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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 5: Heads Or Tails, Fairy Tales In My Mind]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Are We The Waiting” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“I know he has a scalpel in his bag,” Baela says, meaning Aemond. You are sitting with her on the front steps of a two-story house—1970s construction, split foyer, pale blue siding and rust-red bricks—on Trux Street in Plymouth, Ohio. This town was named for the place where the pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower over four hundred years ago, pioneers who crossed through the doorway of an unfathomably changing world to die of disease, cold, accidents, starvation, violence. You wonder if you are so unlike them. “He’s assisted with c-sections before, if it comes to that. And he has needles and surgical thread. But he doesn’t have any way to anesthetize me.”

Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the silver Chrysler Pacifica parked at the end of the driveway and surveilling the road. Everyone else is inside tearing the house apart as they try to find the keys. You don’t know what to say to Baela. There is no way to console her except by lying, and she’s too smart for that. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know.” She laughs like she’s on the verge of losing her mind. You don’t blame her. “The doctors calculate it based on the date of your last period, but mine was all over the place. I had tried a few different birth control pills and had all these side effects, weird spotting and cramping, no sex drive, feeling depressed, so I just figured I’d go all natural for six months and give my body a chance to reset. And we all know how that turned out.” She skims her palms over the globe of her belly, hidden beneath the flowing periwinkle cotton of a maternity dress she found at the Walmart back in Shenandoah. “I’m officially due in four weeks.”

“But it could happen at any time.”

Baela nods miserably. “My mum had me and Rhaena the…you know…the natural way, and it was smooth sailing. But she needed an emergency c-section with my little brother. What happens if that’s how it goes for me? Do you ever think about all the ways people can die now? It’s not just the zombies. I could get murdered, or fall and crack my skull open, or get a cut that turns septic, or rupture my appendix, or get frostbite or heatstroke, or get bitten by a snake. It never ends. We’ll be balancing on the knife’s edge for the rest of our lives.”

You wish you were better with words; you wish you were someone who spoke effortlessly like Rio or Aegon. You reply with the only thing you can think of. “Humans have survived for hundreds of thousands of years, and for the vast majority of that time with no modern medicine. It was dangerous, and it was painful. But there have always been people who made it. We wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

Remarkably, this seems to help. “I know Aemond will do everything he can for me,” Baela says, more steadily now. “He’s always been the most dependable one. So serious, so protective. Daeron was visiting us in Boston when everything shut down, and Aemond wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight for weeks…then Aemond almost died when he lost his eye and Daeron proved he could take care of himself with his compound bow.” Baela unwraps a Twizzler and takes a bite out of it, gazing vacantly at the sky, calm and overcast now that the storm has passed, breezy, mid-80s. She doesn’t even like them, but she’s been eating through a pack of Twizzlers Luke had been carrying in his backpack for Jace, slow mindless chewing like a cow’s. “Aemond feels responsible for you now. And that’s difficult when there’s so little control he actually has over what ends up happening.”

“Baela…I’m so sorry about Jace.”

“Drowning isn’t so bad, I guess. I hope he drowned. I hope he was dead before he washed ashore and they ate him.” Baela turns to you, eyes glazed. “Do you think we should have shot him before we left the river? To make sure he didn’t die in pain? You could have done it if you wanted to. Your aim is good enough.”

“No,” you say, horrified but trying to soften it. “I think that would have been…immoral.”

“I don’t even have a picture of Jace to show the baby, everything was online or on my phone, and now that’s all…gone. Just gone. Like he never even existed. How am I going to explain to my child what Boston was, or law school, or aerospace engineering, or grocery stores or shopping malls or Instagram, or anything else about our lives before this whole fucking disaster? All they’ll ever know is running from monsters, scrounging for shelter and supplies from the ruins of civilization.”

“The world is going to come back, Baela. Maybe not for five or ten years, and maybe looking a lot different than it did before, but humanity will recover. The Black Death wasn’t the end, and neither were the World Wars or the Mongol invasions or the colonization of the Americas, or famines or floods or volcanic eruptions. The zombies won’t end us either.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I want to. “Yeah, I do. We just have to hold on until the tide turns. We can’t give up.”

“In that case, I’ll try not to go completely insane in the immediate future. Thank God Rhaena and Luke are still here. Do you have any siblings?”

You smile vaguely. “Four.”

“Wow,” Baela says. “Do you know where they are now?”

There is an interruption before you have to decide how to answer: a roaring high above in the sky, a remote mechanical growling. You and Baela both look up to see a jet zooming by, just below the steel grey cloud cover and leaving a trail of condensation behind it like a comet’s tail of eons-old cosmic dust. From where he is perched atop the Pacifica, Luke is pointing at the jet to show Rhaena. Aemond, Rio, Aegon, and Daeron come rocketing out of the house to find the source of the noise. After a moment, Helaena moseys onto the front porch as well, tucking flashlights and napkins into her burlap messenger bag. Meanwhile, Aegon is filling his pockets with packs of Marlboro Golds and orange prescription bottles labelled Percocet.

“Is that an airplane?!” Aegon gasps. “People are flying again?! Oh, we are back, baby! We are so back! I’m catching the next flight to SFO, peace out bitches, no more Oregon Trail for me!”

“It’s a jet,” Aemond says flatly. “Not a passenger carrier. Probably military.”

“Doesn’t look like one of ours.” Rio turns to you for confirmation.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Then who the fuck is up there?” Aegon says. “Canada? The U.K.?”

Rio sighs, ruffling Aegon’s already quite disheveled blonde hair. “Who knows, Honey Bun. Maybe it’s China or Russia swinging by to drop nukes on any survivors.”

“Fortunately, nobody’s going to waste a nuclear bomb on freaking Plymouth, Ohio,” Baela says, watching the jet vanish into the west, the droning of its engines replaced by the breeze through the sugar maples and sycamores, the screeching of cicadas and chirps of robins. “No luck finding the keys?”

Aemond frowns as he shakes his head, tapping his chin anxiously. He knows she can’t walk much farther.

“How do none of us know how to hotwire a car?” Aegon demands, exasperated.

Rio replies cheerfully: “Well, Chips and I have been diligently serving this glorious nation since we were eighteen years old, and you’re all clueless rich kids. So…I think that just about sums it up.”

“I need more arrows,” Daeron says, clutching his compound bow. All the ones he had are now speared through zombies along the river where Jace died. When you snuck away from the farm at dawn, Luke used his binoculars to check the shores; they were still swamped with zombies, even more than the night before. They are pack animals; alone, they are aimless and easily confounded, their memories calamitously short. As part of a group—if they were crows they’d be a murder, if they were camels they’d be a caravan—zombies attract and guide each other, moving symbiotically like planets and moons locked in orbit.

“I think you’re going to have to start making them the old fashioned way, kid,” Rio tells Daeron, accompanied by a rough pat of encouragement on the back.

“What, like with sticks?!”

“Yeah. Use a knife to carve one end to make it pointy and you’re good to go.”

“Love it. Very pioneer.” Aegon holds up a Sony Walkman, pink and covered with Disney stickers, Ava spelled out across the top in glittering rhinestones. “At least I found this. Helaena, do we have any more AA batteries?” She fishes around in her bag and hands him a pair.

Baela gapes at him, but she’s smiling. It’s horrible, it’s absurd, it’s something you can’t help but find a macabre humor in. “Aegon, you cannot use that poor eaten kid’s CD player. You know it’s haunted.”

Aegon sings like a jingle from a commercial: “Little Ava died, RIP. Now I get to listen to my CDs.”

“Oh, that is so fucked up!” Rio cackles.

You say, grinning: “Aegon, I’m really going to miss you when we’re all in heaven at the bowling alley made of clouds and you’re downstairs in the fiery version of the afterlife.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, Chipmunk. You’re the one who’s going to die without ever having an orgasm.”

“You don’t need a man for that, Aegon,” Baela says.

“You definitely don’t,” you agree. Aemond glances over at you, intrigued. You stare dauntlessly back. What? You said you weren’t interested. The corners of his lips curl up in a reticent smile; he looks down to try to hide it. He’s touching his chin again. His cheeks flush pink as his mind wanders.

Rio chuckles. “Oh yeah, I remember your little experimenting phase. Lots of trips to the Spencer’s in the Tysons Corner mall when we were stationed at Anacostia.”

You raise your eyebrows, though you’re not annoyed. “I thought you were never going to tell anybody about that.”

“It’s the end of the world, baby. No time to be shy.” Then Rio asks Aemond: “Since we’re here and it’s quiet, you want to go ahead and check every house that has a car with the fuel cap still closed? There are some minivans and SUVs down at the other end of the street. Even a few gallons of gas will take us farther than days on foot.”

Aegon adds, checking his map: “A half tank would get us all the way to Decatur, Indiana.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Aemond says. He offers Baela a hand and helps lift her to her feet. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the driveway with the black…what is that, a Honda Odyssey? You know the one, the van in front of the yellow house. Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“Yup!” Aegon agrees as he speeds off, racing Daeron to the house. Rio—not one for sprinting—jogs after them with his Remington in hand, ready to bash rotting skulls in at a moment’s notice. Baela toddles down to the Pacifica to tell Luke and Rhaena the plan, her periwinkle dress billowing in the wind; then they climb down to walk with her. Helaena floats across the sidewalk like a ghost, pausing to pick buttercups that grow up between the cracks in the cement.

Aemond has been waiting until the two of you are alone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” A few houses down, a female zombie—early-twenties, white bikini top, red Ohio State shorts—staggers across the yard and in her attempt to snag Aegon falls and impales herself on the white picket fence. She is suspended there, clawing and yowling, her blackening intestines and dark clotted blood staining the wood. Aegon takes his time getting into a stance and swings his golf club like he’s at a driving range. He hits her dead-on, caves the front of her face in, takes a few more shots just to be sure.

“I get what’s in Oregon for Rio,” Aemond says. “Sophie, the baby, his parents. But why are you going there?”

“Rio’s my best friend. He might be my only friend who’s still alive. And when we left Saratoga Springs, he made me promise that I wouldn’t let him die alone. So before anything else, I have to make sure he gets to Odessa and finds his family. And then I can figure out what’s next for me. But if it really is safe there, I don’t see why I’d leave. I’ve never wanted to be on my own. Maybe I can end up having a family in Oregon too.”

Aemond rests his elbows on the porch railing. He’s teasing you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still alive.”

You tease him back. He deserves it. “I’m not sure about you and me.”

“I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Would you?”

“Resoundingly.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He considers you. “You know, Kentucky might have been a good place for you to hide out. And it would be a lot closer than Oregon.”

You stand up, throwing on your backpack full of bullets for your Beretta M9s, beef jerky and peanut butter crackers and granola bars, lip balm, bottles of water, Kleenex tissues, Juicy Fruit, miscellaneous treasures from the road, practically worthless trinkets made so impossibly valuable. “We’re done here, right?”

Aemond is disappointed, though not with you. He has committed an error he cannot understand. “Yeah, we’re done.” He walks with you to the yellow house, your sneakers pounding in tandem on the sidewalk, squirrels and rabbits darting through the overgrown lawns, eastern tiger swallowtails swooping between blossoms.

Aegon says when you and Aemond arrive in the driveway, nodding to the once-attractive blonde zombie pawing and licking at the glass of the living room window: “Who wants to take care of Ryan Seacrest?”

“Got it,” Rio replies immediately. He kicks down the front door, macerates the zombie’s skull with the butt of his Remington, then sweeps through the kitchen and dining room searching for any other monsters in need of hasty euthanasia. He doesn’t find any. He drags the corpse outside to lessen the stench of decomposition and opens all the downstairs windows.

“Commence Operation Find The Minivan Keys,” Aegon says as he rummages through drawers and cabinets. Helaena joins him, seeking so delicately she is almost soundless, her large blue eyes flicking from place to place. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron stay outside to keep watch. Baela collapses into a recliner in one corner of the living room and is dozing within seconds.

“I’ll clear the upstairs,” Aemond volunteers, then asks you: “Watch my blind side?”

You can’t help but smile; it is a generous invitation. It is an honor. You shadow him up the staircase of olive green carpet, through the hallway, into each of the three bedrooms and one full bath. When you are certain it is safe—exploring the back of every closet, under every bed—you and Aemond begin searching for weapons and car keys. The main bedroom is like a forest: blankets pattered with trees and deer, wood furniture, paintings of the Battle of the Wilderness during the Civil War. You investigate every drawer of the nightstand and dresser, then go to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else is around, then closes the bedroom door. Your eyes track him quizzically, shy skittish optimism, your head tilted, your fingers finding the dresser behind you, cool rust-hued oak, a color like dried blood. You slip off your backpack. Then Aemond comes to you like a returning comet—once in a lifetime, once in an eon—and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, soft, careful, unhurried, then turning famished, sweltering incurable hunger. You lift yourself up onto the dresser; your thighs have parted, and Aemond is between them, still fully clothed and leaving yours in place too, so innocent, so spotless, and yet in your mind you are imagining what it would feel like to lie beneath him as he opens and fills you, to be so irredeemably close to another person, to watch and listen as he teaches you what to do.

Right here? Right now?

It suddenly strikes you as too soon; you want this but you aren’t ready. Your heart races, you can’t catch your breath. “I am obligated to make you aware that according to your own calculations, I am likely dangerously fertile at the moment.”

Aemond grins as he bites playfully at your lower lip. “Relax. We’re not rounding all the bases this time.”

His voice evaporates your panic, lulls your rushing blood. Your muscles turn to seamless rippling water. Your bones crave the weight of his. “Yeah, totally, good, that’s good. Just making sure.”

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

In reply, you unbutton your denim shorts and pull down the zipper, slowly, very slowly, your gaze linked with his like torn flesh stitched together. He’s close enough to kiss you again, but he doesn’t; he takes your chin gently and turns your face to the side, admiring the curve of your jaw. Then his lips are on your throat and his right hand is skimming down the front of your shirt, over your belly, under your shorts. You gasp—the foreignness of another’s hand here, the disorienting vulnerability—and Aemond stops.

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him, smiling. You kiss him deeply, your fingertips tracing his scar, the work of his careful, gifted hands. Aemond does not flinch away. He presses his face into your palm, offering himself fully, taking shelter in you. And everything other than him—this house, this world, this age, this westward journey, this apocalypse—goes quiet, quiet, quiet, like when you are shooting, like when you are hammering nails under the sun. Aemond makes everything horrifying disappear. It is the greatest sort of magic you can imagine.

“So,” he says. “What did you buy at Spencer’s?”

“Green Day t-shirts.”

“Sure.”

“And some, uh, battery-powered companionship.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s fingers are moving against you; it is increasingly difficult to respond to his questions. “Internal or external? Or both?”

“Oh, definitely…um…I stayed on the outside, mostly. I tried…oh wow, okay…inside a few times, but I didn’t get much out of it. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

“No problem. We’ll work up to that.”

“Will we?” You hope you don’t sound too desperate. The warm coiling pleasure is swelling, strengthening, begging to be released, loosed like an arrow or fired like a bullet. Aemond’s fingers slip through your wetness, circling and pressing down harder, insistently, masterfully. It feels different than using toys: it is more gradual, less sharp, helplessly overpowering.

“That’s my plan. If you’ll allow it.”

You exhale a threadbare ghost of a whimper against his throat and then reach for his shorts, fumbling blindly for the button and zipper.

“No, don’t do anything,” Aemond murmurs, soft and pleading, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you. Please let me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot right at the moment.” You’re close now, your breaths quick and panting. You throw your arms around the back of Aemond’s neck and fold into him, feeling the thudding pulse of his carotid artery beneath your fingertips, the softness of his lips and unscarred cheek as he nuzzles the side of your face. It’s so quiet, but there’s no need to fill the silence, no words, no uneasiness. You’ve always wondered what you would have to do to please a man, what premeditated motions and praises you would offer him, niceties, perhaps even lies. But this is effortless. The shimmering golden glow like sunlight is here, and he is the one drawing it out of you, water from a well, blood from a tapped vein. The only sound you make is a shuddering inhale, but Aemond knows immediately. He closes his eyes, relieved, proud, beaming, resting his forehead against yours.

He asks: “Can I try…?”

“Yes, do it, please, I want you to.”

Aemond’s hand shifts between your thighs, moves lower, and there is a sudden jolt of pain like a pinch, like a bite. You wince before you can think to disguise it. Immediately, Aemond retreats, kissing your lips and your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were incredible.”

You reach for his shorts again and unbutton them. “Show me what to do.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He takes a shaky breath, drags his tongue over the fingers he touched you with, moans so quietly you can barely hear him. He frees himself from his clothes: long and thick, harder than you believed flesh could be. Aemond grasps your hand and places it, demonstrates how to move and how much pressure to apply. Then his own hands drop to grip the edge of the dresser as you stroke him. You nip at his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear; you coax euphoric sighs from him, feel a high in your bloodstream like something illicit and lethal.

“I’ll be honest,” you say. “I have no idea how that’s ever going to fit inside me.”

Aemond chuckles, distracted. “Women stretch, just like men do. It might take time, but it will happen. And I’ll make sure it’s as good as it can be.”

“I want it to be you, Aemond,” you whisper, and you can feel him throbbing in your hand. “You and no one else. Teach me how to do everything.” Make the world go away.

He gasps as he finishes, a thunderous trembling all over, a gush of white heat that flows over your hand. Curious, you lift it to your mouth. “Don’t—!”

But he’s too late; you lick him from your palm and then recoil at the taste, pungent, bitter, salty.

Aemond laughs hysterically, kissing your mouth and then your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“I hope I taste better than that.”

“You definitely do.”

You peer up at him, dazed, dreamy. “I really like you, Aemond.”

“You can’t fall in love with me.” It is a taunt; it is a warning.

“If I do, I won’t let you know,” you promise. “You’re on first watch tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll stay up too.”

“Rio already volunteered to do it.”

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Aemond purrs, brushing your hair back from your face, marveling at you. “I can’t have you sleep deprived. You’re our best shot.”

“I can handle it.”

“You want to be honest with each other, you want to communicate? I like knowing you’re rested. I like knowing you’re safe.”

The door flies open with a bang; Aegon stands in the threshold. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank of gas!” he announces ecstatically, jangling car keys in the air. Then he registers what he’s looking at. “Come outside when you’re done fucking.” Aegon slams the door shut; you hear his Sperry Bahama sneakers drumming on the staircase.

“I guess we should go,” you say reluctantly, untangling yourself from Aemond and sliding down from the dresser.

“Wait.” He gets a water bottle out of your backpack, soaks a handful of Kleenex tissues, and gives them to you to clean yourself off. When you’re done, he wipes himself down too. “Make sure you always take a piss after any…activities. We don’t have antibiotics if you get a kidney infection.”

“I know, doctor. I’ve read Reddit threads.”

“Not a doctor. Just a lowly intern.”

“You seem like an anatomy expert to me,” you say, then head downstairs.

The black Honda Odyssey is idling as the last of the supplies are loaded, the windows down, Baela adjusting the driver’s seat so she can accommodate her belly. Everyone piles inside and she steers the minivan out of the driveway and onto Trux Street. Aegon pops one of his mixtapes into the CD player. The song that pipes through the speakers is Prayer In C:

“Yeah, you never said a word

You didn’t send me no letter

Don’t think I could forgive you…”

“So,” Baela says casually, grinning at you in the rearview mirror. “How was the sex?”

“Stop,” Aemond begs, his face going red, smiling involuntarily.

You say placidly: “I appreciate your interest, but that’s not what we were doing.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Do you know what sex looks like or not, dumbass?”

“They were doing something, okay! Those were not virginal activities!”

“See, our world is slowly dying

I’m not wasting no more time

Don’t think I could believe you…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and watch the abandoned houses pass by in a blur.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Odyssey arrives in Decatur, Indiana just a few hours before sunset, gas to spare and plenty of time to find a safe place to spend the night. You break into a house on the outskirts of the west side of the city: a rancher with a screened-in porch, beach décor, bowls of seashells on tables and spray-painted aluminum dolphins on the wall. Baela plummets into sleep immediately, sharing the largest bed with Rhaena and Luke. Helaena writes in her spider notebook for a while before curling up on the living room couch, Daeron sprawled on the floor beside her with a couch cushion for a pillow. Aegon is in what was once a child’s bedroom; you have the bedroom of a teenage girl, perhaps spirited away to friends or relatives in some other part of the country, perhaps dead, perhaps lurching around out in the night somewhere, mad and murderous. Everything is purple, the walls, the blankets, the stuffed animals that form a mountain on the other half of the bed.

You are exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your thoughts won’t stop racing, stop craving. Aemond and Rio are in rocking chairs out on the porch, keeping watch and working their way through the case of Sunny D they found in the kitchen pantry. You go out to join them, then stop at the screen door that separates the linoleum-floored dining room from the porch. They are discussing you. You sit, legs crossed, listening in the dim silvery light, stars and moon and nothing else.

Aemond is saying: “She doesn’t talk much about where she came from.”

Rio chuckles, a low baritone rumble. “She doesn’t talk much in general. But yeah, don’t expect any juicy revelations. That’s not how she does things.”

“Do you know what her life was like before?”

“I know some of it. I don’t know a lot.” Rio pauses; you can envision him shrugging and running his fingers through his dark curly hair, weighing what you would be okay with him sharing. “I know that when I met her, her mother was calling all the time telling her to send money home. And she’d do it, because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Then she never had cash for drinks or anything, I was always paying her way, and one day I was finally like ‘Chips, how much do you actually have in your account right now?’ because I figured she must be down real low. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the balance, she had like three bucks left until her next paycheck, and of course then her mother would be calling again. She sent tens of thousands of dollars home that disappeared, poof, gone, without a trace.”

