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senqv · 2 months

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HOUSE OF KINGS.

blue lock ! royal / fantasy au series featuring : michael kaiser x fem! reader

warning(s): 1.1k , asshole ism , more traditional feminine roles , arranged marriage , lmk if there are more !!

a/n: how r we feeling

ONE. CHILD OF PROPHECY

in the reign of the first emperors, or so said the tales, the child of god is born — in silver moonlight and touched with the whisper of divinity.

they said that in his birth, the muses came and told it to his half-nymph mother, a beloved daughter of the water gods. they landed kisses on her sweat-sheened temple and sang each unravelling prophecy with the golden strings of their lyres; chosen by god, they purred, the emperor of kings.

they did not stay for long, but they had no need to. word travels swiftly in the whirling halls of the palace.

michael, gift of god, whom the divine had gingerly formed in their image, golden and jewel-eyed. the one who will fell men like wheat beneath a scythe and have them all crouching at his heel.

a godly son means haste to find a wife to carry on the bloodline, hungry in hopes that the gods will shine their divine light again with each beautiful son to come. and thus, the one they chose is you, daughter of house adalheidis, rumoured to have had divine blood from a sea nymph mixed in aeons ago. a nymph is the least of the lesser gods, but still a god, nonetheless, and divine blood purified the muddy dust of the human race to mould saints and heroes.

the divine blood of your house has long been watered down, with no traces of any deific features that might make an appearance in fables or folklore. but still, it is enough.

nymph, in the olden languages, is the same word for bride.

so perhaps your fate had been preordained long ago.

and so, when you first meet god, you are just short of thirteen years old.

they twine your hair with ribbons and strings of pearls, silent tittering as they dusted a pearly powder over your cheeks, an incandescent glow illuminating against the bronze mirror. your head lolls to the rhythm of their chatter, following the direction your hair was gently tugged at, eyes slow and blinking, not quite shed of the silvery sleep.

when you arrive, the sun shines brightly in the transparent sky, casting a golden glow over the white plaster of the palace architecture. banners hang from the ceiling, a royal blue, fluttering in the wind; your gaze climbs upwards, following the inscriptions of ancient fables, the effigies of the gods carved into the ceiling. the sunlight dancing in the curve of their marble eyes was so fervid you tore your gaze away in fear they might come alive.

a servant you had not caught the name of led you through the halls. he looked your age, maybe slightly older; not quite grown out into his lanky frame, eyes downcast and shy.

the emperor was not present, he had told you with nervous hands, and so you were being brought directly to the son of god himself.

your steps halt at a side door in the northernmost part of the palace. from what you could see, it was not as grand as the throne room you had passed by earlier, but it was obvious how pampered this boy prince was; before you, arched pillars loomed over the doors of imported oakwood, engraved with gentle carvings of even more obscure fables of prophetical sons and warrior kings.

he is lying on his side on a wide, pillowed bench, thick furs strewn all over the velvety couch. his eyes were half closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks each time he blinked.

at the purposeful scuffing of your sandals against the floor, he glanced up briefly, lolling his head to the side to look at you.

lazily, his hands stroked the majestic forest cat on his lap, golden fur streaked like a lion, mirroring its owner. but no — it would be wrong to compare it as such. his hair was entirely different, lit by the sun with a spring honey lustre, spun from threads of gold. if you looked closer, within it glints the golden circlet of a prince, nearly black against the brightness of his hair.

you felt your breaths slow, gaping at the cold shock of his beauty. he was not much older than you, but incomparable with the boys your age; of jewel blue eyes sharp as a beast, cheeks and mouth tinted a cherubic rose, painted by the careful muses themselves.

if you were not a child of noble birth, you're quite sure your jaw would have been hanging slack by now. instead, you pressed your lips together and tore your gaze to the floor.

you can feel his eyes on you, and hear a slight shuffle of him leaning more forward to regard you. "what is your name?" his voice is silken, tinged with the slight crackle of sleep and boredom. you keep your gaze screwed to the ground out of spite, a muscle in your jaw ticking. your family was one of the great pillars of the empire, flourishing in trade and commerce. you were his arranged bride, to be the empress of his nation. and yet he still did not know you.

now, he sits up completely, cat yowling faintly in his lap. he speaks again, louder, clear as the glacial waters of the north. "what is your name?" the first lapse of silence was excusable, perhaps you had not heard. now, the boy prince demands an answer.

and so, you level your gaze with his, staring with all the conviction and animosity of a noble girl who had never experienced such blatant disregard. you speak your name as if casting a spell, each syllable strong and resonant, muttered with intention — to engrave your name in his mind, to make sure he could not forget it even if he wanted.

"of house adalheidis," you added in finality.

he's focused on you now, silvery blue gaze as cutting as a knife. he tips his chin up, staring downwards. "my name is michael," he purrs, "kaiser." the side of his mouth quirked slightly at the intensity of your stare. from the corner of your eyes, you faintly notice the dimples appearing at the sides of his face.

you both held the other's gaze in silence. the amusement on his face was obvious, and your brows melded together in confusion for a split second.

then he blinked, mouth cracked open like a yawning cat, mirroring the feline on his lap.

kaiser's interest came as quickly as it left, as if everything was a divine comedy preened before him to garner his delight. he no longer was looking at you.

"welcome to the palace."

you were raised in court, and you knew dismissal when you heard it. you lowered your head with clenched fingers, bruising the crushed silk of your dress.

#— HOUSE OF KINGS.#slayed #bllk #bllk royal au #blue lock #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 9 months

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Through the Labyrinth the Thread Guides; Idia Shroud

Strings tie together fates. Strings build fates. But should the thread unravel, will your fate follow?

Supporting Roles; Ortho Shroud & Grim

Content; Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match instead), gender-neutral reader, can be read as familial, platonic, or romantic, hurt/comfort, Idia being prime wet cat energy

Content Warnings; Idia & Ortho's backstory (brief mentions of death), some heavy self-depreciation & blaming (Idia), swearing, crying (Idia)

Word Count; 5.5 K

Do not put mine - or other creators’ - works into AI; that shit steals.

In rare instances, humans are given soul matches. It is an odd occurrence, but in a select few families, it is quite common to have one. One of these families being the Shrouds.

There is a story, a myth from aeons past, of a woman using a ball of thread to lead her and others in her company to safety. There is another tale, that one’s life is like that of a string, which the three fates cut with their shears. Strings connect things. Connect people in often invisible ways. They can create. If one snaps, or is loose, everything can unravel. But they can also ensnare; like the sticky strings of a spider’s web. Strings are something the Shroud family is well acquainted with. Alongside the family curse was a family blessing, placed upon them by the God of the Underworld.

No two strings are the same, as they reflected the qualities they shared with the person at the other end. The base colour would stay the same, but the brightness would change with their match’s emotions and well-being. The brighter and lighter the colour, the happier and better their match was. The darker the colour… it meant they were unwell, or under extreme conditions. But there were conflicting ideas within the family over the generations, all written down in a codex that dated back to the very first Shroud.

But, as with any blessing, there is a price to pay for such happiness. For nothing in this world comes for free. Each Shroud is born with two strings. The string on the right leads to the person who will love them for them, of comfort zones, a safety net if you will. The string on the left leads to someone who will change them, make them reassess their life. Right is the known, and left is the unknown. These strings can lead to many different types of relationships; familial, platonic, romantic, and many more.

The strings don’t ever disappear, but if the other person connected by the string dies, then their shared string snaps. The thread around their finger, now white, serving as a cruel reminder of what was. Or in some cases, of what could have been.

Another steep price is that the person at the end of the winding thread, should they choose their match, will also be subjected to the Shroud family’s curse. So there are many cases across the decades of select Shrouds choosing to ignore the thread, to not bring someone else to their fate. But not all matches felt the same way, as a few matches actively searched and confronted their match. These pairings serve as a reminder; that even though you may try to ignore fate, it will catch up to you. And both are transported into a labyrinth, disguised from each other; only able to get out with each other and without the one looking back.

Is this guarantee of happiness truly worth putting someone else, someone innocent, through the same cursed fate as them though? Many a Shroud, if not all, are conflicted by the prospect. Should happiness really come at the cost of someone else’s? Even if they would be happy together?

…

Idia looked into the crib where the yellow string on his right hand led, glowing a faint sunshine gold. This baby — Ortho — was supposed to be the person who will love him for him?

“Idia, honey, what’s with the frown,” his mom asked, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Idia peered into the crib, where Ortho was peacefully sound asleep. “My thread leads to him,” he muttered. He knew that eventually he and Ortho would bond, but it would be several years until the two could really get close. You can’t exactly have a conversation or play more complex games with a baby. “What does that mean?”

Mrs. Shroud hummed, her usual chipperness being a bit more subdued due to the little amount of sleep she was getting. Well, both parents really, but Mr Shroud just was extra tired and quiet when compared to his wife. “Well, remember the stories I tell you when you go to sleep, honey?”

“Like… Ariadne and the string? But that’s just a story, Mom,” Idia huffed, pushing the mobile and making the pegasi fly in a slow circle. “Plus Ariadne didn’t have a happy ending… the hero didn’t stay with her.”

Mrs. Shroud’s eyes were fixed on him, and she was thinking. “Well, the string that led to Theseus was on her left hand, dear; the left string changes us, for better or for worse. But on her right hand was another string, much like the string on yours. The string on your right hand is for those who will love you as you are. Regardless of what happens.”

Idia looked down into the crib again, where the pegasi cast dancing shadows. “But he’s so … small.”

“Well he is a baby,” Mrs. Shroud laughed, looking between her bewildered son and her peacefully sleeping baby. “Don’t worry, before long the two of you will be running and playing. You’ll be the best of friends, trust me. Okay?”

Idia didn’t look impressed but he nodded at his mom before heading back to his room. He finally knew where the yellow string, the string on his right hand, led. But why was the string on his right hand floating up before fading out into nothingness? A translucent thread, save for the tiniest hint of blue. No one in the stories, either old or new, had a string that went up. If his soul match were dead his thread would be white and hanging limply off of his finger. But no, it just led somewhere where he couldn’t see. A place that no one knew of.

Left strings lead to someone who will change us. But Idia had heard enough stories of how left threads led to either happiness or utter despair. After all, Ariadne’s left thread only brought her heartbreak, and her other soul match, the God of Revelry, was the only one that brought her solace.

