He already has a runes skill that ties him to Norse mythology . Plus iirc even if that skill comes from the Percy Jackson jumpchain, Unnatural Skills aren't just limited to Greek monsters—they cover other myths too. And honestly, he's just comparing his Fate-weaving to one of the most famous ones in mythology, so there's nothing to correct.
Brockton's Celestial Forge (Worm/Jumpchain)
- Thread starter LordRoustabout
- Start date
Joe needs to practice with his shield again. If Unnatural Skill in weaving can apply to conceptual cloth like Fate, it can definitely apply to his Teigu's Aether Lines.
Also I'm pretty sure he said that Aisha's art piece, the one she used to help undo the Meme Erasure Incident, and the devil-sigils on his correspondence were creating meaning by weaving together fundamental aspects of reality, so it's probably worth taking another stab at those, too.
Also I'm pretty sure he said that Aisha's art piece, the one she used to help undo the Meme Erasure Incident, and the devil-sigils on his correspondence were creating meaning by weaving together fundamental aspects of reality, so it's probably worth taking another stab at those, too.
I was looking through the possible felyne perks https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet...clWWVjJ-m5Jv7JBTo3H7KMVpz9wQM/htmlview?pli=1#
and saw this.
We Go Together (Free): Anyone in this world will tell you that you need allies. Whether it's teammates or minions, one person is nothing. You can import up to 8 companions for free as they gain human forms, along with skills in firefights and the use of various weapons. If human, you form the newly created 'SG-30' team, an exploration group meant to see new worlds. If Goa'uld, you choose to either be a minor Tok'ra resistance group or a new faction vying for the title of System Lord.
Does it mean that Tybalt can now shapeshift into a human?
and saw this.
We Go Together (Free): Anyone in this world will tell you that you need allies. Whether it's teammates or minions, one person is nothing. You can import up to 8 companions for free as they gain human forms, along with skills in firefights and the use of various weapons. If human, you form the newly created 'SG-30' team, an exploration group meant to see new worlds. If Goa'uld, you choose to either be a minor Tok'ra resistance group or a new faction vying for the title of System Lord.
Does it mean that Tybalt can now shapeshift into a human?
Even if he can… why would he? He's a cat.
Cats are proud and (some might say) arrogant beasts. The only advantages that human form would give them are A) opposable thumbs, and B) the ability to make demands and purchases directly and unhindered.
Being a Felyne gives him the first. And he has perks that cover the second. I'm sure he feels no need to adopt an inferior human form… 🐱
Delay Announcement
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
I have been out sick for the last two days and, while I am on the mend, I won't be able to get this week's chapter finished in time. I'm going to take a week's delay to fully recover and have time to get the chapter finished. My apologies for the delay, but this was very much out of my hands.
Gregory Crey
Magic is of wonder and terror. Life is so magical.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
You have been sick a lot lately, I pray that you recover swiftly. Don't push yourself, thank you for all your hard work. It is appreciated!
Hope you feel better soon! But if you've been getting sick so often, then you might want to get checked out by a doctor if you haven't already, it could be an indication of an underlying issue.
OerstedMagicMan
Casual LoR Enjoyer
- Location
- Indonesia
Hope you get well soon!
Validity of this aside, because it's more then valid and doesn't even need to be, I feel like writers get sick more often then average for some reason.
- Location
- Miami
Fanfic writers curse. Anytime someone starts writing fanfic they get hit with all of life's problems. Hoping, as always, that next chapter brings Mixing Mixtures.
Most of us users don't feel the need to publicly announce whenever we get sick.
I'm using IRL people as my control group actually.
Hope you feel better!
As much as I love this story, maybe shift the timeline for the official posting to a week later (so if it's every 4 weeks then to be every 5), I'd be completely fine with the the release change if it allowed you more time for your health and for more regular on schedule releases 😅.
- Pronouns
- Male
Pretty sure it would actually be a DOWNGRADE because of how crazy that setting is. Or an insult to felyne culture because they work hard to EARN their position.
It's fine. By now everyone only expects one chapter a month anyways. You don't have to keep apologizing.
Been suggesting it for a few months.
Celestial Forge Brainrot (Behemoth.)
New
Celestial Forge Brainrot
_________
Alec was jittery. His foot tapped a relentless rhythm against the cold, unyielding stone beneath him, the impact sending faint vibrations through the raised rooftop. The air was thick with the scents of the city—salt from the ocean, the distant tang of gasoline, the ever-present faint reek of garbage that never quite left Brockton Bay.
It was a warm day, but in that Brockton Bay way, where the sun shone down with deceptive kindness, warming the streets below, while the sky above churned with a restlessness that mirrored his own. The clouds coiled in the wind like serpents, twisting, shifting, gathering in ominous clusters before dispersing as if waiting for something. From this high up, he could see the docks stretching out in the distance, the water shimmering under the light, ships and cranes standing like skeletal guardians over the bay.
None of it mattered.
His fingers drummed against his thigh, the anxious energy pouring from his body in small, erratic movements. He wasn't nervous—he didn't get nervous. He just… had a lot of thoughts. And anticipation was a bitch.
Because today, he was waiting for her.
The most beautiful woman in the entire goddamn world.
A member of the Celestial Forge, part of that insufferably annoying, ridiculously good-looking, and frustratingly competent group led by Aperion. Just thinking about the guy made his title pop into Alec's mind, unbidden.