Aemond sounds stunned. “What did they spend it on?”

“Who the fuck knows with those people. Lottery tickets and cigs, probably. Trips to Virginia Beach. Benny Hinn Bibles. And when she tried to hit the brakes, her mother and siblings got nasty, calling constantly and telling her how awful she was and that they were going to starve. I convinced her to stop picking up the phone, but it took forever. I think she knew by then she was going to have to cut them off if she didn’t want to end up back there, but she needed somebody to give her permission. That was my job. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to anyone from home in years. Hell, Sophie was her AOP.”

“AOP…?”

“Oh, sorry, Arrears of Pay. It’s the person you designate to get all your benefits if you die in the service. I guess she figured that if our base got bombed or our plane went down or something, at least it would end up with my family.”

Aemond is quiet, thirty seconds, a minute, maybe two. “Obviously my circumstances were a lot different. But I understand having to choose between other people’s expectations and yourself.”

“Why are you asking me all this?”

Another pause; silent thoughts under glimmering stars and the shrieks of short-lived summer cicadas. “She takes me out of this world for a while. She makes the guilt and the fear go quiet. I want to know everything about her.”

When Rio speaks, he is gentle, compassionate. “The hard truth is, the details aren’t my business. They aren’t yours either. When people enlist, they’re starting over. It’s a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It gets them away from home, but it also gets them away from whoever they were before.”

“She said something like that once. Back at Fort Indiantown Gap.”

“It’s a polite way of telling you to shut up.” You know from his voice that Rio is smiling. “If she wants to forget her old life, you have to let her. If you care about her, you’ll want her to be able to move on.”

“I care.”

“She likes you,” Rio says. “But you could still fuck it up. She’s good at finding reasons not to trust people.”

“It’s a bad way to live.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m the same way.”

There is quiet now, only the sounds of Sunny D being slurped and cicadas screaming through the darkness. You have intruded enough. You stand and walk back down the hallway, then remember something Aegon said outside a Burger King in Pennsylvania. You go to his bedroom, illuminated by a flashlight pointed towards the ceiling, casting long deformed shadows.

Aegon is lying on his back with his head hanging upside down over the side of the bed—dinosaur blankets, bright red and blue pillows—puffing on a cigarette and listening to his new CD player, previously Ava’s, with both earbuds in. Then he spots you. Still upside down, Aegon hits the pause button on his CD player and says: “Hey, Microchip.”

“What did you mean about people pretending to love you?”

He smirks, shrugs, takes a lazy drag off his Marlboro Gold. “Every friend I’ve ever had has used me for money, mansions, yachts. Every girl I’ve ever fucked has wanted something in return. Mother prefers Daeron, Grandfather prefers Helaena, Criston prefers Aemond, and Father prefers his real estate empire and his model ships. Can you imagine loving a miniature replica of the Titanic more than your own children?”

“No,” you say, honestly and with heavy, gore-red pity. “You shouldn’t have to go back to people who make you feel that way. I wouldn’t.”

Aegon takes another drag as he watches you. “Aemond mentioned you’re from Kentucky.”

“I am.”

“But you won’t be returning.”

“No.”

Aegon nods, like you’ve answered an important question. “Aemond talks about you a lot. It’s cute. It doesn’t make me sick like when he was with Alys. Playing her games, breaking himself in half to follow her rules.”

You peer down at your fingernails, short and functional and unglamorous. You don’t want to hear about the older woman who was his lover, his obsession, his cure, his venom. She was poisonous to him, surely, and yet she was experienced where you are uninitiated and unversed, she had a PhD to compare with your high school diploma. Surely in those seven years he shared moments with her that were divine. Surely even a curse is woven from magic.

“Anyway.” Aegon rolls over, props himself up on his elbows, and extinguishes his cigarette in an empty plastic Sunny D bottle. “I have no particular affinity for my old life or the beach house in California, but that’s where Aemond is going. And I have to be where he is. I have to make sure he’s alright, you know?”

Yes, you do know; that’s how you feel about Rio. “What’s it like? That house up on a cliff all by itself?”

Aegon grins, like he’s caught you in a mouthwateringly compromising position. “Why? You thinking about visiting someday?”

“Just wondering.”

He squirms over to one side of the bed to make room for you, popping in an earbud. “Come listen with me.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here!”

You cross the room and kick off your sneakers, climb onto the bed, lie down and take the other earbud that Aegon offers you. What you hear when you listen is Don McLean’s American Pie. “Oh, this is ancient.”

“It’s a classic. I wish I’d gotten to live through the 70s.”

“We’ll reinvent them when the world starts up again. Disco and lava lamps and shag carpets. We’ll shoot heroin and listen to vinyl records. Jimmy Carter can be president if he’s still alive.”

Aegon snickers, and then he sings along, hushed but surprisingly melodic, solemn, tender. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyebrows raised, nodding, beckoning for you to join him. You adamantly refuse. You don’t sing in front of anybody, not even Rio.

“I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I’d heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

Aegon shoves your shoulder. “I could be dead tomorrow. Don’t ignore me.”

Self-consciously, but smiling a little bit, you begin to sing with him, so softly you can barely hear yourself. Aegon is beaming, small even white teeth beneath sparkling eyes, a murky cool blue like storm clouds, like the ocean, waves lapping at the shores of Diego Garcia, the Gulf of Tadjoura off the east coast of Djibouti, Corpus Christi Bay, places you once never knew existed.

“And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction

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manicpixiefelix · 10 months ago

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 6.

Summary: Felix learns about what happened between you and Oliver at the club, and some jackass makes assumptions about you and Felix and your intentions towards Oliver. The interaction gets you worked up enough that you feel the need to repay Felix as when he'd defended you. With sex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; AFAB!reader, d/s dynamics, felix being a chatty brat, assume the reader is on birth control, unprotected sex.

A/N: 4782 words. cannot go two chapters without having a felix/reader moment it seems. bare with me i swear we get more oliver as it goes on, but he's just watching through the blinds right now and collecting information. also forgive me, not only is this unedited, it's also the first actual, explicit smut scene i've written in years, and even longer since i've been intimate with someone with a dick. i also dont read smut so this might be weird pacing wise at the end. honestly the smut is just a backdrop for character development. have at ye, and please lemme know what you think!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Summer creeps in almost insidiously, days getting longer and warmer, humidity forcing it's way into every single facet of your lives. Afternoons outside of classes are spent doing not much of anything, hoping that when night falls, the temperature will fall with it.

This afternoon is the coolest you've had in several weeks, laying on Felix's floor, listening to him play the guitar while Oliver was draped over the foot of his bed, gazing at Felix's bookshelf. There's a sweet breeze through the open window and you hum along to the tune you recognise your best friend playing, letting yourself soak in the moment.

The quiet spell breaks as Oliver moves, reaches out for something on Felix's bookshelf.

"That's cute," he muses, "baby Felix." It must be the photo of Felix and his childhood dog, the you'd only met once or twice as a kid before he'd passed, before you'd been properly friends. But Oliver puts the photo back almost as fast as he'd picked it up, "there aren't any pictures of me as a kid," he muses.

"You and Y/N have that in common," Felix says idly, surprising both you and Oliver, though for different reasons; you hadn't even realised he'd remembered that about you. Your vapid, jet-setting, philanthropist parents had always been incredibly image conscious, and a child was never part of that image. Born out of obligation to their own parents to produce a grandchild to make eventual inheritance easier, they longed to distance themselves from the very idea of you unless they desperately needed to.

And they hadn't for as long as you've been alive.

"If there were baby photos of me, that'd prove that my parents had a child," you laughed, but there was no real humour in it, "and none of us wants that."

The invisible heir.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Oliver says faintly, an unfamiliar, unreadable look in his eyes as he gazes over at you. You give a blithe shrug.

"It means I got to find a home in Felix," you say easily, the wording sappy enough to make Felix himself laugh.

"You're such a sap, that's so much nicer than what I was going to say."

"Go on then, out with it," you prompted him, despite his faint, playful protest.

"I was going to call you another ward of the Saltburn Estate," Felix grins at you, "for better or worse."

"At least you had a family who loved you," Oliver turns away again, pressing his cheek to the duvet as his gaze focused back on the photo of Felix and his dog, "even if they weren't yours." There's a distinct discomfort in the air now, a reminder of how vastly Oliver's life differs from your own.

"I was lucky in a lot of ways," is all you can think to say. Felix starts playing guitar again.

These long days turn into long nights, parties, girls and boys and everyone in between, hazy chats and drinking games and hands on you - holding you, dancing with you, brushing past, tapping with excitement, always hands on you. The quiet way Oliver goes through these strange situations may be read as awkward to everyone else, but you're no longer under any such illusions.

"You're desperate to feel needed."

There was no hesitation in his voice the other night, his hands on you, his mouth on you.

"Then need me, want me."

How easily he'd made you flustered in the club, you didn't realise he had it in him. Honestly if you hadn't experienced it yourself, you wouldn't believe it if someone else had told you. There's been a change, however, a subtle, unnoticeable one to anyone looking in from the outside. Every so often, on nights out, you'll catch him watching you with that same hungry look in his eyes, but will never act on it, however much you wish he would.

"I do, but not like this, not now."

What the fuck was he playing at? You never knew how to bring it up, even when you were alone together. But he never stopped reached out for you, he never shied away from your touch. Apart from this one thing, it was the exact same as before.

If only that one thing didn't have the potential to change everything.

"Has Ollie seemed any different to you lately?" You go to the only person you know you can trust with this. Felix frowns at his hand of cards for a long moment before looking back up at you.

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"Ollie," you go a little slower, rearranging your own hand of cards, "does he seem... I don't know, different to you?" Then, as Felix was considering, "got any fives?"

"Go fish." You should both be studying for an upcoming exam.

"What do you mean? Has anyone said anything to you?" Felix momentarily put down his cards to relight his cigarette, fixing you with an intense gaze, "did something happen?"

"Did someone say something to you?" You pivot for the moment, still looking at your cards.

"Annabel."

"Annabel?"

"About her birthday thing."

"Are you taking your turn or what?"

"Oh, right," he's still frowning, picking up his cards with his free hand, "threes?" You swear as you hand over two threes, as he quietly cheers.

"Anyways, what about Annabel's birthday thing? Does she has a problem with Ollie?" At your question, Felix ums and ahs, and avoids eye contact, "yes then?"

"No-one else in the group is a huge fan of him," he even sounds guilty admitting it out loud, "everyone else can kind of feel how out of place he is and it makes things awkward. I know we think he's lovely," Felix tried to quickly placate you, or perhaps his own conscience, "but the man's got zero chat." This does, however, make you snort.

"Ollie's got chat," you smirk down at your cards, only realising what you'd said when you're met with a shocked silence. Looking up, Felix is staring at you with utter surprise.

"Does he now?" He sounds downright scandalised. You can feel yourself growing flustered, both under Felix's delighted, intrigued gaze, and at your own memories from the club, "so something did happen?"

"Nothing happened!"

"Something definitely happened!"

"I didn't fuck him."

"Between nothing and fucking there's a whole lot of somethings that could have happened," card game completely forgotten, Felix is enraptured as you begin to briefly explain the interaction at the club -

"- and well then, he starts calling me out while aggressively making out with me," you take a deep, final breath, finally looking Felix in the eyes, "and I desperately wanted to fuck him because of it." You sigh, and give Felix plenty of time to process the story and recover.

"But you didn't?" Finally, he speaks, and you groaned, throwing your head back to look at the stars.

"No," you sulked, "he disappeared into the crowd and I had to get myself off twice before I could sleep that night. Fucking tease," but you're heart's not really mad at Oliver.

"Always fascinated to learn what turns you on," Felix is desperately trying to hold in his laughter. It's not working, "many of them baffle me."

"That's not the point here, Fi," you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the gravel roof finally, laying back. You hear the pebbles shifting, and moments later Felix joins you, hands behind his head, "I don't know how to talk about it with him," you say softly. Then, tone much lighter, "and it doesn't surprise me that Annabel thinks he has no chat, he just doesn't want to fuck her, and she can't fathom a world where anyone doesn't want her."

Felix laughs, but unfortunately isn't able to offer any real advice to you about your Oliver situation.

Oliver Quick was an anomaly in your life, you should maybe have suspected his friendship to bring on further anomalous occurrences.

"Leave Oliver Quick alone," like the voice in the library that greets you harshly whilst you're hunting down a textbook. Spinning to see who it is, you lay eyes on a blonde man in dreadfully practical clothes; he's glaring at you like you've done him some personal offense.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says sharply, gaze as unwavering as his tone, "you vapid -" he stops himself for a moment, face turning red with anger, "pricks," he settles on, "leave Oliver Quick alone, for his sake."

"Is this a joke?"

"Oh I'm not one for jokes, especially not with the likes of you; I know how you and Mister Catton operate. Selfish," he hissed.

"Do I know you?" Its genuine confusion, and for a moment the man's expression turned annoyed, his righteous indignation turning to faint disappointment as you refused to take him and his request seriously.

"Michael," like it should mean something to you, "Michael Gavey;" still nothing, "I was in the year below you at high school for four years."

"Well, Michael," you start slowly, bordering on condescending, "Ollie's a big boy -"

"I know you; you'll get bored, you two always do," Michael cuts you off with a sneer, some of that anger from just earlier returning, "he deserves more than to be a footnote in your frivolous little lives."

"Fuck off, Mikey." You say it as a warning.

"Michael," he corrects through gritted teeth, "Felix is a slag, which makes you the sensible one, so I thought you'd actually listen -" but the realisation hits you, right as you start to see red.

"You've already tried talking to Ollie," immediately, your tone ices over, humourless, cruel little smile twisting the edges of your lips. Noticing your change in demeanour, the fight seems to drain out of Michael before your very eyes, "and he ignored you, didn't he?" You asked, already knowing the answer from the way he was trying to stammer through an answer.

"Now, Michael," you tell him with a poisonous smile, taking even, measured steps towards him, as you turn his name over on your tongue with as much malice as you can manage, "Michael Gavey, I think I do know you," you're playing with your food, drawing out his discomfort with every slow word; you weren't cruel by nature, not unless someone found which button to press, "first year," you drop your voice low as you get into his space. He starts to shrink backwards, but you're practically on his toes until you're crowding him against the bookshelf, "math genius, shouts in the dining hall -"

"I didn't- just once-"

"If you ever," there's a furious look in your eyes behind your sinister smile as you stand toe-to-toe with Michael, "and I mean fucking ever, breathe the word slag in Felix's direction, or any other insult for that matter," you wet your lips, "I promise the only job you will ever get for the rest of your life will be that of a high school English tutor," you pet his cheek condescendingly, "for students with dyscalculia."

Michael actually shudders.

"You know I can do it too, don't you?" You press, and he nods, looking both furious and ashamed where he can't look you in the eyes, "we went to high school together, Mikey, I know where you came from, I can dictate where you will go." Stepping back, you clear your throat. Nodding to him, you turn on your heel to head further into the library, to continue searching for your book.

Trying to move past it doesn't work, it still irks you, you still can't stop thinking about his weaselly little face, the bitter sneer he wore, and the cruelty with which he spoke about you and Felix. It haunts you. The audacity.

Textbook in hand, you immediately head for the patch of greenery and trees near Oliver's dorm, where you know Felix and the rest of your friends will all be spending their afternoon.

"Ooh~ Y/N coming in hot," Farleigh called, spotting the metaphorical cloud of thunder above you before anyone else.

"What are you doing now?" Ignoring everyone else, you only have eyes for Felix. He grins up at you from where he was using Farleigh's thigh as a pillow.

"I assume whatever it is you're about to ask of me," he says blithely, while the others watch the interaction with amusement.

"I need to rant," was all you said, and Felix held out his hand for you to help him up.

"You're so sexy when you're angry," he says teasingly for the whole group to hear, "has anyone ever told you that?"

"I'm not kidding," you scowl, and his grin widens.

"I know, that's the best part, I could listen to you yell for hours, I usually never get to hear it." The banter continues on the way back to your dorm. The others know it's probably a cover, though none of them, apart from Farleigh of course, know the truth. Most assume you're moments from a breakdown and would like to have your best friend there for support.

The minute you're back in your room, you slam the door shut and toss the textbook to the side. Felix asks you what's wrong, tone still light, and you can feel that protective anger flaring up in you.

Slag.

"If you don't hold me back I might start getting into scraps," you tells him with seriousness, stalking up to him with intent, planting an almost bruising kiss on his lips as you fumble with the buttons of your shirt. It's not often that you're the one getting riled up; Felix is more than enthusiastic.

"Don't fight on my behalf," he laughs, frantically pulling off his sweater. Pausing for a moment to help him with the pullover, the minute it's off and tossed to the side, you're unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as best your able, as he's trying to tug your shirt off in the chaos. The two of you are moving to the bed, and he actually gasps when the back of his legs hit, when you take a beat to raise your eyebrows at him, silently asking permission.

He's already letting himself fall back with a wicked, delighted grin as your hand finds his bare chest.

Then he's breathless, with you braced over him, gazing down at him with a furious determination that you don't usually allow yourself to build up. Felix looks up at you with pure extasy in his eyes, like you hang the stars in the sky. His hands on your ass, his grip is firm and secure, but he doesn't move; he's letting you lead.

"Felix Catton, I ruin lives for you," you practically snarl; a breathy laugh escapes him, caught up in the moment, in the mood that's been building within you, "doesn't feel like enough sometimes -"

"You're so fucking hot," he groans like he can't even help himself, can't hold himself back, can't help but close the gap to your lips, kissing you with that same intensity you're giving him.

"If I hear-" you punctuate your words with rough kisses, "another word-" biting at his lips, "against you, I'm -" fumbling with his belt, "I'm gonna start cutting people -"

"Yeah?" Felix prompts breathlessly with a sharp grin, not even waiting to get your fly all the way down before his hand is in your pants, fingers at an awkward angle in your jeans but still finding your clit. It's like you're feeling everything tenfold with the earlier outrage still burning in your veins -

Vapid pricks. The likes of you. Slag. Watching Felix's hands on the girl in the club. The venom in his voice and fury in his eyes when he'd pinned Farleigh to the wall to defend you - Our Felix; Oliver's voice like honey in your ears, tempting that jealous creature in your chest that you'd gone for years ignoring -

"My Felix," you'd purred as your hand found his cock. For a moment, his breath came out as a stutter, eyes going wide as they meets yours. He looks almost incredulous, then, after a moment, hungry, wanting. It's captivating; he's captivating, like he's desperate to devour every part of this moment and you in it, barely holding himself back.

"One more time for me?" He requests, voice low and pleased, before he changes tactics, indicating for both of you to actually take off your pants.

"Everyone's fucking wrong about you," you tell him, kicking your jeans to the side, watching for a moment as he shimmies with his jeans, looking like he's made of ninety percent limbs. Still, your intensity holds.

"Even the people that like me?" Felix laughs, finally getting himself free of the jeans. Before he can remove his boxers, however, you're on him once more, thumbs hooking into the waistband and pulling them down slowly as you speak.

"Everyone else has these versions of you in their head," you begin to plant kisses along his inner thigh as you work your way up, looking up at him through your lashes, "where you're either an angel who can do no wrong," Felix is already hard when you begin to slowly work your hand up and down the shaft of his cock, "or the absolute devil who's a scourge on the female population," your lip curls for a moment, a derisive kind of amusement at their imagined expense.

"I can't look at you right now," he half chokes out, head falling back against your duvet, "fuck," he gasps. It's enough to bring you back to the moment, and you apologise -

"No, fuck, don't stop anything; the ranting, the -" he gestures to where your movements had slowed briefly, "any of it, I just literally," he laughs a little awkwardly, almost a little self-deprecatingly, "will not last more than a minute if I look at you right now."

Oh.

Oh! This is good!

"What's so different," he prompts through shaky breathes - you can't quite believe how much he's effected by you in this moment, how enthusiastically, how desperately he responds to your dominant intensity - "about the version of me in your head?"

After a beat, you climb off of him, already reaching for your drawer.

"Everything okay?" He asks, eyes opening as he tilts his head to look at you. Pulling out a tube of lube, you focus on opening it up, rather than Felix himself. You should be using protection, you know you should be using protection, but you want to feel all of him, only him.

"I can't talk with my mouth full," you told him, still maintaining that steely intensity, "so we're skipping foreplay." Felix, immediately understanding where you were going with all this, looks back up at the ceiling with a wide smile.

"Fine by me; right now I'm inclined to say that you can do whatever you want forever, honestly - cold!" He announced with shock, jerking up a little as you glided a generous amount of lubricant over his cock. There's a faint look of betray in his eyes, but you just gave him a thin, mean smile.

"Felix, stop talking."

The commanding tone is enough to get him back on board, groaning, arching into your touch as you once again were working his shaft, now so slick your hand glided easily up and down the impressive length.

"My Felix," voice once again low, you use some of the excess lubricant on yourself. Since leaving the library, however, your anger had known it's outlet; just the idea of fucking Felix in a righteous fury had gotten you going, and you were already wet, wanting, desperate for him.

"Don't make me beg," he all but whimpered as you finally straddled his thighs, "fuck, I'll do it for you, but -"

"Shut. Up. Felix." You leaned down, chest pressed to his lips inches from his, whispering, "I won't make you beg," as you sink down onto his cock, swallowing his moan with a kiss.

"I am under no illusions about you, Felix," you begin to murmur, hips rolling at a deep, consistent rhythm, "I don't have a version of you in my head, I just have you; I just want you, as you are."

