#He is truly the most golden of bastards

[eraenaa]

Worth the Price

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader

Synopsis: Aemond does everything to prove that he is worthy of you— even if it means that he would be a kinslayer twice.

Warnings: Aemond Plots Against Aegon, Oral Sex (f & m receiving), Mature, 18+, Semi-Public Relations, Choking, Edging, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 5,585

A/N: Reposting bc I was uncertain about this dynamic, but fuck it, I have a soft spot for a Lannister reader and cannot let it rest in my drafts.

Aemond had wanted you since he was young, but as a second son, he would always come second best to his brother. You were a daughter of house Lannister, betrothed to Aegon the moment you were born, an alliance not to keep their Valyrain blood pure but rather to be mixed with gold. You had grown in the walls of the keep, taken from your mother’s arms a few moons after your birth, and grew up under the supervision of your uncle, Tyland Lannister, as a measure to keep you acquainted with your betrothed, Aegon. 

However, such arrangements instilled since your infancy were changed when Queen Alicent was offered a bastard for her only daughter. The queen was quick to cut the engagement made in your infancy and instead betrothed her firstborn son to her firstborn daughter, offering Aemond as your consolation prize. Aemond, who was ten at the time, was thrilled to hear of such arrangements, finally gaining one of the things his heart yearned for the most: you. However, he could see the quiet and greatly covered disappointment not only in your house but in you as well— you were set to be queen, now you were now only to be the lady-wife of a mere second-born son. 

Aemond never truly heard such qualms leave your lips. He was fortunate enough that you had always been keen and kind to him in childhood, and your affection for him only grew in time. But he could not help but be affected by your quiet and greatly oppressed disappointment. For the first ten years of your life, you were prepared and molded to be a queen, hours of unending lessons on how to play the part wasted as you were to be bound to a mere second son. Aemond could not stand for it. He ambitioned to be so much more. He could not stand to be just the second. Second son, second in line, second in your heart. 

“My love, are you listening?” You asked as your husband’s gaze was afar, and you had noticed his attention was not on you. You furrowed your brows as he made no reply, tugging at his arm to bring him out of his trance. “I— I apologize, my heart, I was thinking of another matter,” You pursed your lips and hummed, “And praytell, what matter may that be? Certainly, it is of much importance that you have started ignoring me,” Aemond bit his lip to hinder his amused smirk; he just absolutely adored how you were never afraid to voice out and demand his undivided attention— in others, he would find that absolutely insufferable, but of course, that sentiment was not the same for his dear lady-wife. 

Aemond sighed and could not help but kiss you, unbothered that you two were in the halls and anyone could walk in and see such passion exuding from his usually stoic and rigged demeanor. As your lips parted and Aemond’s body was alight by the feel of your lips and the taste of you, you simply raised your brow, silently urging him to tell the matters that plagued his mind. Aemond tucked a strand of your golden hair and sighed once more, “Nothing— just mere matters of the realm that the king is too incompetent to comprehend and tend to,” You nodded, “Then he is lucky to have you— his brother forever capable and loyal to him and the kingdom,” Aemond bit his tongue. “You must steer him in the right direction, my love. We are already at war; we cannot have the kingdom in shambles because of Aegon’s squandering self. You have always been the diligent one, unending hours poured into learning the histories of your house and training with your sword… your great knowledge must be exercised greatly in this hour of war.” Aemond could only nod his agreement. You smiled and cupped his cheek, tracing his scar, and you hummed as Aemond pressed his cheek further into your soft palm. 

“Now go; I believe that it is the hour of the small council. Best be there and see to it that your brother does not humiliate your family’s claim to the throne further,” You say, reluctantly urging him to let go of his hold on you, even though you were always quick to miss his touch. Aemond shook his head, “Do not be so stubborn,” you said, and you smiled further when Aemond wrapped both of his arms around your waist. You rose to the tip of your toes and pecked your husband’s lips as encouragement. Even though you had shared his kisses countless of times, you still felt the quiet tingle on your plush lips as you two did such actions. “Very well then, I shall do whatever my lady-wife should ask of me,” He said against your lips, making your smile widen. You parted and tried to walk off, but Aemond took hold of your wrist and pulled you back to him, a laugh escaping from your lips, and you rested your hands atop his chest. “And where are you off to?” 

You smirked, “To some engagements for the court that I offered Helaena reprieve from. And after, you shall find me in our chambers… warming our bed… waiting impatiently for you.” You whispered the final part, watching as Aemond’s lilac eye darkened with want, pupils dilated that it made your core turn— finding it utterly flattering how quickly your husband will always grow in want of you. “Now go; the quicker you are to attend the meeting, the quicker they are to end, and you can be my arms.” You said and gave a final kiss on your husband’s cheek before hastily walking off, afraid that Aemond’s wants would get the better of him and take you against the alcove in the hall; it had occurred once or twice before. 

Aemond stomped off the room of the small council after a rather aggravating session with his brother. Seeing Aegon be so clueless with the matters of the realm and the war was pathetic. And in a way, Aemond found great satisfaction in that— seeing Aegon struggle to comprehend his words as he spoke in the ancient tongue, his brother unable to articulate even just one sentence without stammering like a simpleton was quite amusing but overly embarrassing. As the meeting ended, Aemond was quick to rise to his feet and leave, overly impatient to be with you— savoring every second in your arms before he had to leave quietly in the night to make good of his secret plottings with Ser Criston. 

Aemond walked the halls that led to his chambers, each step fervent and quick. The fading sun illuminated his chambers when he entered, setting it aglow in an amber hue. “I’ve been waiting,” Aemond heard you breathlessly call, his head quickly turning to your bed; he squinted his eye as he could not see you through the canopy covers. Aemond wasted no time to march in your direction; his breath caught in his throat as he saw your figure covered by nothing but a thin sheet that was comparable to what the whores in the street of silk wore. You lounged laxly in the middle of the bed, your body in full display for your husband, who stared at you dumbfounded and filled with desire. 

“Seven hells,” Aemond could not help but mutter in pure amazement. His knees felt weak, and his stomach coiled painfully in burning want of you. “Do you not like it?” You frowned as he only stood there, you feigned innocence— of course, you knew he would like it. You knew your husband better than he knew himself. Having grown up with him, you knew every possible thing there is to know about Aemond. Aegon may have been your betrothed at the start, but you were not at all keen to know him to such a deeper level than you had his brother. 

You went to the edge of the bed to meet your husband, who stood by the foot of it, kneeling before him as he hungrily raked his gaze through your body, yet he still did not dare to move. “Has my display rendered you simple, my prince?” You asked lowly, peeking up at him through your lashes and watching as the ball on his throat bobbed and hearing how his breathing turned ragged. You hummed and raised your hand to caress his cheek, rising higher to be met with his face, slyly pushing your breast against his clothed chest. Aemond groaned at just the simple feeling of that. You ghosted your lips against his jaw and neck, your fingers effortlessly undoing the buckles of his leather doublet. 

Your hand slowly trailed south after you had successfully removed his upper clothing; you heard the catch in Aemond’s breath as your fingers trailed his toned chest and torso. Every single inch of him was carved by the gods and embodied a warrior. Aemond hissed as he felt you cup his needing length through his trousers, watching as a sly smirk rose to your lips. “I see that you are quite… tense, my love,” You whispered against his lips, catching as his eye fluttered to a close as you added pressure into his length. “I am.” He gritted, and your smirk widened. “Hm… tell me then what do you need— what do you want, my prince?” You taunted and felt him shudder as you slipped your hand into his trousers, finally letting him feel skin against skin.

“I want… I need you, little wife. I desperately need you,” He muttered as his eye opened. Aemond moved to kiss your lips, but you instead lowered yourself to be met with his length, yanking down his trousers and letting your lips wrap around the tip of his needing and weeping cock. Aemond’s hands lost themselves in your hair, fisting the gold strands in utter pleasure, hissing as you sucked his length, urging yourself to take his cock deeper into your throat. Lewd sounds of your and Aemond’s heavy breathing, along with you gagging on his cock echoed through the chambers. Quiet praises leave your husband’s lips as you pleasure him with your mouth. You reached out to fondle his stones, earning a loud groan from him, and his head tilted to the heavens. Aemond could only stand there and marvel at you, his eye torn as to what to stare upon, your pretty face or your ample behind that hung in the air and squirmed with each of your pleasurable movements. He began to wonder what he had done to have you as his lady wife and pondered the ways he could prove himself worthy of you. 

Aemond felt himself ready to come undone, and he forcefully slipped out his cock from your lips, earning a whine from you. “Had I done something wrong?” You panted as you wiped away the traces of drool on your chin, looking up at Aemond with slight hurt in your eyes. Your husband was quick to shake his head and cup your cheeks, “No— you could never do me wrong, my heart,” He reassured, but you felt yourself pout and wonder as to why he had ceased your actions, if you were being honest, you quite enjoyed sucking his cock. 

“Then wh—“ Your words were left unfinished as you felt Aemond cup your dripping heat. Your eyes widened, and the earlier smirk on your lips had now flown to your husband’s. “Already so wet for me… you are a saint, my heart. Tending to my needs first even though you yourself are in desperate want of release.” Aemond hummed as your eyes rolled back; he effortlessly slipped two digits into your dripping core. You mewled out his name, squealing as he curled the digits and as his thumb fervently rubbed your sensitive pearl. “I want your cock,” You said distractedly, any form of decorum or chasteness gone as your want for Aemond had made you utterly desperate. 

Aemond let out an amused breath, “Of course you do,” He taunted and smashed his lips unto yours. You clawed at his toned arm as you felt your release bubbling, but before you could finally feel the climax you sought, Aemond parted your lips and ceased the pleasure of his fingers. You whined, glaring at your husband, who only stared down at you in amusement as he brought his fingers to his lips and licked off your essence. “Patience, my heart. All that you want shall come in due time,” He whispered his oath, and you huffed as he walked away, leaving you to wonder what had gotten into his mind. 

You lay on the bed as your husband went to one corner of your chambers. Your legs were spread, and your cunt was pulsating in need. You could not help yourself as your fingers slipped along the wet folds, holding back your moans as you touched yourself because you could not wait for your husband to give you your release. Aemond stilled as he heard your once still breathing hitch and the distant and quiet sound of your wetness. He turned to the bed and saw as your back was arched, and your fingers disappeared to pleasure your cunt. 

He took large strides only to witness you on the verge of an orgasm that he had denied you of. You groaned as Aemond took hold of your wrist, your second time being denied your release. “You’re being cruel, husband,” You whined as you stared up at your husband, a wicked glint in his eye. “Please, Aemond… I need you,” You breathed out, and all he did was hum. That was then you realized he held something in his other hand. You sat up, skin slick with a thin sheen of sweat. Aemond moved his lips to pepper kisses on the side of your neck, bitting to leave his mark as a reminder as to who you belonged to. 

“Open it,” Aemond murmured against your skin as he placed a velvet box into your hands. You frowned as he continued on to pepper kisses on your neck and down the swell of your breasts, ripping off the thin sheet you had worn. You did as he told and felt a gasp escape your lips as you saw what was inside and as his fingers pinched the bud of your tit. “W—What is this for?” You said mind befuddled as you did not know where to focus, your husband’s gift or his pleasure. “It is for you, of course.” He said plainly, took the ruby tiara into his hands, and moved to place it atop your head. Aemond grew further with need at the sight of you flushed and naked; the only thing you had on was the tiara he had commissioned for you. 

You stared up at your husband in wonder, “I— It’s lovely… thank you, but my love, I am in no position to warrant a tiara— it is rather inappropriate, do you not think?” You asked and tried your best to focus as Aemond fondled your breasts. Aemond placed open kisses onto the side of your breasts, trying to form his words. “Aemond,” You called and Feld his face to look you in the eye. You delicately took off his eye patch as his lips pursed. “What is this for?” You asked once again. 

“Do you wish to be queen?” He instead asked you, and you were rendered speechless. “Do not deny it, my heart… You were born and bred with the purpose of being queen of the seven kingdoms.” He sighed, and you tried to find your words. “Even now, you bear the duties of a Queen that Helaena cannot tend to,” He added, as you were always by his sister’s side, aiding her with her duties until she all together left the role up to you. You let out a heavy breath. “I… Sometimes I do— seeing that was my whole purpose, why I was taken out of my parents’ care and instead raised here to do what was expected of me.” You admitted and felt your heart pit as Aemond avoided your gaze. “But I’d rather have married you than be queen.” You quickly added. 

“I may have wanted the title, Aemond… but I want you more. I am perfectly content with just being your wife,” You reassured, but something in Aemond burned in anger. Anger at the gods as to why he was born the second son— anger at himself as to why he had to seek out Aegon instead of just letting him escape. You sighed as you rested your forehead against Aemond’s, “Do you believe me?” You questioned and waited for his reply. Aemond bit his tongue not completely believing that you were perfectly content with your station because even he was not contented. He knew envy was a lesser emotion that he must not succumb to, but it was inevitable, especially as he bore witness to how his brother squandered off the most coveted station in the kingdom. He gave a nod and connected your lips, deciding to lay the matter to rest for the moment. 

You sighed and steadied yourself as he hoisted you on his lap, moans leaving your lips as you sank down on his cock. Aemond’s breathing labored as he felt your tight cunt around his length and as your nails left traces along his back. “Oh… gods, Aemond—“ You cried as you rocked your hips, the tip of his cock hitting the perfect spot that made your back arch and your eyes rolled back in utter pleasure. Your moans filled his ears, and Aemond could only hum with satisfaction. “You sound like such a whore, little wife,” he muttered as he reached downwards to trace circles on your nubbin. You could only whine louder, too focused as you bounced on his cock and sought out your high. “Such a vision you are… bouncing on my cock and moaning out my name with a tiara on your pretty head.” 

Aemond’s other hand harshly gripped your tit as he was overwhelmed by the feel of you. “So perfect you are,” He praised, and you smirked at him through the haze of pleasure, your cunt clenching further as you had always loved when he would compliment you. “Such a perfect wife— you would have been wasted on my squandering brother.” He gritted and groaned as you clenched around him tightly and as you nodded your head in agreement. “I was meant to be yours, Aemond,” You breathed as you felt your skin alight with your nearing climax. “You’re mine… all mine.” He groaned as you came undone, your loud moans spurring his own release. “All yours,” You swore and watched as his face contorted in pleasure. 

You sighed in contentment as you lay on Aemond’s chest and as he ran his hands through your hair. “I must leave,” He suddenly cut the silence. “I must meet with Cole,” You pursed your lips. “I know.” You said, trying not to let the tone of bitterness and concern be heard. Aemond furrowed his brows as he looked down upon you. You raised your gaze to meet his, “I know you, Aemond. I know you better than I know the back of my hand— did you really think I would not figure out that you had plotted secretly with Ser Criston?” You questioned, and Aemond sighed, his heart warming further for you as you uttered such words. 

You sat upright to gain a better view of your husband, Aemond already feeling cold, as you removed yourself from his chest. “Be cautious, my love— do not be so reliant on Vhagar. Swear that you will return to me unscathed.” You implored, and Aemond leaned forward to capture your lips. When your lips parted, whatever tenderness you had was hidden behind your serious and threatening expression, urging your husband to be cautious and vigilant. “You will not make me a widow at only nine and ten, Aemond.” You said, voice overly serious and gaze scorching, but your husband still had the gall to laugh. “I wouldn’t dare to, my heart.” He said and captured your lips once more to seal his oath that he would return to you unharmed. 

The whispers of vipers were deafening. ‘The king was slain,’ they would say. And murmurs had spread that the fall of the king was not caused by the Queen Who Never Was but rather by the One-Eyed Prince. You had stewed in silence as you could not possibly fathom what had happened. The only thing that had kept you sane was a single letter that came from your husband stating that he was well and would fly back and return to you in a day or two. 

You stood in the gardens alone as you pondered upon the whispers spreading around the keep when you felt strong hands wrap around your frame and lips pressing kisses upon your neck. Your tense frame momentarily turned lax at the touch of your husband. “I have missed you, my heart,” He said softly and tried to capture your lips— for him, a week was far too long not to be in your presence. Suspicion rose in you as you heard elation in his voice— elation that was rarely present in him. You turned and saw satisfaction glinting in Aemond’s eye. “What has happened?” You questioned, a sickening feeling in your stomach as your intuition told you that there was something afoot. 

Aemond frowned at the seriousness on your face. “We had won the battle— we had effectively cut off Dragonstone by land, my plan proven effective.” He said, dipping down to try and capture your lips, but you backed away, your movements sending a tinge to Aemond’s heart. “What has happened to Aegon?” You whispered and saw how quickly the satisfaction in your husband’s eye disappeared. “The king was inexperienced in battle— he fought against the qualms of his council, and now he reaps the consequences.” You shook your head as you studied each expression of your husband. “Who had caused his injuries? They are whispering that it was not made by Rhaenys but rather by his own brother… tell me the truth of it, Aemond.” 

Your husband sighed, stirring you to the side, away from prying eyes and ears. “It was an unfortunate incident… but it was a necessary one. The end justifies the means, my heart. You must know this.” He whispered, hoping to see understanding in your eyes, but he could only see horror. Your mind spun at the words your husband said; you felt bile rising to your throat because, within a blink of an eye, you scarcely recognized the man before you— the man you had spent your whole life with, unrecognisable. Aemond felt his heart sink as you shook your head and removed his hold on you, hastily running away from him.  

He knew what he had done was cruel— treasonous, but it was for the greater good. He could not watch idly as his brother commanded the throne even though he was unfit to rule. He could not stand to watch as Aegon squandered away his birthright and made their cause’s claim weak. It was a last resort that he had to succumb to— a last resort to save their faction and to prove himself worthy of you. Your words haunted him; the way you admitted that a part of you wished to be queen and the image of you wearing a tiara of rubies burned into his mind. He had to make it a reality. He needed to be king and have you by his side as his queen.  

