#how rare and beautiful it is to truly exist. what it is to be alive and get to be here and live with other people. with those we love.

[swordheld]

hi! your blog is one of my favourites and i absolutely adore reading your thoughts. my grandfather recently passed away and it feels like i lost myself with him. how do i continue living after this? there is this constant weight on my chest and it feels like an emptiness has made a home inside of me. how do i go on when it feels like the world crashed on my shoulders?

hello, love! this is so very sweet and kind of you, and i hope you're treating yourself gently and kindly right now - there aren't words for a loss like this. that heaviness is difficult, and hard, and painful. it's okay if things don't feel okay, right now, or even soon - i think that's something that a lot of the people i know that have gone through similar grief feel: like they should be able to get back to a relative 'normal' in a [insert far too short period of time].

but it's okay if it hurts. that's where i'd like to start. you're allowed to feel that emptiness, that world-crashed feeling that goes beyond words, beyond time. don't feel like you have to rush this to feel some sort of better. things get easier with time, i promise you this, but sometimes painful feelings are important to feel, too. cry, scream, feel your emotions. they're a part of you. grieve.

it's perhaps a little silly, but when i think about death i always think about a couple of space songs: mainly drops of jupiter by train and saturn by sleeping at last. there are perhaps others that speak to the emotions better, but these two have always hit something a little deeper for me, and are popular for a wide-reaching reason.

and while personally i don't know much about grief like this, i do know a lot about love; and i think they're a lot of the same thing.

the people we love are a part of us, and this is why it takes from us so deeply when we lose them, because it does feel like we've lost a part of ourselves in the wake of it. but it's because they were so central to our experiences of living - our lives, that the separation introduces a hollowness - a place where they used to be. a home that now goes unlived in.

an emptiness, like you said.

but just because they're not here physically, doesn't mean he's not still there, in your heart, in your life, your memory. you can hold him close in smaller ways, as well: steal a sweater, or cologne/scent for something a little more physical and long lasting for remembering. hold onto the memories you cherish, the things that made you laugh, the ease of slow mornings and gentle nights. write them all down, slide a few photographs in there, go through it and add more when you miss him. keep them all close, keep them in your heart.

you're not alone, in this. he's still there, with you, it's just - in the little things.

he's with you in the way you see and go about your daily life, in doing what he liked to do, in the ways he interacted with the world that you shared with him. the memories you recall fondly when the night is late or the moment is right and something calls it into you like a melody, an old bell, laughter you'd recognize anywhere.

but i think, perhaps most importantly above all others - talk about him. with your family, your friends, his friends, strangers; stories are how we keep the people we love alive. the connections they've made, the legacies and experiences they've left behind, and so, so many stories.

how lucky, we are - to love so much it takes a piece of us when they go. grief is the other side of the coin, but it does not mean our love goes away. it lives in you. it lives in everyone who knew him, in the smallest pieces of our lives.

the people we love never really leave us, like this: they're in how we cook and the way we fold our newspapers, our laundry, in the radio stations we tune in to and the way we decorate our walls, our photo albums. they're in the way we store our mail, organize our closets, the scribbled notes in the indexes of our books. the meals we love and the drinks we mix, the way we spend time with one another. they've been passed down for generations, for longer than history - and we are all the luckier for it.

think about what you shared with him, and do it intentionally. bring him into your life, like this, again. whether it's crosswords or poetry or sports or anything else. if one doesn't help, try another. something might click.

i hope things feel a little easier for you, as they tend to do only with time. i hope you find joy in your grief, even if it is small and hard to grasp at first. know that your hurt stems from so much love that there isn't a place to put it properly, and that it is something so meaningful and hurting poets and storytellers have been struggling to put it into words and sounds that feel like the fit right for eons, and that it is also just simply yours. sometimes things don't have to make sense. sometimes they just are - unable to be put into words or neat little sentiments, as unfair and tragic as they come.

but i promise it will not feel like this forever. your love is real. and perhaps, on where to begin on from here - i think it's less on finding where to begin and just beginning. and you've already started. you've taken the most important and crucial step: the first one. wherever you go, after that, from here? you'll figure it out. you always have, and you always do. it'll come, as things always do. love leads us, as does light - and you're never alone in your hurt. in your grief, your missing something dear to you. i think if you talk about it with others, you'll find they have ways of helping you cope as well - and they have so much love of their own to spare, too.

as an aside, here is the song (northern star by dom fera) i was listening to when i wrote this, for no other reason more than it makes me think of connections, and love, and how we hold onto the people we love and how they change us, wonderfully and intrinsically. it's a little more joyous than the others i've mentioned, and plays like a story, and it made me think of what is at the core of this, love and stories and i am here with you, and maybe it'll bring you some joy, if you'd like it. wishing you all my love and ease 💛

[potionpeddlerpatchy]

word count: ~10.4K

paring: God!Sero x f!Nymph!Reader

warning(s):  dubcon, drugging, use of aphrodisiacs, loss of innocence, first time, marking, oral (f!recieveing), creampie, sero being manipulative in general.

authors note: hello again! Figured i would repost this lovely Sero piece once again as I have its sequel coming out very shortly, and its best to have everything in one place. This was part of a Mythology collab, and I loosely based it on the Apollo and Daphne myth; though I twisted it a little. So please, enjoy Sero using sweet words to convince you into his conniving plan~ 🔮

Nymphs, nature deities that are not fully gods yet not mortal as well. The only true creature that lives for themselves and yet the only one invariably bound to the land of mortals. And what more can a nymph do than to plenish their lands, give lone travelers a peek of god-like beauty, and to tempt the gods?

A long time ago, Gods ruled the world.

Before mortals became too abundant, their faith lost, and took over everything; the gods controlled all that was seen, heard, and felt. They gifted the mortals things like the wheat in their fields, the water in their cups, the hearth and warmth in their homes, and even the beautiful visions they would see when they slept.

The gods were kind enough to bless them with the sun, the moon, the tide,  the rain that filled the clouds, the mountains that provided shelter from the harsh winds, the peacefulness of being guided to safety in death, and even love; in the many beautiful shapes and forms they came in.

And beings.

Ones that were not fully mortal, yet not fully gods. Creatures created by the gods to simply be enjoyed by the mortals; those that were lucky enough to find them. Maidens of rare beauty, and melodic laughter, that could be found in all parts of the mortal realm. 

Some say they were a gift from Aphrodite herself, as a way to give her thanks to those that were ever devoted to her. Some say they were a gift from Apollo, another form of his muses to gift them with beautiful singing and subjects to paint. And some say it was Zeus, having to give away all of his lovely daughters to the mortals to appease his queen.

Either way, they existed too.

Nymphs, they were called. Nature deities that were beyond that of mortals, but not powerful enough to be labeled gods, or even demi-gods. They lived hidden away from all. Not wanting to be seen or disturbed by many, if any at all. But, if a lone traveler was lucky enough, they may spot a few bathing by waterfalls, or dancing amongst the forest's trees, or soaking the sun rays in a beautiful meadow.

They were everywhere. The oceans, the rivers, the mountains, the forests, the meadows, anywhere the gods had touched and blessed there were to be nymphs to plenish and restore. To keep alive what the gods had left behind; to love what had been forgotten.

You were what the mortals called an Anthousai, a flower nymph. The luckiest of all spirits that were contained to forests and fields; even your fellow wood and plant nymphs were jealous of what you were. A beautiful flower to be admired.

Though the tree stands tall, and grass gives plenty, they could not compare to the beauty that came from anthousai, not even if they were to give up their lives and transform; for a tree could not compare to the beauty of an everlasting flower.

Though you never knew what flower you truly were, whether it be a rose, bluebells, or peonies, your beauty was beyond compare. Even your sisters, fellow flower nymphs like you, over time grew to be spiteful at just how radiant you had become; overshining even them, and they were to be just as beautiful.

They were resentful of you, the one that was most blessed by the gods.

You never were to be invariably bound to one place, for no place wanted to keep you. You constantly were searching, trying to find a home to be secure within, to find sisters that loved you and would dance and sing and care for you as you cared for all that crossed your path. But over time it was made clear that those of forest and field would not want to keep you and call you their own.

So you fled towards the mountains, where the springs and rock would be; hoping they would provide you with what you needed to live.

And, as luck and fortune would bless you once more, you came upon a fellow nymph that was like you. An Oceanid, one that was to be associated with water, as the personification of the springs that dwelled within the land you stumbled upon. And much like you, she was blessed more than anyone else and cast out for it.

She took you to where she lived. A place hidden by rock and trees and held within it a large pond of water that was so blue and clear one could get mesmerized by the simplest ripples on its surface. Not far from it was a tiny home, cozy and sweet that made your heart fill with warmth when you stepped inside it for the first time. And right below it, a passageway that led to a path, that if a traveler was lucky enough to stumble across, could cut his journey through the mountains in half.

Not ideal, truly, for a nymph that wishes to hide away from any mortal; and though this path and place were hard to reach, it had a higher probability to have a mortal stumble upon it, and you, than where any other nymph resided.

But, where one saw misfortune, you both saw the opposite. 

If travelers wished to use your sacred path, to hopefully gaze upon beauty that they will never see again in their life, to trespass and invade your home, then they must leave a gift upon your altar. Failure to do so meant traveling back to where they once came, and conquering the mountain with even fewer supplies. So it only made sense to give up a small token, or bits of coin and gold to you both to be able to pass through.

And oh how blessed with gifts you were. Piles of gold and silver coins filled tiny satchels that hung upon your walls; and made beautiful jingling sounds whenever the wind would shift them. Jewels that would glisten in the sun whenever you held them up to gaze at their beautiful colours. And trinkets, both old and new, that decorated any part of your dwelling with their unique beauty; with some you would wear or attach to your clothing with how much you adored their charm.

It was not long that the news of this passageway, and the creatures that were being treated better than the gods, reached the heavenly realm. 

~~~

“It’s becoming ridiculous!” Ashido cried out, bringing a golden fan up to cool her heated face “They’re getting more offerings than me now! Me!”

Ashido threw herself down on a nearby chaise lounge, the pillows making a soft landing on her otherwise dramatic display, as she brought an arm up to cover her eyes. The fellow gods around her just rolled their eyes, more than used to the over-dramatics their friend and fellow deity was currently putting on display. They knew that, in due time, this would all blow over and she would be acting as if nothing ever happened.

“So, it’s all well and fine if we lose out on offerings. But the moment the Goddess of Love and Beauty starts to lose just a few, then it’s an issue?”

Denki smirked from his spot, chin in palm, as he retorted back to the fellow god that was throwing a fit, more than amused by it all - unlike his fellow brethren. His smile only became wider when he saw Ashido’s eyebrows furrow and a scowl form on her face.

“Oh don’t make such a face!” He laughed, throwing his head back so far he too was lying comfortably on his chaise “It’s very unbecoming of you!”

“Will you two knock it off?” Katsuki grumbled, hands working a stone over the blade of his sword with practiced ease “Who cares about what offerings two stupid nymphs get?”

“I do!” Ashido sat back up again, her glare now pointed towards the man sitting on the floor “They lesser beings! Lesser creatures than I am! And yet their beauty is being more devoted than mine! It’s not right!”

And while those words only received an eye roll from the War God, another god’s interest was now piqued. Sure he knew of the situation, it was all anyone could talk about up in the heavens, but to now know that these creatures were deemed more lovely and fair than his friend? Well, it was certainly interesting news, to say the least.

“Fascinating…”

“Oh come now Hanta!” Ashido cried once more, knocking the arrow he was absentmindedly twirling in his hands “Really? As a fellow love god, I figured you would take my plight more seriously!”

“It is your plight, not mine” He hummed in response, before scoffing in mirth “Come on, how can you not find this interesting? When in our lives has any nymph really claimed the hearts of so many mortals? To the point where they are mistaking them for Gods?”

“Well….”

“Never! We have only ever seen them as nuisances at best, or in Denki’s case a quick romp to let off some steam. Nothing more than a means to an end. Now they are controlling mortals, and even us to a degree! Surely you should find that quite amazing of creatures you half-heartedly help make, turning into something almost as beautiful and powerful as you.”

Ashido rolled her eyes at the last statement, not liking having her greatness compared to that of two lowly nymphs; but Hanta did have a point. Though she would never admit it, her scoff and abrupt standing proof she no longer wished to be in the same room as him for simply being right.

“If you find them so fascinating, then why don’t you meet them?”

Hanta, or any of her fellow friends, did not have a chance to reply before she stormed out of the room. It caused Katsuki to scoff once more before resuming his task, this time with more vigor. And for Hanta to roll his eyes, fingers deftly twirling his silver arrow once again as his mind began to wander.

Just how beautiful was the pair of you?

Before he could ponder the question any further, he stood abruptly too. Not wanting to waste another moment wondering about those thoughts, instead, he wanted to see for himself. He was a god after all, so why shouldn’t he know more about these beings that were creating quite a stir in his realm? 

“Maybe I will…” He mumbled to himself, feet starting to take him to where he wanted to go before his mind could fully comprehend where.

“Like hell you are!” Denki stood in his way, effectively blocking the taller god from taking another step “Not without me!”

This caused Hanta to smirk down at him “Nymphs are cautious creatures, and due to their nature one must be careful how they interact with them. And if I actually want to interact with them at some point, my best bet isn’t to bring the one god known for sleeping with, and breaking the hearts of, almost everyone single one.”

“W-well! So what?” Denki’s skin became flushed as blood rushed to his face in embarrassment over his friend's truth, “You’re a god too, and it's clear they don’t like any! So what makes you think you can succeed with them, huh?”

“Because, my simple friend,” Hanta smiled, side-stepping the flustered god to continue on his way “I am the God of Flattery and Sweet Words, hard to lose the trust of such lovely creatures with that.”

~~~

Though it took a lot of effort, and even more flattery, to get just where in the mountains (and which mountain) you and your friend were calling home from Ashido, he still managed to get it. And with gleeful steps, strong winds to help his wings glide him swiftly through the air, and the gracefulness of his very being, he managed to find you both with no issue at all.

He perched himself upon a nearby tree, high enough that one would not notice he was there if they were to walk by, and just observed the pair of you. 

Your friend (or sister, as you kept calling her), he would admit, was beautiful. She was the one that caught his eye first. The way her skin seemed to always glow under the sun's rays as she gracefully danced upon the meadow you were residing in was hard to ignore. He chuckled to himself at the thought of some mortal stumbling across her, just knowing they would mistake her for his dear friend Ochako mid-hunt with how ethereal she looked.

But then his eyes finally glanced over to you, unable to help himself from sparing you a glance when your sister had called out to you, and it was then he felt his heart stop in his chest and for the world around him to stop moving. 

It was your smile, or so he thinks when he thought back at that moment again and again, that caused such a powerful reaction within him. How radiant it was, how it lit up the world around you brighter than a thousand suns. How warm it made him feel when it unknowingly was sent in his direction. And how it made him finally look at your beautiful face.

After he saw that smile he wondered why your sister had ever caught his attention in the first place. The way the flowers around you sat upon your head and fell into your hair, the way your eyes looked so bright as they gazed up at your companion, and how soft and small your hands look when they reached out to her, to allow her to pull you up into a dance, were all so captivating.

He may have been fascinated before as to why mortals were throwing themselves into danger just for a glimpse of you, but now he understood fully. You were the most breathtaking creature he had ever witnessed in his long immortal life, and he could not lie when he thought to himself that day that your beauty could rival that of Ashido’s. In fact, he could not lie and say that he wouldn’t choose you over his old friend if he had to judge who the most beautiful in all the realms was.

He wanted you.

He wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything else in his life, and he wanted for very little. But he knew that you would deny him from plucking you from where you called home; it was in your nature. And in a perfect world, he can simply walk up to you and say a few pretty words and you would be his.

But thanks to his friend Denki, you would not trust him in the slightest; nor his intentions, for you could sense that they would not be pure. For how could they, as nymphs really only existed to be temptresses to the gods and then have their hearts broken once they gave their flowers to them. And you knew you were a rare flower, one that would not choose so willingly to be plucked up and away from your life, home, and companion. 

No. If Hanta wished to have you, all of you all to himself, he would have to be patient. And well, it was a virtue and he knew he was virtuous enough to conquer the lust that raged within him when he looked at you to see himself succeeding. To see you run into his arms and ask him to take you away and be his forever.

And what better way can he think to court you, to earn your favour and trust, than to leave you gifts at your altar?

Not just any gifts though. No, he would not waste your time with the meaningless trinkets and coins that those travelers gifted you, he would give you things only the gods could. To give you all the spoils known to them as a way of proving his devotion to you; for why else would a god willingly give up all his riches if not for love?

~~~

It was strange to you at first, the small gifts that were left at your door. Usually when there was a gift there was a traveler nearby, waiting for you or your sister to allow them to pass. But these gifts would just appear as if they came into existence by the wind.

And what gifts they were! 

Robes made with the brightest and finest silks, always adorned with beautiful gold and silver embellishments, with a few jewels within the intricate carvings. Rings that were so heavy your hands always felt like lead when you wore them. Bracelets that could wrap and entangle all the way up your arms and legs, adorning your whole limb in its beauty. And necklaces that always perfectly sat upon your chest, with their large gemstones settling flawlessly in between your bosom. 

You always shared these splendid and grand gifts with your sister, not wanting to be cruel and hoard all the splendor to yourself. But over time you started to grow nervous about where these gifts were coming from, about who was sending them to you. For who could afford to give you these things if not a god? And if it truly was a god, how did you catch his eye? And why would he only want to give you these things, never your sister? 

Soon there were gifts being given to you every day. As every morning they would sit at your doorstep, waiting for you to collect them. There was little space for you to place them in your home over time, with many of the gifts being left unopened; them sitting upon shelves in the bindings they came to you in. 

And one day, upon a pile of other treasures that awaited you that morning, a golden apple sat glistening in the sunrise. That was the day all your doubts and nerves got the better of you as you shut the door and hid yourself away. 

That was the day you knew for certain a god was trying to court you, for no other being other than god could get ahold of golden apples. The heavenly fruit that they all ate upon as if it was nothing more than a common fruit; but to you and all other mortals it was more than that. It was the only thing that could grant any being immortal life.

Therefore the reason it was given to you, sat upon piles of other treasures, was a sign that a god had wanted to take you away; to call you their own. And the thought terrified you. For where would you end up? What would they want from you? And would they cast you aside as if you were nothing, like all nymphs were treated by them? And what would happen to your sister? Would you never see her again?

That was the thought that terrified you the most.

Heartache, terror, abuse, you could bear if it meant she was by your side. You had waited long enough to finally get the companionship you had always craved; the one you searched for in many lands, and you did not want to give it up any time soon.

So the gifts, and that apple, stayed outside for days as you stayed hidden behind your walls in hopes that the sender would take that as a sign of your rejection. A sign you did not want, or need, the lavish gifts anymore and for him to move onto a more wanting and deserving creature.

When Hanta saw that his gifts were left untouched, the apple still perched precariously upon the other lavish items he had wanted you to wear and adore, it made his entire being slouch in despair. 

How could you not like them? Why would you not take them?

He knew they were no different from all the other gifts he had given you, and he knew you loved those. He watched as you glided through the forests, and that wonderful meadow where he first saw you, twirling in those gowns. Giggling with your sister when you were jangling those bracelets as you danced, holding those rings up to the light. Unable to let his eyes wander whenever his necklaces would sit between your breasts. 

And though he was never a fan of whenever you shared those gifts with your sister, he only ever wanted you to wear what he gave, he knew that you did so out of excitement. Excitement that you would show with every new gown and jewelry you placed on your body you would always pair it with a new crown made of the very flowers you tended to.

He watched you, from his favorite spot in the trees, as you gleefully would make them. Hands always hurried as you tried to finish them as quickly as possible as if you could not bear to wait another moment without it upon your head. And though they always looked so beautiful upon your brow, he always promised he would give you a real one someday.

One made of gold, if you were to say yes to him; to be his. But there it sat, collecting dust upon your altar. A rejection of him and all other splendors he wishes to give you. 

It made him furious, just as it did fill his being with sorrow. Not furious at you, no, he could never hate you. Furious that he overturned his hand and made you skittish. Made you untrusting of him and his intentions. Made it seem like you did not want him.

But of course, you did. Of course, you wanted him.

He just had to make sure you understood why you wanted him. How no one else could compare to him. How no one else would treat you with such warmth and comfort and give you any spoil your little heart could ever desire for the rest of your life.

And well, it seemed only fitting that you should finally meet him as he told you all these things.