The Enigmatic Artificer.
Alec scowled.
Why? Why did that happen every time?
It was as if the dude's epithet was coded into reality itself, surfacing anytime someone so much as thought about him. Considering that Aperion was a Tinker, Alec figured it had to be on purpose. A branding decision or some bullshit omniversal mechanic that made sure people never forgot the man.
A ridiculous level of ego.
And yet, even as Alec internally mocked the guy, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
This meeting wasn't like all the others. He wasn't just playing around this time.
And for once, he actually cared about the outcome.
Which was weird.
As much as he enjoyed hanging around Brian at the gym—mainly because people always assumed Brian was gay just by standing next to him, much to Brian's vehement refusals—he wasn't into the bulky bastard. Not his type when it came to men.
But her?
He had somehow, somehow, managed to score a meeting with her after a strange, chaotic, and—if he was being honest—hilarious text exchange. She had sent him reaction images of her own face in response to his messages, using some sort of data manipulation or digital wizardry to pull it off. He still wasn't sure how, but it was possibly the funniest flex he'd ever seen.
And now, here he was, sitting at a small makeshift table, a deliberately casual meal set before him.
Pasta, of course.
Nothing fancy. Nothing extravagant. But it was what it was.
And then—he felt her.
It wasn't his power.
It wasn't anything logical.
It was like something divine had entered his vicinity, like reality itself subtly tilted in acknowledgment of her presence. The air shifted—not colder, not warmer, but different. The sensation slithered through his bones, crawled up his spine, settled into his chest.
Something in his soul recognized her before his eyes even did.
And so, when he turned his head—when he looked—there she was.
Descending from the sky like something out of legend, a warrior-goddess clad in celestial radiance.
Her full costume gleamed under the sunlight, pristine and untouchable, the craftsmanship bordering on something beyond mortal hands. A spear rested at her side, its presence carrying a weight that had nothing to do with physics.
And her face—
Goddamn.
She was even more beautiful than the day she debuted.
Even more breathtaking than the moment she became a goddess in the hearts of every man, woman, and probably even some machines capable of simping across the city.
Her silvery hair drifted across her face, strands shifting in the wind as if reluctant to obscure even a fraction of her perfection.
She wasn't just beautiful—she was crafted.
As if a primordial god of craftsmanship had chiseled her form from the finest marble, then breathed life, purpose, and power into every detail.
As if creation itself had sung her into existence. It's laws interwoven in her form.
Or perhaps she was something even greater—the daughter of progress itself, her beauty not merely a reflection of aesthetics, but the embodiment of advancement. The manifestation of what happened when perfection moved forward—never stagnating, always evolving.
Alec blinked.
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts before they could dig deeper into his mind.
What the fuck was that?
He was not the poetic type.
And yet, here he was, getting caught up in some metaphysical awe bullshit.
He pushed himself up, nearly stumbling over the chair as he moved, his limbs reacting half a second too late because his brain was still playing catch-up.
And as she landed before him, standing in her full radiance, looking at him with those unreadable, divine, utterly piercing eyes—
He realized, with absolute certainty—
That he was so, so fucked.
"Survey! Nice to see you again! Or perhaps you've been spying on me all day?"
Alec grinned, the smirk coming easily—practiced, effortless, even as his stomach twisted itself into a knot. His fingers drummed a rapid rhythm against his thigh beneath the table, unseen. Keep it cool. Keep it casual.
But then, for some godforsaken reason, his mouth kept going.
"I know you've got eyes everywhere, and I'm too hot to look away from."
…The fuck was that?
His brain caught up to his mouth about two seconds too late, and internally, he wanted to slam his head into the concrete beneath him until the Earth swallowed him whole.
"Too hot?"
Really? In this day and age?
Fucking hell, Alec.
But Survey—divine, celestial, impossibly unreadable Survey—just smiled.
A small thing, faint but perceptible.
"I assure you, I haven't been watching you too closely, Regent."
Her voice was silken precision, even, measured—like she never said anything without calculating it first. But there was a lilt to it, something just barely teasing, and that only made his pulse stutter in ways he refused to acknowledge.
Then she tilted her head slightly, analyzing him, her silver hair catching the faint glint of the sun, framing her flawless, god-crafted face in a way that made reality itself seem too slow, too dull to contain her.
"That being said, your body temperature is rather average."
Then, she paused.
A blink.
A fraction of a head tilt deeper.
"Oh—no, wait. It's a tad bit higher than normal. Are you experiencing emotional distress at the moment?"
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck yes.
He could feel his heartbeat betray him, hammering against his ribs like it wanted to bust the fuck out of his chest and confess on his behalf.
But years of practice—of sarcasm, of deflection, of making people laugh so they didn't notice what was actually happening—kicked in.
Alec scoffed, leaning back in his chair like he wasn't slowly dying inside.
"Of course I'm not. How could I be, when I've got the world's most powerful hero here to soothe my soul?"
Smooth. Suave. No cracks in the voice. Good. Good. Survive, you bastard.
He moved quickly, smoothly pulling out the chair opposite him, gesturing for her to sit with a small flourish.
Survey watched him for a moment—long enough that he felt like he was being evaluated, not in the way most people look at someone, but in a way that reality itself took note of his presence—before she sat down, movements effortless, perfect, as if gravity itself bent to accommodate her.