You avoided your husband the following days, unable to comprehend what he had somehow become. You had always known he had great ambitions—you would lie if you said that you had not encouraged his, for you as well had your own—but you never meant for it to come to this. You never thought of the possibility that Aemond would kill for the throne. For revenge, yes, but certainly not for his own brother’s station. 

It was the day of Ser Criston’s return when you finally revealed yourself to Aemond. Standing by his side along with his mother as you three peered down on the few soldiers returning from battle, along with a cart that housed the fallen king who was clinging to life. You stared head-on as you felt the questioning and almost spiteful stare of the Queen Mother towards your husband. Not an ounce of remorse was shown by Aemond as he proudly wore the Valyrian steel dagger. 

The queen walked off, ready to meet her firstborn son, and you moved to follow, but your husband took hold of your upper arm and forced you to look upon him. “How long will you ignore me, little wife?” He hummed, growing impatient with each day of your ignorance of him. You stayed quiet, unable to meet his gaze. It was torture for you as well— you had missed your husband greatly, but the guilt you felt by his actions, which you knew were partly because of you, was greater. You long tried to hide your disappointment as you were not made queen; you thought it cruel that they had taken you away from the arms of your mother moments after your birth just to be raised in the keep and groomed to be the perfect and dotting wife of a king and take it all away with just one notion. 

All those years of effort and sacrifices were wasted. But you did not dwell on it further as they presented Aemond to be your husband instead. You knew he believed you and your family see him as a consolation prize— and for your house, he was, but for you, you would gladly trade away all the gold in your house’s coffers and the crown for Aemond. You had loved him ever since you two were children; you were intended for Aegon, but your heart had always longed for his younger brother. It was a shame that he could not see it until now. 

It was flattering that he tried to prove himself to you— that he says he does not deserve you, but you could never agree to such sentiments because you knew in yourself that you were meant to be his. It pains you that whatever you say, whatever you do to reassure him that you are happy and content in his arms, even without the prestige of titles, he still does not believe you. 

Aemond felt his heart twist further as you shook your head and walked off. He followed you quietly as you two ventured to the chambers of the king to bear witness to the price of ambition. You could not will yourself to walk in; the distant sight of Aegon filled with burns, clinging to life, along with his death rattle breathing, was enough for you to flee away. Aemond watched as you stumbled through the halls, unable to bear the sight of what he had done. It was only then did Aemond felt guilt. Not guilt for what he had done to his brother but guilt as he saw your reaction— it was only then did he realized that the weight of his actions would affect his lady-wife as well. 

It was sundown when your uncle sought you out. Telling you what had transpired in the small council and how Aemond was named Prince Regent. He as well questioned you as to what you knew about the battle in Rook’s Rest and if your husband had confided in you any secrets, as all who had returned from the battlefield kept a tight lip. You said not a word. Your loyalty to your husband has proven to be greater than your guilt for Aegon’s state. 

“Greatly unfortunate as the events were… I must say that the council and I are relieved that your husband shall see to the concerns of the Realm.” Your uncle muttered, and you sat stiffly in your seat. “Really?” You asked in a small voice. “King Aegon might be the firstborn, but all are aware that Aemond has the tact to rule. Let us pray that he would lead our side to victory— his brother certainly cannot.” He sighed as he stood, kissing your cheek as he exited your private chambers, leaving you to ponder on his words. 

A storm came at night, and you could not find rest as your husband was not by your side. The rain and thunder always made you uneasy, and at times like these, you greatly relied on Aemond for comfort. You walked the path to your marital chambers and peeked inside, only to see your husband was absent. You walked along the cold halls of the keep, searching for Aemond in his usual spots, but to no avail. Your feet carried you to the great hall, and there you found him, staring upon the iron throne. You bit your lip as you studied him, staring at the prize of his efforts. 

Aemond felt a presence join him, and he turned his gaze and was met with you. “Was it worth the price?” You questioned, a steely look on his face as he thought over your words. You stood still as your husband took slow strides towards you. “If it proves me worthy of you, then it does.” You let out a breath as he said the words. “Aemond… how many times must I repeat myself— you do not need to prove yourself to me. I— I love you unconditionally. I do not need the throne or a crown… can you still not see that all I want is you?” 

Aemond cupped your cheek, and you leaned into his touch. “What’s done is done. We need not dwell on this matter, my heart. What is important is that we got what we wanted— we finally have what we deserve.” He whispered, lips flying towards yours. You felt weak as your lips entangled with your husband’s. “This… this is not right.” You whispered as his kisses trailed down to your neck and to the valley of your breasts, his fingers slipping off the shift you wore, leaving you standing bare in the middle of the throne room. “What is not right is that our efforts and potential are wasted as those who are unfit for the title, rule. We were made for the throne, my heart… stop resisting it; you know it is the truth.” 

You breathed heavily as you watched your husband fall to his knees, and his lips kissed your cunny. “Admit what you want, my heart.” His voice muffled against your skin, your hands moving to grip his hair and steady yourself as his tongue drew circles upon your cunt. You feel him grip your thighs, urging you to speak. “You… I want you.” You cried, desperately writhing your cunt against his face. “And?” He questioned, and you tilted your head back, your climax quick to come as your body ached for your husband’s touch. “To be queen… I want you and be queen,” You admitted with a gasp as you felt his tongue enter your dripping core. Aemond smirked against your cunt; his body fueled with need as he tasted your essence. When you came undone, he greedily licked and lapped any remnants of your release, not at all conscious that you two may be caught in such compromising situations. 

You watched through the haze of your release as your husband stood and undid his trousers. Your gaze followed him as he stood behind you and slipped in his length; your loud, surprised moan echoed through the empty hall and was accompanied by the clap of thunder. You cried as Aemond mercilessly pounded into your cunt, your dazed gazes planted on the throne. You gasped for air as Aemond wrapped his calloused hand around your throat and urged you to rest your weight on his leather-covered chest; all the while, his thrusts were relentless. “Are you to come? Are you to come before the throne, my wife?” He taunted in your ear, biting the lobe, and you could only cry in pleasure, your body arching and your hips meeting each of his thrusts. “Yes… yes!” You cried as his other hand returned to its usual torment and drew circles upon your cunt. 

You threw your head back upon Aemond’s shoulders as you were met with your second release. With a few more thrusts, you feel him come undone, his seed filling your cunt, and he could only hope that it would finally take, for he surely needed heirs. Aemond turned your head to face his and kissed your lips, finally feeling a speck of calm in his raging being, for he knew he had secured the station that you both deserved. 

As you two tried to relish in the calm brought by your climaxes, outside the great hall, the castle was in an uproar as the king drew in his last breath. Men searching for the prince regent to inform him of the dire news. They scoured every corner of the castle and soon found their new king seated on the iron throne with his queen bouncing on his cock, Aemond fucking her in their rightful place.

[o-sachi]

My Golden Girl ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ Kaiser loves his generous golden girl, but he hates it when people take advantage of her kindness

ଳ character; michael kaiser (bllk)

ଳ tags; afab reader, no y/n, FLOOF, soft mihya

[🐟]: This takes place before the Blue Lock project, so Kaiser should still be in Germany and practicing with Bastard.

The moon can only shine at night because of the sun.

That's what your relationship is like with Kaiser.

He honestly had no idea where he'd be without you. There were days when he felt like he was slowly losing himself—drowning in the pressure to remain at the top. But as he teeters on the edge, you always come to pull him right back in.

Your sweet words at the end of his day were enough to keep him grounded. As a matter of fact, you barely needed to do much to pacify him. But knowing you—you would go over and beyond for him. Seriously. It puzzles him why someone as pure as you would mess around with someone like him.

But who was he to question you?

"Yo, your girlfriend's been here for like an hour. Have you even seen her already?" Kaiser snaps out of his daydream as the locker room door swings open. It was some guy from his team who he never really bothered to remember the name of. His gaze follows his teammate as he saunters over to his locker.

"Eh... but she's out helping the managers again." That's when his attention was truly caught. "She's what?" "Y'know... handing out bottles and stuff. You should ask her to become a manager too. She'll fit right in." Tsk.

Kaiser shakes his head and grabs the towel off of his head. He aimlessly chucks the piece of fabric to the side and gets up without another word.

His teammate watches—dumbfounded—at the lack of a response. "Hey, Kai-"

But as soon as he spoke, Kaiser was already out of the door.

He wasn't angry or annoyed that you showed up unannounced. Truthfully, he didn't know what he felt. There was a reason why he avoided bringing you or inviting you to his practices.

You were too kind for your own good and the people here aren't shy about taking advantage of you.

Kaiser was stuck between a rock and hard place. One on hand, he loved that you cared enough about him to go out of your way even help the management or even his team. He couldn't bring himself to scold anyone—especially not you. On another, he knew what they were doing to you. They pretended to be all nice and sweet when asking you favors. But don't they have any shame asking so much from you?

Just like what Mr. Forgettable Name said earlier, you were almost like a manager here. But, fuck that. You're supposed to be a guest. You're his girlfriend, so you deserve nothing but the best treatment.

Yet, here he was—watching you as you scurry around, handing water bottles to his... not teammates. What the hell were you even doing giving water to the second string players? Jesus. He wasn't even sure if they were on the second string.

The more he observed, the angrier he became. Someone better hold him back and tell him what he just witnessed wasn't what he thought because one of the players definitely handed you an empty bottle—which, of course, you threw in the trash for him.

Sure, he's probably tired from running all day and yeah, you were closer to the trash bin. But who the fuck does he think he is to ask you of something like that?

He didn't even notice that his legs moved on their own. His body wanted nothing but to walk over to you. Never mind what his heart was telling him.

"Hey."

You spun around, knowing whose voice it was that almost startled you. His bright blue eyes peered down at you and he seemed... a bit pissed.

"Sorry... I know I should've told you that I was coming today, but-" Kaiser sighs heavily, running his tattooed hand through his blonde locks. "Don't apologize. I'm not mad—I just..."

But he was—he was most definitely mad. Just not at you.

It was like the world was testing the limits of his patience today because damn was he not even able to finish his sentence without another person bothering you.

As Kaiser struggled to express himself, one of the managers taps you on your shoulder. She had on the fake smile she always wore whenever she'd ask you a favor.

"Can you go distribute the lunch for the players today? I just have some paperwork to go over. You know how it is... managers get busy~"

Before you could even respond, Kaiser steps forward—putting distance between you and the manager. "And why would she do that? Isn't that your job?"

You grabbed his arm, telling him that it's alright. In a way, his team and the people who manage it have become your friends. You appreciate them for taking care of your boyfriend while you're not there and you're grateful for their warm greetings whenever you walk past any of them.

There wasn't any issue in you helping these people... or so you thought.

The manager smiles nervously at Kaiser, but she doesn't back down. "Well... I mean... if she's willing to do it, right? What's the harm in that?"

Kaiser exhales audibly. This is why he doesn't confront this dynamic. The manager was partially right because his girlfriend was always willing to help no matter what. Now he looked like the bad guy here.

The conversation shifted to an awkward atmosphere. All three of them felt it. But she was the first to break the ice... as usual.

"Mihya, it's alright. I like helping out the team. Consider it as me helping you as well," she says, smiling warmly.

"Baby," he clicks his tongue. "Forgive me, but... how the hell does it help me when you hand out water and food to these third stringers?"

Your eyes widen. "Mihya! Tone it down; they'll hear you."

He scoffs. "So what? Let them hear it."

At this point, the manager had grown quiet, slowly distancing herself from the developing quarrel.

"I've had enough watching people like her," he says, pointing at the manager before she could escape, "take advantage of you."

"It's not your job to hand out lunch boxes to everyone nor is it your responsibility to make sure they're hydrated. Baby—you might as well wipe their sweat for them while you're at it," he adds.

As he released these pent up frustrations, he failed to notice the gradual increase in the volume of his voice. It wasn't just you and the manager hearing it—but everyone else on the field. Even those who were far away, ran over to the commotion.

Kaiser never gave up even a second for you to butt in. "Remember that time they asked you to run to the nearby convenience store to buy God-knows-what? Or that time you had to go with... with... whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is to the hospital?"

"It's Igor," a faint voice reminds him.

"Shut the fuck up!" he retorts. Kaiser sighs deeply, the realization that everyone else was listening finally dawning on him. "What I'm trying to say is that... I'm just tired of seeing you be used like that, especially since I know how pure your heart is and all that," he says, softly.

He wanted the last part to be heard only by you. After all, you were the only one that mattered to him at the moment.

You were... well... staring at him in awe. Speechless. Unmoving. Stunned.

You were clueless to how he felt. Sure, they did ask too much of you. But you didn't think Kaiser was observing you to that degree. Your heart melted at his personal show of affection right in front of everyone.

"Mihya..."

You felt stupid that you could only mutter his name despite everything he had said. But before you could do anything else, his large hand grabs on to your wrist—pulling you along with him. His strides were purposeful and his grasp was firm. You hurriedly shuffled to keep up with his pace.

After gaining some distance from the group, Kaiser halts and turns to look back at them one last time.

"If I see any of you ask a favor from her again—I'll make sure to deal with you."

A promise and a threat.

He yanks you again and continues walking away. Overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, you try to stop him despite his strength. "Hey... slow down. Let's talk... please?"

Kaiser blatantly ignores you, only stopping once you were inside of the facility and away from prying eyes. The firm grip that once wrapped around your wrist was replaced by a gentle caress as he brought your hand to his lips.

"Sorry... I got carried away. You know I can't let them do tha-"

"It's okay. I understand. Thank you for standing up for me," you say, cutting him off.

He blinks a couple of times, surprised at how well you took it. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad at my boyfriend protecting me?"

You couldn't help but giggle at him. How silly would it be for you to get angry at him right now? What he did was one of the sweetest things anyone could do for someone; not everyone is brave enough to stand up for their significant other like that.

His look of astonishment was quickly replaced with a small smile. "I guess you're right, baby."

And before you know it, you were already caged in his warm embrace.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[woodlandwrites]

i. mind over matter

aphrodite!reader x luke castellan

pre-tlt, characters 18+, mdni, def going to be a pt.2

warnings: cursing, whole lotta impertinence!

2.7k read - unedited

You have been plagued by flocks of doves and Luke Castellan. So Aphrodite decides to meddle a little a lot in your love life. Who needs memories anyway? Unfortunately, the only person you find comfort in - is the very person you hate.

A/N: first fic in a loooong time - stick with me here. there will be more parts and maybeee some spice? anyways hope you enjoy!

You’d like to think that Aphrodite loved the game of making you miserable. In retrospect, you hated your mother. She was a hard act to follow. 

Don’t jump to conclusions - you loved your cabin. Your brothers and sisters were wonderful - not vain like most campers would say. No, that was not an issue. The problem started with one slender, curly haired, crooked smile boy - Luke Castellan. He was the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood and the bane of your existence. 

Luke was an astonishingly aggravating self-centered egotistical bigot. 

“Why do you hate him so much,” Silena asked one day out of the blue. You both sat in the stands watching Luke teach his swordsmanship class. You pondered her question for a while.

“Because. He confuses me - and aggravates me constantly. I have never met anyone so full of themselves in my entire life. He is Narcissus reborn again. It also does not help that he is a complete jerk,” you nodded as you ate another fresh strawberry. Silena pondered on your words.

“Are you sure this has nothing to do with mom and the whole..argument,” she said in a cautionary tone.

Silena was the only one who knew about you and Aphrodite’s - complicated past. To be fair - she didn’t know the entire truth. The prophecy, the impertinence, all the bullshit. However, she did know that your shoulders seemed to tense every time Aphrodite’s name was mentioned. 

“I mean every time I have talked to him at camp counselor meetings he seems like an alright guy.

Silena - forever the optimist. Sometimes when you looked at her through the corner of your eye she resembled your mother. She had this soft tone and locks of hair that seemed to always catch the wind just right. Yeah, no wonder Luke was nice to her. Selina was extremely beautiful - Beckendorf struck gold. 

“Yeah, I can see right through the façade-” you were cut off by a dove landing next to you. He started pecking at your strawberries mindlessly. Silena stifled a small giggle. 

“It is funny when it isn’t happening to you. The bastards have been following me around for days,” you said annoyed.

You tried scaring the bird away - only for more to return. After a couple minutes an estimated 20 doves flocked around you mimicking every move. 

“Go away!” you screamed - only for the feathered friends to cock their heads in curiosity. By now, the entire arena seemed to convert their attention to you. 

“Hey! I heard if they shit on your head it’ll bring good luck,” Luke echoed watching amused.

He leaned against his sword in a cocky manner. What an asshole - you hated when he did that. The other campers seemed to laugh along. 

“Up yours, Castellan,” you yelled with a face the color of cherries. 

The doves had now increased their army to a solid 50 - all looking to you for a further instruction. Doves had followed you around your entire life - a gift your mother had bestowed to you. The unfortunate part was that they were pretty much the most non obedient monsters on the entire planet. You never had truly understood why they would appear - most of the time it was a random occurrence. Of course - Luke was always there to revel in your misfortune. You still had not forgotten when the doves caused a complete riot last month at dinner - leaving quite a mess for you to clean up. The younger campers were still traumatized. 

That was the thing about doves - they were just like your mother. At first they are nice to look at, almost sweet. That is until they turn into vicious assailants from Tartarus (Silena says you overreact). They also annoy you - another common attribute with your mother. 

“For Gods sake just leave!,” you yelled again, stomping off, bidding Silena goodbye.

You did not want to continue being entertainment for the rest of the campers. The doves seemed to take the hint - maintaining their place in the stands. You were sure there were some week old snacks stuffed between the seats the rotted things could ravish on. Luke chuckled before turning his attention back to his students. 

The sun was setting and soon it would be dinner - but you still sat in bed thinking about what Silena had mentioned early about your mom. Maybe it was your nerves - but you knew a visit soon would be unavoidable. The doves only confirmed your suspicion. It was rare for gods to visit Camp Half-Blood, at least publically. The closest thing the camp had to godliness was Mr. D - what a joke. However, you knew your mother and her constant desire to meddle with your life. 