~~~

It was in your springs where he found you that night. Though it was not Hanta’s intention to spy on you while you both bathed in the cool waters, he couldn’t help it. How could one resist that temptation? To hear the sweet laughter mixed with the splashing of water to lure one in, and then to see the sight of two beautiful maidens while they bathed. It was simply not fair.

If he were a lesser man he would have jumped out to try and take one of you then.

But he was not and found great pleasure simply watching the pair of you. How the moon illuminated your skin to make it that much more supple; that much more tempting for him to touch. How he could not stop his eyes from roaming your figure as you brought oils to your skin, to lavish and clean it before they disappeared into the water around you.

Hanta was almost envious of the suds, the small bubbles, that had a chance to touch your perfect body and soft skin. Of the water that elicited such sweet squeals of excitement when it was splashed onto you, to the soft sighs it cast from your lips when you would lounge back into it. And of your sister, the only one who was able to witness all of these things about you; and so selfishly kept it all to herself.

Though it was only when a twig snapped under his foot, an oversight he normally wouldn’t let happen, that he realized his mistake. Realized that his first meeting with you would be tarnished over impure thoughts and actions, which would only lead to you not trusting him even more.

For what nymph could trust a god they caught spying on them while they bathed?

But he had to try. And he leaped from his spot once he saw the pair of you scurrying for your clothing and out of the spring. He cared not for your sister, and allowed her to run towards your home, though he followed you closely; making it impossible for you to return to the place you felt the safest.

He managed to corner you once again, back to where it all started. The waterfall from the springs could be heard faintly behind you as you watched him approach the tree you had hidden behind. Your breathing labored as you held your clothing up to your body as best you could to conserve what was left of your modesty.

“I won’t hurt you.” Hanta called out to you, his voice soft to not further spook you “And I won’t cause you any harm, I promise. I just think you are the most beautiful maiden I have ever seen; so won’t you please come out and talk to me? For just but a moment?”

You glare at him, eyes holding suspicion over his claims. Though you finally relented when you watched as he stepped closer and closer to you, in your ever-vulnerable state.

“S-stop! Please stay where you are…” You called out, voice losing strength as you continue to cower away from him “I will speak with you, only if you promise to turn your head away and allow me to get dressed.”

Hanta gave a small smile, hands clasping behind his back as he turned his body away from you; making sure to keep his head and gaze straight ahead of him, to not make you suspicious that he was trying to catch another glimpse.

“Did you not like them?” 

His question startled you, a small gasp slipping out as you stumbled with your garment; almost tripping over your own feet. You took a deep breath to regain some level of composure as you shakily slipped your legs through the gathering.

“I am not sure what you mean…” You pulled the fabric upwards, placing the final strap over your one shoulder; your eyes never straying from the back of his head.

“The gifts.” He replied, “I have given you plenty, but it seems that lately, you have not accepted any. I am wondering if you did not like them.”

“Oh, it was you…” You made your way from out behind the tree, the movements being heard by the man before you as he finally turned back around to face you.

He was taller than you by a far margin, one that kept growing as he made his way towards you; his steps were careful to show he was not to harm you. When he finally reached you, he crouched down as close to your level as he could and clasped your hands in his, gently squeezing them in his hold.

“I am.” His voice was but a whisper as he pulled you closer, trying in vain to get you to look up at him, wanting nothing more than to gaze into your beautiful eyes.

“Then you should know why I did not accept them” You voice soft but strong, as you turned your head away from him “You are a god, the gifts you have given proof of that. And from all the tales I have heard and seen, all a god does is take the chastity of nymphs before casting them aside.”

“How could I ever do that to you? I would never do that to you. In my eyes, you are far too lovely and beautiful to ever just be cast aside.” 

He heard you scoff, head moving away from his deft fingers as they tried to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, clearly not believing him. His actions just displayed proof of why you were untrusting, and so he would have to use his sweet words in a different manner.

“In all truth, had I not come down this very night to see you, I am sure my brethren would try and take you away.”

You stiffened in his hold, fear gripping your being at his words. Frozen in place you finally allowed him to move your head up to look at him, into his dark eyes that told you what he said was true.

“W-what…?” Your voice was shaky, as was your body when you continued to scan his face for any semblance of trickery; only to still find none.

“My fellow gods, the ones I call friends from time to time, they heard the stories of nymphs in the mountains that had caught all sorts of mortals' attention.” Hanta began, “They were curious, and wanted to see for themselves just how beautiful you were. But my friends are more beast than gentleman; I fear of what might have become of you had I not scared them off.”

You collapsed into him, the shock of his words controlling your body more than your mind as you clung to his tunic. Though you could not see it, Hanta had an impish smile on his face as he comforted you; his hands running soothing patterns up your arms.

“But you needn't worry!” He pulled back to look at your face once more, squeezing your arms in comfort “I will protect you from them. All I ask is that you accept me, take my gifts, and allow me your company.”

“How… how will I know?” You looked back up at him, hands lowering from his chest “How will I know you are being truthful with me?”

“I am a God of Love, my dear,” Hanta fluttered the wings on his back to make light of that truth. “And as one, I never appreciated or cared for those that would take advantage of it; to abuse it and harm others with their lust. I can tell my friend's intentions are not pure, as I can with any being, and I cannot bear it if they were to harm a precious flower like you.”

Hanta watched you carefully. Watched how your eyes glanced at his wings, back to his face, and turned downcast once again as you took in his words. He has hoped the sweet words he was known for would work on you, to break down your walls to allow him in.  He had to hide the victorious smile from gracing his features when you gazed up at him and accepted his protection and his terms.

“Tell me your name” You mumbled, taking a step away from him. “If I have to agree to all of this, then please allow me to know the name of my protector.”

“Hanta, you may call me Hanta.”

Your head shot back up to look at him, eyes once again glaring at him as you took another step away from him “There is no god named Hanta.”

“None named for the mortals.” Hanta smiled, closing the gap between you once more “None of us gods are ever named what mortals claim we are, even in their stories. Our true names are only spoken and used amongst each other, in the heavens. Only you, in this mortal realm, shall have the knowledge and privilege to call me it.”

“Hanta.” You whispered out, nodding your head in agreement with his words.

“Good, now be off.” 

It took all of his strength to step away from you; not wanting to be away from your warmth now that he finally had it. But he did. Only if it were to prove to you he was on your side, that he wanted to protect you.

He watched with bated breath as you scurried away, back to your home. Only allowing himself a breath, and a mirthful smirk to appear, once he knew you were too far away to see it. His wings stretched out behind him as he took flight back home.

His meeting with you went far better than he ever planned it. And now he had plenty to dream of that night.

~~~

It was rare for the God of War to come to the mortal realm.

Especially seeing as there was no war to be had. No fight to participate in, no blood for him to shed, and no victory to be won for him once all the dust and debris settled. And it was even more rare that the God of Strength would follow alongside him into this plane when there was no battle to be had.

But there were never ones to turn down a mission.

Their pride and honor to strong within them to let a challenge go to the wayside simply because they thought it was stupid, pitiful, or a waste of their time. And though Katsuki thought what he was doing here, what he was about to do, fit into all three categories he simply could not tell his friend no.

Hanta never asked for much, especially from him. And Katsuki had to admit that his fellow friends served him very well in battles of past; always fighting on his side to help him claim his victories. So, he could swallow his pride for a moment or two so he can fulfill a small favour in return to the larger ones he was in debt to.

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice either.

“Why are we doing this again?” Ejirou asked, scooting himself closer to his friend while still staying crouched behind some foliage.

“Because Hanta asked us to.” Katsuki mumbled, huffing out his answer as it wasn’t the first time he was asked.

“But it doesn’t seem right, doing any of this. And you normally don’t waste your time on such trivial things, especially when it comes to beings like nymphs, so why are you here? And why did you drag me into this?”

“Because!” Katsuki hissed, baring his teeth in warning “Hanta asked for us to do this! And the last time I refused that bastard made it impossible for me to be intimate with anyone for over 200 years!”

Katsuki huffed, watching his friend eye him warily before shifting slightly away, the action making him slump his shoulders in slight defeat. 

“Listen. I don’t want to do this either. If I had it my way, we would all just leave these two idiots alone for the rest of their lives. But Hanta seems to like one of them, and we all know there is nothing we can do to stop him.”

“You’re right….”

Ejirou mumbles that last part, knowing that his friend was right. There was no way to change Hanta’s mind once it was set on something, much like it was impossible to change any of their minds. They were gods, and they were selfish. They took what they wanted and when they wanted it.

It was just that both of them were unnerved at the taking of a nymph away from the place they were bound to. Something that was never meant to be done. When they were created they were made to be invariably bound to the mortal realm, to avoid any chaos that may happen if they were to come to the heavens.

Hanta was playing a risky game, and though they trusted he would play his cards right, and well. They could not be sure that his actions would not cause a ripple effect that would turn into a grand-scale fight amongst them; like the choosing of the fairest once again.

Though they had no time to further delve into their thoughts on the matter, not when you and your sister had approached where they were hiding. Your giggles filled the air as you came into the springs once more; wanting a dip in their cool waters to help quench your thirst and cool you from the warm summer rays.

Both men tensed, breath hitching in their throats as you both started to slowly undress; taking off your charms and jewels, and placing them into neat little piles by the water's edge. Katsuki hated that you were lovely, hated that the stories of you both were true; for if they weren’t he would be able to justify what he was about to do as some sort of favor - to save those travelers all that time from trying to seek out a creature that turned out to be hideous.

Eijirou hated what he was about to do because you were so beautiful. Hated the fact that he would have to scar and torment such enchanting creatures for the sake of his friend; for if it were up to him, he would just bask in your glow until he was satisfied, and leave this place with a beautiful memory to last him eternity.

But it was not up to him, nor his companion next to him; and with deep, quiet breaths they both solidified their resolve and stood from where they once were hiding. 

The startled gasps, the scrambling, and the screaming were all something they loathed to hear from you both as they made their way over to where you were. They hated how they had to play the part and chase you both down, to separate the both of you to further petrify you both. How they had to watch you stumble and fall, to scratch your perfect skin on tree branches and rock as you tried to get away from them; all of it.

They hated all of it. 

But once they watched the pair of you rush into your home is when they stopped their chase. Made it seem like they had lost you somewhere within the trees; mumbling to each other how they would just come back another day before walking off, back to where they once were.

Sickness, that was all they felt at the bottom of their stomachs as they returned home. This victory was not like the one found in battle. Not one filled with glory and blood and sweat. This one was hollow, shallow as its waves crashed down upon them in a way that made them feel uneasy.

It was not the first time they chased a maiden down in hopes to garner their sweet bodies as their rewards. But somehow it felt like it was, and they could not look upon their friend when they told him of what had just transpired; couldn’t bear to see the glee in his eyes when he heard it all.

~~~

You both had not slept that night, for how could you when the one thing you were most afraid of happening to you, happened.

So, when Hanta visited you the next morning you couldn’t help but run out to him. Sprinting through the field of tall grass and throwing yourself onto him; clinging to him like he was the other tether keeping you to the ground.

“You cannot leave us again!” You cried out, tears flowing freely from your eyes and soaking into the cloth of his tunic “You cannot leave me again! Please! You cannot, not again!”

Hanta had to hide his smile, one that was filled with so much joy and satisfaction, from you as he further buried your head into his chest—allowing himself this moment to hold you close and shush you, to try and calm his body down and act the part of a confused and concerned friend.

“What has you so upset, my beloved?” He asked, pulling you from him to gaze upon your face, to allow you to see his concern for you. “What has gone wrong?”

“Y-you were right!” You wailed, unable to hide your sniffles and sobs as you spoke “T-they came! Y-y-your friends! They tried to take us!”

“Shhhh…” He cooed softly, pulling you back into him to try and calm you down “I know you must be terrified right now, but I’m here now. Nothing to worry about.”

“But you’re not always here!” Your voice was muffled due to your position, as you brought your arms up to dig into his side “You weren’t here yesterday! And that‘s when they came! You promised you would protect me!”

Hanta would admit, he hated seeing you cry. Hated hearing the way your voice, one usually filled with cheer, sounded so broken; so miserable. And he hated knowing he was the cause that set in motion the event that shook you to your core.

But it needed to be done, you needed to see how important he was to you. Needed you to see that your place was to be by him, that was where you were meant to be. 

“I am trying to protect you, my honeysuckle…” Hanta brought a hand up to pet your hair, “But it is difficult for me to be in two places at once. My home is in the heavens, it is where I am to fulfill my duties to the mortals; it is rather difficult for me to make these trips to you as it means neglecting what I am meant to do. Unless....”

He let it hang in the air, a pregnant pause for you to become curious about what he might say. He knew he had you when you lifted your head up to look at him once again, repeating his last word back to him.

“Unless…” Hanta sighed, “Unless you leave with me, and come to live with me in my domain. Only then can I assure your protection.”

He knew you would not like his answer, especially as he saw new fresh tears starting to fall from your eyes, staining your cheeks with their hot streams. He cupped your face in his palm, wiping them away as he tried to comfort you once again, playing the part of a torn man in a tough situation perfectly, as he tried to reason with you.

“B-but my sister!” You babbled, head shaking at every word he was saying “I cannot leave my sister behind! I won’t do it!”

“Your sister can find solace in the mountains if needed! An anthousai is bound to meadows and fields! You cannot find that there, cannot find safety anywhere but where I can protect you!”

“B-but...”

“I know that it is a difficult thing to accept, a difficult choice you must make. But if you want the protection I can provide you must leave with me. I can promise you that nothing will harm you; not a finger to be laid on your skin while you are within my domain.”

You sniffle, looking into his eyes once more; to see if there was any trace of dishonesty within them. And, like always, there was none. With a shaky breath, and a nod of your head, you stepped away from his hold to walk back to your home to say your goodbyes.

Your feet felt like lead with every step. Your heart ached at every flower, leaf, and blade of grass that you passed for you knew it would be the last time you saw it. And as you made it closer and closer to where your sister was, to the home that made your heart feel warm. 

Now it filled you with sorrow and dread, as you wondered if you would ever again feel the kind of happiness you felt when you first stepped within these walls. Wondered what would become of your sisters once you left this place for good. You hoped for nicer and better things, better companions, but your heart could not promise you such things, your mind could not ease its worries. 

You couldn’t speak when she opened the door, asking you what was going on. All you could do was pull her into you, hold her in your tight grasp as you whispered how much you loved her. How brighter sunrises were upon her horizon, and how you would miss her so.

She watched you walk back down to him, your body shaking with the violent sobs coming forth. Watched as this man, this god, took you back into his arms and shushed you; claiming you down and whispering what she could only assume was sweet nothings to you. 

She watched as you turned back to her once more. A broken smile, one that looked more like a pained grimace, appeared upon your lips as you brought a weak hand up to wave your last goodbye to her. A goodbye she never envisioned ever happening.

