#snippets of the curse king

[meiliem1619]

👹

[wyked-original-writing]

Seven sentence Sunday writing share

Snippet for chapter: 28. I'm very not fluent in fish.

From The pirate king of Death's Redemption (TPKODR)

Pausing as he realized that Daimhín had called him little captain. He glared in the direction Daimhín had walked. He was furious he had been called little. Did everyone have to pick on his height? Although there was a part of him that didn't mind it all that much. A part he was trying to crush because it would only lead to him getting hurt. He stormed off for the blacksmith's forge knowing Adoh didn't mind any help he got.

Thank you for the tag @the-golden-comet here @lychhiker-writes here and @theink-stainedfolk here as well as @words-after-midnight here (it didn't give me a notification for the tag, i saw it on Goldie's blog 🫂)

Tagging gently my taglist: + @jev-urisk & @aintgonnatakethis

@thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @lychhiker-writes @thecomfywriter @evilwriter37

@saebasanart @the-golden-comet @mauannacreates @kind-lion

@alinacapellabooks @kuebiko-writing @theink-stainedfolk @mysticstarlightduck @demon-sneeze

@fromthenortheast @smellyrottentrees @honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives @illarian-rambling @paeliae-occasionally

[valeriefauxnom]

If Only We Could Lead Painless Futures

So, I wrote this in two days, and it's kinda supposed to be set in what would be a collection of 'bad ends other worlds experienced in the course of all the canonical multiverse in Dragalia', but uh, yeah, it quickly grew out of hand and I'm not sure I'd want to publish it right now on AO3, so for now, I'm putting it here. Of course, being written in two days, it might be a bit less polished than anything else I'm writing or have written (I promise I'm still working on Control, Fundamentals, and Scaling!!)

Being a bad end, it's understandably not a happy read. Warnings, if I were to put this on my AO3, are only 'major character death.' That being said, hopefully someone might gain some enjoyment out of my sad nonsense.

So here's a 5.5k angsty oneshot I have no idea where it came from.

“Let me through!” A voice all but yelled at the door, before the ornate wooden doors all but swung open. The guards instantly readied their polearms, swords, or other weapons of choice, and he laid a protective arm in front of Leonidas’ chest while his other hand drew near his sword. 

But the intruder happened to be none other than a messenger of the kingdom, clad in the blue and green outfit that heralded their order. “Your Majesty! Urgent news- an attack on the Sacris Lucitania National Cathedral- there was a bomb-!"

"What?!" He roared, already drawing parallels to the similar attacks against the royal family a year back, "Get the capital guard and medics there as soon as their legs can carry them. You summon my children inside the castle and order them to a safe spot-"

Then he stopped, wind suddenly vanishing from his chest as he did a quick headcount of where his children were. Leonidas was here, learning firsthand and by example how meetings could go. Chelle was likely in the gardens for tea break and private study. Valyx in studies, Emile right there with him. Though the twins still were young enough to not have particularly intensive studies and plenty of play, today the High Priestess had wanted to further get a gauge on Zethia's aptitude for the holy magics. She and the other clergy agreed she might even have the power to become the Auspex, one day. He had permitted it, under heavy guard, outside of the castle’s safety as she were and untrained in self-defense.

She was supposed to be there, in the national cathedral, right now.

Sensing the opening, the messenger continued. "Sir Harle and company is already on scene. But Princess Zethia- early reports are she was injured to an unknown degree and is being brought back here as we speak. There's no other signs of imminent attack as it appears targeted to the cathedral. This is all current news, Your Majesty."

Sweet little Zethia, injured by a bomb? 

…He still couldn’t take the chance with the rest of his children.

"Go to a safe room, Leonidas, now. And don't leave until I call you, understood?"

"Father, I could find Chelle and bring her-" His eldest son was taking the immediate chaos very well, coldly collected even at the news of his baby sister.

"No. Go." It wasn't a matter of valuing one of his children over the others, but simply getting any of them to safety as quickly as possible if this were a mass attack on the royal family.

Thankfully his boy didn't choose to argue any more, fleeing out a back door. He could only pray that the boy would heed his instructions.

Why this, why now? And not two years since Phares' death. It seemed as if the world had conspired to rob him of his children's joy, health and very lives of late. 

Until Zethia arrived, though, he had to maintain composure as King Aurelius, the Sage-King. 

---

It hurt. 

It had been fun, playing up the shy and quiet side to Zethia when she was with strangers in a bid to stop himself from revealing his true identity. The guards hadn't suspected a thing, leading him around the cathedral by the hand and chuckling about how quiet the twin princess was compared to her outgoing twin brother. 

But as they approached the main altar (bigger than him!) he started to hear a strange clicking noise. It kinda sounded like a clock, but that didn't make sense. Leonidas once whispered to him during some boring long assembly they all had to go to that they never kept any clocks in church to make you forget what time it was so they could 'sink their greedy claws into the party...itiners’? hearts'. Whatever 'partyitioners' were, it had earned an elbow from Chelle. 

He still didn't know what partyitioners were, but it sounded fun, and he had locked his big brother's words into his mind. 

So what was the ticking?

"What's that ticking?" He asked while fiddling with Zethia’s ribbons on her dress, for interrupting the guards' and church peoples' talk. He wasn’t supposed to interrupt adults, he had learned, even if most didn’t seem to mind it. 

"Ticking? I don't hear anything, kid." Said one. He didn't wait for Euden to catch up when guiding him, which Euden found rude. Besides, why wasn’t he calling him ‘Your Hi-nis’? That was apparently important, Chelle had told him when he complained nobody besides his family seemed to call him by his name. He liked his name!

"Youth certainly have active imaginations, no? She must be so used to the clocks in the busy castle that she’s filling in the silence. Quite precious, really, how well they learn about the environment," added a holy woman, "Come now, Your Highness, we'll need to head up to that altar right there to see how strong your mana is! Isn't that exciting?"

Uh-oh. He didn't know much about mana at all. He was going to get caught if there was a test. Maybe he should've asked Zethia about it before agreeing to switch places, but as soon as he had seen his twin upset with how much she didn't want to go today with strangers outside the castle, all questions vanished from his mind.

All they had to do was  wear the other's clothes and go about their day. Surely they could get through one day without anyone suspecting?

That was what led him here, in Zethia's place. All in all, it had been pretty fun until then. He got to go outside the castle! See all the people out there!

But right as they started getting closer to the big rock thing they called an altar, everything got way too loud.

And then it hurt. 

--

Thankfully, all his children were quickly found and taken to a safe room to be heavily guarded. All that is, save Zethia, until another messenger relayed that she'd been brought back home. 

He took a breath to steady himself. His daughter was still alive.

With all haste, he moved to the private infirmary where they would have moved his daughter to.

It was easy to identify the room where his poor daughter had been taken, by the hustle of healers and doctors in and out the room as yet more stood just outside. The red dots coloring a path on the stone also caught his attention, but he ignored it.  

“Okay, looks like Sain’s healing fixed the ear bleeding but not much else.”

"Why isn't the rest of the bleeding stopping?" 

“Different cause, I’d wager. The blast force itself caused this, but whatever is making these damn puncture wounds so stubborn is another matter.” 

Came the hints of discussion he heard as he raced over. 

"Your Majesty! We're doing our best, but to put it harshly, we can't have people getting in the way. Please let us work and we'll call you as soon as we can."

"I'll stand in a corner, just please- I need to see my child-!" He all but pleaded.

Swallowing in disapproval, the doctor ushered him into the corner. His eyes quickly found his child, looking so small on such a big bed meant for adults. The castle hardly had any children in it, after all, why prepare valuable infirmary beds for a veritable nonentity? Most injuries were training accidents among soldiers, anyways.

…But something wasn't right. 

Then it hit him after only a second. 

This was not Zethia, despite what all reason would tell him. Something deep in his fatherly senses told him that this was not Zethia… but her twin. He knew all his children well, and had no trouble distinguishing between the twins.

The twins- they've done this before, but not recently- I thought they'd grown out of it. That means Zethia must actually be safe with the rest of her siblings…

Regardless of what he thought, Euden lay unconscious as several healers and doctors did their best to treat his child. 

Namely, trying to bandage those small puncture wounds all over his son's small body, despite the fact they seemed to bleed through all too quickly and forcing them to add more on top of the ever-growing number of layers. 

The only small mercy thus far was that no fragments seemed to have struck his head or hit vital organs in any serious capacity. He simply was bleeding in too many places.

“Doesn’t seem like there was any smoke damage involved, he’s breathing fine.” Muttered one to his cohorts as he checked his son’s breathing.

“Yeah, it seems like it was more of a projectile bomb. Vicious in their own way, and if we can’t get this bleeding stopped, the kid's going to die of exsanguination.” 

After the currently attending professionals realized that the King was in the room, that he had indeed heard what they said, he was all but forced out so they could work in peace.

—

When he finally was summoned over again by a doctor, her face was grim. “Your Majesty…the situation is not looking good. Despite everything we tried, he won’t stop bleeding. You said you’re sure he doesn’t have a blood disorder, especially a clotting one? Has he ever bled for longer than you think he should for minor injuries?” 

“No, none of my children do, nor is there a history of it in the family.” He recalled Euden’s tendency to acquire small injuries, and none of them gave any hint there might be something wrong.

Another person, this one a healer-mage, walked up to the doctor. “We just got the analysis done regarding the shrapnel extracted as a sample. It’s been carefully warped, mana-wise, to interrupt certain functions of the human body. Specifically, it’s designed to absorb all the mana that would otherwise aid in clotting. That’s why he’s been bleeding so long without a sign of pause or abatement.” 

How heinous, not only to construct a bomb and plant it in a church, but to go to so much trouble to make it all that more deadly…And now his child was suffering for it.

“What can be done, then, now that we know why he hasn’t stopped bleeding?” Aurelius asked, looking for the endgame in this where his son was alright.

“...We’ll do our absolute best to go about restoring the proper mana flows in his body, but with so many pieces lodged inside him, he very well might not make it with how long he’s been bleeding already.”

With that simultaneous hope and fear, he was shooed away again. Left to wait, he briefly had the instinct to go back and do paperwork as a distraction to do something productive so he didn’t pace a hole in the floor, but he dismissed that idea. Instead, he went to visit his other children to update them on the situation. Though their reactions ranged from shock to numbness to utter terror, all were physically okay for now, and so back to waiting he went.

—

The second time he was summoned after being shooed away, Aurelius knew it wasn’t for a good outcome by the scared faces fearing retribution as he approached.

“Your Majesty…there’s no elegant way to say this besides we’re losing him. He’s continuing to lose just enough blood he can’t replenish, even though we’ve stopped the worst of it now. He most likely won’t last the night. But the prince has woken up recently, and we’ve already given him painkillers. Please, go visit with him.”

The room felt colder, all of a sudden. He was losing a third son, again to horrible bouts of luck.

“Could he be moved, then, to his room? I want my boy to be as content as possible.” Surely his bedroom would be more comfortable than the cold environs of an infirmary.

“It’s…possible. We can get on it, if you truly wish. He’s still bleeding, though, Your Majesty, if you don’t want him potentially making a mess of things, then I would suggest-” 

“Do it. I don’t care about messes. If he’s dying, let the boy do so in peace without making him feel he’s doing wrong. And send a messenger to my children, let them know to come to Euden’s room and why.” Other kings and queens throughout history may well have thrown a fit at the idea of a ‘royal room’ being dirtied and heeded her words, but Aurelius would not. Decorum was important. His children’s safety and happiness, even more so.

With that, Euden was carefully gathered up and placed on a stretcher to be carried upstairs. The boy was confused about the whole thing, peppering Aurelius with question after question as he tried to make sense of the matter, why he was being carried upstairs, -that was weird-, why it hurt, why why why.

He’d always been an inquisitive lad eager to explore the world, so much so that most of the times Euden wound up in trouble were due to his curiosity leading him to do things that weren’t approved of. This time, though, Aurelius had no true answer for him that he could voice, so he gave half-truths about how he had been hurt and was being looked after and needed to rest now in a bid to get him to settle down and not aggravate his wounds. 

After they made it up, Aurelius himself deposited his son into his softer bed and dismissed most of the staff, save one to occasionally check in on him.

“Father…it hurts. They gave me something gross and said it would help, but it’s not.” Euden admitted, fidgeting slightly. Aurelius laid a hand lightly over him to still him, even if most of the shrapnel had been removed in their attempts to restore his mana flow. No, Euden would not accidentally drive the metal pieces into organs or harm himself further that way, but he should save his energy.

“...It will be over soon, my boy. You won’t hurt again.”

“Really?” That perked his son up, as much as he could, half-lidded eyes still drowsy springing back to life with hope. 

And so, even though it felt sick to deceive such pure, trusting innocence, Aurelius fell deeper into the truthful lies he had started spinning to his dying child as he awaited his other children's arrival. 

“Yes, after today you won’t hurt at all.  And tomorrow, there will be a celebration, and you’ll be the center of attention.”

“A party? For me? What did I do? I thought I was in trouble- for being Zethia…” His meaning was clear even with the slight error in word choice, and Aurelius wasn’t going to go about correcting his son’s speech now. He tucked a blanket over him instead and watched him nestle into the softness with a small smile.

“No, you’re not in trouble. We’re going to be celebrating you, after all.” He most definitely would have been in trouble in any other case, but it all was of little import in the face of the impending death that otherwise would have likely killed his sister. The only important thing now was keeping him happy and comfortable.

“...Will there be cake? The strawberry one like Mother made?” He asked hesitantly, as if voicing this request would cancel the party altogether for being perceived as demanding, something Aurelius had done his best to ensure his children weren’t. But nothing save direct divine intervention at this point would halt that celebration tomorrow.

After all, it would be his son’s wake. A celebration of the bright little boy whose light was snuffed too soon in the course of silly childhood antics that led to him assuming what would have been his twin’s fate. Oh, if only he hadn’t permitted them to go in the first place…but the past could not be changed.

“Yes, one just like it, and all your favorite foods,” he swallowed, before thinking the better of it, “...and if you want, I will bend the rules so you can have some soon.” If that was one last thing he could do for Euden and to assuage his guilt that his son would not truly be present for the promised celebration, he would do anything to make it reality.