Dinner went without a hunch - except for the Stoll twins starting a food fight at the Hermes table. You loved quiet nights like these where the summer breeze feels like a warm hug. Silena nudged you - reading her expression you knew she was inquiring about the events from earlier. A shrug sufficed. You were so caught up in laughing with your siblings you failed to notice the yelling from the other side of the pavilion. 

“One of the Ares girls was flirting with Luke after you left today - Charlie and I could not help but laugh. It was so awkward,” Silena mentioned.

 There were a couple of murmured sounds and gawking from your siblings - which was the usual. If there was one thing they loved it was - well - love. However this subject rubbed you the wrong way - maybe it was just Luke’s name being mentioned.

It felt like a suffocating gut punch and it was most likely your mothers doing. If there was anything she loved more it was demigod love - the trials and tribulations - and of course the unfortunate ends. It quite literally made you sick. But why did Luke have to be roped in it and moreover - why did you care? You smiled and nodded - trying to pay attention and not let the thoughts take over. 

“Get these goddamn things off of me!,” a familiar voice yelled in annoyance.

So wrapped up in thought - you failed to care - assuming it was a practical Hephaestus joke with an Ares kid. Selina quickly nudged you pointing towards the Hermes table - for quite an interesting scene. Luke being attacked by a merciless army of doves. 

“Hey Castellan, let them shit on your head - heard it was good luck!,” the words reflected from just a few hours prior.

You couldn’t help but giggle - it was nice not being the receiver of dove aggravated assault (as Beckendorf had termed it). It was also nice not to be the joke for once - everyone laughing at someone else for a change was different. 

“Call the damn things off,” he struggled - yelling your name in the process.

“Why do you automatically assume I am the one who set them off? They just do what they want!” you retorted.

 Silena looked at you - questioning your motives. He struggled even more as the doves thrashed him around - seemling gaining confidence in their blows. They seemed - deadly - more than before. Silena muttered your name.

“You have to try,” Silena persuaded. Reluctantly you obeyed - knowing she was being more serious than she was putting on. 

“Stop!” you yelled sternly to the winged creatures.

Like usual - they did not obey. Unfortunately, they keep going - tearing Luke’s shirt in the process. He held himself quite well against dove assassins  - a fact you did not want to admit to yourself. 

“παύω!” You spoke - pleading that it would end.

It was all your mothers fault. She wanted you to be miserable. She wanted to ruin your night, humiliate you - and to hurt Luke. You weren’t sure why that last part bothered you so much.

 “Φεύγω!” you screamed once more in an earthshaking tone.

The doves dissipated automatically. Like literally - poof - into dust. Again - the entire camp had its eyes on you - what else was new?

“What is wrong with you,” Luke questioned - still astonished at the sheer power of your voice - that very voice that made doves disintegrate. You slowly looked up at his disheveled appearance - he looked worse.

Beautiful. 

You wish that voice in your head would go suck a dick!

“Shows over, enjoy your dessert,” you said bitterly to the crowd taking a bow.

Silena yelled your name but you had already darted towards the woods. You could hear the muttering of the crowd questioning the evening entertainment. You could not seem to care. 

You took a seat in the sand on the beach overlooking the shore. The moonlight seemed to make the water sparkle like diamonds. You felt almost calm here - no one to distract you from your thoughts. Why did his words strike you like a knife? He might as well plant backbiter into your back, it would hurt less. It all led to the proper question - why? Why would the doves attack him anyway? They had never done anything quite so ruthless before - nevertheless to another sole person. 

Then again - it was always about Luke - ever since you got to the infernal camp. He was probably celebrated for his brave victory in the battle of the doves - hoisted up by other campers. You suppose a feast in his honor was in order. 

“You think such unhappy thoughts,” an angelic voice sang from the sea. 

Your attention turned towards a bundle of sea foam. The foam began to sparkle and mangle to take the shape of a woman the closer it got to shore. Soon after your mother - Aphrodite stood before you - in all her glory.

“I thought seafoam was just whale jizz,” you spoke casually. You chucked at yourself that was a good one!

Of - fucking - course. Your mother was behind the entire dove fiasco - you called it. You should start placing bets at this point. 

“Most would be labeled impertinent with that attitude - especially with a God.” 

“I am impertinent.” You shrugged, pulling your knees to your chest. Maybe if you really ignored her she would disappear. 

“I will not disappear yet - we have much to discuss.” 

“Get out of my head.” 

“I heard what occurred tonight at dinner. Shame, doves are very gentle creatures.”

A dove magically appeared in her hands, letting out a soft coo. You cringed. If you saw another dove tonight - you might just roast it and eat it. 

“So that was you?” You asked venomously.

“Well thanks mom! Now the entire camp thinks I tried to kill the golden boy with a league of killer doves. They all think I am absolutely crazy.”

“I did nothing, my child.” You gawked at her - she paused to collect her thoughts.

“However, you might want to look within yourself before you spit accusations that are not true. I merely gave you a gift - how you use it is at your own expense.” She finished. 

“But I don’t control those horrid things - they just show up and do whatever. Why would I even attack Luke with a bunch of wimpy doves?”

That was your mother, having the audacity to say you caused the incident. That it was all your fault. 

“Love, perhaps?” Her eyes seemed to glitter at the thought. 

“No.” Ugh, not this again, you thought.

“Doves are a mere - personification of one’s inner love. That is why I gave you the gift - so your innermost feelings can never be bottled. That does horrid things to one’s complexion.” 

“Well thanks for the shitty gift, mother. Next time maybe a pair of socks will do the trick.” 

“Why do you insist on denying who you are? Denying what you are destined to become? Denying yourself the love of the century?”

“Why love someone if they eventually will die.” It was true. Your father had died when you were young - leaving you an orphan. Your demigod friends you made throughout the years died horrible unspeakable deaths.

“Isn’t that all the more fun?” 

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you? You just love to see me suffer?”

“You’re being rash.” She fired back.

“Rash? Where have you been?” You scoffed at your godly mother.

“Child, I do not write destiny - I only enforce it. I know you more than you would like to admit, sweet dove. And you - are in love with the child of Hermes.”

 Apollo could’ve shot you through the chest - it would have felt better. 

“Mother, you have it mixed up - I do not have any feelings for Luke. You’re just making things up because you are bored and need some excitement. Please go back to Olympus and meddle with someone else’s life,” you stated. You staggered to your feet dusting the sand off. 

Before you could walk away a bolt of pure energy hit you in your spine. You flew to your feet hitting the ground with a hard thud. In a blur your mother was standing proud above your feet - surrounded in a pink aura. 

“Luke Castellan, he will keep you safe - and you will keep him steady.” 

You might have thought to curse at her - but you couldn’t speak - let alone move. She had disappeared from vision leaving only a dove in her wake. The pain - was excruciating - like being electrocuted a million times. Your ears rang terrible tunes as you tried to level yourself - only to fall back down. The world was spinning at an unmeasurable pace. You could hear shrill screaming - or was it yours? You weren’t even sure who you were? Only images of dark curls, broad shoulders, and crooked smiles flashed through your vision. 

A quake of footsteps running towards the shore were felt as you thrashed in the sand. Voices - yelling a name - whose name? You couldn’t recall. All you knew was darkness. 

“Y/N?!” a feminine voice called. You could feel her hands shake your shoulder violently - it felt like knives.

You heard screams - this time knowing it was your shrill cry. You pushed her away with force. You backed away, crawling backwards in desperation. 

Once your vision returned you focused to see a swarm of kids all in orange shirts - staring at you in shock. The girl who touched you - you could only assume was kneeling in the sand in front of you. She seemed to be pleading.

“Stay away, please,” you pleaded with tears streaming from your eyes. You weren’t sure what had happened but you knew you had never felt pain so deeply. 

“Y/N, please you were screaming. We only want to make sure you are okay. We can go to the infirmary and figure it out,” the girl reached out only for you to retreat more. You hyperventilate on your own words. 

“What’s going on?” another voice asked with urgency from beyond the crowd.

Every child seemed to turn their attention to focus on the male figure. Pushing his way through the crowd - he became shocked at the scene before him.

However, you felt as if all the oxygen had left your body - leaving you limp. You felt as if a hand had grabbed your heart and ripped it in two. He was the one - the one you had seen in your visions. 

“Y/N?” he questioned - half concerned, half annoyed. His chocolate eyes seemed to lock ever so easily with yours. He was indeed the most beautiful man you had ever seen - like a carving of marble. Your soul ached. Without a thought - on instinct alone - you ran. He was engulfed in a desperate hug - his shoulder muffled your pitiful cries. 

“Please, you’re the only one who can help.” You could feel the eyes on the two of you - the gasps were hard to ignore. He went stiff in his posture - not sure how to react. Silence fell over the entire shore, only the crashing of waves in the background. 

“Y/N what is going on? Is this some sort of prank?” he asked in disbelief. 

He had never seen you like this - so scared. Some small part of him wanted to scoop you up, hold you tight, and tell you everything would be okay. He wanted to tell you how he would fix all your problems - just so he would never see you cry again. Although these feelings were so suppressed he restrained.

Gods you were beautiful. 

“I- I don’t know who Y/N is. I don’t know anyone. I don’t know me.” 

[lizzybeeee]

Calling it now:

If there's ever any future installments of Dragon Age there will be no mention of the differentiation between the Dalish or City Elves.

Like in DATV they will simply all be 'elves' and the vallaslin will be reduced to 'cool looking tattoo's that some veil jumpers have' - no mention of the elven pantheon either, because why bother! They're all dead now!

They're all dead and responsible for every lore plot point in Thedas, and there's nothing of mystery or substance left in the world now.

No mention of the culture in the alienage, of the vhenadahl tree, of the horrific racism and systematic abuse the elves have been through...now its just elves. With the way the Veil Jumpers have been set up, and the fact that the elven gods were the enemy in DATV, I find it extremely unlikely that the Dalish will even exist as a group either. Why would they? Their Gods returned and blighted the world - not that the fact is even truly discussed in the game. Elves are just elves, and the notable elves are Veil Jumpers.

Maybe you'll walk in a city, pick up a codex, and get a copy and pasted explanation of history from a DAO codex - a reminder of what we used to have and what BioWare absolutely demolished in their attempt to build a new IP on the bones of Dragon Age. The absolute whiplash in writing, story, and character between DAI and DATV is staggering. How on earth could the studio that made such a gorgeous, rich world of lore surrounding the elves in one game end up utterly bastardizing and reducing it to nothing?

How can you look at a place like the Temple of Mythal and go from those gorgeous golden murals and emerald tiled roofs that reached to the heavens to a place like the Lighthouse? From the Emerald Graves to the ruins of Arlathan - devoid of halls that reach to the heavens and golden murals replaced with stained glass? The entirety of the Trespasser DLC had more character and reverence for what the elven empire once was, and DATV feels as though it's approaching it with the perspective of 'generic elven bullshit with triangles everywhere'. All that unique architecture has been obliterated by adding in World of Warcraft focus crystals and automatons.

How can you go from the atmospheric/environmental storytelling of the Lost Temple of Dirthamen to Solas just blurting everything out? No weight, no double truths or hidden meanings - just blurting it out, getting it said and done with no gravitas? That was Solas' entire thing! People have made threads literally dissecting what Solas says and does not say - now he spits lore out as though it were common, everyday knowledge.

How can anyone justify the sudden emergence of magical automatons everywhere in old elven ruins? As if Dragon Age didn't have a host of enemies/creatures available to use in their stead - or the ability to create something unique to the forest of Arlathan. What happened to the spirit guardians? What happened to the lingering echoes of the elves slaughtered by humans in wars ages past like in DAO? Magic was their very existence - spells taking years or centuries to cast, weaving in and about each other - and you're telling me the ancient elves spent their time creating magical transformers?! It feels/looks so utterly seperate from everything we know of the elves from Dragon Age.

Or look at the Crossroads - listen to how Morrigan speaks of it - the reverence for the past, the misty atmosphere, and the heaviness of this pocket of the world that carries the fading memories of a world and people that no longer exists...now it's reduced to a hub world! People are just popping in and out of it at will!

In Trespasser, the few eluvians that we were available to travel to led to the most lonely, desolate spots of Thedas, which ensured their survival over the past millennia. The mirror in the Deep Roads, the mirror in the ancient stronghold in Ferelden...now they're everywhere!The 'few surviving' eluvians are in every major settlement of Thedas and all are in operating order! More than that, everyone who sees an eluvian knows what it is - this ancient marvel of a world long gone has lost all worth and is reduced to a 'world building' justification for fast travel.

Poor Merrill, slaving for a near decade to try and restore a small sliver of her history, only to have all gravitas and wonder of her discovery utterly made void. All that accomplishment wasted, especially when Bellara can wave her magic omni-tool and fix an eluvian in a matter of hours.

If you took every specific Dragon Age terminology out of the Veilguard and replaced it with generic fantasy bullshit you would never be able to tell the difference. The world of DATV is so divorced from its predecessors its astounding.

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Do they know if you wear silver or gold?

When they want to buy an engagement ring do they know what to choose?

Yes, without a doubt

Kaeya

Sneaky bastard is so sure about your preferred metal and style he only needs to figure out the gem. He already got the jeweler waiting for when he figures out your ring size

Has to check

Childe

He was truly just going to get two jewels that represent you two and whatever metal matched best but when his sisters heard the look of surprise they had made him stop on his plan. After much talk about how one of them almost left her boyfriend because she was given the wrong metal and the other almost accused her boyfriend of cheating he decided to be very ‘subtle’ but direct.

The next time he is at your home he asks to see your favorite ring/necklace. By that time you already guessed what would be his next question in a few days

Neuvillette

It's Furina who managed to make him confident enough to talk to you outside of an office setting, and to ask you to be his lover, and actually to ask you for marriage. Her poor back.

Most of the planning is due to her, be it the restaurant reservation or the little speech, now the only detail left was the ring. What she didn't expect was that as soon as she asked your preference he would be stiff as a stick and rain started outside.

Let's spend another hour trying to tell the big dragon that not being sure about it isn't a sin nor is he a crappy boyfriend

Diluc

He is sure he knows, he bought you many rings and earrings with that metal but he would rather make sure you love it than let his newly acquired fear that he might make a mistake choosing metals keep him up at night.

he snoops around the porcelain box in the vanity filled with necklaces and rings just to confirm. Maybe three or four times, just in case

No, in their eyes gold and silver jewelry is the exact same. Has to go change the ring last moment

Itto

For him the ring itself isn't that important so he would propose with a pop ring if it happened, but after saving for so long he manages to buy a modest ring his granny and Shinobu approved of.

If it isn't your color you could change it and he wouldn't notice until he puts your wedding band, and anyway he is doubting himself because he isn't really sure

Zhongli

He understands that when choosing clothes for someone their aesthetics and likings should come first but honestly when he starts planning the best engagement ring he forgot that little detail, too focused on having cor lapis for a good luck omen or a tiny engraved flower that represent undying love.

Just forgive him this once. If it makes you feel better the ring itself is both silver and gold intertwined so he is about 50% right?

mf does a color analysis on you to see which is better before the idea of checking your other jewelry

Kaveh

Even if he doesn't have a lot of money, he keeps a stylish and clean appearance and that extends to you, essentially playing dress up with you, layering fabrics of different weight and color, playing with different region’s styles, so when he starts dragging you to try jewelry it wasn't strange.

Even if he gets it wrong he defends himself saying that it's the most flattering on you

Albedo

He might not be too interested in fashion matters but he heard you talk about seasonal colors and undertones and, after a 3 week long intensive exam, he came to the conclusion.

By the time he has the ring he figured he could have just asked you.

What you two found on an adventure is now your engagement ring

Beidou

The idea to propose only came to her mind when her crew was digging around a treasure they found at sea, the pearls, golden coins and different gems spilled over the floor, one of her crew grabbed a showy ring and acted as if he was proposing to his friend.

That caused her to howl at them while laughing “ Getting married before your capitan? Aren't you two gutsy?” And she chugs her beer. Next morning as they arrive to voyage and she stands close to you her whole crew starts whistling and yelling to show them the ring.

Bennett

(he is doing his best)

His dads often tease him about getting big and already having a lover. Even as he tries to escape his embarrassment he gets trapped in the arms of his fathers and told stories of their youth.

When one of them mentions proposing to his late wife with a ring he found in a chest, it particularly stuck with him, when you ask them why bennett has been adventuring so much lately they just smile as if it was an inner joke.

Honorable mentions

Wanderer

Be it the teachers of his classes, classmates, the dancers of the grand bazaar or even lesser lord kusanali everyone wore golden jewelry or accessories, EVEN HIMSELF! Don't blame him too much when if he defaults to gold for anything

Alhaitham

He proposes to your privately and the next morning he takes you ring shopping to make sure you love it and can make adjustments for your ring size and add or take away anything that isn't quite perfect in your eyes before the announcement to your friends.

Insist it's because he wanted this to be a bonding moment but you got the lightest idea he just didn't want to risk it being wrong

[lamemaster]

A Secret Garden

Request: me (hehe)

Pairings: Thranduil x Illyrian reader

Genre: fluff and feels

Summary: The forests of Greenwood were brimming with fae, imps, valkyries, Illyrians, and whatever those horses with horns on their heads were called.

AN: I think Greenwood exists out there somewhere hidden from canon. That's where Maglor lives, probably. Thranduil deserves a baddie. I don't make the rules.

Next up- Zombie Maedhros Fall trope event list

Contrary to the usual, casual belief, Legolas’ mother is very much alive and thriving within the halls of Greenwood the Great.

And yes, it is Greenwood the Great. Mirkwood was merely a convenient front. A grim veil to dissuade would-be intruders.

That includes the so-called "statue of the Queen," which, for the record, looks nothing like you. Truly, Thranduil outdid himself in selecting the most unlike-you statue and crafting the wildest tale of gems and tragic loss.

Your husband, the King of Greenwood, was a mastermind. A ruler so adept that his kingdom flourished for millennia without enchanted rings or the guidance of the Valar. His conniving brooding ensured that his people prospered in secret, while the world saw only a shadowed, forbidding forest.

