you scared him with that ugly mug of yours.”

Shoving past his brother, he practically skipped toward you.

“Don’t worry! Phobetor’s just a grump,” he sing-songed, leaning in far too close for comfort. “I’ll protect you~!”

You flinched, instinctively pulling back.

Somehow… this was worse.

Sure, Phobetor looked like he wanted to skin you alive—but at least he was consistent. There was something unsettling about Phantasos’s unhinged energy, the way his expression flipped from joyful to menacing in a blink. He looked like he might hug you or vaporize you, and honestly, you didn’t want to find out which.

He bent down to your level, grinning widely “Anteros sure made a cutie! I could just eat you up!” he squealed, then proceeded to squish your cheeks with both hands.

Eyes wide, you leaned hard into Morpheus, silently cursing your father for passing on whatever trait made you so tragically pokeable.

Morpheus, visibly fed up with the whole performance, reached over and pushed Phantasos’s face aside with one hand. “You both scare him,” he muttered, voice thin with irritation.

He straightened your shoulders with a small sigh, then moved to stand between his brothers, swiftly taking charge before one of them sent you into shock.

“Now. Proper introductions,” he said, laying a hand on Phobetor’s shoulder. “This is Phobetor; he is the personification of nightmares. Every horror, chase, monster, fall—you name it—was him.”

Oh. So he was responsible for the giant rat dreams. Rude.

Phobetor barely spared you a glance. “Ironically, this is a nightmare.”

Morpheus turned to his other side, gesturing toward Phantasos, who wiggled his fingers at you. You averted your gaze immediately.

“Phantasos is the personification of fantasy dreams. Think surreal. Dreams that are strange, metaphorical, and often prophetic. His visions may hold glimpses of the past, present, or future.”

You pointed vaguely around at the frozen, uncanny dream version of the Pinocchio cast . “Weird, like… this?”

“Correct,” Morpheus said.

You squinted at Morpheus. “And you?”

He stood tall again, folding his hands behind his back. “I am the personification of dreams. I serve as a messenger of divine will—passing along information from the gods through dreams. Prophecies. Warnings. Visions.”

Cool. So… dream mailmen. Invasive dream mailmen.

“Alright, that’s neat and all,” you said, hands on your hips, “but why now? I’ve had dreams before—none of you have ever shown up. So why this time?”

That ticked Phobetor off. He blew a sharp breath through his nose, and you swore the air temperature dropped five degrees.

“Careful, kid. Curiosity killed the cat.”

But you weren’t backing down. Not after the rat dreams. Not now.

“Satisfaction brought it back,” you retorted with a shrug and a smirk.

Phobetor’s fist twitched. You grinned.

You: 1 — Phobetor: 0.

Phantasos let out a wild snort and slapped both hands over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Morpheus just sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with visible regret.

“You know what,” he muttered, dropping his hand with a tired flick. His gaze snapped back to you, suddenly sharp. “We’ve wasted enough time. The story has to move forward. We can’t tell you everything now—but next time, we’ll explain more. Just…”

He stepped closer, voice suddenly firm.

“Pay attention.”

“Wait, hold on—” you tried, but he clapped his hands.

And just like that, they were gone.

Figures. Some guides they were.

You huffed, arms crossed. “Fine,” you muttered. “Didn’t want answers anyway.”

You turned back toward the frozen dream-world with a pout. You were a growing, independent ten-year-old man who didn’t need the help of three ancient gods who know more about this than you do.

...Probably.

The sound of chatter pulled you back toward the now-unfrozen scene. Everyone was moving again like nothing had happened.

“...And now I’m done here,” Fairy Drew announced, dusting glitter off her skirt as she headed for the window.

She paused just long enough to give Pinocchio a once-over. “Remember—follow the rules and you’ll be fine.” She ended with a dramatic eye-roll aimed straight at Jiminy. Her wand sparked blue, and with a shimmer of light, she vanished.

“Good riddance,” Jiminy muttered, folding what counted as his arms—legs? limbs? He spun around and nearly jumped out of his tiny bug skin when he found Pinocchio staring at him.

“Oh, you’re still here.”

Pinocchio tilted his head with a big, wooden grin. “Of course I am! I don’t have magic like the Blue Fairy, silly Jiminy.”

“You sure don’t. If you did, maybe you wouldn’t be such a bobblehead.”

“I do not have the bobblehead that you keep speaking of.”

Jiminy sighed and started pacing across the table. “Your head’s empty enough to be one.”

The back-and-forth was already starting to wear thin. You’d seen this act before—and besides, you had better ideas. What better way to pass the time than by doing something absolutely not allowed?

Grinning to yourself, you grabbed a plain white sheet draped over a nearby chair and threw it over your head like a ghost.

Sure, they couldn’t see you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t make your presence felt.

And hey—no harm in having a little fun with it, right?

You spotted a plain white blanket sitting in the corner. Perfect.

Grinning, you threw it over yourself and crept behind Jiminy, who was stomping across the tabletop, muttering incoherently under his breath. Pinocchio trailed him with his gaze, eyes flicking back and forth.

But his attention didn’t stay there for long.

His gaze shifted—past Jiminy, to you.

To the floating sheet.

He blinked. Curiously. Then again.

“Jiminy,” he called out, pointing subtly.

But Jiminy, still wrapped up in his muttering, didn’t even hear him.

The sheet was thin enough for you to see through in patches. Peeking through the fabric, you caught Pinocchio’s wide-eyed stare. You slowly raised one arm under the blanket and gave a gentle wave.

Pinocchio jumped slightly—then smiled. He waved back.

Encouraged, you leaned in closer, directly behind Jiminy now, and began mimicking his exaggerated movements. Pinocchio giggled, hand over his mouth, as he watched you give the cricket a pair of bunny ears.

Jiminy paused and squinted up at him. “Are my struggles amusing to you?”

Pinocchio shook his head quickly, pointing. “No! There’s—”

“Listen, kid, you don’t make fun of adult struggles.”

“But look—”

“No no, I get it. You’re still green to this whole life thing. I’ll let it slide—”

The wooden boy huffed, spinning Jiminy around to face you. The cricket froze. Solid.

Not a twitch.

You blinked. Oh no. Did you actually scare him stiff? You hadn’t meant to traumatize him. Just mess with him a little.

You reached forward and gently poked his head.

Nothing.

Another poke.

Finally, Jiminy twitched, followed by a horrified scream as he thrashed around screaming, “GHOST!!”

He landed on Pinocchio’s shoulder, clawing at the puppet's shirt. “RUN, KID! GET US OUT OF HERE!”

You burst out laughing. Loud, unfiltered, delighted laughter. If Mr. D could see this—if Nico could see this—you’d never live it down. But still. Worth it.

Pinocchio scrambled down from the dresser, almost colliding with you. Jiminy was practically steering him like a horse, shouting, “THE DOOR, KID! THE DOOR!”

You watched, wheezing, as the two of them tore across the room, skidding on the floorboards, only to trip spectacularly over the rug beside Geppetto’s bed. Pinocchio went sailing. Dolls clattered to the ground in a dramatic heap. Jiminy let out a shrill scream that could’ve belonged to a cartoon cat.

Geppetto bolted upright. “What was that?!”

“IT’S A GHOST!” Pinocchio shouted, flailing on the ground.

Geppetto turned toward your corner of the room.

You dropped the sheet.

Silence.

“There is no ghost, Pinocchio,” he said calmly, rubbing his eyes and lying back down. “You must’ve imagined it.”

Three seconds later (you counted), he bolted upright again, realization crashing in hard.

“Pinocchio!”

He dove off the bed, scooping the puppet into his arms.

“You’re alive! My son! My wish—oh, my dear boy!”

The scene melted into instant sap. Geppetto sobbed. Pinocchio giggled. They spun around in a slow, clumsy circle that nearly ended in disaster as they stepped on Figaro’s tail. The cat yowled and launched off the bed like a missile.

Eventually, the pair collapsed into the sheets again, Geppetto tucked around the little wooden boy like a security blanket.

“Why do I have to go to bed?” Pinocchio asked, wide-eyed and confused.

“Because you have school in the morning,” Geppetto replied gently.

School? Already? Pinocchio had been alive for, what, fifteen minutes? Was there no puppet pre-K? No wooden toddler phase?

The scene dissolved and reformed around you again.

Now you stood in the sunshine, outside Geppetto’s workshop. The door creaked open behind you as Pinocchio stepped out, a book clutched to his chest.

“Are those real boys?” he asked, watching the group of children pass by.

Geppetto hummed, turning Pinocchio’s head in his direction and fixing his hat. “Yes, those are real boys. They’re your classmates.” You watched as he stood up, urging his son to follow the rest of the kids. “Go on, follow them to school.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Pinocchio ran down the steps of the workshop, cheeks stretched wide in a smile.

Geppetto chuckled as he watched Pinocchio run off, going back inside of the workshop after his son had left his sight.

You followed behind the puppet-boy, not exactly eager but keeping your situation in mind. Just observe the dream. Don’t interfere. Let it play out. Just another weird, nonsensical sequence—like a free movie, if that movie came with zero logic and questionable casting choices.

Pinocchio was closing in on what looked like the schoolhouse now, humming and skipping along the dirt path with all the carefree energy of someone who didn’t notice when he was being preyed on.

You, however, weren’t nearly as oblivious.

You spotted them instantly—two shapes hiding behind a very skinny tree. Big guys. Broad shoulders. Not exactly subtle. Even dream logic couldn’t cover for that terrible camouflage job.

Their backs were turned, but something about the way they moved—especially the one fiddling with a cane—set off alarm bells. Then came the voice.

“And that’s when I told her…”

You narrowed your eyes. That voice. You knew that voice. That smug, irritating tone could only belong to—

Pinocchio, meanwhile, walked right into the cane that had been conveniently “forgotten” in his path and promptly faceplanted.

The two figures gasped in unison—very theatrically, might you add—and scrambled to help him up. One of them nudged the other aside as he reached for Pinocchio’s pockets.

And that’s when you caught a glimpse of his face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Travis Stoll. And, of course, where Travis went, Connor was never far behind.

Sure enough, there he was—Connor Stoll—getting knocked back with an exaggerated groan, holding onto his hat.

No surprise here. The Stoll brothers, cast as the con men in Pinocchio. Honestly, dream logic had never been more accurate.

“A man of letters, I see,” Travis said, picking up Pinocchio’s book and holding it upside down like it was a foreign object. Somehow, he managed to sound both impressed and illiterate.

Pinocchio, of course, beamed. “I’m going to school!”

Travis snorted under his breath, but Connor swooped in smoothly, wrapping an arm around Pinocchio like a seasoned salesman who smelled fresh meat. “School? Pfft. Let me guess—you haven’t heard about the easy way to success?”

“Easy way?” Pinocchio echoed, wide-eyed.

Connor spun him around with flair. “A theater!” he declared, throwing his hands into the air. “Bright lights! Music! Applause! Fame!”

“Fame?” Pinocchio repeated again, completely hooked now.

Connor leaned in, smiling wide. “Oh yeah. With that physique and profile? You’re a natural-born star!” Behind him, Travis nodded along like a bobblehead.

“You’re going straight to the top, my little wooden boy! I can already see your name in lights—” Connor paused. “Wait, what is your name?”

“Pinocchio!”

“Pinocchio!” Connor repeated, recovering with a flourish. “In big, bright letters! P-I-N-O-K-I—um... Yeah! A star is born!”

You dragged a hand down your face. This was just embarrassing. Nico would never fall for something this dumb. Pinocchio was single-handedly tanking your new friend’s reputation.

You sighed heavily, watching as Pinocchio lit up like he’d just been handed a trophy. He practically skipped into the arms of the con artists, swept away in their fantasy of stardom without so much as a second thought.

Part of becoming a real boy should include developing basic common sense, you thought grimly, trailing after them as the trio disappeared down the road.

This was when you noticed something—or rather, someone—was missing.

Where was that deranged cricket? Jiminy should’ve been hovering somewhere nearby, nagging Pinocchio about responsibility and school bells. In the original story, he’d followed the puppet all the way to class. So where was he now?

Weird. But you didn’t have time to dwell on the bug’s mysterious absence.

That now-familiar pull returned, the world dimming like a spotlight fading to black. When your vision cleared, you were somewhere new—facing a large, looming stage.

Right away, you could tell something was off.

The audience was packed, but they sat in perfect, eerie stillness. Rigid spines, unmoving heads. Their faces looked blank—smooth, expressionless, like porcelain masks staring forward without focus. Not a blink. Not a breath.

A big, bulky man stood in front of the stage, mic in hand. Unlike other characters, you knew who this was as soon as you saw him. It was Stromboli, the puppeteer. He wasn’t someone you knew in reality. Strangely, he was the same person he was in the original story.

Although it was weird seeing your friends throughout your dream, it was fun. You couldn’t help but frown when you saw his face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! I hope you’ve enjoyed the show so far!” His voice boomed, a thick Italian accent going into the crowd. His words caused a chain reaction of cheers and clapping.

Looking around, your brows furrowed at the lack of movement from the surrounding images. There was noise—music, cheers, the hum of stage lights—but none of the audience members moved. They were just still images. Photos with sound. Which, yeah, okay, dreams were weird, but this was weird even for dreams.

It didn’t seem to bother Stromboli. He stepped into the spotlight like nothing was wrong, his shadow stretching long behind him. “Today,” he boomed, sweeping his arms wide, “to conclude this magnificent show, I present a miracle! The only puppet who can sing and dance without strings—PINOCCHIO!”

The red curtains peeled back like they were alive, and there was Pinocchio, standing stiffly on a narrow staircase set in the middle of the stage. He blinked at the frozen crowd, visibly uncertain—but when the music started, he forced a smile and took his first step down.

And immediately missed it.

He tumbled in a clatter of limbs and painted wood. You winced, secondhand embarrassment .heating up your cheeks.

Stromboli was on him in an instant, yanking him up by the collar like a dog that had peed on the rug. His face turned tomato-red as he launched into a tirade in angry, rapid Italian—words you couldn’t understand but didn’t need to. His spit practically steamed.

Then someone in the audience let out a snort.

And just like that, the tone flipped. Stromboli froze, dollar signs practically reflected in his eyes. His face smoothed into a grin like someone had pulled a lever. “Such a cute kid,” he laughed, patting Pinocchio’s head with sudden affection, like the tantrum had never happened.