…

Laughter haunted his mind. Cheer-filled laughter. Love. memories haunted his mind. But they were only that, memories. Memories could not replace Ortho. Memories could not bring back his brother. Memories could not fix everything that has happened.

It’s all my fault. He looked down at the mechanical parts. It’s all my fault. How long has it been since he last slept? It’s all my fault. “It’s all my fault,” he hissed, shoving the parts away in frustration.

Ortho wouldn’t have… We wouldn’t- Ortho would still be here if it weren’t for me! That was what Idia constantly told himself since the incident. If it weren’t for me, Ortho would be here! I’m no hero! I just want my brother back! GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK!

But he wouldn’t get Ortho back, not truly. Death is a permanent thing, it cannot be undone. But Idia was not the only one hurting, for his parents were also grieving.

“Island of Woe,” Idia sighed, looking into the reflection off of one of the many monitors. “Rather fitting. Nothing but misery… but pain. Is this to be our fate?” His hair, once a dull blue, was now shining a brilliant angry red. “Is this Ortho’s fate? To die because of my influence?! He’s a kid! HE DIDN’T KNOW!” I’m just a kid. But as soon as the anger came up, it vanished, and the room went back to its dim blue glow from the multiple screens showing blueprints.

Sighing, Idia went back to work, fiddling with wires and reading over blueprints and various magic texts. If magic alone could not bring back Ortho, then maybe technology could. The past two years have been like this; Idia working long into the night, trying to find a way, any possible way, to bring Ortho back.

It’s all my fault, so the least I can do is make it right. He didn’t care how long it took him, he was going to make sure that Ortho would be back home.

The thread on the right-hand leads you to someone who will love you as you are. Idia loved Ortho, and he would still love him, even if his brother was now made of steel and wires.

“Here goes nothing.” What was this, the one-hundredth attempt? He spent nearly three months working on this body, but now was the moment of truth. “Please, please work.”

And he started up Ortho’s programming, waiting for the blue flame to ignite. And as the blue flame sparked to life, the string on Idia’s right hand connected itself to Ortho. Glowing a blinding yellow, changing from a bright pastel to a dark ochre, mirroring the complex emotions running through the older Shroud’s mind.

But the string on his left hand was still translucent and led nowhere, nowhere but up.

…

Eyes, eyes are everywhere. Voices are everywhere. And Idia could see all of this from the other side of the screen. Where the others were standing around the mirror chamber, whispering amongst themselves, Idia sat at his desk, watching everything take place. He really didn’t even want to be there, even virtually, but the Housewarden of each dorm was required to attend, he just happened to pull a few strings so he didn’t have to endure the social interaction.

Besides, the ceremony was the same every year, and Idia really didn’t need to be there to welcome the newcomers. So he wasn’t, instead watching and adding his input as needed, working on a new customization for Ortho. He looked down at his hand. The thread on his left hand was still translucent and went nowhere but up, fading into nothing. Idia still didn’t know what that was meant to mean, and there were no records in the family library or database about any other cases.

Left is the unknown. Left is what changes you. But what is there to change? Why should Idia change? He looked to his right hand, where the yellow thread on his pinky connected to Ortho. Right is who loves you for you. All Idia needed was Ortho, he didn’t need nor want anyone else. Especially someone waltzing in uninvited to throw a wrench in his life. Ortho was all Idia needed. Ortho was all Idia wanted. Never again was he going to lose his brother. He would go to the ends of the world and back for him.

The ceremony didn’t go off without a hitch though. Through the screen, Idia saw blue fire, saw students clamouring out to escape the flames. But the fire is not what caught Idia’s eye though, no. What caught his eye was that the thread on his left hand was glowing blue, and led outside his door, out into the campus of Night Raven College.

He felt a lump form in his throat. Left changes you. The thread dulled in its luminosity, becoming clouded. Confused. Both Idia and the person at the other end of the thread were confused. For Idia, it was that the thread was… active? It was the realization that the person who would change him was here, and that thought alone terrified him. But for the other person at the end of the thread, it was an entirely different kind of confusion. It was more along the lines of “Where the hell am I? WHY AM I IN A COFFIN?! WHY IS EVERYTHING ON FIRE?!” type of confusion.

And out of all the possible colours it had to be blue. Blue has many meanings; inspiration, imagination, trust, and wisdom. But also sadness. Feeling blue was called that for a reason. Blue hardly brought anything without sadness. But at the same time, it was all too fitting that the thread that he shared with his soul match was blue. Of course, Idia would bring nothing but sadness to his match.

Would I change them for the worse? I can’t drag them into this… I can’t do this. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be in your life,” he whispered, grabbing a pair of scissors. He drew the thread taut and brought the blades in, before snipping. But the tread didn’t break, instead, it cut through the scissors, changing from faded blue to a blazing gold, before fading back to blue.

Yeah, there was no chance of Idia removing the molten scissors from the floor of his room. His face paled, and he stared at the thread.

Others had tried to cut the thread off before him, but the scissors just bounced off. They didn’t cut through and melt metal. That wasn’t normal. None of this was normal. Idia wasn’t normal.

“Who are you?” But the thread didn’t answer, still glowing faintly, shifting from cyan to navy. The cyan shifted to navy, indicating they were feeling much the same. Idia brought his knees to his chest and hid his head into the space between them. Who are you, and what’s going to happen?

…

Saying that you weren’t happy would be a gross understatement. You were the furthest thing from happy. You were here, wherever here was, you nearly got burned alive by some cat creature that had adopted you as his hench-human, and some weird birdman had “graciously” let you stay in a dilapidated house infested with ghosts. So yeah, you were not having a good night.

“Why,” you seethed, looking through the cracked windows at the darkening sky. “Why me?” But all you got for an answer was creaking wood and the whistling of wind coming in through the many cracks in the walls and ceiling. You plopped down on one of the ancient sofas and fell straight through to the ground. Yeah, sure, why not?!

Today was a mess, a disastrous mess. But at least now, everything was quiet… for the most part, but whatever was to come could wait until tomorrow when you were somewhat well rested. In all of the ruckus and noise though, there was a silent change. Curiously, on each hand, on your pinky, were coloured strings.

On your right, a purple string, glowing with lilac and deep violet. With that string, you saw where it ended, which was on Grim’s right paw. But on your left hand, you couldn’t see the ending for the blue thread, glowing a faint navy. It led outside of the door and kept on going before disappearing off into campus. You didn’t know what strings meant here, but back at home, red strings were a popular trope in soulmate fanfiction. Here though? No clue. What does it mean to have two? Why were they different colours? Why did they just appear now?

The glowing strings didn’t answer, of course, and continued glowing. Fading between different shades of their respective colours, but the blue string remained a dark navy. To be fair though, nothing really made sense here. So, sure, why not?

There’s no bed… well, a proper bed. So the floor it is I guess. It wasn’t the most ideal of situations, but it was a bit better than sleeping outside. Looking up to the ceiling, you started counting the cracks to take your mind off of things. Fifty-six, fifty-seven… How many cracks could a ceiling have until it didn’t count as a ceiling? Sighing, you tugged at the blue string, seeing if you would get some kind of answer back. But nope. Nada. Zero. You got zilch as an answer. But the string was less of the dark, deep, navy, and there was a hint of a true blue in the mix.

You rubbed your eyes and kept on tugging at the string every time you counted another crack. One hundred and … I lost count FU- you groaned in defeat. You gave one last pull at the string before deciding to try and get some shut-eye. If today was just beginning, then, boy howdy, more chaos and shenanigans were sure to come your way. And what chaos and shenanigans they were.

…

Idia was antsy today, more antsy than usual. Every night, at around the same time, he would feel the thread on his left pinky tug. It was insistent, but it was the same number every time. He hadn’t made any sort of move with his string since he tried to cut it. And honestly, he was scared to even touch it. Fearing that should he interact with the string, that it would bring his other soul match into his life. Finally, he felt the last tug, which was always the strongest, and sighed with relief.

At first, Idia thought it was just his match trying to get his attention, and that was still a possibility, but it was the same amount of tugs every night. They didn’t pull the string at any other time, only at night. So perhaps trying to get his attention wasn’t the point. Maybe it was Morse code? But the tugging was the same quick motion. Unless his match was just saying E two hundred and thirteen times with a T at the end, they weren’t trying to get a message across. Then what did they want? What were they doing? Why were they doing it?

“Why am I thinking about them,” he hissed under his breath, placing his forehead on his desk. I don’t want to think about them… they’ll change everything.

And while many people in his family had good relationships with their match on their left string, there was always the chance that it could end horribly. They would hate me anyways… the only one that likes me is Ortho. All I need is Ortho.

“They can’t hate you if you don’t give them the chance to know you!” Ortho had seamlessly snuck into the room, and apparently Idia had said his thoughts out loud too. Ortho looked at Idia’s left hand, he couldn’t actually see the thread, but he knew it was there, and he knew it had appeared the day of the ceremony. Knew that Idia was quietly obsessing on not meeting his soul match. “You can’t avoid them forever, nii-san!”

I can’t avoid them forever. Ortho was right in that, since the threads would tighten and force the reluctant one — aka Idia — to them. And he cringed at the thought of his thread practically dragging him to his soul match. If they already thought he was some loser, then surely that introduction wouldn’t bolster any confidence. “They don’t need me… they don’t want me.”

Ortho frowned, and their connected thread turned a dark ochre, reflecting Ortho’s frustration at his older brother’s resistance. “How do you know that, though?”

“I just do,” Idia huffed.

He loved his younger brother, loved him so much that he couldn’t live without him, but sometimes Idia wished that he would drop the subject of soul matches. Stop trying to make him change his mind. Right is for those who love you regardless of everything. But Idia knew Ortho only did it to try and make him happy. Left is who changes you.

Ortho yanked on their thread, forcing Idia out of his own head. “No, no you don’t. And maybe they won’t change you, but you just might change for them.” Change is a part of life. Enjoy life, Idia. Ortho didn’t say that though, hoping that Idia would get out of his comfort zone, take a chance, go on a quest, and find the other person at the end of the string. Wherever they may be.

…

Something was wrong. The thread on your finger had turned black, and led to nowhere, fading into the air. It had happened right as you had entered the air zone of the Island of Woe.