As for where the real Greenwood the Great lingered during those turbulent times? That remains a mystery. Its shifting location shall not be revealed here.

This tale, however, concerns you, the Queen of Greenwood the Great. Mirkwood, for all its legends, lacks a queen. It possesses only the image of a bitter, widowed king clinging to a fading world and a son growing restless with time.

Thranduil was a vessel of theatrics and drama.

You, on the other hand, were content in your hidden kingdom. Three thousand years of seclusion had yet to yield a Turin or a Maeglin to wreck your haven, and for that, you counted yourself fortunate.

As for what you are? Most guesses would not quite be accurate. Not quite an elf, in the not-quite-elven kingdom of your husband.

The forests of Greenwood were brimming with fae, imps, valkyries, Illyrians, and whatever those horses with horns on their heads were called.

You were one of them. Or, more accurately, an amalgamation of many. Yet the great, leathery wings at your back made it clear that your Illyrian ancestry dominated while the rest of your gene remained suppressed only to peek upon close inspection.

And how, you ask, did a lowly bastard with wings become the Queen of Greenwood the Great?

That tale begins long ago.

Thranduil had been lost for days, his once-pristine robes torn and muddied, his sword arm aching from constant readiness. 

The air of the forest felt different here, heavier, charged with an unfamiliar magic that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He had strayed far from the borders of his father’s palace, lured into unknown territory by the magnificent silver fawn.

They were like nothing he had ever seen beasts in the shape of men, with great bat-like wings that cast shadows over the forest floor. Runes glowed faintly across their arms, swirling and shifting like living things, their meaning lost to him. 

They didn’t kill him outright. Instead, they toyed with him, driving him deeper into the woods, their eerie laughter echoing around him like the rustle of dead leaves. Every so often, one would swoop low, slashing at him with claws or the sharp edges of their wings, drawing blood but never a fatal blow.

Thranduil’s breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled through the dense undergrowth, his usually keen senses dulled by exhaustion.

That was when he found you or, rather, when he collided into you.

One moment, he was running, heart hammering in his chest, the laughter of his pursuers closing in. The next, he crashed into something-someone, so abruptly that the force sent him sprawling to the ground.

Disoriented, he scrambled to his feet, sword raised, his golden hair falling in disheveled strands around his face.

You stood there, unmoving, watching him with a curious tilt of your head. Your wings extended slightly behind you, the moonlight falling gently onto them. 

Not unlike his hunters, Runes spiraled faintly along your arms. With broad shoulders and visible strength of muscle lining your body, you were what he assumed to be an Illyrian. 

The Illyrians were brutish fighters. An army with no leader. Children of the night. No one in Greenwood had seen them. Most were reluctant to seek the bunch that were rumored to make a stew out of anything and everything. 

“What are you doing in Illyrian woods, elf?” Your voice was calm, almost bemused, though your eyes betrayed a hint of irritation.

Before Thranduil could respond, the sound of wings beating the air filled the clearing. His hunters emerged from the shadows, circling above. They slowed at the sight of you, their jeers fading into uncertain murmurs.

One of them dropped to the ground, his cruel grin faltering as he addressed you. “Captain,” he sneered, though his tone carried a note of wariness. “We didn’t realize you were… entertaining guests.”

Your wings flared slightly, and the runes on your arms pulsed in response. “He is no guest,” you replied coolly, stepping forward. “But nor is he your prey.”

The hunter hesitated, his confidence waning under your sharp gaze. “We were only—”

“Leave,” you commanded, your voice carrying a weight that stilled the air. 

The hunter glanced between you and Thranduil, clearly torn between defiance and self-preservation. With a final sneer, he launched himself into the air, the rest of the group following in his wake. Their shadows vanished into the trees, leaving behind an uneasy silence.

Thranduil stared at you, his sword still raised, his mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. “Who are you?” he demanded, though his voice cracked at the most unfortunate pause. 

You turned to him, your expression unreadable. “I might ask you the same question, elf.” 

Thranduil hesitated before he answered “I am Thranduil, prince of Greenwood.”

Your lips curved into the faintest smile. “A long way from home, aren’t you?”

Before he could reply, you turned and began walking deeper into the forest, your wings folding neatly against your back. Thranduil stood rooted to the spot for a moment, torn between suspicion and exhaustion. Then with a quiet sigh, he followed you, hoping to escape the fate of becoming a hearty meal.

Legolas, as many assumed, was not your only child. He was, in fact, your youngest, the cherished baby of your family, born long after the triplets. 

He took after Thranduil in nearly every way, so much so that his presence alone was acceptable in the halls of Mirkwood. The only one to be elven enough for Middle Earth. 

Your other children, however, were a different story.

The triplets, older and undeniably yours, had delicate, protruding wings like yours—proof that their father’s genetics had long since lost the battle. 

The children however did not fail to possess their father’s dramatic flair and liking for chaos. 

Now seated with your bickering triplets and sullen eldest you await your husband and son to return to your world. Away from the chaos of the world that was nothing but an illusion. 

With a prayer sent to the spirits, you try your best to spare the dinner from the hands of your wild family. 

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

FIRST ROUND: 26th Tilt

King Caspian X, BBC’s Prince Caspian and the Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1989)

VS.

Will Scarlett, The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Propaganda

King Caspian X, BBC’s Prince Caspian and the Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1989)

Portrayed by: Samuel West

Defeated Opponents:

- Edward Seymour, Earl of Herford [Claude Rains], The Prince & the Pauper (1937)

“Seeing the other Prince Caspian in the list of entrants reminded me of my extremely justified childhood crush on Samuel West, lean and golden and gorgeous, as Prince Caspian. Rewatching the series as an adult, what struck me most about his performance was the way in which he combines boyish impulsivity and enthusiasm with genuine gravitas.”

Will Scarlett, The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Portrayed by: Patrick Knowles

Defeated Opponents:

- Syrio Forel [Miltos Yerolemou], Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

“Will Scarlett: red Gucci boots. a little lute that he likes to strum. does absolutely nothing relevant to the plot and I think punches a guy, MAYBE once? is otherwise functionally useless. nonviolent king of the twinks. clearly the best character in robin hood (1938)”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For King Caspian X:

A Tale of Two Caspians: Interview with Samuel West and Ben Barnes

For Will Scarlett:

“Will Scarlett, gorgeous, useless vision in red that you are. Truly the template for the useless vibing Merry Man who does nothing but chill and sing little songs.”

reasons to vote for will scarlett:

he's useless. he does 0 things that contribute to the story beyond vibes. he is the icon for all of us who would drop into a swashbuckler adventure story and then do nothing besides look fantastic and fuck the hot male lead.

resources are limited and yet for some reason robin hood keeps around a man with 0 backstory, no fighting skills, who wears bright red when they're trying to sneak up on people and reacts to robin actually trying to save lives by looking like this:

3. he plays the lute. he sings little songs when robin is getting his ass kicked. again, deeply relatable and who we all want to be

4. he is visually linked by wearing scarlet with robin's other main love interest, maid marian, who wears red at the pivotal moment she falls in love with robin hood (will scarlett, already happily esconsed in permanent fuckbuddy status, wears it continually)

this tournament is full of manly men, heroic men, good and true men. but if we're getting truly hot we need to include some Useless Bastards, and peregrine took can not hold down this important coalition alone.

[jules-writes-stories]

Just Enough Light to Cast Shadows

Azriel x Eris

Chapter 32 on AO3

“Did Azriel stay the night?” Lucien asked, breathlessly between thrusts of his blade. The bright light of the Day Court sun was nearly blinding as it glinted against the blades.

“None of your business.” Eris’s breath came out in gusts as he met his brother, blow for blow. His chest was heaving beneath the lightweight white tunic, now sticking to his chest with sweat.

“Being mated to Night is difficult. I know better than most.” Lucien struck his older brother’s blade with enough force to rattle the elder’s teeth, but Eris held fast.

“Well, it seems to have worked out for you in the end.” Eris’s blade was now locked against Lucien’s, the brothers at an impasse, bearing down against each other. They circled.

“Don’t be petty.” Lucien rolled his russet eye.

Eris smirked. “It works better when you have two eyes, fox.” 

Lucien growled and, with enough force, pushed his brother backward. Eris stumbled but caught himself. “Fuck you,” Lucien spat. They stepped away and began circling again.

“No thanks. Only Illyrians fuck their siblings.” Eris struck again. His blade hit Lucien’s, and this time, sparks flew. Lucien chuckled.

“And yet you fucked an Illyrian, quite habitually,” a broad smile breaking across the Day Court male’s beautiful face.

Eris growled, and his entire demeanor changed. Where he had been graceful and loose-limbed, playful even, he turned predatory. His blade caught fire. His back stiffened, motions turning lethal. Lucien met his brother’s ferocity with his own. He knew Eris would never truly hurt him, but he also knew the fireling was hurting and needed to release these flames, this burning pain.

They sparred for what could have been hours. Fire met fire. The sun, a burning disc, moved across the sky. The scent of citrus and oud, sun-drenched linens, and spices blew in from the bazaars of the city below. Flocks of white birds in formation flew above. Finally, soaked with sweat and heaving breaths, they halted.

Lucien playfully slapped his brother’s shoulder, but Eris flipped the dayling onto his back before he could blink. The younger male landed with a grunt, white dust from the ring floating upwards like mist. Lucien groaned, laughing good-naturedly. “Cauldron’s cock.” The male sprawled out dramatically, his sword clanging beside him.

Eris smirked. “That’s for running your mouth about my bedroom activities.” He reached down and pulled Lucien to his feet. “And the Cauldron is without sexual organs, you fool.” The Fae strode to the weapons rack, replacing their blades.

Lucien turned and stared at his brother in the bright Day Court sunlight. His golden eye whirred, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “So, all those times you goaded Cassian, called him bastard born, was it projection?”

Eris froze. “I have no idea what you mean.” He grasped the water canteen and drank deeply.

“Oh, please. I saw you glow as your magic returned. Helion saw it. No wonder you can cleave spells and weave wards like you do. How long have you known?” Lucien arched a perfect brow.

Please let me know if you ever want on our off the tag | @the-darkestminds @fieldofdaisiies @mistandmemories @c-starstuff-man0 @molcat07 @chunkypossum @going-through-shit @talibunny30 @yanny-77 @lilah-asteria @amalhe-kofee @theartofmischief @futurehunt @seihdacalling @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @unanswered-stars @that-girl-reading @christeareads

[celestialcrowley]

My mom and I were finally able to watch the final episode of Good Omens season 2.

Before we dive in, my mom is very — how do I say this — anti on certain things. My friend said it perfectly. He said she gave him the homophobic put the fear of God type vibes when he first met her.

I don’t believe anything will ever fully change her opinions or views of us. I’ve not even referred to myself as aromantic / asexual in her presence, and I doubt I ever will. I simply tell her I’m done dating. It’s clearly not in my future, and, after trying it a couple of times, it just isn’t something I’m interested in.

I hope that one day she will open her eyes and realize that it’s all fine. Whatever we are. It’s okay.

My mom enjoyed season one. When I asked her what she thought of Aziraphale and Crowley, here’s what she said. Not her exact words but close enough to what I can remember.

“Aziraphale seems like he’s afraid of getting into trouble with Heaven, but not enough to keep him from going against God’s orders.”

Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

“Crowley isn’t as evil as he paints himself to be.”

Just a little bit a good person.

The only thing, as far as I’m aware, that didn’t quite sit right with my mom is that God is a She.

Wibbly wobbly timey wimey…

I was terrified for her to watch the second season because of Maggie and Nina and That Big Damn Kiss. She’s told me some less than desirable things previously. Here are a handful of them.

“I won’t watch shows that have gay couples in them.”

“I will watch them, but I’ll just turn my head away when they kiss.”

About my friend who is a lesbian —

“Your friend just says that, but she doesn’t actually know what she is.”

Okay, mom. You go ahead and keep telling yourself that.

I am certain, despite my fear, that I wanted her to watch Good Omens so badly because I thought maybe it would be the golden ticket. It’s uniquely different.

We have been gifted with Anthony J’I’m Not Actually Either Crowley and Mister AZ Smitten I Believe Fell, The Almighty God She, Nina I’m Not Your Type and Maggie You Have No Idea.

I was expecting my mom to frown upon Maggie and Nina’s story in season two, but she didn’t. She actually didn’t even have anything negative to say.

Y’all should have seen me when That Big Damn Kiss was coming up. I was fidgeting probably as bad as Aziraphale was when he was gathering up the courage to ask Crowley to dance with him.

I don’t think I’ve ever fidgeted that much in my life.

And then it happened.

That Big Damn Kiss

And she watched all of it. She didn’t look away. She didn’t make a face. She didn’t say anything negative.

I don’t necessarily think her views have changed because she laughed at something my uncle told her about a former coworker of his. This coworker used to go by Craig, but he later came out as trans and asked to be called Cindy. My uncle said, “The best we can do is Crindy.”

Most of my family are homophobic, and I don’t care for it.

I don’t know if it’s the way Neil Gaiman has written Good Omens, but I was surprised that she watched the entire show, had nothing negative to say and even added that she needs to watch all of both seasons again to better understand it.

That’s something, I suppose.

Maybe she’s coming around.

Thank you, Neil Gaiman.

You truly are a legend. 💚

[butterflies-dragons]

Why was Jon so mean to poor Myrcella? There is absolutely no indication that she was "insipid" or "stupid" at all. In fact she is quite intelligent and kind compared to the rest of the family.

This is the quote:

"Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool." —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Jon was mad jealous of his "true born" siblings, that's all, specially jealous of Robb, who, according to Jon, was grinning like a fool.

Jon was like "I'm not a fool and I wouldn't like to escort some *insipid,* *stupid* princess at all." And this is very much like his famous quote about rescuing a princess in a tower:

Why not? thought Jon. They are all convinced she is a princess. Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. —A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Look how he uses the words "he decided;" he is accommodating reality, because he thinks he can't have what he really wants. He obviously would like to be a true born Stark and be able to escort and rescue princesses, but he tells himself he won't, because he's a bastard and can have those things.

Being a true born Stark would also allows him to train with the royal prince:

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked him. He gave her a half smile. "Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes," he said. "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords." —A Game of Thrones - Arya I

And that resentment also makes Jon insult Joffrey, but in this case he deserved it. At least this one:

Jon looked down on the scene with a frown. "Joffrey is truly a little shit," he told Arya. —A Game of Thrones - Arya I

But Jon was so extra that he gave us these gems:

Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall. —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

She looked at Arya. "What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He's very gallant, don't you think?" "Jon says he looks like a girl," Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. "Poor Jon," she said. "He gets jealous because he's a bastard." —A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sure Joffrey was a little shit, but feeling "vast dismay" because Joffrey was taller, and saying he looked like a girl was *extra* hilarious.

Again, Jon was mad jealous of a "true born" (lmao) prince escorting a radiant lady. Sansa was right about the origin of Jon's jealousy was being a bastard.

But take note that, even being so jealous of his "true born" siblings, Jon at most called Robb a fool, while he said a lot more against Joffrey. And while Sansa and Myrcella both looked happy to walk beside Robb and Joffrey, he only insulted poor Myrcella calling her "insipid" and "stupid," but he called Sansa "radiant." Basically Jon channeled his jealousy towards the Lannisters, and not against the Starks, because as jealous as he was, he loved them the most.

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Crazier Bastard's Chapter 318

Brief summary: HD is too OP. 2nd batch of Central Plains people arrive and join the battle. Sheritt, Eru, and Mila team up.

==========

The Central Plains people finally arrived, and at its center were the Demon Cult. Heck, a fifth of the chapter was dedicated to HD and how powerful he became.

HD was already the most powerful murim person in CP, and now, CH described HD's aura as "just the beginning". And just like how Cale had his Caleism (unofficial) followers, HD had the Demon Cult who officially worshipped HD fanatically. Demon Cult ran wild in today's battle. 😂

Cale's group also joined in the battle, with Archie excited to fight a dragon. But where's Rasheel? Why was he, the one most excited to fight an enemy dragon, not mentioned at all today? 🤣🤣🤣

Cale's strategy was to isolate Neo first. So the 3 dragons teamed up with their attributes. Sheritt created hundreds of shields surrounding Neo, Eruhaben used his golden dust to seep in between the shields, and Mila used her attribute to connect together the shields and the dust. And to prevent Neo from escaping, CH, Clopeh, Hannah, and others stepped forward.

Ending Remarks I'm excited for the Neo boss raid. 😄 How would Cale counter Neo's time attribute? Raon's Present attribute was also amazing because it let him freely use magic despite the power fluctuations caused by destroying the control point. And HD... He's truly the author's favorite CP arc character. 😂

[scekrex]

Can you have dominant reader ensuring submissive Adam during sex that just because he has a little weight on him doesn't make him ugly or that he's let himself go? Possessiveness, if possible because while Adam might secretly think he's not much to look at, everyone has been staring at Reader's boyfriend and he's not having it.

So this is reader appreciating Adam's dad body in a non-sexual way bc dad-body Adam is my roman empire

Smother me with loving hands

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

The glorious golden wings you adored so much covered your partner's body, hiding his upper body from your view entirely as you took off your own shirt. “Quit that shit and lemme see ya, big guy,” you basically demanded as you stripped out of your underwear, watching the first man carefully. The bathroom mirror in front of you gave you the perfect view of Adam.

Ever since someone had commented on how Adam ‘let himself go’ in public while the both of you had been out for lunch, the brunette had acted rather insecure whenever it came to being naked in front of you, you truly didn’t understand why, you didn’t give him any signs that you found him less attractive with a dad-body. His belly was soft, but you liked that, liked it better than when he had trained regularly. His soft belly paired with his soft chest made the perfect pillow for your body to rest on.