And then she watched him take you away; forever.

~~~

Hanta’s home was beautiful.

It was filled with golden pillars and furniture. Marbled rock adorned many surfaces, with plush pillows and linen upon beds, lounges, and chairs. You knew they would feel like clouds, be the softest things you could ever lie on. 

But at this moment you couldn’t care for how soft anything felt, how plush and inviting the comfort was as it sank perfectly when your body had collapsed on top of it. Or how inviting it was to allow your body to enjoy it all, to allow it to lure you into a wondrous sleep.

No, for at this moment you were mourning the greatest loss you could possibly think of.

Hanta was kind enough to sit next to you through it. A hand running soothing patterns up your arms, your back, and even your hair as you cried out in anguish; never saying a word. Only murmuring out to you, after what felt like days of sobbing, to rest your head; to let yourself enter the land of dreams, and for Hitoshi to guide you to a sweet one.  And you could not stop your body from finally agreeing. 

For you would need your rest. 

Hanta had waited long enough to finally have you here with him. He adored that you always believed him, that your naivete allowed you to trust him and his sweet words. To allow him to take you here, to the one place where you will never be able to escape him; for once a nymph was the enter the realm of the gods, she would lose her ability to transform - for how could a nymph become a tree, or a flower, while in the heavens?

They couldn’t. And now you were forever at his mercy. Forever to spend your days with him, indulging him in whatever splendor he wanted from you; for he was kind enough to indulge you for the months it took to woo you, it was only fair to pay him back in kind.

You, the sweet little anthousai. One too blinded by the God, whose sweet words and flattery made you melt, to notice that he had other titles too; that treachery and deception and craftiness came hand in hand with sweet nothings and empty compliments.

And oh, what a crafty web he had spun for you. The one who laid so sweetly upon his bed.

The one who called to him like a lost and sad child when you finally awoke. Your big eyes stared up at him, as you asked him for some food for your hungry tummy and something to quench your dry throat.

And who was he to deny someone so precious? A sweet little thing that asked him so nicely? He couldn’t and wouldn’t, and so he went to fetch you some of the finest fruits and ambrosia to nibble on as you tried to awaken your tired body. And wine, his special and most favourite wine for you to sip on.

When he held out the goblet to you, you hesitated; your arm halting before it could reach the drink. “I-it’s pink…”

“Yes, yes it is!” Hanta couldn’t help but laugh at your obvious statement, enjoying the way you eyed the pink liquid that seemed to swirl within its confinement with a mind of its own “A special kind of wine, the only kind reserved and enjoyed by the gods.”

The way you looked at him, eyes still showing trepidation over what he was offering. He couldn’t blame you for it, someone like you would not know the type of splendors the gods enjoyed from day to day; you were but a humble and simple thing.

Hanta shrugged his shoulders, bringing the goblet to his lips and taking a gulp of its contents. “Look see? Nothing wrong with it at all! Just a sweet wine, one that tastes like wild strawberries.”

He smiled when you finally relented, a sheepish smile gracing your own face when you finally accepted his offer; almost like you felt silly for doubting him in the first place. But again, you were just a sweet simple thing. How could you have known that gods are immune to the effects of aphrodisiacs?

How could you have known what they would feel like once they had taken hold of your body?

You couldn’t. And when you felt your breathing become labored, your body started to sweat as your heartbeat quickened, and for a strange heat to enter your belly; you grew scared. Wanting whatever heat that had entered you to subside and allow you to breathe; to allow the aching you felt to stop.

Hanta watched with mirth from the corner of his eye at you. Watching how your body squirmed and shifted, trying to get comfortable but never succeeding. Trying to ease your discomfort but failing to do so, not knowing how.

“Honeysuckle, are you alright?” He asked you, moving aside the platter of fruit to shift closer to you.

“I-I feel funny…!” You mumbled out, hand grasping around the wrist trying to check your temperature; unable to help yourself as you pulled him closer to you “I don’t know what’s wrong!”

You wished you could stop yourself, and show some form of modesty and restraint. But your body was on fire, and your mind had no way of stopping it from acting on its own. You clung to him, yet again. Though this time you had climbed into his lap, your hips stuttering as you inadvertently ground your lower half onto his leg.

“Funny how?” Hanta asked, eyes turning dark with lust as he watched you try to relieve yourself upon him so shamelessly, it made blood rush to his cock as he had to hold your hips in place; to help ground himself.

“I don’t know!” You whined, nails digging into the muscles on his shoulders - wishing he would allow you to move your hips again “I feel warm and funny, and it hurts!”

“It hurts?”

“Mhm!” You nodded, head ducking down to rest against his chest as you panted heavily, trying to get a level head once more, but failing miserably “I don’t know what to do!”

“I can help you” Hanta murmured, taking some of your hair and pushing it aside so he may be able to kiss along your neck, smirking when he heard you whine at the contact “Will you let me help you?”

You frantically nodded your head, but he tuts at that response; teasingly squeezing your hips in his gasp “Ah, ah, ah, I need you to say it love.”

You moved your head back up to look at him, and he relished the frustrated tears that were now forming in your eyes. The way your lips formed a pout, made them look more plush and delectable to try and bite and suckle on.

“Please help me Hanta” You whimpered out, unable to resist pushing yourself closer to him.

“Say that you’re mine, and I will give you everything you could ever need.” He baited, wanting to hear even more of your sweet voice.

“I’m all yours…”

You were going to say more; going to beg him further to finally help you; to ask him to stop prolonging your suffering. But you were silenced when you felt his lips press into yours. Felt the way they moved against yours, trying to get you to follow suit; which you do after a moment with fever.

You could help the moan that was muffled between you when you felt his tongue peak out, running along the bottom of your lip. You wished you knew what he wanted, you would be more than willing to give it to him. But Hanta seemed to understand this, and he moved your hips against him, allowing you to feel the hardness underneath. The gasp you let out was short-lived, as his tongue plunged into your mouth, exploring it slowly and expertly.

All you could do was melt into him; melt into his touch and the way he was kissing you. He left you breathless, panting hotly into the air when he finally parted from you; unable to keep the smirk off his face when he saw the blissed-out look you had acquired.

Hanta loved hearing the small gasps and whines you would let spill forth from your mouth, almost like you were unable to keep them hidden, when he started to kiss down your jaw. Moving slowly down your neck, leaving little nips to see your jump in surprise; your sweet little mewls going straight to his length that he was slowly rocking you onto

He was taking his time with you; he had waited so long just to have you at this moment and he wasn’t going to rush it; even if it was tempting with the way you kept pulling him closer and calling his name so sweetly. But he knew he needed to do everything right, everything perfectly, so you would crave him. Want him like this all the time.

He slowly pushed your shift down your arms, lips following closely behind his hands; to slowly caress and kiss every inch of skin you had allowed him to see and look upon. And what a sight you were to see; to him every inch of you was perfectly crafted and made him that more elated that you were all his.

“I know…” Hanta cooed, lips lavishing the skin of your breasts, fingers gently tugging on your hardened nipples “I know… it is uncomfortable. But let me take my time, love. I promise you it will be worth it. Let me worship you like you were meant to be.”

You jumped, unable to help yourself from placing a hand in his hair, tugging it harshly, when Hanta’s fingers brushed against your folds. He groaned, both at your harsh tugging and at how soaked you had become; just over some heavy petting.

Though, the feeling was foreign to you; one that kicked your senses into overdrive. You couldn’t help but clamp your legs shut, effectively stopping his hand from continuing, at the sudden and unfamiliar feeling.

“My love,” Hanta cooed, gently pulling your legs apart, “You asked for relief, and I shall give it to you. Put your trust in me, I can assure you it will feel good.” 

He placed reassuring kisses along your chest, slowly petting his free hand up and down your thigh to help calm you; to help relax you and allow him access once again to your dripping cunt.

You sigh out after a moment, trembling legs finally parting for him, freeing his hand once again. Unable to help yourself from keening at his long fingers as they slowly started to up and down your folds. Being careful at where to touch, looking at your face to see which spots you reacted most to; centering in on them to hear you cry out for him. 

Your little bundle of nerves is where he narrows in after he accidentally brushed against it; the way you moaned his name made his whole being shudder - wanting to hear you say it again and again and again. Wanting to watch you writhe and whine atop of him as you finally come undone by him.

You gasped, legs trying to close once more but unable to do so by a hand holding a thigh in place, when you felt his fingers start to circle your entrance, the one place that has never been touched or breached.

“Just breathe, I need to properly prepare you, my love.” Hanta groaned when he felt your quivering hole clench around nothing at his words “I promise you this will be just as good, if not better, than what I have already done.”

He truly had the hands of a god, the way they so delicately entered you; stretched you in such a way that you had no choice but to moan out for more. You never could have imagined this feeling, even in your sweetest dreams. 

And it was accompanied by his words. Oh, how you could listen to him forever with the way he was groaning and purring our praises. Telling you how good you were doing, taking his fingers so well. How beautiful you looked like this, how he couldn’t imagine a more beautiful sight. And for you to come undone, allowing yourself to feel euphoria and grant him the chance to see it.

Who were you to deny such a tempting offer?

You were such a sight to behold. The way your body trembled, legs buckling as they struggled to hold your weight, hips unable to stop jerking away from his touch by still trying to keep the beautiful friction all the same. The way you cried out his name, unable to stop chanting it as you tried to breathe at the same time.

Hanta couldn’t help but push you down on your back, to hover over you as you tried to gain some semblance of thought once more. Hastily unrobbing himself, hissing when his cock was freed; having to take a deep breath and he stroked himself a few times before placing the blunt head at your leaking entrance.

“W-wait!” Your mind snapped you back into reality so quickly, you almost felt lightheaded “Hanta please wait!”

“For what?” He panted, hands gripping under your knees to lift your legs higher, “You are ready for me, my sweetest, and this will finally make all the unpleasant feelings disappear.”

“M’afraid!” You whimpered out, feeling the entirety of his length move between your folds as if to try and entice you once more; and the heat within you was proof it was working “Afraid it will hurt”

“You need not worry,” He purred, thumb rubbing little circles by your knees as he drank in the sight of you almost folded in half; how complacent you were. “For a moment it will, but only a moment. Then it will start to feel heavenly. Trust me, for I have not lied to you yet, have I?”

You shook your head, the action saying what you wanted to say - as words were failing you. He was right, he had always been honest with you, and even now he had shown you patience and pleasure beyond your wildest dreams. So why doubt him now?

He started to sink into you, after you had asked him to do so. Hanta let out a long groan as he felt your tight walls clamp down on him, both in trying to prevent him further but also milking him for everything he had to offer, and inch by inch he carved his way into your heat.

The burn was as he claimed, painful. But once he was fully sheathed, that burn began to change from that of pain, to that of wanting pleasure. The agonizing heat that had come from nowhere was coming forth once again to consume you in its agonizing flames. 

“Hanta, please!” You cry out, hands reaching out to grip where his sat on your legs “Please move! Make this feeling go away!”

He was never one to say no to you. He nodded his head, taking a shaky breath, before slowly moving his hips; taking his length almost completely out of your weeping cunt, before pressing it back into you. Watching your face carefully to see if any discomfort could be found.

When your pinched brows started to relax, your breathing changing from pained chirps into those sweet breathy moans, and when you start to cling to him once more - nails finding purchase into the skin on his arms - does he pick up the pace.

Though, Hanta knows he will not last much longer, not when your warm heat clings to him so tightly, begging him to claim what is rightfully his and paint your pretty cunt white with his seed; he knows he must first have you cum around him. To selfishly feel your messy cunt spasm around him like it has never done before.

He brings one of his hands from where it was placed on your knee downwards to your bundle of nerves, moaning when he feels you instantly tighten around him. 

“Come on, my sweet love” He pants, hand rubbing messy, uncoordinated, circles upon it “Let go for me, please? Trust in your god, and let that coil within you snap. Make a mess of the both of us.”

You keen and whine, the pressure building to an almost painful level within you. Though the dam finally breaks when you felt his length hit a particularly sweet spot within you, one that had you seeing stars. Your back arched, as you felt your breath hitch in your throat; unable to make any noise as your mind and body ascended to that plane of euphoria once more.

Hanta could not help but follow suit. Only a few messy thrusts and he stills inside you, his grinding up against the swell of your thighs as he moans; painting your insides with his seed - finally claiming you, completely, as his own. After regaining his breathing, though not fully, and placing your legs back down; he starts to pull out of you. 

“No please!” You cry out, eyes turning glassy as you wrap your arms and legs around him once more “Stay with me please! I don’t want you to go!”

“I am not going anywhere, I promise” He smiled gently down at you, tucking your head under his chin as he pulled you to lay atop of him.

Hanta watched your breathing, watching you try and calm down. He cannot blame you for being so emotional, after all the highs the aphrodisiac gives are much stronger than anything you have ever been used to. 

He smirks to himself when he sees your breathing finally began to even out, sleep over-taking you in its grasp. For now, he finally has you right where he wants you. And now, thanks to that wonderful potion, you will never, or want to, leave him.

Much like a rose and its petals, once one is swept away by the wind it is gone; forever. You were his rose petal and he was the wind that snatched you away.

[alexanderlightweight]

Hi ! I really really love the way you write, especially dark scenes.

Do you think you can write something about a very matrixed by the Clave Alec sent on a hunt to kill the High Warlock of Brooklyn but falling in love instead ? 💕

hahahahahaha oh gosh let me tell you how excited i am about this prompt because i have a backburner thought about this and hahaha yeah i jumped on this prompt like Nightshade on a moth. thank you and i hope you enjoy

lumine

-

Alec dresses with a solemnity that befits his mission, but not his rank.  He is a warrior and a diplomat by trade, a leader forged of his own making, but a darkened blade by the Clave’s demand.  

There was no real choice —there has never been a choice— in whether or not he takes the missions given him.  

What the Clave asks of him, he gives and while he knows all the laws and loopholes of the Accords and can twist them as eloquently as a seelie could twist the truth.  

This had no loopholes.

It is a command from his leaders, and he will follow through. 

As he always does.

Whether he wants to or not. 

Because Alec is a weapon and weapons cannot argue with those who wield them. 

His target's address is not a physical thing, nor even actual knowledge, but the remains of a confiscated and fading tracking spell that Idris sent to him.  

Alec leaves the institute quietly and unquestioned —long before the nightly patrols have begun to put on their gear— sinking into the growing shadows that he has been born and pledged to hunt within.

The first whisper of wards from his target’s domain brush against him with an almost intelligent spark. Once again, he wonders just what his parents did for the deeds to restore their honor to require this. He wants to know so badly, how upholding the Lightwood name turned to his blade being soaked blood and his soul battered with deaths on orders he’s not allowed to question.

The entire building is warded so thoroughly that it feels almost alive. Alec shouldn’t be able to see the magic without his spiritum rune activated, but somehow, he can.  It’s beautiful and Alec feels the tiniest pang of regret before he pushes it aside and leaps up.  Somehow the magic doesn’t hinder him, even when it sparks against him, and it is the work of an infant nephilim to make it to the top.

Alec uses the roof to take a rare minute of rest.

He breathes in the cold night air as he checks the tracker.

And then he throws himself off the roof, rolling to soften the sound and settles into the shadow of the balcony he lands on, letting the darkness swallow him back up.

His quiver shimmers into existence against his back and Alec strings his bow as he centers himself. 

Alec learned archery to protect from afar, but he was also trained to kill.

There is no room for Alec Lightwood on this mission, for now, he is but an instrument of the Clave.

He is a weapon of his people and nothing less… but also nothing more.

—

Magnus lets his uninvited guest get as far as his roof before he begins to dress himself.  It’s an auspicious occasion after all, and he does pride himself on being a good host. 

His wards spark about him as his guest moves and Magnus has to admit that there is something truly unique about his unexpected visitor.  If not for the strength of Magnus’ wards, he might not have noticed them at all.

As it is, Magnus’ magic has found and clung to his intruder since they first touched Magnus’ wards. Magnus finishes buttoning his cuffs and straightens his vest, and he waits. 

He finds that he’s almost charmed by the interruption.  

It’s been at least six months — or possibly six years — since the last blatant assassination attempt and this one is already much more promising.  The fact that he can literally feel and taste nephilim blood ensures it. 

It’s been a long time since the Clave was willing to risk another attempt on him.

He tilts his glass to the ceiling, admiring the blood red hue of it and turns with a smirk on his face, ready to greet his would-be-assassin.

His drink falls as his grip loosens in shock. Glass shatters and liquor and crystal shards cover his shoes as his mouth clenches in a snarl of surprise.  

The arrow that pierces his chest leaves no burning pain behind, just a tingling ache.  None of his once holy but now twice damned royal blood spills, the only evidence of the wound ever existing is a sizzling hole in his shirt.  

His shadowhunter assassin growls, a low rumble in his throat, but before he can notch another arrow, he’s pulled through the glass of the window he shatters and thrown into Magnus’ wall. 

Magic presses against him. 

Covering every inch of him as Magnus stalks forward.  He gives the tiniest twitch of his fingers and his magic, as if apologetic for its misstep, quickly deposits the arrow into his hand.  

He rolls it between his fingers, studying it.  

Not even during the uprising had a nephilim blade ever truly pierced his skin.  He wonders what reward he should give the wielder for this particular wound. 

What punishment would be most fitting?

His wards, which have been gently chiming since the beginning, ring with a final, ominous toll as Magnus presses glowing, blue fingers to the intruder's chin and lifts up.

Oh.

Well now. This changes everything.

— 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty thing,” Bane murmurs, his fingers a strong pressure on Alec’s jaw as he speaks.  

Even with the limited information on Bane that he has access to, there was nothing that could have prepared Alec for Bane’s response to the attempted assassination. 

Nor was he expecting Bane to be quite so... magical.

“No?” He asks, because of all the things in his life that he’s been called, pretty hasn’t been one of them. 

“You intrude on my domain, ruin one of my favorite outfits and now you lie to me? Truly appalling behavior from one of the Clave’s beloved.”  Bane tells him and his thumb presses higher on Alec’s face in what is probably meant to be a threat but feels much more like a caress.  

The words themselves make him roll his eyes and a scoff escapes him.  He’s not one of the Clave’s beloved and even if he was, his hidden but very real desires mean he never will be.  

Alec opens his mouth to object, to ask what is going on, anything to figure out exactly why Bane hasn’t already killed him, and Bane’s other hand comes up.  Two neatly painted fingers press to Alec’s lips and tap against them in warning.  His words are stifled — not by magic — but by the mere touch of Bane’s smooth calluses against his mouth.  It’s a mindless act, to lick his lips and they both stiffen when his tongue flicks against hot skin and magic.

Energy crackles around and over him and Alec bites into his bottom lip, surprised by how it doesn’t hurt — and by how good it feels.

When it’s done, Bane steps back.  He looks faintly surprised, but mostly pleased, and Alec wonders at just what he’s learned. 

What Alec did that’s betrayed him enough to put that look on his target’s face.

That much glee on Bane’s face can’t mean anything good for Alec, even if Bane looks gorgeous when he smiles.  As it is, he can barely resist the urge to lean forward and chase the fleeting warmth of Bane’s touch.  It is surprisingly soft, for an enemy.  In fact, it’s lot gentler than Alec’s experienced from most of the allies in his life.

