#i must pass on the blessing cause it's not a curse

[donaldtheduckdad]

anyway if y'all have been wondering wtf this is all about here's a shitty 1 am doodle that should explain everything @gyakuten-kenji and I are very normal people

[id in alt]

[merakiui]

eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

[yisony07]

Trick-and-Treat

Hello hello, despite still being on break, I wanted to take the opportunity to leave you this "thematic" story. I hope you like it!

"I still can't believe you went to that abandoned house and stole that thing," John said in a mix of laughter and disbelief as he stared wide-eyed at his friend Mark. “How on Earth did you do it?”

“Hehehe… you wanna know?” Mark asked with a smirk on his face, while holding a peculiar jack o lantern wrapped in a blanket, which was black on the outside and red on the inside. “When we get home I’ll explain.”

The sky was turning orange at sunset when both men arrived at Mark's apartment. It was the evening before Halloween and the pair of friends had been invited to a party at one of the most popular fraternities at his college. John took a seat on the couch while Mark placed the flashlight somewhere he considered special; in the end, he left it on a shelf near his bed. Mark returned to the living room.

"Well, this is what happened," and he proceeded to tell his story.

(Mark)

As the sky debated whether to stay blue or turn orange, a young man walked cautiously down the street. He saw around him how the houses were decorated with ghosts, witches, pumpkins, skeletons... the spirit of the festival of the dead roamed around, cheering the spirited and frightening the weak. Mark was one of the spirited ones, and what better time than Halloween to explore an abandoned house?

He left the university campus and headed to the edge of the city. Set back from the street, there was a house whose wood had several cracks and holes, the windows were dusty and legends said that there was a treasure guarded by a sleeping spirit, who only woke up during these times to curse thieves.

"Bullshit," Mark thought with a smirk as he stepped onto the grass that separated him from the house.

When he was in front of the door, he looked back to see if anyone saw him: luckily for him, there was no one. He took out his phone and sent a message to his friend John.

Come see me as soon as you can in this place, I'm gonna explore it.

Mark took a few steps to the threshold, grabbed the cold doorknob, and opened it. It was surprising that he had opened up so easily. Even though it was still afternoon, it was almost impossible to see in there, while the dust on the windows prevented the sun's rays from passing through.

"Now, where will the blessed treasure be?" he asked as he entered. When his foot was inside the house, a wind blew around him which made his hair stand on end and the door slammed shut. "What the...?!" he shouted, but calmed down in a few seconds. "It was just the wind..."

Mark walked around the site covering his mouth and nose to avoid the dust. He was going in a bit of a hurry, but he was careful not to trip over anything, although that task was complicated, since everything was almost in darkness. A creak made him look around, but there was nothing, or so it seemed. The whisper of the wind and the screech of wood with each step he took did not help the situation.

"I must be close," he thought, unable to hold back a cough.

Suddenly, Mark fell to the ground as he tripped on something hard that reached his calves. Getting up, Mark did his best to both wipe some of the dirt off and see what had caused him to fall.

"What an idiot!" he exclaimed, taking out his phone and turning on the flashlight. "Why didn't I think of it before?" he said before pointing at the object.

It was a black chest with gold edges. It was slightly open and a strange smell of rotten pumpkin emanated from it. Mark pointed around, but he didn't seem to see anything more interesting than the typical objects of a house with cobwebs on them and in a deplorable state of disrepair, so he returned to the chest, opened it, and with one hand took out the contents.

"This is the blessed treasure?" he questioned with clear disappointment upon seeing a reddish jack-o-lantern cloaked in a dark cloak.

He checked the chest for anything else. Someone else had probably ransacked the house before him, not only for the "treasure of little value" but also for the fact that the chest was in plain sight... well, that it was not hidden.

Mark took a photo as evidence and made his way back outside. Something strange was that, near the door, Mark heard a low cry:

"MARK!!!"

He looked everywhere with open eyes, but nothing seemed to have been the source. After a few seconds, he heard his name again.

"Mark! Mark!"

It sounded very different from the first call, but perhaps it was his ears playing tricks on him, as these screams sounded like the voice of his friend, John. He opened the door and left the house; he left never to return.

"And then I found you at the entrance…," he concluded with a triumphant smile.

"How cool! Imagine when you tell everyone at the frat party!"

"I'll finally be a legend and be recognized properly," Mark said.

"Well, I have to go, I haven't decided on my costume yet, do you want to come?"

"Nah, I'll see what I wear," and Mark couldn't hold back a yawn. "I'll take the opportunity to take a nap and be full of energy there!"

"Okay, see you around, bud."

And John walked away, leaving Mark alone in his house. Mark went to take a shower and wash off the dirt and smell that the visit to that house left on him.

When he came out of the bathroom, he only put on boxers and night pants, leaving his torso exposed. Then, he set the alarm on his phone an hour before the party, turned off the lights, and went to take a nap on his comfortable bed.

Even for the time, it was unusually cold, which made Mark's sleeping body shiver (although he didn't use fans or air conditioning). The sound of a glass object breaking suddenly woke him up.

"What the hell?" Mark said with a hint of fear. With his gaze he scanned the room and, in the seconds it took him to get used to being awake, he realized that a vase that his mother had given him before she died had broken, and his remains were scattered. on the floor. "How the fuck did this happen?" he asked, as the vase was neither in a corner nor near a window.

He looked around him and noticed the jack-o-lantern he had stolen, seemingly staring at him with an evil smile on his face. It seemed to be emitting a gloomy glowing smoke.

Mark dismissed any idea that it was a haunted object and carefully got up to find the broom and dustpan. He got another scare when, upon entering, he noticed that the flashlight was not on the shelf, but on the desk where he did his homework.

"It can't be, I must be hallucinating..." he told himself as he cleaned and threw away the fragments of the vase. "But just in case..."

Mark took the pumpkin, carried it to the apartment door, leaving it on the floor next to the frame, and returned to his room. He checked the time, there was still time before the alarm, so he lay back down on the bed.

"Maybe it was just a nightmare." he said, covering himself with the sheets.

A weak and low murmur sounded in the room while smoke entered through the cracks in the door. Disturbed by what had happened to him, Mark had not been able to sleep again, so he opened his eyes.

A mass of smoke floated in front of the door to his room in a gentle swirl. The door opened by itself and the reddish pumpkin floated towards him wrapped in the cloak, which extended towards the ground as if an invisible being was wearing it.

Before Mark could scream or escape, the smoke lashed out at him, grabbing him by the limbs. Mark struggled, but the smoke's grip was insurmountable; The pumpkin floated until it was close to his face, the cape gently brushing his legs.

"You think you're very brave invading other people's property, huh?" said a deep voice, the same deep voice that had raised the first scream in the house. The voice seemed amused, as if he were cruelly playing with a new toy, "You feel like you're the coolest thing and that people will admire you for breaking the law, right? Well, it's my turn to steal something from you."

Mark was wide-eyed and lip-trembling, unable to respond with anything more than an "I'm sorry..."

"I don't want your apologies… Trick or treat? You'll get tricked!"

The smoke holding Mark pulled down his pants, revealing a cock that was a little big so as not to be hard.

"Coming!"

The smoke lifted Mark and released him, leaving him in the air for a few seconds. In those endless seconds, all the smoke entered his body through all the orifices: mouth, nostrils, ears, penis, ass... Not even Mark's moans or kicks did anything to prevent it. With an evil laugh, no trace of the gas was left outside. Mark felt like a million bugs were moving inside him as he fell back into bed, or like a boiling river. His body shook non-stop and little by little he felt how he lost control over them. First his legs, then his torso, then his arms…

His body rose on its own and remained standing. One of her hands was massaging her nipples while the other went towards her penis. Mark groaned involuntarily.

"I haven't felt this in a long time..." said the spirit from the jack-o-lantern. "But it will be better when it is complete!" she added, and the head floated to rest on top of Mark's, the cape surrounding him from the shoulders.

"No, no, no..." Mark said, shaking his head from side to side, but his hands left their positions and made his head stay still, so that the pumpkin lowered as if it were a helmet. .

And when the pumpkin aligned itself with his features, Mark fell unconscious.

*Beep, beep, beep...*

The sound of an alarm made him open his eyes. Everything looked confusing. He blinked several times until everything became clear. He jumped up from the floor (why was he on the floor?) While he felt his hard cock and walked to the mirror.

Wait... Mark thought, why am I moving?

"Why?" his voice responded sarcastically, and his gaze fell on the mirror.

The cape fell over him elegantly. He was wearing a formal yet out-of-period suit with its sleeves with flourishes. His head was covered with a jack-o-lantern that served as a helmet.

"Because now I'm in control," the new Mark said, taking it off.

His features were similar to Mark's except for the reddish glow in his eyes and the real vampire fangs he had grown. The spirit ran his new tongue over his lips and formed a smile as he inspected his appearance. He moved his hands to the buttons of his shirt and unbuttoned the top ones, so that he could show off those juicy pecs.

"Looks like I'm ready to party," he said, laughing. A grimace of pleasure crossed his face. "Fuck... how much I missed this..." he added, undoing the strap and opening his pants, so that his enormous bulge under his boxers was exposed.

Wh-wh-what are you going to do with me? Mark asked, unable to control his body.

"Didn't you want to please everyone by showing off your prowess? I'll just give them proof of our... my abilities," he replied as he rubbed his bulge.

NO!!!! Mark shouted, but it was no use.

The spirit went to the party, leaving everyone surprised by the lascivious and shameless way in which he was dressed.

"Trick or treat," the spirit said through Mark, grinning lasciviously at those present and slapping his ass. "I'm ready to give everyone a good treat."

And Mark, defeated, witnessed and felt how his body was used like a slut to satisfy everyone's horny desires, including the incessant pleasure-seeking of the spirit that controlled him.

-The End-

Trick or Treat everybody!!

[shanastoryteller]

Do you think you'll tackle Serene and Endymion in your Greek Myths? They are gorgeous btw. ;)

Not all titans were subdued. Not all were lost, or chained, or changed.

Some simply endured, too large and distant to be concerned with matters of titles and thrones.

Helios raged. Even bound within Tartarus, his sun burned brighter and angrier with each day, feeding off the hatred of the cursed titan. Seas turned to deserts as water was baked out of the earth. Apollo scooped up Helios’s chariot, bringing the sun to bear and returning a normal rhythm to the days and nights. Helios’s rage burns him even still, but the chariot has at least accepted its new master.

Artemis becomes associated with the moon because she is her brother’s other half in all things. But she constructs her chariot herself and it is used for races and to transport huntresses and little else.

The moon’s first goddess has never left. She has dragged the moon across the sky in her chariot of starlight uninterrupted for over a millennia.

The titan Selene did not join the fight of the new gods and the titans. She did not defend her brother nor did she attempt to save him.

But neither has she acknowledged the new pantheon. Zeus rules the sky and has demanded an audience with her many times, but she has never granted it. Zeus chases her chariot, but even riding lightning he can’t catch it when she unhooks the moon and no longer has its weight slowing her down.