The music swelled, and Pinocchio—ever the good puppet—bounced back into a dance, eyes glittering like painted glass.

Now this was more your speed. A performance. Something to actually enjoy. No scamming, no sappy father-son bonding—just a musical number. You could vibe with that. You even caught yourself humming along. And, well… Pinocchio did look like Nico. That alone made it hard to look away.

“Oh, I love music. Don’t you?”

You jolted as a hand brushed yours. You nearly punched whoever it was out of pure instinct—but they caught your arm gently, before contact was made.

“Was that your attempt at assault?”

Your heart sank.

Of course. Him again.

Phantasos lounged next to you like he’d always been there, one leg hooked over the other, wild eyes aglow with unreadable delight. He was smiling—not maliciously, but with the loose, unpredictable air of someone who might gift you a rose or set your house on fire, depending on how bored they were.

You snatched your arm back. The skin tingled where he’d touched you. “You scared me.”

His smile dipped, just a little. “I’m not Phobetor,” he said softly. “I’d never scare you.”

You stared at him. “I’d rather him than you.”

He clutched his chest like you’d shot him. “Truly, you wound me, young one. Such a tragic little attitude, wasted on such a beautiful face. But I suppose that’s puberty for you.”

With a long, dramatic sigh, he melted into the seat beside you. Then crossed his ankles and clasped his hands. His gaze slid back to the stage, where Pinocchio was dancing under golden light.

“I meant what I said before,” he said. “About music. Especially when the lyrics wear two faces.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You mean… double meanings?”

Phantasos grinned, nodding slowly. “Exactly. Hidden truths. Wrapped in melody. The best lies always sing sweetly.”

Onstage, Pinocchio twirled as the lights started to glow brighter around him.

“I’ve got no strings

To hold me down

To make me fret

Or make me frown…”

“Pretty literal,” you muttered. “He’s a puppet. No strings. That’s kind of the whole thing.”

Phantasos made a tsk sound, wagging a finger an inch from your face. “Are you sure? This is a dream, sweetheart. Nothing is ever just what it seems.”

You sighed, exhausted already. “So I’m supposed to interpret it like a riddle?”

“You’re supposed to see, not just look,” he said, smiling again. “It’s not that hard, really.”

“You’re unbearable.”

He beamed. “Thank you.”

You rubbed your face, deciding, against your better judgment, to actually try. The song kept playing as the lights flickered. The audience was still frozen, masks grinning wider than before.

“I had strings

But now I’m free

There are no strings on me…”

You frowned. The word free didn’t sound triumphant—it sounded forced. Like someone had shoved the line into his mouth and told him to mean it.

That’s when things got… stranger.

The stage began to stretch, the floorboards curling upward like paper caught in wind. The stairs behind Pinocchio multiplied, spiraling upward into nowhere. A second Pinocchio appeared. Then a third. All dancing in sync. One blinked wrong. One smiled too wide.

The music sped up.

Then slowed.

Then reversed.

You recoiled. “What—” you choked out, clutching the edge of your seat.

Then reversed—violins shrieking backward like they were screaming in a language you couldn’t understand. The beat stuttered, repeating the same broken bar of melody over and over until it felt like your brain was skipping like a scratched record.

The spotlight split. A thousand tiny beams like a thousand tiny eyes—all blinking, all watching. They swept the crowd like searchlights, but the crowd didn’t move. They weren’t even people anymore. Porcelain masks shattered under the light, leaking nothing but black ink and static.

The confetti stars above began melting, dripping into the stage and sizzling on contact.

Stromboli laughed—but his face was gone. A blank void with teeth. A soundless howl beneath the music.

The curtain behind him bled ink.

You stumbled out of your seat, breath catching in your throat. Your body wanted to run—but the floor was soft now, too soft, like foam or carpet underwater. You wobbled, knees buckling, balance tilting with the shifting geometry of the room.

One of the audience’s masks slid off, clattering to the ground.

Behind it: a mirror.

Another fell off.

It showed your face.

Then another—blank. No face at all. Just smooth flesh, like clay waiting for a sculptor. Your stomach dropped.

“I—I don’t—what is this?” you gasped, your voice small, barely heard over the distorted music. The air was too thick. Everything felt wrong.

He looked at you like a teacher waiting for a student to finally get it. “You poor, precious thing,” he said, with something almost like fondness. “Still clinging to the idea that freedom means no rules.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast. “Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

But Phantasos only sighed and leaned in, tapping you lightly on the nose. “I’m not here to carry you. I’m here to nudge.”

“No wonder demigods die young,” you muttered. “The gods talk in riddles when they could just warn us.”

That, at least, seemed to amuse him. His smile curved, dark and knowing. “Oh, I have warned you. You just weren’t listening.”

Then his expression dimmed, snuffed out like a candle in wind. “Farewell,” he said quietly. “Maybe one of my brothers will get through to you.”

He raised a hand. Snap. Gone.

The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was empty. Pressing. Like something had been yanked out from under you. A warmth, a presence, a thread you hadn’t realized was holding you steady until it vanished.

You stood there, alone on the surreal stage, surrounded by melting stars and blank-eyed audience members—if they were even still there at all.

Were you supposed to be relieved?

Or was this sense of dread—tight, gnawing, like a pulled string on the verge of snapping—your sign that you’d just missed something important?

Your head spun. This didn’t feel like a dream anymore. It felt like a message with most of the letters blacked out.

The song. Was that the key? A warning hidden in a child’s lullaby?

You didn’t want to think about it too hard. If you did, you'd start spiraling—and once you fell, you weren’t sure you could climb back out.

Luckily—or maybe not—something small and green hopped past your feet.

Jiminy Cricket.

He came to a halt and looked toward the stage with an unimpressed glare. “This kid gave up school for fame. How cheap.”

His frown deepened when he saw Pinocchio basking in the applause.

“I guess the bobblehead doesn’t need me anymore,” Jiminy muttered, deflated. “Time to exit stage left, I suppose.”

He turned solemnly and began hopping away, shoulders slumped.

You stared after him, baffled. “Seriously? You’re ditching him because he can sing?”

The applause on stage faded as Pinocchio took his final bow. Then the scene melted.

When it reformed, you were somewhere else: inside a lavish carriage. Velvet-lined walls. Gilded trim. The heavy scent of wine and sweat. A table overflowing with coins.

Stromboli hunched over it, counting money like it was oxygen.

“Two hundred…”

Across from him, Pinocchio beamed, eyes wide as he held open a sack. Stromboli shoveled coins inside, muttering feverishly.

“People love me!” he barked, ecstatic. “Three hundred!”

“You were amazing, Pinocchio!” he shouted, half to the puppet, half to the heavens. “A natural! An icon! A goldmine!”

Pinocchio lit up. “Does that mean I’m an actor?”

“Yes! A star! Your name—on every tongue!” Stromboli crowed, puffing out his chest.

Then, with theatrical flair, he pulled a fake gold coin from behind his ear and dropped it into Pinocchio’s hands. “For you, my boy!”

Pinocchio clutched it like a sacred relic. “Gee, thanks! I’ll go straight home and tell my father!”

Stromboli, mid-swig of wine, choked.

He spat everywhere. (You recoiled. Gross.)

“Home?” he wheezed, wiping his chin. Then he started laughing. Loud. Booming. Mean. “You are a comedian, too!”

Pinocchio blinked. “You mean it’s funny?”

“Hilarious!”

Pinocchio laughed along, still trying to read the room, still trying to fit in—like a kid mimicking emotions he didn’t fully understand.

And suddenly, it hit you.

Maybe you and Pinocchio weren’t so different.

He thought he was free. No strings. No rules. Just applause and promises. But his conscience had already walked out. And he didn’t even realize he was trading one master for another

You, too, were following something you couldn’t quite name. Something older, deeper, harder to untangle. Dreams, omens, gods in half-shadow. You told yourself you were in control—but were you? Or were you just dancing, too?

The song hadn’t been about freedom.

It had been about illusion.

No strings didn’t mean no control. Sometimes, it meant the control was invisible. The hand pulling the strings was just clever enough to hide.

And before Pinocchio could even process his so-called triumph, Stromboli grabbed him.

The man’s grin had vanished.

He held the puppet tightly by the collar, muttering something low and venomous, then threw him—hard—into a small iron cage bolted to the corner of the carriage.

The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

“This will be your home!” Stromboli bellowed.

Pinocchio scrambled to his feet, clutching the bars. “No!”

Stromboli didn’t flinch. His voice only grew more triumphant. “We’ll tour the world—Paris, London, Moscow! Your name on every billboard, every tongue.” He swept a bag of coins off the table, turning with a glint of greed in his eyes. “You’re mine now, little puppet. The show goes on.”

He stormed out, the door slamming shut behind him.

Pinocchio rattled the cage, frantic—but it was no use.

“Let me out!” he cried. “I want to go home! I don’t want to be famous!”

No answer.

He rattled the cage harder, calling out for Geppetto, for Jiminy, for anyone—but the only thing that answered was the muffled creak of the carriage rocking slightly with movement. The wheels were already turning. They were leaving.

He slumped back, wooden knees hitting the floor with a hollow clack. His hands fell from the bars, limp and trembling.

The reality sank in.

No cheers. No spotlight. No applause. Just four walls of cold iron and the echo of a promise he hadn’t understood.

And then, finally, he wept.

Not like a puppet. Like a child.

Sympathy was such a pain in the butt. You wanted to be mad at him—call him stupid, yell “you should’ve known better!”—but he was just a kid. A wooden, naive, hopeful kid who trusted the wrong people. He didn’t know any better.

While Pinocchio cried, a faint rustling came from the carriage door. His head shot up, eyes wide with hope. “Jiminy!”

“Oh, you wooden idiot,” the little cricket huffed, running to the cage. “What did he do to you?!”

“He locked me up! He said he won’t let me go home to my father!”

“Did he now?”

“Yes, and he said he’d put my name on everyone’s tongue!”

“Really?” Jiminy deadpanned.

“Uh-huh!” Pinocchio pointed desperately at the lock. “Please, Jiminy, please help me!”

Jiminy let out a long-suffering sigh and cracked his knuckles. “Oh, I’d love to strangle that fairy right now.” He launched himself at the lock.

From inside came muffled mumbling, the occasional metallic clank, and a few PG-rated curses. Eventually, Jiminy popped back out, covered in soot, antennae frazzled.

He glared at the lock. “Must be one of the old ones.”

“You mean you can’t open it?” Pinocchio asked, horrified.

Jiminy shook his head, brushing ash from his coat. “It’ll take a miracle to get us out of here.”

“Gee…” Pinocchio deflated. He sank down again, his wooden shoulders drooping.

The two of them sat in silence, the carriage wheels clattering beneath them, hope bleeding out like sunlight through a cracked window.

“Wow,” you muttered, arms crossed as you watched them mope. “They give up faster than I do during capture the flag.”

Still, you weren’t that worried. This was the part of the story where the Blue Fairy showed up, right? All sparkles and salvation. That was the pattern—Pinocchio cries, Jiminy whines, and then poof: wish-granting lady descends.

...But what if she didn’t come?

The thought slipped into your mind like a drop of ink in water, slowly spreading. You blinked, suddenly less sure. What if the story didn’t unfold like it used to? What if the dream wasn’t just a retelling, but a test?

What if you were meant to be the one who saved him?

Your gaze drifted back to Pinocchio, his wooden hands gripping the bars like they might bend if he just believed hard enough. Yes, he was a dumb kid—naive, unlucky, easily led—but that didn’t mean he deserved this. And Jiminy, annoying as he was, clearly cared.

You straightened up, a new energy building in your chest.

This had to be it. The reason the dream spirits brought you here. Not to be an observer. Not to be some passive background character. You weren’t here to follow the script. You were here to rewrite it.

This was your moment—your chance to do something.

To be a hero.

With new resolve, you scanned the carriage. It wasn’t much—just old boxes, rotting wood, and the smell of something sour—but you weren’t the one stuck in a cage. You could make something happen.

As you paced, ideas forming, you remembered what happened next in the original story. Geppetto should be nearby, calling for Pinocchio—just barely missing the carriage as it passed.

Unless… you changed that.

“[Name], you genius,” you whispered, already heading to the door.

You swung it open and jumped out, completely missing the wide-eyed stares of Jiminy and Pinocchio as the door moved seemingly on its own.

“Ew, ew, ew!” you yelped, hopping around the mud. “Not the shoes, not the shoes!”

Amid your panicked dance, you caught the distant sound of Geppetto’s voice, calling for his son. Your head snapped up, heart racing. There—just at the crossroads.

You ran, boots squelching, until you were close enough to shove him—not gently—right in front of the moving carriage.

“Whoa!!”

The carriage screeched to a halt. Stromboli leapt down, livid.

“Are you blind, old man?! You trying to get yourself killed?!”

Geppetto raised his hands defensively, scrambling to his feet. “I—I didn’t mean to! My apologies, sir. I want no trouble.”

Stromboli sneered, looming like a villain. “You look weak.”

“I’m looking for my son. He’s gone missing.”

“Your son?” Stromboli’s eyes narrowed, a wicked gleam flickering to life. “You mean… Pinocchio?”

Geppetto stepped forward, hope lighting up his face like dawn. “Yes! Have you seen him?! Is he alright?”

Stromboli threw his head back and laughed, a dark, booming sound that shook the air like thunder. “Seen him? He’s mine now! My little puppet star!”

“He is not a puppet!” Geppetto shouted, his voice cracking with fury and heartbreak. “He’s my son! Give him back, you twisted monster!”

Stromboli sneered. “Son? He’s made of wood, old man. He’s not meant to be free. He’s meant to be controlled. That’s all puppets are good for.”

Something inside you snapped.

Who the heck did this guy think he was? Who gave him the right to decide what Pinocchio could be? He wasn’t a guardian or a father. He wasn’t kind or wise or even decent. He was just a big, hairy tyrant with a god complex and no heart.

And you were done watching him get away with it.

Without even thinking, your hand closed around a rock on the ground. It was rough, cold, and solid—exactly what you needed.

You hurled it.

The rock soared through the air and smacked Stromboli square in the temple.His eyes bulged in surprise—then rolled back like curtains closing. One beat passed. Then he crumpled like a sack of potatoes, hitting the dirt with a satisfying thud.

You let out a breath. “Take that, loser.”

Unable to help yourself, you stuck your tongue out at his unconscious body and did a little victory shuffle. “Gods, I’m amazing.”

