( ɮ ) ᴸᴵᴳᴴᵀ ᴼᶠ ᴬᴾᴼᴸᴸᴼ

𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘬.

[daylighter-gone]

hello, we have moved to @daylighter - please feel free to follow whenever.

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hello, we have moved to @daylighter - please feel free to follow whenever.

[daylighter-gone]

been so slow here sorry, kinda struggling on this blog and have been gaming mostly! that said i’m gonna do a follower clean up here and maybe just keep this blog limited to people i actively write with cause it’s a bit overwhelming :’)

[daylighter-gone]

on second thought ... maybe it’s time for a new blog </3

[hauntithes-deactivated20260221]

his companion cuts through the leaden grimness of it all with ease all too fitting for his person, but it isn't a delicate action: it's as messy and rough as the shattering of a living jar and the spilling of its entrails. Isaak would have paused even if Kenneth hadn't stepped in front of him, flicking the surface of Isaak's shield with disinterested fingers merely intent on forcing the knight to twitch. It doesn't happen; if there is one thing that Isaak still prides himself in, it's his unbreakable focus.

the Tarnished is wrong about one thing: this is no confession and this isn't guilt. Guilt is, instead, a thing of the past that Isaak has laid to rest. It rears its ugly head every once in a while, sure, but its assault against Isaak's defenses has long since ceased, choked on a lack of air like a dying fire. What remains is acceptance, carefully tended to like the dark, starlit gardens he used to traverse once. [ Out to watch your queen bleed, traitorous and conniving. Has he truly fallen into the grasp of the Cuckoos' adage all these years later? Does his history make him a prodigal knight, and does his former affiliation make him an accomplice to murder rather than a merciful kill? Sometimes he still wonders if Ranni will have his head, even if he's received Iji's assurances to the contrary before. ]

Isaak sidesteps Kenneth's prodding after his instant of thought and continues the walk down the hallway. “ There's no guilt to assuage, ” he says, “ but ” He pauses, head perking towards the far back where the hallway transforms into a terrace. There, the unmistakable groan of voices muffled by stony visages. He reaches for his staff. “ More sorcerers. I can bait them out. ”

[daylighter-gone]

the pressure of his words do mean to corner the other, see if he bends and breaks the way the corpses around have. some have gone mad with the blood on their hands, some have become so emboldened by their violence that they seek to carry it out further to see the regal queen felled. this is, of course, the habits of a bandit to suss out allies or target practice. when the knight pushes back and sheds any inkling of guilt one might expect, he feels that tight coil of satisfaction worm its way to his heart. he begins to trust that isaak knows what earning this sort of affiliation means, and does not stop to question that too. this is enough.

❛  good. ❜  blade withdrawn, he follows the sorcerer’s sights to where new danger lurks. ❛  guilty men are intolerable. ❜ 

the curved blade hangs on his shoulder, launched back in wait of the first swipe. with a nod he follows the knight’s sights and waits; there is a murmur of dissent as the stony visages appear, one by one, followed by a myriad of stone-head cuckoos with their staffs raised. the line of his blade catches in bloodfire, and when he swings it outward from the side of the entry way, it cuts a wave and takes their heads with it. a howl sounds as he peels out of the shadows, pointing the blade-end to the ceiling. ❛  think the dog’s pissed? ❜ 

it had been — and turned out to be none other than radagon’s beast. there was a question here what the former spouse’s entities were doing here still, but again, wherever they looked, signs of him had chained this academy to once place. they step closer now, with fewer and fewer hostiles remaining. from the dust laden balcony ways, he retrieves an academy glintstone key.

❛  found this. weren’t there only a select number of these? ❜  as isaak studied it, he pressed it into his palm. ❛  keep it. could come back here some time. ❜ 

[daylighter-gone]

been so slow here sorry, kinda struggling on this blog and have been gaming mostly! that said i’m gonna do a follower clean up here and maybe just keep this blog limited to people i actively write with cause it’s a bit overwhelming :’)

[daylighter-gone]

the thing about being fuelled by contempt for doubt, self-doubt, and your doubters is that while it does make you very batshit determined to succeed at all costs, you also project that reaction and expectation on everyone else because its muscle memory and think everyone’s your hater. so when someone does believe in him he’s like 1. well duh, 2. ok but what do you really want from me.

[daylighter-gone]

ken in every verse at some point. does this make sense

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revised edition because the general sentiment was missing

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ken in every verse at some point. does this make sense

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shinra soldier kenneth? on the brain. he was definitely part of the early generation just after project zero, but he was being deployed before sephiroth  (so he’s older), who get marked as obsolete along with his friends eventually even if they’re first class soldiers — part-time test subject under hojo’s direction to see if he can be salvaged and when they force him to be, he develops a unique light-based ability that leeches energy. walking mako reactor.