Poseidon shakes his head and says, “Leave her be. I am the master of the sea and yet if I suddenly had to push forward every inch of the tide myself, I wouldn’t be left with much power to do anything else. All you’re doing is causing problems for the rest of us. Leave Selene to her work.”

Artemis agrees. If even Poseidon thinks bothering the moon titan is a bad idea, then they should listen. Usually he can’t be bothered to have opinions about anyone outside of his own wife, and even that’s rare.

Zeus gives up. Time passes, as it does, and no matter how the sun bucks and fights against her brother’s grip, sometimes going too quick and then too slow, the moon continues at the same steady pace.

Artemis grows stronger beneath moonlight. This must be because of her worshippers, or perhaps her brother’s. She never answers any prayers for tides or from people lost in the darkness, refusing every attempt to give her a power not her own, but her silence doesn’t seem to discourage anyone. Under the night sky her chariot moves impossibly fast and moonlight seems to always find her through the trees, which makes hunting difficult, but she doesn’t dare complain.

She does not want to earn Selene’s ire.

But despite her best efforts, Artemis does not manage to avoid her attention.

She is separated from her huntresses, spending the third night in a row tracking down a leopard that Demeter claims she drove mad on accident. Artemis doesn’t believe her, but the truth is irrelevant. This creature stalks and kills with Demeter’s blessing upon it, taking down all manor of creature and person.

Her temples have been filled with those begging for her aid. She’s blessed many spears, but her blessing doesn’t seem to be able to outweigh Demeter’s.

That irritates her enough that she’s seeing to this personally. She’s going to skin that damn leopard and wear it’s pelt to the next meeting of the pantheon.

One moment she’s skulking beneath a canopy of leaves, following several drops of blood she’s convinced will lead her to her prey, and the next the hair of her arms is standing on end and her heart is beating fast enough to make her light headed.

She swings around, spear raised, convinced that the damn leopard has found her first.

It’s not the leopard.

“You are the one they are praying too,” says a woman, her body soft with roundness and with the palest skin Artemis has seen on a living person. The extra skin beneath her chin gives her a perfectly circular face and the pockmarks across her face and body are a perfect echo of the moon’s many craters.

Selene tucks her ink black hair behind her ear and looks at her with equally dark eyes.

Artemis was born long after the war with the titans and she’s never ventured into Tartarus. She had assumed their presence felt much the same as other gods, that perhaps it was similar to the feeling of getting caught up in Hera’s rage.

It’s nothing like that.

Selene’s power is like a physical weight, as if they’re suddenly underwater and it’s surrounding them everywhere. Artemis lets it push her to her knees, bowing her head and trying to force her heart to calm. “Titan Selene. I swear that I did nothing to encourage them. I have not claimed any of your power.”

She should have done more than ignore them. She should have toppled temples and killed dissenters. She should have redirected their prayers. Anything to prevent what’s happening now.

“Would you like to?”

Artemis risks raising her head. Selene doesn’t sound angry and she doesn’t look it either. “I don’t understand.”

Selene gestures to the sky. “The moon is different from the sun. The sun pushes forward on its own and must be restrained and goaded in equal measure. Untethered, it will still rise and set. The moon must be pulled. It wants nothing more than to rest and unprompted it will stay motionless. If I step from my chariot for even a moment, the moon halts. It is unmoving now, as we speak.”

Artemis looks up. The moon always looks still to her. She wonders if the tides have noticed the difference.

“I have not been able to walk among earth for more than a few moments since I forged my chariot, lest all that follow the moon also go still and silent. They call you a moon goddess.”

“Please don’t make me take your place,” she says, not above begging. If the goddess traps her on her chariot, Artemis won’t have a choice.

Selene smiles, amusement making her eyes sparkle like distant stars. “You are young. You could not survive the chill or the weight for long. But perhaps you could endure for an hour or two.”

“I don’t understand,” she repeats, but some of her fear is starting to recede. Selene is not speaking like she’s going to strike her or curse her.

“There is a man,” she says, then pauses.

“Oh,” Artemis blinks, then, “Um, that’s not really my area. I could ask my brother?”

Selene laughs. “No, that is not necessary. I just need time. Will you steer my chariot each night so that I may walk across the earth unworried? Then you shall be a moon goddess in more than name.”

A titan, offering to share power for so little a reward? There has to be a catch. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll take too much?”

“I am not a goddess as you are a goddess,” she says, her derision light enough that Artemis can choose not to take offense to it. “My power neither grows nor dwindles based on the opinions of mortals. If you gain more, I do not have less.”

It shouldn’t be that surprising. All gods have some level of innate power. But not like this, not something that could alter the course of a planet, not this large and this terrifying.

Artemis decides then that Selene must be the most powerful of the titans. Anything else is too much to think about.

“I accept,” she says.

Selene reaches out, wrapping her thick fingers around her wrist, and then Artemis is somewhere else and she’s freezing.

“You get used to the cold,” Selene says, nudging her to the front of her chariot. The starlight glitters beneath her, driving home how her own silver chariot is nothing more than a pale imitation, no matter how it shines. “I drive the chariot forward with own will.”

Artemis’s works similarly. She focuses, and the chariot lurches forward, but then it jerks backwards. She glances behind, seeing the massive moon attached to the chariot with pulsing, heavy black chains. She tries again, slower, but no matter how much power she puts behind it, the moon won’t move forward a single inch.

“It’s alright,” Selene says. “I’ll help. You’ll grow stronger.”

She leans forward and spits out into space. Her saliva splits into two and then grows, until two massive, pearly white great wolves are standing at attention. Selene summons more of that strange black chain, looping it around the wolves’ chest and forming a hook to pull it through the front of the chariot before handing the ends to Artemis.

They’re heavy enough that she can feel the weight dragging her arms down. “What do I–”

Selene whistles and then wolves bound forward. For a moment they just strain against their chains, but then Artemis adds her own power to push the chariot, and then slowly, painfully, the moon is dragged forward.

“Good,” Selene says, the word settling into Artemis’s bones. “Stop when you must, but not before. I will feel the moon’s stillness and return.”

Her disappearance leaves the air surrounding Artemis even colder, but she refuses to shiver and instead urges the wolves faster with a snap of the celestial chains.

~

Endymion spends most of his nights on the tallest mountain within walking distance of the city, tracking the stars’ movements so that his fellow astronomers can check their equations against the realities of the heavens.

It takes him much longer than his colleagues and he blames it on an unsteady hand.

The truth is that his hands are perfectly steady. He has a one tablet of star positions and several rolls of linens with paintings of the moon. He’s not a very good artist, but something about it compels him, and so he spends hours each night determined to capture ever crevice and angle.

“Why are you always looking at me?”

He startles, dropping his brush, and turns on his heel to see who on earth is up here with him.

It’s a woman, with long black hair and a large body. There’s a puckered line along her cheek and he resists the urge to press his fingers against it, to follow it’s path until his fingers reach her lips. The soft pink of her plush mouth is the only bit of color on her.

Her question catches up with him and he sputters, “I’ve never seen you before!”

He would remember.

“You are always looking,” she insists, walking towards him. “What do you see?”

“I really haven’t seen you before,” he says, but doesn’t move away when she comes right up next to him. This close, he can see some faint color in her cheeks. He wonders if there are any other parts of her that tinge from pale to pink.

He feels heat rush to his own face at the thought. The bright moonlight that lets him see her so clearly is the same moonlight that’s going to give away his indecent thoughts.

But she doesn’t call him on it, instead pointing down at the crumpled linen. “Why?”

“Oh,” he flushes even more. “I don’t know. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? That’s reason enough.”

Endymion waits for her derision, the same that he’s received every time he’s gotten caught, but instead she curls her hands into the material of his shirt and says, “I agree,” and then she’s yanking him down to press her lips into his.

He tries to convince her to follow him home, but instead she disrobes right there and he can’t argue with that.

“Be here again tomorrow night,” she orders when the sweat is cooling on their bodies.

She likes to order him around. He doesn’t mind. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

“I will not answer questions that you already know the answer to,” she says, and then kisses him again before he can argue.

He means to walk down with her, to escort her home at least, but the moment he turns his back on her, she’s gone.

It takes him seven more nights with her for him to work up the courage to call her Selene.

She smiles and bites his shoulder, the imprints of her teeth a perfect circle.

gods and monsters series, part xxxiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

[neon-junkie]

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.6

Summary: “Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats,” accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you’re one of that ten percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Cuddling, Huddling for warmth, Tags to be added.

Word count: 2.8k

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 7]

Chapter 6 - Hot ‘n’ Cold

Two suns.

Why does Tatooine need two suns?

It's not like you can do repairs during the night, either, as the temperature plummets so deep that your goosebumps have goosebumps. Plus, it's dark... Duh!

So, all you and the others can do is work away during the blazing heat. Bunks have been stripped, the sheets being used as make-shift shade whilst you work, only to be pulled down and wrapped up in when the temperature drops every night. Your heat cycle has taken pity on you, as it's relaxed these last few days. Bless Echo for giving you a good run for your money, as he's kept you fully stocked.

Well, there have been odd moments where you can feel your hormones playing up, only for the sweltering blaze from the suns to knock them down a peg.

Speaking of the heat, it's provided you with a new threat - shirtless men.

It's understandable that the Batch want to work on repairs in as minimal clothing as possible, seeing as their armour isn't designed to keep the heat out - not when it's painted black, a colour that attracts heat. To combat their little problem, they've decided to work shirtless, with their lower half sporting sweatpants or sleep shorts.

You've been working in the bare minimum, too. And as curious as your eyes are, the Batch are just as guilty. Some of them haven't even bothered looking away when you've caught them eyeing you up, such as when Echo merely shrugged and replied, "what? These glances keep me motivated."

Charming.

There is, surprisingly, no signal out in the Dune Sea. Whilst you and Tech remain on the Marauder to focus on repairs, the others have taken on the task of trekking to Mos Espa, desperate for supplies, and hopefully, a call for help. That is, if the Republic answers - their lines are almost always busy.

The Batch set out at the crack of dawn, and now that the suns are shining overhead, you assume that they must be there by now. The midday heat is unbearable, and wanting to avoid the blaze, you enter the Marauder. It's durasteel structure traps some heat, but thankfully, the air-conditioning is up and running, and despite its funny smell, you enjoy the decline in temperature.

Not wanting to lie on the leather seats, only to peel yourself off them later, you decide to settle on the floor. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you lie back against the wall, followed up by you taking a well-needed drink from your water bottle.

"Having another break, are we?" Tech's voice chimes out as he also enters the cockpit. His brows are furrowed as he gazes over your form, and you know that he's silently cursing himself for being the mechanic of the Batch, meaning he has the most responsibility when it comes to repairs. Not everybody can lounge around like you, (apparently.)

You don't fancy putting up with Tech's petty remarks, and as luck would have it, you have a reasonable explanation for your 'break.' "Yeah, I just need a moment... something is playing up," you gesture to your lower abdomen, which causes Tech's brows to soften out, and his lips to tilt into a slant.

"Ah, I understand," he says with a nod, and decides to sit beside you, also sipping on his own bottle of water.