Geppetto flinched at the sound of Stromboli’s fall but quickly shook off the shock and bolted toward the carriage. You followed close behind, pausing only to dig through Stromboli’s pockets. (Ugh. Greasy and linty. Gross.) Still, you managed to snag a set of rusted keys. Score.

“Pinocchio!” Geppetto’s voice rang out, breathless and panicked.

“Father!” Pinocchio’s face lit up behind the bars, eyes wide and glistening.

Geppetto rushed forward, clutching the iron cage. “I’m here now, my boy. I’m here. Let’s get you out of there.”

“We tried!” Pinocchio said, voice high with urgency. “There’s no way without a key!”

“We?”

“Me and my friend Jiminy! He’s really nice!”

Jiminy, now perched proudly on Pinocchio’s shoulder, gave a shy little wave, his cheeks tinged pink. “Aw, go on…”

Geppetto gave a grateful nod, his eyes warm and full of relief. “Thank you for looking after him, Jiminy.”

The cricket rubbed the back of his neck with mock humility. “Ah, just doin’ my job.”

You rolled your eyes. Doing his job? Please. He only showed up after things hit rock bottom. More like the world’s tiniest supervisor.

“Father, the key!” Pinocchio reminded, practically bouncing inside the cage.

“Ah—right, right…”

You “accidentally” tossed the keys in Geppetto’s direction. They nailed him in the forehead with a solid clonk.

“Papa, the sky is falling!” Pinocchio yelped, hands to his cheeks.

Oops. Wrong story

Geppetto blinked, rubbing his scalp with a frown as he glanced suspiciously at the ceiling. “Must’ve fallen from one of the hooks,” he muttered, scooping the keys off the floor like this kind of thing happened to him regularly.

He turned his attention to the lock. It took some fiddling, the keys scraping and jamming a few times, but then—click. The metal creaked, and the cage door slowly swung open.

Pinocchio didn’t wait a second. He threw himself into Geppetto’s arms, wooden limbs wrapping around him with surprising force.

Geppetto let out a breathy laugh, holding him close. “It’s okay, Pinocchio. I’ve got you now.”

It would’ve been a perfectly sweet moment.

If the world hadn’t gone pitch-black.

Another shift.

The world flickered.

Light returned—but colder now, flatter. Like it had passed through frostbitten glass. You blinked, squinting against the dimness, heart ticking in your chest like the rows of clocks around you.

Geppetto’s shop.

But not quite.

The wooden walls leaned inward, warped and sagging like they were made of wax. The floorboards groaned with every shift, like the house itself was holding its breath. Shelves drooped, their contents slouched and slumping: puppets missing eyes, tools rusted in place, spools of thread tangled in impossible knots.

The clocks ticked on, but not together. Some sped up. Some lagged. One let out a soft, high-pitched chime—just one note, sharp and flat—then fell dead silent.

You frowned. No. You’d done everything right. You freed him. Stromboli was gone, the cage was open, the boy was safe.

So why were you still here?

“Good morning, son!”

You turned, startled.

Geppetto sat at the table, smile painted on like a mask. His eyes gleamed with artificial warmth.

“Morning!” Pinocchio chirped from across the room, bright and sunny, as if the last hour of terror had never happened.

Geppetto handed him an apple. “Now, why don’t you tell me what happened yesterday? Why didn’t you go to school?”

Pinocchio hesitated. His small hands turned the apple over and over—it glistened wetly, redder than any fruit had a right to be. Too shiny. Too perfect.

“I… I met somebody,” he began. “Two enormous monsters.”

SNAP.

His nose shot forward like a spring-loaded blade. You flinched. Jiminy gasped. Pinocchio froze, hand flying to his face.

Geppetto leaned in, concern creasing his brow. Gently, he tilted his son’s chin to examine the growing wood.

“Oh no… your nose,” he said softly. “Did they do this to you?”

“I wasn’t scared!” Pinocchio blurted—rushed and shaky, the words tumbling out in a panic. “But they tied me up in a big sack!”

CRACK.

His nose jerked forward again—longer, thinner now, curling faintly at the end like a creeping vine. The tension in the room twisted tighter. The clocks ticked faster.

“What about Sir Jiminy?” Geppetto asked.

Jiminy raised both hands and started inching back. “Oh no. Don’t drag me into this—”

“They tied him up in a little sack,” Pinocchio added, wide-eyed with forced sincerity.

SNAP.

The nose lengthened again. It stretched past the edge of the table now, an awkward wooden bridge he couldn’t undo. The room seemed to lean into it, shadows gathering around its base like mold creeping along a wall.

“My nose!!” Pinocchio wailed, gripping the length of it like it might detach. “Make it stop!”

Geppetto stood abruptly, grabbing his coat. “Don’t worry, my boy! We’ll get the doctor. Just sit tight.”

He didn’t wait for a response. The door opened with a low creak—less like hinges, more like something groaning and alive—and then he was gone.

As the door shut, Jiminy hopped down, arms crossed.

“Why did you lie, Pinocchio?”

A new voice answered.

“That’s an interesting question. Why did he lie?”

You froze. That voice—smooth, cold, curling out from the shadows like smoke.

Phobetor.

Great. Another dream spirit. At this point, their surprise entrances were starting to feel less like divine intervention and more like bad customer service.

Without turning around, you kept your eyes on the puppet and the cricket. “What do you want?”

He strolled up beside you, arms folded behind his back and chin tilted slightly upward.

“To torment you,” he said breezily. “But, unfortunately, I’ve been ordered to”—he gagged, visibly repulsed—“help you.”

You didn’t bother hiding your eye-roll. “You sound very enthusiastic.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The excitement’s just radiating off you.”

He chuckled, puffing out his chest. “Well, I have been working on my temperament.”

You squinted at him. “Right. Anyyyway. What are you actually here for? Because—no offense—you guys suck at your job.”

His expression twitched—just for a second. A flicker of irritation cracked through his polished facade, his jaw tensing like he wanted to smite you into next week.

He muttered to himself through clenched teeth, “Patience, Phobetor. Patience…”

With a sharp exhale, he refocused on you, eyes narrowed but voice still smooth.

“Why did he lie?” he repeated, nodding toward Pinocchio, who was now quietly sobbing over his grotesquely lengthened nose.

Then he began to circle you—slow, deliberate steps, like a predator sizing up its prey. “Why do people lie, do you think?”

You narrowed your eyes. Was this a test? Did he think you were stupid?

Please. Everyone knew why people lied.

“Because they’re scared,” you said.

Phobetor paused in front of Pinocchio, thoughtful. “True.”

He raised a hand and laid his fingers gently—almost tenderly—on Pinocchio’s wooden shoulders. Time froze. Jiminy hung mid-gesture, face locked in worry. Pinocchio’s eyes stayed wide and glassy, caught between guilt and confusion.

Phobetor’s voice dropped—low and cold.

“Do you know what most people fear?”

Your first instinct was to say you, but you bit it back. Snarking your way into Tartarus wasn’t on your to-do list.

And truthfully… you weren’t sure anymore.

You thought about answering seriously. You tried to picture it—other people’s fears. But the only fears you truly knew were your own: the fear of being left behind, of never being enough, of loving too much or not at all. The fear of being forgotten. The fear of knowing exactly what you are.

You stayed silent.

Phobetor didn’t seem surprised.

“Most people,” he continued, circling slowly, “fear the truth. Not the monsters. Not the dark. The truth. The shame it carries. The way it strips you bare and leaves you exposed. It changes how people look at you. How you look at yourself. Truth doesn’t comfort. It doesn’t reassure. It takes, and it leaves.”

He stopped in front of you, close enough to make your skin prickle. His hand reached for yours before you could flinch away.

“When you’re afraid,” he said softly, “fear starts making your choices for you. It whispers in your ear, changes the shape of the world. You doubt your memories. You doubt the people you love. You lie—not to protect yourself, but to preserve the illusion that you’re still in control.”

His grip tightened just enough to sting. “You start to believe that lie. And then… you live by it.”

You yanked your hand back. His cold lingered, like winter buried in your skin.

“Why are you telling me this?” you snapped. “Pinocchio’s the liar, not me.”

Phobetor didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head, eyes sharp as glass. “Oh, child. There are liars all around you.”

He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a kind of ancient pity.

“One day, you’ll see the truth: the bravest ones...”

He leaned in, breath cold against your cheek.

“...are often the biggest cowards.”

Then he stepped back and turned you gently toward the frozen scene—toward the unmoving boy, the trembling nose, the ticking silence.

“Heads up,” he murmured.

You blinked. “Wait—what does that—”

But he was gone.

Just when you might’ve actually needed him.

Seriously, what were these gods good for? Besides showing up uninvited, speaking in riddles, and spinning your brain like a carousel powered by dread?

The dream resumed.

Pinocchio and Jiminy picked up mid-conversation like nothing had happened. But before Pinocchio could answer, the front bell chimed—a tinny, broken sound, like windchimes underwater.

In stepped a man. Or something like a man.

He was dressed head-to-toe in black, movements too smooth, limbs just slightly too long. His face was hidden by a ski mask, but the eyeholes were wide, dark. Deep. Not just shadows—depthless. Like staring into the mouth of a cave and hearing it breathe back.

Classic robber, you told yourself. But it felt wrong.

“Father—?” Pinocchio began brightly, still beaming with naïve hope. Then he paused, tilting his head at the newcomer. “Oh, hello! I thought you were my father.”

The figure didn’t answer immediately. His stare bored into the boy like he was measuring something inside him. His voice, when it came, was as flat and cold as polished marble.

“Your father?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation wearing the mask of curiosity.

He wasn’t from the story. Not Stromboli. Not Connor or Travis. This man—this presence—was something else entirely. An intruder.

Pinocchio gestured innocently to the empty coat rack. “He went to get the doctor. My nose won’t go down.”

The figure gave no indication he’d heard. He was already moving, gliding across the warped wooden floor, fingers dragging over the counter. Wherever he touched, the wood darkened, warped—like his touch was spoiling it.

You took a step forward instinctively, but didn’t intervene. Not yet. Something about the scene rooted you in place. But it wasn’t real—it was performance, with stakes that felt all too personal.

“I’m an old friend,” he said smoothly. “Your father owes me.”

“Owes you what?” Jiminy asked sharply, stepping forward.

The man ignored him.

He crouched to Pinocchio’s eye level, and suddenly, the walls seemed closer, the room too small. His voice dropped to a murmur.

“He took something. Something precious. A name, maybe. A promise.”

Pinocchio shifted uncomfortably. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he lies.” The man rose again, drifting toward the cluttered shelves. “Not with words. With love. That’s the most dangerous kind.”

You felt your own pulse falter. The shadows behind him seemed to breathe.

Pinocchio tilted his head. “But… he loves me.”

The masked man laughed—low and almost pitying. “Does he?”

He reached for the register and pried it open. The drawer coughed out coins and bills like it wanted to be rid of them.

Jiminy flailed. “Hey, hey! Hands off the till!”

“Just collecting what I’m owed,” the man said, slipping the money into a black bag that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “But I can offer something in return.”

He turned, stepping forward again. A glint in his palm.

A diamond.

Huge. Flawless. Not shining—glowing, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

“Here,” he said. “For your honesty.”

Pinocchio stared, mesmerized. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s truth,” the man replied. “And it’s heavy, isn’t it? Isn’t it strange, how you’ve never received anything so lovely… from him?”

Pinocchio’s expression dimmed.

“He makes toys for everyone else. Repairs clocks for strangers. But when was the last time he carved something just for you?”

Jiminy’s voice cracked. “Kid, don’t listen to him. He’s twisting you around.”

“Is it twisted,” the man asked softly, “to notice when you’re not wanted?”

Pinocchio flinched. His nose grew another inch with a jolt that made him wince. But he didn’t respond.

The masked man kneeled again, that pale stare burning through the holes in his mask. “You are made of lies,” he whispered. “And every time you try to be good, you only become more false. Do you know why?”

Pinocchio shook his head.

“Because he made you in his image.”

Silence.

Then: a snap—the long, hanging clocks on the wall all jerked to midnight at once. They rang with no chime. Just dull, metallic thuds, like teeth snapping shut.

“I should go,” the man said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “I’ve already said too much.”

“But—” Pinocchio clutched the diamond. “Wait. Was it true?”

The man tilted his head as if listening to something far away. Then, with the faintest smile, he murmured:

“Truth is just a beautiful lie we all agreed to believe.”

The man turned to leave out through the door—but it didn’t open normally this time. It simply folded away, like paper curling in firelight. Halfway through the threshold of that flickering, flame-eaten doorway, the man paused.

Your breath caught.

It had already been a nightmare.

But now the nightmare saw you.

He turned.

Right toward you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

No one in these dreams was supposed to see you. Not the characters. Not the illusions. Only the dream spirits.

You were a visitor. An observer. A ghost moving through someone else’s grief.

But this man didn’t just see you.

He looked through you.

His pale eyes locked with yours, and in them—something powerful stirred.

Something that reminded you, with chilling clarity, of your age.

Small.

Powerless.

Exposed.

The air in the room shifted—grew sharp, like it had been threaded with glass. He tilted his head. Then—slow, deliberate—raised a hand and waved.

Not friendly. Not mocking.

Intimate. Like he knew you.

Something cold unspooled in your gut. But he was gone in the next second. He stepped through the burning-paper door, vanishing like smoke behind a candle. The world didn’t ripple. It twitched.

And that’s when you realized— You weren’t breathing. You drew in air slowly, carefully, like it might cut going down. Around you, the dream had resumed, unbothered. Pinocchio sobbed quietly, his nose curling like a brittle vine. Jiminy trembled, visibly shaken, his antennae twitching like nerves in a lightning storm. But you stood apart. Frozen.

Because he had seen you. He knew you didn’t belong here.

And he’d acknowledged it.

Which meant one thing: This wasn’t just a dream. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t symbolic. It wasn’t stitched together by your subconscious.

It was pointed. You were being watched. You wiped your palms on your pants, but they were still clammy. Your mouth felt full of ash. Like a fire had been lit inside you.

Pinocchio turned to Jiminy. His voice was small, cracked.

“Jiminy… was he right?”

“Of course not!” Jiminy barked—but his voice wavered. “He was just trying to scare you. Twist your strings.”

Pinocchio nodded slowly, but his eyes didn’t follow.