“I think we can be a bit more civilized about all of this.” Bane offers and his fingers curl in a flourish and when Alec blinks his eyes open — startled to realize he’d closed them at all — it’s to see two new chairs in the room.  Bane sits in one with an odd smirk and points to the empty one. 

“To start with, what exactly have I done in the last two decades that warrants a kill order from the Clave?  It’s been at least a century since I last earned one of those pesky things.” 

Alec swallows, wrong footed by the question.  He’s never heard of anyone surviving a kill order by the Clave before, much less thriving and flaunting their existence after one was placed.  However, it makes sense, in a strange way, that of all the beings in the world Magnus Bane would be the one to accomplish it. 

He hesitates to move, but Bane’s magic doesn't give him a choice and a moment later he’s comfortably seated.  Well, as comfortably as one can be when magically bound to a leather chair.  

“The Clave—” he starts, because as with most things, this is the fault of the Clave. But he pauses, “the Accords—” because he’s hoping that will somehow be better and finally, he grits his teeth.  His eyes close and to his relief his hand is allowed to come up, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I don’t know why they want you dead. Probably because you’re a threat.”  Alec finally admits.  Perhaps it’s magic, or his situation, but the truth flows easily past his lips.

“The Clave doesn’t like threats.  It’s been years since the Uprising, and they still haven’t fully regained their strength.  New York is one of their strongest Institutes and yet it’s you who holds the power in our local region.”

Bane blinks at him, as if astounded and then laughter rings through the air.  

“A political threat.  They are doing this because of politics? And they sent you, sweet innocent cherub for the reaping. Darling, I’m not simply the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”  And here Bane rises back to his feet, “I’m a king.  In some ways, all the important ways even.  I’m your king.”

— 

Magnus stares at his would-be-murderer and magic coils around him, ready to strike and drag him so close that they can never be parted.  The magic of his soul dislikes his restraint and the dominion magic that lends itself to his service wants to claim and take now. 

All of Magnus’ magic demands that he takes what is rightly owed to him, to bind the counterpart of his soul to himself.

Magnus wants that as well but knows that he needs to err on the side of caution, as much as he doesn’t wish to. 

His own personal magic, however, has other ideas.  Which is clear from the protective blue sparks still coming off of his soulmate’s skin, the hole in Magnus’ shirt and the phantom ache of a wound that doesn’t truly exist. 

Magnus never expected to meet his soulmate like this — never expected them to truly exist.  But his lips curl into a smirk as his magic dances along his boy’s body and he remembers the elegant stance and fearless way he’d tried to kill him.

It’s delightful and new and Magnus knows that when he’s done with this, his shadowhunter will be not a sword at his throat but one at his side. 

The Clave has done what Magnus’s own father hasn’t been able to accomplish for centuries, given him his soulmate.

It’s only fair that Magnus pays them back, tenfold for the gift given.

[sequinsmile-x]

The View Between Villages

A feeling he hasn't had in years, since this place was nothing but a dot in his rearview mirror, settles low in his gut, slowly getting heavier the closer they get. A weight he'd forgotten, all of the people and places he once knew rising from the dead and chasing him down a street he used to call home.

Sometimes, you have no choice but to go back.

-x-

Hi friends!

This is part 1 of 2 of a fic based on a request I got a while back about a fic where Aaron's father was still alive.

The title is a song from Noah Kahan's album Stick Season, which, if you want to listen to an entire album about how going back home is never quite the same as when you were a kid and also EXACTLY the same all at the same time, I highly recommend it. I'm obsessed and am seeing him in November! (Listen to the deluxe version!!)

Part 2 will be up next week!

-x-

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Implied/Referenced child abuse, difficult childhood

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron smiles as he approaches the kitchen, the sound of his family loud as it echoes around his house. The morning light filters down the hallways, fainter than it had been at this time of day just a few weeks ago, a sign that fall was well and truly on its way. 

Their home was rarely quiet. It hadn’t been since they’d bought the place. He still remembered Jack running through empty rooms the first time they brought him here, the sound of his footsteps chasing him as he ran from room to room. Emily had lagged behind, one hand pressed into her aching back and the other into her rounded belly, almost permanently winded as their son grew underneath her skin, stretching it almost to its limit. They’d managed, through no small miracle and a lot of help from the team, to get all of the furniture moved in and in its place before she went into labour. The house truly a home by the time they brought their newborn home, Nathaniel’s cries loud and relentless in those first few weeks of parenthood, the soundtrack they had as they settled into their new lives.

In the three years since then, things had only become more hectic. Nathaniel, Nate as he was known to everyone except Elizabeth who insisted on using his full name, was insistent on copying Jack in everything. Following his brother around the house and joining in with his activities when he could. So much so they had to keep a very close eye on him when they went to Jack’s soccer games ever since he’d run onto the pitch in the middle of a game. In the last year their youngest son, the addition to their family that had been a surprise and filled a gap they hadn’t known had existed, had joined them too. Leo was 11 months old and obsessed with Emily, keen to be wherever she was at all times, something that had started the second he was born. Screaming and crying until he was passed into Emily’s shaking hands, only calming when he was laid against her bare skin. 

It still blew Aaron away sometimes that this was his life, that he’d got this second chance at the family he’d never truly had growing up. He spent years telling himself he’d blown his only chance, that his penance for not saving Haley from the monster he’d brought into their lives was to be alone. To raise Jack as best he could, but doomed to break his final promise to Haley like he had so many others, feeling wholly unable to be the person she had once known.

Then Emily happened. Beautiful, kind, Emily who had been there all along. She understood him in ways other people couldn’t, completely free of judgement when he had bad days because she did too. Their histories different but intertwined, forever sewn together in a way that he’d realised was impossible to unpick. She’d made the first move, something she still teased him about even now. She’d rolled her eyes and pulled him in for a kiss, breathlessly commenting afterwards that she’d got bored of waiting for him to admit he was in love with her. 

They’d never looked back. Together they’d built what they had now - a family that they both protected fiercely. Three little boys who knew nothing but love, their childhoods so different to those of their parents, none of the violence or chronic disappointment neither he or Emily had faced respectively. They made sure Jack had space to talk about the things he had seen when he was too young to comprehend them and, whilst he’d long called Emily ‘mom’, Haley was a big part of their lives. Her presence felt on every holiday and birthday when Aaron or Jess, the only ones who had true memories of her, would share a story about her. 

He smiles as he walks into the kitchen, met by the sight of Jack and Nathaniel sitting and eating breakfast and Emily switching between taking bites of her toast and spooning Leo oatmeal as he sits on her hip, his hands tight in her shirt.

“Morning,” Aaron says, a greeting immediately returned by his family. A chorus of mismatched responses that makes him smile. He walks over to Emily, pressing a kiss to her lips as she turns to look at him, a tired smile on her face, “You must have been up early, the bed was cold.”

She hums as she tilts her head towards their youngest, getting another spoon of, now cold, oatmeal into Leo’s mouth, “Your youngest woke me up at 4 am,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him, “I tried to get him settled in our bed but he wasn’t having it so I got ready for the day and brought him down here. Before I knew it, it was breakfast time.”

“Breakfast!” Nathaniel says enthusiastically, drawing their attention towards him, both of them smiling at him. He’d inherited a lot from Aaron, including his love of early mornings. 

“Eat your toast, sweet boy we’ve got to get you ready for preschool,” Emily says, trying to suppress a yawn.

Aaron kisses her cheek and walks over to the coffee machine to switch it on, “You could have woken me up, sweetheart.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, adjusting her hold on Leo as she pours more juice into Jack’s cup, “You’re still catching up on sleep from the case you got back from a few days ago.” 

He’d been away for close to a week, the longest it had been in quite some time, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt relief as he did walking into his house to find his wife waiting for him. He hums and takes Leo from her, settling him onto his own hip as he takes over helping him with his breakfast so Emily could have a few minutes to eat her food in relative peace. 

“Well,” he quips, winking at his wife when he looks back at her, “My boss is a bit of a taskmaster.” 

She rolls her eyes at him and purposely hip-checks him as she walks to the coffee machine to pour them a mug each, “I have it under good authority you’re her favourite.” 

When she left the BAU just before she had Nathaniel she never anticipated that in just a few short years she’d be Section Chief. After her return from maternity leave, she’d taken over the counterterrorism Unit Chief position. Her experience in the FBI and at Interpol made her a perfect candidate for a job that allowed her more time with her sons. When she was pregnant with Leo, the job of Section Chief became available and she was offered it. At first, she’d worried about what Aaron would say, if he’d be irritated that she was promoted over him, but he’d only ever shown pride at her getting the job. Happy to watch her flourish and pleased he could be by her side as it happened. 

“She is always keen to give me feedback-”

“Mom and Dad are being gross again, Nate,” Jack says, stage whispering so they can hear him, making them stop their conversation. 

Emily presses her lips together as she looks at her eldest, a look on his face that Aaron would always say the pre-teen never had before she moved in, “Sorry, Jack.” 

Aaron chuckles as he shakes his head and hears his phone ring from his pocket. He hands Leo back over to Emily, the little boy babbling a word that was so close to Mama it made her chest ache. 

“Hotchner,” Aaron says, answering the phone, taking a step away from his family so the boys don’t hear anything they shouldn’t. 

“Sorry, Sir, I’ve got another one for you,” Penelope says, sounding regretful, “Three bodies and a fourth person missing, the locals have requested that the team get there as soon as possible.” 

“Have you called the others?” He asks, and she hums in confirmation, “Okay great, let's just meet at the jet.” 

“Thankfully it will be a short flight, you’re only going to Lexington, Virginia” 

He pauses, frozen in space as the air leaves his lungs. He clears his throat, unknowingly getting his wife’s attention from across the room, “Lexington?” 

“Yes, sir,” Penelope says, “At first I thought you’d have to drive but there is an airstrip nearby, and the jet already has permission to land there.”

He doesn’t listen as she rambles, the room seemingly closing in on him as everything feels too close and too far away all at once. It had been years, a lifetime really, since he’d been there. He’d been a kid, not looking back as the first place he’d called home was left behind him, getting further and further away as Haley sat next to him, both of their suitcases in the trunk of his worn-out truck that somehow made the drive all the way to Harvard. 

He’d never gone back. The version of him who had lived there dead and gone, buried beneath everything he hadn’t been able to move past, and all the things that had happened to him since. 

“Sir?”

He shakes his head at himself, “Sorry, Garcia. Yes - thank you. I’ll speak to you on the jet when we need to be briefed.”

He hangs up and looks at his wife who is looking at him curiously, a hint of concern shining in her eyes. 

“Everything okay?” She asks, glancing at Nathaniel and Jack before she walks over, Leo still on her hip, his head against her shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he replies, not sure he sounds convincing to himself let alone her, “Just another case.” 

She stares at him, well aware that he is holding something back, but she doesn’t pry. Not when all the boys were in earshot. She simply files it away, ready to ask him about it later when they speak on the phone. 

“The bad guys don’t wait I guess,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, exchanging a smile when he squeezes her hip and kisses Leo’s head. She turns, “Boys, come say goodbye to Dad, he’s got to go to work.” 

She keeps a close eye on him as he exchanges goodbyes with their sons, something about the way he embraces them seeming even fiercer than usual, something about the way he kisses her more desperate. 

She sighs as she watches him leave, his promise to call that evening echoing around her after the door closes. She blows out a breath as she turns back to Jack and Nathaniel, printing a smile on her face she knows they won’t see through, worry for her husband vibrating under her skin.

“Come on, we need to get ready for school.” 

She casts another glance back towards the front door before she herds her children upstairs, the first seeds of concern truly planting deep in her gut.

___

Emily groans as she sits in her desk chair, rolling her neck as she looks at the piles of paperwork on her desk. 

For someone who hated politics, but was damn good at it, she’d sure ended up in a job that had a lot of it. 

It was the best thing for her family. It meant she got more time with her children, that she was in as close to a 9-5 job as she ever had been in, but she still felt as if she was making a difference. It was a bridge of sorts. A link between the life she never thought she’d have - children, a home, a loving partner, - and the one she wondered she’d ever escape. 

Her eyes flick to a bright pink post-it note, Penelope’s familiar flowing handwriting on it, the glittery ink of her favourite pen shining out at her. Emily picks it up, and her smile fades as she reads it, her heart dropping into her stomach. 

BAU in Lexington, VA. Hotel bookings in your pending approvals. 

Emily holds onto the post-it tighter than necessary, the thick paper creasing in her grasp as she closes her eyes and shakes her head. 

That stupid, stubborn, man. 

She makes a decision in a heartbeat, not thinking twice before she picks up her phone and dials a familiar number, waiting as the call connects, “Jess? Hi, I have…a big favour to ask.” 

It was a good thing she still kept a go-bag packed just in case.

___

“Why are we still on the tarmac?” Derek asks, leaning back in his chair as he turns to look at the door, “They haven’t even closed us up yet.”

“The pilot said there are some final checks,” Aaron replies, his eyes fixed on the case files in front of him, desperate to focus on something other than the fact he was about to go to the place where he swore he’d never return. 

The place where his father lived. 

He’d told so many people that his dad was dead, the lie easier than the truth, that there were times he believed it himself. So used to his life without the man who was supposed to have loved him that he couldn’t imagine seeing him again. 

“Are we sure this place Lexington has a legit landing strip?” Dave asks, a familiar smirk on his face when Aaron briefly looks up at him.

“It does,” he replies firmly, shaking off the memory of the mostly abandoned strip of private land. How he’d snuck Haley there one night when she’d insisted on learning to drive in his truck, laughing from the passenger seat as she ruined the manual engine. Stalling every few feet on what used to be a busy runway used for goods. 

“And don’t say legit,” a familiar voice says, pulling all of their attention towards her, Emily’s smile wide as she stands behind Dave, her arm resting on the top of his chair, “You’re too old for that.” 

“Emily,” Aaron says, standing up as if on autopilot, taking her bag from her, a habit he’d never quite shaken since she’d been pregnant with Leo, “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs, attempting to remain casual, “It’s been a while since I came on a case, and my schedule looked okay this week so I thought, why not? It’s almost time for the BAU to be reviewed anyway.”

The others seemingly buy it, even if he doesn’t, well aware that last night she’d lamented about the number of meetings she had this week. She sits in the spare seat next to Dave and ignores how her husband is looking at her. 

“It will be just like old times,” JJ says, her smile turning into a smirk as she elbows Spencer, “Shall we draw straws on who gets the room closest to them?” 

Emily narrows her eyes at her friend, “We aren’t that bad.”

“Sure, Bella,” Dave says, patting her on the shoulder, a condescending tone to his voice, “I’ve got a leather chair in my home office that will never quite be the same because of you two.” 

“Isn’t this the first time you’ve spent a night away from Leo?” Spencer asks, his eyebrows knitting together, and she blows out a breath. Familiar guilt building in her chest. The pull between being a good wife and a good mother felt like it was taking her in different directions for the first time ever. 

“Yes,” she replies, exchanging a knowing look with JJ, “But it had to happen at some point.” The sound of the door closing cuts the conversation off and she reaches for the iPad closest to her, “Okay then, bring me up to speed,” her eyes flick to her husband, “It’s a short flight.” 

They get a moment alone in the kitchenette. He follows her in there the second she says she’s grabbing a cup of tea. She expects it, her smile tight as she turns to look at him, the curtain he pulls shut after him a flimsy attempt at privacy. 

“Em-”

“You really didn’t think I’d find out where you’re going?” She asks quietly, stepping forward, her arms crossed over her chest, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It’s not a big deal-”

“Not a big deal,” she interrupts, cutting off his lie before he can finish it. She steps closer so only he can hear her, not wanting her words to be heard over the din of the engine, “Aaron, we are going to your hometown. To the place where your father lives. I’m not going to let you do that alone.” 

He leans against the counter, closing his eyes as he shakes his head, “This is an abuse of power, you know that right?” 

She shrugs her shoulders, “I like to think of it as a wife manipulating the system so she can look after her boneheaded husband, but you can call it that if you want.” 

He smiles, a brief chuckle escaping him as he reaches out for her hand and squeezes it, “The kids-”

“Are fine for a couple of days. As soon as I told Jessica where you were going she volunteered before I could ask her to look after them.”

He sighs and nods. It had been Jessica��s hometown too. His decision to leave had caused a small exodus. Haley went with him and Jessica followed when it was her turn to graduate, eventually ending up in DC with them. Roy had followed suit, nothing left for him in their town other than his wife’s grave, and they’d all found a new place to call home. 

“And you’re sure you’re okay away from them?” He asks, knowing she was capable but that a big driver of her decision to change jobs had been so she didn’t have to do this, so she could be there for their children in a way her mother had never been for her. “Reid is right, you’ve never been away from Leo before overnight.” 

She squeezes his hand, “It will be fine,” she replies, ignoring how her voice shakes a little, “He’ll be perfectly safe with Jess,” she reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, “I’m more worried about my biggest, and most stubborn, Hotchner right now.”

He smiles and grabs her hand as she lowers it, lifting it to his lips to kiss her knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Lovebirds,” Derek calls from the other side of the curtain, the levity in his voice seeming misplaced amongst their emotions in the tiny bit of comfort they’d quickly cultivated, “We’re about to start the descent.” 

They exchange a tight smile and she squeezes his hand one more time before she drops it and they head back into the main cabin. 

Once they land and drive the short distance to the town centre where the police precinct is, roads he once knew like the back of his hand, it feels harder to breathe with every passing mile.

A feeling he hasn't had in years, since this place was nothing but a dot in his rearview mirror, settles low in his gut, slowly getting heavier the closer they get. A weight he'd forgotten, all of the people and places he once knew rising from the dead and chasing him down a street he used to call home. 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

[holly-fixation]

When the Planets Align

Summary: Tragedies of gods and goddesses have been passed down for thousands of years on thousands of planets. In the case of one small planet of life, it's the desire to be with the stars. With space. A god and goddess in love, but tied away by the very existence they were born for.

Inspired by the beautiful artwork of Safer Sephiroth and Planet Goddess Aerith by @kay-i. Posting for the Final day of Aeriseph week!

…

Stories of gods and goddesses had been passed down for countless generations over countless planets. Some cultures believed the very planet they stood upon was a goddess, giving life to everything on it. Others believed the sky was a god that blessed their planet with continued prosperity. Of course, not every culture was correct, but not every culture was wrong either.

Every life bearing planet had a goddess tied to its soil. She was the first living creature to call the surface home and the last one to die after billions of years spreading her power. This circle of life was accepted rather than mourned. However, there were prophecies detailing instructions of how to keep the goddess, thus the planet, alive forever. But like all prophecies, the chance of Gaia housing the goddess of legend was slim to none. 