And then, she did something unexpected.
She smiled.
Genuine. Soft. Like she was humoring him but also… pleased?
Oh.
He wasn't ready for that.
"Most powerful, you say?" she murmured, picking up her fork, poking idly at the pasta in front of her. "No, I'm far from it. On our team, there are a few stronger than myself alone."
Alec scoffed, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on the table, eyes glinting with mischief.
"You know what they say."
She glanced at him, silver eyes reflecting something unnamable.
"Do I now?"
He smirked, tossing his hands up casually.
"Beauty is power, and a smile is a sword."
Survey blinked, tilting her head—just a fraction of a second delay, as if she was processing the words differently than he expected.
"Is that so?"
Alec leaned in slightly, the smirk widening.
"And in that case, who's more dangerous than you?"
There it was—a flicker of something in her gaze. Amusement? Curiosity? Calculated acknowledgment?
Whatever it was, it held weight.
Survey let out a hum, slow, deliberate, as if filing the information away somewhere. Then—
"Is that why you were in distress earlier?"
Her voice was smooth, silk wrapped in steel, but the subtle tease was there—woven into the barest uptick of her lips.
"Because of how dangerous I am?"
Oh, she was playing with him now.
Alec let out a slow, deliberate breath, tilting his head in mock contemplation, grinning.
"No man alive wouldn't want a woman that can literally kill them."
The words slipped out before he could think too hard about them, but the second they landed—
Survey laughed.
Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. Not a polite exhale.
She laughed.
And it was angelic.
No—not just angelic. It was the kind of laugh that shouldn't exist in the mortal world. It rang through the air like the chiming of celestial bells, reverberating through his bones, shaking something deeper than physical reality itself.
Alec didn't know what angel bells were supposed to sound like.
But he was absolutely certain that it was something close to this.
"No, I think you're just rather strange, Regent."
Survey's voice was as smooth as silk-wrapped steel, cool and composed, yet tinged with something almost… amused. She didn't say it as an insult. More like a scientific observation, as if she were analyzing a peculiar new species that had suddenly started performing tricks in front of her.
And then, without missing a beat, she casually twirled her fork and slurped up a mouthful of pasta.
For a split second, Alec was caught in some kind of divine contradiction.
Because this woman—this impossibly powerful celestial war goddess—was sitting across from him, calmly enjoying a plate of cheap pasta with the unconcerned ease of a college student stress-eating before an exam.
Then—sauce.
A single drop, bright red, landed on the smooth, pristine surface of her cheek.
She didn't notice at first, continuing to eat as if the laws of reality hadn't just short-circuited in his brain.
Alec stared.
For a moment, it was like time slowed.
Because, somehow, somehow, the tiny imperfection only enhanced her charm.
It was ridiculous. Unfair. The universe should not allow one single being to be this effortlessly breathtaking.
Then, just as quickly, she wiped it away with a napkin, as if it had never been there at all.
As the day stretched on, talking to her became easier.
At first, there was a hesitance in the air—a weight, an expectation, as if some invisible force insisted that this conversation shouldn't be happening at all.
Yet it did.
And soon, the weight lifted.
They fell into an unexpected rhythm, a push-and-pull of banter that felt natural. The more they talked, the more Alec found himself genuinely enjoying it.
That part threw him off the most.
Survey—the literal celestial powerhouse that most people wouldn't dare approach without a five-year battle strategy—was giving him the time of day.
She was engaging, laughing, teasing.
And Alec?
He wasn't about to question a good thing.
At some point, between a sarcastic comment about Aperion probably watching them through space-time and a particularly heated debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it did, and she was horribly wrong for disagreeing), an idea popped into Alec's head.
And—for once—he actually thought before speaking.
Kind of.
"Hey, do you mind if we make a video together to commemorate?"
There was a beat of silence.
For the first time in the conversation, Survey hesitated.
She blinked, tilting her head slightly. Then—a grimace.
"A video?" Her voice was slow, cautious. "Is this…?"
She trailed off.
Alec saw the faintest flicker of discomfort flash across her features.
For a second, he didn't get it.
Then—he did.
"Oh. OH—NO!"
His hands shot up in immediate surrender, his chair nearly tipping back as he frantically backpedaled.
"No, nothing like that! I swear! I promise on Googlebob, Yo Gabba Gabba, the Cookie Monster, and all things sacred and holy!"
For extra emphasis, he crossed his heart, a dramatic display of exaggerated innocence.
And then—
Survey laughed.
Again.
That same celestial, bell-like, reality-tilting laugh that made the very air seem lighter, brighter.
This time, though—it had warmth.
She shook her head, her silver eyes glinting with something just shy of mischief as her lips curved up, forming crescent moons.
"I know."
Alec blinked.
"Huh?"
"It was a joke."
Her voice was soft, teasing.
And oh—oh, that wasn't fair.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
Alec exhaled, running a hand down his face.
"Jesus. You can't just play with my fragile mortal heart like that."
Survey hummed, feigning deep thought.
"Can't I?"
Alec opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Nope. He was not going to say something that would get him vaporized into subatomic particles today.
Instead, he coughed, clearing his throat.
"Anyway!" He straightened, shoving the last ten seconds of his life into a box labeled 'We Don't Talk About This'. "I meant a TikTok. Let's make one together."