Pace picking up, you sit, rake your nails lightly down his chest, watch as he pants and groans beneath you. When he holds your hips, your thighs, you can feels his nails digging in, burying himself deep inside of you with each rhythmic thrust. There's something primal and triumphant roaring in your chest, pushing you to sink your nails into him, your teeth -

"I don't care who you fuck," you tell him through gritted teeth, picking up your pace, thighs burning.

"You're a fucking liar," tumbles from Felix's lips as he looks up at you with a smirk.

"I don't, I'd be a hypocrite -" very suddenly, Felix sits up, and you go still with him still inside of you, adjusting to the change, wrapping your legs around him.

"Then you're a hypocrite," he smirks, gaze hazy, heady, euphoric in this moment, "and a liar," and he wraps his arms around you as he kisses you, pulling you back with him as he lays back down on the bed.

"I'm not jealous," you start again, softer this time, but still aiming for stern.

"I'll say I believe you," there's mischief in Felix's eyes as his hand snakes between the two of you, fingers rubbing circles against your clit as you pick your rhythm back up again, slower this time.

"Fi," for the first time all afternoon, your voice softens, and you let your stern demeanour break, instead looking over him, glowing with sweat and endorphins, in your bed, in you, looking up at you with nothing but love in his eyes, "I don't care if nobody knows it's me, but -" you wet your lips, wicked little smile on your lips, "I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Something about your words, your request, perhaps your tone, sets him off again; you rake your nails lightly down his chest again and he arches up, swearing, almost breathless.

"Yes, fuck, yes," comes out alongside a breathless moan, "my Y/N, anything you want - please."

You paint him blue and purple and the deepest, prettiest red with hickeys, leaving him looking absolutely scandalous. Of course he returns the favour in the form of scratch marks up your back and his teeth almost drawing blood from your shoulder. When he comes it's with your mouth on his neck and his cock deep inside of you, holding you close, holding you steady, whispering incoherent praise into your ear. Always diligent, he doesn't move, doesn't pull out or away from you before his focus is on you, making sure you get off, delighting in watching you unravel on top of him.

In the afterglow, amid the sharing of a cigarette and catching of your breath, you apologise softly.

"What are you apologising for?" He immediately cracks a grin, "in fact, any time you ever start to get all worked up and mean like that, have me on speed dial -"

"I - no, Fi," you sighed, amused at his suggestion, though it was fading fast, "I just... try not to be jealous," there's faint notes of guilt now that you've come down from the adrenaline and endorphins of it all. Sitting against the headboard, you draw your knees up to your chest.

"I know," Felix says easily, sitting up beside you, resting his head against your shoulder, his hand on your knee, "I try too... I don't think I'm always that great at hiding it." Then, after a moment, his tone lightens, "I think this is why I don't want to tell people about us, I don't think I could begin to explain it in a way that makes sense." It gets you to laugh, leaning into him, tension and guilt easing.

"I thought it was the rush of sneaking around and lying to people."

"There's that too," he agreed with a chuckle. The two of you fall into easy silence as he takes a drag on the cigarette and hands it over. The afternoon is sticky-hot, especially in your room, curtains still half open but window shut. As you go to open it, not caring about potential onlookers in the twilight, past the sliver of your curtain, Felix speaks up.

"There's no version of me in your head? Not even a little bit rose-coloured-glasses tinted?" He grins at you, and you lay out on the bed, looking up at him through your lashes. After a moment of simply taking the moment in, you shake your head with a soft smile.

"I told you, I'm under no illusions about you, Fi."

"I think you're too good to me for that to be true."

"I want you as you are, dude," you shrug, as if it's the easiest truth in the world.

"As I am?" He wants to be sceptical but his tone and the look in his eyes betrays him. You've never heard him quite so soft you think, eyes wide and glassy and full of conflict and love; everyone wants him, everyone loves him, everyone wants to be him or be with him, he's reckoned with his reality a long time ago, even if he wasn't entirely conscious of it. Felix's life had been picked apart by everyone around him at the surface level for as long as he could remember, perhaps he'd thought that no-one would ever care to look deeper. Perhaps he'd gotten so used to it that he'd forgotten there was anything deeper.

"I want the Felix who can't keep a girlfriend for more than two months, and who's cheated on every single one of them with me," you start, wearing a grin despite his sudden frown, "I want the Felix who hugs and kisses strangers after just meeting them because he's bursting at the seams with affection, I want the Felix who won't admit that he sleeps better with someone next to him at night, and the Felix who recaps the books he's been reading to me like they're gossip. The Felix who uses people, and breaks hearts, who says he doesn't know he's doing it but I know you do," you laugh, sitting up on your knees and letting the blankets slide down your back as Felix looks up at you now with a fond kind of reverence, "I want the Felix that lights up every room he's in without even trying, who makes everyone around him feel like they're the only person in the world, and that same Felix who still shifts over, mid conversation with someone else, for me to sit down beside him without having to even ask, because you know we'll always come back to each other," you lean down, lips inches from his, burning intensity in your gaze as you take in the reverence in his eyes, "the Fi who fights for me, the Fi who loves that I'd ruin lives for him, my Felix -" You see the moment he can no longer hold himself back, arcing forward, moving from the headboard to be by you, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. For a long moment it's your mouth fitting perfectly against his, faint, desperate groan being pulled from the back of his throat as he takes your face in his hands, firm, warm, wanting, deepening the kiss.

"Some of those things were pretty shit," he laughed a little self consciously after the kiss breaks, both of you breathing heavy. In his eyes you can see the barest hint of conflict.

"People have said worse."

"And you got them expelled," he reminded with a faint smile, but again there's that conflict, "and they aren't you."

"You're my best mate," you laugh easily, "that shit, the good and the less good, makes you my Felix. Be pretty shit of me to want to chop and change who you are, you know?"

For a very long moment, you watch the way he slowly begins to smile, to take all your saying in drinking in this sun-drenched moment. Reaching out, he carefully touches your cheek.

"Say it again then," he prompts, sounding almost giddy, feather-light touches as if mapping your delicate features in this moment. For a brief second you're confused, barely angling your head to indicate as such before you can see his faint blush beneath his golden skin, creeping up his cheeks. When he laughs, almost self conscious, you realise, and grin back.

"You're a sap."

"Don't make me beg."

"My Felix."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #head heart hand fic #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #manic writer

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aster-oid · 5 months ago

Text

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red.

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!"

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut.

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life.

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall.

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!"

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes.

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention."

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day."

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it.

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again.

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned.

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up.

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was...

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams.

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust.

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles. It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram—"

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?"

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away!

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense."

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought.

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers.

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl.

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to."

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation.

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible."

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent?

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate.

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word.

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?"

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories."

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!"

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow.

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing.

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!"

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks.

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified.

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?"

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat.

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable.

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself.

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him.

"If you say so."

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge.

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change.

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened.

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago.

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?"

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me."

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side. He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects.

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze.

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest.

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life.

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

#scaramouche x reader #platonic genshin x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gender neutral reader #scaramouche #Wanderer #genshin fanfic #Platonic genshin impact #Platonic genshin

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pearlywritings · 2 years ago

Text

The birth of the Dawn and the Dusk

synopsis: You planned your husband’s birthday months ago and even so something happens to not go according to the script.

pairing and characters: Diluc x fem!reader, your twin sons Rufus and Lucas, Alberich family (Kaeya, his wife and daughter Callie), Adelinde

tw: established relatioships, domestic moment, pregnancy stuff, fluff, a little bit hurt/comfort

word count: 10.8k+ words

author’s note: so late for my man’s birthday,,, But I am happy this one is finally out! Also there is a surprise at the end of the fic~ Hope you’ll enjoy everything!!!

Family AU masterlist

You feel so tired. Body aches and eyes hurt - you barely managed to fall asleep tonight, keeping your husband awake too to coax you into a state of slumber. This also added emotional stress, the clawing guilt for depriving him of sleep right before such a meaningful and happy day, but the man kept lovingly reassuring you that he didn't mind and would support and comfort you always, especially now, when you are so vulnerable, just days away from welcoming your baby into this world.

Diluc was nothing but a saint throughout both of your pregnancies. However, while the first one was challenging for him too, because he was worried about the new role he'd have to fulfill and if he'd do it successfully, this one was easier on his end, so he channeled all his energy to you, being there for every step and every time you got overwhelmed, which, at first, happened way too often. Your other two kids used to be all over you asking questions about their unborn sibling, and while you love your angels to death, you truly do, - your hormones and their vigor sometimes created a bad mix. Luckily, it quickly got better, because Diluc took his time to explain to your boys why their mommy might be emotional or look really really tired, and that she isn't upset with them and they need to be more careful around her. After that, the three of them became your anchor, with boys cuddling to you quietly to soothe and console you every opportunity they had, and Diluc arranging everything for your utmost comfort.

With all of this you were determined to make this year's celebration of his birthday as amazing as every other you two shared. You weren't sure if you would have given birth already or still heavily pregnant when the 30th of April came, but you knew that in any outcome you'd be too exhausted to arrange anything. That is why you started your meticulous planning half-way into your pregnancy. Everything was a secret from Diluc, just as always, and he oh so tenderly smiled, whenever you tried to hide the notes you were making, only teasing you by stepping closer and hugging you from behind. But he was a fair man, he never glanced at your scribbles and plans, only burying his face in your hair and asking to stay like this with you and the baby for a little bit. It actually helped you to concentrate a little bit better.

In March the final version of your plan was already passed to the maids who'd be responsible for organizing and decorating, and you couldn't help but feel pride when they giggled and excitedly murmured upon checking your instructions. You did a great job.

But you must've also done something bad, if whatever gods of fertility above made it their goal to mess with your sleep schedule - the baby is way too active, keeping you awake at an ungodly hour, just like tonight. So exhausting…

You can feel movements behind your back and a moment later a pleasant warmth is spreading all over your stomach and back. A soft whine escapes your lips, but it’s quickly shushed by a quiet murmur next to your ear.

“Shh… My flame, it’s okay, I got you…” You hug a pillow in front of you tighter, burying your face in it, letting your husband cuddle to your back, keeping his palm spread over your bump. He always knows when the baby gets cranky, sometimes even before you feel it, ready to calm down both of you with the help of his presence and vision.

Pretty soon you feel comfy again, surrounded by pillows and a literal heater of a man, who peppers soft kisses along your bare shoulder. His heavy bangs tickle your skin, prompting the corner of your lips to twitch in a shadow of a smile; an arm, wrapped around your middle, doesn’t put any weight on your waist, perfectly controlled by sheer strength of its owner; his whole body becomes support to your back instead of a long pillow he removed previously to take its place and he playfully nudges your feet when you attempt to tangle your legs with his.. Oh, you love this man.

Suddenly a loud noise from the outside worms its way into your lulled conscience, and you flinch. Slowly your eyelids slide open and you groan quietly, ears catching a dissatisfied huff from the male beside you.

“I told them to be careful…” Diluc grumbles under his breath, but doesn’t leave his spot next to you, only lifting his hand slightly and starting to rub your stomach in soothing circles.

“Mmm… What time is it?” Pushing the pillow away you rub at your eyes, yawning. Your husband cranes his neck to look at the wall behind and hums.

“A little past ten.”

“Ten..? Oh no…” With a pout you kick some other pillows (and accidentally his legs) too, stifling another yawn with your hand. “I was supposed to wake up earlier for your special day… I am sorry I slept for so long.”

“Nonsense,” he digs his elbow in a mattress and lifts his upper body to reach for your cheek, smothering it with pecks. “You are nine months pregnant, my love. I would’ve let you sleep all day long, if I didn’t know you worked hard to make today exceptional for me.”

“Oh…” You sigh, finally blinking the sleep, that was clinging to your eyelids, off and throw an arm behind you, rolling your back a little, practically placing yourself on your husband, stretching with a content noise. Diluc sees an opportunity to wrap both arms around you, and carefully draw you even more on top of himself, face hidden in the side of your neck.

“Archons, you are pretty,” the heat engulfs your heart, born from his adoring tone, and spreads in tender waves through your whole being.

“Don’t you dare say having me in your arms is enough of a present for you,” your chiding makes him smile and shake his head.

“As much as that’s true, I won’t, for your sake,” you squint like a cat under the sun, when he places a kiss under your jaw. “Are you ready to get out of bed? Half an hour ago when I came downstairs, and immediately got kicked out by Adelinde, I managed to catch a glimpse of Kaeya and our sons. I am sure Callie and her mom have joined them by now too.”

“Oh, that’s great!” You widely smile, sleep forgotten as if the need in it was always non-existent. “Yes, I want to start getting ready. Please, help me, ‘luc.”

“With greatest pleasure.”

Letting the Alberich family spend the night was one of your greatest decisions made in preparations for Diluc’s birthday. There is no way to guess when throughout the day you might feel light-headed or tired, so them being at the Winery from the very morning till the very evening increases the chances to get an opportunity when all of you can enjoy the celebration together.

When you descend down the stairs, with Diluc practically glued to your sight, holding your arm to support, Kaeya’s face is the first one you spot among the others. He looks absolutely cozy with his pajama-like-looking pants, matching shirt and a knee-long robe, hanging on his shoulders untied. His face lights up with a smile, when his eye lands on you two, and he hands one of the maids nearby the box he’s been holding previously.

“Aren’t these our dear birthday boy and his lovely wife?” His voice is smooth, never lacking his ever-present teasing lilt, as he makes his way to you.

“Don’t make it look like you see me for the first time today,” Diluc grumbles, letting go of your hand, so you could give your brother-in-law a side hug.

“Oh? I am sorry, Diluc, but could I really tell Adelinde not to kick you out? My charms do not work on this amazing woman.”

“Because this woman raised you and is immune to said charms,” the woman in question appears behind the Cavalry Captain, with a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Come on, go help your wife - I don’t doubt she is skilled, but three kids are still a handful.”

“Haha, aren’t you subtle? If I didn’t know how much you adore me, I’d say you are kicking me out,” the star-shaped pupil twinkles with concealed merit, to which the head maid tenderly scoffs.

“Gotta make it even between the brothers,” she teases him back, and he gasps in pretense hurt, to which Diluc rolls his eyes, but a smug-looking smile doesn’t escape your sight.

“Sure, sure,” Kaeya jerks his chin up, still faking the offense, and turns around to leave. The woman shakes her head at his antics, short blond hair gently swaying, complimenting the fond look on her face. With one of her boys gone, she devotes her attention to the other, smiling apologetically.

“I am sorry for shoving you out the way I did, Master Diluc, but Lady Y/n really wanted to be here when you came to witness what she had planned for you. I hope you can forgive me for forbidding you from the first floor of your own house.”

“I can never be mad at you,” Diluc’s lips form a small smile as well, and he steps closer, gingerly embracing her. “After all, you raised me too.”

The older woman chuckles, patting his back, and your gaze softens. Every year you get lucky to see this display of special motherly affection, the one where you get sad a little, because your child grows older, further and further from the little boy you used to know and take care of, but you still are so happy for how far he managed to come. That’s what Adlinde’s face tells you every single year, those are the tears of joy that are brimming her summer-green eyes.

“Adelinde,” you softly call and she glances at you, with her arms still wrapped around her master’s, her kid’s broad back. “I haven’t had an opportunity to congratulate my husband yet, would you like to be the first this year?”

Vibrant eyes slightly widen, and then unspoken affection swirls in them.

“Thank you,” your heart skips a beat, crumbling under the sincerest gratitude the woman offers you for simply giving her such an opportunity.

She turns to Diluc again, and a small, delicate hand reaches up to brush away the fiery bangs that got even wilder as the man got older. A thumb runs over his cheekbone, feeling a small scar underneath, remembering, comparing to the pouty rosy cheek of a little boy, who used to cling to her skirt and seek her attention and advice, with that adorable sparkle in his warm ruby eyes and a wide grin with a tooth missing. Now a tall man is standing in front of her, who suffered many losses and hardships she couldn’t possibly protect him from, but who eventually found his happiness and found it in himself to fully enjoy it.

And that’s all she ever wished for him.

“Happy birthday, my boy,” her voice trembles with emotions, but she manages to get a hold of herself. The other hand comes to cup his other cheek and tilt his head down, so, standing on her toes, she could place a lingering kiss to his forehead. “Happy thirty eighth year of your life, my dawn. I am so proud of how far you’ve come and I wish for nothing more, but for your happiness to grow. I know your father would tell you the same.”

Oh, Archons. That last phrase made you emotional, hitting your poor heart even harder than the tender exchange between the two. And seeing the look on your husband’s face, the quiet hitch of his breath, the slight tremble of his lower lip and unspoken yearning in his flaming eyes, you have to silently excuse yourself from the scene, too scared to ruin the moment by your very possible waterworks. You’ll let the two have their moment, meanwhile you can see what your sons and brother-in-law’s family is up to.

You find the five of them in a separate room, which was long ago reconstructed and redecorated into something akin to a living room (additional wall was added to divide the hall part from this space to grant you and kids privacy if any partner of Diluc stopped by to discuss the matters with either him or Elzer). Both boys and the girl are sitting on the carpet-covered floor, vigorously discussing something - you even catch the pieces of the argument they’ve been having for months. Ever since the twins’ father agreed to consider getting them a dog, they and their older cousin could not shut up about what name the creature should have. At first it was cute, now it’s the reason for a headache, when the three of them cannot reach an agreement.

But the childish debate is quickly tuned out when you recognize the adorable new two-piece indoor outfits you purchased specifically for today. Your older son has the sleeves of his orange pullover rolled while he wildly gesticulates, the usual unruly mass of his untied hair swaying from side to side like a flame turned upside down. Lucas on the other hand has his cheek supported by his fist with an elbow digging in his knee, clad in yellow pants, and watches his brother and cousin with an 'I am so done with them' look, so uncommon for a six-year old, that it almost makes you snort. Callie, wearing similar in style pants and pullover, but sharing a pretty blue color with her father, is actively arguing with Rufus, however there is something different from the redhead's pure decisiveness. There are clearly some hints of Kaeya's mannerism, especially that quirk of her lips. What a cheeky twelve-year old.

“Y/n!”

Your attention is quickly drawn to the smiling woman, who is rising from the couch she’s been sharing with her husband just seconds ago. Mirroring her smile, you swiftly rub your eyes, getting rid of happy tears, caused by a scene at the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you okay?” Concern is laced in your friend’s tone, as she walks to you and puts her palms on your elbows in a comforting gesture. You only shake your head, making a small step closer, so you can give her a hug.

“Yeah, yeah, I am good, don’t worry. Just saw something very heart-warming.”

“Oh, alright,” she sighs in relief. “Are you hungry?"

Good question, actually. You concentrate on what your body feels and craves, softly rubbing your belly. No, still only the aching and ever-present fatigue.

"Not necessarily, but if you all haven't eaten yet, we can do it now. Diluc should soon join us, and after breakfast we can start our stay-inside party."

Your friend nods in agreement, squeezing your elbows affectionately, and then turns to look at the three kids still sitting on the floor, so engrossed in their conversation that they seem to not have even noticed you enter.

"Hey, kids,” only Lucas perks up at his aunt’s call, while Rufus and Callie keep arguing, ignoring everything around them. “Kids,” is said firmer, but still to no avail. As the younger twin gets up from the floor, you share a knowing look with the woman.

“Callie Alberich.”

“Rufus Ragnvindr.”

And as if by magic the conversation is cut short, two sets of worried eyes staring back at the unamused-looking moms.

“Good, we finally have your attention,” Mrs Alberich hums, taking your hand and leading you to the armchair, helping you to sit down. “Now, who’d be a dear and go to the kitchen to let the maids know they can serve breakfast?”

“I will, mom,” the girl says before Rufus can open his mouth and carefully pushes him and his brother in your direction. “You two, go say hi to your mama.”

Kaeya’s eye twinkles, when he easily guesses his daughter’s intentions, but keeps his mouth shut, watching his nephews practically sprint to their mom and climb onto the armrests.

“She went to congratulate uncle Diluc, didn’t she?” His wife quietly asks, taking a seat next to him, and the man only chuckles, wrapping an arm around her waist, bringing her even closer. Yeah, his girl really likes her uncle, adores even, which has been absolutely mutual from the moment the redhead was handed the small baby to hold for the first time. The Dawn Winery owner has always played an important role in the girl’s life, and before his sons were born, the man was absolutely wrapped around his niece’s finger. She doesn’t remember that, of course, but she does remember how she begged for cousins, and feels very proud of the fact, claiming that it’s because of her request uncle and aunt now have two cute boys, whom she really-really loves and enjoys spending time with, despite being twice as old as them.

But uncle is still her favorite out of the whole Ragnvindr family. So getting first to the man and wishing him a happy birthday is an absolute must.

“I am sure she won’t forget about breakfast,” Kaeya hums eventually, focusing on his sister-in-law and nephews, who, in their orange and yellow costumes paired with the color of their hair, remind him of two little candlelights.

“I love the cozy style you decided on for the clothes,” he comments, drawing your attention from twins, who settled against the sides of your stomach, resting their heads on your shoulders.

“Really?” An excited smile worms its way onto your face. “I am glad you think so! I thought they were perfect for spending the day inside."

"They are!" Mrs Alberich claps her hands together. "I adore this pretty dress and yours looks so wonderful too! The fabric is very soft, when I put it on this morning I thought I was hugged by a fluffy cloud. Oh, what color does Diluc have by the way?"

"Papa has gray" Rufus chimes, before reaching out to your stomach to gently pat it. "Mama, did you get the baby one too?"

"I did, Ru," you reassure him, remembering the cute white onesie you decided to purchase on a whim to match the vibe. "Soon she or he will be able to wear it."

"Speaking of the baby, you've never told us the name you picked. Is that a secret?"