Aerith, the Goddess of Gaia, never minded her fate. She loved her creatures with her whole heart, raising them and aiding them with utter joy filling the atmosphere. Each new flower, egg, child, or leaf brought a smile to her face, and the homes her creatures built within each of Gaia’s environments fascinated her. She did everything in her power to balance her life with their growth, happily giving more of herself when that’s what it took.

Supposedly planets were named at formation, not when their goddesses were born. She heard stories of goddesses holding jealousy of that simple fact, but she found that competitive desire useless. Aerith devoted herself to her people. They mattered more than her pride.

Still, despite the truth she knew was true, she found herself staring into the stars, a seeded desire to live among them like the gods festering the same way her people wished upon them to live out their lives with the perfect companion. A slightly larger part craved the cosmos beyond her planet, but it was a part she didn’t pay attention to. Gods and goddesses rarely engaged in true unions. She truly made all the happiness she needed on her own surface. She never actively searched for anything beyond them, yet she gladly accepted their invitations.

Gods were very different from goddesses. Unlike the atmosphere of the planet they could never leave, gods roamed the cosmos creating stars, planets, even galaxies. Some gods specialized. Some didn’t. Some planets eventually bore goddesses, most orbited their stars emptily, structures with no use, relics forgotten to time. Gods followed the flow of the stars, the turn of galaxies and the very universe itself. 

These gods, beyond their own duties, held the sole responsibility of spreading knowledge throughout the cosmos. History, prophecies, the expected fate of each planet, all were their choice to inform. If a god deemed a goddess unworthy of knowledge, they would simply leave. Some held themselves in higher regard than the planets, but most fluctuated from humble to arrogant depending on their experiences. 

Sephiroth, the God of Yellow Stars, absolutely acted more stern and arrogant than most of the star gods by his very nature. He was one of the direct children of Jenova, the primordial goddess credited with the creation of the known cosmos. Her presence drifted everywhere among her work, her tentacles of stardust branching every galaxy together in harmony, and communication beyond his earliest years became impossible. Physically, he took after her, his halo and many wings a constant reminder of her presence. Some days, it was annoying. He at least wanted an explanation as to why the life forms on planets grew gifts of prophecies he needed to spread. At minimum he wanted justification for why he was at the center of the most frustrating one. 

In his juvenile years, a prophecy came about claiming ‘stars of yellow will bond with pedals of blue for time immemorial’. He was young, but he learned far too quickly what some goddesses attempted to push onto him for what he could potentially give in return. Every planet he visited led to the same fake field of every shade of dyed blue. It sickened him, the way goddesses threw themselves at him in an exaggerated attempt to leave the surface of their worlds and live forever. Even if that rumor was true, and he found no ounce of proof that it was, the blatant disrespect, lack of boundaries, and even attempts at capture left Sephiroth hard and bitter. He had not stepped foot on a living planet in many millennia, no longer risking the slightest chance of betrayal of either goddess or god. Each memory stung him deeply. He always craved knowledge of planetary life and structure, but every goddess robbed him of the chance to learn by focusing on themselves alone. 

The God of Red Stars, Genesis, persistently pushed him to converse with 'considerably friendly' goddesses, whatever that meant. The God of Blue Stars, Angeal, understood his predicament but still encouraged him to step foot on any flourishing planet, claiming his behavior was not healthy. Everyone had an opinion on his actions, even the infantile gods of the three white dwarfs born his own dead stars, technically his children but he disliked the thought. Yazoo spoke of companionship as something to truly desire. Loz craved the attention of a mother and convinced himself the pain would lessen if he had a planet to be with. Kadaj told him to ‘get his head out of his ass and pick a planet already’.

He did not consider any of their collective advice useful.

However, he gave every planet, thus goddess, a chance. He did assume they would fail every trial of self control, but he took his duty seriously, spreading knowledge as he continued his fueling of his stars.

Eventually his path led him to Gaia.

He had not been to Gaia in billions of years. In fact, his brethren visited countless times, at least Genesis had. The goddess held only just over one billion years. Not young, but certainly immature. He sensed the goddess and where she chose for him to land, rolling his eyes a bit before descending as he awaited the same fake blues. However, the only blue that met his eyes was the sky. He found himself outside a forest with trees of both leaves and needles, none of which carrying the faux blues. The goddess, instead of bowing before him, faced away and searched for something in the forest from behind a tree. She wore a white dress adorned with purple roses and gold pendants, her hair tied back with a purple bow.

“Hold on just one moment please. This little guy’s been giving me so much trouble,” She explained in hushed tones. 

Sephiroth was stunned. No one had ever treated him like this, like something material was more important. He wasn’t given much time to watch in confusion before the young goddess launched forward and captured a small creature in her hands.

She cupped it carefully, even petting it to keep it calm as she approached him. She did curtsy, but she allowed her white dress to brush against the dirt in order to contain the creature. “God of Yellow Stars, Sephiroth, welcome back to Gaia. My name is Aerith, and this is one of my newest creations.”

“A pleasure,” He tried to be cordial but could not hide the confusion in his voice. “But what is-?”

“Shhh!” She gave him a stern look, her forest green eyes meeting his burning cyan ones. “Just listen.” She released the creature, a small gray bird that flapped away the moment it was given the chance. But its wings… did they just make noise?

“How did-?”

“It’s called a wing whistle, and this is the first of my birds to have it! They have these special feathers in their wings that whistle against the air during flight! I have no idea what evolutionary purpose they serve, but it’s amazing, isn’t it?”

He heard every word, but her beauty and joy distracted him. Her creatures. She actually spoke of her creatures, not herself. The subtle tilt of her head brought endearment to his heart rather than frustration like he expected. “...Yes, it is.”

“Can your wings whistle?”

Sephiroth found himself chuckling at her innocent yet kind question. “No. But there is nothing for them to whistle against in the cosmos.”

This goddess barely let him speak, her song-like voice filling every beat of time, but he actually found comfort in that. Her excitement and her passion for every flora and fauna of her planet mesmerized him. She was so… genuine. She wasn’t showing off so he would be impressed or fulfill that infuriating prophecy with her. She was like a mother, loving every inch of her planet unconditionally.

In the three days on Gaia, Aerith showed him hundreds, maybe thousands of creatures, facts and knowledge spilling from her mouth like a waterfall. She didn’t care about the news of the galaxy unless it threatened her planet. Her constant conversation captured them both, however. Sephiroth couldn’t help some of the questions that came to mind. Why did so many creatures evolve into crabs? Why was every plant so desperate to become a tree? 

Their time together was truly the most calming, relaxing, carefree visit he made to any planet in his lifetime. Why did he push this off for so long? Before he left the surface, he calculated exactly when the cycle of stars allowed him passage here. Surprisingly, it was common. Once each century of this world, the stars and planets aligned perfectly. He couldn’t help but ponder the chances.

“You can come back every century? Why did you wait so long to come here?”

“Following the star cycle is not so simple. I can’t visit every planet in each cluster of galaxies per rotation. I needed to prioritize. I am glad I had the opportunity to see this planet now. Thank you, Aerith.”

He said his first proper goodbye in millenia to the small goddess and swore he would return as soon as possible. She smiled and nodded before he flew off her surface. Aerith waved until the tiniest glow of his halo vanished in the night sky.

* * *

One hundred years passed, and just as promised, Sephiroth returned. This time, Aerith beckoned him to a completely different side of the planet, most likely to display more of her growing creatures.

Sephiroth did not expect to land on the peak of a plateau gilded with perfect blue roses, their thorns and leaves perfect and untouched. He hated the slow simmer of betrayal building in his chest, but upon seeing Aerith donning the same dress from long ago, he simply descended until his feet were an inch from the traitorous blues.

Without answering his silent question, Aerith reached down and plucked one of the many flowers. Its petals quickly faded to the purple adorning her dress. “I am… well aware of the prophecy. I didn’t know these were blue until my people escorted me here a few years ago. They always offered these roses to me when I blessed them with good crops.” She almost looked sad. Pensive. “I had no idea.”

He scanned her before countering, “Why are you worried?”

“Well, Genesis told me you can’t stand goddesses that try to do this! Because they fake and pretend ‘look at me, I have BLUE petals on gorgeous harmless flowers. I’m so cool and perfect for you! Just like the prophecy!’ But I’d like to spend more time with you, and I wanted to tell you the truth.” She glanced away. “I’m sure I’m not the only goddess with blue flowers, and I’m perfectly happy with my people. You have no obligation to me.”

“...You’re weird when you’re serious.”

Her planet green eyes met his celestial blues.

“I enjoy spending time with you. That has not changed from one field.”

Her smile instantly warmed his heart, and he suddenly found himself wrapped in her arms, her chin resting on his shoulder as her feet dangled above the ground. “I’m so glad! There’s so much more I want to show you-”

“Perhaps this time,” He interrupted, holding her by her waist to keep her from falling, “I can tell you about the changes of the galaxies and the progress of my stars.”

“Absolutely! I love every event! I knew I forgot to ask something last time.” Aerith laughed, her voice melodious and endearing. “But afterward I need to show you this tiny rabbit species not too far from here. It literally fits in the palm of your hand! It’s adorable. You should see-...” She was backing away to be respectful, to look into his eyes, but the closeness of his face made her trail off, her eyes scanning every detail from barely an inch between them.

He smirked softly, allowing her time to process as he could not pry his gaze from hers.

“Um…”

He simply raised a brow.

“Do you…-?”

“I feel it too.” The shift in the air. Both of their heartbeats. A growing desire for warmth and closeness. Contact.

“What should I…-?”

Sephiroth silently brushed a stray lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Whatever you want.”

Aerith partially allowed her instinct to take the reins, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his. 

A spark between them lowered Sephiroth’s eyelids until he realized they had not moved in minutes, mindlessly enjoying each other’s presence and touch. No thoughts. No distractions. Only each other. Warm. And comfortable. …And safe.

The draw of their hearts pulled them together, even when he ultimately returned to the cosmos. 

Many centuries and many visits passed before either admitted what that feeling truly was.

Every pantheon had its tragedy for love, no matter the planet or gods. This was just theirs, separated by a hundred years for only days of happiness. But they suffered through each lapse for each other. And each other only for the joy they raised together for eternity.

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading!

Author’s Note: This is it! The long awaited fic for Aeriseph week! It was my first time attempting any real ‘romance’ so I hope I at least delivered on it a bit! Thanks for reading!

[mrsalwayswrite]

Lady of the Loch (Jamie Fraser x OC) Part 2

Summary: An old family folktale thrived amongst the Frasers of Lallybroch about a mythical being that lived in the small, secluded loch near their home. Most claimed it was just a story, while a rare few claimed to have seen her. But for Jamie Fraser, she became so much more. 

Here's part 2! Hope you enjoy! Also moodboards are mine and all pics from Pinterest.

Words: 4800

Series warnings: canon divergence, all the Fraser family is alive, Claire doesn't exist, mild sexual content, magic themes, Greek mythology, pining, fluffy goodness

Here's Part 1 to catch up!

Jamie walked towards the loch, forcing himself to take each measured step instead of breaking out into a sprint like he wished to. 

It had been three long years since he was away. While he spent a portion at Castle Leoch, the majority was spent in France with his uncle there, furthering his education and learning the business trade. He was grateful to have been mentored but when the opportunity arose for him to return him, he jumped on it without remorse or a second thought. Lallybroch was where his heart remained and his family there. 

And only to himself would he admit the need to see her again. 

He had been back for a few days but this was the first time he had been able to sneak away from under his family's excited gaze. 

At twenty now, there was no question that he was a man grown. He stood taller than most men and while he may not be as wide and bulky as some Highlanders, he was by no means scrawny either. His skill with a sword and pistol had grown exponentially to where he was considered quite talented in both.

And while his body had matured into a strong, able-bodied man, it was his mind which had changed the most. He was more educated, more knowledgeable, yet with that, experience had taught him far more than books ever could. A stain upon his soul was never far from his thoughts. The men he had killed in combat had bled out what last naivety still lingered in his blood. The corruption he had seen. The abuse and torment people endured under the care of those supposed to take care of them. How easy it was for the strong to overpower the weak and steal from them. 

Jamie promised himself, he would never. Perhaps it was a romanticized view of himself, but he swore to defend those who needed it. 

Yet as he walked, growing closer and closer to the loch, to the place he had spent so much time, he could not help the worries and doubts that plagued him. It had been three years since they last said their farewells. Three years since she kissed his cheek. Three years since he promised to return soon. 

A promise which he had broken, even if it was no fault of his own. 

He approached the water, a stillness hung over the hidden place, that he could not recall before. It had always been his sanctuary, a place of peace. Now it felt like the calm before the storm. Carefully, he reached out and touched the water, stirring it with his fingers. 

"Jamie?"

His head whipped up….only for his jaw to drop and his heart to lurch out of his chest. 

For there she stood before him, her black hair cascading down her lithe body, those mesmerizing eyes staring at him. How beautiful she was, standing there with the faint sunlight trickling through the trees, how glorious and devastatingly perfect. Her beauty hit him anew. Had she always been so stunning? He thought in all the time he had been away, he could remember how gorgeous she was, but seeing her now, it was as if he had only remembered a hazy dream version of her and now the true, authentic person stood before him….his memory could not hold a candle to the dazzling creature she was. 

"Jamie? Is it truly you?"

He stood up, even while his legs felt a bit shaky. "Aye. I promised I'd return to ye."

In the next moment, her warm body slammed into his chest, knocking the breath out of him and almost knocking them to the ground. Yet his arms instinctively banded around her, drawing her closer to him, just as hers did the same. He found himself placing his lips against the top of her head, whispering reassurances to her in Gaelic. 

And with her in his arms, it felt like a missing piece was slotted back into place in his heart. 

"You returned."

"Aye, I promised ye, lass. Did ye doubt me?"

"No….I thought you had forgotten about me."

"Never." He growled. "I could ne'er forget aboot ye. I'd sooner forget my name and my clan than ever lose my memories of ye."

In response, her arms tightened around him and she buried her face against his chest. 

"I canna stay long. My Da will come looking for me. But tomorrow, I promise ye, tomorrow I'll return, aye? I'll stay wi' ye the whole night."

"Truly?"

"Aye." As he spoke, the plan formulated in his mind. "I'll sneak away once everyone is asleep, then I'll return before dawn. They'll no' ken."

He could sense the hesitation in her, unsure if the concern was for himself or for her. Boldly, he cupped her cheek, forcing her gaze to meet his. For a long moment, he was lost there, trapped in her eyes that were the most exotic and beguiling thing he had ever seen. Mentally shaking himself, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and almost lost it once again with the realization of how soft and smooth her skin was. The urge to touch her fair skin with his lips overwhelmed him. 

He cleared his throat before speaking, needing the distraction. "It'll be safe. Ye trust me?" 

"Yes."

That word undid him. To see the absolute trust in her eyes, with no form of guile or hesitation. To know she truly believed in him, even after all these years. 

Before he could overthink it, he gave into the desire, the siren's call. He placed his lips against her brow, lingering there. With that simple, reassurancing action, he wondered if he had made a mistake. For with the touch, his body rebelled at the idea of drawing away, of leaving her embrace, of removing himself from her touch, of separating from her moonlight skin and the intoxication that she was. He had heard and seen men driven to do unimaginable things, all for the love and need of drink, 'an addiction' as his educated mind supplanted. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this simple, chaste kiss to her brow would be his own. 

*****

Long after the sun disappeared beyond the horizon the next day, he returned. A blanket was rolled up under his arm, along with a half-full bottle of whiskey he had pilfered from his father's stash, and some bannocks left over from supper. 

To his surprise, the small loch was not as dark as he had come to expect. Under the moonlight, the water seemed to faintly glow, casting a cool light around the water's edge. 

Looking around, he did not spy her anywhere. "Lass?" He called out, frustrated he still did not know her name. 

With no response, concern slipped under his skin, but he tried to pay it no mind. She would come. She had to. Ears straining for any little sound of her, he tried to focus on setting up the blanket and offerings on the ground. In the back of his mind, he could not help but think how this could look like he was preparing for a picnic with the lass he was courting. The image crossed his mind before he could completely push it away or over-analyze it. 

"Jamie."

He spun around quickly, heat flooding his face at the thought of courting and picnics and then hearing his name. At the sight before him, the heat swiftly slithered down his face to coil tightly in his gut, answering the summoning of his cock which had abruptly awoken. 

Could he ever get used to her astounding beauty? Standing there in the moonlight, she glowed, even more so than the water around her ankles. The sweet smile directed straight at him, eyes alight with joy, made his stomach flip and his heart pound ceaselessly. Ah Dhia. She was radiant. 

Her smile further grew, an almost bashfulness to it, as she tucked her dark hair behind her ear. 

Realization slammed into him that he had been standing there gaping at her for an obscenely long time. He coughed, clearing his throat then rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassment replacing the prior heat that had settled in his belly. "Hello, sorry, ye just…" 

She laughed and Jamie swore his heart skipped a beat at the sound. 

"What is this?" She asked once she drew to his side, eyeing the blanket and offerings. The coy smile never left her face. 

"Ah," his cheeks warmed once again, embarrassment making him second guess his actions. Would he ever not embarrass himself around her? "I reckoned this would be better….um, more comfortable, ye ken? For listening to my stories. I didna mean–" 

But as he inelegantly rambled, she gracefully took a seat on the blanket, tucking her legs underneath her. "I have never reclined on a blanket before." She ran her hand over the coarse wool material, a forlorn thoughtfulness in her eyes. A look that made Jamie's heart clench and the desire to remove it overwhelming. 

"Weel, it's no' the best but it'll do the job."

"Tis perfect." She looked at him demurely. "Shall you share of your adventures now?"

And he did. 

They spent the next few hours talking while sharing the blanket along with the food and drink. Jamie told her everything he could remember about Castle Leoch- the stables he worked in and the horses there, about training with the sword under his Uncle Dougal's unwavering eye, about the castle grounds and the wee bit of mischief he caused there. He spoke more of France- of the boat trip there that made him terribly ill, about the books he studied, about his uncle Jared and his wine business, how Jamie helped out some and learned even more. He spoke of the friends he made and the people he disliked. He even confessed to sharing a few kisses with a lass in France, although both knew it would not lead to anything more. 

All the while, she listened ardently. Her gaze was locked on him, soaking in every word he spoke. A few times she asked questions and always laughed when he shared particularly humorous stories. Yet even as the moon rose higher, her attention never strayed from him. 

It was a heady sensation, to be the sole focus of this stunning woman. Jamie lapped up her attention, silently realizing the true extent of how much he missed her during his time away. She was more than just a friend, but also a confidante, someone he shared a special connection with. 

At the end of his tale, they laid on the blanket facing one another, the whiskey bottle empty and the food gone. Jamie was unable to tear his gaze away from her. During the later part of his story, their fingers had become entangled in the space between them. His other hand propped up his head, mirroring her, but his body was hyper aware of her touch, of his thumb rubbing along the kitten-soft skin on the inside of her wrist. His head buzzed and he was uncertain if it was due to the whiskey or her. Now with only the sounds of the forest around them, a tension built up between them, slowly growing thicker and thicker like a fog. In that tension was the desire to scoot closer and kiss her….and with the way she was looking back at him, he thought she may want him too. 