Silence swarms the air, however, it's not unsettling. Whilst your and Tech's relationship has become tense, there is still respect. You both know this is merely a storm that will pass, but constant wedges have formed, making it unable to rest.

Until now.

Tech, whilst moving his goggles up to rest on his forehead, comments, "whilst I would offer you assistance, I am not in a suitable state to do so." He gestures to his grimy and sweaty form, and to be fair, your state is no better. "My mind is also far too occupied with repairs, and I am sure you would not enjoy intercourse with me, seeing as my hygiene has become poor. If our resources were not limited, I would happily use the refresher, but we-"

"-It's okay, Tech," you cut his words short with a soft wave of your hand. "I'm too sweaty to fuck, too."

Tech lets out a chuckle. "Well, that is one way of putting it."

Your eyes meet for a moment, and for the first time in days, neither of you feel tense. Tech has always been such a sweetheart to you, even if he was a little awkward and unsure of you, at first. The Batch weren't used to having a Jedi around - they've never had a General before - so can you blame him for having his guard up?

Although Tech doesn't mean his next words with malice, they come out that way, regardless. "Perhaps Echo could assist you when he returns?"

"Oh," you murmur, your eyes locking onto Tech's. Within an instant, he realises his mistake, and rubs the back of his neck in worry.

"That was not a dig," he winces. "I... ahem, overheard you two the other night."

Either the heat from outside is seeping in to the cockpit, or you're burning up from embarrassment. A knot forms in your stomach, travelling up your body, and soon settling in your throat. You attempt to clear it, once, twice, and fail regardless. All you can do is own up to your shenanigans, despite them being consensual all around. "That loud, huh?" you joke.

Tech's lips purse in annoyance, "it was tolerable."

You grimace, and Tech's silent expression reads, 'keep it down next time, would you?'

"...I'm sorry," you sigh, and to your surprise, Tech swats your apology away with a wave of his hand.

"Like I stated before, I am happy with you finding relief in multiple partners," Tech says with a shrug, and whilst you're glad he's not annoyed over that, you mentally note to tone the noise down in the future. Tech continues speaking, although his words have fallen quiet, "and maybe when this storm has passed, we might be able to resume where we left off?"

Your ears perk up at the suggestion - not just because you'll be receiving relief from your body's natural cycle, but because Tech is still interested in you. Dare you think about it, but you're also questioning your chances of having both Tech and Echo at the same time, although you really shouldn't get ahead of yourself!

Resting your cheek on your palm, you sweetly coo, "awh! You miss me?" with a flirty bat of your lashes.

Tech rolls his eyes in amusement, although he can't hide the upwards turn to his lips. "I would be lying if I said that I haven't had you on my mind."

"Awhh!!" you smile, and give Tech a playful nudge. "I knew you couldn't stay mad at me!"

Tech rolls his eyes once more, a common trait of his. He tenderly places his bare hand on your forearm, and whilst keeping eye contact, he speaks. "Mesh'la, I could never stay mad at you. I was in the wrong for becoming overbearing and somewhat possessive, but I now understand that it is entirely natural, especially in your state, for your hormones to somewhat take over your emotions."

"No, no," you say with a wave of your hand. "I was in the wrong for snapping at you. You were only trying to make sure that I was eating, and taking care of myself, and I let my heat get the better of me."

Tech blinks in bewilderment before letting out a laugh, "perhaps we could agree that we were both in the wrong?"

"Perhaps," you repeat his words, imitating his accent. Tech sends you a look before moving his hand from your forearm, his palm meeting the back of your hand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and to your surprise, Tech leans over to place a kiss on your forehead, unfazed by your light layer of sweat.

"I'm going to return to the repairs," Tech informs you. He stands, letting out a soft grumble as he does so, his joints cracking from exhaustion. "Join me when you're ready, and please, call out for me if you require anything."

With that, Tech is exiting the cockpit after sending you a soft smile. He disappears from your line of sight, moving down to the hull's exterior to continue his work. The back of your head meets the wall, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling relieved that you two have finally talked things out.

It was all a misunderstanding. Tech cares, and that's not something that you're used to. You shouldn't have snapped, and Tech shouldn't have pushed. Whatever. It's settled now.

You give yourself a few minutes alone before forcing yourself up to your feet, and decide to join Tech outside, eager to help him out as your way of saying thank you.

The depths of space are silent, and to your surprise, the depths of the Dune Sea are just as silent. All you can hear is the distant snoring of your squad, bound to their own rooms. It's almost unsettling, to not have the hum of the Marauder in the distance, a soft buzz as she drifts in space.

You roll onto your back, and with that, a frustrated sigh escapes your lips. You can't sleep, and surprisingly, your heat is not to blame. The desert is cold at night, so cold that it's seeped into the Marauder, and wandered into your room. No amount of blankets seem to be warming you up; you need a distraction, and hopefully, a bit of movement will warm your body up in no time.

Exiting your bunk, you pull the blankets up and over your form, and whilst grasping them tightly across your chest, you begin to make your way out of your room, ready to bug whoever is on the night shift.

"Can't sleep, huh?" Wrecker questions as he notices you in the corner of his eye. He spins the co-pilot chair around, and after setting his holopad down on the dashboard, he meets your eyes.

"Yeah," you say with a soft laugh. You nestle down in the pilots chair, tucking the blanket over your entire form as you bring your knees up to your chest. Somehow, the cockpit is even colder than your room, and you question how Wrecker can sit here in only his civvies, unfazed by the cold. "It's too cold, you know?"

"Yeah, hah!" Wrecker chuckles. "Too cold during the night, but too hot during the day..."

"Exactly," you agree with a frustrated sigh.

As you rest your head back against the chair, silence settles peacefully around both of you. Wrecker is one of those few people who you can sit in a comfortable silence with, only right now, Wrecker isn't comfortable - he's concerned, and you can sense why.

"Are you... uh..." Wrecker murmurs, and brings a palm up to meet the back of his neck. "Are you alright?" he settles on the question, short and simple, and open for any and every answer.

You trail your eyes to meet his, and there is nothing but tenderness within them. "For once, I'm just cold," you say with a shrug, causing Wrecker's expression to soften out.

"Oh," he hums. Wrecker twiddles his fingertips together as he speaks up again, "I've pieced together what is going on from your... uh, stuff. And with a bit of help from Crosshair, but if you..." his words fall flat, and Wrecker begins to stutter. "...I... uh... I guess I'm trying to say that I'm here for you? Kriff, I don't know what to say, really."

"I understand," you reply with a sweet smile. "Thank you, Wrecker. I think the worst of it has passed, but I still have my moments, you know?"

"Yeah," Wrecker says with a nod. "Crosshair went into... uh, a lot of detail when he explained it to me. Maybe too much detail, hah!"

You roll your eyes, "do I dare ask what he said?" knowing that Crosshair was bound to go down the raunchy side of things, and in some cases, exaggerate it for fun.

"It's probably best that you don't," Wrecker responds with a chuckle. The smile on his lips shifts to concern, and Wrecker raises his brows as he points out the obvious. "Kriff, you're shivering!"

You send him a numbing smile, "yeah, I'm really cold," you say with a nervous laugh.

Wrecker grumbles as he rubs the back of his neck. "Do you want to...?" he points to his lap, and makes a grabbing motion with his hands. "Maybe a cuddle will warm you up?" he suggests.

This isn't the first time that you've cuddled with Wrecker. His love language is physical touch, both in romantic and platonic relationships. Wrecker also wears his heart on his sleeve, and the comfort and security of his squad comes before his needs. Always.

"Please," is all you mutter before rising to your feet, and taking a step over to where Wrecker is sitting. Wrecker is both gentle and forward as he bundles you up in his lap, large arms wrapping around your form, practically holding you like a baby. You feel like one, too, given the size difference.

Wrecker shifts in his seat, and after checking over your body to ensure that you're fully covered with your blankets, he relaxes back against the chair. "You know, you can always borrow my hoodie," he says with a light shrug, putting another offer on the table.

"I think I'll be alright like this," you smile, already beginning to feel the warmth growing in your chest, shifting across your body. "Besides, your hoodie would probably go past my knees!"

Wrecker lets out a laugh as he holds you tighter, envisioning you wearing his hoodie. You curl up tighter against his chest, and finally, weight begins to form beneath your eyes. Body warmth is making you tired, and you know that falling asleep in Wrecker's arms is bound to happen.

Until you drift off, you decide to keep the conversation going, knowing that Wrecker won't feel insulted when you do doze off on him. Literally.

"What were you watching?" you nod your head in the direction of his datapad, sitting forgotten on the Marauder's dashboard.

"Oh, well..." Wrecker begins as he picks his datapad up, unlocking it with a swish of his finger. "We haven't got service out here, so I was going through my photos and videos," Wrecker explains, pulling up the app. The last video that he was watching comes on the screen, and automatically begins to play.

It's old, before you were stationed with them. The Batch is in their barracks back on Kamino, and each of them is dotted around the room. Most are stationed at the table, shiny clone armour scattered everywhere, minus Crosshair, who is keeping to his bunk.

"We had just graduated," Wrecker states as the video continues to play. Wrecker is the one filming, that much is obvious given how much the camera shakes, an excited Trooper running around to his squad to film them decorating their first set of armour. "We hadn't even gone on a mission yet, but we wanted to make sure that our armour was ours, you know?"

The audio is quiet, but you can make out their voices. "Let's see yours, Sarge!" Wrecker says as he shoves the camera in Hunter's face. He's so young, baby faced, and tattoo-less. His hair is barely past his ears, and to nobody's surprise, Hunter has already begun wearing a red bandana.

Hunter holds up his armour like a proud child showing off their drawing. The standard white armour has a few red details on it, but the main thing that stands out is the black '99' across the left side of his chest.

"Your symbol," you murmur, taking in how proud your boys looked back when they were shiny and new.

"Yeah," Wrecker says with a grin. "We wanted to make sure that everybody knew how defective we are, so we all decided to put '99' on our chests," he grins, and with that, the video comes to an end.

A light sigh escapes you, and as you shut your eyes, you press your head deeper against Wrecker's chest. "You're my defective boys," you coo, knowing that the word has become a symbol of power to them.

"Yeah, we are!" Wrecker says with a cheer - a light cheer, as to not startle your sleepy state.

Your eyes flutter open again, with a smile on your lips. "Show me more videos?" you question, and Wrecker is eager to take you up on that offer.

There are hours, days, possibly weeks of footage on this datapad that Wrecker is more than happy to show you. He lets you pick something out at random, and with every video that plays, Wrecker has several stories behind it.

You're content like this - cooped up in Wrecker's arms whilst he goes on about tales from the Batch's early days - so content that you might drift off to sleep.

Probably.

[thesithdiaries]

White Knight (Harwin Strong imagine)

White Knight (Harwin Strong imagine)

Pairing: Harwin Strong x female!reader

Requested; yes

Warnings: angst, cursing, who did this to you trope, mentioned of death, mention of having sex while drunk, injury, assault, a manchild and its not criston cole, typical westeros violence, harwin going apeshit

-

Y/N Waters was a bastard from King’s Landing. According to her mother, who worked at an alehouse, her father was a lord. Of course, they both sank into their cups the night they spent together, causing them to not remember each other. Y/N’s mother passed away years prior from an illness.

