He had sand-blond hair and bright eyes — too intense when he focused. A body built for impact. Scars he never explained. Knuckles permanently bruised. A jaw clenched more often than relaxed. He looked controlled. Untouchable. His laughter felt borrowed, and he carried tension like a second skin. Even in safe rooms, he stood like he was bracing for a fight.

Once upon a time, there was a man...

Who lost his mother far too early and grew up under a father who shaped him — not asked him — who he should become. He watched his brother be loved differently. Learned that approval had rules.

Love was something you proved. Failure was not accepted. Weakness was not an option. Affection was conditional. Performance was survival. If you were useful, you were wanted. If you were good, you were safe.

Once upon a time, there was a man...

He worked harder than everyone else. Pushed his body beyond its limits. High tolerance for pain. Low tolerance for disappointment. He didn’t complain. Didn’t ask for help. Preferred action over talking. He flirted to deflect. Joked to avoid answering. Walked away before someone could leave him. Said “I’m fine.” when he wasn’t. He believed love was a liability. Believed he had to earn being chosen. Felt safest when he was needed.

And once upon a time, there was a man...

He fell in love slowly. And then all at once.

He denied it. Fought it. Tried to outrun it. Collected bodies like proof. Mistook desire for validation. Let strangers touch him so no one could reach him.

But he failed.

Because when he loved — he loved quietly. Desperately. In a way that changed him.

Once upon a time, there was a man...

Who wasn’t supposed to fall in love. Especially not like that. Not with someone quiet. Observant. Literal. Unapologetically different. Someone who didn’t respond to flirting. Someone who didn’t need him to perform. Someone who meant what he said. Took promises seriously. Someone who felt in absolutes.

Someone who saw through him. Through the armor. Through the performance.

Someone who chose him anyway.

Someone autistic with dark hair.

What his name was?

Well... That depends on who’s telling the story.

Just a suggestion…

Yeah.

Currently all that’s uploaded is my homebrew Horus mech license, The Harpy. It’s available for pay what you want.

Art by @giadinaye

Beings of living story from the Meadow, and of cybernetic sciences boarding the arcane from the city of Else.

Their two halves are represented in their Frame and Reverie.

Their Frame gives them access to technomancy, mechanical resilience, and the cybernetic gifts to survive and navigate Else. It is purpose and form. It is what they were rebuilt into by their Elsian captors. It is their body.

Their Reverie gives them access to witchling charms, talents, and flashbacks. It is longing and self. It is who they were, before lured or taken from the Meadow, and remade. It is their heart.