"It really isn't,” your tone is soft, and your gaze is tender, as you look down at your belly. “We do have a small list, but our decision was to choose when the baby is born. We agree on every name on that list, and Diluc believes it's just going to click which one is perfect when we see them, just like it happened with these two," you turn your head from side to side, kissing each boy's cheek, making them squeal happily. In reality it was a little bit different.

Obviously you didn't expect to have twins, so your list was created on the basis of eventually picking only one name. But when there appeared to be two babies, two little boys, everything had to be reconsidered. You and your husband (surprisingly more him than you) thought it'd be cute if there was something that would show their twinly bond. That's when it clicked quickly - Diluc came up with Rufus and you did so with Lucas, affectionately calling them Ru and Lu. This time you also considered different kinds of name combinations for possible outcomes, but ultimately decided to let the future tell.

"Okay, that's fair," Kaeya smiles, putting his cheek on top of his wife's head - the woman made herself comfortable on his shoulder, watching you and your sons with a sweet smile of her own. "Promise to invite us over when you feel strong enough to have visitors to meet another member of the Ragnvindr family?"

"Of course, I promise, Kae. And you'll be the first ones to kno- aaah!"

Everyone in the room jumps when a sharp cry of discomfort escapes you. Unwrapping your arms from around the twins, you lean forward and clutch your stomach. Surprised, the boys get down onto the floor and move right in front of you, worry evident on their faces. You mean to reach out to comfort your babies, to reassure him, but another surge of pain prevents you from doing so, and you groan, hands still on the stomach. Kaeya is next on his feet, closely followed by his wife, and just a second later the man scoops both redheads in his arms, while your female friend crouches before you, with both palms on your knees.

"Kaeya, boys - out. I'll handle it."

"But mama is hurt-," Lucas tries, not taking his eyes off of your curled figure, as his brother attempts to wrestle his way out of his uncle’s hold. Both look panicked, and the Cavalry Captain has to gently shush both of them, pressing their bodies even closer to his chest..

“Don’t worry, she is alright and she will be alright when we return, okay? Now, let’s go and find your father-”

“Oh.”

The man stumbles over his words, hearing a surprised noise, and immediately glances up at you, met with an expression of total disbelief.

“Archons, what is it? Y/n, please, don’t scare us like tha-”

“I think my water just broke.”

He barely holds himself back from cursing in front of his little nephews. His wife, on the other hand, is as cool as a cucumber, absolutely unphased, with not even an ounce of worry present on her face or in her actions. She rises from her crouched position and turns to look at her husband, who in a second became an anxious wreck, as if it is his beloved who is having contractions.

“Love,” she speaks calmly, “take the boys, find Callie and Diluc and get the kids ready to go out for a walk. Also ask someone to inform the midwife that Y/n has possibly gone into labor. And for the Seven’s sake, don’t dump this information onto your brother as if someone is dying, we don’t need a panicked dad right now.”

“Got it,” his legs start moving even before he thinks about it, and with two boys held in a death grip, Kaeya runs out of the room. He startles a couple of maids in the hall, along with Diluc, who’s just walked out of the kitchen, holding his niece’s hand. The hero of today’s occasion lifts his eyebrows, staring at the disheveled form of his brother, and an uneasy feeling starts rising in his chest when he notices the barely concealed panic in his periwinkle eye.

“Kaeya, what’s going on?”

“Okay, birthday boy, I need you to stay calm no matter what I tell you now, alright?"

"Are you sure you are the one to tell me to stay calm?" Red brows meet together in an alarmed manner. "What's gotten into you? Where are our wives?"

Another sharp cry, easily recognised as yours, is heard from the living room, and in a quieted hall everyone is finally becoming aware of something going on, something very unplanned.

"Um, so, as I said, stay calm, 'luc. However hard it is to believe, your wife might’ve gone into labor.”

“What!?”

Loud gasps of the maids fall almost deaf to Diluc’s ears when he hears the news. Immediately one of the girls chirps that she’ll go find the midwife and quickly scurries away, while two more run upstairs to go and check the room specifically prepared for such an occasion. Someone steps up and takes Callie, bringing her with Kaeya and twins somewhere else, but honestly, the redhead doesn’t notice it. The only thing his mind keeps repeating is that his wife needs him.

When he bursts into the living room you’ve already gotten onto your feet, one hand gripping Mrs Alberich’s shoulder and the other pressed to your stomach. The grimace on your face and heavy breathing is an evidence itself of your state, and Diluc appears at your side in a flash of gray and crimson, wrapping an arm around your back.

“My flame, keep breathing. Everything is alright,” his deep voice is comforting and you lean your forehead into his chest, whimpering.

You nod, letting go of your friend’s shoulder, and Diluc takes it as an opportunity to lift you in his arms - there is no way he’s making you walk, especially when the point of your destination is the second floor. You do not even complain, instead focusing on trying to relax the best you can, exercising proper breathing and counting.

“I am so sorry, ‘luc. I wanted this day to be special and now I am ruining it…”

“No, you are not,” he says firmly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Rather you are making it even more special. I know you worked hard, but I also know that all of it won’t go anywhere and we’ll have a moment to enjoy it properly afterwards. You are much more important right now, so let’s get you to the bedroom.”

Kaeya was right - it is hard to believe. Of course, it’s not clear yet, it still could be just false labor pains, but never in his entire life could Diluc imagine that one of his kids would be born on the same day he was. When he lays you down onto the bed with pristine white sheets and lets the midwife examine you, the heart in his chest is going absolutely crazy. He can’t bear to see that painful look on your face, how your pretty eyes squint and teeth are gritted, but he will rather fall dead in that same room, than leave it, leave you without his support.

You lift your hand and reach for him. Someone pushes a chair closer and he sits down, grasping your sweating hand with both of his and suddenly a memory flashes before his eyes. It’s been twenty years and he thought he has healed, but the rainy day and a man’s big hand he was clasping in his own come back to haunt him. His mind starts screaming. What if something goes wrong? What if he loses someone dear to him again? What if it’s the last time he feels the warm touch of the person who brought him out of his misery? What if it’s the last time he hears your voice and the distressed tone of it is what he’ll remember you like? Please, no, whoever is listening, don’t do it, don’t take you and the baby away from him, please, don't-

“Diluc,” his eyes snap open and he becomes painfully aware that he is shaking. But it's not about him, despite what day it is today. Right now everything is about you.

Inhaling deeply and sharply exhaling, he blinks away the images of the past and focuses on your face instead. It’s not twisted in pain now, instead you are smiling at him, the adoration in your eyes unmistakable and the squeeze you give his fingers is sobering.

“Did you hear that? It’s actually happening. My water actually broke. Our baby will be here soon. I can’t promise I won’t curse you back and forth like during the first time, but I’ll really try.”

At that moment, pushing the dread aside and leaning forward to press a sweet reassuring kiss to your lips, the man thinks that if it was legally allowed he’d marry you again.

It’s been a couple of hours since the Alberich couple left the Winery with all of the kids. It took Kaeya awhile to calm the boys down, while Callie remained uncharacteristically quiet, glancing at her mom from time to time, because her mother always knows what is going on, but this time, for some reason, isn't telling her.

Eventually both adults managed to persuade the three of them that they are on a mission to get some lovely flowers for Diluc and you - they made sure to pick different kinds that do not grow together for the process to take more time. Fortunately, it brought smiles back onto those cute little faces, and the couple let out a sigh of relief, watching their daughter and nephews, as the group went from one location to another. Lucas, being a dear he is, suggested that mom and dad deserved the biggest bouquets ever and Rufus doubled it, so now they are indeed on a mission to gather as many flowers as they can.

Making a pretty big circle, the five of them returned close to the Winery - but not quite. Settling near the Statue of the Seven, Kaeya stays to watch over the kids picking up windwheel asters and guard the bouquets they’ve already managed to create. The location allows him to oversee the vast grounds that belong to the Ragnvindr family, but also observe his wife’s figure getting smaller and smaller, but closer and closer to the main building. It was decided that soon everyone would get hungry, so she went to bring some food, but also to check on the situation at hand.

The sun hangs high in the sky and Kaeya squints in delight, letting the warm rays caress his face. Ah, what a wonderful day… With a puff of air he sits down and immediately lays his back on the soft ground, cracking his eye open. Not a cloud in sight, only the magnificent blue hues surrounding the brightest star, that’s the sight his brother deserves to have on his birthday - what a pity he can’t see it, stuck inside due to unplanned, though long-awaited, circumstances.

It is a perfect day for the twins’ sibling to be born, and for a brief moment a thought passes the Cavalry Captain’s mind - that maybe it’s the final step for Diluc to heal from all the pain and sorrow that whole 18th birthday situation caused him. Of course, it’s hard to tell, it was a seemingly endless nightmare after all, but he hopes for it, for this bundle of joy that is the redhead's third child to overshadow the loss of their father on this exact date.

Deep in his thoughts he doesn’t notice how Rufus comes closer, dividing equally the amount of flowers he’s gotten, putting one half in his dad’s pile and the other in mom’s one. Then he steps even closer, casting a small shadow across his uncle’s chest. Kaeya snaps out of it only when he feels a soft nudge, head turning and seeing that the boy carefully pushed the tips of his sandal against the lying man’s ribcage.

“What is it, Ru?” His voice sounds a bit lazy, but at least there is not even a hint of his initial panic - worry would only provoke the twins to feel concerned about the scene in the living room all over again, and he doesn't want that, their parents wouldn't want that.

The little flame in front of him watches closely with wide eyes, which in combination with wild red hair makes him look like a fluffed up owlet.

Totally Diluc’s kid.

“We picked a lot of flowers… When are we coming home? I wanna see mama and papa. And also I’m hungry…”

“Yeah, dad, me too,” Callie pops behind her cousin, staring at Kaeya with bright eyes. She’s holding a mix of windwheel asters and sweet flowers, and the keen dark eye spots a small ladybug crawling up one of the stems. Equally small white lie wouldn't hurt.

“Your aunt is setting an additional surprise right now,” yeah, that’s literally the best explanation he can give them, “but this one takes time, and we need to be patient for her, okay?”

“But if it’s a surprise, why did Uncle Diluc stay? Doesn’t make sense,” His daughter is too sharp sometimes, but that’s why he is proud of her.

“This one requires his presence, so she doesn’t have to worry about messing up. I believe you’ll like it, so let’s give them time. As for the lunch - our precious Snowflake will soon bring us something to eat.”

“Don’t call mom that in front of me,” Callie grumbles, kicking his hip, and the man gasps, hand immediately flying to grab the assaulted place.

“But snowflakes are pretty!” Lucas, who appeared somewhen during the conversation, stares at the older girl in confusion. “They are very pretty and have unique forms… Your mom is pretty and unique too!”

“I know she is, but sometimes it’s just argh. Oh! Doesn’t your father call your mother ‘my flame’?”

“Yes, he does,” Rufus confirms with a nod, sitting down onto the ground. Kaeya turns onto his side, ignoring the dull pain and supports his cheek with a fist. Well, this is amusing~

“Don’t you find it a little too much sometimes?” Both twins shake their heads, red bangs bouncing with the motion, and the girl sighs in exasperation. “Wait till you are as old as I am, you’ll realize how cringe it is.”

“What’s ‘cringe’?”

Kaeya snorts. It’s funny when a twelve-year old speaks of her age with such intonation. It never ceases to amaze him how well his daughter adapted in the role of an older sibling to her cousins. She quickly realized her leading position and it was and still is very clear in her attitude, especially right now, as she is educating them on the meaning of the word 'cringe'. She cares for them a lot though, so he can hardly find a situation where she abused her power in the dynamic the three of them have. Besides, both Rufus and Lucas are far from stupid - probably ones of the brightest kids he’s ever had encounters with, and already have their opinions, so despite loving and admiring Callie they still can fight her back verbally. The only difference is that this is Rufus’ style of handling arguments with her, while Lucas prefers more tranquil approaches. Watching the three interact, Kaeya can't help but wonder what kind of personality would the baby develop.

Ah, it’s going to get so much livelier~

It’s another half an hour, during which he sneakily stole the spotlight from his girl and entertained the kids with made-up, but attention-grabbing stories. His wife's arrival catches them all by surprise - just like everything else about her, as she shouts their names and waves at them the best she can with a basket hanging off of her elbow. She is not alone though. With delight overtaking their expressions, kids spot the most loving and kind (obviously favorite) maid at her side holding the rest of the baskets Mrs Alberich couldn’t carry on her own. Kaeya hasn't even sat up yet, and the kids are already speeding in her direction.

“Addieeeee!”

Overjoyed, in an instant they are all over her and the woman gently laughs, settling down the baskets and staying in a crouched position to hug all of them. As she is telling them to help her with unfolding the blanket, Kaeya rises to his feet, right in time to put his arms loosely around his wife's waist to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"Thanks for the food and bringing additional help," he murmurs, smooching her again and taking the baskets away. Freed arms encircle his neck and soft lips press against his in return, stealing the man's breath away.

"Don't mention it. Adelinde figured we might need her, and she is right, personally I am at my wit's end," she sighs, glancing behind to make sure the kids are occupied with the task the head maid gave them. "As for the news - everything is going smoothly so far, but it'll take some more hours. Other maids suggested visiting Springvale or maybe going to the City, and I agree."

"Yes, that sounds reasonable…" Kaeya hums, inwardly admitting that some remaining weight has just been lifted off of his shoulders. "You think we'll have to return in the morning or…?"

"No. Before we left, Adelinde checked in with Diluc - apparently he'll send his falcon to deliver a message once everything is over."

Ah, yes… the falcon his brother personally trained once again just a couple of years ago after the passing of his very first winged companion. And once again Kaeya was that one person the bird will always find, no matter where he is.

"Delightful. Then let us have our lunch. What you've got there, hm?"

"What was supposed to be put for the celebratory breakfast we all missed. It'd be such a pity if the food went to waste, wouldn't it?"

"True," the Cavalry Captain sighs and, adjusting his hold on the baskets, leads both of them to the rest of their little group. “What a chaotic morning…”

The drawn together heavy curtains do not let a ray of a settling sun into the quiet room. The crimson painting the sky is undoubtedly beautiful, mesmerizing even, but no one dares to disturb your rest with a blazing color. The smell of freshly cleaned bedding is appeasing, but the fluffed up pillows that have the scent of your husband clinging to them is your main source of comfort - you faintly remember it, but you are sure of nearly snarling at whoever suggested changing the linen for them too before bringing you to the master’s bedroom. Poor maid must’ve been so scared, you’ll have to apologize to her later…

The slight guilt sparked by the memory is what makes you pass the line between dream and consciousness. You force your heavy eyelids open, but immediately squint a little from the light of the candles on the walls. A soft groan escapes your throat and you drop your head to the side, hiding from the light and blinking to make the eyes adjust. Succeeding in it, you take a quick look around the room, wondering if you were left alone to repose, or someone remained to monitor your condition.

That’s when you spot him. Or rather the gorgeous mane of ruby hair, shiny in the candlelight, thrown in a proper high ponytail, streaming down his upper back. He’s changed his clothes too - there is a hazy recollection of someone telling him to go and do so, and what a nice view it is, to see the gray pajama pants and pullover to be replaced with dark cherry - almost blackish - shirt, carmine vest and dark pants. But that’s not the most pleasing sight. Your heart almost melts, when the standing man turns around and you see a bundle of blankets delicately held in his strong arms. Vibrant eyes show every single emotion Diluc feels, looking at your baby. There is pure joy, happiness, bliss, love, promises to protect, to care, to cherish, to make every single day of life important and special. It’s so similar to the scene of nearly seven years ago, but without your husband bawling his eyes out with both arms occupied by twins. Well, maybe he did, a little, when you were resting, but you’ll never know.

You observe them for a little longer, the picture so perfect, you regret not having a Kamera in your hands right now to imprint a moment in a photo. Though you doubt you’d have strength to lift the thing enough to snap one and not make it blurry, so, just watching would suffice for now.

However Diluc’s senses are sharp, and when someone stares at him for longer than a couple of seconds - he knows. The warmth of the tamed flames seeps right through the eye contact, penetrating every cell in your body with welcomed heat. That may be the trick of the light, but his dark pupils dilate upon looking at you, and the blush creeps to your cheeks. Damn this man and him giving you looks like you are the whole world.

“Hey, love,” you softly call, the sound blending into the tender atmosphere, becoming a part of it, becoming Diluc’s source of oxygen for a brief second.

“Hello, my flame,” his voice can hardly mask the adoration and eagerness, with which he takes his next actions, makes it clear how excited he was for you finally awakening. With light steps he moves to the bed and carefully bends down. The touch of his lips is gentle, yet the feeling hidden behind it steals your breath away and your own lips part. Diluc murmurs something about wanting to give you so many kisses to compensate for the hours you spent in labor, and you breathlessly laugh at his adorable confession.

“It’s alright, ‘luc. Besides you are such a beautiful sight for a sore eye, how can I complain when my husband is all dressed up for me?”

“Oh, my flame,” his tone is oh so silken. “You are the beautiful one here. You looked so serene in your sleep, and now you shine like the brightest star.”

“Oh, stop that, I am sure I look like hell.”

“Not at all,” he shakes his head, long and fluffy bangs barely swaying. “You are wonderful. But how are you feeling? Need anything? Maybe you’d like to rest a bit more? I’ll take care of everything for you.”

You know he will, and this is one of the reasons that make him a great husband and an amazing father.

“No, no, I am fine, I feel better. It’s finally over. Our son is here.”

Yes, your son is here. Are you surprised it’s a boy again? Not really, there always was a gut feeling your older sons would have a little brother as their sibling, and by the red hairs you spotted when the baby was passed to you for the first time there is now a solid confirmation that Ragnvindr genes are insane.

“I want to hold him. May I?”

Without answering your question directly, Diluc carefully places the baby on the free space on the bed and helps you to adjust the pillows and sit up. Then the boy is instantly in your arms and Diluc kicks his shoes off to climb next to you. The sides of your heads touch, and you smile when his big hand is placed under yours, to provide additional support.

Your son is sleeping. So tiny and wrapped in all those blankets he is so peaceful. You swallow harshly to fight the tears back and shakily sigh, rapidly blinking. Rough fingers move your hairs away from your face and lovingly caress your cheek, reminding you that everything is okay.

“You did so well, my love… You are incredible, you know that?”

A choked chuckle erupts from your mouth and you sniffle.

“I am, am I not? But it’s also a miracle that he decided to come out right on your birthday.”

The man presses the firmest kiss he’s given you this evening to your temple and wraps his free arm around your shoulders, bringing you even closer. The thumping of his heart is palpable and makes you want to cry again.

“You know…” lifting your head, you come face to face with your husband, and there is a smile playing on his lips, one that is both bright and a bit melancholic. “Now there is one more reason to look forward to my birthday. To celebrate mine with you all and to celebrate his like that too.”

“Oh, we can have two parties!” You beam, closing your eyes and picturing it in your head. “Yours would be obviously in the morning, and his would be in the evening- oh, Ru and Lu would be so delighted to have two cakes to eat instead of one,” you share a soft laugh. Which actually reminds you…

“Have you sent anyone to notify them they can come home? I feel so bad that they had to spend your birthday away from you…”

“Don’t worry, dear. The message has been delivered and they should soon be here. And there is always tomorrow to start with the party all over again. I believe it was a smart decision to get kids out of the house. You know how protective twins are around you - they would’ve worried themselves out of their minds.”

You have to admit that Diluc is right - no need for your boys and niece to hear you scream and curse whoever was present for hours, and you can trust the Alberich family to keep them safe and entertained.

“Well then, if everything else is settled, my heart and mind are at peace… But we still have one important thing to do. The name. And before we go down the list, may I suggest something, please?”

“You are the mother, you have the most say in it,” his words make you lift an eyebrow at him, yet he only smiles. Shaking your head you poke your nose into his cheek.

“What a gentleman you are…"

"That's what my dad told my mom," he says as if in his defense. "And I agree with him on that one - after all, it's you who carried him for nine months and kept him healthy."

"Alright, alright, I could speak of all the ways you provided for me so I could do that, but I know you won't accept this kind of praise. Okay, I will have a say in it," Diluc scoffs, but you only give him a teasing wink. "Speaking of your parents, remember how you told me that your mother chose the name ‘Diluc’, because you were born in the early hours of dawn?” He nods, fondness reflecting in his eyes. “She also did it, because your father’s name means ‘twilight’, ‘dusk’ and she wanted them to match, right?” He nods again, but this time it’s confusion and a bit of hurt that are hiding behind his crimson pools of fire. Still holding the baby, you do your best to interlace your fingers with his, still supporting your hand, and the redhead takes notice of it, helping you, until there is a nice hold on each other's digits.

Swallowing thickly you take a deep breath to calm your nerves. Diluc would never be mad at you, but what you are going to suggest next is pretty huge.

"It's not on the list, but I took interest in this one when we were researching. The main meaning of this name is 'Sun'. However, there were languages that gave it a slightly different meaning, let's say, time-specific? And now, since our son was born on the 30th of April and almost at sunset, I thought that this one might be perfect. It's… It's Cyrus. And it can have the meaning of 'dusk', 'twilight', just like your father's name does."

The clock on the wall is ticking and that's the only sound in the room. You can barely hear your hearts beating or air entering and leaving your lungs, but your mind is in a race against itself, and you start second-guessing that maybe giving him a big reminder about that day was a mistake. Diluc’s been healing, you know that, you’ve been here all these years to witness his progress and be proud of him, but it still must hurt. His silence is worrying, but despite your own nervousness you give him time to process, to let the thought sink in and register what exactly you are implying.