Y/N met Harwin Strong during the night while she walked home. The tavern she worked at was not far from where she lived.

“Excuse me, my lady, you dropped this,” he called behind her, making Y/N turn around. Harwin was holding up a shawl. It must have fallen from the basket she was carrying.

“Thank you, Ser,” Y/N replied in gratitude. Harwin neatly folded it for her before placing it in the blanket. He flashed a gentle smile at her surprised expression.

After that small interaction, the two of them could not stop thinking about each other. It was a strong yet strange feeling of longing that they could not explain. For this, Harwin changed routes for the men of the City Watch and made sure to get the area he saw her in.

Little by little, they started learning about each other. Harwin would wait outside the tavern she worked in to escort her home. He said the streets were not safe at night, which was true, but he also wanted to spend time with her.

After secretly courting for two moons, Harwin decided to tell his father and the king about what he wanted to do.

“Ser Harwin Strong,” Ser Harrold announced as he opened the door to King Viserys’ chambers. Harwin made his way in, not missing the expression of confusion on his father's face.

“Ah, Ser Harwin,” Viserys greeted him with glee. “What can I help you with?”

“I would like to resign as Commander of the City Watch.” Both Lyonel and Viserys stared at him with wide eyes.

“What?” The Hand of the King gasped. “Son, why would you do such a thing?”

Harwin cleared his throat before confessing. “I met a woman and I want to marry her.”

“A woman?” Viserys asked with curiosity. Lyonel’s face had gone red, it looked like he was about to explode. “Where?”

“In the city, I met her a couple of moons ago,” Harwin smiled.

“I can relieve you from your duties,” Viserys told him, “are you completely sure about this?”

“Yes, your Grace, I have no doubts about my decision.”

-

Mere hours later, Lord Lyonel had cornered his son in a secluded part of the castle. He was furious.

“You are bringing shame to our house,” Lyonel hissed.

“It would be more shameful to wed while still being part of the City Watch,” Harwin scoffed. “I will wed her, with or without your blessing.”

“You will not be able to stay in King’s Landing after what you have done,” Lyonel reminded him.

Harwin shrugged. “Then I will return to Harrenhal with my wife.” Lyonel stared at him, mouth agape. “We will talk later, I have to go find my betrothed.”

-

By the next moon, Harwin and Y/N were married and moved to Harrenhal.

The servants and workers were delighted for them to be there. They were glad Harwin had returned and brought his wife as well.

After touring the grounds, they decided on what to do to make the castle better. Y/N, who was taught to read by a dear neighbor, had read some stories about Harrenhal. She remembered the curse, but pushed the thought to the back of her mind, not wanting to scare herself.

“My love,” Harwin called for her while entering their quarters.

“Yes?”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her close to his body. “I have to be in the Flowstone Yard today, overlooking the training.”

“Oh,” Y/N pouted. “I was hoping we could spend the day together.”

Harwin frowned, now feeling guilty about leaving her alone. “I’m sorry. I wanted to spend the day with you as well but I cannot ignore my duties today.”

Y/N rested her head on his chest. “I understand,” she replied with a deep sigh.

They stood in silence, holding each other. It felt different, hugging Harwin without his armor. She could feel his warmth now and it made her happy. “I love you, Y/N.”

“And I love you,” Y/N replied.

-

While Harwin was busy with training, Y/N took the time to walk around Harrenhal by herself. She needed to learn about the place alone, to memorize where everything is.

The five towers still took her breath away. Seeing them melted by dragon fire gave her chills, she could not begin to imagine how terrifying it must have been to witness. Harwin had told Y/N about the state of the castle before they departed from King’s Landing.

“Who are you?” A voice questioned behind her, making Y/N flinch.

She replied with her name after turning around. It was a squire. He gave her a confused look.

“You are not Lady Strong,” he berated. “She would never dress in filthy rags like you and I do not think she would walk these grounds alone.”

Y/N pursed her lips, glancing down at the gown she wore. It was simple and pretty, she did not care for luxuries. Who did she have to impress? “I am Lady Strong. My husband is training all the squires now, why are you here? You are supposed to be in the yard.”

The man made a face. “Stop lying.”

“Lying about what?” Y/N chuckled. “About my husband? Ser Harwin Strong? If he knew-

In the blink of an eye, the man had her against the wall. The overwhelming smell of sweat, dirt, and burning stone made her head spin. The squire did not hesitate in punching her face. “You are a liar.” Y/N held back a sob as she felt the excruciating and immediate pain emitting from her cheek. “Leave Harrenhal and never come back. You are no Lady Strong.”

He left. Y/N, despite being in pain, was baffled at what just happened. She thought everyone that lived in Harrenhal greeted them during their arrival. This was unexpected and unfortunate but Harwin could not know. He would kill that squire.

-

“Y/N?”

Harwin looked around their chambers with a puzzled expression. Y/N was not there. He doubted she was outside of the castle. It was very late. She could probably be in the kitchens. Y/N liked talking to the cooks and the maids, often swapping stories and getting to know them better.

He took a much-needed hot bath, his muscles were sore from the busy day. Harwin waited for Y/N to arrive but she did not. After his bath, he settled in bed, still waiting for her. Harwin fell asleep before seeing her.

Y/N entered the quarters no more than half an hour later, glad that Harwin was already sleeping. She had gone to see Melia, her new maid, asking for help with the pain. It took heavy convincing for her not to get either Harwin or the maester. Y/N reassured her multiple times that it was alright but Melia did not believe her word. After quickly bathing and changing into a shift, Y/N slipped into bed, trying not to wake up Harwin.

-

The following morning, when Harwin woke up, Y/N was gone. Her side of the bed still felt a bit warm, meaning it has not been so long since she was awake. He was still very confused. They did not go so long without seeing each other, not even when he was still Commander.

During the day, he would see her from afar. He'd call out for her but Y/N would walk the other way. Oh, she was avoiding me. Harwin ignored his duties, wanting to know exactly what was going on with his wife.

Harwin lurked around Harrenhal, stalking her every move until he finally managed to get her.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, gently grabbing her elbow. “My love, are you alright?”

“Harwin,” she gasped. “Yes, everything is alright. I have been so busy.”

His eyebrows furrowed, why wasn't she looking at him? Y/N’s head was turned, she was glancing at something in the distance. “Look at me.”

Yet she did not. “I have to go find Melia, she must be very worried.”

“No, I am worried,” he replied with annoyance. Harwin grabbed her chin and turned her face so she would look at him. He felt that his soul left his body when he spotted a rather nasty bruise on her right cheek. “What is that?”

“Oh,” Y/N laughed nervously. “I tripped going up the tower, the stairs need to be fixed.”

“Y/N, who did this?” Harwin questioned, the anger bubbling inside him.

“I just told you?” She replied with confusion.

“Y/N, who did this to you?” He repeated in a harsher tone, making her flinch.

“A squire,” she whispered in confession. Harwin immediately let go of her, turning around to head to the training yard. “Harwin! Wait!”

He did not wait. Harwin charged through the halls like a madman. People would move out of his way, afraid to face his wrath. Y/N kept trailing behind him, failing to get his attention. All the men-at-arms and squires stopped training when they spotted Harwin. “All of you, stand in a line, right now.”

The men quickly formed a line without uttering a word. Y/N finally reached her husband. “My love, there is no need for this.”

“Who did it?” He ignored her pleas. After seconds of not answering, Harwin asked again. “Who fucking did it?”

“Him,” Y/N confessed, pointing at the squire. The man went pale, opening his mouth to defend himself yet nothing came out.

He was knocked to the floor instantly, Harwin jumping straight on him, punching him, getting in every hit that he could. Each punch was leaving his face redder and redder, each hit as powerful as the last. He was beating the shit out of the squire with every ounce of strength he had.

“Harwin, that is enough.”

Harwin continued attacking as if he hadn't heard her, his punches coming thick and fast, his mouth constantly mumbling to the squire about his anger over Y/N, his wife and Lady of Harrenhal, being hurt.

Y/N shot a look at the other knights, motioning them to get involved. Four of them quickly moved forward, pulling Harwin off the squire. “Tend to him and call the maester,” she told yet another squire, who nodded his head.

Harwin grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her away from the spectators. The yard was silent, apart from the squire’s groans of pain. Everyone was shocked because of what happened but not surprised by Harwin’s reaction. It was no secret that he had a short fuse. He took her back to their quarters in silence.

“Harwin?” Y/N whispered, giving his hand a soft squeeze. “Talk to me.”

“Is that why you were avoiding me?” He questioned, eyes slowly filling with tears.

Y/N lowered her head in shame. “I did not want to cause any problems, we just got here.”

“Y/N, my love, we are married. We are supposed to tell each other these types of things,” Harwin used his hand to lift her face. “You are my wife and I must protect you from harm.”

“I know,” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry for not telling you.”

“And I am sorry for my reaction… and for beating that man up.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and laughed, “you are not sorry about that.”

Harwin chuckled, she was right, he was not sorry at all. He leaned down to softly peck her bruised cheek, before actually kissing her.

//

Taglist:

@my-dark-prince / @Daemonloversblog / @littlemoonash / @mypatrochilles / @beefbaby25 / @sweetybuzz2 / @Fin-never / @asexualaromosafezone / @nerdy4itall / @yelchinweasleylothbrok / @Juless_world / @thatgaytevinter / @kaitieskidmore1 / @chevelledahuman / @rozendiors / @claudiajacobs / @savagemickey03 / @multifandom-loser / @direluvr / @dandycandy75 / @bitchyglitterfox / @rumandtearsflowerisevil / @dkathl / @holysmokesblog / @derzauberermitlilabademantel / @daydreamin1220 / @redpool / @bxdbxtxh15 / @vinceelsner / @watersofmars / @popsycles / @holysmokesblog / @madelineannmolder / @poisxnedmind / @lilithArtAndStuff / @mostclevermiss

[piltover-sharpshooter]

I love when a story points out 'Hey, Immortality/Longevity would suck'

Like, spoilers for later Dungeon Meshi stuff.

But for the longest time the character of Marcille, who is a half-elf, we are teased with the idea that she wants immense power because she wants the longevity of normal elves. Many times other elves say 'Oh she must be jealous and bitter and want to become a full blooded elf' but when we actually get to know her backstory, it's actually the oppposite?

Marcille wants other people to live longer.

We find out that despite living decades with her human father, she was barely a child when he passed away. She knows, inherently, that she will survive most of the friends she makes that aren't elves, and that is horrifying to her, she doesn't want to go through the terrible grief that'd naturally cause her.

Because yeah, if you are so long-lived/immortal that you can essentially outlast anyone you meet and form a connection with, then that doesn't sound like a blessing does it? That sounds like a curse.

[malice-ov-mercy]

Star Crossed - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5

Playlist

Pairing: Nicholas Ruffilo x Reader

Content Warnings: angst and pain

A/N: This was two separate parts, but they fit better together.