“Mmm…that sounds good, but I’m not hungry. I’m…tired.”

He recognized that for the sign it was: his blood loss was approaching enough to herald the kind of unconsciousness that would lead to death, and his ever-so-slightly increasing pallor only backed up this idea. At once he felt the desire to urge Euden to stay awake, for his siblings to have at least a last conscious moment with him, and soothe him into falling into that sleep he’d likely never wake from.

“That’s good, you’ll need all your energy for tomorrow. But your siblings are almost here to- to say goodnight to you, do you think you can stay up just a touch longer?” He did his best to speak calmly, to keep a waver out of his voice. 

“I can try…why are they coming here? They never come into my room to say goodnight.” Evidently he was still cogent enough to notice the abnormality.

“To say goodnight, as I said. They-”

He never got to finish this idea, because the door swung open and his children rushed in. 

“Father! Surely it’s not true-” They cried.

“Shh. We’re here to say goodnight to Euden, and yelling won’t help him go to sleep, understood?” 

They did, judging by the way they froze to look over to their brother at last, then back to Aurelius. They always were smart children, and ones already too familiar with death and the words people used to talk around it. He shuffled a bit to make more room on the one side of his bed for some of the children to gather around. Zethia took the spot right next to him, latching onto Aurelius’ arm mutely. She still was in the tunic and shorts Euden preferred to romp about in.

“Did- did you guys know there’s going to be a party tomorrow?! There’s going to be cake!” Euden exclaimed, before he sobered a bit, “...Oh. Was it supposed to be a surprise?” 

“Is that so?” Leonidas looked instead at Aurelius with a weighty gaze across the bed, already putting together the true meaning behind his words.

“Yeah! You should get to sleep soon too, so we can have fun together. It’s not fair you get to stay up so much later.”

“I think we’ll be up for a while longer yet, dear. How are you doing?” Chelle said, right there with Leonidas in understanding. 

Indeed, it was still daytime, night long yet to come (and oh, what a long night it would be, Aurelius predicted). To Euden, though, who still wasn’t quite perfect in reading the clocks with the old Draconic numerals all throughout the castle, all he understood was that he was tired and that when he was tired it was usually nighttime and time to sleep.

“I’m…okay. Tired. It still hurts to move, a bit. But it’ll be better tomorrow.” 

“Euden,” Valyx said, before chewing his lip in contemplation, eventually proffering his precious stuffed animal bear he’d brought as one of his long-treasured gifts Aurelius had given him years ago, “Here…maybe this’ll help.”

He briefly pulled back the cover a bit, eyes darting to the bandages and gauze all across his little brother’s chest, as he put the bear into Euden’s arm, and his brother wrapped a protective, slow arm around it to keep it to his chest.

“Th-thank you. It’s soft…and warm…It’s cold in here…” 

It wasn’t. Still in late spring as they were, the temperatures were perfect, not too high or too low even for younger children like the twins. 

“Put on another blanket, then!” Emile said, as if it was obvious. Not yet mature enough to fully understand all the principles of tact or that Euden wasn’t feeling well or motivated enough to rectify such minor woes himself now. Maybe Aurelius should have explained better his condition privately, with it now largely being hidden under blankets and bandages. At Euden’s lack of movement, he sighed and fetched a blanket, throwing it over him casually, but his face betrayed his comprehension of the implications of Euden’s words.

“Thank you, Emile…” His voice became a touch softer, “Zethia, Father said we’re not in trouble!”

She jolted at Aurelius’ side at being called out. He nudged her forward. No doubt this had to be the worst for her, and he didn’t want her growing up with such deep regrets that she never properly said goodbye to her twin.

“O-oh, really?” She looked back at him, and as he nodded, Zethia turned her attention back to Euden giving a weak smile. 

“No, we’re not. So maybe we can do it- again- soon…oops. Shouldn’ta said…that…” He managed between breaths growing increasingly laborious, as he realized how he just betrayed his ‘plot’.

“Euden!” She wailed as she leaned in to hug him before Aurelius could remind her to be careful.

“Ah!” He huffed in pain, prompting her to back off and gingerly take his bandaged hand as if it were fragile glass. Aurelius paid only a brief glance to the blue-purple tint to his fingertips.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry! Because of me, you’re-” She started, unable to finish. Like Aurelius, the eight-year old was unable to fully accept the fact her twin was dying, or likewise share with him this understanding.

“It’s alright…I’ll be fine…”

The room fell into mournful silence, then, amid the occasional sniffles from some of his children, trying to hide their emotions and the running lie they were now complicit in presenting to their brother. Euden paid this no mind, as he seemed to alternate between looking at them and staring off, absent-minded. Aurelius almost was wondering if he was about to drift off for good. That is, until he spoke again, in a daze.

“...Where's...Phares? Haven't seen him… in a while.” He gasped, breathing yet more ragged as his eyes flicked about his room in search.

Aurelius swallowed, again thrust into a matter he did not know how to address. Euden seemed to have forgotten that Phares was long dead of wyrmscale, but bringing that fact to light was something he didn’t wish to do, either.

“He’s still in the castle. You’ll see him soon. In fact, you’ll be the first to see him, so be sure to give our regards,” Leonidas stepped up to continue the lies Aurelius had begun, disturbingly even for such a young teenager as he was, until he continued, “Tell…tell him Leonidas says hello, alright? Can you manage that much, little brother?”

“Tell him yourself! I shouldn’t…have to do all your work…”

Despite it all, the fundamental misunderstanding going on between Leonidas and Euden sparked a choked bark of laughter from several of them, Leonidas included. The unexpected humor of Euden, -eight years old, -telling off his teenage eldest brother for any reason with such authority was just too powerful.

“You’d be doing us a great, important favor, Euden. Can you please say hi, for us?” 

The others muttered agreements to Chelle’s request. Euden, in turn, murmured something indistinguishable in assent, though it sounded suspiciously like it might have been a drawn out, dramatic ‘fiiiiinnnne’. No doubt this had to be ridiculous to him, who labored under the impression Phares was still alive and the rest of his siblings were being lazy by shoving all their greetings for him to say.

He then blinked, long and slow, like he had to contemplate whether or not to open his eyes again. Regardless of whatever excitement having all his remaining siblings there for him brought to Euden, the fatigue setting in was a losing battle. Aurelius was grateful he’d endured this long to let his siblings talk with him. His children were all fighters. Stubborn, too. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised.

But no matter how much one fought, some fights were unwinnable, and life was one of them.

It was time for Euden to go to his rest.

"Are you wanting to go to sleep now, Euden? Do you need us to leave so you can fall asleep?" Aurelius asked softly.

"No...I like it when you're with me…but you still haven't said good night…"

"Good night then, my dear son. Rest well. We love you ever so much."

In turn, his children chimed in with their own farewells, one by one.

"Good night, little brother."

"Good night, Euden."

"Sleep well."

"...Good night, you little insect."

"Euden…Thank you! For being my brother." She was half laying across his bed now, right beside him but still careful not to jostle him and hurt him any more.

"No, thank you…for being my twin. See you tomorrow, everyone…love you. Good...night."

With that last shaky exhalation, he fell unconscious, head drooping ever so slightly and closing his eyes. Everyone else gave an unsteady breath after that, too, at some of the tension easing out of the room.

Euden yet lived, though it was doubtful he’d wake before he died. With no way to replenish his blood enough in time, the slow exsanguination would claim him today. They sat (or laid, for Zethia) in contemplative silence for a long, long while, though it felt timeless. Nothing else seemed to matter at this moment.

- - -

…Prince Euden died that night, indeed never waking up again. 

It was said that no member of the royal family left that room or slept that night, but none have commented on it  or verified such speculation, even years later.

It is a royal custom in Alberia to house the remains of a few close generations in one mausoleum, so that princes and princesses and kings and queens can rest with those they knew. This tradition was followed, the young prince joining his elder brothers who already lay in the small, austere, and yet perfectly upkept mausoleum at the very edges of the royal castle’s memorial garden. Unprecedented was its construction on actual castle territory, previous monarchs directing them quite some distance away so that elaborate structures could be built, but it is said that King Alberius could not stand to be parted at length from any of his children, even the newborn Prince Beren, who lived not a month. 

What was once a humble temple to the fragility of the newborn grew all too fast as Prince Phares joined his brother in death some years later from wyrmscale, and Prince Euden not two years after that from what became known as the ‘Dark Day’ among royal parlance in Draconic, from certain Draconic-studied nobles of the time.

The conspirators: violent revolutionists who detested the church’s power over the monarchy in the delicate balance that Alberia has run on since its inception. All conspirators claimed not to have ever intended the monarchy as a target, upon their inevitable incarceration at this grievous offense, but the fact remained that a prince not yet hit double-digits perished from their cruel plot.

All four were summarily executed with greatest dishonor. Some civilians speculated at the time that this was a secret denial of fair trial via pressure from the royal family, but all records of the time seem to indicate a marked indifference to pay any whit of attention to the ones that killed their family member, not even attending said executions, believing them not worth the time of day. No, the abnormally quick trials seemed more to originate from the passive terror of drawing the royal family’s eyes if they delayed judgment too long.

One curiosity remained, between the direction of the royal family and the conspirators, however…Despite the vehement, justified backlash against those that killed a prince…

They’d unintentionally won their ideological war through this martyrdom, no further act required.

- - -

“...It is done, brother,” Zethia said to the monument that marked Euden’s place in the mausoleum, “You can rest easier now, knowing the church won’t cause any more harm to our family through their negligence.”

Oh, they’d kicked and screamed over the course of a decade, but the march of progress would not be stopped. The fact was, the former National Cathedral had failed to properly protect its vaunted halls even knowing a member of the royal family was due to visit. Such a sin was unforgivable, and her twin had died because of it. He’d saved her, and it was her family’s duty to pass on that torch to the next generations. The trusted covenant between the church and state was shattered with that single act of laziness. No longer could the church be a shield for the country if it couldn’t even protect its sovereigns.

So as their rights and deep entanglement in the state slowly bled away (as fitting a death as possible, Zethia believed), first as their jurisdiction over who was exiled and disinherited in the royal family nullified, to the decreasing appearances and backing of the church by her family, she only had grown more sure in her convictions. When both sentiment among nobility and commoners alike was potent enough, and the damning edict passed that henceforth the church was no longer officially endorsed, protected, or provided special rights in the Kingdom of Alberia, her family rejoiced as the priests blustered. 

A child had died with more dignity and composure than they had, and theirs was only metaphorical.

She was no longer a child, though, and her work was not done. 

Supposedly, the Auspex of Grams was starting to fuss at the church’s separation from the state, and sending letter after letter demanding their reinstatement, ‘to remain holy in the eyes of Ilia’. Leonidas had scoffed and passed her the letter with a smirk, knowing well she was the perfect answer to the whining.

After all, why pay any mind to a ‘Goddess’ who would permit such cruelties in the world? Her elder brothers, snatched away all too soon from the world, none justly. Beren, for no offense other than his birth, Phares, for happening to develop wyrmscale (and, as Leonidas later regaled, stopped from consulting ‘heretical’ texts that nonetheless may have helped him by the very same church), and Euden, killed whilst visiting one of Her holy places.

Thus, she was set to ‘negotiate’ with the representatives of the Northern church and its supporting countries soon regarding the international incident brewing, and Zethia had quite a few choice words for them. Chelle would support from afar, her kittens told to inform Zethia of any plot against her as well as provide her with unflattering snippets the Northern Church might not like to have revealed to the public. Valyx, too, would be sending along a contingent of his elite troops to help guard her, though she was more than capable with the sword now.

It’d been a needed outlet, after Euden’s death. Something to direct her efforts to, and something she had more than enough support in the form of Leonidas and Valyx helping her learn. Euden had always remarked how cool swords were when they were kids, and it served an additional way to honor him, just as the miniature capelet he hated wearing at formal ceremonies that she used as a decorative sash was or the bear coat of arms Valyx used in inspiration of the teddy bear marked with a single drop of blood that had worked through his bandages, that day.

Even Emile was purportedly scheming something, alluded to per Chelle. She suspected an elaborate propaganda campaign collaboration with Chelle and/or artistic masterpiece to drive hearts and minds of the northern lands away from their church, but would let him keep the surprise.

It would serve a wonderful gift whenever it came to fruition; she would not let her curiosity spoil the wonder. A pick-me-up, if the Northern Church proved too aggravating. Regardless, they were not walking in unprepared. Northern countries often liked to pretend they were morally supreme from the ‘spoiled cur’ that was Alberia, given all it needed resource-wise and allowed to thrive, but they were about to learn that just because the land was bountiful did not mean they were complacent in their might.

Were the northern representatives truly so obstinate and hostile to Alberia’s increasing departure from the faith, they were fully prepared to wage war against the entirety of North Grastea combined, and they would win. It was just a matter if said countries saw sense or not, soon.

“...I’ll be back soon, Brother. Wait for me until then. …Goodnight.” 

She rose, before briefly touching the well-worn rock they all seemed to use as a place of contact. Her round of the family crypts complete, Zethia parted, but not before brightening the candles burning perpetually over the tombs with light and fire magic.

Zethia didn’t see how the one dimmer candle she’d missed cast a unique shadow of what looked like a boy on the wall, watching her go with a faint aura of sadness.

[ponyisle]

Different lore snippets about some of the important figures in Hylios! Lore dump below:

Before becoming Empress and the Patron of Order, Midnight Gold was a general in the war against King Sombra. On the brink of death in the battlefield, Starswirl used his magic to try and save Midnight, preforming a very risky spell(one that almost killed him as well) that turned Midnight Gold into an Alicorn.

With her newfound power and with the help of her troops and aid from The Royal Sisters they were able to defeat Sombra. Midnight did not take a position of power in the Crystal Kingdom however, as King Sombra’s curse still took effect, and the Kingdom disappeared for 1000 years. She instead was encouraged by StarSwirl to go to Hylios, as the empire had no Alicorn or real stable leadership. For the next some odd hundred years she ruled Hylios with the council. Taking a vow to never again use her magic for violence and creating one of the more stable civilizations in Equestria until WishBrights banishment.