[luminarm]

it's a saying he's heard, too, and he can't really debate it. It isn't the reaper that should command fear; oftentimes, it's what sends you to it and what calls it over that is truly terrifying. At least that topic of conversation is soon replaced by another, and Gustave takes to the small case placed on his table with renewed interest. He realizes a second too late but he's nodding alongside Kenneth's explanation, the brief rundown of Raven's history in the development world earlier in the century. [ It pays, certainly quite well and definitely not in eddies, to have done extensive homework on the many, many companies that have established headquarters in the city. ]

too many people leave the past behind too fast, as though it were a meaningless fad. He's found that tending to a small tether, in whatever shape or form it takes, is a worthy investment. Gustave remains silent as he examines the set of lenses, takes note of the partially worn - off serial number. “ Out of production stateside, maybe, ” he says, but the debate is hardly unkind. He taps his finger on the number. “ If I remember right, these are from a limited production line back in forty - five, and France has a sizable sphere of ... let's say vintage enthusiasts. Mostly corpos and socialites dans Paris and repairs are basically no expense for them. Si seulement, hein? ”

he closes the case and with one solid push off the floor, he starts wheeling over to his desk. “ I haven't seen these before, but that shouldn't be a problem. Do some digging, make some calls, I can have schematics sent over. A week, but I'll call if I'm done earlier. Sound fair? ”

[daylighter-gone]

he knows he’s come to the right person when gustave starts talking his language. the easy acceptance of an external cyberdeck with its insides ripe for use but pathetically out of date. he recalls the last time he had brought the netrunner something close to a gold mine: an arasake original in the shape of a completely portable arm-blade, no doubt a younger replica of what would grow to become the mantis blades — the same ones that trauma team didn’t get enough of waving at his face. an appreciation for antiques is in short supply in night city, but to two who are foreigners themselves in this strange and mutated city, anything other is more than welcome.

and gustave knows more than he does, talking it out without bribing a coin out of him for every spec and detail. he listens carefully, eyes attentive and brows boyishly furrowed. ❛  i want them, ❜  he said quietly, mind made up given gustave’s recall; if the optics were out of production stateside, then there was a chance netrunner’s in night city may flinch at the unexpected copyright. that was all he really needed: a second’s hesitation could turn the tide in a knife fight. ❛  done. i’ll get your scratch. ❜ 

slowly, he presses two fingers to the casing, and after a beat, slides them further up gustave’s desk, handing them over. arms crossed, he debates saying more. his mouth even parts to speak, before it all clams shut and tight. turning about, his voice murmurs out before he’s gone. ❛  tschüss. ❜ 

it’s five days before gustave calls, and seven before he shows up. the missed call on his halo told him as much. the fights hadn’t gotten easier, not when he was competing against a world of high-patched chrome and dodgy fixers who were banking on him dying half-way, so they could rob his efforts and his corpse on the way out. sleep-deprived and itching for this milestone, he knocks sourly against the ripperdoc’s door, shoulder bruised and lip split. ❛  open up. ❜ 

[exitvelo-a]

here, the sender taps the receiver's shoulder to alert them to their presence /  impa.

the apple trees bloomed beautifully, the rare sight impa hopes to become less and less rarer the longer she’d get to live here. where she stands she is transfixed by the pale sun-like tapestry they chart over the decline dipping into kakariko - even with so much mountain and hillside surrounding them the light still comes through, a quiet brightness that can only exist when the sun manages to touch the canopy of trees in springtime, and she vows to inform some of her fellow sheikah to look out for the trees to remain unharmed, either by wild foxes or some of the larger birds that preferred to circle the village and sit in the long branches. there must have been an abundance of trees here, before everything and before they all chose to rebuild their village, so she is more than glad they could preserve some of them. it would mean for a bountiful harvest in late summer and autumn, something for all of them to do.

a quick shadow settles at her side, one she nearly misses from assuming it to be one of the aforementioned birds or smaller animals, and what she thinks might be one of her people is kenneth - looking much better this time around than the last few times she has seen him, not less daunting as the figure he strikes despite his youth ( or rather because of it ) with that scythe of his against his back like the evening sun disappearing into the ground. how very fitting, impa muses, as she always has seen him with one foot wilfully tumbling out of the sky and the other firmly planted here to raise hell wherever he goes. a soul like him, no matter how predisposed he used to be, is much more meant for these great planes of wilderness, for the toil of battle and the acrid scent of dirt and blood. sometimes she wagers the guess he likes it this way.