Go back! Turn back! Now is a BAD time! But was there ever a good time? Would there ever be a good time? And despite the alarm bells practically screaming in your head, you advanced. Originally you came here to rescue your friends — even if a few were more reluctant to call you that — but there was something more. It was as if you were here for a reason.

The right string, your string that led to Grim, was glowing a faint, dark violet. He’s scared. And like hell were you going to abandon your demanding fur-child. Yes, he gave you constant migraines and set the kitchen on fire too many times to really count — forty-seven though according to Deuce — but you loved the little asshole. Loved him enough to face down Idia… Idia who was surrounded by blot. But that wasn’t all, no. Both of you were in a maze, a labyrinth, made of ink. And Idia wasn’t all there, and you knew that a part of him was outside of the maze, as was a part of you. But the parts that mattered were here, stuck in the dripping labyrinth, together.

And then Idia was gone, either being teleported to somewhere else in the maze, or back outside. In your mind you could see the events unfolding, but you weren’t really there. In the darkness there were two sources of light. The thread on your left pinky was now glowing a blinding gold, and weaving between the inky walls. Going forward. But there was also the string on your right hand, glowing a faint purple and led up. In order to get out of this maze it looked like you would have to follow the blue thread now turned gold which blazed forward like the Sun across the horizon.

In your mind you could see everyone fighting Idia, could see yourself fighting Idia, but you were following the gold thread through the silent maze.

“Where are you bringing me?” But all you got for an answer was a slight change in brightness. None of this made sense. I really should have researched this when I had the chance. That’s a problem for future me though.

The thread eventually stopped though, stopping in front of a figure sitting on the ground with his knees to his chest, hugging them. A figure made of blue, gold, and yellow flame.

…

Idia felt his chest and eyes burning. Why am I crying? He looked through his tear-warped vision, but he was in some sort of labyrinth. Why am I here? The thread was glowing gold, much as it had when he had attempted to cut it. But instead of being unbearably hot, it was warm, like his favourite hoodie. Comforting. But the thread on his right hand had snapped again, and was white. Ortho was gone again. It’s all my fault. Everything is always my fault.

Left changes us. Left is the unknown. Left is possibility.

But it’s also pain, uncertainty, fear, rejection—

“But how do you know that though?” That’s what Ortho said. And Idia didn’t know those things, not for certain.

He curled into himself, trying to ground himself. A curt laugh escaping from his lips. “A labyrinth of all places,” he said quietly into the dripping gloom. Fitting, since Ariadne was hurt most by the person she met there. Are you trying to tell me they’ll come in here, waltzing in like some hot shot hero, only then to ditch me for someone else?

But the thread only continued to glow, leading out into the maze. The only way out is forward. But Idia couldn’t move, he felt frozen, stuck. So he just sat there, letting out the built up grief of years and years come out. The tears gently rolled down his face before falling into the ink.

“Are you okay?”

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and Idia looked up. Standing at the entrance(?), exit(?) of the labyrinth was a figure, their voice distorted, and their body made up of blue, gold, and lilac flames. And he and they were connected together through the gold cord.

Idia moved in further on himself. “No,” he hissed. Obviously he was not okay. “G-go away! I don’t need you!”

But the figure only got closer, and came down to sit next to him, quietly waiting for him. “I may or may not know you, cuz honestly I can’t tell with the weird voice filter and flame suit, but I think you do need me… I know nothing about what this means,” you picked up the gold thread connecting the two of you together, “but I do know it means we’re connected in some way. Also that we can only get out with each other, regardless of if we like it or not.”

Regardless of if we like it or not. Idia hated this entire situation. He was stuck in here, in this maze with his soul match’s inner flame, but he was also outside. Left changes us. “I don’t want you.” I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t want any of this.

It stung a bit, but you knew there was no bite to their bark. “You may not want me, and I may not want you, but I think we need each other. Cuz whatever these strings are, seem to have a mind of their own.” You got off the ground and offered your hand to your gloomy companion. “Now, are you going to sit here in the dark, or do you want to get out of this place?”

Idia looked up at them. You may not want me, and I may not want you, but I think we need each other. They were right. He wouldn’t be able to leave this maze without them. And right now, they were glowing as bright as the Sun, warm, comforting, and bright. Left is to change. Left is the unknown. So, Idia took their hand.

…

The two of you walked in silence throughout the maze, the only sound being the drip drip drip of ink hitting the ground. The further you went from where your fellow flame person was moping, the more light there was, and the ink was slowly fading out. But there was still a long ways to go. But the silence was suffocating, especially since you had some questions that needed answering.

“So,” you cleared your throat, breaking the quiet. “What do these strings mean?”

The flame figure, who was in actuality Idia, beside you tripped. They don’t know? How could they not know? “... they’re soul match threads…”

Soul match? “And what does that mean?” It’s not my fault that I don’t know anything about this. I didn’t really receive a “Welcome to Twisted Wonderland!” brochure.

Idia sighed. He was still nervous around you, but the anonymity of the voice filters and the fact that you were made of fire helped calm his nerves enough. “The one on the right is for the person who loves you for you, regardless of flaws.” And his had broke again, Ortho was gone again. “The left thread is for the person who will change you… it also means the unknown.”

“I don’t want you!” So that’s why they were so defensive. “Well, change can be scary. It can be good or bad,” you hummed. “But life is filled with change… Life is change. You can’t truly live without changing, without taking a chance on the unknown.”

“You’re pretty wise,” it slipped out of his mouth before Idia knew, and he was glad that the fire didn’t change colour like his hair did, or else he would have been bright pink. “Sorry, forget I s-said that!”

But you just chuckled, “Meh, just have learned a lot in the past couple of months… blue does mean wisdom though.”

“It also means sadness.” Idia stopped walking. “I don’t want to bring sadness into your life… it seems to be the only thing I bring.”

“Blue can mean a hundred different things, you just have to decide what it means for you. For me? It means a bright clear sky. It’s water. It’s the bright blue of … my friend’s fire. It can mean anything. You just have to give it meaning.” You didn’t really know why you were saying all of this, but you felt like you could be honest with the stranger beside you.

Left changes you. Left is the unknown… the left can be something you choose for yourself? Idia had always thought that his soul match would be different from him. Try to forcibly change him. But they weren’t. They were helping him, giving him… advice? Helping him out of the maze. Which at first was filled with dark ink, but now instead of stepping on the dark surface, they were in a maze made of white marble, and a blue sky dotted with white clouds overhead.

You didn’t look back at Idia when he stopped walking, and instead waited patiently. You don’t know why, but you had a feeling that if you looked back, they would disappear, heading back to the darkness of the centre of the labyrinth. “Come on, we’re almost out.” You offered your hand again, waiting. “Let’s get out of here.”

This time Idia took your hand without a second thought. A blinding light forced the both of you to close your eyes and you found yourselves out of the maze. To the aftermath of the overblot.

…

It was a week before the physical string on your and Idia’s hand came back. But this time it was different; instead of being purely blue it was a mix of blue and gold, taking on a marbled appearance. Idia’s right thread to Ortho was back too, and he was overjoyed to have his brother back.

“You met them, didn’t you? In the labyrinth?” Ortho asked, noticing that his brother was different, not a bad different either. “That’s how you escaped the blot.”

Idia nodded. Without his soul match, he would still be stuck in the blot, stuck in the dark maze… stuck in obsessing and blaming himself for what happened in the past. Left is the unknown. Left is the future. “They… they were kind.”

Ortho looked at Idia, and there was a smile in his eyes. “Go to them then, nii-san!!!” He harshly pulled on his thread to push his message home. “What are you waiting for, Idia?!”

What am I waiting for? They had already reached out to him, saved him, so it was only fair to find them in return… to show that he changed. So, he gently plucked at the thread, holding his breath as he waited for an answer. And he felt a pull back as an answer.

Just think of it as a side adventure in a game. This isn’t some boss battle. This isn’t a bad ending in an otome game… This isn’t a game though.

…

You were smothering Grim in hugs and kisses. “I LOVE YOU, YOU FLUFFY JERK!” You muffled into his fur as he tried to escape your affection.

“Nyeh! You’re choking me! Let me go, hench-human!” Grim squirmed out of your grasp, but hugged your leg. “... I missed you too.”

After everything with Idia’s overblot, you had been giving Grim extra love. Yes, he could be an ass at times, but he’s still your friend, and you loved him regardless. Right is for those who love you regardless of anything else. You loved Grim, regardless of everything that he’s done. And he loved you. You two were family. A vibrating sensation on your left hand pulled you from the sweet moment.

The thread connected to your hand was slowly vibrating. So, they’re reaching out? … maybe I did change them? And you lightly pulled on the string. You wanted to find them, if for nothing else than to make sure that they were okay.

“Grim, don’t start any house fires when I’m gone,” you placed a kiss on his forehead before going out the door. Ramshackle was still a disaster zone, but it was still home to you. You could always fix it later. It could wait. But the other person at the end of your blue and gold marbled thread could not.

You didn’t know who they were, you didn’t know who to expect, but you were open to the possibilities. You were open to change, open to the unknown. Open to the future, whatever that may look like with them.

Eventually your string stopped, and looking up from the thread you saw Idia, shaking slightly and looking at the string connecting you two. Focusing so strongly that you had came that he hadn’t even looked up to see who his soul match was.

“I know what you may think of me, but…” he took in a shaky breath, trying to get the vulnerability of his voice under control. “I’m trying to change, accepting that what happened, happened. But it’s going to take me a while to level up-” He cringed at the gaming slang he used.

You placed your hand on his. “How do you know what I think about you if you never really asked me?”

Idia’s head snapped up and he looked at you with wide eyes, hair flashing a flustered pink. “It’s you?!” He practically squeaked. The strong, responsible, and kind Prefect?! “NOT THAT THAT’S A BAD THING THOUGH!”

“Do you think change is so scary, now that we know it’s each other?”

Idia looked into your eyes, and he knew his answer. “As long as we have each other, no. It’s not.”

Fin!

Author's Note; Did I use a popular soulmate trope with the string of fate? Yes. Do I care? No~. I did tie in the mythology of Ariadne, but also of Orpheus & Eurydice. Also some colour language because I can. I hope you enjoy Idia's story! If you like my work, or want to read the other Soul Match AU stories I have, do check out my masterlist!

Tags!