Out of pure desperation, Daybreak came to her and asked for her help in the raising and lowering of the moon. After much physically and mentally taxing practice, Midnight was able to take the role that Wish previously held, becoming the honorary “princess of the moon”. A title which she vehemently was against.

Hylios is full of bright, scientific and magical minds. Sometimes the place births ponies and bit wackier than most, ENO being one of them. She stops blowing up stuff as much once Midnight comes in. #cantergale

Also— I’ve gotten lots of questions about whether or not this is a fic or an ongoing story somewhere. Instagram and tumblr are the only places I post about my AU! There isn’t any official writing for the story except in the captions of these posts, so everything in the CanterGale tag is all there is, sorry😭💜 I’ve considering starting a fic because of all the interest, but I’d like to hone my skills before doing anything like that. I’ve already got an embarrassing johnlock fic out there I DONT NEED MORE

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #6

(A/N: Vote winner so I did my best to finish this)

"Screw it, i am done..." Danny grumbled as he stepped onto the watchtower through a portal, ignoring the startled heroes around him, or his own rather disheveled state. His green glowing eyes surveyed the room he was in for a brief moment before his eyes zeroed in on the one hero that caused to much work for him.

"YOU!" He pointed an accusing finger at the red clad hero before floating over and grabbing the hero by the front of his hero suit. "Do you have any idea how much work you cause me!"

Danny got one confused blink before he launched into a rather thorough explanation of what he just went through fixing 20 different timelines that got created because of one flashpoint while shaking the Flash like he was a ragdoll, ignoring the other heroes around him.

Clark, who arrived a little late to the meeting, looked around the meeting room confused. He glanced to the side to one of his hero colleagues. "Is there....?"

"A white haired floating teen boy giving Barry the lecture of a lifetime?" Oliver cut in arms crossed as he watched on. "Yes, there is."

Clark blinked, looking back at the scene and then back at Oliver. "And..."

"And Bruce is actually taking notes and enjoying Barry getting lectured to an inch of his speedster life while also getting information on time itself? Yes he is." Oliver added an, his tone slightly frustrated but also happy that he wasn't at the receiving end of the teen boy's rant. The kid had been going on about different time lines and the multiverse theory as well as how Barry apparently created several different timelines any time a new flashpoint happened or the past gets seemingly changed. Oliver wasn't even sure the kid was breathing with the way he had been talking non stop.

"And for the record! Changing the past does not automatically fix your present! You just created an entirely new timeline! Do you know how many times I had to fix these? You left so many unattended timelines! I would be rich now if I had gotten a dollar for every time I or my siblings had to fix the stuff you did! Did you ever hear about the multiverse theory?! Hell you are heroes! Didn't you deal with other universes already!?"

The kid rambled on and Clark was pretty sure he wasn't hearing the kid breath in once, which was worrying in so many different levels. But a little traitor part of his mind was actually finding the situation quiet funny.

"Oh and don't get me started on your spawns!" Clark winced a little as he heard the floating boy breath in for the first time in his entire rant before launching into another rant about how it wasn't just Barry but his entire family. Next to him Oliver chucked finding the moment simply funny end enjoying the show of Barry, aka the Flash getting lectured by a floating teen boy.

Though they partially wondered why Bruce wasn't stepping in but then again, the kids rant was... rather informative if he wasn't cursing at Barry's entire family.

A little earlier that day...

Danny groaned as a green note fluttered onto his desk in the middle of his English exam. His head hit the desk and he was sure he was creating some sort of misunderstanding and appearing like he didn't study enough for this exam. Which for once he did, he actually had managed to get time to study for this exam for once. And that despite all the work that had been piling up lately.

The fun fact was that work didn't pile up because of some ghost king title or something, or his rogues dogpiling on him. No it piled up because of a hero organisation outside of Amity. Now don't get him wrong, he admires these heroes. The ones from outer space are his favorites even. But unknown to them they caused im a lot of work ever since clockwork started to mentor him.

Danny glanced at his English exam and then at the note before his head hit the desk again.

Just one day... was one day to much to ask?

He blames whatever hero was at fault this time as he couldn't concentrate on is exam anymore. He barely remembers finishing it as he hurried out of the classroom, forgetting to give Sam and Tucker an explanation as he went ghost and hurried of to the ghost zone. Danny's eye twitch a little when he noticed Clockworks amused expression.

"What is it this time?" Danny groaned already knowing he wouldn't like what he was going to hear.

"Another flashpoint was created. You know what this means." Clockwork chucked handing him a time medallion and Danny groaned even more.

"Can't Dan or Dani..." He started but Clockwork cut him off with an amused headshake. "No, they are currently busy with another job I gave them."

Reluctantly Danny nodded and stepped through the time portal. While he knew, he would actually only be gone for a minute at most in the present, it still annoyed him that he had to constantly fix time. And most of the time it was because of one specific hero at that. He was not looking forward on how many different timelines he had to fix right now now. this was going to take a while too. Even if only maybe a minute will pass in his timeline.

He still had bruises from the last 20 timelines he fixed. And in all honesty he was getting tired of this kid of work, he was partially sure Clockwork was him now, so he wouldn't have to do this himself. Or the ancient of time was getting a kick out of watching Danny fumble while fixing other timelines.

He yelped as he dodged velocraptors right after coming out of the time portal. "SERIOUSLY?! THE MESOZOIC ERA THIS TIME TOO?! WHAT AM I EVEN SUPOSED TO FIX HERE?!" He yelled at nothing in particular. That was it, this time, this time he decided he would finally go and pay these heroes a visit and make them aware how much work they had been causing him...

[slowd1ving]

since the poll's already tipping towards ratio might as well preemptively start writing

fun fact I initially was gonna write for cursed prince ratio first anyway but then I finally did the tb quest for penacony and sunday.... yeah..

anyways hows my writing voice for ratio?

PRIORITY POLLLL

my fingers are itching to write for either sunday or ratio.... yk what that means.....

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

1. pope!sunday + knight! m!reader: it's not everyday you're shoved into the shitty b-rated romance novel your friend read, but derailing the plot by looting this world before the fl and her ml entourage can is the least of your concerns as you fuck around and gain your own recognition. journey around the land of argo as you best monsters with your legendary sword and armies with the magic imbued with Earthen scientific loopholes! whether it be just a novel or a world in its own right, your actions are either meaningless (as it's just a novel) or meaningless (as it's truly a different world). although, such recognition comes at a price; as a newly-minted war hero against the chaotic, demonic forces, you're assigned the most dangerous male lead to guard as your next assignment - the obsessive papal figure for the order, sunday. but this too is perfect for you; might as well brush up on your theology skills in this world as you seek answers. outside his faith to ENA, second to only his absolute devotion to the female lead, there's no way you'll catch his eye like that, right?

2. cursed prince! ratio x alchemist m! reader: all knowledge comes at a price. cursed by his imperial tutor NOUS after accessing heretical material, he's fated to live entrapped in stone forever. a hundred years later, a scientist is transported to the kingdom of metis; a place where academia thrives but only the approved content. you're not sure why the hell you're in the indie rpg lament of ouroboros, but you do know it sucks and you'd rather die than come across the irritating main cast. what better way to have fun than to access the hidden side of magic through use of scientific formulae? unfortunately, the practice of alchemy is heretical to the kingdom and so you daylight as a sculptor! strange, this particular rock you started carving out of a whim looks like the deposed prince of a century back, your apprentice aventurine notes. how odd! how strange! veritas ratio is name you've never come across in-game; maybe it's because you didn't read enough lore about its stupid collectibles. regardless, every time you cast a detail - a smoother ear, a more textured iris - the ever-conscious prince ratio regains just a little more of his senses. and maybe it's your knowledge, or the intuition you possess, but something tells you there's a deeper meaning to the statue you started carving out of boredom. and what a coincidence that alchemy transmutates materials!

3. theology student! sunday x m reader (roommate au): something tells you the finicky orchestral conductor and theology student sunday quite dislikes you. is it the purse of his lips as you walk past in crooked formal wear that informs you? is it the jarring chords scraping against the fluting lilt of the strings and brasses? is it the harsh glare in his eyes as you walk past him on campus? it's perhaps the worst and unluckiest week in your life as soon as the new school year starts: your girlfriend's dumped you after her crush on the aforementioned halovian grows too pressing for her to stay quiet about, while you're assigned sunday as a roommate to rub more salt in the wound. but maybe his fluttering wings aren't as indicative of his frustration as they seem, and maybe you're not as headache-inducing as he quite imagined. when two sets of philosophies and grudges clash abruptly like this, what could possibly remain standing from the fallout?

[bluetimeombre]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e

Deadpool and Wolverine but your lady pool and an absolute SLUT for Wolverine.

[this is a complete self insert with just everything I was thinking about during the movie and since then I’ve watched it three times. It gets better every time. Snippets of the movie, will probably do a part two. SPOILERS!]

part two

Warning/disclaimer: femreaderxwolverine, sexual content, sexual language, offensive language, just being a whore the man, cursing, repeat daddy issues, never proof-read.

After digging up Logan and expecting to find a shirtless and oiled-up Hugh Jackman, you were a little more than disappointed to find the bones and metal. 'Damn it! Shit! Fuck! They Les Mis'd him!'

Eventually, you settled down next to the remains, against the same log that had impaled him. 'That was weird,' you chuckled. 'I'm much calmer now. Look, I'm not a woman in stem but you seem incredibly dead to me. Oh, you sexy lump of bones and metal. I would have let you slide them into me any day.'

'But it's good to see you,' you pat his knee. 'I gotta be honest, I've always wanted to ride you, Logan. Oh, whoops, I meant with you. Ha! Who am I kidding, no I didn't. Just you and me, getting into it. And I mean into it. Every style. Doggy. Sixty-nine. On the kitchen counter to the bathroom. Till my back broke. Yea, we'd have been good together.' You ranted, fantasies flying across your mind too quick to focus on one.

With your red-gloved hand, you jerk the chin. 'G'day mate, there's nothing that'll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of Marvel cash. Ha- I hear you, Hugh. But no, no, no, no you had to go and get all noble and die for real. I could really use your help right now. And a massage. Your big manly hands just rubbing all over me-'

Just as you were about to go into further detail about what you want him to do to you, the sound of portals opening and heavy boots stomping closer alerted you.

Quickly, you pulled the skeleton down on top of you.

'There are two hundred and six bones in the body. Two hundred and seven if i'm watching Van Helsing.'

Que the fucking montage.

You have a mission. Find a Logan to take back with you. First up you end up in a bar, catching an axe as it was thrown at you. 'Logan! I'm gonna need you to come with me.'

The Logan sitting at the bar slowly turned to you. 'Who's asking? ' He slipped from the bar stool to reveal a 5'3 Logan.

You coo. 'Well, who's this little ankle biter. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes you did, comic-accurate short king. Such a cute little Wolvie.'

The little guy started stalking toward you.

'Que the fucking montage.'

You found a Wolverine for the seventies, or eighties, something close enough to that, one hand missing. 'Oh yea, sexy, you have anchor being written all over you.'

You found patch Logan. 'Oh hello, Patch. Should've worn my white suit.'

You found another old man Logan, sitting solemnly on his front porch. 'Howdy! Oh, I see, you're the daddy issues one. Good to see god has answered my prayers. So soldier, do I need to be a bad girl so you put me over your knee, daddy?'

Another was tied to a cross with red bloody skulls acting as a floor.

One was dressed in a tight yellow and brown suit, walking through the woods. 'Hubba hubba. Classic! Now, you fought the Hulk in this suit, right?' as he snicked his claws out, the green of the beast reflected from behind you. 'I am Marvel Jesus you dull creature and I will not be-'

One, your favourite, was working on a bike in a tight white vest and dark pants. You drooled. 'That's the whole goddamn package right there. You know from behind you look a bit- holy Shit!' he turned, and everything about him was Wolverine. Except for the fact he was Henry fucking Cavil. 'The Cavalry has arrived. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Can I say, sir, sorry, daddy- on behalf of all of humanity, this just feels right! We will treat you so much better than those shit fucks down the street!'

He took the cigar from his mouth, stalking to you. You had never been so aroused in your life. 'You were just leaving'

Giggling and twirling your hair, you hold a hand out, ghosting over his chest. 'Can I just, one- one touch. Oh my god! You're like Superman or something.'

He punched you right into the Logan you needed. Thank you Cavil.

'You two gonna fuck or fight?' asked the bartender. 'Both if i'm lucky,' you said.'

'Oh look at those sexy little jammies, that only took twenty fucking years!'

The trash heap was the last place you wanted to end up, but when you woke to Logan looming over you, a snarl on his face, you sighed in relief.

'Well, hello sexiest man alive, 2008. Wanna give me a hand? Or head?'

He sniked his claws out.

'Kinky! That's new for Disney!'

He dug his claws into your ribs and dragged you up with them. 'Where the fuck are we?'

'I dunno, but it looks a bit mad maxxy to me. But that would be IP infringement right?'

'Fucking jokes,' Logan uttered. He threw you over his leg, your back breaking.

'Till my back breaks, Wolvie!' you yelled out, quickly rolling yourself back up and shaking it off. 'Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm a big fan. How about we strip off our suits, take a tumble in the sand, get to know one another you know. Personally, I'm more of a cowgirl fan but I'm willing to do whatever you want baby.'

'You're unbelievable,' he grumbled. It was still sexy. He turned his back to you.

'Oh, I see, is that what you did when your world went to shit!'

He paused, his head slowly turning to you. 'Say again, bub?'

'Oh, I am so horny right now.'

The two of you engaged in a fight, and not the sexy stradling fight that would happen later, but the guns firing, swords slashing kind of fight. that was only interrupted by a familiar voice.

The only other voice that could have you dropping your panties as quick as Wolverine. He was hooded, hidden, but you knew him from your sex dreams.

'Dear god almighty, it's him.'

'Who?' growled Logan.