“I never know who to believe. I try. But it’s always wrong. I’m always wrong. I’ll never be the boy he wants.”

The diamond shimmered in his lap like it was listening.

He sobbed—harder than before. His nose hung down past the table’s edge now, curling like a dead branch. The clocks ticked again, but none in rhythm. One bled ink. Another spat sawdust.

Then the door creaked open, stuttering like a skipping heartbeat.

“Pinocchio, I’m home—”

Geppetto stopped cold at the sight of his son crumpled in tears.

He rushed over, dropping to his knees beside him.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Pinocchio looked up through the veil of his own crying. His voice came out cracked and distant, as if spoken through water.

“Father… are you a liar?”

Geppetto blinked. “What? Of course not—!”

“Where’s the doctor?”

“He… couldn’t make it—”

“You went to give toys to other kids, didn’t you?”

“What? Now, Pinocchio—”

“No!” Pinocchio shoved his hand away and stood, fists balled at his sides.

“You lied! You said you’d get a doctor, and you didn’t!”

“If you’d just let me explain—”

“Liar! Liar! Liar!”

The word struck like glass each time.

Even the house reacted—lights dimming, walls groaning, a chair leg snapping under invisible weight.

Wow. Who knew Pinocchio had it in him?

Even Figaro peeked out from the stairs and darted back immediately, tail low.

“I hate you!”

You could almost hear Geppetto’s heart crack.

And honestly? Pinocchio was seriously starting to get on your nerves.

You stepped forward, half-tempted to snap him out of it—

when a knock echoed from the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The room shivered.

Geppetto sighed and stood. He looked older. Dimmer.

He opened the door.

“Officer?” he asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”

The man on the threshold wore a uniform, sure. But it didn’t fit right. Too crisp. Too still. Like it had been cut from paper and folded onto him.

“There was a robbery at the jewelry store down the street,” he said. His voice was monotone. Unnatural. “We received a tip. Said the stolen diamond is here. With you.”

Geppetto chuckled nervously. “Me? That’s ridiculous. There’s no diamond here.”

“I’m going to have to search the shop.”

Geppetto stepped in front of the door. “You’ll need a warrant.”

The officer’s eyes narrowed. They didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

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the-greatest-magic-of-all · 1 year ago

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With such a God-focused season, one day, once Junior Year is finished and I have both the time and energy to do it, I want to make a Fantasy High God AU zine. It'd be from the pov of a mythologist/theologian in Spyre who's found strange links between minor deities throughout different regions' pantheons.

Half-Elves have a God of Dance and Flames who has been said to have defeated a Tiefling vagabond (and tamed his Hellhound mount) and charmed Fire itself with only a dance and his silk battle sheet. And if you look deep enough into his history there are rare depictions of him wearing an oddly shaped pendant and riding into battle with a sling-wielding Goblin peeking out of his rucksack. Interestingly enough, there's a minor Goblin God of Justice and Mysteries, the son of a Goblin Folk Hero and the Goblin Goddess of Knowledge, Laws, and Justice, who famously wields his father's enchanted sling. Though he and his father are often shown with angelic wings. So, why would he dally with a God so closely associated with Fiends?

Tieflings have a trickster Goddess of Music, Rebellion, and Devotion. The daughter of an Archdevil and a Wood Elven Goddess of Archery & the Wilderness. She's said to be a paramour of a Half-Phoenix Pirate Goddess of Wizardry and Knowledge and once toured the lands, performing with a Half-Orc companion. A lot of artistic recreations of that tour depict the Half-Orc companion with flower motifs that correspond with a Gnomish/Half-Orcish God of Tinkering and Rage. One that once outwitted a Sphynx and regained his spurned Saytr paramour's love by speaking to/reaching the stars with the help of a band of Tinkerer Gnomes.

There are tales of a Twice Risen Goddess who was once the chosen one of the Demigod Helio, but took one look at him and thought she could do better. With the wisdom to raise Gods from the dead and remove unholy rites without any divine power other than her own, this God-Saint of Doubt travels across Spyre not to spread her own religion but to inquire about others. This deep curiosity is probably how she ended up in some Fallinel depictions of the First Elven Oracle, who upon death ascended to becoming the Goddess of Sight, Intelligence and Righteous Fury. There are even short hymns written about the Oracle foreseeing the God-Saint's rise (against the Elven Moon Goddess' wishes) and of the God-Saint banishing some dark entity from possessing the Oracle with only a profane curse of its name.

And even more stuff connecting them all. Like the fact that all of them have tales of them defeating an Ancient Red Dragon. Or the tales of The Festival of the Crab King: a strange, delirious story of mortals witnessing a euphoric revelry of the deific kind that involved all these Gods from different pantheons.

#idk i think it'd be a fun time #fantasy high #dimension 20 #fabian seacaster #riz gukgak #adaine abernant #gorgug thistlespring #kristen applebees #fig faeth #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high junior year spoilers

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z-nightshade · 8 months ago

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Possible Devil Fruit Ideas

I currently have a list of possible Devil Fruit ideas for Cass from my fic An Oracle's Odyssey. Not all of them are completely fleshed out yet and are still subject to tweaking and me figuring out the details, I'd just like to know your opinions on them. Feel free to ask if you have any questions. (If you see an N/A, it just means I haven't figured that part out yet)

Fruit 1

Kibo Kibo no Mi (Scale Scale Fruit)

Type: Paramecia

Abilities: Grants the user the ability to increase or decrease the scale of something exponentially. This can be physical (size, amount/# of things, ect) or metaphorical (force, strength, speed, ect). Only works on the user and objects, not other people

Awakening: N/A

Pros

Would allow Cass to increase the their physical stats for as long as they have the energy to hold their fruit powers

Giant Cass

Pocket sized Cass

Enables Cass’s hoarding tendencies

Cass can be that one meme where one person pulls out an absurd amount of weapons

I can give Cass a giant war hammer and a giant battle ax which I would have to forgo with any other fruit because they’re too big to carry around

The one I can be the most creative with

Fruit 2

Oto Oto no Mi (Sound Sound Fruit)

Type: Logia

Abilities: The ability to become, generate and manipulate sound waves. Grants user control over all sound they create

Awakening: Grants user control over all sound waves

Pros

Ties thematically with Cass’s connection to sound

Ties back to Apollo/the sun god because sound and music (this does include Nika as well bc drums)

Allows Cass to become intangible

Sonic screeches

Sonic vibrations could be used to replicate Whitebeard’s fruit

Very difficult to block sound based attacks (probably the most outright deadly if used properly)

Could use sound waves to break things apart on a molecular level

I actually know what I want the awakening to be

Voice mimicry

Fruit 3

Type: Mythical Zoan

Abilities: Grants the user the ability to turn into the goddess Artemis and tap into her abilities and domains

Nature: Nature is inclined to help & listen to the user

Hunting: Increased physical abilities & aim as well as other hunting abilities

The Moon: Moon beams

Half Form: N/A

Full Form: N/A

Awakening: N/A

Pros

Mood goddess first mate and sun god captain

Ties into nature and the Voice of All Things

Artemis is the twin of Apollo, the greek sun god

Artemis is the goddess of archery and Cass uses ranged weapons

Fruit 4

Hito Hito no Mi Model Hecate (Human Human Fruit Model Hecate)

Type: Mythical Zoan

Abilities: Grants the user the ability to turn into the goddess Hecate and tap into her abilities and domains

Magic/Witchcraft: The ability to practice Greek witchcraft (spells, potions, herbs, runes)

The Night: Nightvision, possible minor control over darkness

Ghosts/Necromancy: Abilities to see and talk to the spirits of the dead

Crossroads: N/A

Half Form: N/A

Full Form: N/A

Awakening: N/A

Pros

One of the most thematically tied to Cass (Greek Mythology, crossroads and decisions, death)

Hecate is also tied to the moon even if she isn't the mood goddess like Artemis

One of Hecate’s symbols is the torch, tying into their connection with Ace

Strong ties to the underworld and death, with Hecate being one of the few deities who can easily travel between realms

Was a titan who helped the gods when over throwing the titans (relevant but the reason is a spoiler)

Called the three headed goddess represent the maiden, the mother and the crone but also the past, present and future

Witch Cass (requires prep work and Cass to make their own spells and magic system)

Fruit 5

Shika Shika no Mi Model Qilin (Deer Deer Fruit Model Qilin)

Type: Mythical Zoan

Abilities: Grants the user the ability to turn into a Qilin and use it’s abilities

Fire breathing

Prophecy

Flight

Shapeshifting

Half Form: The horns & scales of a Qilin, also hovees & horse like legs and tail

Full Form: Fully transforms into a Qilin (“a deer's body, ox's tail, most frequently cloven hooves, a dragon's head, and scales, sometimes with flames emanating from the body.” description from worldhistory.org)

Awakening: N/A

Pros

Ties most closely into Cass’s Oracle shtick as Qilin’s are associated with prophecy, insight and wisdom like Oracles

I actually have ideas regarding the transformations that would take place

A Qilin’s birth is tied to the birth or death of a sage (Cass dying and being reborn)

Qilins are also known to transport souls

The most distinct transformation of all the Zoan ideas and also the most fun

The chimera esque appearance of a Qilin (important and thematically tied but the reason is a spoiler)

Luffy is based on Sun Wukong who also hails from Chinese mythology like the Qilins

As of right now, any of these fruits are possibilities. Cass never getting a Devil Fruit is also an option. I’d love to hear your opinions. Some other miscellaneous notes, I’m a bit on the fence on the idea of Cass being a Zoan. They’re already an Oracle which is a mythological classification on its own. That’s not to say they can’t be both but it’s something I think about. Also, awakenings. If I were to give them a Devil Fruit, I’d want to have them awaken it before the story finishes so I’d love to hear any ideas you have for it

#night’s bedtime stories #my fics #an oracles odyssey #one piece oc #sunny d cassandra #one piece #one piece fanfiction #devil fruit #devil fruit ideas

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agent-darkfest · 7 months ago

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Sunny !!! Marry me !!

Ahah I’m joking calm down lmao. Or.. am i ?? :3

Sun: Oh!.... Umm... I'm flattered but-

Moon: Marriage between human and Jinn is forbidden! Against Jinn law! Absolutely not!

Sun: *sighing and muttering off to the side* This again…

Moon: *turning to Sun* Humans are not our friends! Besides, you know a union between a human and a Jinn will result in a Duonrasa. And they are dangerous!

Sun: Oh? Is that so? Have you met one? Hmmm???!

*Sun and Moon start bickering*

Hmm, let me elaborate. A Duonrasa (sometimes called Du Raso) basically means "two race". Since the beginning, it has been said that a union between human and Jinn would result in a half breed being with magical abilities, but they would always have a physical defect (blind, deaf, body parts of an animal, etc). However, Moon's tribe claims that this kind of being is a monster because it has too much magic and the ability to kill with just a touch. Sun's tribe believes that this is not true and they actually have no magical abilities, only that their physical appearance isn't quite human or Jinn. They are both partially correct.

Humans would eventually come to know these Duonrasa to be what we refer to as Oracles or Fortune Tellers or Witches.

#fnaf arabian knights au #ask answered #fnaf moon #fnaf sun and moon #fnaf sun

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sacredhyacinth · 3 months ago

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THERES MORE EXPERIMENTS THAN ANITA??? I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THEM PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLS 🙏🙏🙏

I��ve had this idea for a while however I might tweak a few things so take this with a grain of salt

when David was creating the Blood Moon time, he went to Gunua under the pretense of trading with the island—however he spent his time there with the Gunua Court trying to get to Lady Eleanor. When he finally had to chance to speak with her, David offered to exchange Flores’ method of managing different worlds and creation of life through herbs—for a cup of honey from the bottle of eternal life, Eleanor would agree only to use it to monitor the Flowers Grove world

however to create the BM timeline, David was required to go outside the island—to bypass this, he requested a worshipper of the temple to go find these herbs/items in his name

in exchange he gifted the worshipper half the cup of honey—telling them to only use it when necessary HOWEVERRR this worshipper would try to use the honey to try and cheat life, so they ran away from the island. Maida’s previous teaching in Scaylum had a passed down tradition of healing—but never immortality as it would require the honey

so the worshipper went to Scaylum/aka the Plains and used the sacred tradition to keep them alive for hundreds of years. Over the years the Worshipper would also try to revive the dead using honey, famously it would work with Caina (#002) however it would take years for her to actually wake up—the experiment was a success and see would be the model for the rest of the revival experiments. but the Worshipper would have to deal with the consequences of these experiments—the side effects of these half human half plant patients (Caina, Leona) and quickly faded into obscurity

the experiments would be picked up by Anita’s mother (around 1910s) who was a medical student under Opuntia. They extracted the honey from the flowers grown from the experiments to revive Rosemary (#004) a daughter of a nobleman in Spain. Then Anita’s mother would keep Opuntia alive through the years with the honey—but the same side effects would occur similar to Caina, Leona, and Rosemary. In late 1960s, Anita’s mother and Opuntia would famously revive Dione and Jupiter Mellon, two American socialites whose families sought the treatment after the story of Rosemary became well known through the states. However their side effects would be different as Dione would become akin to an oracle, and basically gained visions of the future—however her husband Jupiter could transfix the weather and thunder if under high levels of stress

after the “positive” side effects Dione and Jupiter were given, Anita’s mother was convinced it was time to attempt to revive her daughter IT WORKS LMAO however Anita can’t adjust to the modern age (early 1990s, 2000s) and avoids journalist who ask for her story on beating death—unlike the rest of the experiments who were already obscure and were well off enough to numerous shows/interviews/publications, Anita was the only one who was “public” enough to be interviewed, which is why Juliana is deadset on interviewing her and trying to find out the revival process Opuntia and Anita’s mother took

uhh it’s short short summary the experiments were just rich families paying to revive their children/beloved family members, however Loretta is only classified as an experiment because she was created with the honey like the others, and it had super weird side effects to go with it—for example Blood Moon Lori was basically omnipotent

Also if you guys remember #009 (Sol) basically Elise will take over the next experiment by trying to maintain the anger of Sol, the (kinda) rebirth of the deity Sol. The design is super old and I’m gonna have to design #009 but that’s basically my lore for Anita’s story, it might change to make it less Rick and morty but its fun to write lol

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tabbycatcreates · 10 months ago

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Still Working on my half moon oracle shawl; it’s coming along

#hand knitted #knitting #knittersgonnaknit #half moon oracle #shawl knitting #knit #knitters of tumblr

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ssplague · 1 year ago

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Benighted Beloved

Prologue

Dragon King Bakugou x Reader

Haven’t decided on the title yet, didn’t want to take even more time to get this out.