Word Count: 985

Tag list: @circle-with-me @xxrainstorm @foliosriot @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @reader13000 @sammyjoeee @cookiesupplier

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Will Ramos.

————————————

Ruffilo Masterlist

————————————

They weren’t what you wanted, but you couldn’t have what you wanted. They were nice enough, treated you so respectfully and you felt so immensely smothered by their love. They were perfect in every way—but they weren’t him. You loved them, honest and true, but love’s only as good as the bone, and you were rotting inside.

Your insides were an utter travesty. Tar mucked up your heart, pumping the viscous substance through your body and replacing all the blood. It leaked into the joints and stiffened them. No amount of heat warmed the everlasting chill that made its home in your bones. Permafrost settled in your fingers and toes. You feared your entire being eventually would freeze. Guilt feasted greedily on the still living parts of you.

Blessed be your partner and their failed attempts at completing you. By no means were they a place holder, but they were a far cry from the love you craved. They knew of him and how you struggled to forget. They watched you—even offered to help—pick pieces of him out of you. Every time you plucked out a part, ten more grew back. He was a fucking disease, a curse you couldn’t escape. His presence was invasive. Like mint planted carelessly in the ground, he spread far beyond containment and choked out everything else.

It baffled you how someone who never was yours rooted so deep. His existence tangled and weaved into yours endlessly, coiling around the blood vessels and nerves. It would take a megaannum to rid yourself of him, to make yourself an entirely new person.

“Baby look! A shooting star!”

Their excited voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. You glanced up, catching the tail end of the meteorite before it burned up in the atmosphere. They smiled widely at you. Yours was less enthusiastic.

“Make a wish!”

You chuckled at their childlike amazement. What further harm could a wish cause?

They looked back at you, face still beaming with unadulterated joy.

“Do you wanna know what I wished for?”

“Please don’t.” You warned. “If you tell me, it won’t come true.”

They were cute when they pouted. It almost made you feel warm again.

“Oh c’mon. That’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.”

How wonderful it must be to be that naive, you thought.

“I wished for your pain and suffering to stop.”

A crushing, suffocating weight settled on your shoulders and chest.

You smiled despondently. “That’s sweet.”

“What did you wish for?”

“It’s a secret.”

You knew better than to share. You knew the power and influence the stars held. Mocking them only fueled the fire.

Out in the middle of nowhere, the sky shone brightly. Not a city light or blink of a tower could be seen. Though the twinkling jesters tormented you, you still found them beautiful. You wondered if he still held such vehement hatred for them. Would he bother to make a silly wish? You doubted it.

The color of the full moon high in the sky bared an eerily similar resemblance to his eyes of that night. One day you hoped he could forgive you for disappearing. You hoped your wish would come true, that he would find peace someday.

————

Nicholas never learned what terrified you that night. You distanced yourself tremendously afterwards until you stopped talking altogether. Weeks passed by in a blur. Months bled into each other and before he knew it, two years came and went. The once painful yet warming ache in his chest when you were near had been replaced with a gaping, festering open wound in your absence. His heart left some time ago in search of you. He let it go willingly, knowing the journey would be fruitless. It was broken anyway. He had no use for it.

What did Nicholas expect to happen if he found you? It would be more of the same and he grew tired of the routine.

This is what I get for ignoring logic, he told himself over and over, repeating it like a broken record.

The stars didn’t want you together, and they finally ripped you away from him for good. Nicholas just wished he knew what broke you—but like always, the stars gave him nothing but agony.

He stopped smoking in his hotel rooms and almost completely. Not because of the complaints and threats of being kicked out, but because of the memory of you. The phantom feel of your lips and whisper of your breath lingered on every fresh pack of cigs he opened. It haunted him more than he’d ever admit. Weed started giving him horrifying panic attacks and every high was worse than the last. He thought maybe it was just a bad batch, but after the fifth time, he couldn’t handle anymore. Noah made Nicholas promise he’d stop.

Nicholas was used to picking up crumpled pieces of other people and fitting them back together, but he had no one to collect his pieces. Noah tried, he really did. He stuck his neck out so many times and cut his fingers a thousand more trying to fit together the jagged sharp edges of Nicholas. He was a complicated puzzle of grief, anger, and depression.

For as long as Noah could remember, he never bought into the star crossed, ill fated bullshit Nicholas spewed. Now he thought maybe he was on to something. The hollow shell in the shape of his best friend hurt him deep in the depths of his soul. All his attempts to relieve Nicholas’ grieving fell flat. The only thing he hadn’t tried, Nicholas made him swear not to do.

“Leave (Y/N) alone, Noah. It’s pointless.”

Noah didn’t share Nicholas’ intense animosity of the stars, but he still cursed them for giving his friend this turmoil.

A shooting star shot across the sky. Noah shook his head and scoffed. What further harm could a wish cause?

[llondonfog]

Hey! I just got a horrible wonderful AU idea and I need to share cause I think you might enjoy it.

A Silver Owl Silver is given a backhanded blessing by Melenor for eternal youth, and he will not age until he finds his one true love. He ends up in the castle still till modern day mourning how he couldn't protect the kingdom ( how could that not be his true love, did he not truely love his home? his parents? How can he think of he loyal people and not truly care for them?) and feeling like he's failed as a knight, until this curious lil babybat fae wanders in to explore the ruins. ( big bug eyes too long teeth and pointy ears he needs to grow into)

Silver ends up taking in Lilia and moving into this quiet little cottage. As the years pass Silver starts looking towards the future again and looking forward to seeing Lilia grow, for once truly feeling like he has been blessed, but realizes something horrible and wonderful as he looks in the mirror one morning.

He has laugh lines around his eyes.

the way that this ask has haunted me ever since i read it.

i've talked about a few role reversal aus with a friend but this!! the thought of silver being cursed with eternal youth until he finds his true love, and then the doubled agony of realizing that he will age and die well before lilia, leaving his beloved child all alone in this world!!!

ohhh but the scene of him finding babybat lilia,,,, he's a homely little thing, all eyes and fangs and ears and wings, but silver feels drawn to him instantly— even more so once he realizes the child has no family waiting on his return. silver definitely carries a lot of scars from those early days of raising lilia, patiently bearing the love nips from his fangs and the teething of a baby bat, along with the thin lines from his claws when he digs them into silver's pant legs and sleeves to clamber up his body and perch on his shoulder, equally attached to the strange human who has granted him a home.

it gives silver a purpose, looking after lilia, something to throw himself wholly in once more. he adores and is awed by everything that the boy is capable of— from his magic, his flying abilities, to his prowess at the sword, and lilia THRIVES under the praise. (thinking about comparisons to how canon silver was raised to this au; silver is infinitely more patient and practical when teaching lilia how to focus his magic).

also just some silly parallel moments to canon— silver gets caught in a snowstorm on his way back from making a long and arduous trek to a nearby human village to get lilia a boardgame he had been curious about for his birthday. lilia frantically swoops through the valley and forests to find him, scolding his father harshly when he sees the young man nearly succumbing to the frigid elements (he's much more brash and vocal with his exasperation to silver, almost like sebek in a way? but oh, how he loves his father and will turn his fangs and claws on anyone who dares to threaten silver!! idk I JUST REALLY LIKE TSUNDERE FAE LILIA PRIOR TO HIS DOMESTICATION). (also the thought that this is the beginning of silver's human weaknesses beginning to creep back in as he nearly catches hypothermia).

but the laughter lines. he can't hide these, how cruel to magic them away behind a glamour, and lilia either REFUSES to accept the truth or tries to reject the depth of their attachment??? i keep thinking of some awful moment where lilia is distraught and shouts that it must be true, humans are liars all along when he thought that he'd be together with his father forever, and running away instead of having to deal with the horrible nature of silver's curse (cue a panicked and frantic silver who chases after him— would be a real shame if something happened that would highlight the true depths of his mortality now!!)

anyways, i adore this concept, i need to devote more thought to it when i'm feeling better aaaaaa

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

✧ 🌹 ✧ Of stars and roses - snippet from ( The built of Rosas ) ✧ 🌹 ✧

|| 25 year old Magnifico and 28 year old Thomás have a meaningful conversation ||

Q & A - I

~ What are my "snippets" ? 》 Snippets are certain parts/1 or several scenes taken from a chapter of my upcoming book ( Of Stars and Roses) each snippet can be found under #osar snippets

~ What is "Of Stars and Roses" ? 》 OSAR is Magnifico's whole story written by me in the form of a whole professional novel. It features his backstory and follows the events after the canon movie. The reader also gets to know how Magnifico found his soulmate - Myrah, got free from the curse, stepped into his destiny and rose again as the altruistic, benevolent king he always was.

Info ~ I randomly choose snippets but you can always ask me either in the comments, through the ask or private message for a snippet you'd like to read.

✧ ✦ ✧ ➳ ➳ ➳ ✧ ✦ ✧

✧ ✦ ✧ ➳ ➳ ➳ ✧ ✦ ✧

A light knock on the door to his study caused Magnifico to raise his head from the building plan he had spread over his desk. It had taken him two years to build his entire palace but his kingdom was ever growing. Much to his delight and stress. More people to protect was just what he wanted, but being a king - such of the kind he chose to be - was more tasking than he'd ever imagined. Not that he complained. Magnifico hardly ever complained and if he did, he had a damn good reason.

As a young boy, he'd once asked his father if it was hard to be king. As much as Magnifico could remember, he'd always looked up to his father. Arik, who'd ruled his kingdom with deep wisdom, patience, immense love and the right amount of strictness. And while Arik had told his son that yes, it was hard sometimes, he also assured him that it was also a great gift. A gift that wasn't just a big responsibility but an opportunity. He'd even exclaimed that surely his son would be an even greater king one day.

A great expectation to live up to. But if ever someone was determined, it was Magnifico. Giving up wasn't in his vocabulary. He had solidified his goal in his mind. A goal that had formed one fateful night thirteen years ago. From the shards of his shattered heart and the depths of his agonized soul.

"Yes?" He called while letting a book about different kinds of building materials levitate to him.

"Your Majesty?" A gentle male voice exclaimed, followed by a head peeking through the gap in the door, "I hope I'm not disturbing.”

Magnifico immediately smiled at the sight of the man. "Thomás! My friend! You're never disturbing me. Come in!"

Upon the welcoming wave of the king, Thomas closed the door and passed over to the desk with an amused chuckle. "Got your head stuck in work again?"

"Well, I need to build more homes."

The young father leaned closer to examine the king's plans. "You know ... you could hire a builder for all this work. You're already doing so much for us. More than any other king would."

"I'm not just any other king." Magnifico replied calmly while scribbling down a few more notes. "I have to make sure each home is absolutely safe. The best way I can do that is by building them myself."

Thomás almost reiterated the statement that his king - as benevolent and altruistic as he was - in fact, worried too much, but his gaze had wandered to the scorched rug on the wall behind the desk and he bit his tongue.