Adam mumbled something about how it wasn’t your deal what he decided to cover up and what he put on display for you. You turned around to look at the brunette properly, “Adam, let me be fucking serious about this,” the first man raised an eyebrow at you as you spoke those words, he wasn’t quite sure where this conversation would lead to, but he knew he didn’t want to go down that alley. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, okay?” And while he desperately wanted to believe you, something told him you were lying, because how could an angel as divine as you love someone as lazy as him? He did let himself go, he stopped working out years ago and it showed. Though he had thought no one had noticed since you never said anything about it. But the stranger that had noticed had shown him that people did notice and if a stranger were to notice, you sure as fuck did too. He watched you as you stepped up to him, you gently nudged his wings out of the way and while Adam wanted to argue, wanted to bitch at you for doing so, your touch on his body silenced him. “Adam,” oh how the first man adored the way you said his name, so soft yet serious, so demanding, like a command and at the same time it sounded like a one word poetry that fell from your lips. “I’m being serious,” you continued and for the first time ever since the first man had stripped his eyes met yours. Discomfort was visible in them and you were sure you also found insecurity hidden in their depths. “Fuck that bitch who told you you let yourself go,” you stepped aside so that the brunette could see himself in the huge mirror that hung above the bathroom sink, your naked body next to his made him feel a little more comfortable. “That cunt’s a bastard for making you feel that way because you look absolutely breathtaking, baby, why can’t you see that?”

Adam didn’t know, all he saw when he stared at his reflection was that lazy giant who was everything but attractive, his body wasn’t as fit as it used to be and he knew it would be so easy to change but he simply had no motivation to do so. “You’re fucking mine,” you hummed as you wrapped your arm around his waist and your wing came up to gently rest against his back, to offer him comfort. Adam loved the way your feathers looked against his skin. “All of this,” you placed a gentle kiss onto his right peck, then kissed his left pack before you continued to speak, “Is mine. And I fucking own it with so much pride, baby.”

The brunette’s curios eyes watched as you kissed his chest, down over his belly and back up to his collar bones, “I fucking love the way your body looks and I will always love it, no matter if you to keep the dad body or if you make up your mind to get fit again. I’ll always adore you, I’ll always adore what’s mine.” Adam shot you a weak smile, he believed you. For now. He knew nothing was granted, so maybe one day you’ll make up your mind and decide that what you just said was bullshit, but for now he trusted your words. It made him feel a little better knowing you liked his body the way it looked. It didn’t make him like his form himself, but it lifted some of the weight off his shoulders.

[mdhwrites]

Honestly I personally believe Sasha Waybright character arc was better written and engaging than Hunter and Amity’s arcs combined mostly because there was more agency in her arc and while the other two characters who go from enemies to allies to friends just didn’t engage me as much as Sasha’s.

I’m especially dissatisfied with Hunter and how his story while interesting wasn’t as cool as it could’ve been

So I've talked a lot about this in the past but the angle I'll take this time is simple: Sasha is more compelling as a villain to ally arc because the show let her be a villain.

That might sound simple but it's clearly something TOH itself struggled with. One could argue that ALL of the redemptions in TOH follow a pattern of one bad action followed by them being tenuously on the same side and then on the same side. Amity is out of character for her first episode and then Luz is actually at fault for Covention, even if Amity takes it too far. Then Amity is weirdly antagonistic during Hooty's Moving Hassle and then NEVER AGAIN. Three episodes into knowing her and she is now the person we are supposed to sympathize and want around and her biggest crime feels entirely out of character for the rest of her portrayal.

Hunter is similar. His first appearance is not Hunter. It's the Golden Guard who is WAY more fun a character than Hunter ever was and kind of a bastard. Then the mask is removed in his second real appearance (not counting the stinger in Escaping Expulsion) and he is someone to start sympathizing and working with. He is the sad but mad boy by his third major appearance and his second appearance makes him somewhat sympathetic, just like Covention did for Amity... Or For the Future does for The Collector despite lines like "I can't wait to play amongst the bones!" in Hollow Mind that feel, drumroll please, OUT OF CHARACTER TO THE REST OF HIS WRITING!

Lilith is the only to subvert this... Kind of. No, they actually go out of order but still the same essentially with her. Her first appearance makes her sympathetic and not properly a threat because she's still willing to play ball with Eda for a one on one competition, then she spends the second half of S1 just palling around in shenanigans she should not be allowing but is because... Fuck you. Then we get her one truly evil action in kidnapping Luz, coupled also with having been the one to curse Eda but that's also used to show she's a good person now so the kidnapping is the bigger deal here. Then... She's just a good guy afterwards.

This all makes for the most shallow, bullshit uses of this trope I think you can do while being allowed to claim you did it. After all, a key point to all of these redemptions aren't "Then they sided with the good guys," it's just "Then they're a good person." They don't bring who they were as a villain with them. The strengths that led to their villainy are just gone and they're hard to say what they were in the first place, what they add to the narrative in their redemption and joining of the main party because who were they before they joined. What are they actually fighting against as a person instead of just deciding not to be evil anymore or wanting the cookies that the light side offers?

It'd be like if after Sasha was redeemed, she was as bad as Anne at being able to lead and use people. If the show went "To better erase all the crimes she's done, not only will we say Sasha only is a bad person because her father is Ultra Satan but also she now is entirely incompetent in what she was good at before." Amity loses her intelligence. Her plans are always the most straightforward after she starts getting a crush on Luz and she canonically started having her grades slip. Hunter is the most pathetic character in the main cast with I think zero wins in his belt besides his first appearance despite being the only one with combat training. Lilith is just... Sad in how much they reduce all she was for over forty years of her life to go "Now she's a silly nerd girl. Fuck ambition."

And, of course, their bad sides being blamed on mother, uncle, mother kind of for Lilith actually, just that the exposition for that comes after her redemption, and the Archivists and Belos for the Collector. They aren't bad people, they just were forced to spend time with the wrong people. Now that they're nerds and led by nerd Jesus, everything is okay.

There is a VEEERY real problem in TOH of Us vs. Them mentality that comes from these arcs that's really gross. Swap Luz to a white, male jock and suddenly the show becomes WAY MORE UNCOMFORTABLE!

Sasha dodges all of this because no one tries to excuse Sasha. Sasha never tries to pretend she's anyone other than who she is except for when she's explicitly putting on an act. This means everything compelling and good about her as a villain can cleanly transition to when she is a hero, even if it's hard to believe that which the show even calls out.

There is no Sasha's Angels in TOH. That might be a weird one to reference to you because it doesn't include much Sasha but it nails on the head what makes this trope so exciting. To Anne, Sasha letting others do the work while she gets to theoretically kick back looks like the same old Sasha that she now is suspicious of. Someone who is self serving and so Anne lashes out. However, it's not the case. Sasha's ability to manipulate always came from being able to read a person's weaknesses and strengths. She's a MUCH better manipulator than Belos in this way because she doesn't leverage on you or for you to already be siding with her. She can read you like a book and tear apart your pages until she plays with your spine. And as a hero, that's going to mean she's a great delegator. She's the sort who would go "Nah, we don't need to save them from what you see as certain doom. I know he can deal with it." And she's right. Not because of blind faith but because of the same skills that made her villainous.

Something that wouldn't hit nearly as hard, or feel reasonable on Anne's part, if we didn't get so many examples of this being who Sasha is. Of the fact that Sasha uses other people for her own means. And even now, you can claim the same... Except it's not for her means. It's for their needs.

It actually is part of what makes her becoming a therapist so pitch perfect. A good therapist can call you out when you're trying to hide behind something to not get to the core of your problems. They can catch what is at the root of your issues even as you don't see it yourself. They also can see your value and use your strengths to help combat those problems after helping you identify them. It's actually pretty close to how she tried to get out of Toad Tower in her first appearance. Bring in someone, earn their trust, use their passions against their weaknesses and make them better. The only difference is that now she cares about making them better.

Amity, Hunter and Lilith could never have such a satisfying future because again: What are their strengths? Hell, post redemption, that statement stands true. You can call Amity good at magic I guess but Hunter and Lilith are pathetic people who kind of luck out in being useful at times and that's really it. These aren't people who have anything going for them. They're as good as goons with one of them being an elite in a one off episode as far as villain forces go and that's not very compelling for a redemption of this sort. Not unless you're really going to get into that and A: Lilith was one of the strongest mages on the Isles and studied her ass off so you'd think she'd mocked less for sucking at her job and being a fucking moron and B: they didn't even try for half a second with Hunter who I don't really know if they intended to make look as pathetic as he did skill wise.

So their futures are just random factoids introduced during the story. Does Amity being an inventor say anything about her redemption? No. In fact, it really sucks because Odalia would have LOVED her daughter to follow in her father's footsteps because that's the most profitable option for their company. Good job show. Hunter just takes up the job that connects him with the only thing we know is explicitly Caleb related, no conjecture needed, which sucks for a character who was supposed to be his own person. Then Lilith is... A historian. Because she likes that I guess. Does that have anything to do with her time as the coven head? No. Her ambitions? GOD NO. It's just a random choice that puts her in line with the inoffensively nerdy cast.

And before ANYONE says anything about the shortening, I want to say I've done a blog comparing the fact that Amity, in S2A (so before the shortening) has as many appearances as Sasha does in Sasha's entire redemption arc. You didn't need more time to do this better, the show needed to actually commit to its concepts. Actually needed to be willing to do its tropes rather than slapping it on for marketability and to make lazy analysts happy.

Because enemies to allies is not one of those tropes you can half ass. Not unless you want none of its power and boy, these are some weak character arcs. At least we've got Sasha.

======+++++======

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[gremlinmodetweeker]

Hope is in Buns, Life is in Stars, Promises in Vain

Okay so I'm gonna be honest, the Local Executioner!König is the hardest AU to work on. I don't often because it takes immense effort, but I did make another addition. This is a hella long post, and hopefully you all like it.

I admit, of all my fics this is the one I treasure most. It's a somewhat medieval fantasy, but the world is entirely my own. This is not your average fantasy. This is not DnD fantasy. This has been carefully crafted over years to be its own thing. I have so much about this AU its insane.

In truth, this AU will one day be its own story. I am telling you, this is a fic I want to publish under my own name. When it happens, I'll let you all know. Until then, enjoy the fic I work the hardest on.

EDIT: I exceeded the character limit. Y'all lucky bastards get two parts. As punishment for my mistake, part two goes out tomorrow.

TWs: Executions, death, gore, torture (referenced), period-sexism, threatened homelessness (it's an empty threat, your aunt is just mad)

Wordcount: 7.5 of 11.7k (This is my longest fic to date)

Art from This Post

Long Story Blow the Cut

Hope is in Buns, Life is in Stars, Promises in Vain

 You watched as Luit(1) rose into the night sky, followed by her faithful servant(2). Luit’s bright light cast long blue shadows over the golden brown wheat fields that surrounded the home. Far into the horizon, the Culling Woods crawled in a serpentine fashion through the hills and valleys. You just hoped that the person you were looking for wasn’t home.

You’d made a promise before and you damn well planned to keep it. You repeated this motto over and over as you carefully crawled across the creaking wood floor and gingerly descended the aged winterwood(3) stairs to go into the shadowy kitchen below. You found The Axe’s provisions tucked away in the back corner of the shop shelves, covered in a loose white linen rag. You fished it out and plopped it all into a wicker basket, brushed down your dress of crumbs, and set out into the night.

You thought the night would’ve been bright enough, but you were glad to have brought the family’s old wormglow(5) to light your way as you walked along the road. Shadows danced among the wheat fields as you passed by. Sometimes, a whisper of wind would crawl through the stalks and up the back of your neck. You shivered, pulling your coat around you tighter and hurrying your step, fearful of what might lurk among the treeline. You couldn’t help but feel that the bobbing light might attract more than moths and gnats as you made your way to the Criahlin’s stone. You hoped and prayed that only The Axe would find you there.

You dimmed your light as you made your way into the edges of the forest. You feared that behind each tree there might be a wicked bandit prowling. Worst yet, there might be a drunkard, maybe even a lost man of the village. You worried about their wandering eyes falling on your virgin form in the night. With a shiver, you hurried your step along the dirt path.

The Criahlin’s stone rose up on a mound in the forest. You passed by the swinging remains of long-decayed bodies to make your way up to find the great stone stage cleared of any fallen leaves. You looked around nervously as you made your way to the center of the blood-splattered shale stage. A part of you wondered if The Axe truly was a monster, that maybe he lured you out into the dark against your will. Maybe he’d decided to take you for himself out here under the shadow of the trees. For all you knew, he wasn’t even here, and had set up some vagabonds to descend upon you in the waning light of Luit.

Just as you were about to turn back, you heard a great shuffling coming from behind you.

You whipped around to face down the newcomer. In the shadows of the forest, you could hardly see the being, only making out a great and massive form. He drug something through the leaves, something long and heavy. In the other hand he carried a full and heavy sack of some strange bulging contents. You trembled as the figure drew closer to you, slow step by slow, dragging step. You stepped back quickly, stumbling over your feet as you tried to make space between you and the figure.

The figure stopped when you gasped. Slowly, it raised a big hand and waved at you.

You squinted, then sighed when you realized who it was.

“By Halax, you gave me a fright!” you called out to the figure.

“I’m sorry about that,” The Axe stepped into Luit’s light and threw the great cloth sack over his back with a grunt.

“What do you think you’re doing there, creeping around in the forest like that?” you huffed, “and what’s that in your hands?”

The Axe looked down and raised up the stick to reveal his great black axe. This one didn’t have the engravings you knew of. It looked smaller, too. 

“It was getting late. I figured I might pass the time by chopping some firewood,” The Axe explained and gestured to the full sack on his back, “what about you? What took you so long? I was worried you’d never come.”

You grimaced, “My aunt and uncle didn’t want me to come out and see you,” you explained as you brought the wicker basket to your aproned front, “I brought you a couple of extra rolls as an apology.”

The Axe stepped up onto the stone slab stage and came forth to stand in front of you. He picked out one of the rolls and held it up to see it.

“These are… There’s something different about these ones,” he squinted at the offending bun.

“That one’s a honey nut bun,” you explained, “there’s also a sap bun and that one’s a beetle meat bun. I was probably going to take the beetle meat home with me as a snack for the road.”

The Axe gently lowered the bun down to the basket as he whispered, “You didn’t have to do this. Just getting bread is enough.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “maybe you can tell me how good they are.”

“I don’t know how good of a judge I’d be,” The Axe shook his head, “I’ve never had any special buns like these before.”

You laughed, “What do you mean? Everybody’s had some of these buns! They’re the best in town!”

The Axe looked at you sadly, “Not me. I’ve never had one of these before.”

“Never?” you pushed.

“Never,” he repeated, “I could never justify the price.”

“Are you saying my uncle is unfair in his pricing?” you rose an eyebrow.

The Axe shook his head firmly, “No, not at all,” he put his axe from his shoulder and struck it deep into the soft earth, “I just never had enough coin to buy one.”

“Really?” you blinked in a stupor.

“How could I afford a bun when I can’t afford tinder for my fireplace?” The Axe replied, “I can’t afford such lovely things. I’ve always wanted one of these, but two? I can hardly believe my luck.”

He looked at the basket sadly, “I… I can’t take this. It’s… It’s too much. You’re being too good to me.”

“What?” you frowned and crossed your arms, “of course you can! I’m giving them to you!”

“But I can’t take such nice gifts for free,” The Axe complained, “you’re too kind and generous to waste such precious goods on someone like me.”

“Well, not really,” you admitted meekly, “I mean, I did forget your rations yesterday. Think of this as just something to make up for it.”

“But-”

“No buts!” you cut him off quickly and held up a finger to point at his chest firmly, “look, I brought you the buns because you deserve them. I mean, it’s fair, right? I forgot your rations yesterday, this is to make up for it. And anyways, they were probably not gonna sell. They’re old. I mean, well, maybe they would’ve sold, but who cares. I think you should have them.”

“Not sold?” The Axe tilted his head to the side, “but aren’t these the best buns in the village? Father Kim and judge Holten always tell me so…”

“Sure are,” you grinned briefly before frowning, “and as I said we probably would have, but we made too many again. If you didn’t take them, I’d probably give them to a farmer to feed their animals or something. That, or add them to Father Kim’s offerings. That’s probably how he knows they’re so good, actually.”

“Well, anything you give me is a treasure,” The Axe said softly as he took up the wicker basket. He looked around himself, but seemed to be at a loss.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“I thought I brought a bag, but the only one I have is full of firewood now,” he muttered, “I… Hm… Do you think you can wait a bit?”

You looked up at Luit and down at the horizon. You’d been out for a while already, and the thought of being out at night, alone in the Culling Forest, completely at the whims of nature and her crew… You shook your head.

“I really don’t want to be alone out here,” you said, “what do I need to wait for anyways?”

“I need to go back home and get a good bag for these,” The Axe replied, “it’d be a shame to get wood slivers all over these.”

“Why don’t I just go to your place with you?” you offered.

The Axe straightened up above you. His eyes sharpened in Luit’s light, ghastly blue in the pale hues of Densis’s-watch(4). He heaved his axe back up from the dirt and swung it over his shoulder with a dangerous grunt. You withered under his watch as he glared down at your shivering form, cold in the night and weak under his watch. You’d never felt so small before. Had you offended him? Had you maybe insulted his good nature?

You were about to say something when he held up a hand.

“That’s fine with me,” he replied hoarsely, “I just… I haven’t had visitors before. You’d be my first.”

“Your first? Doesn’t anyone visit you?” you asked.

“Not willingly,” The Axe replied, “nobody comes to me unless they absolutely must. Even Father Kim, good a man as he is, he avoids coming out here,” The Axe took a look around at the hanging bodies in the trees, “I can understand why.”

You watched as The Axe ducked into the shadows of the trees , only briefly checking over his shoulder to see if you were actually following behind him.

You trailed behind him quietly, letting him lead you him deeper into the woods.

—

The path creeped along the forest floor until it came to a small wooded grove. In the center, The Axe’s small rustic a-frame wood cabin stood tall among the shrubbery, framed on one side by a small vegetable garden and on the other by a lean-to wood shed. A small idol of Criah(7) had been mounted above his door.