Survey raised an eyebrow.
A pause.
Then, with effortless grace, she picked up her drink, took a slow sip, and tilted her head in consideration.
Alec held his breath.
Then—
"Sure. Why not?"
Alec felt something uncoil in his chest.
And then, the grin came back.
Time to make history.
_____________________
Aisha was lounging on a plush, suspiciously comfortable couch in the depths of Joe's workshop—Apeiron's creation, a technological utopia masquerading as a workplace, packed with devices that could probably rewrite reality itself and coffee machines so advanced they might be sentient.
And yet, here she was, scrolling on her normal-ass phone like any other teenager with too much free time.
Because, honestly?
Even with instantaneous, multiversal Wi-Fi, direct access to interdimensional archives, and the ability to watch history unfold in real-time through advanced surveillance feeds, sometimes using your smartphone was just more fun.
Sue her.
Her thumb flicked across the screen lazily, the glow illuminating her face as she scrolled past a flood of Ungodly Hour edits, all synchronized to phonk, breakcore, and remixes that went harder than they had any right to.
Every single one? Saved.
Every. Single. One? Reposted.
She had aesthetic standards, dammit.
Joe didn't know—and would never know—but she actually ran one of the biggest Apeiron fan pages on TikTok.
It started off as a joke.
And then it wasn't.
And now?
Now it had hundreds of thousands of followers.
For all his godlike intelligence, multiversal knowledge, and uncanny ability to be the most insanely competent human to ever exist, Joe had somehow never realized just how much she admired him.
To Aisha, Joe was like a brother—not quite like Brian, though.
Brian was family, obviously, but he was her age. Well at least he was now. He was someone she could tease, mess with, annoy, and drag into her chaos.
Joe, though?
Joe was an adult.
An actual, full-fledged adult, and not just because of the whole "god of progress" thing—though, yeah, that was a factor.
It was more than that.
It was the way he handled responsibility like it was second nature, like the sheer crushing weight of existence itself didn't faze him. It was the way he created, the way he built entire realities from nothing, the way he could see what the world could be and then make it happen. Despite all his flaws.
It was inspiring in a way she rarely admitted.
Even to herself.
Her scrolling slowed as she stumbled across a new post—one that actually made her do a double take.
A slideshow.
Apeiron. Garment.
…What the fuck?
Someone was actually shipping them.
Aisha blinked, her brow quirking in surprise as she let the video play.
It was ridiculous.
It was insanely accurate.
Because somehow—some absolute mad genius had correctly guessed that the gloves Apeiron was wearing were, in fact, Garment.
What kind of detective work—?
Her lips curled up as she glanced at the like count—over a hundred thousand.
Damn.
She tapped the comment section, already expecting the chaos that awaited her.
And she was not disappointed.
________
"Dumb Theory."
"Literally impossible."
"Garment isn't even a person, y'all are weird."
"She's a case 53 asshole."
"Stop making headcanons about this."
"This post goes against my core beliefs."
And then, right beneath all of that—
__________
Not!Foil: No. Absolutely not. This ship is fundamentally flawed. Garment is a sentient construct, and I don't even think she would be into him as cool as he is. Garment has a gentle soul her and Apeiron just donn't match up.
____________
Aisha snorted.
This dude.
She had seen this user before—Not!Foil had apparently made it their life's mission to argue under every single post that even slightly suggested Apeiron and Garment might be a thing.
Every. Single. One.
It was hilarious.
Aisha scrolled further, watching them go comment for comment with shippers, arguing their soul away in an attempt to defend reality itself from what they saw as fanfiction-fueled nonsense.
She shook her head, the grin widening.
Man, this never got old.
And it wasn't like she hadn't noticed.
She had known about Garment's attraction for a while now—she had seen it in the way Garment reacted to Joe, the subtle shifts, the way the clothing seemed to linger just a little longer when draped across his form. Or the odd designs.
But she had kept her mouth shut.
Because, for once?
She didn't want to screw anything up.
Joe had a lot on his plate already—being a walking singularity of progress, running the Celestial Forge, dealing with the absolute insanity that came with being one of the most powerful beings in existence.
He had needed to figure that out for himself.
So she didn't interfere.
She had messed up a lot of things before—a lot of things.
But not this.
Not him.
Still, that didn't mean she couldn't laugh at the discourse. In the past, she had definitely been on Garments side of things.
She scrolled further, past the increasingly aggressive arguments, the edits, the ungodly amount of memes, and shook her head again. After all–
Pair of gloves be damned…
Garment was a classy lady.
Aisha continued scrolling, thumb flicking absently across the screen, eyes half-lidded with lazy curiosity as she swam through the endless sea of content, chaos, and cosmic-level stupidity that was her feed.
Until—
A video caught her eye.
Three. Million. Likes.
Her brows shot up. That was a lot, even by TikTok's cursed algorithm standards.
Then the audio hit, and instantly, she recognized it.
The familiar, melancholic notes drifted through the workshop's high-tech, reality-defying silence, and a shiver of anticipation crawled up her spine.
"Wait, they don't love you like I love you~"
Aisha's eyes widened.
Because the person on the screen?
Regent.
Regent.
In that strange-as-hell mask, standing dead center on the rooftop of some random-ass building, looking like he was about to break into the dumbest shit she had ever seen—and oh, he did not disappoint.