Magnifico never directly spoke of the exact horrors he'd suffered as a young boy - anything that sort of matter - he revealed only as much as was necessary for someone he trusted enough to hear.

Not to forget that anyone blessed with a clear mind could conclude on the burned fabric that there must have been a terrible inferno involved. A tragedy beyond grasp that had wiped out an entire royal family and destroyed a kingdom. And for what?

Thieves, cold blooded barbarians had been the reason for that nightmare Thomás didn't wish on his worst enemy.

And exactly that was why he admired and adored Magnifico so much. Despite the deep trauma - that had been inevitable - he didn't focus on himself but rather dedicated all of himself to care more for others.

Thomás had never met a man that self-sacrificing and fiercely protective of others just as he was of his wife and daughter.

Magnifico feverishly was after making sure everyone around him was safe and well at all costs. If someone from his citizens needed help, he came running. He'd bent backwards to ensure everyone was as safe, happy and content as can be.

But sometimes Thomás worried about the king's seemingly bottomless selflessness. People could be greedy, ungrateful and selfish beings and oftentimes such limitless kind heartedness was easily used. And Magnifico didn't deserve to be used.

The young father's gaze shifted to the large glass wall opposite to them.

"How's your family?" He heard Magnifico ask him after a while. "Oh, actually pretty well. Only some little issues here and there. Asha's sick. You know, the flu. Kid's catch that stuff easier. I told her not to play in the rain too long."

The king shifted his cape and wandered around his desk toward the glass wall with a smile. "I can help you with that!"

In awe, Thomás watched as Magnifico swiped his hand through the air with elegance. The dark glass doors slid open and revealed the king's laboratory and room of the wishes.

The wishes - or better said - dreams of the citizens of Rosas, floating at the ceiling in forms of light blue balls.

"Come in, Thomás. It's ok!"

Gaping at the ceiling, he entered. He'd known the dreams of people were in here but seeing those balls was fascinating. Just as fascinating as the fact they were there in the first place. Protection.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." Magnifico replied as he strode behind one of his alchemy counters, taking out a few glass containers with different colored powders from a secret shelf in the stone wall opposite to them. "Anything."

"Does everyone have to give their wish to you in order to stay in your kingdom?"

The king paused briefly before lifting his head over his shoulder in surprise. "Of course not!" The reply came with a hint of slight indignation and firmness. "It's a get to, not have to." He turned around entirely, putting some of each powder in a bowl to mix it, "But I do prefer to have the wishes so I can make sure I can protect each and everyone as efficiently as possible."

And it was true. He never took any dream or wish without the consent of its holder. It was a free choice, not a requirement in order to stay in Rosas.

"People give me their wishes willingly. I'd never force anyone to do anything. Trust is earned and I highly value trust.”

"I understand." Thomás gestured, "But would you ever consider giving a wish back, if you chose not to grant it?”

"I could." Magnifico replied plainly, "but that would completely miss the whole purpose. People carry hopes and dreams, and more often than not, they cannot make those dreams come true on their own. It secretly weighs them down and they worry about it. Just as I worry about them being safe. If I give them back ..."

"Then you'd lose that piece of control to make sure they're as safe as can be." Thomás knew that initially, it wasn't fully right for a single person to have full control over other people's dreams, but Magnifico's intentions were pure.

"The people who give me their wishes know that it isn't a guarantee that they'll be granted. Even though I try to grant as many as I can. Considerately, that is."

"That's a very heavy burden though, Magnifico. One person alone shouldn't carry that much alone." Thomás watched the king's brows draw together slightly and his lips slimming.

"This is what I've decided for myself!" Magnifico retorted with a hint of sternness. "I choose this path for a reason. Everything I do is for this one purpose." He finished creating the medicine for Asha and approached his friend. "What happened back then can never repeat. Not as long as I can prevent it!"

Thomás mustered the king and his heart hurt. Magnifico's trauma ran way deeper than he could comprehend and a tiny fear whispered at the edge of his consciousness. Fear for the king's well-being. Untreated trauma would lead to more suffering down the road.

"I didn't mean to upset you." He exclaimed to which his opposite began to smile softly.

"I know." Magnifico sighed, "I just ... I ... I never again want to see someone's life getting destroyed ... hopes and dreams shattered ..." his gaze lifted to the ceiling and he reached his arm up, letting a few blue balls come down to his hands. "Let me show you something.”

Thomas came closer to have a better look.

"Some wishes are good, some are bad and some don't make much sense. Like this one! This woman - Carla Dubois - wants her house to be made out of cake! Granting this wish is not only impractical, it's potentially dangerous. Yes, I could give such wishes back, sure,” Magnifico frowned, “but then what? She would carry around that dream and eventually try something that could lead her to danger!" closing his eyes, he shook his head. "Granting wishes is only one part of the whole reason. I want my people not only to be absolutely safe here, I want them blissful and carefree! They have the opportunity to give me one of their wishes, I'll protect it, eventually grant it and make them forget about it so they won't have to worry."

Thomas' expression fell slightly. Another wish showed an elderly lady wishing to die and meet her already deceased son and husband again. A painfully sweet desire.

"This is Elena Costas. I understand she misses her son and husband dearly, I understand it more than anything, but she has a big family around her that loves her and still has some years to live and enjoy. I can't kill her. Forgetting that wish is actually for her best. It benefits her. I see her around often, she's so much more carefree and happy now."

The third wish showed a man wanting to climb the tallest mountain on earth.

"Mathias Rossi. He's got a nice wish. Truly." Magnifico shrugged his shoulders apologetically, "but even with the best equipment, he could fall to his death, suffer from loss of oxygen, get hypothermia and freeze ... too many dangers. Recently, I suggested that he should check out climbing our local mountains. I provided him with some equipment and a group of experienced climbers. He's content, happy and loves to ramble about his trips. He's not missing his dangerous wish."

Thomas sighed quietly as the young king let the wishes float back to the ceiling.

"Do you understand why I can't give them back?”

"I do, but ..."

“But?”

"You worry so much about others .... but I worry for you!”

Magnifico's face relaxed into baffled surprise but then his expression saddened.

"You care for others exceedingly, but who cares as much for you? You'd give your life for any of us without second guessing ... who'd-"

"I'm fine, Thomás!" Magnifico quickly retorted, his tone sharper and sterner than before. "I can handle myself."

The young father's stomach tightend as Magnifico passed him. It was painful to see him withdrawing himself behind an invisible wall. His colder, tense demeanor was a clear signal for Thomás not to push any further. The king had softly marked his line, and Thomás knew better not to overstep it.

"Here." Magnifico closed the glass walls and handed Thomás the little glass vial with the medicine as he had caught up to him. "Give this to your daughter twice over the course of two hours. She should be fine by tomorrow."

"Thank you, your majesty." Thomás bowed, "I'll leave you to yourself now."

Magnifico only nodded in reply. Already back behind his desk.

Somehow, Thomás wished he could ease the sudden tenseness between him and the king but he didn't know how. "Take care, Magnifico." He said before moving to the door.

Just before he left, the king lifted his head once more, giving Thomàs a pained yet thankful smile. Smiling back, the young father left the study. Wondering how many were actually able to read the depths of hurt in the king's soul from the ocean of his eyes.

[silverjurors]

OK TUMBLR WONT LET ME EDIT MY DRAFTS SO IM ANSWERING TWO ASKS FROM @reterols (thank you for your kind words I have read them and I also stalk your blog on a regular basis because sometimes being a Zanus shipper feels like you and me screaming about these two into an echo chamber)

A zanus headcanon(s) that make u giggle bc it's just stupid/irrelevant but it's definitely canon.

This one will be glorified story beats for a Very Specific Moment of backstory that I have thought of for actual months but cannot figure out a way to include in my story outline aside from minor references. Idk how fluffy/cute/stupid it is because they're always a little bit Deranged whenever i write those two, but im doing my best. It also gives me a prime chance to ramble about how the position of Silver Death actually works in my rewrite!!

Also this is really long so I'm putting it under a cut because I feel bad

Janus was 22 when Zane took the position of High Priest to the Church of the Divine, and a few months afterward, he asked them to join the Jury

However, Janus wasn't exactly content with just joining the Jury under any position, because, well, that would be some pretty obvious nepotism, even in O'Khasis

So, to prevent this from being an issue, they decided they were going to become the Silver Death

Many had tried to become the Silver Death since the death of the last one 17 years ago, and all of them had failed

This is because in order to become the Silver Death, you must hold a cursed object known as the Donmai that once belonged to Xavier himself

The Donmai is very dangerous, and if not handled by someone with utter devotion to something, it can cause insanity or even kill the attempted wielder. If the person trying to attain it's blessing is insincere, or not completely devoted and dedicated to whatever they are holding in their mind, they will go insane and/or die

Janus wasn't worried, they knew what was driving them forward in life, and the only thing that was giving them purpose

Zane was not so sure. He did believe that they cared for him and would defend and protect him with their life (they'd proven it several times over at that point) but he also knew that the Donmai had a super high bar to pass, and even the slightest waver in your resolve would lead to insanity

But they insisted, and if Zane figured that if couldn't trust Janus, who could he really trust at that point?

They prepared for the ceremony, and the people took to the streets to either watch the selection of a new Silver Death (hasn't happened for over 30 years) or watch another idiot die in a desperate bid for power (entertaining!)

The Donmai was brought out in it's elaborate protective case, everyone else wearing thick gloves and protective gear to let them handle it

Some people were praying to Irene or Eamonn or even Xavier for this to not go as horrifically wrong as all the previous ceremonies, the tension in the air was thick and nobody seemed to believe they could do it

Janus did feel scared at that point, they had never feared death before, but they didn't want to die like this, in a ceremony. They had always imagined their own death on the battlefield, or some form of combat

The time had almost arrived, and it was in front of them, just within arms reach. It didn't look particularly dangerous, but they knew better.

A tradition that took place just before the attempt to attain the Donmai's favor was for the High Priest to whisper an inaudible short prayer to whoever was attempting to complete the ceremony, they mutually agreed it would be a prayer to Xavier beforehand

But, when Zane leaned in to whisper the prayer, the words failed him. He couldn't think properly, so, instead, he said

“Don't let it take you from me, I still need you.”

And he pulled away, leaving their heart racing in their chest. All thoughts of fear or doubt vanished from their mind, all thoughts of anything but the man in front of them vanished. That was why they existed - they were for him, and they were going to prove it

So they took hold of the Donmai with obsessive focus, and their flesh burned at the contact with the cursed metal, but Janus hardly noticed compared to their own emotions and their heart racing

Holding the Donmai was unlike any experience they had ever had, it was like their whole body ached and burned and froze all at once, their good eye blurred with involuntary tears. The cursed object seemed to be demanding something of them, a reason it should let them live

And those words echoed in their mind - that Zane needed them. That was all the reason they needed for anything, that their life may as well be his, and they didn't get to die until he saw fit. That they were his, so, really, any pain didn't seem all that bad compared to the joy it gave them to have that privilege.

Suddenly, the pain stopped. And it was done. And they were alive, sane, and successful.