the hint of a smile, fast as anything and gone just like a note being carried through the wind, she take a a step back so her shoulder aligns against his, though not close enough so she’d touch him. “ new outfit’s all improved, i see. i like it. did you do that yourself? ” she says with a shimmer of amusement in her eyes as she looks him up and down. then she turns her head back to the trees. “ pretty, isn’t it? i can’t remember the last time i’ve seen them - or you, you scoundrel. any news for me? ”

[daylighter-gone]

the minor lacerations on his cheeks had faded to barely visible scars, injures frequent for those who went travelling. the sheikah who had treated him were far from surprised or startled, and from there he was discharged from their care within minutes of having arrived. in his mind he had turned over his conversation with impa weeks ago more than once. he had promised to give an answer but she had not seemed surprised that things were scarcely ever so direct when it came to him. it was her quiet understanding however that made it bearable, or the reason why he had returned not home— whatever agglomeration of home he took this week— but instead wandered to find her instead. when he did find her, his steps slowed, and for a moment he watched only the back of her head where she enjoyed peace and quiet, until his arrival at her side.

he greets her with a hand to her shoulder rather than words, and settles at her side where the birds sing overhead. the quiet here is almost unnervingly peaceful, he supposes he understands why she chooses to stand here by herself, alone with her thoughts. his head turns when they align at the shoulders, eyes skating the look of amusement on her face. he opens his arms a little, and glances down at the attire they had fitted him with. yes, there is a flicker of great satisfaction on his face at having gotten his hands on sheikah armour at last. ❛  yes. ❜  he gestured between them with his hands. ❛  i watched you sew. ❜  it wasn’t as good as her work, but it was something and he wanted to keep it like treasure. her next words get his attention, and he looks up, lowering his arms. there’s a hum of agreement when he does watch the trees. ❛  i saw you by yourself. what were you thinking about? ❜

his eyes widen at the accusation, before his mouth twitches towards a grin. there’s an uncharacteristic bit of light in his face when he speaks, a kind of pleasant and boyish happiness he rarely shows otherwise. ❛  you’ll be happy i was gone so long, because it means i have something show you. ❜ his hand rises only to briefly touch the back of her elbow to beckon her to follow him, that he wanted her to follow him. it became a gesture that came with trust and, he knew, friendship. ❛  come with me. before it gets dark. ❜  it wasn’t a too long trek, but he took her east from kakariko village towards the cusp of the snow mountains. he felt his limbs grow eager and attentive as they neared the collapse of a ruin so forgotten, it passed as scenery and debris. when he pushed away a scatter of rocks, what would became apparent to her was this : he was pointing at a piece of discarded armour, teal and embedded with a golden eye resembling the sheikah. ❛  this— it was from a long time ago wasn’t it? or a different time entirely. do you remember? ❜

[daylighter-gone]

austin told me to post it but does anyone remember us playing division and basing our personality around it </3

[cautionarys]

all that early self-control had been for naught. grasping at ease, romeo ignored kenneth's barbs and went inside, team-bound, court-bound, his heart a wounded thing in his chest but still there— it was a gift, really, to see his half-brother alive, in one piece, strong enough to spew challenges. to wound. but it was also a pain. family was vital to him. the idea of it, the dream. in all his years, he'd thrashed and clutched at any semblance of kinship, desperate for even scraps — some part of romeo hoped for warmth in that alley, but they'd parted viciously. their reunion was never going to be sweet. are you naïve, or are you delusional? the athlete asked himself this question as he readied himself for the match.

time seemed to blur, then. the young man played in a half-dissociated state, his prosthetic not a burden but a strength, stony in the face of cheap insults, thankful for his gracious team — he couldn't imagine being surrounded by the ravens, they were barbaric. beasts. he'd faced worse back in krat. they couldn't phase him, these overgrown bullies. could only irk him, but kenneth...? kenneth got under his skin. delivered his promised fight with a fist and flippant behavior, all so pointed, and sent him away. only siblings could twist a knife this expertly. romeo became a ball of shame, all fire and passion. he trudged away, throat hot, skin tingling, thanking the nurse for their concern but insisting that he was fine. he'd taken worse beatings in his life, had been severed. this was just a punch.

it felt nice to dismiss it as such. baby fists, he'd spat with a knot in his throat. he's still a baby, my brother. forgive him. the crowd dulled to distant noise as romeo apologized to his coach and entered the hall, angry tears stinging his eyes. he'd fallen into the trap set out for him. took the bait and embarrassed his teammates. (they'd be kind about it, he knew, but that didn't make him feel any better.)