With a dramatic flourish, Regent extended his hand, reaching toward the unseen void—a gesture dripping with exaggerated longing.
Then—pause.
And just like that, he snapped into the dance.
The fucking dance.
Smooth. Over-the-top. Absolutely committed.
"Wait, they don't love you like I love you~"
And then—
Survey.
Survey.
Fucking SURVEY.
She jumped out from the corner of the frame, pristine, graceful, divine, and utterly ridiculous as she seamlessly joined in.
And then—
"Ahh, ahh, ahh, they don't love you like I love you!"
There they were.
Side by side.
Regent and Survey, in perfect synchronization, absolutely nailing the most nonsensical, dramatic dance she had ever seen.
And then—
Cut.
The video ended.
Aisha sat completely still.
For one whole moment, her brain refused to process what she had just witnessed.
Then—
Her cheeks puffed up.
Her lips quivered.
And then—
"PUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
Her howling laughter erupted like a goddamn explosion, ricocheting off the sleek, futuristic walls of the workshop, reverberating through high-tech machinery, enchanted artifacts, and entire pocket dimensions of forbidden knowledge.
Somewhere in the depths of the Forge, an automated AI assistant flickered online, registered the sound, and promptly muted itself out of pure survival instinct.
Aisha clutched her stomach, gasping for air, her body folding over itself as she wheeze-laughed so hard she nearly slid off the couch.
"THERE'S—THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY—"
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
She could not breathe.
Regent, in his stupid-ass mask, on a rooftop, doing a heartfelt TikTok dance with Survey—Survey—the walking celestial entity with a bit of a stick up her butt—
WHAT WAS THIS TIMELINE?!
She needed answers.
But first—
She was saving this video forever.
___________
Based off of @Shyft Omake forgot to put this.
_________
Alec was jittery. His foot tapped a relentless rhythm against the cold, unyielding stone beneath him, the impact sending faint vibrations through the raised rooftop. The air was thick with the scents of the city—salt from the ocean, the distant tang of gasoline, the ever-present faint reek of garbage that never quite left Brockton Bay.
It was a warm day, but in that Brockton Bay way, where the sun shone down with deceptive kindness, warming the streets below, while the sky above churned with a restlessness that mirrored his own. The clouds coiled in the wind like serpents, twisting, shifting, gathering in ominous clusters before dispersing as if waiting for something. From this high up, he could see the docks stretching out in the distance, the water shimmering under the light, ships and cranes standing like skeletal guardians over the bay.
None of it mattered.
His fingers drummed against his thigh, the anxious energy pouring from his body in small, erratic movements. He wasn't nervous—he didn't get nervous. He just… had a lot of thoughts. And anticipation was a bitch.
Because today, he was waiting for her.
The most beautiful woman in the entire goddamn world.
A member of the Celestial Forge, part of that insufferably annoying, ridiculously good-looking, and frustratingly competent group led by Aperion. Just thinking about the guy made his title pop into Alec's mind, unbidden.
The Enigmatic Artificer.
Alec scowled.
Why? Why did that happen every time?
It was as if the dude's epithet was coded into reality itself, surfacing anytime someone so much as thought about him. Considering that Aperion was a Tinker, Alec figured it had to be on purpose. A branding decision or some bullshit omniversal mechanic that made sure people never forgot the man.
A ridiculous level of ego.
And yet, even as Alec internally mocked the guy, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
This meeting wasn't like all the others. He wasn't just playing around this time.
And for once, he actually cared about the outcome.
Which was weird.
As much as he enjoyed hanging around Brian at the gym—mainly because people always assumed Brian was gay just by standing next to him, much to Brian's vehement refusals—he wasn't into the bulky bastard. Not his type when it came to men.
But her?
He had somehow, somehow, managed to score a meeting with her after a strange, chaotic, and—if he was being honest—hilarious text exchange. She had sent him reaction images of her own face in response to his messages, using some sort of data manipulation or digital wizardry to pull it off. He still wasn't sure how, but it was possibly the funniest flex he'd ever seen.
And now, here he was, sitting at a small makeshift table, a deliberately casual meal set before him.
Pasta, of course.
Nothing fancy. Nothing extravagant. But it was what it was.
And then—he felt her.
It wasn't his power.
It wasn't anything logical.
It was like something divine had entered his vicinity, like reality itself subtly tilted in acknowledgment of her presence. The air shifted—not colder, not warmer, but different. The sensation slithered through his bones, crawled up his spine, settled into his chest.
Something in his soul recognized her before his eyes even did.
And so, when he turned his head—when he looked—there she was.
Descending from the sky like something out of legend, a warrior-goddess clad in celestial radiance.
Her full costume gleamed under the sunlight, pristine and untouchable, the craftsmanship bordering on something beyond mortal hands. A spear rested at her side, its presence carrying a weight that had nothing to do with physics.
And her face—
Goddamn.
She was even more beautiful than the day she debuted.
Even more breathtaking than the moment she became a goddess in the hearts of every man, woman, and probably even some machines capable of simping across the city.
Her silvery hair drifted across her face, strands shifting in the wind as if reluctant to obscure even a fraction of her perfection.
She wasn't just beautiful—she was crafted.
As if a primordial god of craftsmanship had chiseled her form from the finest marble, then breathed life, purpose, and power into every detail.