The people of O'Khasis cheered their name, the crowd in near hysterics at the blessing, thanking Irene, thanking the Divine, thanking Xavier

And Janus the Silver Death looked at Zane, and not even the mask he wore could disguise his joy

The end. Ta da. I should probably turn this into a one-shot but I have no motivation soooo

[astrophelsbargain]

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✧New and improved master-post + updated demo✧

Demo link all the way down below! Into the rabbit hole!

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Hello everyone, this is a new master post as the last one is quite outdated, I would like to first and foremost thank you, in every way- you, personally. I had often thought about making an Interactive Fiction, but circumstances would often distract me and make me unable to do continuously work on it. Though there has not been a day in which I haven’t thought of the stories I want to present to you. Quite a lot has changed- I had rewritten most of the book “Astrophel Bargain” which I had previously presented to you, the noticeable changes become apparent after the first bit of the book. Though it is still a work in progress, I hope to be able to update you more consistently. If you have any questions, suggestions or constructive criticism I’ll accept it gladly- as I am writing it on my own, with no help like proofreaders and I am by no means a native English speaker. Once again I thank you for sticking with me, or if you are a newcomer- for being interested in my work.

May stars bless your journey

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Times have changed since the rise of and reign of magicians, as long forgotten victims and villains of history, they remain hidden- only spoken about as the world marches to a new era of technology and science. Though as magicians grew impatient- forever chained to the earth as their souls dwell on its lands with either goals achieved, long ago-as they quietly live amongst the mortals, peacefully enjoying the bliss of omnipotence and immortality. there are still those whose wishes remain a friction of hope- and they just might risk everything to make up for which they’ve lost.

Rumors spread around as magicians become unlawful, immoral and most of all- feared, causing most to either hide further into the shadows or resist their fate with the power granted to them. As the same rumors pass your shop everyday, a new piece of information reveals that perhaps you and your shop might have a bigger role to play in the schemes of fate.

Your shop is no ordinary store, it holds secrets of centuries old vessels, ornaments books and more, all which will eventually leave the safety of your shop and repurpose themselves at the new world. Though a costumer may never visit twice, for each vessel has its own unique fate and purpose if must serve in solidarity. Being the guardian keeper of the shop is peaceful by itself as you mostly pass your time by exchanging information with far travelers who had happened upon your shop, yet when an old friend visits, your days of peace come to a quick end with a dangerous bargain from an infamous magician.

As you make your way to bid your end of the bargain, you just might discover the world outside your shop holds many wonders- and secrets centuries old, unveiled.

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✧ play as a female, male or non-binary character.

✧ define your characters traits ranging from intelligence, charm, brawn and many more all which have different sections respectively throughout the game, making each play through vary depending on your choices.

✧ Design your character as you’d like, ranging from height, hair color, scars, eye color and more.

✧ decide the fate of major characters

✧ discover secrets and unveil them- if you wish to.

✧ get cursed

✧ develop platonic or romantic relationships with 7 gender selectable characters ( A major part of the game is romance, so it is recommended you experience that aspect of the game as you play )

*warning, the game includes triggering concepts such as death, trauma, betrayal, manipulation, gore and more… it is recommended you read with caution. ⚠️‼️

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Dain/Diana astrophel

✧ The flightless Crow, Enemies to lovers

A magician lost in time, rid of their most treasureable possesion as they seek the key to retrieving what was once their own. Upon finding you, the threads of fate twist and knot when they recruit you to do their bidding. ✮ character Masterlinks : TBA

Alen Alfhelia

✧ The wilting Apatura Iris, belated love epiphany

An old friend who had lost a prestigious position at the Bureu of magic due to untimely rise in magicians retiliation against the crown and Atia, a newfound yet prominent religion. Upon discovering your situation they set out to accompany you on journey to the north. ✮ character Masterlinks : TBA

Sol/Soliel Ekhart

✧ The Blinded Sun, Tragic lovers

A talented minor magician living in isolation from world. As their quiet everyday life becomes a-mess due to your interference, they might come to realize mortals hold greater power then they originally acknowledged. ✮ character Masterlinks : TBA

Nil/Nian Vicifer

✧ The Other Story, Unlikely lovers

A young mystery, who insists on joining you in your travels. As they journey with you, it is revealed that behind their incompatibility with most, might lie another story to unfold. Perhaps the pages will reveal a newfound plot for you to discover? ✮ character Masterlinks : TBA

Caelum/Caelan Alphonse

✧ The wondering scarecrow, Strange lovers

A young traveler who seems to have strange ties to Astrophel, their search for the same magician leads them to you, upon realizing you have a connection to Astrophel they decide to team up with you in hopes of you being the bridge that connects the two of them. ✮ character Masterlinks : TBA

Eliseo/Elisa Valens

✧ The cursed Heron, Love at first sight

A mysterious mortal who seems to hold more secrets then they let on- a guest of Ekhart, as you live together they come to learn that the both of you might have more in common then they assumed. ✮ character Masterlinks : TBA

Lilias/Lilia Letifer

✧ The artificial guardsman, forced proximity

Your assigned escort while residing in Ekhart’s residence, amused that there is finally something to look forward to- they keep a watchful eye. you soon finds that your mission might be more challenging then you had originally thought. ✮ character Masterlinks : TBA

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✧ Demo Link ( last update- 26 dec)

✧ Patreon link - coming soon!

✧ Feedback Form

[papihalliwell]

My personal analysis into the Succedent House of Sex, Death and the Occult.

(I do not own this photo)

The Eighth House is by far my favorite house in a birth chart. It is home to the Sign of Scorpio and its planetary rulers Mars and Pluto. It is the second Water House, dealing with Scorpionic themes of sex, death, intuition, emotions and taboo. It’s a house of mystery and depth, which are the very reasons why I am so intrigued by it. It’s not a walk in the park, but more like a wave crashing into you, causing you to swim to the surface. An elephant in the room. Secrets kept in the shadows of our psyche. It’s everything we fear and suppress, kept in a box in the closet, waiting to be opened and acknowledged. It represents psychology, and how we ourselves, can be our very own demon, leading us into our undoing. It is everything we must face to expand ourselves, shedding our old skin, rising from the ashes, a transformed, powerful being. With that being said, let’s talk about sex. The merging and unification of two souls. This is where the term “tying the knot” refers to. In this house, sex is not casual and playful; that is the Fifth House. It’s completely surrendering ourselves to the energies of our lover. During the act, we unlock ourselves to the spirituality it holds. It’s sacred, one that creates life and seals the bond with our lover. It is magic and ecstasy. Bringing us closer physically, emotionally and spiritually. The otherworldliness from the climax that trembles through our body. It’s why the French word for orgasm is “le petit mort”; the little death, because we are surrendering ourselves to the energies and spirituality of the act. Death is the opposite of sex, that is because sex creates life. Death is the sudden loss of our being, literal and figurative. It represents the transformations we go through in this life in order to enter into the next chapter. It’s the part of our life where we either resist or accept change, it’s giving the song Change by the Deftones (if you haven’t listened, listen). The sudden losses we may experience and the healing we must face head on; to shed the fear and inner demons that prevail within our being. The power struggles and anxiety we feel from resisting such transformations. However, once faced, we are the Phoenix. Rising out of the ashes, reborn and enlightened, ready to enter the themes of the Ninth House. It also dives into the mysterious abyss of magic and the occult. The secrets in accessing our very own intuition. Placements here are emphasized in psychic phenomena, especially if personal planets lie here. This is because of Scorpio and the planet Pluto. In Greek Mythology, Pluto represents the God of the Underworld Hades, so it is no surprise if these placements may attract the paranormal. Being an Eighth House Moon myself, I have experienced the magic this house holds. It’s not like on the TV Show Charmed. However, more like random thoughts in my head, and seeing them come into fruition. A feeling something may occur and it does, and my deep interest in astrology. It heightens the natives emotions, making them intense, sensing the undercurrents that lie; “reading the room” if you will. These are not the only themes that this house holds. However, this house is emphasized around them. It can also represent inheritances. Such as the money or debt we may accumulate once unified with our partners, or the inheritances we receive from a loved one passing on. Which can be money, a psychic gift and whatever else it is that they leave behind. It is clear that this house is not easy, however, it’s powerful. It can be a blessing or a curse, that can only be determined in the eyes of the native. If you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed the read. Please like and share, until next time Astro Babes. 😘💕 Blessings, Papi Halliwell 💙✨

[erikatsu]

The Abyss, Celestia, & Khaenri'ah's Truth

the khaenri'ah enthusiast is back with another theory! this one is definitely my favorite and honestly i'll be disappointed if im wrong :,) but anyway.

cw: in game lore, speculation, building off other theories as well. all sources will be linked or shown through pictures so i can paraphrase. pls take this with a grain of salt

The Abyss came first, then Celestia (who has kept this secret buried and struck down others who knew), and Khaenri'ah reached this truth. They waged war against those beyond the sky, not the "gods" of Celestia themselves.

And before you say, "but Celestia was confirmed to be first", it was hypothesized by Nahida, but never confirmed.

To start off this theory, we have to go back to the ancient civilization, Sal Vindagnyr.

Sal Vindagnyr was formerly Dragonspine before it was covered in snow, and they lived in harmony with Celestia and "the White Tree" (which we can infer is/was a branch of Irminsul). The princess of this civilization had been blessed with the power to forsee the future, and saw that one day a great black dragon would come and that he would fill their land with a scarlet poison. But this vision would not come to light until thousands of years later during the Cataclysm that destroyed Khaenri'ah.

This dragon was Durin, who's bones are still on the mountain– hence the name "Dragonspine".

Through the Wings of Concealing Snow, we learn that the people challenged Celestia, and in return they dropped a nail and shrouded the city in snow and darkness. The nail then split into pieces, and one of them destroyed the tree. But the nail splitting didn't just destroy, it cause the tree and the ley lines to wither. The kingdom's scribe, and the outsider who vowed to help the kingdom both have some interesting things to say in the items they have left behind.

With the knowledge we can get from Dragonspine and Dainsleif, it's to be speculated that Khaenri'ah used to be Sal Vindagnyr.

Imunlaukr, the outsider says: "You who dwell in the Heavens, you must wish for naught but to watch our ashen suffering here below. In that case, let me help you pass the time with a song of iron and blood" (Snow-Tombed Starsliver Greatsword)

Dainsleif about the Field Tillers:

Ukko, the scribe, notes: "I've heard of people who are building a new nation without gods. Perhaps they will have the power to stand against this world" (Scribe Box). Ukko also cursed the gods, which you can find in the lore as well.

Sal or Salr means "hall" or "room", Vindr means "wind" + agnir means "husk/shell" in Old Norse, (Khaenri'ah is inspired by Nordic/Gaelic cultures).

Khaenri'ah is also Arabic for "Wind betrayers/Traitor of the Wind"

But how did they end up underground, and how could they betray Barbatos if he had yet to come into being? The answer is simple, really. And it can be found in the Byakuyakoku Collection. Enkanomiya, Sal Vindagnyr, The Chasm Ruins, and Remuria (Fontaine) were all once apart of the same ancient civilization– led by the Primordial One and it's Four Shining Shades– that was forced underground during the war with the Second Who Came. The nail splitting on Sal Vindagnyr and destroying the tree could have been the start of that war.