"You experienced quite an adventure." 

He hummed in response, his mind still absorbed in the idea of pressing his lips against hers and never needing to breathe anything other than her for the rest of his life. 

"What holds your future now?"

"I dinna ken." He huffed, shifting his gaze to the star-studded sky. "My uncle wishes for my return to France. My family wants more for me and I…" He trailed off as he scrubbed a hand over his face. A squeeze of their linked hands had him turning back to look at her. "I dinnae wish tae leave again."

"You shall know how to respond when Fate knocks on the door of your future."

"Did ye?"

"Fate chose for me." She whispered after a long pause. "And I find these past several years have not been as….lonely."

That quiet admission stroked his ego but also further fed his self-made commitment to not leave her alone. 

A sudden idea came to mind that caused him to smile brightly and jump up to his feet with all the grace of a hyper puppy. He stood at the end of the blanket, the smile never leaving his countenance even as she stared at him with a blend of confusion and hints of concern. Bending at the waist, he gave a courtly bow that sent her into giggles. Then he held out his hand towards her. "My lady, may I have this dance?"

A streak of shock shot across her upturned face. "I do not know how."

"I'll teach ye." He leaned forward a little and dropped his voice conspiracingly. "Dinna fash, it's only us. There's no one to judge."

"Well, my lord, how could I refuse?" 

She slipped her hand in his, letting him help guide her to her feet and off the blanket. With soft words of encouragement and placing her hands in the proper places, Jamie slowly led her in a court dance he had learned in France. The movements were slow but their bodies were close. That intoxication he experienced anytime he touched her hit him anew. His mind swung on a pendulum, on one hand trying to be the patient teacher and instruct her in the steps, while on the other hand he was struggling to not melt into a puddle at her feet. The joy radiating from her was overwhelming, her laughter and smile brighter than any star in the heavens. It warmed his heart that she found such delight in a simple dance with him yet broke his heart wondering how long she had been alone and desiring friendship. 

Soon enough she managed the easy steps and the two fell into a natural rhythm, their bodies seemingly knowing what to do without conscious thought. 

"I ken what ye are." He whispered suddenly as he stared into the cosmos of her eyes. 

During his regular studies, he had a tutor who used Greek mythology and readings in his class. He had only been paying minimal attention, for his mind was lost to numbers and logs for his uncle's wine business, when the tutor began to share a story of beautiful young women, minor goddesses of nature, who were usually tied to a specific location or deity. At this, Jamie found his attention riveted on his tutor. Then when the young man began asking specific questions of the mythical beings, more and more pieces began to fall into place in his mind. He spent the rest of the day claiming sick to his uncle and pacing the floor of his bedroom, wrestling with the new information. By the end of the day, he was weary but had come to the conclusion nothing had actually changed. He had always known she was something more, something ethereal. This only confirmed it. 

"What am I?" She asked, meeting his gaze unashamed. But behind it all, he could see the tendril of fear lying there, waiting to curl around her like a snake and squeeze the life from her. 

His feet planted to the ground, halting their dancing. Carefully, he raised a hand to caress her cheek, instinctively knowing it would comfort her as he answered. "A nymph."

A shudder overtook her, her hands shifting to grasp the front of his shirt as if to steady herself, before she seemed to gain control over herself again. Never removing her eyes from him, she leaned her cheek further into his palm. "Does that frighten you?"

"No…." He continued to hold her gaze, meeting those eyes that threatened to overtake him. "But I dinna ken yer name. Ye promised….before I left. Ye said ye would tell me when I returned to ye." 

The smile that grew on her face caused any and all artistic masterpieces to pale in comparison to her exquisite beauty. "Ianassa. My name is Ianassa."

He repeated it, the name dancing on his tongue like the finest of whiskeys, a sharp burn to gain his attention then warming him all throughout his body. 

In the next moment, he was uncertain who moved first or if they both felt the undeniable bond between them. For within the next heartbeat, their arms were wrapped around the other in an embrace while their lips came together with the gentleness of a feather and the fury of a thunderstorm. 

As his lips caressed hers, what memory he carried of any prior kisses burned away to ash. None could compare to the feel of her lips against his, of her mouth opening to his own and tongues stroking and dancing, of the wholeness having her in his arms, how it seared into the very marrow of his bones, how it felt perfect. The kiss was more than just a pressing of lips. No, it seemed that with the joining of their mouths, it opened his soul to her, for her to slide in and wrap around his heart like a creeping vine. For them to stake a claim on one another that none could ever deny. 

And as the kiss progressed, it turned from innocent to something distinctly hungry. 

He could not recall moving or guiding his feet along. All he could focus on was her. All his senses were attuned to were the breathy sounds she released into his mouth, of her hands clutching him like she needed him closer, of how thin her dress was and how it still felt like an impenetrable barrier. She had finally overwhelmed him, and he only craved more.  

Next thing he knew, he hovered over her as she laid on the blanket facing him. Her hands were tangled in his hair, refusing to let him distance himself further. One of his legs was nestled between her own. Yet it was those mesmerizing blue orbs that stole the breath from his lungs. Those eyes that drew him in effortlessly. They were the darkest shade of blue possible with the pupil blown wide. A flush hinted on her pale cheeks and her lips were plump and glistening. 

"I choose you, James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser." She spoke in a reverent hush, the words floating in the air to wrap around him like a warm blanket. "What is your wish?"

This time it was his turn to shudder at her words. For he knew what she was offering and the power she was giving him. But as he gazed down at her, there was no fear in her eyes, no restraint. All he could see was affection and trust directed at him…and he realized that was his undoing. More than her beauty or kindness. She looked at him as someone worthy of her.

"I want ye." He confessed as he left a trail of kisses along her alluring jawline. "I always have…and not for this night but ev'ry night. Always."

"Then I am yours."

With that burning whisper, any composure Jamie still possessed shattered into oblivion. 

His lips attacked hers in a frenzy, equally met with her own ardent passion. Their clothing was haphazardly ripped off or just pushed to the side as the need for contact possessed them. When they joined, a hiss of pure pleasure ripped from his throat even as molten heat swept through his body like a firestorm. Their union was quick and messy, both on the edge of ecstasy before they even realized it. But Jamie could swear he saw the stars and galaxies in her eyes, could feel the connection to the very land as they both jumped the cliff simultaneously. It was only the chanting of his name in his ear and her nails like little claws in his back that kept him tethered to her and their world. 

Blissfully spent yet more alive than he ever felt before, he rolled onto his back, eyes closed as his lungs fought to regain air. 

"Ah Dhia. Is it always like that?" 

At her chuckle, he realized he had accidently spoken his thoughts aloud. What potential embarrassment was dashed away when she rolled to her side, placing her arm on his chest as she gazed down at him. 

"I hope so."

"Aye, me too."

She brushed a wild curl away from his face before leaning forward and kissing him again. It felt sated and gentle, just an unhurried, soft pressing of mouths. A feeling he wanted to sink into and wallow in. 

He was unsure how long they lazily kissed and caressed for before she slowly pulled away. On instinct, he chased her mouth, not quite ready to lose that blissful connection. 

She giggled, pressing a single finger to his needy lips.  "Do you trust me?"

"Aye." He answered immediately, without a second thought. 

Her answering smile could outshine the sun. It dazzled him enough that he did not notice until she had stood up fully. Moving carefully, she walked the few steps to the edge of the water. With eyes locked on him, she pushed on the neckline of her dress, shimmying the white fabric off her shoulders to catch on her breasts. He stared transfixed as little by little her body was revealed, like a present slowly being unwrapped or a wedding veil reverently lifted to display the bride. This moment felt holy. Even nature itself hushed at the display of perfection. When they had coupled, Jamie had barely paid attention to her body - a clear oversight on his part. There had been an unnatural drive to connect with her, to bind, to become complete inside of her lithe body. He had caught glimpses of her creamy thighs and hips as he pushed her dress up before plunging into her wet heat. But this…

For when her dress lay at her ankles, soaking in the water, Jamie damn near swallowed his tongue. 

She had always had a glow about her, something that proved her otherness, but now, she appeared radiant, outshining even the moon above them. 

"Come." She said, holding her hand out to him. 

Once again unable to refuse, nor did he truly want to, he rose, undoing his belt and allowing his tartan to pool at his feet. He yanked his shirt over his head, dropping it at his feet. 

For a second, he wondered if he should feel some sort of shame, standing before her naked as the day he was born. Yet there was none. For there she stood in her natural splendor, without shame or attempts to cover her own nakedness. Thinking about what they had been doing only minutes ago ceased any embarrassing thoughts. If anything, he found himself yearning to touch her more. 

Silently, he stepped closer, taking her outstretched hand. With fingers intertwined, he followed her deeper into the water like she was his own North Star. With eyes locked on him, she walked backwards further into the water, further into her domain. 

Finally, she stopped as the water hit his knees. With a playful tug, she guided him to sit down. Curious and unashamedly aroused, he followed her guidance to sit on the ground. The water reached his ribs, almost tickling him as it swirled around him. Without preamble, she crawled onto his lap to straddle him. His hands clasped onto her hips, a groan almost escaping him at the sensation of her body above him and her soft skin against his.

Carding a hand through his hair, she whispered, "close your eyes, young one."

He narrowed his eyes momentarily at her before following her command, all the while grumbling under his breath about how he was 'no a wee bairn'. 

She giggled, placing a fleeting, torturous peck on his lips. "Open."

He opened his eyes, uncertain but trusting. What he saw made his jaw drop and eyes widened. The sight that greeted him was almost as astounding as her beauty. The water swirled and glowed even more, even the trees and bushes were a lit with a cool warmth that made them shine. The very air seemed to twinkle under the star-studded sky. The small, secluded loch he was used to appeared transformed. Somehow still the same yet more. It felt like magic danced in the air and what veil covered the place had been lifted. 

"What–" 

"Tis my home. Or as I see it."

He blinked owlishly, head whipping around to try and take it all in before returning to the true beauty of the loch. 

"Thank ya, Ianassa. Truly."

"No, thank you Jamie. For everything." 

This time he initiated the kiss. The slow press of his lips against hers. Tracing her lips with his tongue. Enticing her mouth and tongue to dance with his. In that moment, he drank from her mouth, he worshiped her like the goddess she was. Pouring out all his affection and adoration upon her like a poor devotee, hoping to earn the attention of his goddess. His hands trailed over her body, caressing, touching, coaxing, and he knew it would never be enough. He would never have enough of her. 

His tongue traced her collarbone, a liquid fire pouring into his veins at the sigh it elicited from her. 

"Do you trust me?" She whispered into his ear, tugging on his earlobe with her teeth. 

"Aye." He answered amongst a choked sound, hands squeezing her hips. Uncertain if it was in a warning or permission to continue. 

"Give into the water, allow it to consume you."

Before he could ask of her strange words, she guided him into herself, sheathing him fully in a fluid motion. A ragged groan fell from his mouth at the sensation. How could it feel even more exquisite, more perfect than before. Her lips landed on his, nipping and sucking, almost moving in tandem with her rocking hips. Amongst that, she leaned into him, guiding him backwards, the water rising higher and higher around him. Without fear, he leaned back, fully submitting himself to her. With her lips still attached to his, the water finally covered them. Instead of panic filling him, all he could feel was pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. 

And he wholeheartedly gave in. He did not fight it as the water filled his lungs and his body sank beneath the water. For her hands were upon him the whole time, lips and body never stopping their ministrations. Driving him deeper into the water that seemed endless and deeper into her, into a bliss that threatened to rip him apart. 

And within the blink of an eye, he suddenly understood what it meant to be consumed. 

*****

The next morning Jenny and Ian came down to the loch looking for Jamie. 

The family had found it odd he was not down from his room for breakfast. Then when Jenny was sent to check on Jamie and make sure he was not sick in bed, she discovered the bed empty and blankets unrumpled. Clearly no one had slept in that bed. Ian arrived to help Jamie out in the fields with Brian as agreed upon prior. Instead Ian headed towards the loch with Jenny offering to help look for her 'flea-brained' brother. Everyone knew how often Jamie spent time there. 

But instead of finding Jamie asleep like they expected, they discovered what looked like a picnic laid out on the shore. A spare blanket spread out with an empty bottle of whiskey and crumbs. Beside that, they found his clothing and boots in a haphazard pile. The most perplexing find was a white dress, caught on some rocks in the water's edge. 

Nowhere was there a sign of him nor the owner of the strange dress. 

Nor would they ever be found again. 

As the years passed and stories were told from one generation to the next, a new one arose. How sometimes the sound of laughter could be heard from the loch if you listened hard enough. The angelic sound of a woman and the deeper voice of a man. And it was said that if you were truly lucky, if you crept close to the loch on the night of a full moon, you might even catch a glimpse of a couple standing in the shallows of the loch dancing under the moonlight, the woman with hair dark as the night above and the man with hair like fire. 

But one part of the story never wavered as the years passed. How those that inhabited Lallybroch always claimed to have a protector that lived in the small loch nearby. 

[dnangelic]

mmk some post-canon rambling. for those who aren't familiar with the end of dnangel, daisuke's curse and the hikari's magic essentially gets undone causing the world (minus daisuke) to forget all about dark, leaving daisuke free to live his life and make his own choices as just himself without ever transforming into dark again. this does not stop my dai from carrying on both dark's memory and service as a phantom thief, however. for daisuke, keeping dark's memory and existence alive through himself only feels right, and he's not afraid to admit at this point that stealing is fun and feels good for him; he's gained confidence. stipulations though!

< strict policy of stealing only what people 'can afford/wouldn't miss'. feelings of greedy jealousy or general avarice are exempt from this condition; he doesn't care how much someone values the monetary worth of something, only whether or not they truly, sentimentally appreciate and love it for what it is. that chaotic good has got to stay in place, meaning 'dark's' targets generally include hikari pieces that survived merely as ordinary (yet still very beautiful) artworks, the belongings of the corrupt or things stolen first from the innocent, artworks he thinks are beautiful being abandoned or abused, etc. if something legitimately precious is somehow stolen from someone, he'll give it back within a single night. these sorts of circumstances aside, daisuke very, very rarely if ever truly steals to satisfy his own materialistic desires rather than just indulging in the thrill.

< because the magic was undone post-canon 'dark' is basically just daisuke playing dress-up. he doesn't have wings anymore, though he still doesn't need them to jump and land twenty floors. the rest of dark's 'image' is carefully maintained: height, clothes, hair, voice and speech pattern, whatever. 'dark' will still speak like dark, though there's a subtle, albeit still very present difference in the way that post-canon 'dark' and my regular canon-verse dark talk, namely in regards to his own sentiments. their somewhat split and tenuously traded awkwardness has dissolved; dark's apathy, aggression, and general bad-at-true-intimacy assholery melts away into daisuke's warmth, who's likewise worked up enough confidence in himself to no longer be the anxious, nervous mess he usually is. at least while he's dark, he actually knows how to lie and navigate through conversations pretty well by now, and while he's not as blatantly flirty as dark was, he still has the role of a dreamy gentlemanly thief to play.

< canon daisuke is 14-15 and in middle school, post-canon is 17-18 and in highschool. he's in his last year and is about to go to university, for which he's hoping to get into for art. when he isn't stealing he's painting, and he's really putting his all into it whenever he's not doing something else (like spending time with a friend.) canonically he'd still be with riku as her boyfriend, but as far as my portrayal goes, daisuke is still single yet going to the occasional coffee shop date or buying flowers for someone. he's a little awkward around strong personalities, of course, because that's just him, but he's very much at a place that's comfortable even for his overflowing heart since he doesn't have to worry about the curse and its involuntary transformations anymore. wiz, argentine, towa, the other arts and dark himself haven't woken up or shaken off their stone yet, but daisuke's already grieved them all and continued to live and move on; whenever he starts to miss them, he puts his heart into something that he creates for them; thanks to them, whether or not he'll ever actually get to show them.

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews Darklord Adam

Domain: Lamordia Formation: 575 BC (the actual date various in different sources, but I was there to witness its formation, so take this date to be the most accurate) Power Level: 💀💀💀⚫⚫ Sources: Ravenloft Gazetteer Vol 2 (3e); Domains of Dread (2e); I, Strahd the War Against Azalin (Novel).

Based on rumors, Lamordia went through significant changes in its latest rendition, but this week I shall review it as it once was and tell the tale of Darklord Adam and the constant harsh weather that plagues “his” domain. The settlements of this land are constantly assaulted by deadly blizzards and frigid air coming from the Sea of Sorrows in the winter and infestation of insects and insufferable heat in the summer. I do not recommend visiting, especially given how adverse the entire populace is to magic. I am positive my late father would thoroughly enjoy it, however.

Everything about Lamordia is based upon structure and scientific reasoning set within a utilitarian society. The people have a scientific explanation for everything despite the obvious supernatural phenomena that occurs all around them. They are adverse to any type of magic - whether it be the far more superior arcane arts or the divine. This disbelief is so tightly held that the land itself is known to suppress those that attempt any form of casting. Though, I have it on first hand accounts that this effect does not always occur.

It is highly dangerous for those who deny the existence in the arcane to essentially practice it. I’m surprised Lamorida hasn’t imploded in on itself yet, for Dr. Victor Mordenheim’s science clearly surpasses the realm of the supernatural. Given the nature of the domain, you would think Mordenheim would be its Darklord, but he is not. His creation, a flesh golem of rare independence, is the true Darklord of Lamordia.

Let’s dive in a bit to the tale of these two idiots. When Mordenheim and his wife, Elise, were unable to conceive a child, he devoted himself to the study of life and death; above all, other ways in which life could be created. I can...understand that inclination. It is important one has an heir to carry out one's legacy and rule. Of course, he went about it like a blind fool with no sense of the magics he was tapping into for he denied their very existence.

Adam was the result of 13 years of labor which he spent away from Elise. Moredenheim created Adam to appear as a perfect physical specimen. And upon first blush, I suppose one could say that is true. He is muscular yet lean with long black hair and I am told that sort of thing is appealing to some. However, close up he is a mockery of beauty like a horrible painting gifted to a King by a so-called artist.

Made up of pulsating arteries and tendons seen just beneath the thin bits of grey flesh, Adam is disgusted by his own appearance. Interestingly, when my little scholar interviewed Adam he told her that Mordenheim made him but another source provided him with his “soul”. So, it seems that Mordenheim’s science only brought him so far and it was likely the powers he denied that truly brought life into Adam.

Elise was unsettled by Adam’s appearance and despite her discomfort her husband decided to adopt a girl to act as a playmate for Adam. That seems like a very bad parenting decision and coming from me...well, that says something, doesn’t it?

Adam became obsessed with Elise and wanted nothing more than her acceptance and approval. Accounts of what transpired on the night Lamordia appeared on the border of Barovia differs between Adam and his maker. They both blame the other, but in the end whether Adam was a murderous villain or a victim attempting to gain acceptance, his adopted sister fell to her death after an encounter with him and Elise was mutilated.