a heaving breath, sweat trickling from his golden brow and a throb where ken hit him. he needed to keep his distance, needed to... romeo's train of thought fell away as he heard shuffling behind him, feet on tile and the slamming of a door. he turned, saw kenneth. a face so like his own, eyes anything but. frowning in the tense silence: ❛ i hope that hurt your hand. ❜

[daylighter-gone]

he hadn’t been born with any innate ability to impress survival, but he’s had to learn it. the same way he knew romeo had, there was no point pondering about the what-if’s when the boy wore it on his skin. on his arm. the life they had been processed into hadn’t turned out for the best, a morose excuse of a childhood where the first part of the word had been scrapped off with shrapnel. a voice hangs in the corner of his mind that says : pointless, it had been pointless always to think it could be different, and long ago he had lost the ability to think it might have even been kinder. lost the ability to remember that he had thought it once, when what mattered most now was knowing how to operate amongst knives and carefully manoeuvred bullying.

the ravens get very little out of him despite their prodding or morbid curiosities. his blank faced disinterest as they spewed more coarse and unimaginable disrespect on romeo’s name had eventually faded their interest. what was the point of poking a dog that hardly noticed the stick ramming into his gut, or the boot stomping down on its tail? by the time the game was called, the raven’s retreated with their glory in tact. between one moving body and the next, he was gone too : they expected as much, he was too uppity about tidiness to share someone else’s version of it even in the locker rooms. which made for the perfect escape from reality—

❛  it didn’t. ❜ he said, flexing his fist near his own chest. his knuckles were reddened less from the hit now than they had been before, and more from the pressure of his gloves as he removed one. the same couldn’t be said from the bruise he’d left on romeo’s cheek. tilting his head, he pretended to be astonished at the sight. ❛  i don’t gotta ask if it hurt your face. ❜

he steps closer, as if this wasn’t trojan territory he was intruding on. one look at him from jeremy would tell the sunflowers a wolf was trying his luck on their side of the kingdom. it didn’t matter, he was half way across the room with his quiet steps, fingers digging into romeo’s hair to yank his head back slowly. the still-water fury in his eyes was loathsome as he spoke with just-barely gritted teeth.

❛  what the fuck were you thinking? ❜

[punkcopy]

       a skewed domesticity,   the simplicity of laying beside one another without a sword of expectation looming over them both.   she had her desires,   her secret wantings she scribbled away in the margins beside her sketches but that was all they were.   fleeting fantasies,   energy better used to yield the designs for her thesis collection and less wasted time spent daydreaming of the warmth of another body.   the parasites constant pursuit for expansion,   for burrowing;   she would keep her roots firmly planted in her own skin.   enough people had dug around in his insides   —   WHAT IF I'M ANOTHER WOUND ?   nothing more than a scalpel driven in by the hand of an artist instead of some crooked doctor   (   then you ask him to lay bare; who are you grey hollow ?   )   

     easy compliance if not for the yard long stare that preceded the inevitable undressing.   with clinical precision she wields a pair of fabric scissors.   frayed edges done away with like weeds as she begins to conduct the makeshift surgery across the disarray that was her desk.   ❛   so you need one for every day of the week then?   i'm not your personal stylist,   ken.   ❜   he had a varying schedule and a penchant for scrapes there was no amount of attire she could fashion that would be kenneth vareck-proof.   

     ❛   you couldn't afford me even if you wanted to.   ❜   price had never been an object between them and it certainly wasn't now.   while it may not look it from the presentation of her manicured facade she was no well-bred chelsea mansion heiress.   he knew this,   he had to or she was knew good and well they wouldn't be where they were today.   a breath apart in the dim lamplight, hunched over a handmade sweater.   mending in silence for several beats,   keeping her gaze to task until the kettle boils over...   ❛   why didn't you call ?   if you weren't going to wait for me you could have at least done that.   ❜   

[daylighter-gone]

it’s a strange bravery to test, something he can watch others do but scarcely ever does himself; to be without the upper half of his clothes with the mess of someone else’s work on his chest for her eyes to glimpse at again. she does not startle at it and he does not expect her to. he does not expect her pity and sympathy was more grating than comfort. he recognises it too, the way she looks at her hands sometimes when she thinks he is not looking   (but he is looking so— so often.)   as if they might be puppeteered by someone else, that they might not be hers some times in a certain light, that they might do something the whole world could come to regret. reclining lightly against her desk, fingers curling on the edge of the wood, his bowed head watches her work.