“You know, you’re a lot closer to my place than I thought,” you muttered as you followed behind The Axe to his front door.

“My great grandfather fought for many years to build here,” The Axe said as he whacked his axe into a rotten stump.

“You guys had to fight to build here?” you wondered as you took in the glowing candle lanterns way up strung above you.

“Nobody wanted to live close to us,” The Axe explained bitterly.

He walked up to the door and briefly touched the head of the idol and muttered a silent prayer. Once he had given his thanks, he turned back to you and looked at the wicker basket in your hands.

“You can pass me the rations and I’ll bring them back inside,” he said as he opened his door.

You tried to hide the disappointment in your voice when you asked, “You’re not inviting me in?”

The Axe shook his head and nodded up at the idol, “It’s bad luck for anyone else to come in. I… I don’t know how much I believe in all those stories, but I don’t want to test it tonight. Not with you, at least.”

You looked up at the tree giant’s face, eyes painted like brilliant rubies shining wickedly in the dark.

“I don’t really want to test it out either,” you admitted as you opened your wicker basket for him.

It didn’t take long to pass The Axe his rations and get them into his kitchen. You were once again startled by how little he was actually allotted. He only got a single loaf and a handful of plain rolls. It was practically criminal to give the man so little. Half way through passing over the baked goods, an idea flashed through your mind.

“Alright, that’s the last of the regular rations,” The Axe said as he came to the doorway again, “I just need your ‘apologies’ now.”

You looked down at the mostly empty basket longingly. You went to pass over the bun, then paused. You looked up to him hopefully.

“Actually,” you said slowly, “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to eat a bun together.”

The Axe’s eyes shot wide open. His normally sorrowful eyes were wide and bright with boyish glee.

“You want to eat them with me?” he asked, unable to contain his excitement.

“I mean,” you shrugged and stepped out towards an overturned log, “I can stay out for a bit. I don’t have much to do tomorrow. Might as well enjoy Densis’s-watch, right?”

“Aren’t you worried about sharing a plate with Criah’s son?” The Axe slowly drew out of his dark home to stand in the light.

“Halax watches over me,” you smiled and sat down on the mossy seat, “I think I’ll be safe.”

The Axe followed you before sitting on the earth in front of you. You almost wanted to ask him to take off his hood to see the awe on his face when you fished around your basket for the buns. He looked practically euphoric as you passed him the sticky honey bun, wrapped in a parcel of parchment.

His thick fingers struggled to undo the twine, inhibited by his eager trembling. You almost had to laugh at how excited a man born of death and blood became over a simple honey bun. He looked less like a staggering colossus and more like a young boy shaking with unbound glee. He looked like he was unwrapping presents for the first time. You immediately sobered up on the thought that it was entirely possible that this was his first gift from outside his family. What a horrible, horrible thought.

He carefully held up the bun in his hands to Luit’s light. His blue eyes shine with unspoken delight as he slowly examines the treat in his hands. He looked at you, then back at the treat, then put it down sadly in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you crossed your legs beside him.

“I…” he gestured vaguely to his face, “I don’t look very… Pretty.”

You snorted, “So? I look at my uncle every day; whatever you look like is bound to be a million times better.”

He shook his head gravely, “No. I assure you that what’s under here is far worse than you can imagine.”

You uncrossed your legs and leaned your elbows on your knees. Carefully, you turned to look at him properly, “You really think it’s that bad?”

“I know it’s that bad.”

You hummed as you drummed your fingers on your chin.

“You’re really not comfortable eating while I’m here?” you asked sadly.

“I just don’t want to upset you,” he wilted under your scrutiny.

You looked around carefully before your eyes lit up.

“I’m so stupid. Why don’t I just turn around?” you offered brightly.

The Axe glared at you, “How do I know you won’t peek at me? You’re not easy to trust.” 

You shrugged, “I think you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Also, I’ll be honest, you’re not too easy to trust either.”

The Axe’s stare was unwavering.

“I kept my promise before,” you pointed out, “doesn’t that speak for something?”

“It speaks to the fact you snuck out from under your uncle’s nose,” The Axe raised an eyebrow behind his monstrous dark hood.

You gave him a wry grin, “Well, if I didn’t, I would’ve broken my promise with you.”

The Axe shook his head tiredly, “I don’t think a pact with an executioner is worth a rift in your own home.”

“You’d be surprised,” you chirped.

The Axe observed you carefully. His watery eyes scanned you over once or twice before he chuffed, “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“It’s more fun that way, isn’t it?”

The Axe nodded from side to side with a disapproving hum. Instead of arguing, he simply sighed and said, “Well, turn around then. If you think a promise to an executioner is worth that much, then so be it.”

“It’s more than worth it,” you said as you gathered your dress to be able to turn around on the log. You picked through the basket to pull out a bun and pulled it out to take a small bite. You hummed. Even though the buns were a few days old, they were still as fresh as ever. You couldn’t help but wonder once more if your uncle had his oven enchanted. With how good everything that came out of it was, you wouldn’t be surprised.

You were brought back to reality by a small whimper behind you. You instinctively went to turn but caught yourself at the last second. The whimper came from behind again.

“Is everything okay?” you asked quietly.

You heard a thick swallow.

“It’s…” The Axe paused briefly, “it’s so sweet. I’ve never had something like this before.”

Your hands dropped to your lap.

“You’ve really never had a honey bun before.”

His hood shuffled softly as he shook his head, “No. I’ve only had honey five times in my life.”

“Five times?” you parroted weakly.

“Five,” he replied, “twice as a boy I had a spoonful of honey, once at my mother’s funeral I drank tea, once at my father’s I had honey mead, and now today I’ve had a honey bun for the first time.”

You could hardly imagine being deprived of such a basic luxury as honey. Not a single lick of the amber to cross your lips for years. How many years? You were about to try and figure it out when you realized a glaring issue in your data.

“Just how old are you, Axe?” you asked.

“I’m coming on twenty-two cycles(8) now,” he told you quietly.

“I’m coming into my twentieth,” you replied, “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have honey with my herbs(9)”

You heard The Axe shuffle awkwardly beside you before letting out a long sigh through his nose. You could hear his hood shuffle again.

“You haven’t turned to look at me,” he whispered.

You looked up at the treeline encircling you both.

“I don’t really have need to,” you said as you admired the branches waving in the crisp wind, “I have so much to look at here.”

“What trees, boulders and orange blots(10)? You can’t be telling me that you find anything interesting over there,” The Axe teased you lightly.

“Well, I’ve never seen an executioner’s home before,” you explained as you looked at the lanterns wound through the trees before sloping over to the front of The Axe’s slanted roof, glinting like the stars themselves came down to grace you, “I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance.”

You took another bite of the beetle meat bun. The meat was stringy, gamey, rich with fat that pooled into your mouth. A delectable treat for a simple baker’s niece, but not much for anyone else. It was strange to think that even this simple pleasure was beyond The Axe’s means.

The Axe took another bite of his bun, savoring each and every bit of the sweet treat. You listened to him turn again. He was silent for a moment. You wondered what a man like him could be thinking of, but he was quick to tell you himself.

“It doesn’t have to be the last time you come here,” his voice was nearly lost in the wind whispering through the trees.

The statement sat heavily between you both. The weight of his words hung on your shoulders, dragging them down to the leaf-covered dirt around you. The wind picked up briefly, sending waves of shimmering grass flowing through the clearing before it settled again. The metal lanterns clinked lightly above. In the distance, you could hear a spirit spook(12) chiming delicately in the breeze. It figured a man like him would need one by his home. You could only imagine how many had come to curse his name.

You looked up at the glittering stars above, winking at you from their place in the blackened sky. They seemed to stare down at you, interested in what your next move would be. A follower of Halax, a follower of life and creation, being welcomed in by a follower of Criah, a follower of death and grief. The gods surely must have been entertained by the show put on for them that night. To see two mortals sitting there, struggling against their fates like they had any chance to slow the weaving of the tapestry, as though their little fingers could undo the binding that had been formed long before they breathed life into their lungs; surely, there couldn’t be a more entertaining act under the cover of Densis’s(11) cloak.

“It doesn’t.”

You heard yourself more than you spoke. It was surreal to hear those two simple words pass your lips, and yet they hammered your souls together inseparably.

“It doesn’t,” The Axe repeated with a hint of excitement, “you could come again. We could do things together.”

“What sorts of things would a baker and an executioner do together?” you laughed sorrowfully. 

The Axe was quiet for a moment, then said, “We could talk to each other.”

“About what?” you asked.

“About whatever we liked,” he offered, “without the fear of others hearing.”

You watched the stars twinkle overhead approvingly.

“It would be nice to be free,” you replied.

“It would be,” The Axe replied, “we could say whatever we liked. We could honestly be ourselves. Nobody could tell us what we could and couldn’t say to each other. Nobody would stop us from being true to ourselves.”

You took another bite of the bun and let a drop of grease dribble down your chin.

“If nothing else…” The Axe said carefully, “it would be nice to have company.”

You nodded solemnly. The forest around you dimmed its nocturnal din to listen to you two lost souls pontificate together, pondering the possibilities of what could be. What would be, if only you let it.

“When would we meet though?” you asked, “and how could we meet? You know people in the village will start asking questions.”

“The cover of Luit’s light does wonders,” The Axe mused, “but I need to sleep. I can’t stay up late like this often. Neither can you. Your work is more steady than mine. I can… We can… You go to the local church, ja?”

You nodded slowly, “I go. I go often, actually. I need to deliver goods to the church regularly.”

“Then why not meet there?” The Axe offered, “under the watch of Father Kim. Who could possibly stop you from devoting yourself to the church?”

You smiled at the thought of meeting a follower of Criah in Halax’s home.

“Would you be welcome there?” you asked.

“Father Kim is a good friend,” The Axe replied eagerly, “he would be willing to find us a place where we can be apart from others.”

“Are you even allowed on church grounds?” you asked warily.

“I am,” The Axe sniffed, “any follower of any god is welcome in a holy sanctuary. I do not need to be devoted to Halax to be invited into her house.”

You shook your head bitterly.

“You’re barely given a seat at the tavern,” you said sternly, “how can Father Kim possibly allow you on hallowed grounds? Surely you’ve been banned? I know from talking to others that people like you are never wed in the church.”

The Axe sighed heavily.

“I am not allowed to wed there, yes, but there is a pew for me in there,” he said, “you don’t see it because I’m in the room below with the other forgotten people of the village. I am able to listen through the grate beneath Father Kim’s feet.”

“There’s a grate at his feet!?” you nearly turned around again to stare at him.

“Eyes forward,” he warned you before softening his tone, “yes, there’s a grate. There’s only a few pews in the basement, but we’re joined by the Sisters of Halax when we go. Maybe, if we go to church together, I can show you.”

You fiddled with your thumbs in your lap, the last of the bun now gone.

“It sounds interesting,” you admitted thoughtfully, “and you’ve been a good man to me so far. You’ve not done anything to hurt me. Actually, you’ve been nothing but good to me. You even protected me from any curses. You could’ve let me into your home, but you were kind enough to stop me.”

“I would never hurt an innocent person,” The Axe said swiftly.

You frowned at that. The Axe surely couldn’t be so simple, could he? The way he phrased ‘innocent’ had your hackles raised in your seat. Why would he specifically use that term? Was he truly a creature of the court? He couldn’t be so naive as to think that the justice system was completely without fault. No man could be that foolish, particularly not one so close to the action.

“Are you sure about that?” you asked warily, “haven’t you considered that an innocent man has been on your chopping block before?”

You heard the hood shuffle quickly behind you. It almost sounded as though he was shaking his head.

“I only execute the guilty,” The Axe said firmly, “Judge Holten only sends guilty men to stand or kneel before me. He is a good judge, and a better man. He may not like me, but I have faith in him and his abilities. He hasn’t let me down once before. I think you’ll find he has a faultless record. I like to think that he’s been blessed by the gods with insight and honor. So no, I am sure of what I said. Judge Holten would never send an innocent man my way. I have full faith in his convictions.”

You squirmed in your seat slightly, but said nothing to counter him. Something told you to try and contradict him would lead to a full blown argument. No man ever spoke so surely unless he lived and died by those very words. A part of you had the feeling that The Axe needed to live by those words. If he didn’t… You shuddered at the thought of what sort of man he would be.

“I assure you,” The Axe said to you gently, “I would never harm you. Again, I would never harm an innocent citizen. I am not a good man, but I am a just man. I am an honest man at heart. I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head if I could help it.

“Unless, of course, you were to commit some egregious crime of some sort,” his tone softened to a morose whisper, “please… Please tell me you won’t don’t do anything of that sort. I… I don’t know if I could live with putting a rope around the neck of the first person to treat me with kindness willingly. I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

You reached back behind you and brushed your palm against his back soothingly. You tried to push the cold chill crawling over your skin down, blame it on the cool wind and the black sky, not on the words of a man who believed that justice could do no wrong. You didn’t want to think about his words, but you figured you might as well try and placate him.

“I assure you I have no plans to do so,” your face split into an uncomfortable smile, “but… Even though I’ve been kind to you, you would still execute me? Even though I’m the first to actually try and get to know you? The first to really try and be your friend?”

The Axe sighed, “I promise you that I would ensure your end would be quick and painless. Even if I was ordered to nip you with the tongs or screw your thumbs, I wouldn’t dare do that to you. I would never do that to someone I care about like you. I may not have known you for long, but what you’ve done for me in these past two days is more than anyone else in my entire life.

“I would not draw out your death for the court even if they begged me. I would ensure that you would go quickly,  honorably.”

“Then you’d take me out with that big axe of yours?” you asked.

“I’d ensure it,” The Axe promised, “I don’t know if you’re aware, I assume there’s rumours in the village but I might as well settle them here and now. Many generations ago, that axe was enchanted to be sharper, to cut more easily. It’s designed to cut through flesh, not wood. It was made to kill, not to maim like my firewood axe. I use my good axe to give quick deaths. Most people want to go by the sword, but I assure you that the axe is much better.”

“You don’t always give quick deaths?” you asked nervously.

“Sometimes I can’t,” The Axe shuffled awkwardly, “sometimes the court orders me to draw it out. Sometimes by using a duller blade like my firewood axe or the rusted sword, sometimes through a drawn out death, like the wheel or being stretched.

“I… I don’t like to hurt anyone. Guilty or not, I don’t care. I just want to ensure it’s done as quickly and easily as possible. I don’t like drawn out deaths, even if they’re asked for. I assure you I don’t. But if I don’t do it, somebody worse would. You understand that, right? At least if I do it I ensure that they suffer less than they could have by somebody else’s hands. 

“In my guild, you know, my career guild, I speak to executioners across the land. I’ve learned what those men are like, both from my own experience and through my own poor father. I witnessed these men and I can tell you that they can be vile. I hate to be among some of them. Many are like me, but some are…” The Axe bristled under your touch, “they are sick. Sick and rotten men. If there is one group of guilty men that walk free, it would eb them. I pray you never are unfortunate enough to meet such men in your life. You’d be blessed not to. Or, maybe, maybe I was cursed to meet them. That seems a bit more sensible.”

You closed your eyes and let out a slow breath. Of course The Axe would be honest. He was the hand of justice, he had to be righteous and true. He was expected to uphold the image of the court, even when being spat upon by the families of the deceased after lopping off their loved one’s heads. You’d seen him be slapped by old widows of hideous criminals, seen men try to strangle him over their wives’ bodies. He took all these beatings calmly, stoically, like the perfect picture of the court. He’d let them hit him and curse him until they went to far, and then he’d throw them back to the earth and let them scurry on their way. You could only imagine how their hatred was burned into the very essence of his being.

And yet, The Axe took it all without a single stumble. He uttered no more than a grunt when a man tried to stab his gut. He only tossed the blade aside and thrown the man down, then lowered his axe above his chest. You’d seen the man falter, look up at those impartial eyes and realize what he’d nearly done. If anything, The Axe could be an entirely merciful face of the court.. He was the perfect executioner. If nothing else, that much was about the only good thing regularly said about him in the village. He was the perfect face of the court’s axe. Impervious to suffering, yet compassionate enough to let them take out their rage on him.

But, at the end of it all, he was the source of their rage. Sometimes, sometimes it was for terrible reasons. Terrible, terrible reasons indeed.

“You torture too,” you whispered as softly as the wind blew through the long dead grass.

“I must,” The Axe replied swiflty.

“Do you…” you shuddered at the question, “you don’t like doing it, do you? You said you don’t, but, what do you think when you do it? How do you feel about it?”

The Axe shivered under your hand ferociously.

“I hate doing it,” he admitted bluntly, “were I born any other man I could bring love and joy into this world the likes of which could change the very soil we are born from. I can try to be this force when I help heal wounds of the injured and maimed, but there’s only so much I can do. I was born of death and I am shackled to it forever,” The Axe sniffled slightly, “but if given a chance, I would throw down this axe in an instant and I’d heal the unfortunate for the rest of my life. I’d devote to my father’s studies, learn the herbs of this land and save the wretched from the hands of the grave. I would be good. I would be pure, of heart and soul and mind alike.”

You frowned, “You heal wounds? You’re joking. You’re an executioner; you’re a killer, not a healer. You can’t really be trying to tell em that you are a healer.”

“When the apothecary and the doctor cannot set broken bones or suture wounds, they call upon me,” The Axe explained, “I have… I have a great deal of experience in mending great wounds.”

“Wounds you inflict?” you asked, unable to hide the sharp cold edge to your words.

The Axe flinched as you drew your hand into your lap.’

“Forgive me,” he whispered, “but it is not my choice to be this man. As I said, were I anything other than this, was I born of any other man, I could sow the earth with good seed and save the damned. I sometimes think that if I had another chance, I would’ve been like Father Kim and given my body to one of the gods. I think that I was always destined to follow Criah, but maybe I could’ve helped those families grieve. I could’ve cured the sick of their afflictions, I could’ve been good.”