'Don't be jealous baby, I have two holes for a reason. Don't worry gorgeous, you're gonna encounter some delicate language, a smidge of ass play but we've been prohibited from using cocaine, at least on page.'

He raised a hand. 'They're coming.'

'Who's they?'

The three of you watch cars and trucks drive through the waste, keeping you trapped. There were familiar faces, Pyro, Toad. And Sabertooth.

The mysterious figure jumped down and mastered the superhero landing that had you clapping your hands and jumping up and down.

'Oh my god! Oh my god!' you held onto Logan's shoulder as you jumped while he just glared at you.

'I've got this,' the man takes down his hood, showing the beautiful, hot, strong, handsome, hubba-hubba worthy, Chris Evans.

'Oh yes, you do sexiest man alive, 2022!' you cheer.

'Stay close,' Chris- or Steve- called back to you.

You stalk over to him. 'Aye aye, Captain.' you wrap your arms around his stomach, fingers trailing over his abs. He removes you and you groan, sulking. You walk back to Wolverine and jump onto the side of his hip.

Instinctively he holds your ass which makes you giddy before he realises his mistake and drops you.

'You're not gonna love what happens next,' shouted the captain.

Your jaw dropped from behind the mask. 'Holy shit, omg! No way, he's gonna say it! He's gonna say it!' you flick one of your swords that was still poking out of Wolverine's chest. 'Avengers-'

'Flame on!' Steve- no, Johnny- yelled and took to the skies in a ball of fire.

It was sort of stupid in hind sight as Pyro lifted a hand and extinguished him, causing him to fall from the skies and go crotch first into a billboard.

'No!' you screamed, rushing to him and rolling onto his back to get a look at him. 'No, no baby, stay with me. Let me take a look!' you tried to pull down his pants but Logan literally pulled you off him.

You were tied up with Wolverine on the front side of you and Johnny on the back. When you woke, you giggled. 'Woah, just like my dreams.'

Johnny woke to, lifting his head from your shoulder. 'How long was I out?'

You smirk under the mask, looking back to him. 'Not all of you was asleep, say Cap, is that a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

'Is that Chuck? Hey Chuck, over here! Hope it's you young, god, we got James Macovy in this?' you yelled as a wheelchair rolled out as you entered the thing that was apparently large Paul Rudd.

'Cassandra Nova. Charles's twin,' the villain introduced herself.

'Holy shit,' said Logan.

'How was anal birth?' you asked.

Cassandra smirked. 'You two are cute. I have a good feeling about this.'

'Right!' you cheered. 'Just wait till this ends, the smut is off the charts!'

She took the chain from around the two of you but you wrapped yourself around Logan's arm, he only grunted at you. He only pushed you off when you started to go off and off about what Johnny said about Cassandra. 'People think i'm a shit talker but this guy-' you chef's kiss. 'Next level!'

Cassandra, with a flick of her hand, shed the skin from him as he fell in a heap of bones and blood and skin,

You cried out, holding onto Logan for dear life. 'My favourite Chris!'

'You silly little bitch, you just got him fucking killed!' yelled Logan.

'Fine, spank me then! P.S. Do you know what he was doing to the budget!'

You were brought to Ultimatum with Cassadra, Oliath or the other British villain, but all you wanted was to save your world, bang Wolvy and go home.

'I didn't want it to come to this, either you help us or my boyfriend here is gonna perform the whole of Greatest Showman as a one-man show,' you warn.

'I'm not her boyfriend,' Logan grumbled.

Cassandra went on a trauma dump that had you groaning. 'Couldn't you just turn into accomplishment like the rest of us?'

But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together.'

'Sorry lady, he's taken!'

'Not for long,' Cassandra smirked and as Logan attacked, she sent him in the ground and away from you. You only whined at his disappearance, a whine that turned into a groan when Cassandra's fingers entered you in the worst way possible. Through your head.

'What can I see here?' she asked. Cassandra gasped. 'Oh, you are a whore.'

Oh yes, she saw the million filthy things you wanted to do to Logan.

The two of you made it out and to the diner where Logan was intent on finding food and taking rubbing alcohol shots. When he sat across from you, chucking a tin of spam at you, you pulled of your mask.

Logan stilled, looking at you with finally something a little different than anger.

'What?' you asked.

'I thought you'd be ugly under there.'

'No- no, that's the Deadpool. I'm better, and a self-insert.'

The two of you took to walking through the rather nicer side of the waste. You had his hand in yours, swinging it happily like you were a couple before he threatened to chop your hand off.

'You said Logan was a hero, what happened?' he asked.

'You died. Technically you were chest fucked by a tree, but really you just ran out of batteries trying to save this girl- a kid really. Always wanted a man who's good with kids. The shit heels who grew her in a lab called her x-23, but she was just a kid. A smaller, cute and mean version of you. Yep, you saved her, very hero, very demure.'

The two of you were interrupted when a bark sounded over the hill and the BEST DOG EVER ran out to you, ears flapping in the wind, tongue out as it always was. The little boots. The collar. It was Dogpool.

You threw off your mask and picked her up, cuddling her close. 'She's coming with us.'

'No she's not!' he argued.

'Yes, she is!'

'No!'

You pulled out your puppy dog eyes and lifted the dog to your face and slowly the resolve in his face slipped.

'Sorry!' another man ran out, chasing after the dog.

'Fucking shit bag!' you cursed.

It was another dead pool, a good-looking one with long hair.

'What's Ryan Reynolds actually doing here, I thought I replaced him?' you said.

'In here everyone calls me Nicepool.'

'Can we have your dog?' you asked immediately.

He laughed. 'over my dead body!'

You nod, thinking about it but Logan holds out his arm before you can even move.

Whatever Nicepool was saying was you didn't care as you cooed and hugged the dog closer and Logan watched.

Fuck, he was paying attention to you.

'Why are you so nice?' you asked eventually.

'It costs nothing to be kind,' he said.

'Shutting the fuck up is also free,' said Logan.

You bite your lip in his direction. 'God I am so attracted to you right now. This is Logan, he's usually shirtless but he's let himself go since the divorce.'

Finally, the Nicepool took you to his ride to get you and Logan and the dog to the borderlands.

It was a honda fucking odyssey.

Logan wasn't willing to listen to your complaints. 'Get in the fucking car.'

'Make me, Daddy,' you said.

He took one step closer to you and you backed away with the dog. 'No, we're running away!'

Logan forced her from your arms and handed him back to the Nicepool.

'The corn was to dense girl!' you called after her, pouting.

Logan shoves you into the passenger seat while he takes the wheel.

You pull of your mask, hair falling around you like you were in an advert. 'So, what shall we do to pass the time...'

Honda Odyssey coming soon, that my friends, is called edging.

[impyssadobsessions]

Here's a comic depicting a snippet of a story Idea I have. >w<

(Link to Reference Art I made of Danny) Danny comes across Clockwork's lair, see's some visions of a past he wasn't quite sure of whose, before being dropped down a hole where CW cryptically fills him in as to why he had summon him. Thus dropping Danny into this new world with only knowing he has to save a guy name Dante- and defeat Pariah again. He falls through a roof of a thrift store- fights some skeleton demons with the racks after learning something is weird with his powers as he cannot change into phantom and his body feels weird. His clothes get ripped and tatter thus him "borrowing" clothes and walking out to see the extent of what Pariah has already done.

Which causes him to run into a big bull demon and fights him one to one- while learning the new limitations on his powers/how they work in this world. Spoiled below more ideas that are very rough and not set in stone. That I copied and pasted from my word document- which was just hastily written down as to not forget.

Danny is summon for another favor for Clockwork- CW isnt in the tower but screens of timelines are playing around the room. Danny thinks some of them are cool- wondering when and where that is- until he see one of a woman running with a baby in her arms. Cut back to danny who falls through a hole in the ground and winds up falling into a thrift store. His form has changed and his powers don't really work how they were suppose to. Maybe instead following Pariah into the demon world- finding himself in same scenario. Maybe CW gives only cryptic word help dante. But dante supposedly still gone so meets nero instead. Nero over time realizes Danny might not be human- doesn't think ghost- but assume Danny might be Dante's son... for various reasoning. ---Maybe CW is split in two reason Danny was able to live on the other side. (because of legend of Pariah having been banished to in between because he was feared by demons- only for him to take over new world and being sealed there. Chronos was part of the reason he got banished. ) -Pariah Dark being big bad. But once Danny wins title of king the curse tries to bind him. Then Clockwork stabs him to the ground with his staff- essentially winning the title and being sealed away with Pariah. Danny is rescued by Dante, and he uses the staff to slow the closing of the portal. Everyone safe and rescued. Danny stands where the portal was and cries. Overwhelmed by information and also realizing he has no way back home.

--- Also thought of an idea for a sequel idea- where Danny is in a comatose state but it is revealed after a seemingly heartwarming scene of Dante and Danny watching the sunset peacefully as father and son. Then Nero arrives to pick up Danny. Dante reveals that they know where the guy who did this to danny is and how to get Danny back to normal. (Vergil having scouted ahead) Dante leaves to help clear out the problem leaving Nero with literal dead weight as Nero has to take Danny's lifeless body to the lair- Danny slowly regaining some motion as he gets closer to his-self. Nero at first saying Danny owes him big time- but as it goes on Nero like- hey don't pay it back all in one go- I still need at least one favor so I could spend a nice night with kyrie. (Because Danny uses his blood to help Nero fight back the ghosts- and then him phasing them through a collapsed ceiling while still in a coma like state) Very Nero centric taking care of Danny- and whose been taking the most care of Danny. So very much him just talking one sided to Danny but seriously hoping for the best. And to clock the guy who did this. Which my idea that it be actually Dan ;3 who split Danny apart.

[inbarfink]

Okay, so here’s the thing….

We are still at a very early point in the narrative of ‘Fionna and Cake’ and therefore at a very early point in Simon’s character arc. It’s pretty clear that “I need to become Ice King again” is not the end point by any meaning of the word. But I am wondering where we’re going to go with this, cause… The series has yet to really tackle how miserable Ice King himself was a lot of the time. And how often he hurt people. 

Like, yes, I was an advent advocates for 'trying to bring back Simon Petrikov was a really really Bad Idea on Betty's part, it was more healthy to focus on making sure Ice King was as happy and healthy and harmless as he could be', but I am also fully aware that he started the show being both extremely lonely and extremely sad and also a serial kidnapper who was very much a danger to those around him. And as much progress as he made during the show, getting Ice King to that point was a very serious struggle with a lot of backslidings and problems.

'Friends Forever' is, for example, an episode that stuck with me for a long time as a really heart-wrenching demonstration how even in that late stage, when he has buddies and people trying to seriously take care of him - Ice King was still very capable of seriously sabotaging his own relationships and hurting others and himself.

And it does make sense narratively that, like, characters like Astrid and Fionna and Cake, all of whom lack the full context of what Ice King's life was like (Fionna and Cake really just saw Simon at his worst and only got snippets of clips of Ice King and since Astrid was born after Humans came to Ooo that means she was also born after the events of ‘Come Along With Me’) all see Simon as a downgrade. Because they really don’t understand how bad Ice King was beforehand. 

And thus is does make sense that with Simon's current mental state, and how he is surrounded lately with these kinda people who never really knew Ice King and don’t really understand how terrible and miserable he could be, and now hearing that his ‘sanity’ just took away magic and whimsy from some else’s whole universe, and how it feels like the actual gods of the multiverse are telling him that he should be Ice King, that he's supposed to be Ice King....

It makes sense that he might start kinda... romanticizing that time in his life again. 

You know, the big thing about the outlook that Betty should’ve accepted Ice King as who he is rather than basically destroy herself to bring Simon back wasn't about whatever Ice King or Simon Petrikov were better or 'cooler' than the other. It was about, like, embracing change. Not obsessing about a past where things were ‘Better’ but seeing what is the best you can do with things as they are. Moving forwards.

And we all know how Simon feels about moving forwards right now…

And obviously that's a pretty bad mindset, even if it's understandable how he got there...

And honestly, if we do explicitly acknowledge that, hey! Ice King’s life was often just as much of a depressive spiral as Simon's is right now! There might be an element of… resignation in Simon’s decision. 

Because Simon's downward spiral since getting cured is not a demonstration that he was better off under the Ice Crown's curse.... But, to him, more a demonstration that he doesn't need the Crown to screw up his own life anymore.

‘Cause as both as Ice King and as good ol’ ‘sane’ Simon Petrikov he is just as capable of being lonely and depressed.

And just as capable of losing his own identity.

And just as capable of pushing his loved ones away and ruining his own life.

And just as capable of becoming a weirdo obsessive.

And just as capable of making little girls cry.

He even started kidnapping people again! That’s the Ice King Classic!

So on some level, maybe Simon is resigned to the fact he’s always going to be SOME sort of screwed up lonely sadman who hurts others. And if that is his fate, he might as well be the screwed up lonely sadman who is mostly oblivious to how sad he really is and can shoot ice from his fingertips. And his arc is going to be about realizing that, whether he is Ice King or Simon Petrikov, healing and change ARE always possible for him.

But we’re gonna have to see where it goes…

[chock-and-bates]

Listen…. Imagine that era of max during which the boxing video was made, but now in the medieval au… showing off at a joust for charles… hoping to get a handkerchief

you guys just, like, get me 😅

in honor of another semi-prophetic ask, here’s a snippet under the cut

The same feeling that had filled him the last time he had met Max, back when they were only 16, just a few months shy of Jos Verstappen’s untimely death.

It had been at the Mercedes Coronation Festival, and they not been on good terms.

Max had goaded him throughout the entire festival week, fixated on how Charles would be unable to participate in the tournament. King Binotto had deemed it ‘improper’, forbidding Charles from casting his name in despite him finally being of age to participate in the squires’ mêlée.

Charles had never hated Max more in his life.

He’s been so furious that, for the first time ever, he purposely avoided the other young man instead of confronting him, knowing he was too upset to face Max’s taunts without reacting violently.

As much as he would have enjoyed punching the other boy in the face, such a spectacle would surely only draw more of Binotto’s ire.

Charles couldn’t risk it.