The people underground did not know who emerged victorious in the war, but believed it was the Primordial One and three of the four Shades, who left them behind. They claim only one Shade did not forsake them, and her name is Istaroth, the Goddess of Wind and Time.

We also know Istaroth used to be worshipped in Mondstadt thanks to the statues at the nameless island and at the Thousand Winds Temple.

The Byakuyakoku Collection was forbidden. Orobashi paid a price for its knowledge so his people would not have to. The truth it holds had been lost. The people were not allowed to return to the surface but why, if the Primordial One loved them and humanity, wouldn't they allow them to come back? Surely, since they knew it was in the world's creation, they were okay with knowing this truth...

Why would the Heavens want to conceal this war and the truth that Celestia is not of this world when it had once been common knowledge? Why was only Istaroth left? Why were they abandoned by their God? Perhaps, the Primordial One did not win the war.

The Primordial One was once described as having "wings and a crown" along with "hatching from an egg".

Believed to be Phanes. In Egyptian Mythology, Phanes was in fact described this way + also having serpent features, and their name means "Bringer of Light"

The people of Byakuyakoku worshiped the "imaginary" Ouroboros (the serpent eating its own tail) and then an actual serpent, Orobashi. Dainsleif's constellation is also Ouroboros, and Khaenri'ah's knights were the Black Serpents.

Serpents, Wind, and Egyptian ties link both Enka and Khaenri'ah. This reddit thread points out a very good connection to the Sumerian name for Khaenri'ah and to Wind.

Zurvan is a Persian God of Time, who was associated with the Axis Mundi (the center of the world). The Legend of the Shattered Halberd talks about Irmin, a divine halberd who pierced the Axis Mundi and connected the worlds. Irmin is also the name of Khaenri'ah's king.

Interesting to think about since we know that even though Khaenri'ah is not in Teyvat, they had easy access to assist Sumeru when monsters of the Abyss began to flood them thanks to their research facility in the desert (which was said to have connected realms).

So, what about The Abyss? How does it fit in? Just like the Heavenly Principles, The Abyss is described as an entity. And this entity is heavily reflects Christianity/Catholicism. And what is the Primordial one, of not the Progenitor God?

Just as God had four powerful archangels, the Primordial One had four Shining Shades. Raphel is said to represent air (Istaroth), Michael -> Fire, Gabriel -> Water, Uriel -> Earth.

Tack that onto the fact the "truth" and knowledge from the Abyss is toxic in Teyvat (i.e. eleazar, withering, driving others to madness) and that Celestia refused to let Byakuyakoku come back to the surface? The truth is: Celestia is the Second Who Came, and The Abyss was the Primordial One, and I think Khaenri'ah was very much aware of this fact, or at the very least, on the right path.

Their fight was not with Celestia, and they knew to search Enkanomiya for the Sun and Moon Book before Orobashi brought them back to the surface. Because their ancestors, like Enkanomiya/Byakuyakoku's were part of the same unified Primordial Civilization.

I believe Khaenri'ah went after this information to wage war with "the forces beyond the sky", and even though they tried to keep their fighting within their own walls, the monsters of the Abyss still broke free. The ruin golems were manned by people who were helping Sumeru battle the monsters, and most of them died. They allowed refugees into their land. The Pari speak highly of the Dahri and the "masked blonde swordsman" who helped fight the abyssal breach in the sky. Several have claimed Khaenri'ah's reputation was smeared.

So why, would all of Khaenri'ah be cursed? Perhaps because they knew the truth, because they stepped into a war between two entities that they had no part of, or because of their experiments with Khemia and Abyss power?

To be fair, Rhinedottir created several beings with Abyssal ties through Khemia, and while Durin and Elynas (<- speculation on her) seemed to be pure-hearted, they were destructive and unaware of that until later on. And we know successful creations like Durin and Albedo took time. Meaning she had gotten away with this for quite some time. Why not strike them down sooner, like when she first created the rift hounds? Why let it progress?

EDIT: i do also think it's plausible that these creations of Rhinedottir's were not dangerous until leaving Khaenri'ah, seeing as abyssal power is toxic to Teyvat + Durin and Elynas were both very childlike and not aware of their own destructive actions until after they died.

This is merely speculation on my behalf, but what if Khaenri'ah has always been fighting off monsters of the Abyss and these creations of Rhine's were her way of fighting fire with fire? Until war was waged and eventually reached Teyvat's surface. The more Rhine experimented, the more she learned -> the worse her creations got. With her role to play in the Hexenzirkel as well, which focuses heavily on exploring Irminsul, she could have found the truth of the world and shared it with others in Khaenri'ah.

The true Khaenri'ahn's were cursed with immortality— possibly with the sole purpose of them eventually eroding and prevent their memory from returning to the leylines. Perhaps being afflicted with immortality also triggers erosion quicker, as they're simply humans without any divine attachment. Speaking of leylines, they're all connected to Irminsul which grows upside down and underground (as stated by Tighnari). Its very possible that it grows from the Abyss.

The scribe from Sal Vindagnyr wished for "The frosty skies to burn till there's no living soul left in the world". The war with the Second did start the world anew. They have known the harshness of the gods. They wished the nation with no god would have the power to stand against them.

If the sky is fake, why not Celestia or everything we thought we knew about them? If the best running theory right now is that Teyvat is an inverted world, could that not also apply to how the world works?

After all, the Archons and Gods are named after Ars Goetia demons (which there are seven princes in lore, but their names come from knights and dukes as well– minus the tsaritsa but that's leak territory). And the history of the princes starts with this:

"In ancient times, the Seven Princes were once believed to be the Gods that once created humanity, and as a result were worshiped by them. When Judeo-Christian Regime began those "Gods" had been demonized, by genocide committing Judeo/Christians who were attempting to cut the world of from spiritual knowledge. In actuality, these demons were fallen angels that rebelled alongside Lucifer, the angel that defied God which caused the War in Heaven. After their fall from grace, each of the beings were twisted and transformed into hideous abominations. After the War of Heaven, the imprisoned fallen angels decided they needed a form of ruling government in their new plane of existence. Some vied for power, but undoubtedly, the ruler of Hell at the time was the leader of the fallen angels, the charismatic Morning Star, Lucifer. Courageous and strong, he made others bow before him through persuasion, bribery, or intimidation."

[stargazersroom]

Infinity Room's Curses and Blessings, Part 3: The End

Part 1, Part 2 and this post about Tango are highly recommended for understanding this one.

It's time to establish corrupted Mumbo!

I already mentioned in this post that Mumbo is very protective about his items, but I also believe that he would want to get more. He was so sure about us stealing his stuff that I'm convinced one of this must be true - either someone tried to steal Mumbo's items in the past or Mumbo projected himself onto us, meaning he would totally steal strangers's items. In the panel where Grian passed bread to Impulse he looked like he would like to take some for himself. Mumbo never thought of it directly, but him questioning himself if getting more items would actually help his cause and body language in that frame... Sara, if that was what you were going for, you absolutely nailed it. It's one of my favourite panels from Infinity Room because of both the composition of that frame and how clever and expressive it is.

So, Mumbo's thing will be (and already is) possessiveness. False is short for FalseHydra. Tango is the endermite person who can teleport us. Endermen are known for their teleporting abilities, but Tango already claimed teleportation and is tied to endermites. Endermen's second gimmick is taking blocks. There are no other creatures who would be more possessive (apart from foxes, but please forget about them for the sake of this theory).

Tango - Endermites, False - Void, Mumbo - Enderman. All are End themed. I wonder, will there be Shulkers? End Crystals? The Dragon? Iskall for Dragon maybe? Dragon bros, dragon bros...

I'm fine with Mumbo - Fox as well, it just doesn't fit the whole End theming, which looked cool and fun. One thing for sure - Mumbo is very possessive and will get even more so with time. I won't claim this trait as neither Curse nor Blessing, and I start to think that this system isn't suited for Infinity Room, not as it is right now.

[trapped-in-my-daydreams]

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The Honored, The Blessed, The Righteous.

Throughout heaven and earth, he alone is the honored one.

Snow white hair, iridescent ocean-like eyes, otherworldly, mystical. Such power bestowed upon a mortal babe, the birth shakens the balance. Snow white hair, cursed blue eyes, distant, detached. A god amongst men. Such favor of the heavens, bestowed upon a mortal man. Throughout heaven and earth, he alone is the honored one.

She is the blessed child.

Snow white hair, iridescent night-like eyes, otherworldly, mystical. Such power bestowed upon a mortal child. Through death, the power awakens. Snow white hair, cursed blue eyes, distant, a killer's instinct. A godling amongst men. Such favor from death bestowed upon a mortal child. She is the blessed child.

He is the righteous.

Coal black hair, sharp eyes, kind yet something lurks within. Spirits follow his command, yet such power comes with a price. With voices haunting his mind, he struggles with his morals as time passes by. Coal black hair, cursed mind, gripping tightly at the last strands of sanity. A mortal amongst gods. Such power comes with a price. He is the righteous(?).

The honored and the righteous, together they are the strongest of the strong. They are two of the pillars of their society. Numerous trials they faced and triumphed, they laugh. They say, "For only a fool would challenge the strongest."

And a fool did challenge them, a fool who triumphed over the honored and the righteous. A mortal man who possess not power but strength. The honored received a blessing while the righteous received a curse. Two sides of a coin.

A tragedy happened. One mission, one girl, the honored, the righteous, the blessed. It was supposed to be easy until it wasn't.

They all experienced happiness, joy before disaster struck. The honored, the blessed, a teenage boy, a young girl, almost stabbed to death by a fool. They almost died. Almost but close.

A mortal man. A fool.

They failed. The girl is dead. The mission is over.

The righteous starts to doubt their cause. He asks the blessed, "If there was a choice, is this still your path?" The blessed answers, "Yes, it is inevitable." The righteous sees why. He nods and bids farewell. The blessed feels another tragedy forming. She stays silent, pondering.

The righteous' thoughts turn for the worst as his guilt fuels the voices. Why must they fight for the weak, if the weak disregards them? Those weak— those monkeys don't deserve their sacrifices. One mission, two girls, the righteous(?).

He witness what they had done. Those poor girls. Sweet, innocent girls treated worse than dirt. He snaps. A massacre, two little girls, the traitor.

His crimes unearthed, they demand execution. The honored feels disbelief and deny, deny, deny. The blessed feels disbelief and asks why, why, why?  They felt betrayed in a way. Before the righteous—the traitor, his mind whispers— left, he asks the honored. "Are you the strongest because you are the honored or are you the honored because you are the strongest?" The honored is silent.

The blessed asks the honored why, but the honored doesn't even know anymore.

The honored is bitter at the betrayal yet he admits to the blessed quietly, "I can't save those who don't want to be saved." The blessed nods and understands.

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This is inspired by the fic, Zenith of Stars by Yuesya on Ao3. This fic is literally one of my favs🩷🩷