You spend a few minutes quietly. Your husband never loosens his hold on your shoulders, and it soothes you when his thumb starts rubbing over your knuckles absent-mindedly. His warm breath caresses your skin, lulling your alerted senses to the point of tranquility, and you sigh audibly, lowering your head on his shoulder. And then you finally hear him speak again.

“Cyrus… It’s a lovely name. I… I really like it. No, I love it.”

“Yeah?” A soft murmur of your question sends a wave of delight to the man’s swelling heart. “You do?”

“I do. I think it’s perfect. But…are you really sure you want to honor my father?”

“He meant a lot to you, ‘luc,” you straighten up and turn to have a better view of the redhead. There are unshed tears clinging to his thick lashes and he doesn’t even blink, looking down at your son. “Listen, my love,” carefully sliding one hand from beneath the baby’s body you bring it to Diluc’s cheek, making him face you, making him gulp and lean into your open palm, “I too think it’s perfect, and maybe, just maybe, the birth of our son today is your dad’s sign to move on. Master Crepus would want that for you, I am sure, and passing on a small fracture of him to this boy would close this chapter forever. What do you think?”

“I think that I love you so-so much…”

His lips are scorching, kissing yours with feverish urgency. Tears roll down his flushed cheeks, but you brush them away the best you can, not minding the salty taste of the kiss. Diluc Ragnvindr has his chest open for you, for your hands to hold his beating heart, for them to take care of it. This pure joy that sets his soul aflame is overpowering, all-consuming, and he is more than ready to let it swallow him whole, if only you keep loving him the way you’ve been all these many years.

When he parts from you, the redhead nearly chokes and starts coughing from all the sobs he held back. Your fingers are deft, threading through his thick locks, gently scratching his scalp, as his forehead is pressed to yours. You remind him to breathe.

“And I love you too, Diluc. I always will.”

”Thank you.”

You smile, peppering his face with kisses, whispering the sweetest words of affection. He wants to tell you something, he even opens his mouth, but a sudden knock on the door interrupts him. Your eyes dart to the heavy wood blocking the entrance to your bedroom.

“Master Diluc?” It’s hushed, but still audible. “We spotted young masters, Sir Kaeya’s family and Miss Adelinde from the window. They will be here soon, should we ask them to wait?”

Your husband clears his throat, coughing in his fist, and then glances at your figure to check if you look good enough to receive so many people at once. You simply mouth an “I am fine”. It seems enough to assure him.

“No, Hillie,” your husband speaks louder. “Y/n is awake, so once everyone arrives, please, bring them here. And make arrangements for dinner.”

“Yes, Master!”

Diluc sighs when the hurried steps can no longer be heard and kisses you once more. The baby in your hold starts stirring and you return your free arm back around him, bringing the boy closer to your chest.

“Will you be fine, if I leave you alone with Cyrus for a moment?” Him already using the name reduces your heart to a puddle and you cannot fight the huge grin.

“We will, my love, don’t worry. Go wash your face, I’ll feed him in the meantime.”

With a nod he bends to kiss his son’s forehead and then peck you on the cheek, climbing out of the bed after that and disappearing in the bathroom.

Fortunately, you had a solid half an hour before your sons and guests returned. In that time you managed to feed Cyrus, lull him back to sleep and pass the boy to a much calmer and collected Diluc, who carefully placed him in a crib.

Upon your suggestion, the man steps out of the bedroom to meet everyone downstairs, and warn the kids about being quiet. Every maid he meets on the way beams at him with a smile, congratulating and asking if their Lady is alright and if she needs anything. Their eagerness to assist his wife with anything she might need and excitement they feel for the fact Ragnvindr family has just grown in number is heart-warming, and Diluc allows himself a small smile, as he answers them the best he can.

When he reaches the hall of the first floor it’s just on time to witness Adelinde closing the massive doors and locking them. Two balls of red immediately sprint to him and he barely has time to crouch and catch his elder sons. They start whining and pouting for missing the whole day with their dad and he kisses their round cheeks, promising to hold a proper celebration later.

“Hmph, you better!” Rufus scoffs, lightly punching his father’s shoulder. “But today is not over yet, right?”

Diluc nods, patting their heads affectionately, ruffling crimson locks. Then twins glance at each other and simultaneously inhale.

“Happy birthday, dad! We love you!”

“I love you too, fireflies,” he hums, straightening up and lifting both of them in his arms. “Thank you for your kind words, I appreciate them.”

“We brought you and mom bouquets! Callie helped too,” Lucas chirps, pointing to two big bunches of flowers in Kaeya’s and his wife’s arms. The redhead lifts his eyebrows, to which his brother only shrugs.

“This is wonderful, kids. I love them, and I know your mom would adore them too.”

“Oh, can we go see her?”

“Why isn’t she with you?”

“Dad said she was preparing a surprise, where is it?”

Bombarded with questions, flying from three directions, Diluc is reminded of why he came down here in the first place.

“Kids,” the seriousness in his voice stops the stream of interrogation. Three sets of eyes are glued to his face. “I am going to tell you something very important and I need you to listen, alright? Now we all are going to go to my and mom’s bedroom. There you’ll have to be quiet, okay? No screaming, no squealing, no arguments, no running around, got it? Your mother is very tired, and someone who’s also waiting for you there may start crying if you disturb him.”

Mrs Alberich gasps, widely smiling, and turns to her husband, whispering in his ear.

”It’s another boy!”

Children on the other hand look utterly confused, but they do know when the look on the Dawn Winery owner’s face shows he is not kidding. This sounds so mysterious, and while puzzled they are dying to know what’s going on. And without acting the way their dad/uncle asks they will not find out what it is.

“Okay, we understand. We will be quiet.”

“Thank you,” he bends down again to put his sons back onto the floor and glances behind at his staff. “Someone, take these flowers and put them in vases in the living room. Kids, go wash your hands.”

"Yes, Master Diluc!"

When the door to the bedroom opens, you wave to everyone with a soft smile, cozying among the many pillows again.

"Mama!" Twins exclaim in whispers, tiptoeing to the bed and climbing up to hug you. "We missed you so much… How are you? Why are you in bed?"

"Tired," you simply explain, smooching their cute little noses and hugging them as tightly as you could. Suddenly, Lucas's eyes fall to your stomach - or rather to where it was just hours ago.

"Mom… where is the baby?" He asks, patting around the blanket, and indeed discovering the belly's absence. Rufus lowers his gaze to confirm his brother's words and then looks at you and after that at Diluc, who's just quietly closed the door shut.

"Dad, what did you do to the baby?"

"Nothing."

"When where-?"

He stops when you tap his shoulder and, once both boys' attention is yours again, point to the crib standing close to the side of the bed. Callie, who's been watching all along, has her interest picked, and steps to the little bed from the other side, as her cousins crawl across the mattress. With six hands grabbing at the wooden edges and six eyes glancing inside, the room falls quiet again for a few moments. Kaeya walks to you and gives you a hug, kissing your forehead and congratulating you with a new addition to the family.

"It's funny isn't it?" He murmurs. "Now you don't need to invite us another time to meet the newborn."

You laugh at that. As he moves away your co-sister-in-law is quick to take his place, embracing you and pecking your cheek, also congratulating you and teasing for once again being a boy’s mom. Diluc meanwhile has taken place by his niece’s side, gently smoothing her hair back, observing the kids’ reaction.

It’s Lucas who opens his mouth first.

“So… this is our sibling?”

“Yes, Lu. This is your little brother.”

“He sure is little,” Rufus drawls, “I’d even say tiny. Were we this tiny too?”

“You were,” Callie butts her way in a conversation. “I was your age when I saw you two for the first time. Though I couldn’t hold both of you in my arms, you were heavy. You are still heavy, hehe.”

“We are not-!”

“Shh,” Diluc presses a finger to his lips, and the kids slam their palms over their mouths. “Remember what I asked you about? No fighting, or he will wake up and start crying.”

“Sorry, dad…”

“Sorry, Uncle Diluc…”

You snort at the little exchange, watching your family fondly, thinking that you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey, brother,” Kaeya joins the other man and grabs his shoulder, squeezing in an affectionate gesture, “Congrats. Both with your and your son’s birthday.”

Diluc nods, lifting his own hand, patting the one resting on his shoulder.

“Oh, right!” The older twin’s eyes sparkle at the realization and he stares up at his dad. “Does it mean you share a birthday with him?”

“Yes, I do, Ru. Does it bother you?”

“Are you kidding me? Dad, that’s so cool! Me and Lucas always have each other for our birthday, he would have you for his!”

“Also it means two cakes,” the other six-year old murmurs under his breath, and Diluc nearly chuckles - you do know your boys too well. It also lifts a weight he wasn’t aware of off his chest - it seems like he was a bit worried, if twins would feel jealous of the fact their dad’s and sibling’s birthdays are on the same date. But since they are cool with it - he is more than cool too.

“Speaking of him,” Mrs Alberich manages to take a peek into a crib too, aw-ing at the fact it’s a red-haired baby again, “have you chosen a name already?”

“We did,” scarlet eyes stare right into your soul through yours, and you mirror Diluc’s proud smile. “His name is Cyrus. Cyrus Ragnvindr.”

“Cyrus, hmm…” Kaeya purses his lips in thought, as if examining the name in and out, like some kind of a linguist. “Diluc, Rufus, Lucas and Cyrus… Yeah, fits right in.”

“Not as well as Cherry №3 I bet,” Callie smirks at the twins, to which, keeping in mind the promise they gave their dad, they only stick their tongues at her.

“I told you the name was perfect,” your husband reminds you with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, wait!” The eye-patch wearer snaps his fingers without actually making a snapping sound. “DiLUc and LUcas, RUfus and CyRUs… You now have two Lu’s and two Ru’s!”

“Oh Archons, I didn’t realize that,” with wide eyes you stare back at him. “That’s so cute!”

“Can we call him Cy?” Lucas pulls away from the little bed, and sits back on the mattress properly.

“I think it is indeed a short form for his name,” you nod, feeling so relieved about how smoothly everything has been going. Yeah, surely the birthday party didn’t go as planned, but on the other hand you finally have your boy, and your other boys look pretty happy after meeting their younger brother. So it’s all wonderful.

Or maybe you are too fast to judge.

“Uncle Diluc, Aunt Y/n,” you are surprised, when your niece calls you both, and glance at the oldest kid in the room inquiringly. To your surprise her face is expressionless, or at least she is trying to keep it this way, because your husband can clearly see barely-hidden mischief lighting up her eyes. She waits when her silence draws attention of the rest of the people to her persona and then, with the same straight face, says something that immediately sends her father choking on a silent laughter.

“Next time I want a girl cousin.”

Dumbfounded, Diluc, you and her mother stare at the girl with jaws going slack, while Kaeya is nearly dying from suppressing his violent coughing, bent in half and shaking. Not letting it crack her act, she holds her head high and heads right towards the door, feigning nonchalance with her graceful posture and slow steps.

“I will go and ask about the dinner. That's all.”

And just like that she leaves you all once again under the pretense of checking on with the kitchen staff. Mrs Alberich is the first one to snap out of the collective stupor and, shaking her head, grabs Kaeya’s elbow to drag him out of the room. Diluc is next, inhaling deeply, wondering why he is even surprised by her antics. He notices how the twins kind of lost interest in watching a baby that is doing literally nothing, so he ushers the boys to a very important mission - to make sure that their dad’s favorite meal is cooked, which they take with all seriousness.

And once more it’s only him, you, and little Cyrus, sleeping peacefully in his bed. You watch thick scarred fingers unbutton the vest and peel it off, hanging it on the back of the chair. Same fingers brush his bangs away and he sighs again, making eye contact with you. He smiles and you smile too.

“As much as I love this girl, I’ll have to disappoint her.”

“I agree, love,” the man is at your side again, an arm snaking around your shoulders and pressing you into him. “I admit, I would’ve loved to have a sweet girl looking just like you, but judging by the looks of our sons... Who knows how many attempts it’ll take, and I am not risking your health anymore.”

“You are so sweet,” you swoon, lacing your fingers together and squeezing his hand. “I love you for that. Are you sure that this is enough?”

“It always was enough. From the moment it was just you and me it was already enough. You simply tripled this happiness.”

“We tripled this happiness.”

“We will.”

“Yes, we did. And we will keep it that way.”

You lean close to kiss him, but, before he can reciprocate, start kissing all over his face, wherever your current position allows you to reach. Your partner keens on your affectionate attack, lowering his head on purpose, so you have more skin to cover with your lips, and since it brings you so much satisfaction, you do not stop until a thought, that you are forgetting something, is at the front of your mind.

“I just realized that I am the only one who has not wished you a happy birthday today. So… Happy birthday, Diluc. I love you very-very much. Sorry I am not very creative this year.”

“I think the little boy sleeping over there would beg to differ,” your husband nods at the crib, making you pout, but is quick to kiss it away. “I love you too, Y/n. Thank you for everything. This birthday was as perfect as any other you spent with me.”

“And I will make sure to make it perfect every single year ahead of us, my glorious Dawn. Should we wish a happy birthday to our little Dusk as well? I think I heard Kaeya briefly congratulate him, I want to do it too!”

You are so adorable when excitement is written all over you, and it's hard not to give in to your sparkling eyes, especially when he wants the same thing you do.

“We absolutely should. Let’s do it together, alright?”

The sky is painted black outside, and the second floor of the Winery is quiet, when in the comfort of one of its rooms three sweet words are spoken in two voices with such love and devotion, only parents can have for their child.

“Happy birthday, Cyrus.”

And maybe the winds would pick these words and carry them through the time to the one, and, stroking his short red beard, he would smile and say that the Dawn and the Dusk were always meant to be together.

Diluc and Cyrus

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc x fem!reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #dadluc #genshin oc #kaeya alberich #genshin impact fluff #pearly family au

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rennybu · 9 months ago

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hi.... i'm just a poor boy . who does not know the loam lore. would you be willing to share.... a summary.... (so curious i am a loam enjoyer)

oh my gosh hi griff..! oh there is so much to tell... i will h ave no choice but to put this under a readmore. the shortest answer is that he is my character of 3+ years in @jawsandbones homebrew dnd campaign and he is like a son to me. but to start off with baby pictures:

LOAM was born 52 years ago in a city called TILDEN, which is blocked off overland by a CURSED* SWAMP that creeps closer every year.

*Misremembered and only Recently Re-Contextualized Major Historical event

His mom is a shy, worried, and loving woman named Bayla - she's a druid and sells medicinal mushrooms of all sorts. His dad is an unwaveringly positive (but incredibly serious) mason named Uttara who proudly works on all sorts of projects around the city, especially major infrastructure. Yay stoneworkers!

(Because fantasy lifespans are strange and somewhat silly to me I just imagine Firbolgs to be stuck in their mid-20s existential dread until they're like at least 150. The backstory part of this spans literally 51 of his 52 year s of life. he's so young)

He got equal enrichment from time spent in nature with his mom as from time spent in the city with his dad. His nickname in the Tilden Firbolg community To This Day is "Always With Questions" - a kind of affix to differentiate him from any other Loams. He may not know much but he really would like to find out, please!!!! He sees a lot of beauty in the natural world, but his idea of what's natural is skewed somewhat by the uh, Curse. He once fell through some algae into a deep body of water and had a very fun memento mori experience as a kiddo (beautiful golden sunbeam shining onto a silty skull)

He got the name Loam very young from his interest in both his parents' work, which lead to him learning about soil types and uses in gardening and construction aklfhglskg. Loam was important for both jobs so he (in guess-what-I-just-learned little kid fashion) told everyone who would listen about it. The association STUCK and he's Loam now :].

His birth name is actually Rahara! but that's secret knowledge only his bestest friends and Tzip and some scarycool important NPCs know.

He loves beasts and magic and plants so much. And on the flip side he also loves and is fascinated by architecture and engineering. He never got any like, higher academic schooling or whatever, but had many many different apprenticeship type training relationships from his parents, other tradespeople in the city, from the senior rangers etc etc.

Small break to plug @jawsandbones lore packets for the Quarter Cities (including Tilden), Scarabae, and the overall campaign setting!!!! I'm just gonna talk about stuff without adding too much context of my own because AAA WORD COUNT!!!

The hole in Loam's ear was brought about by a shit ass Tilden local trying to tear his earring off him, since he'd bought it from a foreign merchant from a city Tilden/the Quarter has historically warred with. Loam's always been open minded and deeply curious about other cities, due to how isolated the bog is. Any visiting merchants are sources of wonder!!!! Even though he only bought the one hoop earring from the Quietus merchants (Mirjam and Mihail, mother and son!), after the ice was broken he stayed by their stall the rest of the day and talked about all kinds of things, and befriended Mihail!

Loam trained as a ranger as soon as he was old enough to do so!!!! He saw it as the next logical step past what his parents would be able to show him and was incredibly eager to get hands-on experience in the wilds. He met his first ever boyfriend among his peers there!!! Bragi... he has had many lovers and situationships in Tilden since, BUT only recently feels comfortable trying monogamy again after meeting Tzipporah.

Bragi unfortunately died badly to a creature in a traumatic backstory incident that left young Loam super fucking bereft and hyper aware of how easy it is to die. (Big monster attack + group of trainee rangers accompanied by a few more senior rangers + chaos and bloodshed. Loam carried Bragi to safety and tried resuscitating him but he was already gone. The experience made him uncomfortable with the idea of being in a defined, monogamous intimate relationship for the next like. 19 years. He felt like he got ripped in half!)

After the ranger's guild recovers from THE CREATURE ATTACK, Loam meets his close friend, Reece, a fellow ranger and Kenku (she looks like a masked shrike)!!!

He gets his septum pierced by the same visiting merchants from Quietus a few years after Bragi's death. It's a very important moment for him, where it feels like he can finally start to let himself change and grow beyond that event. He also spends more and more time in the city, away from the more rural/overgrown districts, and chases a love for the arts and partying and people, where he meets Kallirhoe (human, not a even a classed bard but like. an indie musician. an eboy if high fantasy had eboys. a tattooed twinkish fellow. you know the type)! They are very good friends who also have sex. Many days spent waxing poetic about THE BIG WIDE WORLD and how they'll never get to see it. (Spoiler: He sees it)

Loam gets into tarot as a hobby, and makes his own deck in a very scribbly freehand style with ink and charcoal!!!! he's slowly replacing them with more Worldly artwork - the deck he left home with was very. Tildencore

Many good years of being a party girl who has to go work a construction job tomorrow and then go be a ranger at 6. A rich and storied life. AND THEN THE GAME TIMELINE STARTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A path Through the bog has recently finished being built by Dagda, the Southern representative to the other Quarter Cities, making more trade possible overland, and making local tensions go even crazier. Also there are strange Awful Huge Scary Monsters appearing WORLDWIDE, so the Directions and the Three Kings of Scarabae and the remote island of Geest (ADRA'S HOME!) and the mysterious magical Widow's Wood are all like "STOP WAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RN". Trials are held in the Western city of Dina to appoint FOUR TEAMS OF FOUR to help defend against the new threat. Loam is like. Well I've gotta fucking do that. I've got to try. If I'm not chosen, at least I've set foot outside. He has a fight with his mom about this, because she is terrified she will lose him, like she lost her mother in a previous conflict when Scarabae was occupying the Quarter, before Loam was born. He stands firm and his dad has his back, and ultimately he leaves with both their blessings, but his dismissal of his mom's feelings weighs heavy on him the longer he's away from home. (He has a big cry and reconciliation about this when he is next able to come home.)

I'm clapping and cheering and skipping joyfully because now he HAS MET HIS BESTEST, DEAREST, CLOSEST FRIENDS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD: ADRA ILSA AND TALEE!!!!!!! I have to be so careful now because we have no joke hundreds of pages of notes. I cannot read that shit on google docs mobile app. We are approaching session one hundred and fifty of this game. They love each other so fucking much. THEY ARE THE INFORMATION GATHERERS!!! A PARTY OF SLEUTHS!!!

He also has his meet-cute with Tzipporah at the trials, which in hindsight is hilarious, because of the whole, "Tzipporah was sent to the trials as a spy (by the very people responsible for the giant awful monster crisis) and immediately pegged Loam for an easy mark to get information from" thing. And he was 100% correct. But a lot has to happen before that gets revealed. They took a nice night walk and write each other big long letters. And Loam tells him soooooo much <3

At one point while exploring a wizard tower he attunes to a lightly cursed ring and forgets what his parents look like, like their likenesses are Gone from past and recent memory. Which is a big thorn of homesickness that he writes to them about. He has a big cry and stares at them both for a LONG time when he next sees them.

Also they save an orphaned Kenku from some bandits and now Loam has a little shoulder-sniper named Bubby. We have a son. A perfect little crow son who is really good at killing, with arrows. He hides things in Loam's hood regularly

Other major things include ummm umm Loam's TWO deaths, one during a dungeon-rescue type scenario in a room that was Flooding and full of Phantoms and also a charmed Druid (Feyan, good friends now) wildshaped into a big scary water snake. He was hurt bad and (comedically) levitated so he wouldn't DROWN but then got Phantom Speared right through the torso. Second one was because Tzip's evil half brother Vences was like, mad at him for being a good influence on Tzipporah and interfering with the spy duties. Chill touch so no healing + dagger in the ribs! Ow. Also the reveal that Tzip was a spy was happening like, simultaneously here so we were yowling and screaming. (Well. Talee and Co had their long time hunches about this. Loam and I had turned a beautiful blind eye to all suspicious activity)

ANYWAY HIS DEATH SCARS LOOK LIKE A COMET ABOVE HIS BELLY!!!! The spear scar made a patch of his fur turn white (front and back), and the dagger scar is its crude tail!

I am skipping over so many plot revelations i. This is just the Loam Cut. and it's not even all of it.