@inkybloom-luv @eynnwwyjth @xxoomiii

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #twst soulmate au #soul match au #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x gn reader #twst idia #idia x reader #idia x gn reader #ortho shroud #twst grim #twst hurt/comfort #twst fic #i'm blue da ba dee da ba di #idia shroud; so much of a wet cat that he's entirely made up of water #should i just put the entirety of “I'm Blue” in the tags? ...... no #I'M BLUE-#bit different from the rest but that's okay; i like how it turned out #up next is lilia but i need a nap before taking on another 5.5K #also i lowkey want to draw(?) paint (?) their flame figures in the dark with the gold thread connecting them #but i haven't painted in a hot minute #like i'm imagining van gogh style and idk how to do that #tags are for easter eggs and for me to ramble when all of the important ones are done #might not write anything new for a little bit and instead slowly re-write an old wip until i get the energy to write something new #majority of this was written in the span of three days

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aina-otsuki · 6 days

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I may or may not have gotten off track and made a fanfic about “A Kairos Moment”. @avaetin ever since your created that fanfic and ship I’ve never been able to look back.

Anyways anyone know a the show Star VS The forces Of Evil? Now imagine Nico’s family born from the “failed” clay prototypes made from the escaped essences of Earth, Sea, Sky, and Pit. Making them have magic but they were able to create their own ancient type of magic. Which like in the show they have a wand passed down from each queen. But instead of having a single wand passed down why not have them create their own wand along with their own spells to back up their own creation. I see Nico as the family’s Eclipsa (Queen Of Darkness) and Celena (the Shy). I think he’d be Eclipsa because why not. Also I think he’d look wonderful with an umbrella. Celena is mainly because of what’s said about her in that one episode where Star’s inside the wand and like reading stone texts about each wand user. I like started writing a bit of a fanfic about it.

Oh! Totally almost forgot about the kingdom his family has. So the Kingdom’s name is Eclipsara bc why not. Now kingdom is know to be hidden in the shadows and within plain sight. It’s where light and dark take a dance in a perpetual waltz. The capital is called Nightspire. It’s where all the most culture of the kingdom is held. Then there’s the major trading city that’s surrounded by a forest and near a river. Whisperwood is its name. It’s called this for a reason actually. The woods of that forest is where the trees whisper murmurs of secrets and where tales of yore are carried within its winds. This kingdom has all kinds of people from supernatural beings to normal people that live together in harmony among the rule of their dear Queen or King. OH!! The spells I wrote spells that are similar to the shows except they’re Nico’s spells and and like what if Nico took Aeon, and his children to the kingdom to let them have a “normal” childhood. Eclipsa was like hated for leaving her kingdom for the one she loved so instead of that for Nico. I’m going to have his family praise him for it. Like they did for Maria. Like they do for every family member who had enticed an immortal and powerful being.

Yeah, that’s about it. I’ll probably reblog the spells I made later.

Should I be working on my Jasico Fanfic instead of posting. Yes. Do I care and think everything I’m writing in the fic sucks and change sentences every few minutes. Yes. Should I not procrastinate and write my fic instead of saying I’ll do it later cause I have school work. Also yes! Anyways here’s the small part I started for this AU!

“A young girl stood in front of a tapestry. She was the oldest of her sisters. She, like her mother, was inevitability, the end. She was the fate others faced within their final breath.

She was Atropos…

She looked at the tapestry with wonder. This was her mother. Her mother had titles her father hadn’t known of. She thought it was interesting to learn about this. She would admire the tapestry more later, for now she should read what her Mother’s people had to say about her. She looked down to read a tile of stone with gems and riches all around and a symbol of her mothers family.

“Niccoló, Queen of Eclipsará. To an Eclipsaran King was wed but took a primordial for his love. And away from Eclipsará fled.”

Atropos felt like scoffing; they made her mother out to be someone bad. Leaving a kingdom for love doesn’t mean the person is bad. She disliked the fact they simply painted her father out to someone bad on the tapestry. Atropos thought they hadn’t known anything about her father. However, just as she was about to leave when she saw the stone change wording.

“Niccoló, the Flower and Star, he who hides behind a shadowed umbrella. The hand that does sweetly hold, a trove of cosmic secrets that have never been told.”

It wouldn’t let me upload my picture of the docs. So I had to copy paste which sucks. Anyways I bid everyone goodbye.

#idk what im doing #nico di angelo #pjo #au #primordial god! chronos x ananke! nico #star vs the forces of evil #screaming #I’m a horrible writer sorry for anyone waiting for a fic update :(

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pink-strawberry-kissess · 1 month

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LAST CHANCE TO GET YOUR STUFF IN FOR AEON PREGNANCY FIC

i have decided to include an epilogue

so it will be the 9 chapters (hehe) and then an epilogue (probably fairly short)

i might wanna really focus for chapter 9 and the epilogue so i can really be happy with finishing it and then it'll be done :')

but like i said before i am willing to write more stories about this au! and i really wanna tackle postpartum ada >:)

and of course more stories after they're born!!!!

#ada wong #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #aeon #leon x ada #leon kennedy x ada wong #pregnancy au #aeon twins

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amatres · 8 months

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I have a lot of OCs, so I'm making a list of all of them to keep track of their tags, especially if my special interest ever moves to something else for a while.

All under the cut. For art of any of them, or to just see my art in general, go to my art tag ama doodles, or you can follow my side blog @amasdoodles!

Dragon Age:

-Surana : My main warden for dragon age origins, a young elven woman taken to the circle so young she couldn't even remember her name, and had to be named by one of her friends. Was recruited by Duncan into the Grey Wardens in 9:30 Dragon, leading into a domino effect of her and her senior Grey Warden, Alistair Therrin, to be the sole surviving Ferelden Wardens during the Fifth Blight. Died committing the Ultimate Sacrifice.

-Allyn Hawke : My main hawke, a mage and eldest child of the runaway noble Leandra Amell and her apostate lover and eventual husband, Malcolm Hawke. A very depressed woman due to the events of her life, and currently living on the run with her lover Fenris after the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry.

Evie Trevelyan : The elf blooded child born from an affair, and sent away to the Circle by her mother's noble family as quickly as possible, happy to be rid of her. Becoming the Inquisitor causes her identity issues to increase to a horrific degree, and she drinks from the Well of Sorrows out of desperation to both have a connection to her and her father's people, and feel like she made her own choice for once.

Katla Brosca : My other Grey Warden, the younger child of Kalah Brosca. In the au she is recruited instead of, or with, Surana, she helps bring end the Fifth Blight, and does the Dark Ritual with Morrigan herself. Her efforts have her declared a living paragon of Orzammar, a title she happily uses to take in other casteless into her House.

Leann Amell : The eldest of five, Leann was the first child of Revka Amell's children to be taken away by the Chantry. She was friends with Surana and Jowan when they were young, all arriving in the Circle around the same time, and even named Surana when the child revealed she could not remember her name. Leann committed suicide in 9:25 Dragon, and her death had a deeply profound effect on the friends she left behind. Surana wears her hairpins as a memento.

Pathfinder:

Layla : A dhampir bard who fled to the worldwound in a desperate attempt to shake off the people sent by her cousin to capture her, only to end up being fucked over by that decision as well. Struggles between giving into her growing embitterment, and with holding onto her optimism the world seems keen to take from her. Azata Path to Legend. -Her pintrest board -Her spotify -Her fake TV Tropes page

Sigrid: A emphyral sorcerer born in the time before the Worldwound was opened, and childhood friends with Areelu's child. After their death, she aided Areelu in opening the Worldwound in grief of her friend's death and anger at the culture that would both prosecuted her for her magic and would kill her friend over it.

Eventually she committed to using herself as the vessel to bring back her friend, but the process fails, leaving her falling onto an aeon as a guiding figure and undoing everything she and Areelu did, unable to host her friend's soul and regretful for what they had done. True Aeon path.

Dungeons and Dragons:

Aurora : A fey creature called a snow maiden, cursed by the Hag Mother to turn into a hag herself if she were to ever to kiss someone, but also to be consumed by loneliness regardless.

Gwynnever Calear : Seemingly a sea elven young woman who is the niece to the ruling King of Azuri. She made friends with people in very dark places, but carries more secrets than one would assume. If you would like to know her whole deal, here's a very long post I made about it.

Balaerra : A half elven drow who grew up on the streets. Desperate never to feel so powerless again, she studied magic feverously, but her desperation may very well lead her to her own ruin. - Spotify -Info

Dawn: An aasimar with no memory of who she is, a muddled mind, and a lot of unexplained bloodlust. My other Baldur's Gate 3 ocs, made for a dark urge run. - Spotify

Giselle: A young woman who was on her way to meet her fiancee when she ended up being taken by the mist. My second Curse of Strahd player character, she is a shadow sorcerer.

Adelaide Oftedahl : From a now dead dnd campaign, she was a noble woman of a country called Agdar, forced to join the Queen's special task force. Came from an abusive home and was not well adjusted because of it, but did manage to romance and change one of the first villains in the campaign, so good for her.

#ama mumbles #amas ocs #for my own categorization #will add others if i remember to or i make one that sticks in my head #i refuse to make seperate blogs bc once the fixation dies down the blog will too so i doesnt feel fair to ppl who might follow it ya know

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aeniqmata · 10 months

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Final Fantasy X AU - High Summoner Noctis

Noctis wears nearly all white in this verse, setting his station and upbringing apart. While normally summoners would wear bright colors, his father insisted he wear something easy to spot. He is not very outwardly emotional in this verse, having come to terms at a very young age that the path he was embarking on was one that would kill him.

Born to a high ranking official in Bevelle, it was at a very young age that Noctis showed proficiency for magic and an interest in summoning. Even knowing what awaited summoners at the end of their journeys, it didn't deter Noctis from committing his life to the art and ensuring that he would be able to offer peace to not only those of the dead, but those of Spira as well.

Accompanied by his Guardians, Ignis and Gladiolus, Noctis sets out on his pilgrimage to Zanarkand and to summon the Final Aeon. It's only once he makes it to the sanctum where Yunalesca tells him to choose which of his Guardians would become the Aeon.

Noctis is unable to complete his pilgrimage despite his pleading with his two closest friends. While they have no issue with dying to keep him safe, they will not allow him to kill himself to bring about a temporary peace. All but kidnapped out of the sanctum, he is less than pleased by their refusal and spends time traveling and preforming sendings for those lost to SIN as a way to atone for being unable to finish his pilgrimage.