❛  maybe if you were my stylist, i’d have waited. ❜  he sees it now, she is unhappy that he went without her, that he risked it without her at his side or his on hers. it’s hypocritical too, when he had busied himself in her business without permission and admonished her for going anywhere dangerous on her own, only to turn around and vanish first into trouble. he sees it, of course, but would he ever be remorseful for it? ❛  but as it turns out, i can’t afford you. ❜

poking back because it was habit, though without any real irritation or anger. he crosses his arms when his eyes turn away from her mending and thinks, because at least an explanation could be given. ❛  i wasn’t going to drag you back here when you were with family. ❜  she had been with her friends too but he doesn’t mention that. still frowns too long and hard over someone named joseph hovering at her shoulder too long. it had wounded his break-up with his smart phone even more. ❛  you said you wanted to keep them out of this. if you had come running back, your little sisters— ❜  they had curious noses, he knew the sort at least, painfully and confidently. he looked to grey again, tapped his temple, then hers. ❛  they’d become PI’s over night. ❜

[daylighter-gone]

i must say that while kenneth holds a level of doubt in most of his close relationships (this can persist esp in romantic ships, just that 1% ‘what if’ safeguarding mindset, which can be really hard to peel down)  kazheir really grows to be his one true friend.

i originally made kaz to be an npc bestie but they have grown on their own a lot more since my peabrain came up with them years ago, and one thing that has both stayed consistent and developed way more substance is the way they come to understand ken and actually truly love him for what/who he is. they actually have no illusions that he is difficult by design, that he will never not be selfish, that he is not interested in making grand and pointless statements of heroism with his words or actions. they know he will make their life hard first before he ever makes it easy. that they come from erebos’ part of the underworld and have a very attuned understanding of spirits and shades, the motivations of people on ground, proves key when they attempt to also understand kenneth — not because they ever saw him as “just a lonely thing needing someone to give him a chance”, but the complete opposite.

they love him so wholeheartedly for all his antics and his beliefs, love him as a friend and comrade, and their superpower is that they have gotten him to understand this, and he trusts the depth of that affection without that 1% doubt.

[daylighter-gone]

sometimes i forget kenneth and octavian are literally related. like very distantly but they are.

[dvaurga-byebye]

         ⊹ , soothing her all while her words crawl away from him.    nothing cuts quite like family   —    there wasn't much of that to be found in the nest but they had made a promise to one another.    written in blood and sweat which was as secure a tie as any.    the alert bone lodged in her spine never ebbs,    even when draped across his lap she can sense it still...    prodding at her,    urging her not to get too comfortable with the blissful quiet of this.    the thrum of a heartbeat beneath the shell of her ear and the warmth of a body that would leave her awake for hours on summer nights.    she wants it still,    the knife and the patchwork of stitches that followed its reckless course across her skin.    

      ❛   that sounds an awful lot like what we've done already.     ❜    daring escapes,    the thrill of being alone in the dark,    a room brimming with intoxication and they are the only ones stone cold sober.     they've lived plenty of life together   —    and plenty without.    but those years crowd into an undulating haze like nightmares;    the dread remained  but the details had gone fuzzy.     ❛   not possible,    but i'd like to see you try.     ❜    righting herself atop him,    squeezing him between her legs to further a point but all it results in is a tighter embrace.    lips gracing the side of his neck,    fingers curling into fair hair...    nearly white in her hands in the blue of twilight.     ❛   i'm cold as the country that raised me   —    that's ice you can't melt,    solnishko.     ❜    no threat,    no boast,    she knows he will tease her for the melodrama of it and she invites the jab.    walks into it with a kiss upon her lips and his taste in her mouth.   

[daylighter-gone]

❛  not true, ❜  he retorted quietly, frowning as if that would put more metal to his disagreement. it didn’t matter of course; this was a kind of jest, the same cloying smiles that brushed together and warm touches that would see them together for the forever he demanded more than asked for. would she have ever wanted it differently? would she ever want him differently? his arms wound more tightly around her, the familiar brush of her dark hair at his cheek, and the quiet breaths that come slowly undone in their crook of safety against his neck. he closes his eyes momentarily, a strange resemblance to peace. ❛  i mean the real thing. this is just a glimpse. ❜

hands flexing through her hair, he watches the strands fall like and shine beneath the light. a grin tugs at his mouth, and he pulls her back long enough to watch her, finger to her nose. ❛  i’ll bring the sun to kiev. you won’t know what’s hit you. ❜  a hand cards up her spine, his mouth pressing close to her jaw; she’s collected into his arms when he stands, easy as breathing when she’s pressed into the bed moments later. kisses line her cheek, and when she attempts to push him back, they tussle long enough for him to catch her wrists. ❛  i’ll make you water in my hands. don’t you know? ❜