His buzzcut was for emotional superstitious reasons!!! He cut it after Death 2 and Tzipporah getting taken against his will back into Evil Gang. Loam's mom has a lock of his hair at home now. ALL THIS TO SAY TZIP IS OKAY, NO LONGER SPYING, WE RESCUED HIM AND RIPPED A MASK OFF HIM AND SAVED HIM FROM GETTING HIS MIND EXCAVATED ! SO LOAM IS GROWING HIS HAIR OUT AGAIN!

The deaths of his close friends and their allies have also been. insane for him to process. To return someone to life in this setting u need to like. entreat a Titan. plead on the deceased's behalf and offer something up for the chance to revive them. (NO player spells like revivify. house rule) So interacting with these entities he sees as like Both forces of the natural world AND of huge religious/cultural importance regionally. And to have their requests be HEARD? He loves magic he loves Titans. And the plot is unfolding in such a way that scares me so bad. He loves his titan (The Curious Spear) SOOOO MUCH he has like the foundational belief that it can see through his eyes. Even if not true it motivates him to always seek understanding of strange new things.

Oh my god I didn't even talk about his multiclass into druid. He's a druid also. Circle of the Stars!! As a navigational point. He loves them. He loves space. He loves geography and regional interpretations of constellations. He used to just do freehand observations but truly became dedicated to charting the skies of every place the party travels to, after Tzipporah gifted him a grid-lined journal <3 <3 <3 STARRY FORM!!!!!!

His awe and inspiration and hunger for knowledge is the well he draws magical power from. My Boy is thematically bound up in the soggiest parts of this earth and also the unknowably distant stars above and I'm normal about it (lie) (There is a new and scary Third Thing rising which is the space between. I <3 Void). I know i draw him beige and green but his like, character colour theme is. Dusk to me. Gloaming. When the world is lit like a dream <3

In summary. In conclusion. He and Adra and Ilsa and Talee (and the rest of the Four of Four) are trying to prevent Global Disaster of an existential scale never before seen and are being very brave about it.

Loam wants to understand everything about Everything. Because understanding is love. Unfortunately there are hostile resentful and vengeful forces making this hard to do. Most recently by saving a city we Unmade a magically sustained centuries-old library. And we haven't had time to like fully let that sink in. Because of the horrors of war and being Four of Four means responding to emergencies and protecting cities as best we can against a foe that was forgotten by history until like, 10 months ago. Less, even. I hope this is anything. I hope u are his friend now too because he is yours

good lord how could i forget. His gender is male in such a way that he does not give a shit about it. He's one of the girls. He's genderless. Like a knight. His sense of identity is built on Living Laughing and Loving.

his personal goals are 1. to uncurse the bog in such a way that the wrongs committed by Tilden historically are brought to light and righted, 2. to get super married to Tzipporah and build a house together, and 3. to somehow, eventually, through great teamwork and effort, cure(?) the dreadful lingering soul plague on the island of demeter. HUMBLE! OH and to make a finished star chart covering the entire planet. humble.

thank u for reading here are his current stats

#titan campaign #loam #aart #theres some secret goodies under the readmore btw #IM SOOOOOO SORRY FOR THE CHAOTIC FORMATTING AND HOW MUCH I JUMP AROUND #i will happily answer more questions. and i wont take months to respond i promi #GRIFF... THANK YOU SM

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midnigtartist · 11 months ago

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hello! im a huge fan of dotty and have been for a couple years now. what what your design process for her like? can we see some earlier concepts/progress pics?

Ah Tyty! I don’t have a ton of design stuff for Dot bc she was made pretty quickly for a campaign in 2020 but I’ll pull what I can

Apologies for the shit phone photos I had to dig through old college notebooks for these lol. Anyways the original inspo for Dot came from a conversation my sister and I had about CR’s Percy and his teifling kid and how cool a rich girl gunslinging teifling would be. My first few passes at Dotty were very whimsical steampunk but I eventually decided I wanted her to have a more elegant silhouette. I also wanted her to have short little velvety horns that never grew in all the way, kinda like a baby deer

I ended up pulling a lot more from 1900s and 1950s style and mixed in a bunch of belts to make it fantasy I also wanted to do a darker color pallet bc you don’t usually see that on hero type characters. It was actually my DM at the time and her world building that lead me to the desi part of her design/backstory.

In Dots original game the DM fashioned her her home country as inspired by India during British occupation. Dotty was pushed by her family to conform to “common” (western) standards, including changing her name (her birth name is actually Dipti! And her cousins name is Rajesh)

I added the saree to her final design after it was gifted to her in game by her mom and gave her some porcelain pistols to match (tho those didn’t make it into baulders gate haha)

#tav shit #oc #dotty McClain

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dailydemonspotlight · 5 months ago

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Fionn Mac Cumhaill - Day 56

Race: Genma

Alignment: Light-Neutral

June 17th, 2024

Can you believe it guys? SMT V: Vengeance, just a... wait, it already came out? Damn, this joke doesn't work. Still, today we delve deeper into the hallowed hallows of Irish stories, examining a certain hero that has only one rival in terms of his popularity, which says a lot, given that rival is none other than Cu Chulainn; a legendary hunter-warrior who led the powerful army of warriors known as the Fianna, Fionn Mac Cumhaill. Infamous within the series for having one of the toughest boss fights in SMT V, Fionn actually is one of the most popular (and prominent) legendary figures in Irish folklore, and I'm frankly surprised it took this long for him to show up in the series.

Most of these Irish stories come in the forms of appearing in books called cycles- for one, the Ulster Cycle covers the exploits of Cú Chullain and Queen Medb, but in the case of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, one need not look further than another one of these books, that being the Fenian Cycle. The reasoning for this common naming scheme has actually been lost to time, so that's fun, but at least some people try to offer explanations. One that I enjoy actually comes from a Reddit post that purports that it may be because these tales 'cycle' around a certain character, like how the Fenian cycles around Fionn, or the Ulster cycles around Cú. That aside, though, these tales are notable from place to place for both providing context on Irish history itself as well as being great stand-alone stories in-and-of themselves.

One of these stories in the Fenian Cycle is entitled "The Boyhood Deeds of Fionn," originating as a fractured manuscript called Laud 610: folio 118Rb-121Va, though translations and added-on segments from other stories likely connected have led to the commonly accepted translation. Originally, Laud 610 was the only thing we had to work off of for Fionn Mac Cumhaill, a 14th century manuscript written in I believe Gaelic? The most recent translation we have to work off of, made up of translations, transliterations, and added-on segments, appears in a book written by Joseph Falaky Nagy called "The Wisdom of the Outlaw: Boyhood Deeds of Finn in Gaelic Narrative Tradition." In the story, it goes over the, well, exploits of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, starting with what else but his birth.

In the tale, it begins with the death of Fionn's father, Cumhall, who was the leader of the Fianna, a word used to effectively mean a band of hunter-warriors. Killed by his mortal enemy, Goll mac Morna, his unborn son and his wife Muirne were waiting for him, but upon Muirne learning of his death, she sent her son away as soon as he was born, fearing for his safety. This son's name was Demne, and whom he ended up with, a druiddess named Bodhmall, gave him the surname of Máel, his name effectively meaning "Stalwart shorthair druid." Bodhmall and her gal-pal Liath Luachra end up raising Demne to be a strong warrior, accompanying him on his myriad adventures, within one of which he gains his name, Fionn. After eating a salmon. We'll get to that. Given that he was just a kid, he had no real reason to be much of a fantastic warrior as of yet. However, the fates had different plans.

One day, while out hunting with a band of the Fianna, he'd come across a nice place to go fishing. While still known as Denme, aka being very young, he'd come across what was effectively a video game sidequest- a poet named Finnegas had spent years fishing in a nearby river to catch the mythical Salmon of Wisdom, as he had gotten a prophecy years back that he would eventually eat the salmon and gain all the world's wisdom. However, he had very poor luck. Denme, recognizing the frustration of the struggle, offered to help in going fishing. After a little while, the poet finally caught it! Recognizing the metaphorical good luck charm in Denme now by his side, he'd let the kid cook it.

While cooking the salmon, however, Fionn accidentally burned his thumb, to which he instinctively stuck it in his mouth... incidentally blessing himself with all the world's knowledge. Likely astonished by how dumb this kid was, Finnegas would give up, letting him have the entire rest of the salmon, now meaning that he could have access to the entire world's repository of knowledge... as long as he sucked his thumb. Yeahhh. Hilariously, this ability went on to be known as the "Thumb of Knowledge." I gotta wonder how Fionn felt when he got older and still had to do such an embarrassing ritual to access his strength.

As Fionn began to grow older, he grew accustomed to working under the services of many kingdoms, but when he'd mention his father's name- Cumhall- they'd send him away out of fear that they couldn't fight off his enemies. As it'd turn out, Cumhall was a massive fan of making foes, and was also a piece of work, to say the least, having abducted his wife and forced her to marry. Yikes. Thankfully, Fionn was far from his father in spirit, as shown when in future myths he ended up forgiving and even teaming up with Goll mac Morna. This story also ties into the Fomorians, but I'll leave you to look into that further yourself.

Several more myths surround Fionn, but this DDS is growing long, so I'll let you read them yourself. Trust me, they're a blast. A personal favorite of mine is that he never truly died- instead, he sealed himself into a cave to return when Ireland was at it's most dire moment. Given Irish history, I dread to think about what could happen next for Fionn to return (joke shamefully stolen from OSP's fantastic video on Fionn mac Cumhaill.) It's speculated that the reasoning for Fionn's biting of his thumb to access his pool of knowledge is actually connected to a belief in Fionn possibly being based on a real figure as well, though who this historical figure is is unknown- as the theory goes, he might've had a habit of biting his thumb while deep in thought. While this hypothesis has been offered time and time again, it's hard to pin down who exactly Fionn might have been.

In SMT, Fionn's design is honestly one of my favorite in the series, combining so many aspects of his character- his badass hunter-warrior look, druidic influences, his great blade, all the way down to one of his thumbs being covered in salmon-colored scales. I haven't played SMT V, unfortunately, but he appears as a rather infamous boss in the game with an utterly bumping theme, almost feeling like an anime character's theme track, which is very fitting, given Fionn's exploits. I can't wait to see this guy when I finally get my hands on Vengeance.

#shin megami tensei #smt #megaten #persona #daily #smt v vengeance #fionn mac cumhaill

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circuses-and-childhoodtrauma · 10 months ago

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Teen Dad Drex?

With the new developments with Drex, I decided to go back in my notes and find an old timeline that I had of his age and how it corresponds with the story and I added in the details of Lil Dynamite as well so that we may see how his birth lines up with Drex’s age. It takes quite some work but I hope it’s insightful and that I explain every decision I made properly. If there’s anything anyone else would like to add lmk! Also warning this is a p long post

So I believe the easiest place to start is Drex’s debut in season 3 episode 6 of Henry Danger. This episode featured a 15 year old Henry and a 35 year old Ray. In this episode, Ray reveals that he had a sidekick (presumably his first) 9 years prior. Now, our next few pieces of intel must be inferred from things we know about the show. By looking at the ages of all Ray’s featured sidekicks, it is inferred that Drex would also be a teenager at the time of working with Ray. When asked about Drex, Ray says that they only worked together for some months. Though he does not specify, he adds that they never fought crime together.

–Now, my personal headcanon is that they were together for maybe 6ish months and that time was spent training (I believe it was so much training and so little trust that contributed to Drex turning on Ray) (I also believe that the reason Drex never got a hero name is because he never fought crime and therefore was never debuted as a sidekick, [like the Danger Force kids in S1E2 of Danger Force, Say My Name], as far as I’m aware it is never even known to the public that Captain Man had a sidekick before Kid Danger)–

Another thing we know about Drex is that his time as a sidekick ended in a huge battle between him and Captain Man, one that, according to Ray, would have resulted in his death had he not been indestructible. So for the sake of that accuracy, I will put Drex on the older teenage side, farther into puberty and more grown into his physique. As such, my belief is that Drex joined Ray in at late 16, turned 17 during their partnership, and was 17 when they fought. This is also a contributor to his story, as it is more likely for Drex to be tried as an adult in court, making it more reasonable for him to be sentenced life in prison (although I’m sure Swellview would not hesitate to incarcerate him no matter the age given their weird laws).

Assuming Drex was 17 at the moment of incarceration, 9 years passing would make him 26 in Hour of Power, 28 in the Henry Danger finale, and 31 in season 3 of Danger force. (Each season seems to pass a year-ish, although season 5 of Henry Danger is an outlier given how many episodes it has, I will still count it as a year to save the headache.)

With Drex’s age out of the way, we can turn to the newest variable of our timeline: Buddy Fudgers, aka Li’l Dynomite. As far as I am aware there is no canon age for Li’l Dynomite mentioned anywhere in the show, however there is a point of interest that we can use. In the 2022 crossover between Danger Force and a number of other shows, Li’l Dynomite’s true identity is implied to be a character of the same actor named Fisher. This is later disproven, but the implication gives us the assumption that these characters are the same age. I chose to use this information rather than the actor’s age to fit in the story better (Danger Force characters are also younger than their actors). Fisher is 14 in the 2022 finale of Side Hustle, so we can assume that Li’l Dynomite would be the same age, making him 15 as of season 3.

Doing the math, Drex was ~16 years old when Li’l Dynomite is born, meaning he was 15/16 when Li’l Dynomite is conceived. This could happen during or around the time of his partnership with Ray, and it is safe to assume so far that he did not know about this child at least until after he was sent to prison.

I have included a visual timeline if this was too hard to follow, along with some other character’s ages that coincide. Feel free to use this information as you please, just try not to discredit the work and research it took to work it all out on paper 😭

If you got this far, here is a sketch I did of sidekick Drex as a treat!

#henry danger #danger force #ray manchester #drex stinklebaum #drex #lil dynomite #i spent so long on this sob #btw I wrote that Drex meets Ray at 16 but it’s my head canon that Drex knew him before he became his sidekick #so they didn’t actually meet there it’s just when they started working together #I believe that Drex already knew Ray when he met Credenza because I like to think he modeled himself after Ray #dangerverse #mine art

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maranull · 1 year ago

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Melina theory

I realised that while I've been rotating her character in my head on the daily for a year straight, I haven't actually wrote a proper theory about her. So I'm remedying that fact.

What we know from canon:

Melina is Marika's daughter.

Was born under the Erdtree.

Was given a specific purpose by her mother (Marika).

Wields unknown Erdtree incantations.

Wields the Blade of Calling.

Her moveset is very similar to that of the Black Knives, down to how she runs.

Holds/Held the title of the Kindling Maiden.

Has no body.

Her spirit form is filled with burn scars.

Can't move away from Torrent outside Leyndell.

No character mentions her existence.

At the FF ending, her right eye fades and her closed eye opens.

What I think it's safe to assume:

Melina is part of the three youngest demigods. All three of them have butterflies associated with their specific powers/characteristics. And their names follow the same pattern the Carian trio of demigod kids have.

Had some training under the Black Knives.

Has great knowledge about Marika's speeches and intentions towards the world and her children. In other words, she spent some time close to Marika.

The purpose she resolves towards, after we get her to Leyndell, is that the world requires repair, and for Death to become part of life once more.

She deeply loves the world and the creatures in it, despite the current state of it.

At the FF ending, her right eye turns blind and the left one looks very similar to the Beast Eye we get from Gurrang/Maliketh. At that point, she has taken control of the Rune of Death.

Knowing the above, there are some questions that arise.

Question no1. What was the purpose she was given by her mother?

I think it was the same as the one she resolves at while in Leyndell. Her first title was that of the Kindling Maiden, as per the Blade of Calling's description. (x) And Enia notes that to burn the Erdtree we need to "...find kindling." and that "...a sacrifice is needed. Of one who envisions the flame." (x)

I don't think the repeated use of the wold kindling is to be ignored here. Even Melina herself refers to her ability to be just that: "Think not, of the kindling. I shall see to that..." (x)

At the start of the game, when she's on her own (part from Torrent) and having no one to take the throne after she burns the Erdtree, she has become uncertain that her purpose is true. Having the Tarnished and seeing that to get to Marika the Erdtree must burn, she resolves into following her original purpose, but now on her own volition. Possibly adding her own desire that true Death returns to the Lands in the upcoming era.

Question no2. Why is she burned and bodiless?

I had my own theory for a while, but since then I've read one that I agree much more with, so I'm only writing that. The theory I've read and adopted, is this:

As the kindling maiden, she was birthed/created to burn the Erdtree. That's something that the Golden Order wouldn't take kindly on. The theory goes that she was found by the magisterial officials of the Order, was arrested and then burned as punishment. This is based on where we find the Blade of Calling and on the fact that an Official's Attire is found right outside the room. And if the timeline of Melina's burning coincides with Godwyn and Ranni's "deaths", that gives even more reason for Marika to straight up shatter the Elden Ring instead of slowly trying to subvert the Greater Will.

Question no3. What's her connection with Destined Death/The Rune of Death?

Really not that much. She mentions Destined Death/The Rune of Death thrice, with only once actually having it in her possession.

"I have long observed the Lands Between. This world is in dire need of repair... and Death...indiscriminate..."

As Marika removed the Rune of Death from the Elden Ring, true Death is missing in the Lands Between. This first time Melina refers to Death, it is as something that's missing and needs to return to the world. (x)

"The one who walks alongside flame, Shall one day meet the road of Destined Death."

Again, this mention of Destined Death doesn't relate to her. The Tarnished is the one that actually meets Destined Death, i.e. Maliketh wielding it. So I think it's safe to assume that the "flame" is herself, especially with all her connections to fire (her being "kindling", the butterflies, her burn scars). (x)

"Lord of Frenzied Flame... I will seek you, as far as you may travel... To deliver you what is yours. Destined Death."

Finally, this is the only time Destined Death is in her possession and actually connected to her character. (x) And I believe it's safe to assume that the Beast Eye she now has is used as the catalyst for it.

To summarise, her connection to the Rune of Death/Destined Death is that she wants it returned to the Elden Ring and that she takes and wields it at the FF ending.

Question no4. What's up with her eye tattoo?

This is purely speculation, but I think it's a type of marking that all Demigod spirits have. This is solely based on the fact that Ranni has a similar marking. They are the only Demigod spirits we meet and that relation is all we really have without going into headcanon territory.

It has been suggested that the markings are the same with the Beast Eye, but the Beast Eye "scars" are three curved lines, with one of them breaking into two at the end. Melina's tattoo has the additions of a horizontal line cutting them and another anchoring line passing over her eyelid and ending close to her nose.

Question no5. Why does she have Torrent? And why does she need him to traverse the Lands outside Leyndell?

I think Torrent was given to Melina by Miquella, when the later settled down at the Haligtree and didn't have a need for a horse anymore. (I also believe Ranni was given the Spirit Calling Bell for the same reason.)

Torrent is a "spectral steed". Both a spirit himself but also somehow able to transport other spirits or spirit-adjacent forms, such as Melina.

As to why she can't leave Leyndell on her own, I think all spirits are restricted from going too far from their place of death. Lattena and Aurelia both need us to transport them where they need to go, and Aurelia was already traveling with Roderika before we took her.

To summarize:

Melina is Marika's daughter, sister to Miquella and Malenia, born/created to burn the Erdtree, trained by the Black Knives and hidden from everyone. Before finding the Tarnished, she roamed and curiously observed the Lands Between. Her goal, after we get her to Leyndell, is to fix the current state of the world and to return Death to the Lands Between. In order to do that, she resolves to do what she was made to do — which is to burn the Erdtree — but this time of her own volition.

I tried to steer clear of pure headcanons, but yeah. This is how I see Meli in game.

Also, I'm mentioning this cause I know I'll have to deal with it otherwise: I'm aware of the GEQ theory and it does not interest me. In case anyone had a point to make about that, don't take this the wrong way, but feel free to make your own post and leave the GEQ out of mine.

If I figure out anything else, I'll add it with reblogs.

Thanks for reading all of this!

#elden ring #melina #melina adoring hours again

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blazehedgehog · 2 months ago

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Why do newer pokemon look so offputting? Older games had tons of diverse designs but newer ones look unfinished/not well thought out.

They might be. I dunno. There's a lot people have said about Game Freak's competency at handling the Pokemon franchise and how they've added too many new Pokemon to some of these games and are basically running the well dry on good ideas.

But I also just see it as, like, an extension of the Mighty No. 9 problem. I remember when we were still all starry-eyed and hopeful about Mighty No. 9, Inafune revealed the design and mentioned it had "increased detail to suit HD displays."

So he's got all these colors and patterns and grooves and slots, when Mega Man was basically just a kid in his pajamas and three solid colors:

Light blue, dark blue, and skin tone. That's it. That's all you needed.

And Inafune further explained that was because Mega Man had to be this tiny little 24x24 NES sprite. I'd have to look it up, but it wouldn't surprise me if the sprite came first. I know it definitely did with Mario.

So this is like designing a character with the rawest, most basic building blocks you can get. You are not adapting the above character art into this sprite. Instead, you are making a character that has arms that are a separate color from his body, you are giving him pants to denote where his waist is, and you give him the biggest eyes on earth just so people can tell that's his face.

You have the smallest canvas imaginable and have to make sure people can understand they are not only looking at the shape of a human, but watching it animate in various different poses, all when it's run through somebody's crusty old RF patch cable on their 12" CRT TV:

Whereas, in theory, Mighty No. 9 is going to be played at its native resolution in crystal clarity on a 40" flat panel display, potentially allowing you to see and understand a lot more detail.

