patron saint of the wholly unserious

(formerly known as weavewithshadow and alittlelevity!)

I do a bunch of things. I'm also on bsky and ao3!

Writing & theorycrafting links down below. 💛

Nameless Star, Out of View

✨Read on Ao3!✨

Everything is red here, even when it’s not. Every branch that sways could be a lock of hair, a reaching arm. Every rustle of leaves could be a crackle of static. The ache in his chest could even be sweet, if he just stops thinking, if the wound just stops weeping inside his shirt.

Summary: Castilla von Valancius has vanished where no one can find her, and Calligos Winterscale has come halfway to ripping up the Koronus Expanse in the attempt. With no leads left and no hope to cure the gnawing hunger deep in his bones, he's taken to Quetza Temer, cutting through the brush in a vain hope to find some kind of absolution. What he finds breaks him more than mercy could.

Rating: M

Tags: Crashout Calligos, Calligos Winterscale POV, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Quetza Temer

Word Count: 4,064

Helloooo! I was tagged by @defira85 the other day, so here's a little bit of everybody's (my) favourite malifixer.

There are a hundred eyes on Heliora. The blood of an Interrogator stains the floor of the Den. A Sister of Battle can’t stop her tears from falling, clutching at her arms, begging for mercy that isn’t coming. A Space Wolf roars his discontent, tries to meet her eyes, and roars again before stalking off, every footfall loud as thunder. Warp-frost coats the splints on all her fingers. Every bone in her body aches, watching Heinrix go. This, all this, is the bloody toll demanded of victory. To do the impossible, one must pay the impossible. Now there is a Drukhari who’s slunk off to some corner to gloat, who’s drunk all their pain deep and found himself satisfied. A Drukhari who will sense the splinters in her heart, the remorse driven like a knife between her ribs, and will think it all his victory. Good.

Oh, how I missed her. >:)