Death would have been kinder for Elise, but Mordenheim keeps her alive through “scientific” means. Her heart beats through the working of machinery alone and he constantly switches her limbs and skin out in attempts to receive her, but only accomplishes keeping her in constant pain. If the foolish man believed in Divine or even the Arcane and not dismissed those practitioners of both, he could have healed her condition. I myself have been known to use such magics to prolong my own life when I was a mortal man.

Mordenheim’s monstrous creations roam Lamordia, but despite the obvious arcane nature of these creations, the people and the Doctor himself still dismiss the arcane. They will not accept it, just as they will not accept Adam. And this is the curse the Dark Powers bestowed upon Adam, to never find the acceptance he so hopelessly craves. To live alone on an island, over-dramatically named “The Isle of Agony” as he plots against his creator. When my little scholar interviewed Adam he said that Lamordia was Mordenheim’s even though it shouldn’t be and that they were “all his children”.

Adam is tied to Mordenheim and devotes his existence to making the Doctor’s life as miserable as possible, like the overgrown rebellious teenager that he is. Though, this is quite easy seeing as the Dark Powers bond the two together so that Adam experiences Mordenheim’s physical pain and the doctor experiences his creation’s angsty teenage ways.

As flesh golems go, Adam is one of a kind with many immunities to mundane weapons and certain magical energies. Still, without any arcane mastery of his own, a skilled wizard could make quick work of him. Though his curse is interesting, it makes his tie and rule over his own realm obsolete. As such, I will give Adam 3 skulls for this review and Mordenheim does not even get a skull. I despise those that practice the art without respecting it and those who do so without realizing it? Utter fools.

[kawaiijohn]

DannyMay day 7- Space

A quick drabble about space obsession Danny bc I think space, heat death, existentialism, and otherwise is super cool.

CW for existentialism and discussion of long future space bullshit.

"It's a little sad, isn't it?"

Danny turned to face Jazz with a froen. They'd both sat together in silence for the last half hour. Their attention focused on the sky above them.

"What's sad, Jazz? The fact you can't watch your lecture without power?" he asked before he turned back to the sky.

It was pristinely clear tonight, the stars vividly bright against the inky black void before them. It was a rare sight- the sky's beauty untouched by light pollution due to an unexpected summer blackout. Even though they were sweaty and miserable, Danny looked up at the infinite and counted his blessings.

"Ha ha, very funny Danny." Jazz rolled her eyes. "No, not the power outage. It has to do with the skies, space stuff."

Danny perked up and Jazz laughed as his eyes flashed at the mention of his Obsession. "What about space is sad? Like I didn't think you'd pay attention to that sort of thing."

"Well, I normally don't, but I saw an article that piqued my interest while studying." Jazz made an effort to look back up at the sky. "It's beautiful, but just a little sad to think that we're looking at stars that are long dead, thousands of years into the past."

"Why would that be sad? We can still see them- they're still here for us to appreciate!" Danny paid full attention to his sister's face and words- she was finally speaking his language and he had to stop himself from interrupting, but it was too hard. "It's kinda like ghosts I think?"

"Oh? Like... the sky is a graveyard of dead stars we can still see? Like that?" Jazz asked.

"No, it's more like everything in the sky a ghost. The night sky is a documentary we're watching years after the fact. Like yeah the stars we can see are billions of light years dead- you said thousands and man that was low balling it- but it's kind of comforting to know these things are here for us to see during our lives.

"Like, we'll never be able to leave our local group let alone the Milky Way without magic, pretty much, but that's still millions and millions of star systems we can explore and see in the future- millions and billions of phenomena to observe for the rest of humanity's existence.

"Kinda like how infinite the ghost zone is, you'd never have enough time in all of existence or reality to explore every little corner, so it's best to just count our blessings that we're alive to even experience the sky looking as bright as it does."

Danny took a deep breath and smiled at Jazz while she stared at him in awe. She quickly fixed her slack jawed expression before she nodded in agreement. "You're right- there's limits we should follow, but what do you mean by us being blessed to see the sky look like this?"

"In billions of years, all the other nearby galaxies will be so so so far away nobody in the Milkdromeda- by the way did you know the Milky Way and Andromeda galaxies will eventually combine? It's a stupid name but it's pretty fuckin cool I think-

"Anyways! After a while anything left in the galaxy at that point... They won't be able to see anything besides their galaxy. They won't be able to observe background radiation or even learn about the big bang. They'll think the universe is the same, infinite blackness surrounding their single dimming spot of light in existence until it fizzles out completely."

Danny stared up at the sky, truly looking at the far, far reaches of the galaxy as best his enhanced vision could.

"There's so much we can observe right now, Jazz. We finally got high def pics of Pulto. We got a picture of a black hole's Hawking radiation ring... And we still have so many questions.

"But those people, those existences billions of years from now? They'll have so little evidence... They'll never learn how the universe works- how it was made, and I think that's the sad part. Not the ghosts of ancient stars in the sky."

Jazz stared at him for a moment before she broke down into soft laughter. "Danny, your space nerd is showing again."

Jazz pointed at his face. He blinked a few times before he noticed the green glow coming from his eyes and cheeks. "Not again!!! Ugh, why can't I nerd about space without my ghost shit making it weird??"

"Well little brother, I think your freckles are cute. Especially when they look like constellations!"

Danny groaned as Jazz's giggles died down. She finally looked back up at the sky after a moment. "Yeah, it's not that sad- the stars in the sky being long dead, like I thought- they're just ghosts, and ghosts aren't inherently sad. They just want to be appreciated and seen most of the time. I think us staring up at the stars in awe and watching the universe's longest real time nature documentary is a good use of our existence."

She reached over and ruffled Danny's hair lovingly. "If you have other stuff to say about space stuff, I'm fine with existential stuff. You can go off as much as you want."

Danny perked up immediately, almost bouncing out of his seat. "Oh man, lemme tell you about the great filter and Fermi Paradox then- like yeah we've met extra planar beings like ghosts, but not aliens yet, and there's so many theories as to why-"

Jazz rolled her eyes and smiled at him. Both looked up at the stars in silence once again before Danny began to softly speak about the paradox of life and aliens.

Both teenagers quipped back and forth- one questioned the other and the sun slowly rose over the horizon before light consumed the stars once again. They realized how late (early) it was just a little too late, but neither regretted staying up to watch the dying lights beyond.

How truly lucky they were-

Two teenagers born at the right time, in the right place, in the right reality to behild a wonderfully bright and brilliant dance of long dead ghosts in the sky.

Blessed to view this long passed moment in history; their experience a short blip of life and consciousness compared to the inevitable age of black holes and entropy.

Jazz and Danny Fenton made their way down from the OPs Center roof, lucky enough to sneak past their parents. The two decided to keep their sneaking out a secret, and would forever remember that warm summer night.

[constantblood]

I feel like a lot of the main message of the last of us is lost in the discussion of whether Joel's decision to save ellie was ethical.

It doesn't matter. It's a hypothetical. Never ever will a 14 year old be asked to sacrafice her life for the sake of surviving human extinction. Why would the take away essentially be the trolley problem with more steps. No, what is really important about the last of us is what it teaches us. What about it that's real?

Survivors guilt is real. Ellie would jump at the chance to stop being a survivor. She struggles to see her life as inherently valuable. She only sees its absence as a sort of relief. The really tragic thing about this is that if Ellie died no one would remember Riley. Not the beautiful intimate way she did. No one would remember Sam and his interests and his charisma. No one else was complimented by Tess ever.

No one else saw Marlene's kindness ever. Every soul that died in the pursuit of her living showed a vulnerable piece of themselves to her that no one else saw and to kill Ellie would rob them of that sliver of a legacy. A rare and precious thing it is to be remembered in a violent forgetful world. To leave the world as if you had never been there is a horrifying thought, a fate worse than death. A truer death.

The cure wouldn't bring those souls justice it would silence the only mind capable of remembering them. Truly robbed of existence. Riley, Sam, Tess all lost in the violence.

The cure isn't about them its about Ellie's need to punish herself for losing people she loved. Because maybe if she suffers she will be worthy of their forgiveness. She won't be haunted by them anymore. Her death wouldn't bring any peace. It couldn't. It's too far of a stretch to truly save the tattered remains of the world. The human race must be reduced to thousands by now and a cure doesnt change the violent cannibalistic nature of the cordecepts. Humans would still be outnumbered 10 to 1 by their violent and hungry predators. It's just a sad metaphor for the lengths we will go to appease our past sins in spite of how harmful they are to us. It is a survivors ideal exit strategy. The fantasy of a person with survivors guilt come to life. No one ever really gets it that's part of healing, recognizing that no amount of punishment and atonement can change the past. But what if someone could anyway? Ellie gets the perfect chance to kill herself in the name of helping others. She doesn't have to heal, she makes a change, she just has to suffer the way she's always wanted to. It's selfish. It's just as selfish as Joel's choice to save her. The cure won't change anything it just fulfills Ellie's masochist needs.

Joel is proof of this. Ellie is Joel's cure. He rights his past wrongs by saving her. Forsaking his own humanity to keep her alive for even a few years longer. He does what she does. He doesn't heal past his distrust of others. He picks violence again. He let's go of all the last strands of empathy because he can't risk Ellie's life. He could have snuck back in. He could have charmed and snaked his way back in. Men offered him the chance to move forward without taking another life and he chose violence again and again. Allowing himself to be the immoral monster in order to protect the innocence of others. Like the lost innocence of his daughter.

She will die anyway. She will live a hard and tragic life. Joel saving her doesn't change anything (just how the cure wouldnt really fix anything). It prolongs the grief and pain she feels. Logistically it's not any easier on either of them.

Both Ellie and Joel believe that somehow by changing circumstances of events that harmed them in the past now that it will earn them forgiveness.

That's the real beauty of the last of us. Because they find the strength to forgive themselves in each other. In the pursuit of finding a way to be worthy of the rare life they have, they find proof of its inherent benefit in each other. Joel is proof of a person that benefits from Ellie's existence. From the day that she met him and every day since Ellie Williams mattered. That every moment she breathed air he felt a little bit better. He stayed. He chose to stay no matter the cost until it cost him his life. He goes against everything she believes about herself.

"My life would have fucking mattered" but it did. It did to Joel. The love of a parent is unconditional and Unrelenting. It is everything Ellie convinced herself she didnt deserve and he never stopped loving her. That should have been enough but she realized it too late.

That's what the Last of Us is really about. The human quality of leaving the knife in the wound too long. Punishing ourselves for trauma we faced. Becoming the perpetrators of the same crime in someone else's story because we didn't stop to be human. Didn't grow strawberries and indulge in pursuits to make bacon. Didn't take the time to care about things small enough to forget until it's the only thing that stands out from the violence and tragedy.

It doesn't matter if the fireflies would have cured the world. It doesn't matter if the love of a father doomed all of humanity to extinction. What matters is that in the quiet of it all, sometimes when Ellie and Joel would laugh together, they could forget the pain of the past. That's all it takes. Human love, the very human desire to love, and the selfish desire to keep that love.

[lcsthings]

VERSES:

V. DISNEY FILMS/ANIMATION. ORIGINAL BOOK.

TAG: [ PETER PAN / VERSE: straight on till morning. ] FACE-CLAIM: TBD. SUMMARY:

NOTE: This verse will be based mainly off the original book. This verse will coincide with other disney/animated films. This means, for the sake of the roleplay, Peter exists in each realm/world the film takes place in, as Neverland is an unreachable place save for Peter.

Peter is the guardian of Neverland. With each breath he takes, the lands grow fuller, the trees greener, with spring eternal unless he says otherwise. He'll protect the occasional lost boy or girl ( though rarely girls, for they are far too clever to become lost ) if they find themselves abandoned or having run from home. With his everlasting youth and mischief, Peter visits different worlds out of pure curiosity — or perhaps to find more lost boys and girls to take back to Neverland.

This verse could take place before, during, or after the movie/book canon. There is also the option of having Peter grow up, which I would love to explore.

V. CHILD THIEF / ARUTHURIAN LEGENDS.

TAG: [ PETER PAN / VERSE: & all the devils grinned. ] FACE-CLAIM: TBD. SUMMARY:

NOTE: Don't necessarily have to have read the book to ask for this verse.

Peter knows what it's like to feel lost and alone. For thousands of years, that's all he's ever felt: unwelcomed in the court of Avalon for his wild nature, for being half-fae and half-human, and unable to live fully in the human world for his strangeness. Dedicating himself blindly to the Lady of The Lake, Modron, he gathers the abused, abandoned, and lonely souls of boys and girls who won't be missed. He brings them to the Deviltree, where he turns them into Devils, warriors of youth to protect Avalon and the Lady.

But with the ravages of time, Avalon is beginning to show its decay. Each hundred years or so, the human world makes itself known to Avalon, slowly bringing about the end of this beautiful, magical realm. Peter cannot allow that. As the half son of the Horned God, he cannot be accepted in either the Fae court or in human society. This is his only home. He must protect and save what he can, even at the expense of other young lives counting on him.

V. RISE OF THE GUARDIANS.

TAG: [ PETER PAN / verse: guardian of the lost. ] SUMMARY:

When a child dies, their soul is guided to a better place where the children can live forever in peace and fun. Peter Pan knows this, and guides each child to Neverland where he keeps them safe until they are ready to move on to the next life.

NOTE: This is much like the book/movie, but just a different take. Everything would be the same, except that Wendy Darling still would be alive, yet Peter took her and her brother against the rules to Neverland. They couldn't stay, otherwise, they'd die eventually in the real world.

V. ONCE UPON A TIME.

TAG: [ PETER PAN / verse: what once belonged to me. ] FACE-CLAIM: ROBBIE KAY. SUMMARY:

NOTE: I hated OUAT's version of Peter Pan, so here's my solution.

Before Malcom, father of Rumpelstiltskin, became known as Pan, there was another boy that was the Guardian of Neverland. He was the island's lifeblood, and the lost boys were free to be just that: boys. He was wild and free, a boy at heart. But like all human creatures, he struggled with the darkness in his heart as each century passed, with each lost boy taken away by adulthood. He became darkness, as Peter Pan himself was purely magic, and soon Neverland was lost to him and the lost boys. He found salvation in Malcom who yearned for youth, and he offered his eternal life to the other in the promise that he took care of Neverland. But Peter did not know how corrupt Malcom's heart truly was, and when Malcom became Pan, Peter knew his mistake. When Pan was defeated, Peter once again took form of his true self, a free and mischievous boy who once again became the guardian of the abandoned boys and girls who found their way to Neverland.

Occasionally, Peter will go to Storybrooke or the enchanted forest to make amends with those Malcom/Pan wronged, but Peter is still a boy at heart and causes more trouble than it's worth.

V. GREEK MYTHOLOGY.

TAG: [ PETER PAN / verse: I am flesh & blood. ] WORLD: Greek myth/Vampire Myth. SUMMARY:

the greek version of a vampire is called the vrykolakas, though peter spent many a year unaware of this fact. born and raised in a norse village of old, peter lived a hard life as both the son of a great warrior and a farm hand. his family, although hearty, could barely survive the winters with little to hunt, considering the bandits that lived at the edge of the woods always eager to fight. one day, these bandits took peter from his home as leverage over his father, hiding him away on unconsecrated ground. he was starved and beaten, but he remained strong as his father would until he no longer could. but peter did not know that unconsecrated ground was a birthing place of the dead, nor did he know that when the bandits forced him to eat the raw, tainted meat of a sheep ravaged by a pack of wolves would make him so sick. his death came in the form of a devastating sickness, so powerful it took any and all form of memory he had.

now, the norwegian people have a name for the vampire in their country: the draugr. but with the vrykolakas, one becomes such a thing when they are buried or killed on unconsecrated ground, or ate the dead meat that was last touch by a wolf/werewolf. when peter woke, he did not know his name nor who he was, but followed the first thing he smelled: blood. the bandits were found at his old home he no longer remembered, but in the process of destroying them, he also killed his family. he was no longer human. he spent a long time without a name until he took on 'peter' and nothing else. he is a mischievous creature, knocking on doors and provoking his prey, sitting on the chests of sleeping victims until they gasp for breath in their sleep. he is but a phantom, and yet still a child in both body and mind, appearing no older than nineteen. greece has become his home, and also his playground. from time to time, he'll steal boys and girls from their home, make them his 'friends' for a time. this has attracted the attention of the gods, and being an abomination of human life, they are at a loss on how to handle the situation, mainly out of curiosity and disgust.

[toboldlywrite]

Tobias Jackson

“I don’t know about destiny or divinity– diluted or otherwise. But I do know that no matter what you did in the past, it doesn’t define you now.”

Tobias’s life hasn’t gone the way he wanted it to. He lost both of his parents when he was young, and was sent to live with grandparents who dissuaded him from his dream of being a doctor and following in his father’s footsteps (they feared he’d follow them a bit too closely). But at least he had a backup. And at least he had Claire. His fiance and the love of his life. But one fight and one night changes everything. Claire’s gone, and now even the little bit of his future he thought he could see is gone with her. When offered the chance to travel through time and space to find her again, he wants to look away. How can he let this hope in, just to have it torn away from him again? But he can’t let Ella go alone. He let Claire down when she was alive, he can’t do it again by not protecting her sister. He doesn’t believe they’ll find Claire. He can’t believe it. But that doesn’t mean he won’t find anything worthwhile.

The other main narrator of Star Bright for @writeblrsummerfest​

Image description: a grid of nine images with a forest green border between and around them. Top row: black text on a light gray background that reads “question the answers”; an image of green northern lights; a close up of medical text books including an image portraying the anatomy of the human heart with a stethoscope and a hand holding a pen resting on top; middle row: an image of a narrow trail through a forest surrounded by evergreen trees and moss-covered ground; a headshot of model Laurence Coke; an artistic portrayal of a green, ringed planet on a starry background with the lyrics “with shortness of breath, I’ll explain the infinite--how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist” from Sleeping at Last’s Saturn; bottom row: a rectangular paper cutout surrounded by a red boxy outline sits on a gray, chalky background with handwritten text reading: “it’s inconvenient, being a cynic and a romantic simultaneously”; a green-tinted image of the silhouette of a couple dancing in the rain; a hand reaching out as if to grasp another, which is a shadow on the white background wall.

[animebw]

Short Reflection: Call of the Night

Genuine question: is the Monogatari series still relevant in today’s weebdom? I know when I started getting into anime back in 2017, it was still hot on everyone’s mind. But now that it’s finished airing, I wonder if Shaft’s decade-long arthouse supernatural romantic dramedy still holds the same pull it used to. Will weebs of today and tomorrow still hold it in high regard, or are we leaving it behind for greener pastures, preferably pastures with at least 90% less child molestation? Perhaps only time will tell. But one thing’s for sure: as long as longtime series director Tomoyuki Itamura is still putting out new work, the spirit of Monogatari will never truly die. And if you’ve been missing that magic in your life, then Call of the Night is here to fill the hole left by its absence. A vampire story set in the supernatural underbelly of ordinary society that’s sort of but not really about romance? Check. Dialogue that crackles with the snap of a writer perhaps a little too impressed with himself? Check. A trippy, gorgeous visual aesthetic that paints the normal world like you’ve never seen it before? Check. Problematic elements up the wazoo? Oh, you better believe that’s a check. Monogatari may be gone, but Call of the Night is proof that its spirit will live on for quite some time to come, for better or worse.