As if creation itself had sung her into existence. It's laws interwoven in her form.
Or perhaps she was something even greater—the daughter of progress itself, her beauty not merely a reflection of aesthetics, but the embodiment of advancement. The manifestation of what happened when perfection moved forward—never stagnating, always evolving.
Alec blinked.
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts before they could dig deeper into his mind.
What the fuck was that?
He was not the poetic type.
And yet, here he was, getting caught up in some metaphysical awe bullshit.
He pushed himself up, nearly stumbling over the chair as he moved, his limbs reacting half a second too late because his brain was still playing catch-up.
And as she landed before him, standing in her full radiance, looking at him with those unreadable, divine, utterly piercing eyes—
He realized, with absolute certainty—
That he was so, so fucked.
"Survey! Nice to see you again! Or perhaps you've been spying on me all day?"
Alec grinned, the smirk coming easily—practiced, effortless, even as his stomach twisted itself into a knot. His fingers drummed a rapid rhythm against his thigh beneath the table, unseen. Keep it cool. Keep it casual.
But then, for some godforsaken reason, his mouth kept going.
"I know you've got eyes everywhere, and I'm too hot to look away from."
…The fuck was that?
His brain caught up to his mouth about two seconds too late, and internally, he wanted to slam his head into the concrete beneath him until the Earth swallowed him whole.
"Too hot?"
Really? In this day and age?
Fucking hell, Alec.
But Survey—divine, celestial, impossibly unreadable Survey—just smiled.
A small thing, faint but perceptible.
"I assure you, I haven't been watching you too closely, Regent."
Her voice was silken precision, even, measured—like she never said anything without calculating it first. But there was a lilt to it, something just barely teasing, and that only made his pulse stutter in ways he refused to acknowledge.
Then she tilted her head slightly, analyzing him, her silver hair catching the faint glint of the sun, framing her flawless, god-crafted face in a way that made reality itself seem too slow, too dull to contain her.
"That being said, your body temperature is rather average."
Then, she paused.
A blink.
A fraction of a head tilt deeper.
"Oh—no, wait. It's a tad bit higher than normal. Are you experiencing emotional distress at the moment?"
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck yes.
He could feel his heartbeat betray him, hammering against his ribs like it wanted to bust the fuck out of his chest and confess on his behalf.
But years of practice—of sarcasm, of deflection, of making people laugh so they didn't notice what was actually happening—kicked in.
Alec scoffed, leaning back in his chair like he wasn't slowly dying inside.
"Of course I'm not. How could I be, when I've got the world's most powerful hero here to soothe my soul?"
Smooth. Suave. No cracks in the voice. Good. Good. Survive, you bastard.
He moved quickly, smoothly pulling out the chair opposite him, gesturing for her to sit with a small flourish.
Survey watched him for a moment—long enough that he felt like he was being evaluated, not in the way most people look at someone, but in a way that reality itself took note of his presence—before she sat down, movements effortless, perfect, as if gravity itself bent to accommodate her.
And then, she did something unexpected.
She smiled.
Genuine. Soft. Like she was humoring him but also… pleased?
Oh.
He wasn't ready for that.
"Most powerful, you say?" she murmured, picking up her fork, poking idly at the pasta in front of her. "No, I'm far from it. On our team, there are a few stronger than myself alone."
Alec scoffed, leaning forward now, resting his elbows on the table, eyes glinting with mischief.
"You know what they say."
She glanced at him, silver eyes reflecting something unnamable.
"Do I now?"
He smirked, tossing his hands up casually.
"Beauty is power, and a smile is a sword."
Survey blinked, tilting her head—just a fraction of a second delay, as if she was processing the words differently than he expected.
"Is that so?"
Alec leaned in slightly, the smirk widening.
"And in that case, who's more dangerous than you?"
There it was—a flicker of something in her gaze. Amusement? Curiosity? Calculated acknowledgment?
Whatever it was, it held weight.
Survey let out a hum, slow, deliberate, as if filing the information away somewhere. Then—
"Is that why you were in distress earlier?"
Her voice was smooth, silk wrapped in steel, but the subtle tease was there—woven into the barest uptick of her lips.
"Because of how dangerous I am?"
Oh, she was playing with him now.
Alec let out a slow, deliberate breath, tilting his head in mock contemplation, grinning.
"No man alive wouldn't want a woman that can literally kill them."
The words slipped out before he could think too hard about them, but the second they landed—
Survey laughed.
Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. Not a polite exhale.
She laughed.
And it was angelic.
No—not just angelic. It was the kind of laugh that shouldn't exist in the mortal world. It rang through the air like the chiming of celestial bells, reverberating through his bones, shaking something deeper than physical reality itself.
Alec didn't know what angel bells were supposed to sound like.
But he was absolutely certain that it was something close to this.
"No, I think you're just rather strange, Regent."
Survey's voice was as smooth as silk-wrapped steel, cool and composed, yet tinged with something almost… amused. She didn't say it as an insult. More like a scientific observation, as if she were analyzing a peculiar new species that had suddenly started performing tricks in front of her.
And then, without missing a beat, she casually twirled her fork and slurped up a mouthful of pasta.
For a split second, Alec was caught in some kind of divine contradiction.