Warnings ⚠️ BRIEF Mentions of attempted assault, sex trafficking, & murder.

As the last of the moon’s ethereal, silver light disappears from the skies, a harsh wind begins to blow. This kingdom’s inhabitants are hidden away within the confines of their homes. The silence is daunting as the wind begins to howl through the previously bustling capital streets.

Within the dimly lit castle a woman stares through the her window before shutting the drapes tight.

The atmosphere within the fortress is riddled with tension; Murmurings of prayers can be heard from various servants pausing their duties as they move about. Her bosom heaves rapidly from panting breaths, she fights in vain. Stubborn to prevent the vision attempting to shine through, ignoring the now blurry edges of her eye sight. Ebony hair is sticking to her sweaty face, she’s only standing on shaky legs from leaning against the edge of her vanity table.The door of her bedroom swings open and immediately slams shut. A man has come to see her, he’s briskly crossing the room, before coming to a stop at her side.

“What ails you?” The tired man asks, helping the woman stand upright by allowing her to hold his arm. Continuing to assist, despite her uncoordinated shuffling to sit on her bed. “If you are to be given a prophetic message, why fight it? Her majesty wishes to know what you have seen”. The woman wraps her arms around her middle, sharp nails nicking at her flesh as she draws in a shaking breath, “This night is tainted by darkness, the goddess is unable to grant us her full protection while her light is repressed…if my body will hold out until the darkness recedes, perhaps tragedy will be prevented from falling upon our kingdom once again”. Light from the single lit candle casted half of her face in shadow. The oracle was ashen faced, her black bangs plastered against her forehead, droplets of sweat leaked down her face onto the floor as she rested her elbows on her knees, shaking hands massage her temples.

“You cannot alter fate Midnight, you are destroying yourself all for the sake of delaying a message you were chosen to deliver” Aizawa says with a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes “I know you continue to blame yourself for the death of King Masaru but even the queen herself told you that you were not at fault, you relayed the message, and it was something that simply couldnt be remedied..”.

A shuddering breath racks the oracle’s body and she begins falling forward, only for the exhausted man to catch her,

“Stop this! You are going to die!”.

Midnight knew she was on deaths door, her body would give out soon, unless she relents…

Once again the bedroom door opens silently, the snap of it shutting alerts the two occupants of a new comer entering the room.

“Do it for the sake of the child, if you wish to atone for the death of its father then guide it as it grows, inform the future leader on how to avoid whatever negativity may come beforehand, so that it can be properly dealt with” the stern but soft voice of Jeanist seems to have been able to break through the oracle’s stubbornness.

“Normally only one of you would need to be the scribe for this session…but I would prefer it if there were two perspectives on whatever I report, considering the situation…” requests Midnight as Aizawa allows Jeanist to help the frail woman sit up. Making one more request as the blonde man fluffs and rearranges the pillows behind her:

“Please light the ceremonial pouperie and hand me both selenite and tourmaline towers”.

At the beginning of her life Midnight had been gifted with the ability to predict small things such as who would win a foot race or what she would receive for her birthday. As a teen her visions changed into predicting who would find love and eventually how relationships would end. Life was not always kind to her, and once she reached her late teens she had been enslaved and forced into prostitution.

Luck had been on her side as an adult; One night as the ebony haired beauty made her way through town. She had come across a drunken man attempting to asssault a young woman. Her amethyst eyes catch the glint of an intact bottle neck laying discarded on the alleyway’s grime crusted cobblestones. Those muffled cries of the female being violated brought her back to when she herself had first been enslaved. Slinking up through the shadows in silence, the angry woman would later on be compared to a panther as she came flying out of the darkness. The brute didnt have a chance to fight back as loose shards of glass were shoved into his eyes, the jagged spikes of the bottle were repeatedly slashed and thrusted into his neck, face, and chest until the pig was unrecognizable.

The woman she had saved turned out to be the daughter of a duke, visiting from a completely different kingdom. “Please accompany me for my journey home, your bravery will bring you great favor with my family, im offering you a new life, a fresh start”. Once the dutches and duke had learned about the gift of sight their daughter’s savior possessed, it was only a matter of time before Midnight was called to advise the current king and queen of her new home.

The darker haired man uses the candle to light to light the bundle of herbs, the scents of sage, lavender, and jasmine fill the room quickly.

Both polished stone towers are pressed into her shaking hands, Each man stood at the oracle’s bed side with quills poised and ready. Only then does the ritual begin;

She always hated lowering the walls of protection that had been built around her psyche. It made her feel as though she were stripped naked, vunerable, about to have her dignity snatched away, and soul crushed. Of course those feeling were always what prelude a tainted and unfortunate vision. Her eyes buldge in their sockets as they widen, her plump lips fall open and an amplified emotionless version of her voice spews out the sacred information from her gaping maw.

In this realm,

a blessing descends,

a child of fate,

Whose power immense,

destined to determine

earth’s fate

Born beneath the moon's shadow,

a tale quite bizarre,

A beast hides within,

a spirit touched by mar.

Not at the outset,

but time's relentless flow,

Unveils a name in

history's annals to grow.

Victories numerous,

A heart encased in sin

With a chance encounter,

love's dance shall begin.

Strings of fate weave

a love, pure and oh so divine,

The dragon king seeking

a mate with whom his

Soul shall intertwine.

This love is true,

by impurity shunned,

Great Darkness out shone

by Celestial radiance

Who’s light could

Outshine the sun

Blessings abound

if the moon's grace prevails,

However her failure

unveils hate

as darkness assails.

The Earth shall quake in fright

silence descends in despair,

The dragon king ruthless,

his mate to ensnare.

Land soaked in blood,

tainted with gore

at that moment

T’will be decided

peace within this kingdom

will become a distant lore

Decay befalls living souls,

cursed evermore.

Oh how can one’s feelings

spin a tale so profound?

For only true love shall

Determine whether darkness

Or light shall abound?

In a wing located on the complete opposite side of the castle, a feminine shriek is permeated by the sharp wails of an infant.

“It’s a boy your majesty!” Exclaims a mid-wife who held the freshly delivered baby.

She is quick to clean off the continuously shrieking child, immediately swaddling him in a soft blanket. Queen Mitsuki held out her trembling hands to receive the bundle of joy. “He’s beautiful my lady, I’m sure the king is looking down from heaven with pride” stated one of the other servants as she took away the soiled linens. “Yes he is…my beautiful little boy…my precious Katsuki” the queen whispered, kissing the boy’s head. His tiny whisps of blonde hair tickled her face as she holds him close. A little fist slips out from the blankets, waving about as his wails grow louder. Another servant enters the room, her arms laden with fresh blankets and sheets, “The moonlight has returned!” She happily reports, setting down the bedding and drawing back the curtains some.

Soon as those first rays of the shining silver light landed on the baby, his shrieks cease instantly. Finally opening his small crimson eyes to stare up at his mother, a goofy smile appearing and soft cooing replaced his cries. Everyone in the castle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the dreaded eclipse had come to an end.

“My Katsuki, you’re going to grow into a strong, dependable man, eventually you’ll become the greatest king the world has ever seen…isn’t that right Masaru?” Mitsuki snuggled the baby, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t able to see the man standing beside the two of them, but Katsuki could. The spirit of his father placed its hand on his little head, and the baby began to giggle happily. “I cant do much in this form, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you make the right choice when the time comes…take care of your mother for me…I love you both so much”.

A/N: We’re starting a NEW series!

What did you think? Pay attention to that prophecy, any ideas on what it’s talking about?

#katsuki bakugou #Bakugou x reader #Bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #dragon king bakugou #mha fantasy au #mha fanfiction

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whispereons · 2 years ago

Text

Oracle!Reader Part 12

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 11, Part 13

Putting this early so y'all got something to read while waiting for Fontaine. Gl on wishing/saving!

Warning! This is SAGAU which is yandere, plus my story is imposter au which makes things even worse. You can expect detailed descriptions of sensitive topics like blood in this chapter.

The water is still as Mountain Shaper relays your claim to the other adepti. The cutting gaze they have is deflected by that calm expression you wear.

"Then before we deal with them, let's wrap up the situation with the children." Ganyu speaks softly as her eyes move past your form with wariness.

Xingqiu and Chongyun relax at the sight of Ganyu.With her around, the punishment from the adepti should be prevented.

"Thank you both for coming to save the children, and I'm sorry we weren't in time to help that poor boy. I'm afraid I'll have to burden you both with the task of bringing them back to the city. This would be quite a big deal, especially for you, Xingqiu, as the son of such a prestigious family."

Xingqiu freezes up at the mention of his family while Ganyu takes out a notepad. She writes something on it and hands it over to him.

"This is a brief report on what happened, your cover up is that I asked you to bring them back home. You and your friend will have to give a report to the Millelith and when I get back, I can finish the report. I can get the needed information from your... teammate."

The skepticism and slight disgust in her voice makes it perfectly clear what she thinks about you. She didn't even want to thank you for participating in saving the children.

Ganyu is an adepti, even if she is half human, and that is why she has some of that signature arrogance. She always did jump to conclusions; like how she attacked that Fatui skirmisher that was berry picking. Her arrogance only makes it harder for her to change her mind until it's nearly too late.

Xingqiu smiles politely but the twitch in his eyebrow as he accepts the note says it all. Chongyun's face visibly sours but he keeps quiet. They both turn to you, silently asking if it's okay for them to leave you here.

Your lips stretch into a cheery smile and you give them a thumbs up. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just make sure Yiran gets to her father and that the mother of that poor boy gets his body."

They leave with the children clinging to them, the children still have remnants of tears in their eyes. You can only silently command Teyvat to make their journey back to the city as safe as possible.

"One knows not why this interloper is not already decaying at our feet. Surely any being that claims such a frivolous thing deserves to be sacrificed to the glorious Creator."

Rude as always, Cloud Retainer is the first to ignite the hatred for you. In Genshin she was always comedic relief after the Archon quest but it's different with your current position.

"Don't be so quick to see to my death, Cloud Retainer. Surely Mountain Shaper has already told you what secret information I know about you all." You smoothly comment.

"The young herbalist is not impossible to hold information on, it's the scent of Teyvat on you that led me to not kick you off my mountain." Moon Carver interferes calmly. You get the sense that he's the most curious on who you are in contrast to the rest that just want you to die.

"Like I said, I'm an Oracle for the Creator themself. Surely you aren't going to doubt Teyvat in who it chooses to embrace."

"Mimicry is a common tactic among evildoers like yourself. Perhaps you're a demonic spirit from the old war hiding in human flesh. It would suffice as an explanation for the way you used that little girl to buy time for yourself."

Mountain Shaper pushes the agenda of some evil lurking within you. Honestly, it's starting to annoy you but becoming emotional would only fuel them further.

"I only spoke to Yiran so rashly due to your stupid rules. Who focuses on intruders that you clearly saw came for the children instead of the terrified young girl? She was scared from the massacre and felt responsible for that boy's death. That same dead boy’s mother that you proceeded to insult."

"And why should we concern ourselves with the folly of humans?"

"I'm not asking you to. I'm saying that you should at least allow the other humans to help those children, yet you treat adults and children like they have the same mental capacity. Not surprising as adepti couldn't possibly understand the complexity of humanity but it’s still quite disappointing that you cannot even see the logic."

Your words earn you a sharp amber tearing into the skin of your left arm. A low curse escapes you as you yank the injured arm away from the crimson painted amber. Examining the wound with a grimace, you apply pressure to slow the bleeding. The puncture wound lets your blood stain the clothing and drip off.

It didn't go all the way through but in certain areas your vein and arteries can be seen. Not broken, just exposed and so very painful. Resisting the tears, you dig into your bag with your good hand for the medical kit.

As you clean and wrap up your wound, you can hear the adepti arguing.

"What are you doing you old coot? One was looking to expose their lies, not attack in such a haste. Now that filthy blood is staining my abode."

"Cloud Retainer is correct on this topic. As devoted worshippers of our caliber, having the ability to unravel the demonic lies is true proof of our strength."

It's so funny, you almost want to laugh in their faces. 'Filthy blood'? Your blood is the one that they worship like salvation. 'Demonic lies?' Isn't the Creator's word's law and truth no matter the message?

That haughtiness that leads them to try beating you at your own game will be their downfall. You'll enjoy this new act. After all...

They're only the stepping stones for the showdown between you and the Geo Archon.

With a bandaged arm that sends dull aches and electrifying pain at intervals, you smile and speak in a sweet tone.

"Finished conversing yet? If you're ready to try exposing my nonexistent lie then get rid of this amber cage and let me show you firsthand why I'm the Creator's Oracle."

Your serene smile is met with sharp glares, distrustful eyes and a timid gaze that speaks first.

"And what proof or action will you show us?"

"Well, I have multiple ways, but illuminated beings like yourself will not be satisfied with that. You'll see it as a trick, a prepared prop to convince you all. So instead, why don't you ask me to do something or relay something to the creator? Something that you're positive I can't complete."

Beisht's scale seems to make your bag heavier with the reminder of its existence. But it's not time for it yet. The adepti only see Beisht as an enemy, that gamble isn't one you're willing to risk just yet.

"One would never ask you to pray to the creator and sully their ears with your sinful voice. One has a better idea on what you can do as 'proof'. As much as One hates to let you get closer, it is necessary to enter my abode."

Mountain Shaper seems to grumble as the other adepti force him to release you. Chains made of Geo and Dendro wrap around your wrists and tug you forward.

Were you truly that untrustworthy in their eyes? Four adepti against one human, the outcome is obvious, but you keep a leisurely pace behind them.

Cloud Retainer's domain-like door opens and once you all step inside, the door shuts with a loud bang. It's just like how you remembered it in the game.

An absolute confusing mess.

Ganyu and Cloud Retainer cross the barely hanging rock bridge with ease, Meanwhile Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper throw remarks at her.

"What is the meaning of such a mess? It's in even worse condition than when we visited 300 years ago."

"One's abode is not of your concern. It is normal for one to keep it in the environment that suits one's needs."

Cloud Retainer and Mountain Shaper continue to bicker back and forth as you are led through the turning platforms and transparent golden bridges.