So, the story. Ko Yamori is an average fourteen-year-old kid, does well in school, gets along with people, perfectly normal and content. Until one day he just... isn’t. Suddenly, that normalcy he built his life around starts to feel suffocating and unbearable, the mores of normal life a prison he yearns to break out of. So, he does what any rebellious would do: he stars going out in the dead of night, wandering the empty city streets that were so full and bustling in the day. In this weird nocturnal universe, both familiar and alien, Yamori finds an escape from the pressures of society, a place where he can just exist. He also finds vampires. Or rather, he finds a vampire: the flighty, snarky Nazuna Nanakusa who eagerly pulls him deeper into the night’s siren call. She’s as much of an awkward mess as he is, albeit in different ways, but the two of them find an extremely powerful comfort in each other. And Yamori, feeling more alive at night than he ever did during the day, decides to become a vampire himself, an eternal denizen of the early AM alongside Nazuna. The catch? In order to become a vampire, Yamori has to be in love with Nazuna when she sucks his blood. And there are few things that Yamori feels less of a connection to than romance.

It’s certainly a unique take on the vampire mythos: what happens when a supernaturally beautiful undead and a confused aromantic delinquent decide to start hanging out? And while Call of the Night is certainly a horny show- if you’ve seen Monogatari, you know exactly the kind of lavishly detailed body part fanservice you’re in for- I appreciate how low-key it keeps most of its sexual elements. Sex is part of the equation, but rarely in a distracting way; the real appeal comes from the complicated emotions and relationships that grow among its cast. Nazuna and Yamori aren’t the only ones awake at night, after all, and as the show goes on, we meet a wide cast of characters with their own reasons to shrink from the light of day. Stress at work, alienation from classmates, the thrill of a new experience, wallowing in misery... the night in Call of the Night is at once a fully fleshed-out setting and the thematic crux behind its ruminations on society. Night is where people go to be free, to escape, to leave everything behind and start fresh. But it’s also where people go to sink, to succumb, to stagnate in an entirely new way. Sometimes, it’s all of those things at once. Who’s to say what drives people to leave the waking world behind?

And Call of the Night is at its best when it’s leaning into that ennui. As a grand metaphor for societal alienation, there is so much powerful and captivating about, well, the call of the night. It’s a beautiful portrayal of the myriad of reasons we seek to leave the familiar behind, and the unexpected discoveries we make when we step into the unknown, for good or ill. It’s wandering a place you’ve never been before and letting yourself just happen upon whatever comes your way. It’s discovering a new subculture and finding a community there among like-minded weirdos and outcasts. It’s the unexpected rush of danger when you realize that this new, exciting world has problems just as terrifying as the one you left behind. And it doesn’t hurt that the character banter is uniformly fantastic, the music is a lo-fi-beats-to-relax-to masterpiece, and the gorgeous color palette makes for the single most alluring nightscape I’ve ever seen. Seriously, the way Itamura brings life to the empty 2 AM streets and overexposed city lights is some absolutely mind-expanding shit. It makes me want to wander a city’s streets at night myself, experiencing the same entrancing pull as any of these wallpaper-worthy shots.

But like I said above, it wouldn’t be in the spirit of Monogatari if there wasn’t some cringe-ass problematic content amidst all this artistic genius. The most obvious issue is the giant, raging Oedipus complex this show has; it reeeeeeally likes to build sexual tension between the fourteen-year-old protagonist and the very adult vampire women in his orbit. It’s never specified exactly what age all the immortal bloodsuckers are, but they definitely all read mature in an often fetish-y way, Nazuna included. Which, you know, there’s always gonna be some unavoidable issues when you’re writing a story about a human in love with an ageless being who can live for hundreds of years, and vampire fiction isn’t exactly new to this territory. So on the one hand, I can’t really blame Call of the Night for wearing its onee-san kink so proudly on its sleeve. But by the time you reach the final arc and there’s an actual human woman putting the moves on Yamori, it starts to feel like author Kotoyama has some serious childhood issues he needs to work through.

That said, there’s another issue here that’s a lot more subtle, but also makes me a lot more uncomfortable. Let’s cut right to the chase: Call of the Night has a weird habit of bringing up something sexist and predatory that men do to women, but writing it in a scenario where it’s kind of the woman’s fault. The gyaru vampire has a stalker who literally tries to break down the door of the karaoke both she’s in, but he quickly realizes his mistake and it’s portrayed more as the gyaru’s fault for listlessly going through relationships and not giving them that much thought. There’s a subplot about someone taking sneak photos in a changing room, but it turns out it was just one of the girls taking photos of herself to try and boost her online popularity. The final arc kicks off with an attack from a savage vampire that has some very loaded imagery of him attacking and menacing Yamori’s female classmate Akira, but he’s dispatched with a peaceful goodbye and it’s implied he was led astray by a female vampire who turned him into a monster. Time and again, this show sets itself up to comment on misogynist attitudes and actions, but backs off from it and makes it all about some girl’s mistakes leading to this point. And I’m genuinely not sure if Kotoyama was doing this intentionally, didn’t realize the implications, or wanted to explore this theme but chickened out. Either way, it’s a weird noxious undercurrent that isn’t immediately obvious, but becomes impossible to ignore once you’re aware of it. I’m not asking the horny vampire show to be some grand feminist statement, but it would be nice if it didn’t feel so dumb about gender roles, especially since a big part of its finale explicitly calls attention to the limits of gender roles and the importance of moving beyond them, Kind of a mixed message, that’s all I’m saying.

But you know what? if I could stomach the worst of Monogatari’s missteps to enjoy that show on its own terms, I can stomach this. Call of the Night may have its missteps, but it’s one of the most engrossing shows I watched all season, as eclectic and singular as its older sibling before it. It’s a deliciously captivating look at what inspires people to throw off the shackles of conformity, and what new questions one finds to ponder after crossing to the other side. It’s an alluring show about the nature of allure itself, and it mesmerized me like few anime ever do. So why not answer its call yourself? You might just find something beautiful waiting beyond the boundaries of the ordinary. And I give it a score of:

7.5/10

Next time? The big masterpost of all the other anime I watched this season. See you then!

[sugareey-makes-stuff]

I posted 3,365 times in 2022

That's 2,962 more posts than 2021!

105 posts created (3%)

3,260 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@akindplace

@danpuff-ao3

@crazybutgood

@awesomedig

@veelawings

I tagged 2,315 of my posts in 2022

Only 31% of my posts had no tags

#hp fanart - 451 posts

#drarry - 439 posts

#hp fanfic - 324 posts

#art rec - 318 posts

#signal boost - 296 posts

#yesss i love this - 232 posts

#hp fests - 222 posts

#harry potter - 218 posts

#draco malfoy - 184 posts

#drarry fanart - 171 posts

Longest Tag: 39 characters

#and it shouldn't always have to be free

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I’ve got one more character portrait I wanted to get out of my system before I need to work on other projects, so here’s Derek for ya! I honestly wasn’t sure how Sourwolf was going to turn out, but he actually exceeded my expectations. He was thankfully easier to draw than I thought he would be (the grumpy characters I do draw are hard AF to get right), so he was a breath of fresh air. I could definitely get used to drawing him more (and maybe doing some really cool things with his eyes). Also, swooning over that facial hair and the shadows, and this general colour palette was really great to work with. You can view Derek as part of the work Snapshots of Time on AO3. Thinking about maybe working on Scott or Lydia next, but we’ll see!

191 notes - Posted September 18, 2022

#4

What were the words that you said to me that made me feel so special now? Here’s my @sterekweek-2022 contribution for the “Sing Me A Song” prompt! This art piece went in its own direction, and I just followed the path it took me. Lyrics are based on Finch’s song, “Stay With Me.” You can also view Makes Me Feel Alive on AO3.     Folks who are familiar with my work know I live for anything inspired by songs and lyrics, so I obviously had to see what I could come up with for Sterek. Thankfully, I have a gazillion songs and lyrics that work so well for them! :D Drawing an almost kiss scene was fun since there’s something raw and emotional about this moment Derek and Stiles are about to share. I loved drawing Derek’s leather jacket, and Stiles’ plaid button-ups have been teaching me new ways to work with patterns and simple clothing. And the way the mixed media spread ended up really embraces the October and spooky feels. I may have another Sterek surprise for ya for Halloween, so stay tuned!

194 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

#3

Welp! I’ve been sitting on this for quite a while, but I can now scream and squee about the gorgeous Perciver art @rxbbits made me for Where do we go from here? !! This very art piece inspired me to finish There’s a guiding light (on AO3) Since that fic deserved a follow-up and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to write something inspired by this beautiful art, I just posted a ficlet that links to both of these pieces. Title: I’m always by your side (<- on AO3) Rating: General/Teen WC: 1.5k Tags: The Burrow, Post-War, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Honesty, Patronuses, Fluff and Angst, Reassurances, Conversations, Summer, Angst with a Happy Ending, Doubt, Memories, Oliver Wood-centric Summary:  In this moment, they existed. In this moment, they could truly appreciate each other’s company as the sun went down. [Or: Oliver and Percy have an honest conversation for the first time in ages and find comfort when two silver guardians make appearances again.] The ficlet uses @wood-you-rather-challenge prompts On the count of three, travel and Everything that kills me makes me feel alive and rarepair_shorts Rare Pairings Challenge 2022 prompts the Burrow and second chances. ANYWAY, my gods, I love the art that goes with this so much. I can stare at it all day because it reminds me why I love these two. They’re soooo precious!! Eeep! XD A BIG thank you to Matteo for listening to all of my ideas, talking all things Perciver with me and making this piece truly come to life. Make sure to check some of Matteo’s other Perciver art pieces or support his work! <333

268 notes - Posted March 28, 2022

#2

Well, it looks like I can finally share this, after not being able to say anything for...I don’t know for how long?! Anyway, here’s what I made for @hd-wireless this year, which is my first Drarry fest piece of the year so far! Drarry has been with me through and through for a long time, and if you were to look at my Drarry playlist, Three Days Grace’s “I Hate Everything About You” is 10000% in there. I’ve loved this song for ages, and it sums up Harry and Draco’s relationship so well, it’s not even funny. I am so glad @sunflower-swan prompted this song so I could snatch it right up! More rambling about how I came up with this piece are in my notes. Cheers, and I hope you enjoy! Title: Every Feeling That I Get (<-see the full work on AO3) Rating: Teen Medium: Digital art Content and Tags: Mirrors, Hands, Love/Hate, Sectumsempra , Fiendfyre, Getting Together, Snogging, UST, Shirtless, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Feelings Realization, Memories, Post-War, Growing Up, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Enemies to Lovers Summary: The events from their malicious past somehow bring Harry and Draco together in a new way.

272 notes - Posted August 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Since it’s spooky season, this has a perfect time to delve deeper into more Teen Wolf and lore. So far, it’s been really fun to geek out over monsters, mythology and all things supernatural again. To do that (for a fandom that’s still newish to me) has helped me loosen up my expectations, look forward to trying new things, and I’ve been slowly getting back on track to finish up current art and fic WIPs. I guess this was the breath of fresh air I needed get out of that corner of roadblocks and feeling stuck. It seems to be working! I’m still getting my feet wet with Sterek (a ship I didn’t know I needed and one I adore sooo much). So, here’s a little something for @averysterekfall! I may have let this one run away, since there’s art AND a triple drabble that go together. :D If you like Teen Wolf and Supernatural references/crossovers, this might be your cuppa. Cheers and enjoy! Title: It’s Enough For Now (<- on AO3) Rating: G WC: 300 (w/ art) Tags: Autumn, Blankets, Comfort, Huddling For Warmth, Feelings Realization, Uncertainty, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Episode: s01e11 Scarecrow (Supernatural), POV Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Exhaustion, Pagan Gods, Mixed Media, Digital Art, Triple Drabble Summary: “You know, I could get another blanket,” Stiles points out, breaking the silence. “Or let me grab my hoodie from the couch—”   “It’s fine,” Derek interjects in a low voice. He tugs the blanket gently, pulling Stiles closer. “Stiles…” [Or, Stiles and Derek end up sharing a blanket after coming back from the pack's latest supernatural adventure.]

314 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[redlightdistrict-emuniverse]

Meet the lights: Leandro

“Lights, alcohol and stares are all around the beautiful man that sways a lady in his arms as the night becomes darker. Despite all the violence, screams and things that may happen right outside their building; here, under the shine, they all can pretend they’re in paradise. However, for the people in this place it’s not the ambient or the drinks that make it be paradise... It’s the way he smiles down at them what truly feels intoxicating and like heaven.”  —Unknown

Name: Leandro Callisto (Leah)

Gender and pronouns: Male (He/They)

Age: 26

Height: 1.95 m (6′5′’)

Description: A tall and beautiful man, it’s usually what you’d hear others say when you ask about Leah. Leandro is a host in one of the most popular host bar of the red-light district area, and he is absolutely amazing at his job: The charisma, confidence and overall skills of being a host, Leah got them all. He is quite witty, flirty and loves to see how his existence will affect those surrounding him in all kind of ways. Surely, you could think as long as you look at his past, you’d be able to find something to fluster him over... Except, there is nothing you can find about him.

Voice claim: xyx (Blooming Panic)

Scent: Grapes, some wine-ish whiff, grapefruit peel. He has this some sort of fruity and critusy feel to his scent. It speaks of playfulness, bittersweet playful teasing.

Personality: He is a bright individual, with a tongue that loves to speak of beautiful words and tease anyone that crosses his path. Isn’t that the fun of being alive? Is what he wonders. He is quite intimate with the people he’s close with, and is also a person that will not hesitate to flatter and bring others up if they need to, even if that means a bit of a white lie here and there. You only live once, after all, you shouldn’t let silly little insecurities stop you. He’s a very private person, and while it’s rare to see him get angry, he is also an expert at moving the conversations so they end on his favor, no matter how much you want to take information from him, you’d most likely end up with him knowing more than you.

Theme song:

[floaroanemoia]

amazonite: what kind of situations call for my muse to be dishonest

tsavorite: if my muse believes in destiny or fate

lapis lazuli: where 'home' is to my muse !!

Gemstone headcanons ​@volot

amazonite: what kind of situations call for my muse to be dishonest

   Sarana tries her hardest to live as honest a life as possible, if only because she has been raised in an environment where a lie malicious enough, or even a slight deviation from the truth, could result in the death of entire families. Telling the truth, even if painful or undesirable, had been an idea instilled into the medium as what has kept both her and her people alive for so long. The Floaro Area is not ideal for life, and it is far easier to die there than survive. Thus, what was adopted over time was the belief that being maliciously dishonest—and the consequences stemming from that—are held against the perpetrator by the fates. So, for Sarana to ever be truly dishonest one or more of a few things would have to occur:    1) She would have to be far from the Floaro Area or Eterna Forest    2) It would have to be a situation where the lie causes absolutely no harm, or a white lie, such as telling a child their drawing looks amazing    3) It is dire information she needs that Sarana cannot get any other way

    White lies are easier to pry from her—especially around children or young pokmon. These are done with warm smiles and caring gazes, said to not crush the spirits of whatever is being said or shown to her. She could never sit there, in good conscience, and tell them that their nonsensical scribble or potato-esque portrait looks horrible, or nothing like what they claim it to be. No—in those cases, the medium will always take a path of slight dishonesty, gasping and gushing about how wonderful it is—how much of an artist they are; how much talent and promise they have.

   Or, in direr cases, if children have lost their parents or family member in a tragic accident—as is a somewhat common occurrence in Hisui—, she cannot bear to tell children who have no concept of death the truth, and will instead veil it with something sowing the seeds of what happened, but in a much more comforting light. She will never tell them that they are alive or coming back, for that is equally as cruel, but instead opts for a path that is a mix between reality and a beautiful lie.

   In the third case, this would really only arise if the information was pertaining to her search for Shaymin, and deemed important enough to the woman, or if someone was holding back information from her regarding Sarana’s loved ones—the location of her parents, pokemon, friends, and in the future, children or significant other. While trying to stick to honesty as much as possible, if there is no other way, Sarana will resort to being incredibly dishonest, and it can be extremely difficult to discern the truth from falsities. This is the woman who communes with the dead on a daily basis, and has stashed away in her mind so many secrets and disturbing sentences ushered her way—although lying is extremely rare for her, she is quite masterful at it. If someone has seen Shaymin and is refusing to tell her, or holds in their hands gracideas and refuses to divulge their origin, Sarana can and will concoct any lies that she believes will give her upper hand, or manipulate them into telling the truth. After all, in that case, the wellbeing of her people and pokemon there far outweighs the feelings of one person, in her mind.

tsavorite: if my muse believes in destiny or fate

   Yes. Sarana most certainly believes in destiny and fate. It is an extremely common belief among her home, and although they believe firmly in the existence of both, neither are perceived as things entirely set in stone. In their, and Sarana’s, view, what cannot be changed is the final destination of an individual’s life, dreams, aspirations or goals—only the journey on the way there. And it is only through divine intervention that the way it ends can be changed, since every living being exists to fulfil a specific purpose. Be it something grand, or something mundane—in her eyes, everyone exists for a reason pre-determined by the fates, to fill a gap in the world that exists prior to a person’s birth. Life and death are tightly controlled, and so must everything in-between be. Freedom of the journey there, and the ability to appeal for change from other deities, comes only as a safety net—a way to prevent certain deities from manipulating the fates or becoming entirely unstoppable.

   Adding onto this, Sarana, and her home, also carry the belief that those blessed with specific abilities are bound to the whims of destiny and fate even more so than usual. They have been given a gift by the pantheon, and such things come with a specific reason, no matter how clear or vague it might. To not fulfil it, or reject the idea, is an insult to the gods themselves. It is for this reason why Sarana will put her own wellbeing on the line to create keystones for binding spirits, or allows spirits to speak with her at all times of the day. Her, and her ancestors dating back thousands of years, have believed their fate is to collect the knowledge of the deceased, and bring it to the present, be it to add to the wealth of information held by humanity, or to prevent history from repeating itself.

lapis lazuli: where 'home' is to my muse

   Despite her nomadic lifestyle, home will always be the Floaro Area and Eterna Forest to the medium. It was where she was born and raised in; where she learnt to read, write, walk, talk, sing, and everything else. It is where her community lives, and where her ancestors thrived. Every fibre of her being is dedicated to the place and its revival. And no other place in Hisui can evoke such a strong feeling of connection to the land as those places, although she does feel inexorably bound to Hisui in general, and a little more so in places connected to her blood. To be away from her home for too long, even if she remains in the same region, brings about a sense of being lost; being spiritually drained and as though she is missing part of herself.

   If she had to pick a close second, however, it would be the Flower Paradise. Although Sarana has only visited it and the Seabreak Path a few times in her life—when rituals called for it—, it is perhaps the only other place that evokes such a sense of belonging and being home in the medium. Another place where her soul can rest, if only for a little while.