So now we circle back to Pokemon, and a lot of those first Pokemon look like this:

They had a box, 56x56 pixels wide, just over double the size of NES Mega Man, and four colors of grey to work with. When viewed on a Gameboy screen, these monsters weren't even two inches tall. Those limitations meant they still had to keep things simple.

Whereas now, increased resolutions and screen clarity allows designs like these:

Now the point I'm trying to make here is that simplicity and limitations give birth to clear, highly focused designs created to be instantly identifiable and recognizable at any distance or resolution. More detail does not necessarily make for a stronger character. You can absolutely get caught up in adding detail to compensate for a bad character design.

...At the same time, let's play devil's advocate here. Pokemon is a very different creature now than it was 25 years ago. A single new Pokemon design probably goes through this huge insane iteration process where all kinds of departments touch and approve the design so it can appear in the anime, it can appear in spinoffs, it can appear in merchandise, so on and so forth. We're miles away from the days where one guy comes up with all the Pokemon just because he thinks it would be funny to have a fat duck with a headache.

Maybe as much as anything, you could blame the increasingly complex production machine on why these Pokemon look like this. After all, even by the second generation of Pokemon games, they were constantly chasing the dragon of trying to find "the next Pikachu."

Everything has to be polished and smoothed down, while also showing the increased capabilities of the hardware, while also staying appealing to Pokemon's core demographics (there are multiples), while also being something they can sell toys and shirts and hats of, while also being noticeably new and different from existing Pokemon, so on and so forth, on and on and on again.

Having so many Pokemon in each new game probably gives them some leeway to experiment, but I'm sure some of these characters get beaten with creative hammers in the search of their next superstar.

On top of whatever qualms people might have with the state of Game Freak as it stands today.

#questions #Anonymous #pokemon #nintendo #game freak #mega man #mighty no. 9 #character design #limitations #I am not insulting your favorite pokemon #I don't even know a lot of these pokemon

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melonchanverse · 1 month ago

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Consider this part of Operation Learn More About Melon! I was wondering... how did you come up with the Murakami family? Who did you think of first? How did you come to create each member? [Like the process of how they came to be!]

thanks for the question nimo!!! ugh this answer is going to be complicated.....

let’s start with the fact that I've been in khr fandom for about ten years. and this isn't the first or last version of the murakami family. originally, by all precepts, they were supposed to be an italian family, but later I learned more about other mafia families and decided to be a special princess. and I did this probably about five years ago? so now they've been yakuza for five years hahaah.

they were originally supposed to be a family that appeared after the main plot and TIMESKIP. yes, vongola were supposed to be graduating high school at the time of the Murakami family's appearance, but I've changed that idea now?? a bit. kinda. ahhaha…

I wanted something to set Murakami apart from the rest of the families in terms of characters, especially Ichiro as the boss. i drew from the qualities of the previous characters to make him unique and memorable in his own way. from that, in places he became a slightly opposite image of tsuna: the popular good guy who has been in the mafia since his birth and who has been raised to be the boss since he was a kid. I didn't originally plan to add nadeko and itsuki. they weren't in the very first Italian version of the family, but over the years my tastes changed, I realized I really like family dynamics and tragic siblings and now here we are, lol. I tried to make them as a trio both different and yet very similar. I even gave them colors from a similar spectrum: purple, pink and red.

about the others, kaguya was just supposed to be from an assassin family and she was sent as an assassin to kill tsuna. it was later that i changed the idea and made her a close friend of nadeko as well, but as it is she hasn't changed much in so many years ahahaha. ryo wasn't in the Italian version of the family, I only added him along with yakuza. i was inspired by The Way of the Househusband when i came up with him 😭😭😭😭

of the other characters that are left from the Italian mafia is... Akina lol. he almost didn't change either except for his name. he had an Italian name, but other than that he was still the same bastard in everything else. How did I come up with him? no idea. why did I keep him? no idea 💀💀💀💀

i made haruka simply because i wanted someone completely ordinary, originally they were supposed to be something like Audience Surrogate who were supposed to be in constant incomprehension of what was going on, but in the end their ordinariness went into... weirdness, and Audience Surrogate's semblance to Audience Surrogate in terms of reaction to what was going on became. Keitaro 😭😭😭😭 Keitaro was actually a character of mine from another fandom, but honestly, I don't remember which one...

miyako was originally just supposed to be a fashionista gyaru, but then her image mimicked and mixed with that of a mad scientist, and I was satisfied. mieru should have been a bit more soft in character and very much in love with basically everyone, but here I really. don't know what went wrong, I guess I just don't know how to do totally soft characters without some kind of "but" 😭😭😭😭

anyway, that's all i remembered. i still love the idea of their arc during high school period, but now, i don't know anymore. hope the answer was interesting! thanks for the question :)

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr oc #murakami family #melon ask

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theriseofthebravetangleddragons · 19 days ago

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Good evening ROTBTD'ers! As per the poll, I am proud to present the results and our first interview!

And so, I would like to present for our first Post:

A short interview with Olive from @trixicwriter94 , current director* of the project B4: Guardians, a Rise of the Brave tangled Dragons fan film.

I know customary wording is Q/A but here we’ll be working with the A/O format.

A = Andy, providing questions and O= Olive, our first creator.

A- So for starters, let's do some basic introductions! Could you state your preferred online name /user and your pronouns? (For your reference I'm Andy and I use he/him)

O- Olive is my name, and my pronouns are they/them!

A- Nice to meet you formally Olive!

O- Nice to meet you, too, Andy! Thank you for conducting this interview!

A- It's a pleasure to service my community (fandom), we can pinpoint the birth of the fandom to 2012-2013, when and how did you initially discover the [rotbtd] fandom?

O- Oooh, that’s a good question. I’d have to say that I first saw the fandom here on Tumblr, but I can’t exactly pinpoint when that was. I was still new to Tumblr back then, so I was still new to the idea of “fandom”.

A- That's valid, in that same branch, how long have you been active in the fandom?

O- I think I’ve been active pretty much since it was started in 2013.

A- Nice, we love an OG! Since you've been here a while, what would you say has most changed in ~10 years of the fandom?

O- hank you! I think the the things that’s most changed is the fact that people in the fandom have added a lot more characters/movies (that, in my opinion, are unnecessary) to the Big Four.

A- Yeah, I feel the same honestly, but I can appreciate an odd bunch from time to time! In matters of characters, do you have a fave out of the four or one from their distinct casts?

O- Hmmm…I know that we’re using pre-HTTYD2 Hiccup and Toothless in B4: Guardians, but my favorite character among the cast of characters from the How To Train Your Dragon franchise is Eret, Son Of Eret. Anyone who knows me well would not be very surprised by that fact. My favorite among the four has got to be Rapunzel. She’s just feisty and has a fighting spirit. She fights for what she believes in, and I really admire that about her.

A- That's a very nice portrait of Rapunzel! If you had to say which character is most like you/that you identify with the most, who would you pick?

O- It’s a cross between Hiccup and Rapunzel. Hiccup because I’m an outcast in my family. I’m the youngest, unmarried and with no kids… and I’m okay with that. Rapunzel because I feel like I’m just dreaming about writing full time, and painting is very important to Rapunzel, so I relate to her being interested in the visual arts. I’m currently in culinary school, but it’s physically and mentally draining each week. Anyway, yeah. Hiccup and Rapunzel are the ones I relate to most!

A- Interesting! I had no idea you studied culinary, cool vocation! And in matters of vocation, what would say your role within the fandom is?

O- I like to think that I’m a content creator within the fandom, despite the fanfilm not being that well-known!

A- Speaking of creation, now would be a great time for you to tell us about that fan vfilm! In a few lines can you tell us about the fan film itself?

O- Okay! The fan film is about Jack, Merida, Rapunzel and Hiccup being chosen to discover their centers, defeat a great evil, and help rekindle a broken father/daughter relationship. I think the lesson of the movie is that family isn’t just blood, but it’s also your chosen family, the family that you meet along the journey of your life.

O- Like, I know a LOT of people ship Merricup and Jackunzel and all the other ones…but I just see those four being good friends, with a family dynamic. Their chosen family may be small, but they grow as characters, and I like to believe we see that growth in B4: Guardians, and not just in each of the characters’ source material.

A- That's a fair point, platonic relationships are just as important as romantic ones and should not be undervalued; I know that you currently hold multiple positions in the making of this fan film, now I've seen the most updated version up on youtube and I'm wondering who came up with this?

O- That would be TheRedBoots, on deviantArt. They’ve since left the group (mentally and emotionally, although their username is still physically listed as the founder, as far as I’m aware). Back in 2013, I was just watching random Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons YouTube videos (like fantrailers), and I saw this comment asking for people to help with a project that would soon after be known as The Big Four: Rise Of the Brave Tangled Dragons. It wasn’t until several years later that a Twitter user came up with the new title, since, technically, Rise Of the Brave Tangled Dragons was a copyrighted title (shout out to FILMSTHESEDAYS…I honestly have no clue if they’re still on Twitter since I’ve deleted my account). And, thus, B4: Guardians was the new name, and it’s been that way ever since.

The year was, I think, 2018 when the title was changed, since that’s the year that I made the post on the deviantArt page.

A- Dang what a story! And while we’re here, what ads are currently up for the project?

O- Let’s see, I’ve posted several on my TikTok and Instagram, and the lead animator has posted an ad on their channel. I have also posted some here on Tumblr. Most of the posts I’ve made on social media are just progress reports, but there’s one ad I made looking for volunteer animators and composers for this fanfilm.

A- Cool beans, I'll link the aads somewhere in here [place ads here]

Now here’s a couple rapid fire questions

O- I’m ready!

A- 1. Fave media format in the fandom ? (story, animation, art, cosplay, etc)

O- Probably art. I love seeing all the different art styles people have.

And, sadly, I rarely read other people’s fanfics, as I don’t want to think that “oh, that would make a good fanfilm”.

I’ve also scoured YouTube for animators for this thing…and I can’t really find that many, unfortunately.

A- Yeah that’s fair, tis' the ages for this,

2. Your favourite song for the main cast?

O- Hmmm…like from the original source materials’ scores or fanmade songs?

A- Whichever you like best :)

O - I think my favorite fanmade song for this crossover is a tie between No Way Out by 808mossmallow, and Free (Special Edition) by Ellie Amaya. The three others I love are Someday Things Will Change by Lily Sevin, Something Different by Lily Sevin, and Take Pity On Me by Walker Smith.

Fun fact: You may or may not hear those songs in the end credits of B4: Guardians!😉

A- Ooooooo very nice line up,

3. Favourite AU?

O- Thank you! I knew we needed something for the end credits, and I love all of those songs, so, after I got permission from each of the artists to use their respective songs in the end credits, I’ve spliced each of the songs up to make a mashup!

As for favorite AU…I’d have to say any Modern AU.

A- Very valid! I love modern AUs as well haha

O- Because, before 2020, I was really hoping to make this fan film live-action, even going as far as making wishlists for props, casting actors, trying to raise the money, and looking at locations.

A- Ooooo I’ve always dreamed of a live action Movie, I wanted my story to be one initially haha

Now, our final question, what is your wish for the fandom?

O- That’s really cool! My wish for the fandom is that this fan film (and the fandom in general) thrives for years to come. It’s one of the reasons I write fiction: to get my stories out there, and for them to become people’s favorite books. The same goes for the fanfilm: I want people to be able to enjoy it now and in the future.

A- That is a beautiful wish, I hope it comes true! ☺️

And so this concludes our brief interview, thank you so much Olive for your time! I hope our fandom thrives again!

O- Thank you so much for your well wishes, and for interviewing me! It was a pleasure! And you’re welcome!

As mentioned above, here are linked the volunteer ads that are up if you're a creative with some time and a current wish to participate in a fandom-led project!

See here to volunteer as a composer! 🎶 And around here to volunteer in the animation process! ✏

You can of course find B4: Guardians, in its latest stage up on Youtube! 📺

Again, a big thank you to Olive for participating in my fandom antics!

Alright folks! This concludes our first interview! I will be following this post with an ask box for you to pitch in names or users or projects you'd love to see interviews about (be writers, artists, composer,etc) or if you wish to volunteer as 'tribute' do so within the ask box as well!

With this, I bid thee good day and to the morrow of soon,

Godspeed rotbtd'ers, big4 4evaaa

#rotbtd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #rise of the brave tangled interviews #fandom interviews #the big four #b4 guardians #fan film #rotbtd fandom

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wits-writing · 1 year ago

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“A Wonderful Experience”: Why Transformers: EarthSpark and Nightshade Matter

I’ve been a Transformers fan to one degree or another for as long as I can remember. Whether it’s early memories of watching Beast Wars, renting the G1 animated film on VHS from Blockbuster, or reading the numerous excellent comics that have come over the years, I’ve always found something to love about this franchise. So, I was probably going to find time to check out the 2022 CGI animated series Transformers: EarthSpark eventually no matter what. But one little bird changed that from an “I’ll get around to it eventually” to “I need to make watching this show a priority.”

A little bird by the name of Nightshade (voiced by Z Infante)!

I’d already heard from people I trust about EarthSpark’s quality as a series, but finding out about the franchise’s first prominent, explicitly nonbinary Transformer got me eager to dive in. I’ve discussed characters I relate to and read nonbinary themes into in the past, but getting a chance to see a show in a franchise I love feature that kind of representation with intent was exciting. Given the fact I’ve written 3000 words analyzing the character of Nightshade now, it’s easy to say I wasn’t disappointed!

The topic of gender and how it relates to the Transformers as characters has been one of many long, exhausting fandom debates over the franchise’s nearly four decade history. I’m not here to relitigate any of that, so take it as read from here on out that the Transformers as characters do have and express gendered identities throughout the history of all its incarnations.

To give a quick primer on EarthSpark as a whole (and why it’s great) before digging into Nightshade’s character in specific:

The series is set fifteen years after the end of the Autobot/Decepticon War. The bots that managed to survive the fighting and remain on Earth are presumed to be the last of their species. All of them are stuck in a holding pattern where the only options currently viable are a life in hiding or working alongside the government-funded alien threat detection/response agency GHOST. Optimus Prime and Megatron head up the latter efforts, in the hope of finding some peaceful balance between humans and Transformers going into the future (though neither of them are fully at ease with the situation, as GHOST clearly has ulterior motives of their own.)

The grim outlook for the Cybertronians takes a turn for the better with the birth of two new Transformers. The Earth-sparks of the show’s title (called “Terrans” throughout the series), Twitch and Thrash, who are bonded to the human children Robby and Mo Malto. Helped by Optimus, Megatron, and the Malto kids’ parents, GHOST agent Dot and her husband Alex, the decision is made to keep the Terrans a secret until the extent of what their existence could mean for the Transformers future as a species is fully understood. The Terrans become an official part of the Malto Family (lovingly referred to as “Malto-bots” by the other characters.) At the halfway point of the first season, in the episode “Age of Evolution”, this unconventional family unit expands further with the birth of three more Terrans, including Nightshade.

Between puzzling out the Terrans’ existence, hiding from GHOST, and fighting threats like the human mad scientist Mandroid, there’s a lot of thematic meat on the bone of this series’ setup. The main one I’m interested in digging into through the lens of Nightshade’s characterization is how the Terrans are written to feel like kids figuring out who they want to be as they grow up. Transformers has a history of designating one or more bots in its series central casts as the rookie/kid character, not insignificantly the Terrans’ primary mentor, Bumblebee, has been traditionally positioned as that very rookie. EarthSpark adding the narrative weight of representing a potential for all Transformers, particularly in how they’ll relate to humans while living on Earth, onto these characters gives more meaning to them being under that role.

The Terrans learn lessons about who they want to be and who they can/can’t trust (not always determined by old alliances like Autobot/Decepticon) from the older Transformers and humans alike. Also proving through their actions everything new they’ll have to offer the world they call home through the gift of their existence. Each Terran has been given the appropriate space so far to have their characters develop, each in their own directions, through this theme.

Nightshade is exemplary of this, best understood through looking at how they’re characterized before/after their first focus episode “Missed Connection”, about them forming a bond with Decepticon scientist Tarantulas.

[SPOILERS for EarthSpark beyond this point]

Before “Missed Connection”

Something that genuinely impressed me going back through EarthSpark for the sake of writing this piece is how immediately Nightshade is fully themself from their earliest bits of screentime in “Age of Evolution.” While the other two members of the second batch of Terran Transformers, Hashtag and Jawbreaker, have their names confirmed upon them by their connection to Robby and Mo, Nightshade actively introduces themself with a bow and a flourish (“It is a delight and a surprise to meet you all!”) This beat quickly establishes their self-assuredness in their identity and that, while they’re later shown to have occasional introverted tendencies, they are anything but shy. I’m also fond of how the scene establishing their pronouns as Optimus lays out their plan of attack also foreshadows their eventual alt-mode, since they ask to be represented by an owl-bobblehead during the planning. The one scene serving as a contrast to their outgoing demeanor, as they recoil at the sight of Mandroid’s cruelty, gives the first hint towards their eventual desire to protect those in need.

There’s only two episodes between Nightshade’s debut in “Age of Evolution” and their first focus episode; “Hashtag: Oops” and “Outtakes.” Since neither is their focus episode, there’s not much to say about how they’re portrayed in either one (in fact, Nightshade’s entirely absent from “Outtakes” as anything but a brief visual cameo.) “Hashtag: Oops” does still manage to establish some key parts of Nightshade’s personality. Firstly, their comfort in themselves as they proclaim they don’t need an alt-mode (“I like who I am as I am.”) Secondly, their inclination towards tech and engineering as they secretly build a new underground base to surprise their family and give everyone more room to operate within. The latter also indicates their “better to ask forgiveness than permission” approach to their tinkering and scientific work. Which comes back around in a big way during “Missed Connection.”

Which finally brings us to the episode that’s the primary reason I’m writing this piece at all!

“Missed Connection”

Being Nightshade’s first proper focus episode in the series, their current state as part of the ensemble cast gets reestablished in short order. Namely, how they feel out of place around their siblings. Their affinity for science and technology leads to them making their own fun separate from the rest of the family. A pattern that gets highlighted by Nightshade working to perfect a new training drone while the rest of their siblings are playing a game of tag outdoors in celebration of Robby and Mo having the day off school. When later questioned by Alex and Dot about why they don’t spend more time with the rest of the family, Nightshade says it feels like their siblings treat them like they’re “speaking another language.”

This sense of isolation informs why Nightshade is so eager later in the episode when they find a connection with Tarantulas’ own work with tech. Simultaneously providing an opportunity for Alex to offer them something they can connect with while trying to figure out how to connect with others. Like any good nerdy dad, he does it through the magic of reading. He offers Nightshade a copy of his favorite book from when he was growing up, “Winged Sentinel”, an in-universe fantasy/sci-fi series they immediately connect with and find new aspirations. Which we hear as they repeatedly call back to the books like about its hero “protecting those in need.” Their connection to this book quickly leads to the one they find working with Tarantulas, as they were in the local cemetery since it was the “last known address” of Winged Sentinel’s author.

(Quick aside: First time I watched this episode, that detail had me thinking the show was going to do a “Nightshade learns about mortality” type of story. I was relieved when not only did Nightshade grok what happened to the author pretty fast, but the episode in turn swiftly shifted to the dynamic between Tarantulas and them.)

“Missed Connection” finds its central theme in Nightshade and Tarantulas’ discussions on identity and finding one’s place within that world rife with conflict that can be directly hostile to those like them. There’s a recurrent motif in the dialogue of Tarantulas’ cynicism born from eons of experience and Nightshade’s youthful enthusiasm. Though cynicism is far from all the elder Transformer has to offer, as he also provides Nightshade with a new perspective on alt-modes they hadn’t considered and ultimately guides them to their choice.

Nightshade: Aren’t I sufficient as I am? Tarantulas: Alt-forms aren’t meant to complete you, as though you have a missing part, they further express who you already are.

Combining that with Tarantulas’ frustration at the “constrictive labels” of Autobot/Decepticon adds to the resonance this episode has with the nonbinary experience. The concept of “passing” gets explicitly evoked by him while discussing his plan to create a hard-light hologram projector so he can live freely as a human while evading GHOST’s forces. Which is the first proper disguise Tarantulas has taken in his life. While his giant spider alt-mode may provide plenty of utility, it’s anything but discreet.

His plan and attitude informing on it connects back to the broader central theme of EarthSpark as a series of the Transformers finding a new way to live on Earth among humanity with the Terrans representing the way forward. He can’t see a way forward besides hiding who he is and the only safety he can think to offer Nightshade is to join him in that life of discretion. His outlook’s best emphasized by his assuredness that the Autobot/Decepticon War resuming is inevitable, alongside that eventuality dragging him out of whatever peace he does find.

However, cracks in Tarantulas’ bleak worldview show as he begins to admire Nightshade’s exuberant demeanor and determination to be a protector. That admiration for a Transformer with the potential to live unburdened by all the hardships he’s seen leads to him delivering the best, most resonant line in the episode:

“It is a gift to know yourself so well, so young. Take pride in that.”

A beautiful sentiment aimed directly at members of EarthSpark’s target demographic on their own journeys to express their identities.

Unfortunately, the bond these characters have found can’t last. When Tarantulas recognizes Dot as an agent of GHOST, he acts rashly under the assumption that she’s holding Nightshade prisoner. He kidnaps Alex and her, planning to erase Nightshade from their memories so they can go into hiding with him. As a fight between the bots eventually breaks out, Nightshade commits to acting like the protector they aspire to be and chooses the alt-mode of a green armored owl, based on the hero of Winged Sentinel. (Alex’s proud declaration of “You read the book!” while witnessing this is great.) A form that isn’t a disguise but expresses themself as they are and what they want to be going forward.