"Maybe if a certain mortal had just accepted death as their punishment, we wouldn't have to be going through this disorganization."

As adepti, they probably could have just flown to the top where Cloud Retainers' main ruins are but as you are clearly human, they had to take the long way. They don't bother to keep that fact quiet but Moon Carver constantly saying that only makes you walk slower in pettiness.

The main ruin finally comes into view and you remember the initial conversation with Cloud Retainer when you had to discuss Morax's fake death. The door behind that never let players in, is now open.

Entering you are greeted with long hallways with inventions in different stages of creation littering it. Texts, and murals of different time periods cover the walls. Morax, Guizong, the Yaksha and even other adepti you don't recognize are there.

A left turn at a three way intersection goes to a large room decorated beautifully with feathers and gemstones alike. The image of you forming an egg that has brown scales and gold accents is the main centerpiece.

This must be how they believe you created Morax. Then does that solve the question on whether the egg or the chicken comes first?

Cloud Retainer stops in the middle of the room and spreads her wings to point at the sides of the room that are inscribed with text.

"Ever since One took residence in this abode, One has never been able to decipher the text, nor has any other being that got One's permission to enter this sacred room been able to decipher it. If you are truly the Oracle then surely you must be able to decode such scriptures."

"Then let's see just what message this scripture contains." Your proud words are all the bravado you need to walk past their eyes and approach the closest words on the left wall.

As you move to walk past Cloud Retainer's form, she brings her wing down to cover your path.

"Death is the only ending for you in One's eyes. If you fail to translate, then you'll die. If you tarnish or destroy it, then you'll die. And if you refuse, then death will claim you before you can even finish your words."

"I understand full and well, Cloud Retainer. My life belongs to the Creator, no matter how difficult or painful."

Her wing cuts through your shackles with ease. Now free, you walk past with that confident posture you've held throughout this meeting. Your hands itch to run over the wall and pray that Teyvat will automatically translate it as it had done for everything else. Yet when you get close enough to make out the words, you smile widely. A sight so beautiful for your poor eyes.

'Elemental creatures of all kinds must continue to worship the maker of all things to maintain their loving and personal connection. Refusing or forgetting to do so is the same as rejecting or not caring for them. Consequences are dire and just like trust, it'll be much harder to restore.'

Your language is written on the wall in clear letters. Your luck seems to have turned around for now. You could do so much with this information.

"I can understand this perfectly. It's the language the Creator uses to communicate on the world they're resting in. The scripture describes elemental worship that is specific to only elemental beings."

You recite the first text with ease as the room goes quiet. Not a laugh, scoff nor grumble is heard in the room. Should you take this as a bad or good thing?

Pushing onward you begin to translate the rest of the text on both sides of the room. It gives a detailed explanation on how to sacrifice body parts, energy, blood, and lifeforce.

"Stop, we have heard enough." Moon Carver cuts in emotionlessly. You look back at them feigning a confused expression. Trouble is clear on their faces, the truth of your words is spreading guilt within them.

Inwardly your lips curve into a smile that seems to soothe the pain in your arm.

They aren't guilty from the approaching truth of your 'oracle' status being real. They're feeling guilt over the worship methods that they had forgotten.

But pompous beings like them will never accept their wrong-doings so easily.

"You speak of words that poison our minds and weigh our hearts with guilt. This may be but a sham that you wish to deceive us with. Us, illuminated beasts will not accept this method until it's been proven in our sights."

With a careless shrug and scoff, you speak to Mountain Shaper with an uncaring attitude. "I would happily do it to myself just to prove my words true, but I'm not an elemental being like you all were so happy to point out. It seems one of you will have to test it out or we'll never get anywhere."

"Or perhaps we can end this farce now and eliminate you from the beloved maker's gaze." His angry reaction has you covering your mouth in surprise.

"You would skip past the proper protocols in the case concerning the Creator? Where is your devotion? Your faith? Or are you just afraid to do so and see the honesty in my words? Maybe it's a mix of both..."

Mountain Shaper takes a clawed step forward that makes the ruins shake. Cloud Retainer blocks his path with her wing.

"One has had enough of this Shaper! Treat the eulogies and artwork of the creator with more respect."

"It is shameful that an illuminated being like yourself is being led by a mortal like that. Are we not the ones who survived this long despite the varying enemies and plots? Calm yourself before you sully the Creator's pride with your uncontrollable wrath."

Mountain Shaper looks pissed as his eyes glare at you with malice. The temptation to flip him off with a shit-eating grin is too strong and he turns away like a toddler at your crude actions.

"I can do the ritual for us to learn the truth on this matter." A timid voice steps in during the brief silence. All eyes turn to Ganyu as she keeps her hands close to her chest.

"All the work I do is for Liyue, Rex Lapis, and most importantly: the Creator. If this method is true then I can learn a more intimate way to worship them. And if not, then I can keep the creator's reputation pure by utterly destroying Y/N."

Her words are soft and gentle but turn dark near the end as she stares at you seriously. The adepti stay quiet seeming to respect her bold actions even if Cloud Retainer seems just a bit ruffled.

"You said that there are many different offerings to give, all with their own reward. Which one would give the best result?"

"The energy sacrifice would be the most convenient and easiest but it doesn't fit you well due to your lethargic nature. Your body is physically strong so a blood offering would be the best choice."

Ganyu's eyes seem to follow your form as you step closer to the section that contains the instructions for the blood offering. She's no doubt trying to figure out how you could know about that without considering the possibility of you being the Oracle true.

You read it out loud so that everyone is on the same page before looking back at them.

"So let's start with the main things. We'll need a clear area outside along with a ceremonial dagger and cup. I'll wait here and write down all the ritual instructions for future use."

In Genshin you always know a NPC is suspicious when they want to 'wait and write' something while you do the actual work. The distrustful looks they all send you feel the same way.

They leave Ganyu to watch over you while they all leave to prepare the ritual. Deciding to leave Ganyu alone, you go back to jotting down the text into your handbook.

It's quiet to the point of it being uncomfortable yet you diligently finish the notes and simply doodle on the free space. Ganyu's eyes never stop running down your body, you ask yourself if she's even blinking.

"Before I came here to visit, I heard of an incident at Liyue Harbor. About two geovishap hatchlings that went feral and caused a mess. The most interesting part was how the 'winner' displayed its trophy to a masked stranger."

Ah, Ganyu... 3,000 years old and counting half-qilin adeptus with a whole war as experience. Did you ever forget her knowledge? No, you just simply underestimated her resilience to erosion.

"Is there something you want to ask me about that incident? If so, just spit it out. Communication is important, a secretary like yourself should know that much."

"I have no doubt that you are the person in the incident. I'm conflicted over how you came to your... position. Someone tricking the people is normal and still saddening. But someone trying to trick the adepti? Foolish and stupid. I will stop you either way but just know that I will not stand for your evil actions."

A laugh slips past your lips as your gaze falls onto her firm stance. Gentle and quiet are the words to describe qilin yet the conflict avoiding nature seemed to have skipped Ganyu's genes.

"Then I hope you repent properly to the creator for refusing to believe their loyal servant for speaking the truth." You move to stand in front of her and stare deeply into her eyes with mirth. "It seems the adepti have already returned. Why don't we get going?"

Not a moment later, Cloud Retainer's voice rings out, calling for you both to come outside. Smiling cheerfully, you follow Ganyu out of Cloud Retainer's home.

The moon's glow tenderly caresses your skin and bandaged arm as the water laps at your legs. The adepti stand on the small patch of land as you and Ganyu trudge across the water. On the table is a clean dagger with intricate gold patterns and a gold chalice decorated with Noctilucous Jade.

Dagger and chalice in hand, you survey the area with a critical eye. Smiling, you point at an area of water.

"The water here is clean and clear so it fits the bill in what the ritual needs. Follow me Ganyu." Not bothering to look back you walk deeper into the water, even still the water only reaches above your knees.

"Words are not needed, only actions. Kneel and choose a place for me to cut you. Your blood has to fill the chalice to the brim."

She goes along with your words and kneels, letting the liquid soak her clothes without complaint. Grabbing ahold of her beautiful white sleeve, she pulls it off, exposing her arm.

"Cut my arm in a long shallow slit so it can be filled quickly without too much damage."

"Alright, let me go over the steps once more as your time is limited once it's filled." With practiced ease, you cut her arm and watch her blood flow into the chalice. Not even a peep escapes her from the pain.

"You'll hold the chalice with both hands raising it into the air to signify that you are offering. Keep your eyes closed and pray for what you wish to communicate to the creator. In this case, you want to pray for the creator to accept your blood offering as the first step to forgiveness. After that you'll just need to follow my lead."

Ganyu nods solemnly and you move the now filled chalice to her hands carefully to avoid spilling it. Her eyelids flutter shut as her hands hold the chalice high in the air. The air seems to still as her lips move to mouth a silent prayer.

The blood that drips down her arm and into the water seems hypnotizing. To think you’d really hurt someone to hide your lie. It's different then the case with Beisht; you hurt Beisht to prove your identity. What you have done to Ganyu is a line you may have to cross again in the future. What if you eventually kill someone to hide your lie? The thought seems ludicrous to you now but so did hurting someone before this moment...

Your thoughts seem to still when the blood dripping from her wound changes in color. No, not just color but in texture too. Those wine red drops shift to a mix of pink and blue. It solidifies into a small glittering object that clinks softly as it hits the water.

It flashes for a moment before dissolving into water like it never existed. Was that truly what a primogem looked like in real life?

An indescribable feeling swells up in your chest, soft whispers lead your body closer to Ganyu without a fight. Shakily your hands cover hers as that intangible feeling urges you to speak.

'I accept your offering' is nearly spoken but even in this haze of dopamine and serotonin, your self control is firm.

"The Creator accepts your offering." Your words are shaky with unknown emotions. Is this Ganyu's feelings towards you as the creator? It's gentle and rests on your soul like a weighted blanket feebly trying to pull you into a deep sleep.

Reminding yourself of the ritual at hand, you begin to tilt the chalice toward the ground. The scripture never specified what would happen but the sight you receive is beyond what you could expect.

What pours out of the chalice is not scarlet liquid, but thousands of primogems that clink and clank as it hits the water. Just like earlier, it dissolves leaving bubbles that cloud the starry sky that was reflected on the surface.

When the last primogem hits the water, you release Ganyu's hands and step back. You look up at the night sky that begins to glow with color as your voice cuts through the tense silence.

"Open your eyes Ganyu, it's time to see your wish revitalized. The Creator accepted your offering after all."

Coral and lavender eyes open slowly and go wide at the sight of the sky. The chalice is gripped in tightly on her lap as the night blooms with blue and purple wishes.

A single gold star begins to travel through the air at high speeds. Noticing its course you step farther away from Ganyu as she stays kneeling in amazement at the sight.

Before anyone can speak, the gold shooting star hits Ganyu and engulfs her spot with a beam of light. It's harsh on your eyes but the game screen that automatically opens in front of you soothes it.

Ganyu's splash art is the only thing you see before you click it off with a triumphant smile. Skipping through all the other wishes and four star constellations, the game screen and gold light disappear at the same time.

A shocked and confused Ganyu could be expected. A quietly happy and thankful Ganyu was expected. But the half qilin adeptus silently bawling her eyes out as she stays kneeling in the water was what greeted you instead.

The other adepti don't hesitate to move to your area with inhuman speed from where they were watching. You expected Mountain Shaper to be the first one to attack you as Moon Carver stands protectively in front of Ganyu but it seems the adepti didn't like to respond logically.

Sharp talons wrapped around your neck as the weight of the crane pushes you back onto the water. The unexpected submersion has you coughing uncontrollably underwater as your body seems to be weighed down by something invisible.

Fingers dig into your throat as blurry yells make your heart pound with panic.

"It's all your fault!"

"None of this would have happened if you didn't exist!"

"Should have just let me do what I want with you, you pathetic fuck!"

Sickle in hand your attacks are choppy as the electro sputters in and out of existence. The fingers turn into a bruising, clawed grip once more as your free hand grabs a fistful of feathers.

The crane is pulled away and by extension you're pulled out of the water too. The water droplets make your vision blur as you try to calm your hyperventilation into something less vulnerable.

Cloud Retainer is held back by all three adepti as she squawks with indignation. The ringing in your ears prevents you from hearing anything more than, "One has not seen Ganyu cry in such a way since she was a child!"

Ganyu seems more than embarrassed as she repeatedly tells Cloud Retainer something you can't be bothered to make out. Your nails dig into the blood and feathers in your hand as you stare at the missing patch of feathers on Cloud Retainers body.

You're cold, wet, hungry, and so very tired but that bald patch you left on the noisy crane makes you feel happy in a vengeful way. If you weren't still reeling from the near death experience you would have loved to comment on her new preen.

The situation seems to calm down as Ganyu and the rest explain something thoroughly to Cloud Retainer. It's obvious that she had gone on a rampage due to Ganyu's reaction without bothering to view the situation in full. A rare mistake for someone as meticulous as her.

With care and concern only for the present, you move to the edge of the mountain and stare out across the sky. The view of Liyue is muddled yet enhanced by the starry sky. The grass under your shoes is welcome in comparison to the pond that nearly swallowed you whole.

Your fingers mindlessly pick at the healing scabs and bruises from the treasure hoarder fiasco. The grimace on your face is not from the pain of the jostled arm but the uncomfortable feeling of wet bandages. Carefully, your fingers trace the new talon marks on your neck that you gained from Cloud Retainer. Should you get hurt by Moon Carver too, to collect wounds from all three?

The grass crunches behind you and you already know what is about to happen. Your eyebrows pinch in worry and your gaze rarely leaves the floor as the adepti stand face to face with them.

"I'm so sorry for my reaction earlier. I was so surprised and overjoyed that the sacrifice convinced the Creator to awaken me that I reacted in such a shameful way. It's due to my failure to keep my emotions in check that you got hurt. Please forgive me."

Your mind is blank but your body is well versed in what to do, what lies to say. Softening eyes are steady with Ganyu's as your fingers gingerly touch the claw marks.

"I understand Ganyu, the creator's grace is an amazing thing. Be sure to serve them properly from now on." With a near patronizing tone you speak to the adepti as a whole.

"Don't you see what damage you had done to me? The creator is love, peace, justice and truth. I hope you don't think they'll let Cloud Retainer and Mountain Shaper off easy for harming me who has taken on such a heavy and dangerous burden."