You took in a deep breath, holding it in for a count of four before letting it all out slowly. He was an executioner, he was a torturer, and he was a medic? On top of it all, he had dreams of being a holy man, though no church would ever welcome him into their arms. No man like him could ever be forgiven. And so, to reconcile these parts was to find beauty in dung, but you tried to do so regardless. You supposed he was also known as one of the chief morticians of the town as well. You’d heard plenty of stories of how he’d been whipped by widows in the middle of funeral ceremonies. Sometimes, he was supposed to be burned for as many crimes as the victim had committed. You could only imagine how many scars covered his body by this point in his life. Supposedly, to maim the man who’d been ordered to kill your loved ones was to give some sense of grievance to the family. It was meant to help them heal from the loss. You only hoped that Criah approved.

“It’s not your choice to do it,” you admitted, “I don’t think any sane person would choose to live your life.”

“As I said before, some do,” The Axe interjected harshly, “and it’s those men that I despise.”

You shuddered at the thought. A large hand settled to warm your shoulder.

“I am not one of those men,” he assured you, “and I never will be. You have my word on that. Not just as a man, but as the axe of the court. I swear to you I am not, never have been, and never will be that sort of man. I am a monster, but I’m a monster of men’s making. I was not born of corrupted flesh.”

“And I have your word as the axe of the court?” you asked shakily.

“My word and my heart,” he replied gravely.

You sighed, ever so slightly relaxing. It figured this conversation would come eventually between the both of you, but to be able to have his word so gravely was a comfort, at the very least. However…

“I want your soul in your promise too(13),” you said quietly.

The silence that came forth was sharp and twisted your insides with a rusted blade. He seemed to meditate on your words as they whispered around you, echoed back by the trees and the calls of nocturnal songbirds. The forest floor creeped and crawled with detrivores, with his kin. You watched as a centipede crawled out from a decaying leaf, curled around slowly before descending back underneath the leaf litter below. How you wished to join those small creatures. A part of you wished to die there, to not have to live in the silence that followed your ask.

You felt tension rising in the air. Pressure collapsed inwards, you saw the candle-lit lanterns flicker above with some unseen, unfelt force. No wind blustered, no frog croaked. All was still to listen to this deathly child’s answer.

“My soul is yours,” The Axe finally said, “I swear upon my soul that I am not a man who enjoys torturing and maiming like a lowly animal. I am a man of Criah. I swear to honor the dead and dying until I too join their ranks. I will not enjoy taking even the most heinous criminals to their graves. That is not the sort of oath I’ve made to my god. No matter what, no matter who or what they are, I promise that I never take delight in harming another soul.

“I should like to help them, if possible. One day, I would like to put down this axe once and for all. I’d like to spread peace and life. I wish to be a doctor, or maybe a cleric of the church. I know that such a wretch as myself is not welcome, but if given a chance I would like to save others that have been damned from birth like myself. I truly wish to break these bone shackles that chain me to the grave. I wish to rise above and see life prosper. I…” he hiccupped under his breath, “I wish to be good. I want to be a good man. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I hate this life I live, but there’s nothing I can do to escape it. Nobody will train an executioner’s son. I was damned from birth, but if just given a chance…”

You smiled faintly.

“Is your hood in place?” you asked.

“I finished the bun a while back,” The Axe said, “it’s in place. Why?”

Without another word you turned and hugged the giant man with both arms. He stiffened at the touch, but soon his ice melted and he embraced you back.

When you pulled away, you could see a shine of tears in his eyes.

“Nobody has ever listened to me before,” he said quietly.

“I think more people should,” you replied, “you’ve a reputation as an honest man. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and never have you given me a reason to think you’re lying. I may not know you well, but Axe, I want to. I want to see the good man you can be.”

“I want to know you too,” his voice warbled behind his hood.

“Then we’ll know each other,” you promised him, “and we’ll be friends. We will be better together.”

“But how?” The Axe asked sadly, “when will we next meet? How can we next meet?”

You thought carefully. Your fingers drummed a steady pattern on your thigh as you straddled the large log. You kicked your dangling feet before pulling yourself to sit beside him properly.

“I think we can meet at the church,” you replied, “I can say that I’m seeing Father Kim and visit you as well. I still need to see Father Kim, of course, but maybe I could make time for you too.”

“But when?” The Axe asked mournfully, “now that I know another’s touch, I can’t bear to be apart from you for long.”

“We won’t be,” you assured him as you soothingly touched his arm, “I have to bring in the weekly rations on the first of every god-watch. I do so halfway during the eighth watch every wake.”

“Halfway through the eighth watch on Halaxwake?” The Axe asked you desperately, drowning in possibilities.

“Halfway through the eighth watch on Halaxwake,” you confirmed, soothing him with your soft smile.

The Axe scanned through his mental list, you could see his eyes searching side to side as he sat scouring his mind for any possible conflicts, but soon he turned to you with a mirthful crinkle in his eyes, “I think I can manage that.”

“It might not be very long, but I promise you I’ll make it worthwhile,” you assured him.

The Axe shook his head, “Don’t be sorry. Any time with you is a breath of life after drowning alone for so long.”

You frowned and held his hand tightly.

“I don’t want to go back,” you admitted, “I wish I could stay here with you.”

“But you must,” The Axe told you, “if you stayed, it would be a worse fate for both of us.”

“I think my Auntie might drop dead of shock if she knew I was here with you of all people,” you chuckled, then glanced at Luit falling down into the horizon, taking with her Densis’s cloak of stars, “I need to get back soon.”

“How soon?” The Axe asked.

“As soon as I can,” you admitted.

The Axe looked around briefly, then stood and urged for you to follow him. He brought you out back behind his home to a small ramshackle stable.

He clucked his tongue, and a soft chittering noise came from within the singular stall.

“Meet Hunter,” he said gently as he opened the stall door for you, “she’s my riding beetle.”

You looked in the stall to find a massive beetle. She stood on six tall spindly legs and stared down at you from atop an even longer neck. Her sharp mandibles clicked as she slowly woke and stared down at her new visitor.

“You have a riding beetle?” you wondered aloud, “I thought those were a luxury! Or, well, that’s what my uncle says whenever I tell him to get one.”

“When I had to travel to other towns for work I put in a request to the council,” The Axe explained, “I expected a rejection letter, but a pigeon told me I’d be getting a beetle. She’s young, I had to tame her myself and she was quite the handful, but they gave me a surprisingly fine beetle in the end.”

“She looks like a stalking beetle(14),” you looked up at her, her little black head at least ten feet above yours while bent.

“She’s part stalking beetle, yes,” The Axe said, “but she’s also part station beetle(15).”

“How’d they get that mix? Wouldn’t they eat each other!?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m no beetle breeder, but Hunter’s been a good friend to me through the years,” The Axe said as he saddled her up, “now come on, we don’t have much time before the first collection-vigil(16).”

You hissed at the reminder and grabbed The Axe’s hand to help haul you up onto the beetle’s back. You scrambled and slipped across the smooth carapace but soon managed to sit yourself in front of the large man.

“Not used to riding beetles?” The Axe asked as he set off towards the mill.

“My uncle refuses to get one,” you explained, “I want one to pull a cart to town though. Walking can take so long sometimes.”

“Well, Hunter could do that,” The Axe mused, “but she might be fussy about it. I also think using a court-approved beetle to draw a simple wagon wouldn’t go unnoticed either. I can only imagine the outrage when you show up with my beetle pulling your wagon.”

“Well,” you sighed as you settled your back against The Axe’s chest, “a girl can dream.”

The Axe chuckled, “That she certainly can.”

Luit - The Moon, often called the Older Sister

Lui - a small asteroid orbiting Luit, often referred to as the Younger Sister or Luit’s Servant

Winterwood - A species of deciduous tree that grows in the north. Known to be quite a soft wood, it grows quickly and is often used for furnishings of a home. Its cheapness adds to its versatility. Earned the name ‘winterwood’ for how pale the wood is (almost resembling the snow) and how it begins growing in winter.

Densis’s Watch - The way of saying night/night time. Opposite of Brak-hah’s-watch, which means day/daylight

Wormglow - In older times a brilliant worm(6) was strapped to a stick or put in a glass cage and used to light the night. These days, most people use an enchanted piece of metal on the top of a stick or in a glass lantern to be able to see in the dark. Most people fashion the metal to resemble a brilliant worm, partially to stay true to the origins but mostly to enhance the glow. 

Brilliant Worms - A twelve centimeter long caterpillar that grows a brilliant yellowish-green colour when they are feeding or communicating to other brilliant worms. In older times, they were captured and starved during the day to be fed at night. Over time, the practice was considered cruel, and by this time it has been phased out almost completely

Criah - God of death, grief, hope and forgiveness. Also known as the Weeping Father or the the Howling God.

Cycle - A year. One cycle consists of four turning times (seasons). Each turning time is broken up into two moons (months). Every moon has five god-watches (weeks) composed of ten wakes (days) broken into 10 watches (hours).

Herbs - Another way of saying tea in this world

Orange Blots - A large orange and black-speckled squash with a notably soft and delicate white flesh. Used for soups or deserts, much like a pumpkin.

Densis - Goddess of night and dreams, wife of Criah

Spirit Spook - Sounds like a wind chime. Used as a way to ward off evil spirits from the lower realm and keep away bad luck. Has varying results.

Soul - Soul is the reason that things be. The reason rocks atomically are structured as rocks, the reason lightning crosses the sky and lands in one spot on the earth, the reason men laugh and dance and sing. Soul is most powerful in living beings (though everything in existence has soul), but even then some life has more soul than others. Mammalian species like dwarves, gnomes, elves and humans, for example, have much weaker soul than that of plantkin and much weaker mushroom folk. However, they have stronger soul than the chiton clan (insect folk). In this context, to swear a promise upon your soul is to bind your very being to the promise. Some mages will go so far as to enchant their words to keep these promises, but most cannot do so, and thus just say it to convey the most important promises.

Stalking Beetle - A black and red beetle (sometimes white, black and red or white and black) with a long, long neck and a pointed snout. Looks somewhat like a giraffe weevil with a more articulated neck (think like a snake). Excellent hunters. Are very dangerous in combat because of their long necks, sharp mandibles and good eyes. Can fly short distances, but not commonly. Very spritely and difficult to train for their energetic nature. Used by members of the court or light infantry. Known to be expensive to keep. Thankfully, Hunter is more herbivorous than most due to her cross-breeding  and is thus cheaper to feed. Naturally carnivorous, trained to be omnivorous in captivity. 

Station Beetle - A pretty drab looking beetle, usually brown or black (rarely albino white). They are slow but steady beetles that make up a good portion of riding beetles. There are a few subspecies, but most look like either big dung beetles or flour beetles. Usually very good natured. Has poor eyesight but excellent smell and can be trained to follow scents from town to town. Can fly medium distances when provoked. Often used by countrymen to travel from town to town, almost like small cars. Though called station beetles, typically are only for transporting a family and not for hauling carts or stations. Mostly herbivorous. 

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

Part Two

[hyperfixatedonthisnow]

Love in the Rain

*not my GIF Summary: Nikolai is your best friend and you’re hopelessly in love with him, too bad he’s engaged to Alina Starkov. But maybe a storm and a love confession could change everything. Requested by: kateswone - Could you do a Nikolai x reader one, where there's a lot of pining and in the rain confession in the end? - This started as a drabble and somehow became 6000 words 🙈 I hope you like it! Word count: 6K ish Warnings: NSFW - 18+ only. Minor Alina Starkov friendship and brief mention of Dominic Vertov, mild angst/pining, fluff, idiots in love, smut, fem!reader, fingering, P in V sex, unprotected sex (not recommended in real life!), suggestion of oral sex. Fun fact, this was my first ever request! I had so much fun writing it, so if anyone would like to request something in the future please do, my inbox is always open and anonymous asks are on too 😊

You had always known you were illegitimate, born to a nobleman and his housekeeper. Though their union may have been scandalous, you believed with all your heart that they had loved each other.

You had few true memories of your mother, who had died when you were very young, but you remembered the happy years you had spent with your father, who had been warm and loving. He had always treated you as his daughter and never made you feel less than. Unfortunately when he died, yet another casualty of the Ravkan war, you had finally found out what it truly meant to be illegitimate. A bastard child could not inherit and your father’s estate had been entailed away to some distant male relation. The new master of the house had not wanted the trouble or expense of raising a child, and your father’s will did not include any incentive for him to do so. So you were promptly dropped off at an orphanage and at 8 years old, you had found yourself completely alone in the world. You had little to call your own except a book of fairy tales that had once belonged to your mother. Some of the pages were frayed around the edges and the cover was battered and worn, but it was your most treasured possession. The stories were all of a similar ilk, cautionary tales with brave princes fighting dragons and ogres, and princesses held hostage or locked away in towers. The heroes always triumphed and the damsel was always saved, and they all lived happily ever after. You would read the stories over and over, dreaming that one day you too would get your happy ending. Adjusting to life in the orphanage had been difficult, you were used to fine food, to goose-down pillows and silk, but now you ate meager rations, wore clothes of peasant rough-spun and slept on a mattress stuffed with hay. You tried your best to acclimate and vowed never to complain, but your high rank of birth made you unpopular, both with the other children and the staff.

They made it clear that they resented your good manners and education. They mocked the way you spoke and how you held yourself, deliberately excluded you from games and always saddled you with the worst of the chores. No matter how hard you tried, you did not fit in. So any time an opportunity presented itself that would allow you time away from the orphanage, you took it. That was how you met Nikolai. You were 12 and him 14, and you were on the Vertov farm for the summer to help with the wheat harvest. It was hard work but the Vertovs were good people and they treated you kindly. They invited you to eat dinner with the family every night and one night, their son Dominic brought along a friend from the palace. With his golden hair and shiny boots, Nikolai looked as if he had walked right off the page of your storybook. He took the seat next to you and when he engaged you in conversation it seemed like he was genuinely interested in what you had to say. You quickly found that he was as charming as he was handsome, a fairytale prince brought to life and you warmed to him immediately. In the weeks that followed that first meeting, Nikolai was at the farm almost as often as you were. He rolled up his sleeves and mucked in with the work, spending long days in the fields alongside you and Dominic. Sometimes the boys would tease you, but it was never mean-spirited in the way that it was at the orphanage and soon the three of you became firm friends, joking and laughing together as you worked. Nikolai in particular was easy to talk to and over time you confided in him about how awful things were at the orphanage and how much you missed your father. In return he had told you a bit about his life at the palace, his complicated relationship with his brother and the rumors of his own parentage. You both knew what it was like to feel that you didn’t belong, and having someone else who understood made you feel less alone. Before long you had developed a crush on the prince, though it wasn’t your fault. He was always looking at you, and smiling in that way that made butterflies take flight in your stomach, always telling jokes and trying to make you laugh. He insisted he sit next to you whenever he stayed for dinner, and he had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room that mattered. As September came to an end, so did the harvest and you were to return to the orphanage. You had cried saying your goodbyes, and Nikolai had enveloped you in a hug, squeezing you tight and promising he would see you again soon. Just a few days later, a messenger had arrived to notify you that there was a place for you within the Queen’s household. It didn’t take long for the young prince to seek you out once you arrived at the palace, but when you thanked him for bringing you there he had acted the picture of innocence, declaring he had no idea what you were talking about. His mother chose her own ladies, he insisted, though his mischievous grin suggested otherwise. Although she was surely aware of your illegitimate status, the Queen graciously allowed you to adopt your fathers name at court, and the other ladies accepted you as one of their own without question. You found it was remarkably easy to settle into a happy existence at the palace, especially since Nikolai was a constant presence, always there to help and encourage you. No matter how busy he was, you could always depend on seeing him at least once a day. Sometimes he would seek you out at breakfast, stealing fruit from your plate and winking at you when his mother scolded him, or stop you in the hallway to ask about your day while the other ladies giggled behind you, but his favorite time to visit you was late at night, when everyone else was asleep. He would sneak into your room, face lit by dim candlelight and sit cross-legged on your bed, talking endlessly about anything and everything - palace gossip, an idea he had for an invention, places you both wanted to travel, dreams for the future. Even when he went off with Dominic to complete his military service, and then off to sea, he somehow still found time to write to you several times a week until he returned. Now almost 12 years had passed since he had rescued you from your life at the orphanage and Nikolai was no longer a prince, but he was still your best friend. Which only made the fact that your childhood crush had blossomed into unrequited love that much more difficult to bare.                                      - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The state banquet was in full swing and you were seated near one end of the long table. The Kaelish ambassador sat to your right and another man on your left, though you could not recall his title. Both men had been talking almost non-stop for over an hour, each competing for your attention, but you had long since tuned them out. You couldn’t stop your eyes wandering to where you knew the King sat, at the head of the table. He was deep in conversation with Alina Starkov, who held the place of honour by his side, but his eyes met yours briefly and the corner of his mouth tipped up into that boyish smile you loved so much. The Kaelish ambassador laid a hand on top of yours on the table, trying to regain your attention and Nikolai’s smile dropped from his face, a small crease appearing between his brows in its place. You turned away, breaking the eye contact so that you could politely extricate yourself from the ambassador’s grasp. When you looked back, the King had returned to his conversation, the Sun Saint once again holding his full attention. You watched as he leaned in close to whisper in her ear, and she tipped her head back to laugh. You studied her as you sipped your wine. The Sun Saint and the saviour of Ravka. You wanted to hate her, but she couldn’t even allow you that you thought bitterly, because not only was she beautiful, she was also brave and kind. Even her laugh was pretty, a light, musical sound. Despite the fact that she had grown up an orphan like you, she had a way about her that just screamed royalty. She would make a perfect Queen for him. You pushed away your plate of half-eaten dinner, your appetite quite ruined.                                     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Nikolai watched you from the opposite end of the table. Alina was talking and he knew he should be focused on her but in truth he was barely even listening. You looked stunning tonight, even more so than usual, and he was having a hard time taking his eyes off you. Your gaze finally fell on him and he smiled back at you, warmth blooming in his chest at having your full attention even in the crowded room, but then the Kaelish ambassador touched your hand with his and Nikolai’s heart sank. You were a beautiful and intelligent woman and yet you were still unmarried, so it was no surprise that any man seated next to you would be vying for your affections. Nikolai knew he had no right to be upset, given his own engagement to Alina, but truthfully, he was a selfish creature at his core and he did not want to see you with anyone but him. As you turned to the ambassador, Nikolai forced himself to shift his attention back to Alina, he couldn’t stand to watch the other man flirt with you. Alina was giving him a knowing look and he didn’t like it. The last thing he wanted was a lecture on the dangers of unrequited love from the Sun Saint. Humor was his favorite method of deflection, and it had always served him well in the past, so he leaned in close, quietly making a joke about the unfortunate looking man sat opposite them. Alina laughed and the moment passed just as he’d hoped it would. He made a concentrated effort to keep his eyes off of you for the rest of dinner.                                     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - After dinner, the King and his fiancé led the procession, their arms linked together delicately, as everyone moved to the ballroom. You trailed behind, tempted to just duck out altogether and go back to your room where you could be alone. Then the Kaelish ambassador appeared at your side, offering to escort you in and dashing all hopes of escape. You looped your arm through his reluctantly and allowed him to take you into the crowded ballroom. Your eyes swept the room involuntarily, seeking Nikolai out as always. You found him off to the side of the dance floor, talking with Alina again, their arms still linked and their heads bent intimately close together. You ignored the bloom of pain in your chest and forced yourself to look away. You turned to the man at your side instead, plastering a smile on your face. “Are you enjoying your time in Ravka, ambassador?” You asked. “Very much so,” he smiled, “but then, what man would not enjoy your charming company?” You looked away, feeling your cheeks heating up at the compliment. “That’s very kind of you to say, ambassador.” “Please, call me Cillian.” “I’m not sure that would be appropriate,” you demurred. “I insist,” he said, taking your hand. You caught sight of Nikolai in your peripheral vision, he and Alina were moving towards you and panic clawed at your throat. You didn’t have it in you tonight to pretend to be happy for them. “Alright,” you allowed, giving him the coyest smile you could manage, “but only if you will agree to dance with me.” The ambassador - Cillian, looked thrilled and you felt a stab of guilt, but you let him lead you away from Nikolai and out onto the dance floor all the same. The orchestra struck up a new tune, blending seamlessly from the last and Cillian pulled you in, one hand clasped with yours and the other at your waist. You tried to keep your eyes entirely on him, studying his features as you moved together through the steps of the dance. He was several years older than you, you determined, but not old, and he was handsome enough, with dark auburn hair and emerald green eyes. He wasn’t Nikolai, but then, no one could measure up to him in your opinion.