Nightshade and Tarantulas’ conflict has grown intense enough by this point that the elder Transformer’s admiration for the young bot doesn’t come through in his reaction. Rather he flips it into an insult providing Nightshade their opportunity for a sharp, direct retort (and other best line in the episode):

Tarantulas: You’re still just the lost protoform I first met! Nightshade: You’ve just proven you don’t really know me, because I was never lost!

When the fight ends with Tarantulas’ hologram projector destroyed in the skirmish, Nightshade reflects on words Dot offered them earlier about how everyone deserves a second chance and convinces their family not to hurt Tarantulas any further. However, it seems to be a decision out of their hands as GHOST is drawn to their location by the fight. Tarantulas, finally understanding Nightshade’s situation as well as who they are, offers himself up as bait to lure GHOST away from the Maltos. Running off into the forest as Nightshade reflects on the broken hologram projector the two of them made.

Multiple rewatches of this episode, as well as the first season of EarthSpark as a whole, has reaffirmed it as my favorite episode of the show so far. The tight focus of the dynamic between Nightshade and Tarantulas, alongside the deeper meaning that can be taken from pretty much every exchange between the two, is exemplary of what makes this series standout wonderfully as part of the vast Transformers canon.

After “Missed Connection”

Since there’s not that much of the first season left after “Missed Connection”, Nightshade’s once again mostly off to the side doing their own thing. But there are small bits that show how their experiences in that episode have changed them. They actively spend more time around the rest of the Malto Family, like helping Bumblebee train for an upcoming race and showing that they’ve formed a bond built on mutual tech-obsession with their sister, Hashtag, as they work together to further upgrade the underground headquarters.

We also get a fun minor bit of their “better to ask forgiveness…” way of operating when they add some high tech bells and whistles to Dot’s prosthetic leg as a Mother’s Day present in the episode “Bear Necessities.” A plot point that later gives the show an opportunity for Dot and Nightshade to have a nice mother-child bonding moment as she explains to them why she liked her leg the way it was in terms they can understand (“something like this is personal”) while not completely shutting them down over it (“I’m open to some small changes, but they’ll have to be ones we come up with together.”)

Though the biggest moment post “Missed Connection” moment for the character, as well as my personal favorite single scene in EarthSpark so far, comes from their subplot in the season 1 two-parter episode “Home.” As the Malto kids and the Terrans go into Philadelphia to see more of the wider world, we get to see Nightshade continue acting as a protector for those in need as they save a young person named Sam from getting mugged in an alley. Nightshade notices a pin that says “SHE/THEY” on Sam’s handbag and tells her their pronouns in return. The two end up having a conversation about how the things that make them who they are can also make them targets for intolerantly minded people. This interaction ends with Sam affirming they feel safe around Nightshade and giving the young Transformer a simple but effective explanation of what being nonbinary means.

This not only gives Nightshade further context to understand themself, but also has the important touch from a metaperspective of having a human character be the one to explain the concept. An effective dodge of what’s frequently cited as a pitfall of using aliens/robots to explore these facets of human identity, making it as clear as possible for anyone watching (especially the target demographic of kids) that Nightshade’s nonbinary identity is in no way just a product of their being an alien robot. Rather, it's an identity that simply feels right for some people living in the world. One that people who identify with it and explore their connections to it can find immensely fulfilling.

Or, as Nightshade puts it at the end of this conversation:

“What a wonderful word, for a wonderful experience.”

(Before I dive into my conclusion, I want to say I deeply hope this isn’t the last we see of Sam in the series. Both for representation’s sake and because I like seeing the Terrans bond with humans outside of their immediate family circle.)

It would feel wrong to end this look at Nightshade’s character and how that reflects on the best qualities of EarthSpark as a series without giving proper credit to the creative voices involved in bringing them to life. Namely, writer Mae Catt (she/they) who wrote the episode “Missed Connection” and one of the three writers on “Home”, the other two being showrunners Nicole Dubuc and Dale Malinkowski. While fundamentally I believe anyone could write any kind of story, authenticity comes through stronger when writers from the same background are involved. Catt’s passion for writing this show comes through beautifully in these episodes and in how they’ve discussed the show on social media.

Her understanding for what these characters and stories can mean to the young people watching gets clearly reflected in recurrent elements of EarthSpark’s story. Aside from Nightshade’s admiration for the main character of the Winged Sentinel novels, we also see moments in other episodes of their siblings trying to figure out what being a Transformers means through in-universe Transformers comic books telling the story of the Autobot/Decepticon War.

It’s also what drove me to write this piece. I see Nightshade in all their creative, expressive glory and it makes me happy for the kids watching Transformers: EarthSpark, seeing them, and relating to them. Every story has the potential to be a guide someone out there can use to move closer to their heart. Nightshade’s being that guide to nonbinary kids now in a way I never could’ve dreamed of growing up is, simply put, wonderful.

Happy Pride! 💛🤍💜🖤

If you like what you’ve read here, please like/reblog or share elsewhere online, follow me on Twitter (@WC_WIT), and consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

#transformers earthspark #transformers #nightshade #nightshade earthspark #Wit's Writing #tv review #nonbinary #lgbtqia #queer #nightshade malto #nightshade transformers #pride #happy pride

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grimmdivinity · 5 months ago

Text

Here Comes the Reign - Chapter One

the writers favorite lines:

She used to look like her mother.

Now she looks like no one.

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Everyone fears the unknown. They fear what the future holds. They fear people and things they don’t know enough about. They fear different. That fear is what divides a people. It is what can drive a wedge into the foundation of a kingdom, break it from the inside out. Like a rotten fruit that spoils the entire batch if left to fester, or the plague that swept through the kingdom a few decades ago, fear is a contagious disease. But fear of the unknown is the most basic fear, the kind that is ingrained in everyone from birth. Fearing the unknown is natural.

And everyone in the Kingdom of Newmantle feared the beast that lurked under the King’s castle. It’s been there for almost three decades now, yet very few have laid eyes on the beast. Some had gotten a glimpse when it was smuggled into the dungeons overnight; they’d seen that a large cell was being added to the already existing castle and watched every night until they found out what the cell was for.

A beast, apparently. And they feared that beast as it lurked under the castle. They feared the rumors of the beast’s sharp teeth and even sharper claws. They feared the rumors of wings and eyes as red as the blood it is said to drink. They feared the sheer size the beast is said to be, the size of the cell needed to cage it.

Since it was put under the castle, no one has been permitted to see it outside of the King and his most trusted knights. Not even servants are made to go that far into the dungeons. No one knows exactly what it is, or what it looks like, or what it did to be locked up underneath layers and layers of stone, but they feared it.

Most of all, though, they feared what the King may one day decide to do with the beast. They feared what the beast might do if it were ever let out of the dungeons. If it escaped.

So much about the beast is unknown, but for Reign Lugden, everything is unknown, and she’d be damned if she feared everything.

Reign had grown up in the castle, the product of the King’s brief encounter with one of his servants twenty-four years ago. Reign, her mother named her, for the rights she deserved by blood but knew she’d never be given.

King Tobias Lugden has only one other child, one born to the Queen and recognized as the rightful heir to the crown. A son, younger half-brother to Reign, named Bentley, who made it his mission to terrorize Reign whenever possible. To remind her that she is lesser than him, that she is undeserving of life.

She didn’t think he was wrong, by any means.

If she was deserving, she’d have a much better life than she did now. Then, she’d be allowed outside of the castle. No one outside of the stone walls even knows of her existence. Barely anyone inside the castle knows of her, either, it would seem. Confined to her room most of the day, Reign doesn’t see very many people. Meals are brought to her – when they feel like it. Which sometimes isn’t very often. There’d been times that she’d gone without food until she was so weak and starved that some poor servant had to hand feed her in a shoddy attempt to keep her alive.

It hadn’t always been that way. The first few years were okay, when her mother was still around to love her. Reign was given a basic education, learning to read and write as any kid might, but it stopped there. She’s an adult now, with the education of a child, because once Reign’s mother disappeared, Reign was no longer allowed the same privileges the other castle children got. Instead, once her mother was gone, Reign was taught more useful things, like how to cook and clean, how to wait on the royalty that owned her.

But then as she got older and couldn’t be hidden so easily within the castle, she was eventually confined to a single room. She thought herself lucky to have a full bedroom and washroom to herself. It wasn’t extravagant by any means, it wasn’t anything compared to rooms of the royals she waited on, but it was enough for her.

She had a bed, and she had a place to wash herself. She had a small wardrobe for the few clothes she owned. She had privacy, for the most part. It was her own space. She could cuddle under the blankets when she got cold, open up the window if it got too hot, even if there were bars over the window to stop her from escaping or simply jumping.

No matter how nice it was, though, it was still imprisonment, and it wasn’t too long before she lost even that. The isolation got to her eventually, years of being so utterly alone, and it caused a snap in her brain that she hasn’t quite recovered from.

Before the incident, Reign was a hardheaded girl. She wasn’t afraid to mouth back, to resist the knight’s orders. She didn’t have very many freedoms, but she took advantage of the few she did have.

Then, she broke.

Reign had spent too many years inside the same four walls. More than ever before, she had felt trapped, and for the first and last time, Reign tried to free herself.

The servant had brought Reign her one meal for the day, and Reign took her chance. As soon as the door opened, she was ready, going first for the fork and knife that were on the tray. It was only a dull butterknife and a simple dining fork, but that didn’t stop Reign from shoving the servant to the ground and plunging the silverware into the man’s arm, chest, and neck.

It wasn’t enough to seriously injure the man, but he does still bear the scars of the cutlery, and Reign still bears the same scars on her own body. An eye for an eye, they always told her.

Scarring her in the same way was their justice, but her punishment was to be banished to a dungeon cell. She’d been in the dungeons since that day. But somehow, the dungeons were better. Yes, she had more room to roam in that bedroom they had locked her in. And sure, she had a bed and a bathroom up there, but the only thing she really misses about her room upstairs is the window.

Reign used to sit at the window in her room in the upper levels of the castle, watching the world go by without her. People were constantly roaming the grounds, animals running around, flowers blooming, but she could never go outside to see any of it. She only got to view the world from her one little window.

There are windows down in her new room, her dungeon cell, but they’re tiny and are only at the very tip-top of her cell. She can’t see out of them any more than a sliver of the sky. That’s all she gets to see now. The sun and moon if she’s lucky.

If she positions herself just right at a certain time of day, she could feel the sun on her skin, and those are her favorite hours of the day. She’ll move around her cell from corner to corner, wall to wall, chasing that patch of sun. It’s the only exposure she gets.

Reign’s skin has never had much life to it, as she’s never set foot outside of the castle in her entire life, but it’s only gotten duller and paler since she was put in the dungeons. She looks ghostly now, barely a husk of the person she used to be. Her hair, once a voluminous curly mess, is now flat and dull, and thinning rapidly. Reign’s brown eyes used to shine, but even they’ve darken and dulled in her sunken face.

She used to look like her mother.

Now she looks like no one.

Reign barely remembers her mother anymore. She doesn’t even remember her real name. She never knew exactly what happened to her mother. All Reign knew is that she saw her in the halls one day around the castle, and then never saw her again. That was eighteen years ago, when Reign was a measly five years old.

No one ever spoke of her again. No one told her what could or couldn’t have happened to her. Her name was never spoken, even when Reign tried to ask if anyone remembered it. It was like she had never existed at all. Sometimes, for Reign, it feels that way.

As long as she’s in the dungeon, Reign may never see anyone again except for the knights that find joy in her pain, but she’d be glad to never see them again. Unfortunately for her, that’s not an option.

Her dry eyes peel open at the sound of someone approaching, her back and neck making an awful cracking noise as she pushes up off of the sad excuse for a bed. Just a thin piece of cloth stretched around a frame of splintered wood, so worn and sagging that she’s practically lying directly on the stone cold floor anyway. The cot has so many rips and holes in it that it’s not holding anyone up anymore.

She doesn’t weigh a lot. Not anymore. Reign used to be at a healthy body weight until they began to deny her food more and more often. And since she’d been cast to the cold, damp cell, that was entirely too often. She’d all but shriveled into nothing, skin and bones and nothing more. Her cheekbones are gaunt and sharp, shadowing the hollows of her cheeks.

A knight comes to stand in front of the bars, half armored with a scowl on his old and bearded face. Something in her perks up to see a set of keys dangling in his right hand, but immediately deflates when she sees the heavy, iron cuffs in his other.

He shakes the cuffs at her, the sounds of the chains rattling around her skull. He grunts in command, not bothering to waste even a word on her.

Reign hobbles forward on unsure legs, wincing at the pain that shoots down her back and into her legs. She sticks her hands between the bars. The cuffs snap into place and her arms fail under the weight of them. Her knees nearly give out when her arms fall back through the bars under the weight, and the heavy cuffs smack into her thighs.

Only then does the knight unlock the barred gate. A low groan echoes as the heavy door swings open. Wordlessly, the knight grabs the chain linking her wrists together and hauls her down the hallway. Not towards the stairs that would lead up into the castle, but further into the dungeons. Further below ground.

Reign had heard stories about what lurked down here. About the vicious beast that lived under their feet. She’d heard it was large, larger than any animal she could ever hope to imagine. And ruthless beyond belief. Part of her wondered if the stories were true at all. If there really was a beast under the castle. She’d never heard its legendary roar that was told to be so loud it could crumble buildings. The castle still stands.

Curiosity had always nipped at her, and if she had had the freedom to do so, she’d have been down here long ago to set her own eyes upon the beast of legends. Most speak of it with a fear in their tone but Reign so rarely allows herself to feel fear.

Her heart thrums heavily in her throat. As they walk further into the darkness, the snarling begins to grow. First just a warning rumble that builds into a growl, which continues to build until she can feel the heat of its breath, can hear the snap of its teeth as it snarls and roars.

She’d heard the scrape of blades across stone many times in her life but the sound that comes from the darkness is much more than that. It’s somehow deeper, yet sharper. It raises bumps over Reign’s skin and sends a vicious shiver down her spine.

One hand still gripping the chain, the knight manages to light a torch. The flame bursts to life. Flinching, she blinks against the sudden brightness, and it takes Reign’s eyes a minute to adjust.

It’d been storming in the kingdom for the last few days so her cell had been even darker than usual. But this darkness was different. This darkness was alive and felt as though it was reaching out to her.

Dragging her with him, the knight walks the perimeter of the wall, lighting more and more torches as he goes until the entire hallway glows yellow. Reign dares a glance to her right, towards the wet heat of heavy breaths that berate her exposed skin.

And too much of it is exposed. She is wearing what amounts to a sack. They call it a dress, but Reign has seen real dresses on the women upstairs. What she is given isn’t a dress at all, but a square cut of cloth that falls to mid-thigh. They give her a newer one every few weeks. Not new, but not as dirty. Not as soiled by her sweat and waste and vomit.

So her arms and legs are left bare to feel the hot breath of the beast looming to her right.

Bars, much like the ones that hold her in, but larger and thicker, stretch from wall to wall. They run to the left and right, as well as up and down. A grid of sorts, and Reign had never seen a cage like this in the entire castle. Hers just run up and down, the gaps too narrow for her to slip through.

But behind the bars… The first thing she sees are the blood red eyes staring back at her, narrowed in warning. But for how narrow its eyes are, its snout is every bit as wide, revealing very sharp-looking teeth. Fangs, two on the top row and two on the bottom, are the most prominent, longer than the rest. But they’re all sharp. Every yellow tooth is pointed and deadly as the beast snarls at them.

“You get to shovel his shit,” the knight says with a laugh that rakes razor sharp claws down her spine. He unlocks her shackles and then grabs a shovel that is leaning against the nearby wall, which he then shoves into her shaking hands. “Someone will be down shortly with a wheelbarrow. You’re staying here until that floor is clean.”

The knight pushes her towards the bars, making no move to unlock anything or to open anything. He just points towards one of the square holes created between the overlapping bars. “You can fit. Go.”

Her back cracks loudly again, her knees popping with a hollow ache as she bends and slips between the bars. Before she even has both feet on the ground again, the knight is walking away, back the way they came.

The beast presses against the back wall, continuing to growl and snap his teeth at her. She’s not sure in the darkness whether the black skin of the beast is leathery, or fur, or scales, or something she can’t even imagine, and she doesn’t dare try to get close enough to know for sure. The claws that scrape against the stone floor are none of those things, sharper than the blades of the knights. Its claws are just as sharp at its teeth.

In the shadows, she can make out what looks like wings when they unfurl slightly and then settle against its back. The snout reminds her of the horses she’d seen through windows when she was young, or maybe the dogs, but the nose is different. No, the slim nostrils remind her more of the lizards she often saw crawling along the castle walls. The claws, though, are like the birds that would sometimes land in the windowsills.

But those eyes. Those glowing red eyes were unlike anything she’d ever seen. She had nothing to compare them to. She’d seen the eyes of so many things from human to reptile to rodent, and yet this compared to none of them. The beast’s eyes bordered on being unnervingly human, but still there was something so incredibly inhuman about them. Animalistic eyes but with an awareness that she’d never seen in any other animal. This beast is something different. Something unique that she’s never seen before.

Reign glances back over her shoulder once, just to make sure the knight is gone. Her frail hands tighten around the long wooden handle of the shovel. She’s not sure exactly why she does it, but she bows her head to the creature, her chin touching her chest. The snarling quiets to a hum for a second, and then picks right back up.

Reign takes a tentative step forward and the beast lashes out suddenly, the movement so quick that she barely even sees it coming. She shrieks as the beast’s tail whips towards her, unable to move out of the way fast enough. The thick tail catches her in the face, sending her to the floor with the breath knocked out of her. A fiery pain lashes from her temple to her jaw, and the warm, heavy flow of blood is immediate. It pours down her face, coating her neck and her front, trickling down her arms and along her fingers. It spackles the stone floor, a pool of her blood growing entirely too fast.

Reign clutches her middle as she tries to breathe through the searing pain. But she forces herself to her knees, forces herself to face the beast that now cowers in the corner. Its red eyes shift to the hallway nervously and then back to her.

She can’t feel her body.

Something about the strangely human look in its eyes has Reign speaking, even though moving her mouth stings the wound along her cheek. “It’s okay,” she assures the beast, holding her trembling hands out, blood-smeared palms exposed. The words come out slurred, the right half of her mouth not moving like it usually does. Her voice trembles just as much as her hands do, breathless as her aching lungs still fight for a full breath.

A low whine is the only response.

Reign slowly pushes to her feet, using the shovel to balance herself, leaning most of her weight on it. She fights back the round of nausea that rolls through her, and tries to blink past the spots forming in her vision. Unable to stop herself from prodding, she lifts shaking fingers to her forehead. Reign sucks in a breath as she finds the top of the split, just slightly into her hairline. The wound stretches the entirety of her face, cutting through the outside corner of her eye and narrowly missing her mouth, but she can’t be sure how wide it is without seeing it. It feels like it covers the entire right half of her face.

Her knees wobble as her vision blackens briefly. She knows that her face should hurt, but it doesn’t. There is just a buzzing numbness, mainly in her face, but the feeling trickles out to her arms and legs, too.

Reign isn’t sure if the sound of approaching footsteps is a blessing or a curse. The same knight comes back into view, an older male servant shuffling after him with an empty wheelbarrow.

The knight begins to berate Reign for not already shoveling, but stops when she turns around to face him. The color leeches from his face at the sight of her. It takes him a couple seconds to compose himself, and then he sighs and waves Reign towards him without urgency.

“Well, come on out. Get that cleaned up. Would be a shame if you died of infection before we’re done with you.”

The servant half hidden behind him doesn’t gape at her wound. No, his fear filled eyes are stuck on the beast that growls at them.

Reign hesitates. The beast may have just sliced her face open with a swipe of its tail, but part of her wonders if staying here with the beast is still the safer option. It feels like it is. It feels like she’d do better off trying to fight off an infection than she would in the hands of the knights.

The knight narrows his dark eyes at her. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll likely lose sight in that eye if you don’t get it cleaned and no one wants a bitch with only one good eye.”

It’s more than an infection that threatens her, and she knows it, so Reign relents, weakly attempting to fit herself back through a gap in the iron bars. The movement sends a blinding pain searing through her. All of her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her blood-smeared hands slip on the bars at the same time that her legs give out, and the floor is suddenly moving very quickly towards her face. She wails in agony, and in some distantly aware part of her mind, she’s almost sure she hears the beast echo her.

“Oh, god,” the knight mumbles in annoyance just as the black fills her vision.

It doesn’t last long, and she wakes just a few moments later, already in the knight’s arms and on her way out of the cell.

“Don’t you dare bleed on my uniform,” the knight grumbles in reference to the black tunics and matching trousers each knight wears, only the Royal Crest threaded in silver over the breast.

It’s unlikely that her blood would even show in the black fabric but, still, she angles her head away, letting it fall loosely away from him. Not another word is uttered between the two of them as the knight carries Reign back up the hallway he’d just dragged her down.

The beast bellows from its cell, a roar that shakes the walls around them. Reign distantly wonders if they can feel it in the castle above. She doesn’t remember ever feeling such a thing when she was permitted to live aboveground. Maybe all of the stone and dirt around them made for a successful noise barrier.

Reign drifts in and out as the knight takes her to the healers of the castle and, before long, she is lying in the medic’s cot, screaming out her pain as they prod on the wound on her face. There’s no one to hold her hand, no one there to comfort her, and that almost makes the pain worse. Perhaps it’d be easier to handle if she weren’t so alone. But Reign has always been alone and this would be no different. She cries and screams against the agony ripping her apart until her body finally gives itself over to the exhaustion.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #ao3 writer #here comes the reign #whump writing

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