It meant he watched the mêlée with a forced serenity as his friends fought for victory, cheering and clapping as though he was enjoying the festivities, all while howling on the inside as he watched a competition where he should be fighting for the victory.

He’d managed to cover the pain with an empty smile, all too aware of Binotto’s watchful gaze.

But he refused to applaud when it was Max, cursed, wretched Max, who won the whole thing.

As he watched his rival shove off his helmet, raising his victorious fists in the air, Charles’ mask slipped, face twisting into a scowl.

It’s not like it was surprising, Charles bitterly tried to tell himself. Max was the best among them. This result was to be expected, Charles could handle this.

There was no reason to be upset.

But then, as if he could hear Charles’ thoughts, Max decided to give him a reason.

It came when Max was handed an elaborate flower wreathe and told to crown the Squire’s Queen of Love and Beauty.

Max had immediately turned straight to one section of the audience, as if he already had someone in mind, already knew exactly where they were sitting.

His eyes went directly to Charles.

And Charles… Charles felt like a stone was dropped in his stomach as he watched his rival walk towards him.

He told himself Max wouldn’t…

The other boy came to a stop in front of him, and with a small smirk and burning glint in his eyes, slowly raised the flower wreathe to present it to Charles.

[decagondice]

༓ EXPERIENCE SHAPES PERCEPTION ༓

༓ 'If lies can save a man once, truth can save him twice.' [The Arabian Nights: Tales of 1001 Nights]

༓ Pairing. Trueform!Sukuna x Bride!Reader

༓ Synopsis. Every night, a fresh girl is forcefully taken away from her loved ones per the King's orders, betrothed for a few hours as his wife, and at dawn, an extravagant silk bind is tied around her throat. Unable to tolerate the unjust wrath of the sovereign and promise to do any means necessary to survive in order to put an end to the King's torment, you offer yourself to the King of Curses as his unfortunate bride.

༓ Content. 1001 Nights inspired, sfw, F!Reader, Slightly reluctant reader, KingofCurses/Trueform!Sukuna, Slightly ooc Sukuna, angst (?), fluff (?), Sacrificial reader who eventually finds the good in Sukuna, Slightly depressed Sukuna, Emotional distress, Lonliness, Resentment, Mentions of death, Talks of violence (brief), Hurt, Conflict of feelings, Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 8.8k

༓ A.N. I randomly had a vision of a 1001 nights au of Sukuna and reader last night and its been my mission since to bring that to life since then :P But, I was torn between making this fic 18+, however I think I just wanted to portray Sukuna's lack of love and life filled with rejection in a different format first. (When reading the fic, you will soon realise how much the last few chapters of the manga had an effect on me...) Hmm~ I might consider making and exploring a short snippet of a smut scene in this au, though not yet. This is my first ever piece of writing that I mustered up the confidence to present the world with, thank you for tuning in and please enjoy! :D

[Drawn to resemble the classic Arabian tales, 1001 Nights, narrating the story of Scheherazade's sacrifice to the resentful Caliph, captivating him with a story every night to preserve her life and end the wrathful reign once and for all. Artwork by Léon Carré, part of his collection of illustrations for 'The Book of One Thousand and One Nights', 1929]

The King’s palace was a labyrinth of shadows and whispered fears, a fortress carved from malice and crowned with disquietude. In the heart of it, past echoing halls filled with ancient curses and dread, lay his private bedchambers- a sanctuary draped in silks and shadows. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and myrrh as the flickering glow of oil lamps casting a dim, golden light that danced lazily on the walls. Heavy curtains draped from the high ceiling, their rich fabric falling like cascading shadows around the room, veiling the room in an otherworldly haze, as though even the air itself hesitated to settle too close to the King of Curses. Sheer veils billowed softly in the breeze that slipped through the open windows, creating a veil of secrecy, a cocoon of intimacy where the outside world seemed to disappear.

You stood before Sukuna, your hands trembling despite your efforts to still them, your gaze fixed on the dark patterns of the floor rather than meeting those eyes that burned with cruel amusement. You had come here not out of ambition or desire but out of duty—an act of desperation to save the other innocent girls from this fate, to shield them from being torn away from their families and cast into a life of terror at the hands of a monster.

You had heard the tales of Sukuna long before you ever set foot in his palace. His name was a curse whispered in the darkest corners of the village, a warning to children who strayed too far into the shadows. He was the King of Curses, a monster draped in human skin, infamous for his cruelty and insatiable thirst for power. But beneath the layers of horror and bloodshed, there were also whispers of another kind—a story buried in the dust of forgotten tongues, one that spoke of a man who had once been cast out, unloved, and rejected by the world that shaped him into the monster he is today. You knew of the loneliness that had festered within him, the pain of being feared and loathed for reasons beyond his control. And though a part of you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of sympathy for that tragedy, you couldn’t afford to indulge it. How could you feel pity for the very beast who was tearing innocent girls from their homes, who was crushing lives beneath his wrath without a trace of remorse? The same hands that once reached out in vain for love were now stained with the blood of those who had never done him harm. He was a monster by his own making, and even the darkest past could not excuse the cruelty that now defined him.

Sukuna sat reclined on the edge of a low, opulent bed, his form barely illuminated by the oil lamps that sputtered and hissed in their brass holders. He doesn't rise to acknowledge you; instead, he tilts his head slightly, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as though your presence is nothing more than an amusing diversion in his endless reign of bloodshed. The silken sheets beneath him were the colour of deep wine, their surface catching the light in a way that seemed to make the room pulse with a dark, muted glow. His eyes, twin embers of malice and something unreadable, tracked your every movement as you entered the chamber, the heavy drapes closing behind you with a shiver of finality.

“Tell me,” Sukuna drawled, his voice as sharp and unyielding as the blade he might have pressed to your throat, “What makes you think you’re any different from the others who came before you? What hope do you have of surviving me?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the terror that gripped your chest. Those crimson eyes stared back at you, full of cruel delight, as if he found your defiance entertaining in its futility. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, reminding yourself of the faces of the girls you were trying to save, the way their fear had mirrored your own.

“I have volunteered to become your bride,” you said, forcing your voice to steady as you met his eyes. “Not because I believe I am stronger or braver than the others—but because I couldn’t stand to see another innocent torn from their family. I thought that if I could offer myself, it might be enough to end this cycle of suffering.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a cruel smirk, his eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of amusement and disdain. “You think of yourself as a saviour of some sort?” he asked, the mockery in his voice cutting deep. “Do you believe your pathetic sacrifice will sate my thirst for destruction? The world is built on suffering, and I am its rightful king. Do you think yourself capable of changing the fate that awaits you? That your life is worth so much that I would spare the rest for the sake of your trembling courage?”

He leaned forward from where he sat on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed yet predatory, the movement causing the heavy silk drapes to sway, turning the chamber into a shifting sea of light and darkness.

“You are nothing but another lamb brought to the slaughter by trembling hands.” He leans forward, chin propped on one hand, his fingers tapping the side of his jaw as he eyes you like a predator watching a mouse dance on its hind legs. “Do you truly not know that you stand in the den of a beast who devours without mercy?”

His words cut deep, but you refused to let them break you. You had to survive this, for their sake, and for your own. As his gaze bore into you, suffocating in its intensity, you did the only thing you could think of—something born of sheer desperation.

“I stand before you, knowing well the beast I face. And yet, I do not come to plead for mercy.” Your voice is steady but soft, like a whispered plea against the storm. “I come to offer you something else— a story each night. I will give you a story unlike any you have ever heard, if you’ll listen. In exchange, you spare me for as long as I can hold your interest."

The words spill from your lips in a rush as you try to barter with him suddenly.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into a smirk that spoke of both curiosity and disdain. “A story?” he repeated, as if the idea were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “You offer me tales to stave off your death? How utterly quaint. You think words will stay my hand when I tire of you?”

“If they do not, then I will be no worse off than I am now,” you said, meeting his gaze with a defiant glint in your eyes. “But if they do… perhaps I can buy a little more time. Perhaps, in my words, you will find a reason to let me live another day.”

He pauses before speaking again.

“You are a fool to think you could charm a monster with your petty tales, Human.”

His voice drips with scepticism, but you notice the faintest twitch of intrigue in his gaze. It’s a small opening, an aperture in his indomitable armour.

“I don’t believe I can charm a monster,” Your voice unwavering, the words carefully pour out from your mouth. “But, I believe that even a monster seeks a distraction from the loneliness of his throne.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes narrow, something cold and bitter flickering in their depths—a buried wound reopened, a memory of rejection. He hides it quickly, but not before you catch the flicker of vulnerability that you know is your only chance.

His eyes stared at your form, and you could feel his gaze like a physical force, pressing down on you, testing your resolve. Then, slowly, he leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face, though it never touched the cold, glittering malice in his eyes.

You took a breath, your heartbeat thundering in your chest, and said, “I don’t know if I can change anything. But if it means buying a little more time—if it means sparing just one more life—I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He laughed, a sound low and dark that echoed through the chamber like a promise of doom. But there was something in his eyes—something almost curious, as though he were intrigued by your defiance, by the way you held your ground when so many before you had already fallen. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Then let us see how long your courage lasts,” he said. “Tell me a story, if you dare. Spin your tales and try to keep my interest, little lamb, and know that the moment I tire of you, your life will be forfeit.”

And so, night after night, you returned to that chamber, your voice threading through the darkness like a lifeline, weaving tales of sorrow and hope, of longing and loss. At first, Sukuna listened as if you were merely a distraction, something to toy with until his boredom gave way to cruelty. But as the nights stretched on, something between you began to shift, something so subtle and unspoken that it almost seemed like a trick of the light.

You noticed the way his eyes softened ever so slightly when he watched you, how they no longer held the same cold indifference. There were moments, fleeting but undeniable, when his gaze would linger on your face, following the movements of your lips as you spoke, as if he were more captivated by you than by the story itself. And when he thought you weren’t looking, his expression would change, growing almost thoughtful, almost gentle, as though your words were stirring something in him that he had long since buried.

One night, as you spoke of a warrior who fought not for glory but for the love he could never fully grasp, you saw Sukuna’s jaw tighten, the barest flicker of something raw passing across his face. It was a crack in his mask, a moment of vulnerability that seemed to take even him by surprise. He shifted, turning slightly away as if to hide the turmoil in his eyes, but you could still see the shadow of pain that lingered there, the ghost of something he would never voice.

“The warrior,” you continued, your own voice softening as you ventured into the story’s heart, “he fought because he knew that love, even unreturned, was the only thing that could ever make him feel human. It was the only thing that could make the darkness inside him seem like something less than a curse.”

Sukuna’s fingers twitched slightly where they rested on his knee, his gaze dropping to the floor as though your words had struck deeper than he wished to admit. He let out a slow breath, the sound almost like a growl, as if he were fighting a battle within himself, as if your story had hit too close to the truth of his own guarded soul.

“I told you to amuse me,” he said, his voice rougher now, laced with something almost vulnerable beneath the bravado. “Not to speak to me of things you don’t understand. Love is nothing but a weapon, a lie dressed in silk. Do you think you can wound me with your pretty tales?”

You hesitated, your heart aching at the hardness in his voice, the bitterness that seemed to bleed through his words. “I don’t wish to wound you,” you said softly, meeting his gaze with a steadiness that surprised even you. “I only wish to show you that not everything has to end in darkness. That there is more to this life than the hate and loneliness you’ve known.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes locked on yours, and in that silence, something unspoken passed between you—a fragile thread of understanding, a bond that was as much resistance as it was connection. His hand reached out, almost unconsciously, his fingers brushing against yours with a touch that was hesitant, almost reluctant. It was as if he didn’t quite know how to bridge the gap between cruelty and tenderness, how to reconcile the monster he had become with the man who still longed to believe in something beyond his own darkness.

When he pulled his hand back, his eyes lingered on yours, softer now, searching your face as if he were seeing you for the first time. And in that look, you saw the flicker of a man who was more than just a monster, a man who was trying, against all his instincts, to understand the strange, delicate thing growing between you.

And though neither of you spoke of it, though the words remained locked behind walls of pride and fear, you knew that something had shifted irrevocably in those moments. The King of Curses, who had once seemed untouchable, unmovable, was beginning to unravel beneath your touch. His gaze, so often filled with fire and malice, now held something softer when it turned your way—something almost like admiration, like a reluctant longing that he could neither deny nor accept.

Blossoming feelings, subtle and unspoken, budding like a flower in the cracks of a stone wall. Fragile, tentative, both of you too proud, too fearful to admit its existence. But it was there, in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, in the way his defences fell just a little more with each night that you shared. A flicker of light in the darkness, a promise that even monsters could yearn for more than the abyss.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

The nights continued in that hidden, veiled sanctuary, where the scent of incense lingered and the golden glow of the oil lamps painted soft halos around your figures. You could feel the shifting of something unnamed, a tenuous thread that connected you to Sukuna, something deeper than the stories you spun to save your life. There was a pull, a force between you that neither could fully grasp or resist—a slow, inexorable gravity drawing you closer, even as you both tried to pretend it wasn’t there.

Your tales had become a nightly ritual, the words flowing from your lips like a spell, weaving through the stillness of the room. And Sukuna—this terrible creature of wrath and solitude—listened to them, not as a predator listening to the last words of his prey, but as a man who seemed to find solace in your voice. His gaze, once filled with nothing but cruel amusement and hunger, now seemed to soften in the dim light, tracing the lines of your face as if memorising the shape of every emotion that flickered across it.

There were times when he would reach out, almost unconsciously, his fingers brushing the edge of your sleeve or lingering near your own hand. The touch was light, so brief that it could have been mistaken for nothing more than the movement of air, but you felt it all the same—each contact sparking something within you, a rush of warmth that you couldn’t quite name or deny. He’d pull back just as quickly, as if startled by his own actions, a frown creasing his brow like he was punishing himself for that momentary slip of vulnerability.

Despite his silent reprimands, you began to notice the changes in him. The way his sharp words seemed to lose their edge when he spoke to you, the way his anger—so fierce, so all-consuming—seemed to hesitate when it came to you. There were moments when you’d catch him watching you with a look that bordered on wonder, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve, or perhaps a memory he longed to reclaim. His eyes, once like cold embers burning in their sockets, now held a trace of warmth when they met yours, a softness that seemed to take even him by surprise.