Around the time that Yuna begins her own pilgrimage, Noctis meets Prompto and finds in him someone willing to complete his pilgrimage. Prompto is told up front about what would be required to finish the journey and agrees whole heartedly to be his Final Aeon.

Though by the time they make it to the sanctum again, with Gladiolus and Ignis complaining the whole time, it is to find Yunalesca little more than a corpse and any hopes of preforming the Final Summoning obliterated.

While Yuna and her group focus on taking down SIN and Yu Yevon, Noctis is rallying the whole of Spira with his Guardians to sing the Hymn of the Fayth. The more he can get to join them, the better a chance they stand in standing against SIN once and for all.

And if needed be, he'll summon all he can to help Braska's daughter.

#( ffx — royal summoner )#oh look i finally did the thing #image credit to doomherald #i'd link to the original but they removed all their art

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brooklynislandgirl · 1 year

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{Legitimately a crime to cut This, and it hurts my soul to do it} @kylo-wrecked

Knit two, purl two. An ever cascading rib stitch while she balances her phone between her ear and her jaw. Elizabeth Riley is no stranger to the small hours that permeate the human experience and people it with dread. With fears that were born with the earth or perhaps even long before it. It’s almost a shame that he can’t see the soft smile that blooms like certain varietals of pikake. A shame he isn’t laying across her couch with his head in her lap while she strokes his hair and occasionally forces small sips of herbal tea on him, promising to add a touch more honey next time.

“Hi,” she murmurs in his pause. “You up to somet’ing exciting?”

A fire-hazard of candles and dim lamp light bath her in flickering amber light. The colour reminds her of those moments sunlight shine directly into his eyes before he blinks himself and everything else away.

He isn’t really calling her so late because he wants to debate the sweeping expanse of ideals and realism. “It’s late,” she says. “And aren’t you small kine past cramming?” She hears movement, imagines the restless sprawl of uncoordinated limbs.

And maybe relief courses through her when he changes tack but doesn’t wholly furl his verbal sails. Good. She doesn’t think he wants to really know that medical humanities were more focused, or when she was in her approaching her residency she actively cared for a child with congenital heart disease as he died of multi-system organ failure and no poetry or philosophical argument could tell her how to let go, or help her soothe him. It was no mystery why she withdrew from the field much to her mentor’s disappointment and understanding entwined, though it isn’t something she’s talked to Ben about. He’d see her as weak. His anxiety shapes his words though and all of her rises up to try and comfort him despite being only a voice carried on the waves between cell towers. He makes her ache with that innocent honesty. And his voice, when it swells, swallows her wince. “Yeah, I s’pose so, but I like Brooklyn. Less scary t’ me dan da city, ya know? Buildings like mountains, blottin’ out da sky. Light pollution. But time..no cure for dat, I don’ t’ink.” It becomes her turn to falter before a little breath somewhere between sigh and gasp telegraphs that she’s stumbled something.

“So wha’ I wan ya do f’ me, okay? Unclench yaself, an’ cuddle up in wha’evah way make you mos’ comfortable, okay?”

Even when she commands, she makes it sound like a request.

“Now, want ya close ya eyes, an’ take deep brea’d in, deep brea’d out.” She imagines him on his side, arms and legs wrapped around a body pillow, the way he would sleep if he ever stayed a full night with her. She closes her eyes in solidarity. Breathes as she instructed. Then, very quietly at first, she reaches back to her childhood, her infancy. She reaches to the piece of herself she’s kept so far out of Ben’s reach, he likely doesn’t know it exists. At first he might hear the hesitation in her tone, she hasn’t chanted properly in what feels like aeons, nor is she a Mea oli, but while she never quite gains volume or speed, it would be almost impossible not to hear her bloom in her soft utterances. “...O ke au i kahuli wela ka honua “O ke au i kahuli lolo ka lani “O ke au i kuka’aika ka la “E ho’omalamalama i ka malama “O ke au o Makali’i ka po “O ka walewale ho’okumu honua ia “O ke kumu o ka lipo, i lipo ai “O ke kumu o ka Po, i po ai “O ka lipolipo, o ka lipolipo “O ka lipo o ka la, o ka lipo o ka po “Po wale ho--’i “Hanau ka po “Hanau Kumulipo i ka po, he kane “Hanau Po’ele i ka po, he wahine...”

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anijay · 1 year

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There is an au, where a dark poem comes from.

"Time seems to quicken and slow.

We reap what we sow.

His name, we do not know.

But in our last breaths, we must go.

The smell of decay fills the sky.

No one up above hears our cry.

Not even our goddess, glarzelikydie.

This is our final goodbye.

From the dirt we rise, in which we return.

We had thought our world would end when it was to burn.

We gave fuel to the flame, but in the end, our deaths came when he made our stomachs churn.

Nameless god of decay, beginning of the end days, death come for all, a lesson too late we learn.

Goodbye.

We will die.

If this paper survives, know when he returns, no one will hear your cry.

He says "hello" in tongues no one will recognize, and too him you must say "goodbye"..."

In this AU doug makes a deal with an ancient God, older than the ones you know... older than names. You know him as decay.

The decay warned him that the world was going to end. There was no stopping it. So even if doug brought his family back, they would all die in the next few hours anyways, and forget their old life.

But the god made a deal. If doug helped start the end of the world in hell, the most difficult place for the god to reach, the god of rot would make sure that he would be with his family in the next life.

The man came to hell, as his own body decayed, and started to spread the spores of the god. He was shown all the ends before, watching eternities come and go. The end of the world was oddly peaceful...

He comforted many monsters in their time of death, even convinced Lucky to give up. The God was proud by how strong his soul had become over the changing ages, and was happy to finally have a chat with him that didn't involve Lucky trying to fight...

There is a soul cycle, that starts over every few billion aeons. Time had simply run out.

Hell could not escape death.

The mortals could not escape death.

The heavens could not escape death.

But the rot and decay soothed each like a frightened child, giving them a moment of peace as the world ended and started anew.

The god of rot is not an evil being. He is but a kind old man, that watches from the rot and decay, as we all grow into the new identities we are born into in the new life.

Malak had to be shown the eternities his current identity was not born in, before he accepted death... it was sad really. Think about all the lives, and families one forgets when they're born anew. He heard lullabies that were sang to him by mothers and fathers, ones he sang to his own children, brothers, sisters, and strangers. He saw funerals, some where he grieved, others he celebrated. He heard himself say "I love you" in tongues he had forgotten, but tasted like home...

This au is sad, because the whole world had to say goodbye. The end of the world was not in a blaze of glory, but in the spread of spores quietly telling everyone that everything will be okay, and that death was proud of how far they had come...

🧭✨️Malak: I heard that poem before, it sounds so... familiar

I remember reading it when I was younger, but when I tried to tell to my parents, they just brushed it off.

I never found it again. I tried to find it, but every person or library said they never heard about it or said it never existed

I didn't think I was insane, but it's oddly nice

And yes, it is sad that it happens, but *he softly grips his amulet* everything has to leave eventually

#au ask #dark deception au #dark deception malak #servent guide au

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theart2rock · 10 days

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Elvellon präsentieren zweite Single des kommenden Albums

Die aufstrebende Symphonic-Metal-Band ELVELLON hat ihre zweite Single und den nächsten Vorboten "My Forever Endeavour" aus ihrem neuen Album " Ascending in Synergy" veröffentlicht, das am 17. Mai 2024 erscheinen soll. Der Track überzeugt mit einem bezaubernden, erhebenden Intro, das sich zu einem starken Refrain aufbaut, der von Nele Messerschmidts großartigen Gesangskünsten gekrönt wird und den Hörer dazu einlädt, sich in verträumten Welten zu verlieren. Ascending in Synergy ist das Debüt der Band auf Napalm Records und der Nachfolger ihres hochgelobten Albums Until Dawn von 2018 und der EP Spellbound von 2015. Gegründet im Jahr 2010, hat ELVELLON frischen Wind in die Szene gebracht und Fans und Kritiker gleichermaßen begeistert. Vom Metal Hammer als "Helden von morgen" bezeichnet, haben sie mit ihrem Video zu "Born From Hope" (2015), das von Mirko Witzki (u.a. Any Given Day, Caliban) produziert wurde und innerhalb eines Jahres 1 Mio. Aufrufe erreichte, für Aufsehen gesorgt. Einen Vorgeschmack auf das neue Album "My Forever Endeavour" findet ihr unten im Video. Vergesst nicht, euer Exemplar des kommenden Albums vorzubestellen! ELVELLON über "My Forever Endeavour": "Mit 'My Forever Endeavour' veröffentlichen wir einen Song, der sich in Richtung des klassischen ELVELLON-Stils entwickelt hat . Er beschäftigt sich mit dem Thema von bitteren Entscheidungen und Abschieden, die wir alle schon treffen mussten. Zum Lebensweg gehört auch, diese Momente zu umarmen und sie als Teil der Reise mitzunehmen. Denn auch wenn es weh tut, gehören sie zu den wichtigsten. Mit dieser Mischung aus melancholischen Texten und ermutigenden Melodien war für uns sofort klar, dass dieser Song einen besonderen Platz auf Ascending In Synergyhaben sollte ." Ascending in Synergy beweist, dass diese vielversprechende deutsche Truppe auf der Höhe ihres Könnens ist und schafft gekonnt den Drahtseilakt zwischen dem Eintauchen in die frühen Anfänge des symphonischen Metals und der zeitgemäßen Aufmachung aller Songs. Der Eröffnungstrack "Unbound" besticht durch gekonnte orchestrale Arrangements und die außergewöhnliche Stimme von Sängerin Nele Messerschmidt. Dramatische, dunkle Klanglandschaften und harte Riffs in Songs wie "Ocean Of Treason" und "The Aftermath Of Life" halten den Hörer fest im Griff. ELVELLONs traumhafte, cineastische Seite leuchtet besonders bei Tracks wie "Last Of Our Kind" und "The Aeon Tree". Das wuchtige Albumfinale "Epiphany Of Mine" schließt Ascending in Synergy eindrucksvoll ab und macht Lust auf mehr. Das magische Ascending in Synergy beweist, dass ELVELLON eine der vielversprechendsten aktuellen Bands in der deutschen Symphonic-Metal-Szene ist. Begleiten Sie ELVELLON auf einer spannenden Reise zwischen kindlichem Staunen und hartherziger Bitterkeit! ELVELLON über Ascending in Synergy: "Wir sind unglaublich gespannt, wie unsere Fans Ascending In Synergy aufnehmen werden . Seit unserem Debütalbum ist viel passiert und der Songwriting-Prozess hat sich stark verändert. Es fühlt sich für unsimmer noch wie 100% ELVELLON an, aber die Dynamik hat sich erweitert. Es ist orchestraler und gleichzeitig metallischer geworden. Auch textlich halten wir uns nicht mehr an ein einziges Konzept, sondern die Songs werden von einem roten Faden zusammengehalten." Tracklist Ascending in Synergy: 1. Unbound 2. A Vagabond's Heart 3. My Forever Endeavour 4. Ocean of Treason 5. The Aftermath of Life 6. Last of our Kind 7. Into the Vortex 8. A Legacy Divine 9. The Aeon Tree 10. Epiphany of Mine Ascending in Synergy wird in den folgenden Formaten erhältlich sein: - 1 LP Gatefold Schwarzes Vinyl - 1 CD im Digipak - Digitales Album ELVELLON are: Nele Messerschmidt – vocals Gilbert Gelsdorf – guitars Maddin Klüners – drums Pascal Pannen – keyboards Jan Runkel – bass Lesen Sie den ganzen Artikel