Facades are only good if you know how to upkeep and keep track of them. If you act like some soft pushover now, they'll be suspicious. You slide into the control seat of the spider web of lies you've created as easily as breathing.

Rest? Mental breakdowns? Dissociative states? Hallucinations from past traumatic experiences? All of those things must be pushed into the crevice in your mind. The same crevice that seems to grow deeper and darker with each passing year since your birth. Those thoughts can consume you when you're safe, if that day ever comes.

They react exactly as you expected; haughty but thoroughly humbled with seeds of self doubt planted in their hearts. Breaking even a fraction of their pride in their fake-ass devotion brings a longing for them to crumble even more.

You go along with conversation while conserving as much energy as possible. Ganyu was the only one with enough sensibility to apologize to you so why should you care about the rest of them? If they had Ganyu carry and apologize in their stead then they should be just as fine with you only giving her actual attention.

Pointing out this fact seemed to stun them into a tense silence. Your body naturally goes on edge expecting some sort of attack but nothing comes. Instead they present you with a few apologies without using words.

"As a faithful servant of the Creator, you are welcomed anytime in Jueyun Karst, as well as any other areas that would be deemed off-limits within our authority."

"Why not stay in One's home for the night after the enlightening events that have occurred today? One is not a careless host and will be sure to provide all that you need during your stay."

It honestly wasn't a bad idea, your mind and body were not fit for teleporting to Liyue and setting up camp. You accepted the offer despite knowing that the sleep you will get will not be fulfilling.

The conversations they hold as you are fed and tended to flow in one ear and out the other. The most notable information you picked up was how they wanted to try the method themself and even spread it to Xiao in hopes of the creator lessening his karmic debt.

It's Ganyu that accompanies you to a guest room that Cloud Retainer somehow managed to not make messy. The other adepti seem to think that you like her in some way when little to their knowledge, you're simply fond of her.

Not in the way that you want to be near or interact with her. She apologized for being part of the reason you were attacked. She still hasn't apologized for all her previous rude actions. You liked her the same way as you did on Earth. Only as a character.

A voice whispers that it's better than how you refuse to associate with Ei in any way.

You lay down on a clean mattress in the comforting silence of the night. You're dry, warm, full, and comfortable yet still as on edge as before. The eyebags you wear are not from random all-nighters but from the never-ending cycle of lying for a living. Both on Earth and on Teyvat.

Sleep doesn't come easy, not with the constant fear of talons holding you down. Nor with the unease of amber cutting through your skin. Rest comes in spurts of deep sleep before hands are choking you again back into the waking world.

Sometimes you wish you could forget who your family was too.

Your internal clock is all sorts of confused as you wake up for the 50th time. Judging by the lack of discomfort in your body, you couldn't have slept more than an hour.

Pale green glows in the corner of your eyes making you speed into sitting position. You catch the faintest glimpse of a horned masked bearing large fangs and glowing teal eyes.

You blink at the spot as your breath is harsh even to your own ears. Was it real? Was he here? Why would he be?

For what reason would he watch you sleep if not to investigate?

The cool mask calms your clammy skin. If he had looked under it, you wouldn't be here anyway. It's that morbid thought that brings you peace.

How ironic.

Knowing that sleep will not come to you for a while, you get dressed and follow the vague memory of the path Ganyu took when bringing you to the guest room.

It leads to the domain doors to the outside and the brush of your fingertips on the stone doors has it moving smoothly. The early morning sun warms the stone walkway as you exit into the free space.

The sight of the pond trudges up memories of yesterday. With a bright smile and light footsteps, you hurry down the staircase and jump over the water with ease.

"-yet how could we possibly forget such a vital ritual?" "One suspects larger factors are at play." "The records in our abodes should show-"

Catching the near ending of such a serious conversation, you slow down as they all turn to look at you.

"Awake already Y/N? Would you like a light breakfast?" Ganyu is the first to speak, the other adepti are surely still examining you. Now far more lucid than last night you are positive that having another meal with them would be a true nightmare.

"I'm not hungry when it's so early so I'll pass for now. There are many private duties that the creator asks of me and it would be best that I get straight to it. Yet there's a slight problem."

The adepti seem to tense up in unison, not that they are wrong for doing so. You've been a consistent thorn in their side since you met Mountain Shaper.

"You see, my body has not fully recovered from the injuries that I received from fighting the treasure hoarders. And with the how rough I was handled by you all, my injuries were reopened."

The wind ruffles your hair as if highlighting the bruise and talon marks. Your left hand is pressed against your chest making the sun shine on the bandaged arm. The parts of damaged exposed skin are the icing on the cake.

"Then what is it that you desire oracle of the beloved? Do you wish to check on the children that were saved?" Mountain Shaper's voice is like ice. Sharp when cold like yesterday but smooth when controlled correctly.

It was a good thing you slept, even if it was sucky. You almost missed out on such a great bargaining chip!

"That is one thing I plan to do when I head to the city but there's a few things before that. Since you're already offering to take me then it would be a great help if you can take me to this location."

Shamelessly you hold out the map in your handbook with the only commission location left.

Increasing Danger - Hilichurls are building towers in the circled area. Destroy these towers for the safety of the people.

Mountain Shaper sighs tiredly and is about to respond when you cut him off on purpose.

"Oh and those ceremonial tools we used in the ritual yesterday? I need them. The creator is an all-loving deity that would never desire to push away the innocent and loyal beings in Teyvat unless they deserved it. The creator wishes to conduct more rituals if necessary."

Cloud Retainer seems to stare at you in shock at the forceful way you pushed for the items you desire. The dagger and chalice glint in the sunlight as she resists the urge to hide them from your greedy eyes.

"But before you drop me off for good at my commission site, I'll need you all to help me activate the teleport waypoints. There's no way I'm climbing those mountains again. Besides, the creator blessed you all with such power, how could you not use it to support a fellow devotee?"

Your smile widens to bare all your teeth as Moon Carver avoids looking directly at you. They may be reluctant but you always make sure to have your debts be paid with interest. The price for hurting, exhausting, and stressing you out is not one to sneeze at either.

Quite a few teleport waypoints were activated with the dagger and chalice safely in your bag. Adeptus powers really were useful in situations like these. Within half an hour you had activated enough to safely teleport around Jueyun Karst without fear of running into the adepti again.

As Mountain Shaper sets you down nearby the hilichurl camp and towers for your commission, his curiosity finally gets the best of him.

"For what reason did you discolor so many teleport waypoints?"

"I can teleport using them due to the creator's blessing. Now that I activated them, I can teleport to all of your mountains whenever I want to visit!"

Each word you say with a cheerful grin seems to send him deeper into agony. He nods tightlipped and flies away. The wind brings his muttered words to your words.

"A vacation is in order. A vacation for as long as possible."

Messing with the adepti was really fun. You just hoped that they would go on vacation permanently, your job would be much easier that way.

All you have left is to finish this commission, teleport to the waypoint near the harbor's entrance and get your money. Simple as that. Opening the game window from your safe viewing spot of the hilichurl camp, you begin to review all the books on hilichurls.

First and foremost, thank you to the editor of this chapter @serpent-benediction! He was a huge help even if he terrorized me the whole time </3

It gives me more time to add some fun stuff like italics and bold. Stories pack more of a punch with flair, in my eyes at least. All the improvements to the chapter are his work like capitalizing Oracle and Creator. We did debate on whether adepti was species or title. So yall are free to give your opinion on which it is and whether it should be capitalized. I'm glad to see that (almost) all the build-up to the adepti part is finished. Well for the adepti at least. I was like dead tired after the choking part so that's why it may be a bit wonky. Now that I'm not pressed for time (yet. Sep is coming soon) I wanted to thank everyone for staying this long in the series! I love reading and responding to comments. I love reading the notes and/or tags from reblogs. I don't know if I should respond to reblogs like I do to comments. Cause I see some really in-depth reblogs that I wanna respond to but I end up not doing that thanks to my thoughts of-'Is that weird, strange or uncomfortable?' I just don't wanna scare anyone off. And for those that might wonder why Y/N was choking here but not with Beisht, it's due to Retainer. Retainer was using her adeptus power to pressure the water against Y/N which caused the drowning and bruises. I hope that clears it up a lil!

I'm a dumbass, I forgot the taglist. That's why it looked so short in my eyes. Everyone is allowed to yell at me for this (except for my editor) Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @sielt, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zeniths, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx, @undecidingfate, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @fluffy-koalala, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado

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magnoliasandarson · 9 months ago

Text

the little engine

Timothy Drake was running on fumes. Whatever drive he'd had- whatever divine fuel that had once pushed him through sleepless nights and unwinnable fights- it was gone. Used up.

It left a chasm in his gut, the phantom burns of righteous fire and the knowledge that no matter how tired he was- he couldn't stop.

There was a slow escape of blood oozing from his ruined cuticles, like sap bleeding from a weather-beaten pine, it smeared onto the faded letters on his keyboard. His fingers didn't cease their frantic tapping, every fifth tap erasing the previous three. He couldn't think right. None of the words or numbers were the right ones, but he had to do this- he couldn't stop.

His eyes flickered across his darkened apartment to the framed pictures of his friends, fuck, he hadn't spoken to a single one in days. Between patrols, board meetings, city works projects, and cold cases he hadn't slept more than twenty total hours in the past week. They must hate him by now, he had sworn to message everyone but the great Timothy Drake was incapable of keeping a promise. His eyelid ticked as he downed the rest of his coffee in one go. It didn't matter if he was a bad friend, a bad brother, a bad son- he had a job to do, and he couldn't stop.

There was pain now, wrapping around his skull like a vice. He tugged at his hair and scrubbed his face with bloody fingers, grimacing at the tacky feeling of half-dried scabs. It felt like he had been maced, his eyes burned so horribly. But he clicked send on another solved case and opened the next, there were people out there that depended on him- he couldn't stop.

The sun was rising at his back, its warmth adding to the uncomfortable sweat that had started beading on his skin. A stray beam of light caught his darkened computer screen, and for a horrible split second- he saw himself.

If you were to ask him what happened next, he would smile an odd half-smile and say he finally took a nap.

But that wasn't entirely true.

The glimpse of his face- the heavy bruising under his eyes, the way his bones stood out against his skin, the cracked and bloody lips- it poured ice cold water on whatever embers had been left in his chest. He snapped his laptop shut and pushed it away, launching up from the table and shoving his chair several feet back. Air flooded from his lungs and tears, hot and acidic, carved their way down his face into the cuts on his lips. He careened to the floor in his kitchen, heaving and gasping- he couldn't breath but he couldn't stop.

Hours later, he would wake up again in darkness. The moon auspiciously absent in the sky, Tim Drake would see the dozens of emails marked URGENT, the notes from Oracle about suspected movements, the texts from friends asking how he was- and he would force himself to get off the floor. Because Timothy Drake was a hero, and he couldn't stop.

#tim drake #timothy drake #timothy drake wayne #red robin #dc red robin #dc comics #dc universe #batman #robin #batfam #titans #young justice #tim drake red robin #oracle #bruce wayne #oracle dc

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primeofprimes115 · 11 months ago

Text

A Flight with Supergirl - Supergirl x Male Raeder

Note: Fluff

"I got you"

Y/N hadn't thought he'd be asking out the girl who had been keeping the city safe since she made the world known about her presence in the form of the blonde girl with the red cape and the identical S on her suit that only Superman proudly wore.

To say he was over the Moon was kind of true in a way, he hadn't thought much of it but when Kara Danvers revealed there was more to her than meets the eye? He was ecstatic, had many questions, wondered if Kara was real and that only made her ever more interested in him, she found him cute, funny, and at times, vulnerable but she vowed to protect him, no matter what happens.

This was before the first date, the two had only met prior to bumping into each other in public, Y/N was nothing but an entertainer on social media, while Kara Danvers worked as an intern for Cat.Co Worldwide Media from time to time...

On the other half? Her real job was nothing short of being a superhero, she worked closely with her adopted parents, Eliza and Jeremiah Danvers who both loved her as their daughter, working closely with the D.E.O. from time to time. And on the other half? She'd work closely with heroes like Batgirl/Oracle, Spoiler, etc.

Kara Danvers was Supergirl, the cousin of Superman and sole defender of National City.

A lot had changed since Kara revealed the suit and cape to the unsuspecting Y/N, his life had changed since then, for the better in a way, but he had to keep the secret off social media for his safety alone, none of his fans could know that he was in touch with the Girl of Steel, not even his family... For now that is.

He found Kara Danvers to be this cute, nerdy girl who seemed to be a lost puppy at times, just someone outgoing and super friendly, she looked gorgeous in his eyes, but after she revealed she was Supergirl? It only unlocked a new perspective.

He didn't ask out Kara because she was this strong and mighty superhero who was more powerful than a locomotive, could fly anywhere; even in space, could shoot lasers out of her eyes and all sorts of other things... He asked Kara out because he was generally interested in her.

And she accepted, though she gave warnings to him about dating her, he didn't let it bother him much, he loved for who she is and would love to go on a date with her.

"I... *nervous giggle* I haven't exactly been on a date in a while" Kara eyed him, not planning to keep her eyes off him anytime soon.

Y/N took a glance at her, she could've mentioned it earlier rather than later but... He wasn't bothered much. He had other shocking news. "Let me tell you" he leaned in. "This is my first time".

"Wait, really?!?" she tried not to shout it out so everyone could hear her, pushing up her glasses to keep herself disguised. "You've never been on a date before? I've known you for two months now and you now tell me this??" she asked him curiously as she slurped some of her milkshake from the straw.

"Nope, and for someone like me? That sounds bad, doesn't it?" he asked her, resulting in a giggle from her.

"If you asked someone else? They'd be lying to you and saying it is" she cooed. "But it's not, I can understand the tension, but you don't seem to be tense around me and that's good" she told him with a big smile. "I'm happy that I'm your first date" she gave him a smile in his direction. That cute, warm smile she'd been giving him since the day they met randomly.

"Y-Yeah..." he began to lean in. "But I had no idea I'd be asking Supergirl out on a date though" he whispered after looking over his shoulder. "Like it's crazy to still think about it".

Kara giggled at his observation, she looked down to what she wore, knowing she had her Supergirl suit underneath, she smiled while sipping up the tasty strawberry milkshake from her straw.