Yet, even with these changes, there was still a wall between you—thick, immovable, built from years of pain and rage that neither of you could dismantle in a single breath. Sukuna would often turn his gaze away just when you thought he might open up, a shuttered look crossing his face, as if terrified by his own emotions. He was a man at war with himself, torn between the beast he had become and the fragile humanity you were slowly unearthing within him.

One evening, after a particularly harrowing tale of two lovers separated by fate, you noticed a shadow flicker across his face—a hint of sorrow that made your chest ache. You paused, your voice faltering slightly, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you was alive with all the things left unsaid.

“What is it about these stories that you think will change me?” he asked, his voice rough, almost bitter, as he met your gaze head-on. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that he tried to mask with his usual disdain, but it was there—a crack in the armour he wore so tightly around his heart. “Do you think words can heal what the world has done to me? Do you think your voice can mend what was broken long before you were born?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, your own voice barely a whisper, the honesty raw between you. “I don’t know if I can heal you, Sukuna. I don’t know if I can change the darkness that you carry. But I do know that I see something in you—a part of you that still remembers what it means to feel, to long for something beyond this anger and vengeance.”

He stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between a sneer and something softer, something almost like pain. “You see what you want to see,” he said, but the words lacked their usual venom, trailing off into the quiet of the room. For a moment, he looked at you not as a king of curses, not as a monster, but as a man—just a man, vulnerable and lost, standing on the precipice of something he could neither name nor understand.

And then, slowly, hesitantly, as if fighting every instinct that told him to turn away, Sukuna reached out. His fingers grazed the side of your face, a touch so light it was almost a question—a silent plea for something he didn’t know how to ask for. You held still, your breath caught in your throat, afraid that even the slightest movement would shatter this fragile moment between you.

“Your stories,” he said at last, his voice so quiet it was barely a murmur, “they make me remember… things I thought I had buried.” His thumb traced a line down your cheek, his touch both tender and hesitant, as though he were afraid of the warmth he might find there. “You’re like a flame in this darkness, something I want to reach for, even though I know I have no right to. Even though I could snuff it out with my own hands.”

You turned your face slightly into his touch, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope, the vulnerability between you stretching taut like a thread that could either bind you together or snap in two. “And yet, you don’t,” you whispered. “You could end this now, and you don’t. Why?”

He said nothing, but his eyes told you everything. They spoke of the battle raging within him—the struggle between the curse he had become and the man who was trying, against all odds, to remember what it was like to be something else. To be someone else. Someone who could care. Someone who could love.

Sukuna’s hand dropped back to his side, his expression hardening once more, though the softness in his eyes didn’t entirely fade. “This changes nothing,” he said, though the conviction in his voice wavered. “I am still what I am. Don’t mistake my interest for kindness.”

But you saw it there—the tiny crack in his defences, the fragile tendril of something more that had begun to grow between the two of you. It was subtle, almost invisible, like a seed taking root in the dark soil of a barren landscape, and yet it was there. And in the quiet of his bedchamber, with the flickering light casting long shadows across his face, you knew that you were not the only one who felt its pull.

For in his touch, in the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t watching, in the way his words softened when they were meant to wound—you saw the beginnings of something tender and reluctant. The monster within him was still very much alive, still sharp-edged and dangerous, but for the first time, there was something else as well. A flicker of a man who was learning, despite himself, to care for the flame he had found in the darkness.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

The days bled into nights, and each night that you survived seemed to blur the line between captor and captive, between monster and storyteller. Sukuna’s bedchamber had become your stage, a place where you wove tales to pacify the beast that loomed over you, but also where something unspoken began to pulse between you—a slow-burning warmth that defied the cold cruelty of his presence. The more you spoke, the more your stories reached into the corners of his soul, unearthing the fragments of the man he tried so hard to bury. And in those moments of listening, the mask he wore seemed to slip, just enough to reveal the man beneath the monster.

You found yourself watching him when you thought he wasn’t looking, your gaze lingering on the curve of his lips, the intensity of his eyes, and the way his sharp features softened in the glow of the oil lamps. There was a beauty to him, hidden beneath the menace—a kind of tragic elegance that you could almost reach out and touch. He was like a starless night sky, dark and endless, but with a hint of light just waiting to break through if given the chance. The way he listened to your tales, how his eyes would narrow with thought or flare with emotion, told you that your words were not only buying you time—they were reaching him, drawing him closer to something he could neither name nor understand.

But there was also reluctance in you, a fear that tangled with your hope. You could not forget the darkness that lived in him, the cruelty that could ignite in his eyes with the flick of a thought. Sukuna was still dangerous, still unpredictable, and every night you wondered if this would be the last, if the flicker of humanity you saw in him would be snuffed out by the monster he claimed to be. You felt the tremor of your own hesitation, the way your heart wavered between pity and fear, between hope and doubt. How could you let yourself care for a man whose hands were stained with the blood of so many, who could end your life in a heartbeat if the whim took him?

Yet, despite that, despite everything you knew and everything you feared, you couldn’t help the way your breath would hitch when his gaze softened ever so slightly. Or the way your skin tingles when, during those rare moments, he let his guard down enough to touch you—not in violence or possession, but in something that felt almost tender. Like that night when your tale came to an end, and instead of letting you leave as he usually did, he reached out and caught your wrist, his fingers circling it with a gentleness that stole your breath.

“Stay,” he said, his voice rough with something that could have been longing or anger—maybe both. His grip was firm but not unkind, as if he feared that with one wrong move, you might slip through his fingers and disappear. His eyes searched yours, darker than the night, a swirl of emotions hidden in their depths that he didn’t know how to voice. “Stay a little longer.”

You looked at him, at the touch of vulnerability in his gaze that was as startling as it was heartbreaking, and you nodded. Slowly, carefully, you sat back down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, close enough that your breaths seemed to mingle in the space between you. Sukuna’s hand remained on your wrist, the touch turning almost idle, as if he were memorising the shape of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked suddenly, his voice low, roughened with a vulnerability he couldn’t quite conceal. There was a hint of frustration in his tone, like a man desperate to understand something that defied his grasp. “Tell me the truth.”

You hesitated, your throat tightening with the weight of his question. What could you say? That you saw not just the monster he tried so hard to be, but the man he once was and perhaps still could be? That somewhere in his darkness, there was a light fighting to break free, a yearning that had been denied so long it had turned to rage?

“I see…” you began, your voice soft, barely more than a whisper, “I see someone who’s afraid to believe in anything that isn’t pain or vengeance. Someone who’s convinced himself he doesn’t need love because he thinks it’s beyond his reach. But I also see a man who listens to my stories not because he has to, but because they make him feel something he thought he’d forgotten how to feel.”

His fingers tightened just slightly around your wrist, and you could feel the tremor in his touch, the way his breath hitched in response to your words. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his jaw clenching as if struggling against some invisible force. When he finally spoke, his voice was rougher, more vulnerable than you had ever heard it. “I don’t need your pity,” he said, but the words lacked their usual bite, falling almost hollow in the space between you. “I don’t want your sympathy.”

“It’s not pity,” you replied, holding his gaze, refusing to look away. “It’s just the truth. You’re not as alone as you think you are, Sukuna.”

For a moment, he looked as though he might argue, as though the monster in him wanted to rise up and crush this fragile hope between you. But instead, he just stared at you, his eyes softening, the fight bleeding out of him as something warmer took its place—a flicker of longing, so fierce and raw that it made your heart ache. He reached up then, his fingers brushing the side of your face, a touch so gentle it felt like a question, like he was asking if he was even capable of something as simple as kindness.

“You speak as if you know me,” he said, his voice barely more than a murmur, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. “As if you see past the monster I am. Why?”

“Because,” you said softly, feeling the truth of your own words catch in your chest, “sometimes the hardest stories to believe are the ones we tell ourselves.”

His gaze faltered then, his hand dropping to his side as if suddenly aware of what he’d done, of how close he’d let you come. The mask of indifference snapped back into place, but it was thinner now, more fragile, unable to fully hide the man beneath it. He turned away, his jaw clenched, the set of his shoulders rigid with a frustration that wasn’t aimed at you, but at himself.

“Go,” he said, the word a rough whisper, almost torn from him. “Leave before I change my mind.”

And you did, though your steps were slow, your heart heavy with the knowledge of how close you had come to breaking through his defences. As you slipped through the curtains and out of his chamber, you couldn’t help but glance back, catching one last glimpse of Sukuna standing in the dim light, his face half-hidden in shadow, his eyes fixed on you with an expression that was equal parts longing and fear.

It wasn’t love—not yet. But it was something. Something fragile and new, something that both frightened and fascinated him. And though neither of you were ready to name it, you knew that it was growing between you like a fire waiting to be kindled, a warmth that could one day banish the darkness if only he’d let it. And perhaps, one day, the King of Curses might come to realise that even he was not beyond the reach of redemption.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

Shifting like the currents of a hidden river beneath the surface of your nightly tales, that fragile something between you and Sukuna continued to grow. As per your routine, you still came to his bedchamber each evening, weaving your stories into the warm, fragrant air, but now there was a difference in how you both lingered in that space. It was no longer just a battleground where words danced to save your life; it had become a place where silences spoke louder than the tales themselves, where the stolen glances and unspoken words built a tension so palpable it filled the room.

Sukuna watched you differently now. His gaze, once sharp and cold, had softened in a way that seemed to unsettle him more than any of his past violence ever had. There was a war in his eyes every time he looked at you, a struggle between the darkness that defined him and the light he couldn’t quite extinguish when he was near you. He tried to mask it, his expression often hardening the moment he felt his guard slipping, but there were cracks in his armour now—cracks that grew wider with every story, every quiet laugh you coaxed from him, every moment that made him feel something other than the hate he’d clung to for so long.

One night, as you finished the tale of a long-lost prince returning to his love, you noticed the way Sukuna’s hand had drifted toward you, fingers almost brushing the fabric of your sleeve. He pulled back before making contact, a scowl flickering across his face, as though furious with himself for that momentary lapse. But you saw through that façade, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly when he thought you might look away.

“You seem moved by that tale,” you said, the words light yet probing, testing the waters of his resistance. “Is there something in it that you recognize?”

He laughed then, a rough, humourless sound, though it lacked the sharp edges it once had. “Moved?” he echoed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Do not mistake my interest for softness. I am no lovesick fool to be swayed by such nonsense.”

And yet, as he spoke, his eyes never left yours, and there was something in them—a flicker of pain, of memory, that betrayed his words. You could see it clearly now, the way his barriers were beginning to crumble, even as he fought to hold onto the fragments of who he used to be. He was no longer the untouchable King of Curses in those moments; he was just a man, trapped between the monster he’d become and the human he never thought he’d be again.

“Perhaps not,” you replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “But even the hardest hearts can soften, even if they don’t want to admit it.”

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his gaze intense and searching, as if trying to unravel the mystery of you, this mortal woman who dared to speak to him as though he were something more than a beast. For the first time, he seemed almost uncertain, like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to step forward or retreat back into the darkness that had always been his comfort.

“Why do you persist?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his brow furrowing as if the question was dragged from some deep, wounded place inside him. “Why do you look at me as though I’m not a monster? Why tell me these tales as if they could change anything?”

You hesitated, feeling the gravity of his question, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. It wasn’t just a question about the stories; it was about you, about why you stayed when any sane person would have fled. Why you dared to look at him not as a villain, but as a man capable of more than just destruction.

“Because,” you began slowly, your voice barely a whisper, “I see more in you than you allow yourself to see. I see a man who was once capable of kindness, who wasn’t always this… cruel. I see someone who’s afraid to hope because he’s been denied love for so long that he’s forgotten what it feels like.”

His jaw clenched, a flicker of something raw and aching crossing his face before he masked it with a sneer. “You’re a fool,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual venom. “You think you can save me with words, with your pity? There’s nothing left of the man you think you see.”

“Maybe,” you said, your eyes never leaving his, “but you keep listening anyway. You keep letting me stay when you could have ended my life the moment I entered your chambers. You reach out for me even when you don’t mean to. If that’s not proof that there’s still something human in you, then I don’t know what is.”

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still. The air between you was thick with the weight of unsaid words, with the electricity of something both terrifying and beautiful. Sukuna’s expression was a battlefield of conflicting emotions—anger, vulnerability, denial, and something else, something softer that glimmered beneath the surface like a light struggling to break free from the darkness.

And then, almost without realising it, his hand came up to touch your face. The movement was slow, hesitant, as if he was testing the reality of your presence, of his own desire to reach for something he had long believed lost to him. His fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch so gentle it sent a shiver down your spine, and for the first time, he didn’t pull away. He held his hand there, cupping your face like you were something precious, something breakable that he was afraid to hurt.

“You,” he said, his voice cracking with the weight of his own disbelief, “you’re the most infuriating creature I’ve ever met.”

A smile ghosted across your lips, so faint it was almost imperceptible, and you leaned ever so slightly into his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. “And yet, you let me live,” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “You listen to my stories, you reach for me even when you don’t mean to… Why is that, Sukuna?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t pull away either. The monster in him was silent, subdued, replaced by a man who was lost and yearning, who didn’t know how to handle the tenderness he felt creeping into his heart. He was afraid—afraid of vulnerability, afraid of what it meant to care for someone, even in the smallest, most reluctant way.

But in that moment, with his hand on your cheek and your eyes locked on his, you knew the truth. The King of Curses was beginning to fall, not in defeat, but in a way that neither of you had expected. Slowly, painfully, he was learning to care. For you. And it terrified him more than any curse ever could.

The silence between you was no longer empty; it was filled with a thousand unsaid things, with the unspoken promise of something that might one day grow if either of you were brave enough to let it. And as you stood there, caught in the gravity of each other’s gaze, you knew that this was only the beginning. A delicate, fragile beginning to something that could be more than either of you ever dared to hope for.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

Dusk had finally arrived, and the dense fragranced smoke made the air feel warm and almost oppressive. You sat across from Sukuna, your voice carrying softly over the quiet hum of the night as you began to tell him yet another tale—this one different, more poignant, more deliberate.