Because this woman—this impossibly powerful celestial war goddess—was sitting across from him, calmly enjoying a plate of cheap pasta with the unconcerned ease of a college student stress-eating before an exam.
Then—sauce.
A single drop, bright red, landed on the smooth, pristine surface of her cheek.
She didn't notice at first, continuing to eat as if the laws of reality hadn't just short-circuited in his brain.
Alec stared.
For a moment, it was like time slowed.
Because, somehow, somehow, the tiny imperfection only enhanced her charm.
It was ridiculous. Unfair. The universe should not allow one single being to be this effortlessly breathtaking.
Then, just as quickly, she wiped it away with a napkin, as if it had never been there at all.
As the day stretched on, talking to her became easier.
At first, there was a hesitance in the air—a weight, an expectation, as if some invisible force insisted that this conversation shouldn't be happening at all.
Yet it did.
And soon, the weight lifted.
They fell into an unexpected rhythm, a push-and-pull of banter that felt natural. The more they talked, the more Alec found himself genuinely enjoying it.
That part threw him off the most.
Survey—the literal celestial powerhouse that most people wouldn't dare approach without a five-year battle strategy—was giving him the time of day.
She was engaging, laughing, teasing.
And Alec?
He wasn't about to question a good thing.
At some point, between a sarcastic comment about Aperion probably watching them through space-time and a particularly heated debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza (it did, and she was horribly wrong for disagreeing), an idea popped into Alec's head.
And—for once—he actually thought before speaking.
Kind of.
"Hey, do you mind if we make a video together to commemorate?"
There was a beat of silence.
For the first time in the conversation, Survey hesitated.
She blinked, tilting her head slightly. Then—a grimace.
"A video?" Her voice was slow, cautious. "Is this…?"
She trailed off.
Alec saw the faintest flicker of discomfort flash across her features.
For a second, he didn't get it.
Then—he did.
"Oh. OH—NO!"
His hands shot up in immediate surrender, his chair nearly tipping back as he frantically backpedaled.
"No, nothing like that! I swear! I promise on Googlebob, Yo Gabba Gabba, the Cookie Monster, and all things sacred and holy!"
For extra emphasis, he crossed his heart, a dramatic display of exaggerated innocence.
And then—
Survey laughed.
Again.
That same celestial, bell-like, reality-tilting laugh that made the very air seem lighter, brighter.
This time, though—it had warmth.
She shook her head, her silver eyes glinting with something just shy of mischief as her lips curved up, forming crescent moons.
"I know."
Alec blinked.
"Huh?"
"It was a joke."
Her voice was soft, teasing.
And oh—oh, that wasn't fair.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
Alec exhaled, running a hand down his face.
"Jesus. You can't just play with my fragile mortal heart like that."
Survey hummed, feigning deep thought.
"Can't I?"
Alec opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Nope. He was not going to say something that would get him vaporized into subatomic particles today.
Instead, he coughed, clearing his throat.
"Anyway!" He straightened, shoving the last ten seconds of his life into a box labeled 'We Don't Talk About This'. "I meant a TikTok. Let's make one together."
Survey raised an eyebrow.
A pause.
Then, with effortless grace, she picked up her drink, took a slow sip, and tilted her head in consideration.
Alec held his breath.
Then—
"Sure. Why not?"
Alec felt something uncoil in his chest.
And then, the grin came back.
Time to make history.
_____________________
Aisha was lounging on a plush, suspiciously comfortable couch in the depths of Joe's workshop—Apeiron's creation, a technological utopia masquerading as a workplace, packed with devices that could probably rewrite reality itself and coffee machines so advanced they might be sentient.
And yet, here she was, scrolling on her normal-ass phone like any other teenager with too much free time.
Because, honestly?
Even with instantaneous, multiversal Wi-Fi, direct access to interdimensional archives, and the ability to watch history unfold in real-time through advanced surveillance feeds, sometimes using your smartphone was just more fun.
Sue her.
Her thumb flicked across the screen lazily, the glow illuminating her face as she scrolled past a flood of Ungodly Hour edits, all synchronized to phonk, breakcore, and remixes that went harder than they had any right to.
Every single one? Saved.
Every. Single. One? Reposted.
She had aesthetic standards, dammit.
Joe didn't know—and would never know—but she actually ran one of the biggest Apeiron fan pages on TikTok.
It started off as a joke.
And then it wasn't.
And now?
Now it had hundreds of thousands of followers.
For all his godlike intelligence, multiversal knowledge, and uncanny ability to be the most insanely competent human to ever exist, Joe had somehow never realized just how much she admired him.
To Aisha, Joe was like a brother—not quite like Brian, though.
Brian was family, obviously, but he was her age. Well at least he was now. He was someone she could tease, mess with, annoy, and drag into her chaos.
Joe, though?
Joe was an adult.
An actual, full-fledged adult, and not just because of the whole "god of progress" thing—though, yeah, that was a factor.
It was more than that.
It was the way he handled responsibility like it was second nature, like the sheer crushing weight of existence itself didn't faze him. It was the way he created, the way he built entire realities from nothing, the way he could see what the world could be and then make it happen. Despite all his flaws.
It was inspiring in a way she rarely admitted.
Even to herself.
Her scrolling slowed as she stumbled across a new post—one that actually made her do a double take.
A slideshow.
Apeiron. Garment.
…What the fuck?