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a-vivid-dreamer · 4 months

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Happy New Year everyone!

Enjoy a quick doodle of all my AU Yanqings together.

Featuring:

- Guiding Light (YQ can see ghosts)

- Untamable (Feral YQ)

- Taking Flight (Starskiff Pilot YQ)

- Forged Anew (Shard Sword Weapon Spirit YQ)

- Mirrored in Golden Frost (Roleswap)

- Sword’s Metronome (Time-Travel/Loop Fix-it)

- Aeon-Born (Aeon YQ)

#honkai star rail #a-vivid-dreamer artworks #yanqing #alternate universe #Guiding Light AU #Untamable AU #Taking Flight AU #Forged Anew AU #Mirrored in Golden Frost AU #Sword’s Metronome AU #Aeon-Born AU #doodle #digital art #sketch #happy new year

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saturns7ringsinspace · 17 days

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OC Character Post #1 Part 2

Read world building post before this one! Things will be confusing if you don’t.

TW: trafficking mention, it’s not a big part but it’s mentioned

Backstory-

Ash was born on the planet Aeon. She was born a gold Aeon (read Aeon World Building Post to understand) Her mother was a gold Aeon, so this was awaited. She was second in line for the throne after Smoke, her brother. Blaze forfeited her claim because she had no interest in it. Smoke became corrupt and obsessed with power, and he wanted the throne. The Queen did not give a flying flip about this. She hated responsibility of doing anything. She left the planet and let her child figure it out. Ash, however was powerful and old enough to be an obstacle to Smoke’s crown. So, he made a deal with her. If she left Aeon, he would make sure he ruled fairly and would bring no harm to the people. Therefore, she agreed to because she believed in her brother to do the right thing. She loves him and trusted him, however she had to cut off all communication with her home planet, so she had no idea what happened or that he broke his promise. She found Earth, a lovely planet with seemingly lovely people. And upon arrival, she met resistance. Fitting in was a lot harder than she thought. She was chased away from several towns and villages. Therefore, taking on a new appearance and name. One in the language of these earth people. Upon moving on to the next town, she meets Dream. He was there stopping a trafficking scheme ran by the whole town. He chased her down thinking she was part of the scheme. Ultimately she was curious and let herself get caught. She explained her story and situation, and Dream being the person he is, allowed her to remain in the castle for however long she needed. A few soldiers got hurt after this mission, and she healed them quickly, proving her skill as a healer. He prompted her to apply for a doctor position in the JRs medical division. After a couple months studying about the human body (she found wasn’t so different from an Aeons), she was ready to take the test. And with her compassion, healing skill, and expertise she passed with flying colors. Soon becoming the lead doctor for many, many years to come. (She’s been working there for 20ish years up to Dreamswap present. Also she came to Earth 20 years after Ani’s death, so

Dream was a 100ish years old)

Powers-

So, I mentioned her magic is pink and she heals with it. This is one of its many uses. She only uses to heal for now because she doesn’t have very good control over the other types. Also she can fly :) when needed, she usually just walks like everyone else to avoid unnecessary attention. Her magic is like elemental. She will be able to basically use it like water, fire, and ice. The properties of her magic can change to suite what she wants it to do but she doesn’t know how to control that. She is working on bettering it but that’ll be shown in her arc. Depending on what form of magic she uses, her movement and form will be different. (think of it like bending forms like ATLA) Her powers get a boost when she’s a) on her planet or b) harnessing her royal side. Which I’d love to show but I can’t draw very well. ( I’ll try to make effective portraits of my characters, but I might just commission)

If you have any questions, please ask! I am here to talk and share my crazy AU.

#dreamswap #dreamswap ash #JR #justice reigns #Just JR AU #saturnposts #dreamswap ocs #my au

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sparklecryptid · 4 years

Note

Of course, if Ardyn ever showed up while Aeon was deaged to a toddler - toddler!Aeon would turn into a demonic gremlin baby straight from the depths of hell and *bite bite bite* while screaming his head off. (Cor: I have never been more proud.) Ardyn, conversely, finds Aeon to be the cutest, more adorable baby *ever*. (His sense of taste is *warped* after so many years as the Accursed.)

Ardyn, at Aeon who has latched himself to Ardyn’s leg with teeth: Oh look at you, aren’t you just adorable?!

Nyx: *attempting to prevent a diplomatic incident* W h a t

Cor: *Not attempting to rein his child in at all* .....

#ardyn: i shall call him mini me #ardyn: throws tonberry merchandise toddler aeon #aeon accepts the gifts #he still bites ardyn #hamelin-born #corling au

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cinnaminyoons · 2 years

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( AEON. )

ミ☆ what is love without a little bit of heartbreak?

⤷ PAIRING jjk x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 5.1k

⤷ TAGS reincarnation!au, soulmate!au, angst + happy ending

⤷ NOTES the story deviates slightly from the request. happy belated new year!!

⤷ REQUESTED

May you please write a Jungkook x male reader one-shot where they’re soulmates. When you’re born you get a soulmate mark, a black ring with initials of soulmate, that turns to gold ,with both your initials, once you kiss them, bonding your souls together forever. Jungkook has been searching for his soulmate since he was born. He’s found his soulmate as a leader of another idol group but doesn’t know if he should risk a relationship with reader. He’s going through a dilemma deciding whether he should fight for his relationship, which could mean they get hate from army and readers fandom, or be a good idol and not pursue reader, which would break their soulmate rings making them unable to meet in future lifetimes (The rings could mend together but they both would have to save the broken pieces while also mend their relationship). You could either do one ending (love or abandonment) or have Jungkook experience both endings but ultimately choosing one as a finality (love then abandonment or abandonment then love).

love. love love love love love. say it enough and maybe it’ll morph into something understandable.

here? there? found you.

he’s not supposed to know. he’s not supposed to remember the throbs and bruises of past lives, not supposed to see the blurry faces of everyone he’s loved and lost over and over again. because that’s how life is, isn’t it? find something so wonderful to wrap your fingers around, refuse to let go – only for it to escape like sand grains anyway.

he’s so full of memories that it gets hard to pick them apart. whose hands are these? whose elbows, whose aching shoulders?

he’s eating hong kong-style noodles for dinner. it tastes flat and isn’t as crispy as he likes. too much oil, not enough oyster sauce. for a moment, vertical neon signs blind his eyes, and there’s a man sitting across from him feeding him dumplings. this hazy, smoky memory is a woman’s – she’s wearing a rose-red qipao and matching heels. her life was his, too.

the strangest thing about it all is that when he was a child and told people about it – this used to be a schoolhouse, here was an opium den, i was killed in a crash like that – nobody believed him. even the doctors and academics raised their eyebrows and laughed it off as a little boy’s games.

he learned to clam up about it. he tried his hand at music and sports and was labelled a child prodigy, the family’s golden boy. those past lives were good at such things – too bad they never really focussed on maths – and each time he picked up a tennis racket or stood before a microphone onstage, everything came rushing back even if his current body couldn’t do it.

it’s like muscle memory, except nothing sits quite right. he was once a wealthy young lad who was terribly good with a piano but died at fourteen, and now every time he sits before a piano he finds himself stretching his fingers more than he needs to in order to reach keys.

he’s been many people before. village healer, king’s general, speakeasy singer. it feels, really, as if he’s perpetually lost in a void of experience – listless, unable to break habits he never learnt.

but there has been one thing that grounds him in his eternity of shrouded uncertainty. one person he spends each life searching for to turn the jet-black mark into that heart-bursting gold.

jeongguk finds that person backstage at an awards show. he’s more aware of you than you are of him. he’s staring, big eyes trained on your figure, and you’ve caught his gaze more than once – despite the embarrassment of being caught, he can’t help himself. he continues drinking you in, fingers digging into his thighs to make sure he doesn’t throw himself into your arms.

you don’t remember as he does. he has to remind himself of that.

taehyung leans over. his eyelids shimmer with dusted glitter and he smells like roses and mint. “you look like a total creep, you know?”

he whips his head forward to stare at his water bottle, flushing. “i’m not a creep.”

“that’s why i’m saying you look like one. hottie’s gonna have to be very kind if he gives you time to show him just how not-creepy you are.”