“There was once,” you started, your voice laced with the slow rhythm of an ancient storyteller, “a creature who was not born into darkness, but who fell into it, piece by piece, as the world around him turned its back. He was not always a demon, you see. Once, long ago, he was something else—someone else. He was born of light, meant for greatness, a guardian meant to protect and to love.”

You paused, casting a glance at Sukuna, whose gaze was already fixed on you with an intensity that made the air between you feel electric. He didn’t interrupt, but you could see the shift in his expression, the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers clenched just slightly, almost inconspicuously. He was listening, not just with his ears but with every part of him, as though he was bracing himself against something he didn’t want to admit was reaching him.

“But the world,” you continued, choosing your words carefully, “can be cruel to those who don’t fit into its perfect mould. And this guardian, despite his strength and his loyalty, was different. He was feared for his power, for the potential of what he could become. And so, the ones he had sworn to protect turned on him, shunning him, casting him out into the wilderness as if he were nothing but a beast. They called him a monster, a fiend. They said he didn’t belong among them.”

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and unspoken, like a truth that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You could see it in Sukuna’s eyes—a flicker of recognition, the raw wound of a memory he had tried to bury under layers of hatred and pride. For a moment, he was no longer the invincible King of Curses, but something far more vulnerable—a man haunted by the echo of his own past.

“They cursed him to the darkness,” you went on, your voice softer now, almost a whisper. “And in that darkness, alone and forsaken, the creature’s heart hardened. His pain turned to rage, his sorrow to vengeance. He became the monster they had always feared he would be, not because he was born that way, but because they had made him that way. He believed he was unworthy of love, unworthy of redemption, because that’s all the world had ever shown him.”

Sukuna’s face was a mask of stillness, but his eyes were aflame with something that bordered on anguish—a deep-seated hurt that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried. His hands, which had once been so quick to strike, now lay motionless at his sides, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. You could tell that the story had struck a chord, that it had reached into the deepest part of him, the part he kept locked away even from himself.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice rough and strained, barely more than a whisper. The question seemed to cost him something, as though he were admitting to a wound he had long denied. His gaze was hard, almost angry, but beneath that anger was a glimmer of something else—pain, vulnerability, the same longing that he had buried beneath centuries of rage.

“Because,” you said gently, meeting his gaze, refusing to look away, “I believe that even in the darkest of creatures, there is a spark of light that refuses to be extinguished. I believe that the demon in my tale, like you, was not born a monster but was made into one by a world that didn’t know how to love him. And perhaps, somewhere deep down, he’s still searching for a reason to believe that he’s more than the monster they say he is.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating in its intensity. Sukuna’s eyes bore into yours, raw and unguarded, as if you had laid his soul bare and he didn’t know whether to thank you or curse you for it. He looked away then, turning his head slightly as if to shield his face from your gaze, but not before you caught the faintest glimmer of moisture in his eyes—a shimmer that could have been from the firelight or could have been something far more human.

“You think you know me,” he said at last, his voice hollow, laced with bitterness and something else—something broken. “You think your pretty words can change what I am. But you have no idea what it’s like to be cast out, to be made into this… thing. To be so hated that you start to hate yourself even more.”

He stood up abruptly, turning his back to you, his broad shoulders tense and rigid as though he were trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, that he might snap back into the beast that he was so comfortable being. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, silent and still, his fists clenched at his sides, his whole form trembling with the effort to keep the chaos within him contained.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice cracking with the force of his own denial. “There’s no light left in me. There never was. I am the monster they made me, and nothing will ever change that.”

Slowly, you rose to your feet, your heart aching at the sight of him—this man who was so much more than the monster he believed himself to be. You approached him cautiously, your hand reaching out, hesitant, trembling slightly as you placed it gently on his arm. He flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away, didn’t break the fragile connection that bound you both in that moment.

“Then let me be wrong,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, full of a conviction you hadn’t even known you possessed. “Let me be wrong, Sukuna, but let me try. Let me see the man beneath the curse, the man who still listens to stories even when he says he doesn’t believe in them. Because I think… I think you’re more afraid of being loved than of being hated.”

He turned then, slowly, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierceness that took your breath away. There was a storm in his gaze, a turbulence of emotions that he could no longer hide. Anger, pain, confusion, and beneath it all—a flicker of yearning so raw and desperate that it broke your heart to see it.

“Why?” he demanded, his voice rough, almost pleading now, his hand coming up to catch yours where it rested on his arm. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as if he were afraid that letting go would mean losing the only lifeline he had. “Why do you keep trying to find something good in me when I’ve done nothing but prove I’m a monster?”

You smiled then, a sad, gentle smile that reached the deepest parts of you. “Because even monsters deserve a chance to be saved,” you said softly. “Even monsters deserve to believe they’re worthy of love.”

For a long moment, Sukuna said nothing. He simply stood there, staring at you as if you were something he couldn’t quite understand, something he couldn’t believe was real. And then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he let his forehead fall against yours, his eyes closing as he exhaled a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His touch was still hesitant, still tinged with that reluctance to fully give in to what he was feeling, but it was there—a silent surrender to the possibility of something more.

And in that moment, with your hand still on his arm and his breath mingling with yours, you knew that the demon in your story had not been defeated but had begun to believe in the light again. Not because of some grand act of heroism, but because he had found someone who dared to see the humanity within him, even when he had given up on seeing it himself.

༓ ༓ ༓ 

The sky outside his chamber was a raging symphony of thunder and rain, the storm’s fury echoing the tempest that had been brewing between you and Sukuna all this time. The wind howled through the narrow openings in the stone walls, the curtains rippling like waves of silk in its wake, casting wild shadows across the room. It was as if the heavens themselves were tearing apart, unleashing their wrath on the earth, and within the shelter of Sukuna’s bedchamber, the storm had found a mirror in the turmoil that raged between your hearts.

You stood before him, drenched in the soft, flickering glow of the oil lamps, your voice trembling as you tried to pierce through the walls he still kept so fiercely around his heart. Sukuna’s eyes were wild, his face a mask of conflicting emotions, a mix of anger, fear, and that same raw vulnerability that you’d seen creeping into his gaze over the past few weeks.

“Why do you fight this so hard?” you asked, your voice cracking under the weight of your own desperation. The words were almost lost to the roar of the storm outside, yet you knew he heard every syllable. “Why do you still pretend you don’t feel anything? That you’re not capable of more than this darkness?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his teeth gritting as he turned away from you, his hands fisting at his sides. The storm’s rage seemed to course through his veins, the lightning outside illuminating his sharp features, casting shadows that made him look every bit the demon he believed himself to be. And yet, there was something in the way he stood there, shoulders trembling, eyes averted—a man on the edge, teetering between surrender and defiance.

“Do you think we are the same? I am not like you.” he growled, his voice like gravel, torn between anguish and frustration. “I don’t know how to be good, how to be anything but this—this thing they made me. I’m not meant for love, for kindness. I’m meant for death and ruin! That’s all I am.”

“No,” you said, your voice firm but soft, unyielding as you closed the distance between you. The storm seemed to quiet in your wake, as though the very air held its breath. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, feeling the tension in his fingers, the way he hesitated before finally allowing your touch to anchor him. “You’re more than what they made you, Sukuna. You’re more than the monster you think you are.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his expression twisting into something pained, something that looked like loss and longing all at once. His fingers were trembling now, almost imperceptibly, as if he was afraid to believe in what he was feeling. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet yours, and for the first time, they weren’t filled with anger or resentment but with something far more fragile. Hope. And fear.

“You do not realise what you’re asking of me,” he whispered, the words barely more than a breath. “To hope, to believe that I could be anything other than this… Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How cruel?”

“Hope isn’t cruel,” you replied, lifting your other hand to his cheek, gently cupping his face. He flinched at first, the motion instinctive, but then he let you hold him there, the warmth of your touch a balm to his storm-ravaged soul. “Hope is the kindest thing there is. And I think, deep down, you want it. You’re just afraid to let yourself have it.”

He swallowed hard, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into the safety of his darkness. But then, in a movement so slow it seemed to defy time itself, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as if savouring the warmth of your palm against his skin. The tension in his shoulders eased, the storm inside him quieting as he let himself lean just a little closer, as if he were finally too tired to keep fighting.

“Why?” he asked, his voice almost broken, rough with the weight of everything he couldn’t say. “Why would you care for something like me? After all I’ve done, after all I am?”

You gave him a sad, gentle smile, the kind that was both a promise and a farewell, the kind that said everything words couldn’t. “Because even the fiercest storms pass, Sukuna,” you whispered. “Even the darkest nights have to end. And even you—especially you—deserve to see the dawn again. You deserve to believe in something more, even if it scares you.”

He opened his eyes then, and in them, you saw the storm break, saw the crumbling of a fortress he’d spent centuries building. The fear was still there, the uncertainty, but there was also something new, something that looked almost like surrender. The kind of surrender that wasn’t about defeat, but about letting go of the chains he had wrapped around his own heart.

And then, without another word, he pulled you to him, his arms wrapping around you in a way that was both fierce and gentle, like a man holding onto the only thing that could save him from himself. His forehead pressed against yours, and his breath was warm and uneven against your lips, his eyes searching yours, still disbelieving but filled with that spark you’d never seen before—hope.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered, the words rough but honest, a confession laid bare. “I don’t know how to be anything but a monster. But for you... for you, I want to try.”

Your heart swelled, a warmth spreading through you like the first light of dawn after the longest night. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your lips ghosting against his in the barest of touches, a promise of something more—a beginning, not an end. “Then try, Sukuna,” you said softly, your voice trembling with both fear and joy. “Try with me.”

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as he let the last of his resistance fall away, and for the first time, you felt the true man beneath the curse—the one who had been buried so deep he’d almost forgotten he existed. He held you as if you were his anchor, his lifeline, the only proof that he could still feel something other than rage and pain.

And as the storm outside raged on, battering against the walls of the chamber, the two of you stood together, wrapped in each other’s arms. In that fragile, trembling embrace, Sukuna finally let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t beyond saving after all. That maybe, in the warmth of your touch and the softness of your whispered words, he had found something he thought was lost to him forever—a chance at redemption, a chance at love.

The dawn was still far off, the road uncertain and fraught with the shadows of the past, but for the first time, there was a light on the horizon. And as Sukuna held you close, his lips brushing your temple in a touch so tender it almost broke your heart, he knew that whatever lay ahead, he wouldn’t face it alone. 

Not anymore.

The storm raged on, but within that chamber, there was a stillness, a quiet hope that spoke of new beginnings and the promise of something neither of you dared to name. It was not an ending, not yet. Just the beginning of a story that had no easy answers, no simple resolutions—a story that was still being written, night by night, heart by hesitant heart.

A.N. Thank you for reading! :D Please let me know what you think!

[wyked-original-writing]

A snippet from the chapter 7. by the forges light of TPKODR Daimhín’s pov

“Reminiscing about the past, are ya lad?” Galen inquired from where he stood on the deck.

He gave a half smile and softly said, “Some days it’s harder to ward off than others.” Looking out to the glimmering sea. The light of the moon reflecting off the bioluminescent water they sailed through gave the waves a hypnotizing effect.

The different colors of the Bioluminescent plankton mixed as the water swirled around them in shades of blue, purple and pink. It was like the exotic glitter the fae made in a way, although if it stuck to you and died, well, the glitter smelled a hell of a lot better.

“Yer father was often just as mesmerized by the sea.” Galen said as he walked up the steps towards him.

“Want to tell a story?” He could hear that Adoh was down below deck—probably working on a few daggers again.

“Let’s visit Adoh. He knew your father the longest out of all of us.”

[heedeungism]

say yes to heaven (say yes to me). | teaser

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ⭒ ice prince!sunghoon x fire princess!reader 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ⭒ the crown prince of the ice kingdom is not known for having objects of affection. perhaps the fiery princess of the fire kingdom is all that is needed to thaw his frozen heart. (route 1 of the eternal flame saga) 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐒 ⭒ alcohol, cursing, the beginnings of a panic attack, dwagons 𝐄𝐒𝐓. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⭒ 10k> (teaser is 1k) 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒 ⭒ this is only a small snippet of a longform fic i’ve been working on since house of the dragon started up again, so obviously it’s inspired by that. however i did need to fix the whole incest = dragons so i made up this whole concept that, while obviously inspired by hotd, is incest free! i have other fics in this same universe outlined(hence the ‘route 1 of the eternal flame saga’), but i will be focusing most of my attention on this fic until it’s done!

masterlist. rules. request.

The House of Frost’s sigil is arguably one of the more simple of the Great Houses. A banner of pale blue, a white emblem of stark beauty, a dragon. Next to sigils of the other Kingdom’s, it appears as icy as one would imagine.

The Houses of Earth and Wind fly flags of more neutral colors, ivories and browns. The Water Dragon Kingdom’s a royal blue and Sky Dragon's a pale pink, but none so beautifully bright as his.

Yet, you see no sign of it as you sit at the head of the dining hall beside your brother.

Tourney’s you’ve attended usually start with a dinner the first day, then a melee or joust the second and third, a tour, maybe even a hunt if so desired by the king, or Prince Regent in this case. Your brother seems keen on being exceptionally annoying, booking your schedule for the week with barely enough time to bathe let alone avoid the eyes of the realm.

So, now, you sit at the large dinner, and realize you have yet to see the sigil you were so expecting.

Riki leans down at his station standing close behind you, “I imagine the Northern Sea is rather backed up this time of year.”

His jest does not impress you, “He could arrive on dragonback if he so cared.” As you finish your childish claim, the doors open.

“Prince Sunghoon of the House of Frost. Heir to his throne.”

Your sworn knight nearly snorts, as a tall male arrives. He has no company, only the sword at his hip as he prowls toward the table you sit.