Someone was actually shipping them.
Aisha blinked, her brow quirking in surprise as she let the video play.
It was ridiculous.
It was insanely accurate.
Because somehow—some absolute mad genius had correctly guessed that the gloves Apeiron was wearing were, in fact, Garment.
What kind of detective work—?
Her lips curled up as she glanced at the like count—over a hundred thousand.
Damn.
She tapped the comment section, already expecting the chaos that awaited her.
And she was not disappointed.
________
"Dumb Theory."
"Literally impossible."
"Garment isn't even a person, y'all are weird."
"She's a case 53 asshole."
"Stop making headcanons about this."
"This post goes against my core beliefs."
And then, right beneath all of that—
__________
Not!Foil: No. Absolutely not. This ship is fundamentally flawed. Garment is a sentient construct, and I don't even think she would be into him as cool as he is. Garment has a gentle soul her and Apeiron just donn't match up.
____________
Aisha snorted.
This dude.
She had seen this user before—Not!Foil had apparently made it their life's mission to argue under every single post that even slightly suggested Apeiron and Garment might be a thing.
Every. Single. One.
It was hilarious.
Aisha scrolled further, watching them go comment for comment with shippers, arguing their soul away in an attempt to defend reality itself from what they saw as fanfiction-fueled nonsense.
She shook her head, the grin widening.
Man, this never got old.
And it wasn't like she hadn't noticed.
She had known about Garment's attraction for a while now—she had seen it in the way Garment reacted to Joe, the subtle shifts, the way the clothing seemed to linger just a little longer when draped across his form. Or the odd designs.
But she had kept her mouth shut.
Because, for once?
She didn't want to screw anything up.
Joe had a lot on his plate already—being a walking singularity of progress, running the Celestial Forge, dealing with the absolute insanity that came with being one of the most powerful beings in existence.
He had needed to figure that out for himself.
So she didn't interfere.
She had messed up a lot of things before—a lot of things.
But not this.
Not him.
Still, that didn't mean she couldn't laugh at the discourse. In the past, she had definitely been on Garments side of things.
She scrolled further, past the increasingly aggressive arguments, the edits, the ungodly amount of memes, and shook her head again. After all–
Pair of gloves be damned…
Garment was a classy lady.
Aisha continued scrolling, thumb flicking absently across the screen, eyes half-lidded with lazy curiosity as she swam through the endless sea of content, chaos, and cosmic-level stupidity that was her feed.
Until—
A video caught her eye.
Three. Million. Likes.
Her brows shot up. That was a lot, even by TikTok's cursed algorithm standards.
Then the audio hit, and instantly, she recognized it.
The familiar, melancholic notes drifted through the workshop's high-tech, reality-defying silence, and a shiver of anticipation crawled up her spine.
"Wait, they don't love you like I love you~"
Aisha's eyes widened.
Because the person on the screen?
Regent.
Regent.
In that strange-as-hell mask, standing dead center on the rooftop of some random-ass building, looking like he was about to break into the dumbest shit she had ever seen—and oh, he did not disappoint.
With a dramatic flourish, Regent extended his hand, reaching toward the unseen void—a gesture dripping with exaggerated longing.
Then—pause.
And just like that, he snapped into the dance.
The fucking dance.
Smooth. Over-the-top. Absolutely committed.
"Wait, they don't love you like I love you~"
And then—
Survey.
Survey.
Fucking SURVEY.
She jumped out from the corner of the frame, pristine, graceful, divine, and utterly ridiculous as she seamlessly joined in.
And then—
"Ahh, ahh, ahh, they don't love you like I love you!"
There they were.
Side by side.
Regent and Survey, in perfect synchronization, absolutely nailing the most nonsensical, dramatic dance she had ever seen.
And then—
Cut.
The video ended.
Aisha sat completely still.
For one whole moment, her brain refused to process what she had just witnessed.
Then—
Her cheeks puffed up.
Her lips quivered.
And then—
"PUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"
Her howling laughter erupted like a goddamn explosion, ricocheting off the sleek, futuristic walls of the workshop, reverberating through high-tech machinery, enchanted artifacts, and entire pocket dimensions of forbidden knowledge.
Somewhere in the depths of the Forge, an automated AI assistant flickered online, registered the sound, and promptly muted itself out of pure survival instinct.
Aisha clutched her stomach, gasping for air, her body folding over itself as she wheeze-laughed so hard she nearly slid off the couch.
"THERE'S—THERE'S NO FUCKING WAY—"
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
She could not breathe.
Regent, in his stupid-ass mask, on a rooftop, doing a heartfelt TikTok dance with Survey—Survey—the walking celestial entity with a bit of a stick up her butt—
WHAT WAS THIS TIMELINE?!
She needed answers.
But first—
She was saving this video forever.
___________
Based off of @Shyft Omake forgot to put this.
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24-hour Delay Announcement
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
I had hoped to have the chapter finished by tonight, but I'm going to need another day to get things wrapped up. My apologies for the short notice on the delay.
- Pronouns
- Darth
Dont worry about it. We will look forward to when it is ready.
That said it might be an idea to shift your schedule.
Ingram Ironhide
Verified Artificer
- Location
- Wildmount
Dude, we get it. Take your time. If you're having so much trouble, then change your writing schedule. We don't mind if you take the time you need to be at your best.