“hottie?” jeongguk parrots. “back off, i saw him first.” a thousand years ago.

taehyung leans away, hands raised in incredulous surrender. “whoa, no need to get possessive.”

he’s lost you before. his heart belonged to you, but yours was cupped carefully in his best friend’s hands. he doesn’t want to go through that again.

ducking in again, taehyung gazes curiously at the side of jeongguk’s face and speaks low enough that the idols next to him can’t hear. “do you feel the pull?”

swallowing harshly, jeongguk returns his eyes to his clasped hands. he nods.

taehyung inhales. “fuck.”

how appropriate.

he’s tugged out of his thoughts when your group shoots to their feet, cheering and hugging each other tightly. your youngest member looks close to tears and you pull him into your side, soothing him.

jeongguk is reminded of one of his lifetimes – the first, where he was a healer and you were a hunter who helped him gather herbs. in that life, he married you, had children, grew old together. you were always good with the kids, stern but never cruel.

the rest of the show goes quickly for him. he’s too preoccupied with his thumping heart, the deep-seated longing that dries up his mouth whenever your eyes lock over the heads of screaming fans. they win a few awards.

once the show ends and he travels with his members down into the narrow hallways behind the stage, he passes a dangerously-sharp award to yoongi and makes a beeline towards you.

you’re alone, grabbing bottled water for your members. jeongguk struggles to pull his thoughts together into a reasonable excuse to talk to you.

“congratulations on your win,” he says softly, placing one hand on the snack table to stabilise himself. you grin brightly at him and his knees turn to jelly.

“thank you! they’ve worked so hard, and it’s always nice to have some external validation, you know?”

your voice is smooth and pleasant to listen to. at any time, in any life, his favourite thing about you is the sound of your voice.

a pause fills the space between you. it sits there comfortably as he takes in every inch of you, learning and relearning the ways the light caresses your features.

he wants to kiss you.

“forgive me,” you say suddenly, your smile just that little bit more forced. “i – i have to go. have a good night.”

you’re gone before jeongguk can shout your name. then he realises. that’s not your name anymore.

a hand rests hesitantly on his shoulder. “let’s go,” taehyung murmurs. “the others are waiting for us.”

jeongguk lets him lead him away. he thought becoming an idol would help him find you – that maybe you’d see his face somewhere and feel that deep, piercing want. maybe you would hunt down the soonest concert ticket and – well, in total honesty, he had no clue how this next part would go. he had hoped that the story would unfold on its own with no extra pushing needed and that eventually, you would come to love him as he loves you.

happy ending. a pretty epilogue. he rubs his ring finger on his left hand, where the dark ring stains his skin.

—

“yoongi-hyung, can i—” jeongguk freezes at the entrance. his eyes snap to yours.

yoongi glances up, lowering his headphones to around his neck. “what is it? i’m working.”

a small notebook sits open between you, covered with crossed-out lyrics and underlined phrases. the writing inside is too neat to be yoongi’s, so it must be yours.

“s-sorry,” jeongguk stutters feebly. he feels sick, stomach churning. “your door was… unlocked.”

“what did you come here for?” yoongi asks gruffly. the beginnings of a song are coming together on his computer screens.

he feels tiny under your stare, pinned to the ground where he stands. finally, he manages to choke out: “you still want dinner?”

yoongi’s watch flashes as he twists his wrist. “shit, it’s so late already? i wasn’t supposed to keep you so long. i can drop you off at your dorms.”

you wave your hands, smiling kindly. “oh, no, it’s alright. i’ll just call our manager and ask her for a driver.” you stand and bow. “thank you.”

“as your elder, i insist. they gave me one rule and i broke it.” yoongi slaps on a black cap. “do you think you can sneak back without alerting your manager?”

jeongguk watches with deaf ears. there’s a tiredness under your eyes but you’re smiling anyway, trying to politely decline. you don’t want to be a burden, you’re saying, and yoongi’s shaking his head and pulling the blue usb out of his laptop to give back to you.

your hair is a mess. you’ve been running your fingers through it so much – jeongguk wishes he could do it for you. he wants you to be happy. he wants to kiss away the stress, watch it melt off of you so that you can hold him how he likes it.

“hey, jeongguk.”

he snaps his head up, eyes big and slightly fearful. “y-yeah?”

“can you take yn downstairs? just stay there. i’ll meet up with you in a minute.” jeongguk nods and obediently opens the door of yoongi’s studio, guiding you down into the back part of the building where the tinted cars are. he comes to an abrupt, awkward stop in front of the exit, swallowing harshly and wringing his hands and trying his best not to look at you.

he doesn’t know if he can trust himself to not do anything stupid. so many lives and so little self-control…

he can feel your presence behind him through the warm tingling of your gaze. blood pounds in his ears as every atom of his being screams to crash into yours, to hold you close and kiss you silly. you’re speaking, he acknowledges vaguely, and calling for his attention. so formal.

“jeongguk,” he blurts, leaning against the wall in a transparent attempt at composure. he looks into the corner instead of at you. “call me jeongguk. please.”

“jeongguk…” you try his name out in your mouth and he shuts his eyes tight. he can’t be anything more than a co-worker. he imagines what it would be like to hear you whisper his name in darkness. “are you alright?”

“yes.” no.

“you seem feverish… do you need water?”

a fever, now? that must be why he’s been sluggish. he really is so lovelorn it’s making him ill.

“i’m okay. don’t – don’t worry about it.” his head hurts.

“i think you should, uh, really sit down, at least,” you say softly. “i know we don’t know each other that well, but i’ve played doctor enough to know what a fever looks like.”

you place your hand on his bare arm with the intent to lead him to a nearby bench. he smacks your hand away and before you can be offended – he crushes his lips to yours.

he wraps his arms around your torso. it’s firm, well-defined, even over the button-up you’re wearing. his body is so warm and yours is so cool. he sags against you, relief flooding through his veins. it’s the sighing kind of relief, like gulping down iced tea on a hot summer’s afternoon.

your lips are stiff with shock until a point. his sigh is swallowed up and your hands find themselves at his waist on either side of his spine. there are security cameras in the building and at least one has certainly captured this moment, forever remembering it as ten pixels in the corner of the frame, but you couldn’t care less.

it feels as if you’re made to kiss him – your mouths fit together so perfectly. he fits just right against you.

all of a sudden, as if electricity shocks through him, he jerks himself out of your arms.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps. he flees.

his name rolls off your tongue, irresistible as honey, and jeongguk halts at the elevator. it won’t come down fast enough, no matter how many times he punches the button.

he hears you approaching, and every version you’ve ever been flashes before his eyes. this is the first time he’s running away – it’s the strangest feeling, experiencing something he’s never done before. he shakes his head and takes the stairs instead, his rapid footsteps ascending and fading.

the elevator doors slide open anyway.

—

jeongguk has never been so terrified before.

the door he hovers in front of is a dark red. a thick brass ring sits between a lion’s jaws, teeth bared in an extraordinarily unfriendly expression. he rocks on his heels, pulling at his cheeks, tugging his bucket hat lower over his eyes.

nobody knows he’s here in this dimly-lit alley. a single yellow lamp flickers unsteadily over the doorway and little grey-black spots zigzag around it, crawling over the glass.

he takes a deep breath and bangs the knocker against the wood.

it opens after a few seconds. an old woman stands before him, her expression grave. her hair is still pitch-black, despite the deep furrows in her face and the liver spots on her hands, and her eyes track his figure astutely.

“come in,” she says. “take your shoes off here.”

he slips off his sneakers, placing them carefully on the rack next to the hatstand. there are only two pairs of shoes beside his and they’re the same size – she must live alone.

she leads him to a back room through a narrow hallway. the lintel is so low he has to duck to avoid it, and the inside is about the size of a large pantry. she flicks the light switch.

in the centre, a single round table is bookended by two rickety old seats. she gestures for him to sit and when he does, he finds one of the legs slightly shorter than the rest. the chair rocks unsteadily.

“you can take off your mask and hat,” she tells him, clasping her hands on top of the table. a solid jade bracelet is wrapped around her wrist. “i’ve lived for a long time. i’ve seen uglier.”

despite himself, jeongguk’s lips twitch up as he removes them and sets them beside him. he swallows as he lifts his face. her expression shifts minutely.

“i’ve seen you around,” she says, voice easing slightly. “big billboards and magazine covers.”

he lowers his eyes. a grey shame sits on his chest – he feels like he’s being scolded, somehow.

the hanging lamp about a hand’s length above his head is too warm to have been just turned on. there had been soft black soil smudged on her doormat, too – jeongguk’s not the first visitor she’s had today.

“then you’ll know why i’m here,” he says quietly. his voice is rough – he hasn’t spoken all day.

she folds her sky-blue cardigan over herself for warmth. her right hand extends, palm up. “let me see.”

jeongguk leans forward in his seat. it tilts uncomfortably. he offers his left hand. he tugs up the too-big hoodie sleeve, revealing a golden band written into his skin. it looks like a temporary tattoo, the colour shimmery and vibrant, and he wishes – for the first time – that it was just as easy to wash down the drain.

she pulls his hand down, brushing the coarse pad of her thumb across the band. her fingernails are short and slightly uneven with shallow divots.

“you want it broken, is that right?” she asks.

“well...” he falters. “yes.”

she raises her eyes – just her eyes. she peers at him like a librarian would after he makes too much noise. “even though you’ve already met them in this life?”

he startles. “in th-this—?”

“you slump like atlas reborn. there is weight to living – it accumulates. we are the unlucky ones who don’t get clean slates each time.”

“you… you too?” jeongguk frowns at his hand. “i thought i was a mistake. an error in the code.”

her earrings flash as she nods. “i thought the same. and yet, here you are. here i am.”

she sighs and places her hand over his, cupping it. her eyes are intense, bottomless.

“if we go through with this, you will never find them again. you will feel incomplete, always not quite awake. i’ve known people who come to me, begging me to put it back. i can’t. i’m already meddling in things i shouldn’t, and the universe isn’t so lenient as to allow it a second time.”

jeongguk’s hands close into fists. “and yours – where’s yours?”

“gone.”

she offers no more explanation. she doesn’t have even a black ring – it’s just flesh-coloured. the absence of it is jarring. he’s doesn’t think he’s ever seen somebody without one.

“will that…” he feels cold. “will that happen to me?”

the misty partiality. he remembers it vividly. can’t forget it.

blundering blindly through his transient world until he trips on something so beautiful and bright he vows the rest of his days to keeping it safe. then it flickers out, icy in his palms, and the cycle repeats endlessly. the loss, the love, the loss.

“yes.” said with such grim certainty, her words ring in his hollow chest.

it is always the kind ones, the undeserving ones. she watches silently as the boy in front of her – he’s only a child, so young and easily bruised – sweeps his other hand nonchalantly beneath his eyes. they’re shadowed with puffy purple pillows and his skin seems pallid, tinted a rather sickly yellow under her lamp.

she does not love her job. but it is hers all the same and rather than forcing some other soul to step up, experience what she has twice over, she would rather do it herself. minimising pain is always her intention.