Ten years had changed a lot. No longer did he have the sickly look about him, his skin even and his shoulders fuller with what you can only assume is muscle. He carries himself with a confidence you could never compare to princes like Yeonjun of the Earth Territories, who holds his head too high and carries too cocky of a smile for you to respect him outright, or Sunoo of the Sky Archipelagos in the west who’s bashful countenance somewhat underwhelmed you considering the story attached to his crowning.

Prince Sunghoon is sure of himself, you can see it in the slight sway of his shoulders and his wide gait, but he doesn’t carry that confidence with the arrogance you expected of the Prince of Crystal Snow.

He’s beautiful. Fuck.

“It appears he does care, your highness.”

Riki snickers as you quickly bite back, “Shut up.”

“Prince Sunghoon, I thought we were to expect your family on the morrow?” Your brother muses, and the prince bows at his waist in greeting.

“My mother, the queen, fell ill. I come alone.” He said, his voice is much deeper as well, though that’s to be expected.

“I wish her good health, then.” The Prince Regent wishes a genuine prayer. The ice prince bows his head, his gaze only moves to you when you speak.

“And your knight?”

Your brother kicks your foot under the table at your tone, yet the prince only offers a gentle smirk with another honest bow, “Ser Jaeyun arrives tomorrow. He found a ride on dragonback to be…unpleasant.”

Riki coughs, and you fight the tug at the corner of your mouth with a sip of wine, “Pity.”

“Is Ser Jaeyun to participate in tomorrow's celebrations?” Your brother asks, the joust, and the prince shakes his head.

“I would prefer, Your Grace, myself to participate,” His gaze flicks to yours, and an unyielding warmth plants its roots at the bottom of your spine, creeping up the longer his eyes keep you in their sights, “If you would allow it.”

Your brother seems all too pleased at the news, “I see no reason to object. What of you, Princess?”

Sipping the wine in your cups does nothing to ease the nerves of your heart, “By all means.”

He bows once again before a servant guides him to his table, where a visibly excited Prince Sunoo waves him over. The other princes gather at that table, mingling and laughing together.

While you sit at the grand dining table sipping from your cups like it’s life’s water, the dress you were put into squeezing your abdomen uncomfortably.

“I do hope we have enough sheep to keep the dragons fed.” Your brother muses, observing the table of dragonheirs before glancing your way.

“Most of them keep themselves fed,” You dismiss, “We shouldn’t deplete our people’s resources for an event this needless.��

“Your words wound me, sister.” He pouts, quite unbecoming of a Prince Regent.

“Then may you bathe in the salts of Azora.” The bite to your words makes your brother sigh, he startles slightly when you slam your goblet back onto the table beside your plate of picked-at food, “My cup is empty.”

A servant hastens forward to refill it, a shaky apology falling from her lips, which has you regretting your outburst immediately. When she moves to retreat back to her position hovering near the wall so as to not be seen, you grab the pitcher from her hands and say, “I’ll keep this, please.”

The word falling from your lips seems to surprise her, before she panics and bows, “Of course, my princess.”

Riki snickers as the servant hastens away to make herself useful elsewhere, biting his cheek when you hiss, “Shut. Up.”

When you face forward once again, your eyes scanning the room, your gaze is caught in another.

Smoldering flames meet biting frost, and a burning tug travels up your gut and into your throat. It’s pure instinct that tears your gaze away, an attempt to free your body of the dreadful feeling.

It lingers in your chest even as you take a hefty swallow from your cup.

I am dragonfire. You repeat to yourself, a rush in your veins. The wine makes your skin hot, and the corset around your torso only makes catching your breath all the more difficult. The litany does not quell the flames in your chest.

I am dragonfire. I am the flame's heart. I am unburnt and I am the Princess of Eternal Flame.

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[honestsycrets]

miguel o'hara masterlist

please double-check the tags of the fic you would like to read prior to reading.

full length fics

Amor y Respeto

➳ discontinued || miguel o'hara x reader, platonic!hobie x reader || tw: explicit, jealousy, fbs, mention of wounds. 

❝ the moment you want a sign of love from Miguel is the moment that your relationship is fucked. ❞

Starved | Mío

➳ oneshot || papi!miguel o'hara x mami!reader || tw: explicit, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing.

❝ peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just… adjusting to less time with his wife. ❞

❝ mío: after baby sitting mayday, miguel develops a serious case of baby fever and longs for a family of his own.  ❞

Stung

➳ oneshot || miguel o'hara x reader || tw: explicit, sex pollen, mention of a wound, slight chase, miguel o'hara doesn't like to be ignored, cum eating, creampies, abnormal amount of fluid, nsfw, venom bite, slapping, some insecurity.

❝ after a discus malfunction, you're bitten by an anomaly and refuse medical attention. you're in a state that you refuse to show to miguel-- at all costs. ❞

Dedication

➳ oneshot || young scientist!miguel o'hara x reader, || tw: explicit, virgin reader, f!reader, plot heavy, loss of virginity, jealousy, overprotectiveness, objectification, aftercare, corruption, heel-foot fetish, somewhat romantic.

❝ alchemax is a dangerous place to work. miguel's new assistant may be over her head. maybe he can help her, though. ❞

Enfocate

➳ oneshot (?) || tutor!miguel x reader || tw: explicit, spanish tutor!miguel, jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❝ jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.❞

Before Anyone Else

➳ doubleshot || admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader, || tw: forced marriage, plot-heavy, royal!au, mention of character death, treason and betrayal, some angst-fluff, f!reader, persuasion inspired.

❝ once upon a time, miguel loved a princess. upon learning about her engagement to his father, King Stone, he's back with a plan in hand.❞

Exclusive

➳ oneshot || miguel o'hara x reader x hobie brown || tw: explicit, jealousy, somnophilia, fbs, undisclosed sexual relationship, dubious consent: aggression/revenge, f!reader, lying, angsty, break-ups.

❝ miguel learns his fuck buddy is fucking Hobie and feels some type of way about it.❞

Querido

➳ multi || outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader || tw: mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❝ it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.❞

Playing House

➳ oneshot || single parents: mechanic!miguel x teacher!reader || tw: explicit, some mention of hurt, heavy voyeurism, protective miguel, very light mutual jealousy.

❝ gabi's on a hunt to get a mami. miguel doesn't really need help with it. or, Miguel trades mechanic work for love. ❞

drabbles

Idle Hands

➳ drabble || miguel o'hara x reader || tw: overprotectiveness, fluff, size difference.

❝ you’re a little bit of a show-off-- but Miguel likes it anyway. ❞

popular snippets

Bebecita Sana, Sana

[yoonkinii]

Jjk M.list

Gojo Satoru

Perfectly Imperfect

Synopsis: Everyone is born with a soulmate. Everyone knows by the time they hit age 18, a different kind of soulmate mark will appear. Some are unable to see color until they meet their soulmates gaze, others have matching tattoos. These are the more common ones; ones that can be tracked down in history but others are rare. So rare that there’s rarely any information available about it. Rare like yours and the only case of this soulmarking was dated decades ago with only two lines describing it.

"Person A and Person B afflicted by this marking will discover themselves to be covered in string-like tattoo markings in certain areas. These areas are what the soulmate A or B deem unworthy of themselves; or rather, what they hate about themself."

This wouldn't be a problem for you if it wasnt for the fact that everything from the collarbone to your ankles was decorated in white string-like lines.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Theme song: Bonfire - wave to earth

What color is my sky painted? What color is your emotion? Close your eyes slowly and feel the wind. The bonfire is fading out. Maybe we are falling Falling down with the rain.

amore mio aiutami- Piero Piccioni (literally the song that plays when M/C looks at him)

Warning(s):

18+, Sub!Gojo (gasp!), cursing, mentions of self-hate, discussion of Self-hate, mentions of minor character death- Will be added as chapters progress but if you see something that I didn’t include here, please let me know!

Note(s):

Expect this to be a short fic. I do not plan on having this over 6 parts and even then it could be less or couple chapters more. Depends on how I write everything.

Part(s): TBA

Ryomen Sukuna

Snippets of Love

Synopsis: Glimpses of your relationship with Sukuna through prompts/questions.

Paring: Sukuna x Reader

Theme Song: Heart To Heart - Mac DeMarco

So I had a late Arrival So, we never saw the start of each others lives heart to heart

Notable tags: ModernAU, slight age gap, Canon/Fanon implements, Sukuna still has his tattoos, CEO Sukuna, uncle Sukuna, college student reader, pierced Sukuna.

Note(s): Inspired to do this series based on Kyarrcha fanart of Sukuna on Instagram! I want this to be mostly based on requests about certain moments such as when Sukuna and you first met, first date, and things like that. This can also include certain scenarios or environments. Feel free to send in requests but I will also add in my own takes.

Requests: Open.

Warnings: will be listed in the sections.

You are not required to read snippets in order, but it is recommended.

How y♡u first met Sukuna!

How y♡u met Sukuna again (and got his number)!

First date with Sukuna!

Sukuna letting y♡u doll him up!

Sukuna with drunk y♡u

Jealous Y♡u

Argument with Sukuna

Choso Kamo

Echos of Desire

Synopsis: Choso is one of the few to possess abilities that transcend human limits. His family was taken away from him and he was given to serve the king. He was trained in nothing else but to kill and follow orders. He was a man made weapon. His name whispered in fear- the kingdom's boogeyman. He hates it though. Hates how his freedom was ripped from his hands. Hates how his ‘gift’ is more like a curse. He is offered a deal he can’t deny- transport the princess to safety in a neighboring kingdom. The only problem is, she’s the daughter of the man that took everything from him and she is being hunted down by unknown forces. 

Pairing: Choso x Reader

Theme Song: my love is mine all mine - Mitski

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So, when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you? 'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine

Notable tags: FantasyAU, Fanon (I am creating my own world and using some pieces of jjk in it), major character death, burning alive, abuse, gore, blood, mentions of self loathing, anger. (Will be updated as more parts come out)

Note(s): Just a little something.

Part(s): 1 |

Headers by @uzmacchiato

[ficcerspam]

DCxDP MULTIS [AO3]

Super Strength Shenanigans - 12.10.23* [AO3]

DCxDP - When Danny gets an internship in Gotham, concerned for his and his identity's safety they figure out he has super strength he can't control for human-standard fights. Shenanigans ensue.

Horror Movie Child!Danny AU - 12.18.23* [AO3]

DCxDP - Danny is adopted into the batfam having a coming of age movie, whilst the Batfam are going through Summer Horror Special.

Puppy!Danny AU - 12.28.23* [AO3]

DCxDP - Danny is Ace the Bathound AU! With Bonus Dan as Titus, Dani as Haley/Bitewing, and Jazz as Sparky and Dog. There have been multiple tags for this, so please be warned you WILL cry at part 3. Now with meme post. Any additional non-story posts will be under "phantom pups" tag on my main blog!

Preschool Teacher Danny AU - 01.26.25* [AO3}

JLxDP - Clark comes across a meta-teacher with a class of seemingly meta toddlers. He asks if there's any room for Jon.

This work is semi-abandoned, and will not be updated on Tumblr. Please subscribe to the AO3 on the off-chance my real life preschool teacher friend Naynay's stories inspire me once more. [please do not ask for more]

Sunshine and Stardust - 02.16.24* [AO3]

YJxDP - Danny is a clone of Superman AU, but he's a failure, a test dummy. Amidst the days of pain and experimentation, he hears another clone is being made.

WITH AMAZING FANART by brainman1987

Villain!Jazz AU - 04.07.23* [AO3]

**Disclaimer, NOT Jazz centered and heavily DP leaning** After lots of thought this AU will be exclusively updated on AO3 from now on! Please subscribe to it on AO3 instead of following it here :)

“Jazz’s Errands, and Gotham’s Curse” - Chapter 10 Snippet and Podfic

Grunkle John AU - 06.24.24* [AO3]

JLxDP - Batman finds out that John Constantine is basically Danny Phantom(high level threat, ghost king)'s weird uncle. I tell you the story of how that came to be.

Why you should date Superboy, a powerpoint presentation by Red Robin (and Danny Phantom), extras brought to you by @ashleyreyland!

Mama Canary AU - 07.13.24* [AO3]

JLxDP - Suddenly de-aged Danny meet Black Canary and accidentally ghost-wails at her...except all it does is push her back a couple feet, and make her think he's the cutest lil' canary in the world. Eventual Dead On Main.

Murderbros AU - 11.09.24* [AO3]

DC - I explore the brotherly relationship between Damian and Jason, tracing all the way back to their days at the LoA. Damian POV, Catatonic?LoA!Jason.

Mechanic!Val AU - 11.27.24* [AO3]

DCxDP - Val’s pretty sure her new boss Jay is actually a crime lord... mostly background Val/Steph, focus on Outsider POV Dead on Main. Val-centric.

Deleted Scenes/ Extras! - 01.15.25* [AO3]

The Infamous Chair Fic (Val/Steph Smut) -01.13.25* [AO3]

Tentacle Smut? In MY Wholesome AU?? (Dead on Main Smut) - 02.09.25* [AO3]

Fanart of Val the awesome @belfry-ghost made before this AU even existed on tumblr, and was just an idea in discord---

FANART OF VAL!!! by the lovely @phantomfen <3

FANART OF MY GIRLS!!! by the antagonistic (/j) @psyscha

Haunted Mansion AU - 11.04.24* [AO3]

DCxYJ - What it says on the tin---Dead tired, with background Dark Ages!

Amazing fanart of Ember's opening scene by my lovely VP @void-of-unparalled-chaos

A Christmas Carol AU - 12.25.24* [AO3]

DCxDP - Christmas Carol Inspired AU where the three Phantom siblings visit a 15 year old Jason just before he decides to go looking for his birth mother.

The Boy in the Mirror - 03.10.25* [AO3]

DCxDP - Tim has noticed something strange about his new brother, how he looks to his left and avoids the mirror. Demon Twins AU. Angst.

Building Graves like Homes - 03.21.25* [AO3]

DP- In which Danny unknowingly builds his own grave...in an unconventional way.

Family Reunion AU - 04.30.25 [AO3]

DCxDP- In which cousins Maddie and Clark try to smuggle their clone children into the family reunion that happens every 5 years and pretend they've been there the whole time to varying successes. Mainly Kid POV.