"That reminds me" she finished taking a sip. "I gotta show you something after this, it's something I want to share with you" she gave him a little wink, her words enough made him curious to what it was she wanted to share.

"Oh? What is it?" he asked with a little smirk at the corner of his lips.

"Haha, you'll see" she smirked back. "But damn, I forgot how delicious these milkshakes are" she continued to sip on her milkshake, before Y/N done the same.

"Yeah, they are pretty delicious" he agreed.

What followed after was the pair leaving the diner they went to on their date, their hands brushed off of each other which added to the whole romantic tension.

Kara noticed Y/N blushing after their hands brushed off each other a few times, which only made her grab his hand softly and gently at a moments notice.

"I got you" she told him sweetly, he didn't understand the meaning behind her words, but he'd soon find out from where she was leading him to.

An audible look of confusion spreaded across his face when she led him to his apartment building of where he stayed for now, he didn't remember telling her where he stayed but she teased that Supergirl had been 'keeping' an eye on him, with a wink at the end.

He laughed at the hint she gave, saying how it was sweet of her to keep an eye on him the entire time, if only he knew what was coming next...

She took him to the roof of the apartment building from the stairs, using her super speed to make the journey more quicker which was a woozy experience for him but he recovered soon after...

This was when she began to take off her glasses and cardigan, revealing the suit underneath, before she took off her disguise completely, transforming into the Girl of Steel, her alter ego. He began to realize something was a little off with Kara's plan, knowing they were far up from the ground...

Like her? He had a secret of his own...

He hated heights...

Heights made him quiver, he always feared heights as a kid, he hated them.

It didn't sound as drastic as someone being a superhero, but this was something he always had a fear of, and he had a feeling Kara was going to show him something he feared.

The sun shined through the view ahead of Kara, she floated up a little, her cape being picked up by the gentle wind, rustling behind her softly. Her hair flowed like a golden cape as she closed her eyes, letting the sun soak into her face.

She inhaled and exhaled through her nose and out her mouth, letting out a satisfied sigh, her red skirt soon picking up from the tender wind, the warmth of the sun on her face soaked into her skin.

She reopened her eyes, smiling.

"Um..." Y/N soon brought her attention after he'd been staring at the golden S on her cape the whole time. "Why did you bring me up here?" a tone of nervousness came out of Y/N, as Kara turned herself around in midair.

"I never get to show much people what I see, to show them what it looks like to be up there" she looked up at the sky. "Even if its just casually, sure I've shown some friends of mine but... I never got to show someone like you what I see" she revealed, her words were rather sweet and tender, just like the milkshakes they had on their date.

Kara... Supergirl, looked down toward her date once more, before offering her hand to him while floating closer to him.

"I wanna show you what I see, I want to share this view with you, and it's a perfect time too" she smiled at him, her hand still out for him to grab. "Let me show you".

He looked at her hand hesitantly, before he found himself staring at her hand before shaking his head.

Supergirl took notice of his behavior, knowing something was up. "Is something wrong?" she asked him sweetly, putting her hand to the side before floating down in front of him, she showed a concerned look on her face.

A pure, sweet, generally concerned look...

"I... This may not be the best time to tell you..." he twiddled with his thumbs, looking down at the ground away from Kara's eyes for a moment...

"You're afraid of heights???" she asked him, despite leaving him shocked at her guessing correctly.

"Wha? How did you know that??" he chuckled nervously, his face heated up as he looked at her.

"It was a pretty wild guess" she shrugged. "But hey! That's okay! I can... Help with that" she told him next, smiling at him nicely.

"H-How?" he asked, feeling more nervous by the minute. "I-I-I hated heights as a kid, how can you help me?" he stuttered, beginning to stammer his words before Kara shut him up by placing a finger on his lips.

"I got you" she cooed, repeating her phrase from earlier after she held his hand gently, her hand was warm and soft, the soft wording made him a little bit less uneasy about her plan to show him the view.

"O-Okay" he breathed in and out.

She smiled before swooping him from his feet, into her embrace, carrying him like a bride which was something he didn't expect for her to do.

"You're safe and secure, I'm gonna start levitating okay? The wind is gonna pick up soon once I start flying completely" she cooed, Y/N nodded silently as Supergirl began to take flight, slowly her feet lifted off the roof, stage one had began of taking flight.

A minute had gone by and Y/N began to cower into Supergirl's neck a little, closing his eyes as the wind picked up a little more.

"I-I don't know about this" he let his fears known to her. "Maybe this is a bad idea" he said to himself, digging his face into the crook of her neck, feeling the soft skin and the part of her cape attached and tucked into her suit. Her scent smelt like a comforting vanilla.

She felt his face burrow into her neck, the sounds of her cape rustling in the wind growing stronger as she continued flying up soon followed, she was only half way up now.

Maybe he shouldn't have agreed on this... Maybe something else would've been said instead if he thought about it more clearly.

"Keep your eyes on me Y/N" Supergirl cooed with a little giggle at the end. "It's gonna be okay, you're in my arms, my warm embrace" she continued, the wind began to pick up a little more intensely as she increased her flight speed. "I got you" her coos went forward into his ears. "You're safe and sound within my arms" she cooed one last time before the wind picked up even more.

He could feel the warmth of her words, as comforting as they were, he still felt hesitant... He felt sick to his stomach.

But she was right... He was in her embrace, he was safe and sound in her arms... She has him.

"D-Don't drop me, Supergirl" he pulled back a little to speak, his pupils landing on Kara's eyes as she then looked at him with a sweet smile.

"I'd never do that... Never" the Girl of Steel vowed, she found it a little adorable that he dug his face into her neck and hell, this was his first date and he was already doing this. She couldn't lie but make a mental note that this was cute, and she was supposed to be the cute one around here.

It was no wonder why she suddenly fell for him the moment she laid her eyes on him more, his laugh, his humor, his gentle kindness... He was someone perfect for someone like herself and she didn't really know about him till she bumped into him, even if he was this big social media entertainer on the internet, laughing and gaffing with his social media friends just like him.

"I suppose that makes me feel a lot more better then" he chuckled nervously before gaining the courage to look at her in the eyes, taking his face out of the crook of her neck.

The caped girl smiled more brightly, showing her perfect white teeth, her eyes laying upon his and she knew she had fallen in love... He seemed to...

Perfect, even if he had said before that he wasn't...

Even she wasn't perfect, countless times she's said that she always will make mistakes, but she gets over them and pushes on, everyone makes mistakes.

No one is perfect...

Y/N kept his eyes on her, watching her baby blues stare back into his eyes, before her eyes drifted to the sunny view ahead... And at that moment? She began to fly forward.

Y/N felt his stomach aching a little bit more from the sudden movement, but he ignored it... He did as she told him...

He kept his eyes on her, watching her blonde, golden hair beautifully billow in the now softer wind like a golden cape... Her cape and skirt rustled in the wind in the corner of his eyes also but he kept his eyes on her... Only her.

On the girl he asked out on a date... He asked Kara... Supergirl, in costume... To go on a date with him and she willingly accepted not long after he asked.

It was awkward... But it worked.

"You can look now if you want, you don't wanna miss it ~♡" she winked at him once again with a huge smile. "I brought you up here so I can share this special view with you".

Y/N took up her words carefully, before seeing the ecstatic view ahead of him... He began to make a mental note of where she took him, no longer where was he in the city...

He was high above the clouds, with just her... His date, the superheroine of National City, the Girl of Steel... Supergirl.

"W-Wow" he let out a shaky breath, the view made him breathless, it was a sight to behold. "This is... What you see?" he kept his eyes on the clouds, the sun... The sky... Beginning to think maybe this wasn't so bad after all. "When you fly and all that? This is..." he didn't exactly know what to say.

Was it beautiful? Amazing? Both??

"Yeah! It's amazing, isn't it?" Supergirl laughed softly, her tone all happy and joyful at Y/N's ecstatic view on what she sees. "Flying is definitely my favorite part about being... Well... Supergirl" she admitted to him, smiling all the way.

She kept on flying slowly through the clouds, watching the sun set with her date, setting up the perfect view for her to share with him, she couldn't stop taking some glances at him when he wasn't looking while he was hyper-fixated on the view.

She began to think this could be helping out get over his fear of heights, just a little, he still kept his arms around her tightly, in fear of course.

"Want me to fly a little faster over time to give you a taste of how fast I can go? At this point? I might as well show you around the entire United States" she joked, though she was serious about it still... However, he didn't answer.

He was too busy on feeling comfortable in the superheroine's arms, eyes fixated on the view ahead of them as she continued flying him through the sky, soaring like a slow silent missile, his smile began to grow as seconds went by.

"Y/N?" the girl called out his name, hoping he'd answer her question.

"Just kiss me already" he muttered under his breath, before giggling followed from her with a little blush across her cheeks, gaining his attention. "What?" he frowned. "Wh-What's so funny??".

"I heard you, I've got super hearing" she blankly told him, resulting in him being a blushing mess, his eyes widened at his mistake.

"Oh..." he muttered loudly. Soon after, Supergirl stopped flying forward and stayed stationary in the air, not keeping her eyes off him now. "I-I... Um... Sorry".

"It's okay" she began to lean in, her lips drawing closer to his to the point he could feel her warm breath on his lips. "I was waiting for you to say something" she put in her word before closing the gap, taking him by surprise.

His eyes widened as soon as Kara's lips touched his, her eyes fully closed before his slowly but surely, eventually closed... He hadn't felt this feeling before, not once had he kissed a girl on the lips.

Imagine how big his one post on Instagram would go of him kissing the one and only Supergirl? It would probably take headliners all across social media, hell it could make him more internet famous than he is with the crew he's apart of when it comes to making content for his Youtube channel.

But he was smart enough to not do that if it were the case... It'd be putting a target on his back from Supergirl's many enemies, and probably enemies that Supergirl doesn't face most of the time, especially those in Gotham.

He melted into the kiss, their lips slowly danced with the Girl of Steel taking the lead, she was going to give him a first kiss to surely remember.

Kara moaned into his lips, adding more to the first kiss to make it memorable for him, she has kissed guys before, she had experience, she wanted to make it memorable knowing his inexperience on dating, she smiled through it all.

Suddenly, Y/N had to pull back for air, unintentionally slowly, he was panting slowly as he pulled himself back a little, soon opening his eyes to meet Kara's, who only smiled brightly at him as he soon chuckled.

"So?" Supergirl left her question linger, her smirk soon being known to him as he chuckled lightly.

"I... I haven't kissed a girl before, I know it sounds bad but... Yeah" he nodded before bringing something else up. "I just got kissed my Supergirl? My first kiss too with Supergirl?? Man, imagine that hitting social media? I'd be making the internet blow up" he joked as the Maiden of Might herself soon laughed softly with him.

"You know you can't do that, but I can imagine how it'll go in a good note too" she could imagine it blowing up across social media, before she leaned in again. "But you know you gotta keep this a secret" she cooed, making an obvious remark to the suit she wore, the cape that billows behind her and the hope she brings for humanity.

"You know I will" he told her. "I need to ask, why did you agree to go on a date with me?" he suddenly asked her which in a way, backed her in a corner in a sense, she wasn't expecting such a question but she had a form of an answer, if something similar were said.

She giggled lightly after a moment, the wind casually blowing the bright red fabrics that donned on her sky blue suit, the gold belt that shined and illuminated off the sky and sun, bright colors all around.

"The reason I agreed is because... I thought you were interesting" she revealed, surprising him... He used to always think many girls didn't want to date him is because he was this Youtuber that played games for content with his crew, having funny moments and gaffing around in those games, perhaps she could make him see he was wrong. "And... You are cute, funny and honestly very kind, though you're such a fiend to your friends" she giggled.

"Oh? So you've watched my content?" he asked like a jumping bunny almost. "Damn, I didn't think you'd like my vids" he admitted.

"Oh no, I do, you're genuinely funny. You love pranking your friends in those videogames you all play, that's the type of fun I kinda need in my life to see, just someone who's themselves and isn't afraid to be so" she smiled with a wholehearted meaning behind it.

"I... I don't know what to say" he chuckled nervously, he'd scratch the back of his neck, but being high up in the air? He couldn't... He still held onto Kara for dear life, despite being calm. "That... That means a lot" he smiled brightly.

"I really like you, Y/N... I do. And I want us to be... A thing, I want this to work, us to work" she admitted, though she felt nervous about it all... Dating a human? She done it before but it didn't really last as long as she hoped it would.

"Kara, Supergirl. I do want this to work, I'd be happy for us to be..." he paused for a moment, letting his words linger as the caped girl caught onto it and her smile radiated.

"Good..." she leaned further into the gap between herself and him. "That's all I needed to hear" her smile grew as her lips then connected with his once more to leave a cheeky kiss, pulling back to speak once more soon after. "Like I asked earlier, want me to go a little faster with our flight? I can also fly you around the entire United States if you like?" she offered him nicely.

Y/N thought about it for a moment, he still felt a little sick being high up, but at the same time, he felt comfortable in her warm embrace while she soared through the sky, just noticing she was stationary since the long lasting kiss earlier. "When did you stop flying forward?".

"Just before we kissed" she answered nicely. "But..." she lingered, keeping her eyes on him like she'd give someone puppy dog eyes.

"Sure" he chuckled lightly. "And maybe... If you're fine with it, you could... Stay at my place for the night? I-I know it's early to ask but I-Mmph!" Kara quickly shut him up with a soft kiss, where he soon melted into it, her lips pressing against his like a pillow.

"Mwah! *giggle* of course! I'd love to! Doesn't matter if it's too early or not to ask" she agreed regardless, beginning to continue soaring through the sky as she began to fly forward. "Remember... I got you"

"Wouldn't have it any other way" he smiled, beginning to actually enjoy the flight, despite his fear of heights...

Y/N thought to himself. 'Maybe this isn't so bad after all'...

'A Flight with Supergirl... How someone would be called lucky for that...'

* * *

Fin...

Word Count: 3888

Tags: @fandomnerd9602 @6rookie-writer0110 @multi-fandom-enjoyer @ma1egamer @ab1nsur @cole-el @jacenradio7 @jadenyukiyusakufujikiyutoduelist

#supergirl x male reader #kara zor el #supergirl #dc comics #dc supergirl #male reader #supergirl x reader #superhero x reader #kryptonian #female x male reader #dc fluff #flight #cute imagine #kara zor el x male reader #kara danvers x male reader #gxb #dc girls

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