“if you go through with this,” she chooses her words carefully, “you may find yourself unable to… remember certain parts of your lives. it is only a warning. it might be good for you.”

“what will i lose?”

“it varies from case to case. for some, it’s the memories with their soulmate; others find it difficult to recall names, faces, or even the path home.”

jeongguk slides his hand out of hers and tucks it back into the sleeve of his black hoodie. he fiddles with a loose thread. he asks quietly, “why would anyone want to do this? it sounds terrible.”

“not everyone is blessed with someone kind. bad people still have soulmates, and i offer a way to ensure innocents will never have to suffer from fate’s hands again.” she glances down at his hidden hands. “is yours cruel?”

he shakes his head instantly, shuffling to the edge of his seat and leaning forward. “no! no, he’s perfect – in every life, he’s been perfect. caring, a-and faithful. i couldn’t ask for anyone better.”

“then why this? breaking your bond with him is not an easy end.”

“i—” he swallows. “i tend to lose him. poison, war, sickness. he always goes first and each time it hurts just as much…” he glances away. “i don’t know if i can keep doing it.”

“the pain means you still love him as if this cycle was your first. if someone else was in your position, i doubt they’d be able to say the same.” she nods to herself. “tell me about your lives with him.”

he huffs out something of a bitter laugh. “the hardest one: i was nineteen and he was twenty-one three days after he left for ‘the great adventure’. we were sent to different camps. his letters were always sweet and frequent until my commanding officer took the liberty of telling me he’d been killed.”

“you remember well,” she observes.

“yeah, well, i didn’t take care of myself after it. that death’s the one i hate the most. apart for two years and no closure.” he sighs.

“i was killed shortly after – kept putting myself in reckless situations. i didn’t want to keep going without him. and in the next one, i wasn’t his. he was mine but i wasn’t his. the universe hated me for giving up and gave him to me through a glass wall.”

“you speak like a poet.”

“lyrics and poetry are similar.”

she pauses, her eyes dropping to the table. it seems as if she’s searching for cue cards, the ones giving tips on avoiding taking a side. “is the punishment not for the better? you cherish him now more than you would have without it.”

“i spent forty years scrubbing my hands until they bled so he wouldn’t ask why it was gold and why i still lived alone. i don’t know what about that is ‘for the better’.”

“what do you think is the point of all of this? you are young, so i will give you the benefit of the doubt. why would we be given those—” she gestures at his hands and he hides them under the table “—if it truly meant nothing?”

he pulls more intensely at the thread of his cuff. “i dunno. to give us something to work towards, rather than tearing each other to bits? it’s all the same. it’s exhausting.”

her exhalation is tight and drawn-out. it reminds him of death’s shallow rattle. extending her thin, bony fingers, palm-up, she offers him one last way out: “constant, or exhausting?”

he hesitates. he rests his hand in hers. “exhausting.”

her lips thin. she closes her eyes and nods.

jeongguk’s heart beats like a caged beast, throwing itself fiercely at his ribs as the butcher’s knife descends. his tongue feels like sandpaper.

he asks softly, “will it hurt?”

she squeezes his hand in both of hers. “hold on to me, and do not fight it.”

—

seoul descends into a bright winter. dirty snow gathers in the gutter of the road and it melts in tiny trickling streams down the drain. cars honk. the sky turns grey.

“jeongguk-ah, do you want that?”

he startles, raising his head. he glances down at the creamy white candle he’s been holding. “oh, it’s alright.” he puts it back on the shelf.

jimin lifts a pair of red gloves. “you’re into gloves right now, aren’t you? you should have more colour in your wardrobe. all i’ve seen you wear is black.”

“it’s easier to match,” jeongguk says. “black goes with everything.”

“the least you could do would be neutral colours,” jimin replies, raising an eyebrow until it disappears under his fringe. “you’re wearing all-black for a reason. whose funeral is it?”

jeongguk clicks his tongue and dumps a bag of banana chips into the trolley. he glances around the empty aisle, then strikes a grand pose and holds one hand aloft like hamlet with yorick’s skull. “i felt a funeral, in my brain.”

“and mourners to and fro – yes, yes, we understand that you’re going through something.” jimin drops the gloves into the trolley. he points at them. “red like blood. the only thing you need to complete your costume is a raven on your shoulder.”

“har-har, very funny.”

jeongguk trails behind jimin as he passes through the aisles, occasionally glancing down to consult his shopping list. jimin gets tired of pushing the trolley and jeongguk takes over. he grips the sides of the trolley just past the handle and kicks off the ground, cruising along the long straights.

“don’t fall off,” jimin reminds without looking up as jeongguk skids to a stop next to him. he weighs up two types of almond milk in his hands. “do you remember which one taehyung wants?”

jeongguk scans the labels. “the left one.”

jimin places the left carton into the trolley. “okay – what’s up with you? you’ve been sad and quiet these past few weeks. you know you can still come to us, right?”

he smiles. it’s small and grateful, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “i’m alright, hyung. don’t worry about me. hey, look – it’s you!”

he picks up a small round plush. the yellow chick sits in an egg with the top part resting on its head like a hat.

jimin huffs and pushes jeongguk’s hands down. he knows when to stop prodding. “no thanks. i’ve got a bigger version at home.”

“but it’ll be cute if you have a small one too. come on. why not?”

“only to stop you whinging.” lightly, jimin sets the fluffy plush on top of taehyung’s almond milk. “do you want anything else before we leave?”

jeongguk shakes his head. jimin pats his arm and pulls him behind the trolley. “you’re pushing.”

he lets out an exaggerated groan. “this is forced labour.”

“oh, be quiet and put those muscles of yours to good use.”

—

more and more, jeongguk finds himself wandering up to the roof for his breaks. sometimes he’ll bring his lunch up there, only to be so caught up in the detached beauty of the skyscrapers that his food goes cold.

when he’s not working, he heads out to the balcony and sits on the concrete with his legs dangling under the glass panel railing. he likes it best at night – he squeezes into a tight corner and rests his head against the wall that separates the outside from his living room. from that spot, he watches the moon wax and wane.

the winter nights always force him back inside after only a few minutes of being out in the nippy wind. the concrete floor sucks the heat out of him, thighs-first, and he can never walk properly until he bakes himself to full rise next to the heater. despite the discomfort this causes, he doesn’t stop.

he likes being high up. he’s alone, but he’s not lonely.

or so he tells himself.

jeongguk takes the tight staircase to the rooftop. he has some of the fried rice he whipped up the night before in his hand.

he pushes down on the door’s bar and steps out into a chilly gust of air. it’s freezing – he regrets not taking a heavier coat. he pulls his jacket closer and heads left, which is the nicer side to look at. the door squeaks shut.

he halts as if he’s slammed into a brick wall.

there, not five metres away, is the best thing to have ever tripped into his life.

was. was the best thing to have tripped into his life.

your back is to him, the sides of your shirt flapping and rippling in the wind. you’ve curled into yourself as you gaze across the sea of glass and road and clutch your arms. the occasional flick of your thumb is a half-hearted attempt to warm yourself.

“jeongguk. it’s good to see you again.”

the sound of his name coming from your mouth reignites something buried deep in his chest. his name from you is unadorned, simple, and unapologetically warm.

you glance over to meet his wide-eyed stare. two moons, a deer – he is the animal to your steel headlights.

“yoongi-hyung says you like coming up here. i think i can see why.” you turn back to the spiky urban landscape. “it’s calming.”

yoongi-hyung. so much time has passed and jeongguk has felt none of it.

“y’know, i can’t stop thinking about you. is that weird?” you chuckle, playing with a thick ring on your finger. “probably. being obsessed with a stranger isn’t my greatest selling point.”

you step closer until your hair tickles his temple. you lift his downcast face with the tip of your finger and brush it up along his jaw curiously, as if you’re learning him.

he gulps, and his eyes flutter shut. you say softly, “but we aren’t strangers… are we?”

subconsciously, jeongguk follows your lips when you move away. he catches himself just before he falls forward with the motion and his face flushes, squeezing his little lunch box. he’d wrapped it in a blue cloth to keep it hot, though now its heat seeps through the cotton and tingles in his palms.

he sees you shiver slightly, doing your best to clutch your shirt to your body. hesitantly, he sets his food down and shuffles forward.

a heavy warmth drapes itself across your shoulders. his hands linger like disobedient pets – not entirely his fault, but still his responsibility.

“you’ll be cold.” you hold the front together to keep it from flying away.

“it’s okay,” he says quietly. “i don’t mind.”

your skin burns like liquid nitrogen when he grazes your arm. despite the shock of the sensation, his hands itch to touch you, to press themselves all over your body. he would set himself on fire just to keep you warm.

he isn’t surprised by his actions, his own desires. he’s always been so self-destructive – it’s just that sometimes it comes with a goal in mind: to love you. to warm you. to make sure nothing ever gets in the way of your happiness, even if he’s the one in the way.

“do you love me?” he blurts out. his eyes widen further and his jaw clamps shut, as if with a wire.

“that’s a big question, jeongguk.” you twist the ring along your finger. “should i?”

love is not a choice. love is a lot of things but it’s not a choice. he wants to say yes – yes, please, please love me because i don’t know how to love anybody else – and it aches every moment he doesn’t.

next to you, he stares at his gloved hands. “i don’t know.” he adds, in a voice so hushed it rivals the wind: “i hope you will.”

you grab his hand and spin him towards you. your lip balm tastes like cola and makes him feel like it – light on the tongue, dizzy, a delightful tingle that shocks him to his very core. your arms snake around him and his jacket slips off your shoulders, billowing as the wind picks it up and pins it to the wall.

he yanks his gloves off and he sighs as your skin touches his. this is the first time he’s ever felt right and complete and he wants to kiss you and keep kissing you until his lips are bruised and sore. his lips are very soft and you are very gentle and so kissing until it hurts sounds quite like forever – just as he wishes.

your jawline is diamond-sharp and your kisses are cotton candy-delicate. you trap his body against the high concrete barrier. he shivers against your chest, such a sweet little thing, and yet he’s so warm he could melt tungsten with just a touch.

this is it. this is right. he beams and giggles shyly. the matching gold bands on your fingers pulse fiery white, like stars.

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