When the dance ended, Cillian disappeared to go and fetch you both a drink. You waited for him at the edge of the crowd, and watched as Nikolai escorted Alina out onto the dance floor. The music started up again, a slow, romantic melody and Nikolai held Alina as close as propriety would allow, one hand pressed to the small of her back. At first the two of them just swayed together in time with the music, completely caught up in each other, and then Nikolai whispered something in her ear and finally started to lead her in the dance. They moved beautifully together, perfectly in sync and suddenly you felt so sick, you couldn’t stand it. You turned on your heel, pushing your way through the crowded ballroom and towards the exit as fast as your feet would carry you.                                     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Nikolai stared steadfastly ahead as he led the guests into the ballroom, Alina on his arm. If he allowed himself to look around, he would only look for you. He stopped walking as he reached the opposite side of the room, deeming it far enough away from the door and other people to be acceptable. “You might as well look for her,” Alina said, leaning in to him, “I know you want to.” “Who?” he asked, playing dumb. “You know who,” she pressed patiently, “you should go find her and tell her how you feel.” “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice coming out entirely too high to be believable. He cleared his throat conspicuously and she gave him that knowing look again. “Oh come on,” she said, rolling her eyes, “a blind person could see that you’re in love with her.” “I’m not -“ he started automatically, but he cut himself off when Alina raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Okay, I am,” he admitted, “but I can’t tell her that. She’s my best friend.” “All the more reason to tell her,” Alina reasoned, “all the best relationships start out as friendship.” “No,” Nikolai insisted, “she doesn’t see me that way and I can’t risk losing her.” “With great risk comes great reward,” Alina shrugged, “that sounds like something Sturmhond would say, don’t you think?” “Sturmhond isn’t here,” he muttered, but a nagging voice in his head told him she was right. “Look, there she is now,” Alina said, and Nikolai couldn’t help himself. He turned his head, following her line of sight until he spotted you in your pale blue gown, talking with the same man who had held your attention at dinner. You were smiling and your cheeks were flushed as the ambassador took your hand. Before Nikolai had even had a chance to react, Alina was grasping his arm tight and dragging him through the crowd towards you, but by the time they reached you, you were already out on the dance floor. Jealousy coiled sharp and hot in Nikolai’s gut as he watched the other man hold you in his arms, moving you effortlessly across the floor. You stared into his eyes, as if he was the only person you could see and Nikolai’s heart ached. He couldn’t bare to watch and yet he found he couldn’t look away. As soon as the music ended, he pulled Alina onto the dance floor without even asking, determined to distract himself. “I can’t dance,” she hissed, clearly annoyed despite the smile fixed to her face, “I don’t know how!” He laid his hand lightly on the small of her back, helping her sway gently in time with the beat. “Sorry,” he whispered, “just let me lead, you’ll be fine.” He began to lead her through the dance, keeping his frame firm. Luckily the melody was slow and even, so it was not difficult for Alina to follow him, but he looked up just in time to see you fleeing the ballroom and then both their footsteps faltered. He murmured a hasty apology to Alina, abandoning her on the dance floor to pursue you.                                     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

You ran aimlessly until you somehow ended up at the palace gardens. You just needed to get away, couldn’t bare to witness the happy couple for another minute. The rain was pouring down in sheets, the stormy weather a perfect mirror to your emotions. You stepped out into the downpour, and instantly regretted it as the rain soaked through your gown with every step you took, but going back inside was not an option. You kept your head down and ran towards the gazebo, seeking shelter there. Water dripped down your face, mixing with your tears as you finally allowed them to fall. The sound of the rain was loud in your ears and you were so caught up in your own misery that you were taken by surprise when he spoke. “Are you ok?” Nikolai asked, “what are you doing out here?” You whirled around, finding him standing behind you under the gazebo, presumably taking shelter from the storm as you had done. He looked just as wet as you felt, his blonde curls dripping onto his forehead and the white of his shirt almost translucent in places where the rain had soaked through completely. You wiped discreetly at your tears, clearing your throat but you didn’t answer him. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. He removed his jacket, offering it up to you. “You’ll catch your death out in this storm without a coat,” he chided. When you made no move to accept it from his outstretched hand, he stepped closer, huffing impatiently and you couldn’t help but laugh. “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think that’s going to do much good,” you said, and his face twisted in confusion. He looked down at the sodden garment in his hand, suddenly realizing how wet it actually was. “I suppose not,” he conceded with a chuckle. He moved to the low railing so that he could lay his jacket over it, then he leaned against it, swiping a hand through his wet hair to brush it back from his face. “What are you doing out here?” You questioned. He gave you a wry smile, “I asked you first.” “I needed a moment alone,” you admitted, chewing on your bottom lip. He raised his eyebrows in question. Seeing you with Alina was killing me, you thought. But you couldn’t say that out loud, so instead you said, “The Kaelish ambassador proposed to me.” The lie tripped off your tongue so easily, you almost believed it yourself. Nikolai barked a surprised laugh, “Sounds like he’s had too much kvas,” he snorted, “I hope you let him down gently.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “Actually, I told him I’d think about it,” you said, swallowing down your hurt. Was it really so unbelievable to him that a man could want you? “You can’t be serious?” He exclaimed, all trace of amusement suddenly gone. You shrugged your shoulders noncommittally and silence stretched between you. Nikolai scrubbed a hand over his face in apparent frustration, standing to pace uneasily. “You can’t marry him,” he said finally, his face unreadable. “Why not?” “He isn’t right for you,” he muttered. “You barely know him,” you bristled, feeling your temper begin to rise. What right did he have to decide for you? “Neither do you,” he countered. “Do you even love him?” “What does that matter? Marriage is an economic proposition,” you argued. “He’s handsome and rich, and he treats me kindly. As far as husbands go, I could certainly do much worse.” “As your friend, I am telling you that marrying him would be a mistake,” Nikolai insisted, his voice rising, “you cannot possibly be happy with a man you do not love.” “As my friend,” you spat, “you should support my choice, just as I did yours. Perhaps I do not love him now, but I will be well taken care of, and I may learn to love him in time.” Nikolai shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t believe that. I know you don’t. You’ve always wanted a love match.” “Yes well, we can’t always get what we want,” you said softly, looking away. “Not everyone can be as lucky as you and Alina.” “Alina and I are not a love match,” he frowned, “Surely you know that? Our engagement is purely a political alliance.” “Political, of course,” you huffed sarcastically. “It certainly seems that way when you’re fawning over her at every opportunity. Don’t lie to me Nikolai. You’re clearly in love with her!” “I do not fawn!” He objected angrily, “and I am not in love with Alina! How could I be, when my heart wholly belongs to you?!” You glared at him even as tears filled your eyes. “Now you’re just being cruel. To say such a thing when you know -“ you cut yourself off, your voice breaking. “When I know… what?” he demanded, moving into your personal space. Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him. You curled your hands into fists, fighting the instinct as you tilted your head back to look at him. “When you know that I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered. You hadn’t meant to admit it, but you were so tired of pretending. “I know no such thing,” he said, his forehead creased into a frown. He lifted his hand to push your damp hair back behind your ear and the touch made you shiver, “I am a man of many talents, it’s true, but mind reading isn’t one of them.” “Don’t be glib,” you muttered, bringing your hands up to his chest, ready to shove him away but he captured your wrists, tugging you against him instead. Your heart was pounding and you were sure he could feel it. He said nothing, just searching your expression for something, and then his face lit up in a bright smile, all of his righteous anger melting away in an instant. “Saints. I’ve spent 10 years dreaming of this moment.” “Don’t,” you warned, your tone sharp, and his frown returned. “Don’t pretend to love me back, that isn’t fair.” “I’m not pretending,” he promised. You eyed him skeptically. “I love you,” he said earnestly, “I have loved you from the very first moment that we met, and in every moment since then. Every time we have been together and every time we were apart. In every look we have shared and every word we have spoken I have felt it, I have known it deep in my soul, and I cannot go another second without you knowing it too.” You stared at him, willing yourself not to cry as you tried to process his admission. You waited for him to take the words back, to laugh and say he was joking, but he didn’t. He closed his eyes briefly, his expression serious. His mouth pressed into a thin line, like he didn’t trust himself not to say more and when he opened his eyes, they were so full of love that you could scarcely believe it. Your heart soared with joy. “I love you too,” you assured him and he dipped his head to kiss you, finally, reverent and sweet. You pressed yourself against him, needing to be closer and his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head up as you opened your mouth to him. His free hand went to your hair, gently pulling out the pins that held it in place, until it tumbled down around your shoulders. Later, you wouldn’t be sure if it was you or him that had turned the kiss hungry, but the shift felt so natural, like coming home, even as heat spread through you like wildfire, desperate and out of control. When your mouths finally separated, you were both breathless. You panted, trying to catch your breath and he placed a kiss below your ear before he gently sucked and nipped a line down the column of your throat and across your breasts. His clever tongue swirled over your nipple through the fabric of your gown and you gasped, arching in to him. He tugged at your neckline, seeking access to more skin and growled in frustration when it didn’t give way. You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him back up so that you could cover his mouth with your own again. He reached around to the back of your gown, nimble fingers making light work of the dozens of tiny buttons tracing your spine. As he reached the final button, you suddenly remembered that you were outside. It was dark, and the storm made it improbable that anyone would happen upon you out here in the gazebo, but improbable was not impossible. “Wait,” you murmured. To his credit, his hands stilled instantly, albeit reluctantly, and he raised his head to regard you. “Not here, someone might see us.” “I don’t care,” he said, his mouth returning to your throat and you struggled to recall why you were objecting. “Nikolai…” you tried again weakly. “I must have you,” he insisted, his voice rough with arousal, “I cannot wait a moment longer.” And really, how were you to argue with that? You dragged your hands down his chest, grabbing the hem of his shirt and he smiled as he lifted his arms, helping you pull it up and off over his head. When he slipped your gown from your shoulders, he sank to his knees along with it, pressing teasing kisses across your abdomen as the fabric pooled at your feet. Your hands grasped his shoulders as he lowered your underwear, baring you to him completely and a sudden wave of shyness over took you. You carded your fingers through his hair, fighting the urge to cover yourself. “Perfect,” he murmured, raising his eyes to meet yours. The desire in his gaze was so intense that it seemed to simmer in the air between you and just like that, your embarrassment dissipated. He tugged gently on your hips, urging you downward and when you joined him on the floor he tipped you backwards so that you were laying on your gown. The damp fabric was soft against your skin, cushioning your body from the unforgiving wood beneath it. Nikolai lay down beside you, propped up on one elbow and ran his free hand across your collarbone and down your side, his fingers skimming the underside of your breast, tracing your ribs and fluttering lightly over your stomach until they reached the apex of your thighs. He circled your clit, slow at first, gentle, and then gradually increased in speed and pressure as your body responded. He slipped his tongue into your mouth at the same time as he slipped a finger inside you and when you shuddered, he added another, curling them just right in a way that had you moaning his name. Your whole body felt tense, every muscle straining for release and he dipped his head to capture the dusky peak of one nipple between his teeth. The extra stimulation was all that you needed to reach your peak, and you clutched to him desperately as the wave of your orgasm crested, your core clenching around his fingers as he coaxed you through it. “Saints, you’re so beautiful when you come,” he confessed, his voice low and gravelly. You wanted to kiss him, but he seemed so far away and you still felt fuzzy, your limbs not quite under your control, so you settled for pressing a kiss to his shoulder instead. Luckily he seemed to understand what you needed, he hovered over you, careful to keep his weight off you as he claimed your mouth again, but you were impatient for more. You nipped at his bottom lip, pulling him down on to you, wanting to feel every inch of his body against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him ever closer and swallowed his gasp when his clothed arousal made contact with your center. You reached a hand between you and tugged at his laces, eager to rid him of his breeches. He rushed to help, pushing them down so he could kick them off as soon as they were untied. He settled himself between your thighs, his cock dipping between your folds almost of its own accord and you suddenly couldn’t wait to have him inside you. You watched as he lined himself up with your entrance.                                     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Nikolai pressed his forehead to yours, looking down the length of your bodies so he could watch as he entered you for the first time. The sound you made as he pushed inside was almost enough to undo him, and he had to close his eyes, fighting for control of his body. Only once he was certain he would not embarrass himself did he begin to move, burying himself in your heat only to retreat, over and over in a punishing rhythm that forced the air from his lungs and had you writhing beneath him. He groaned as you moved your own hips against him, meeting his thrusts on the downstroke, chasing your own pleasure as much as his. He straightened, raising himself up slightly so he could take you in, wanting to absorb every tiny detail of you beneath him. The way your hair was spread out around you like a halo, the pink blush that spread across your cheeks and down your chest, the perfect cupids bow of your lips, kiss swollen and cherry red. He wanted to commit the moment to memory, never wanted to forget the sight of you, sinful and gorgeous, and utterly wrecked. He lowered his head so he could nip gently at the expanse of skin just above your collarbone. You keened in response, tipping your head back to bare more of your throat to him and he felt a surge of something dark and possessive, an almost overwhelming sensation that made him want to sink his teeth in, to suck a bruise into your skin and mark you as his. But he would never do it without your permission, so settled for slanting his mouth over yours instead. He hitched your legs up higher on his waist, changing the angle slightly and allowing him to slide even deeper. You cried out as he finally hit that perfect spot inside you and he groaned. He couldn’t get enough of the sounds you made. He chased every moan, every sigh, like an addict looking for his next fix and he knew that even if he got to make love to you a million times over, it would never be enough. You were the sea and he was a sailor lost to the rip-tide, ready to drown in your depths. His hips began to lose their rhythm as he felt the first tendrils of his impending climax creeping up his spine and he was torn between the near desperate need to come and not wanting this to ever end. He slipped his hand between your sweat slick bodies to circle your clit as he worked his hips harder, determined that you should reach completion right along with him. Your nails dug in to his shoulder involuntarily as your orgasm hit you and you whispered his name like a prayer. The spike of pain only heightened his pleasure as he followed you over the edge, spilling his seed deep within you.                                     - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - You turned on to your side so that you were lying face to face, so close that your noses were touching, your limbs tangled together and sweat cooling on your skin. The rain showed no sign of stopping and you knew that you should get dressed, go back inside before you both caught a chill, but you were content to bask in the afterglow for as long as possible. Nikolai seemed to be in agreement. He made no effort to move beyond stroking his fingers up and down the length of your arm in a slow caress, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his path. “Marry me,” he murmured and your tender heart skipped a beat.

You didn’t know what to say, so you settled for just a slight shake of your head. Nikolai sighed dramatically.  “Before you give me your final answer, I should tell you that declining the King’s hand almost certainly counts as treason.”

“You’re already engaged,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes. “Not if I don’t want to be,” he said easily. “I don’t care about making a political alliance and I’m sure Alina doesn’t either. She’ll likely be relieved to be rid of me, as will her tracker.” “You’re the King,” you reminded him, “You can’t just marry whoever you want on a whim.” “Actually I can,” he smirked, looping an arm around your waist to pull you even closer. “I can do as I please, because I am the King. A perk of the position is being able to indulge all of my whims.” “We both know that’s not true. You have to do what is best for Ravka, and making a bastard orphan your Queen is not it.” “Why not? They already have a bastard King, why not complete the matching set?” he grinned. “Nikolai…” He sighed exasperatedly. “If you come up with any more objections, I’m going to get my feelings hurt.” “But your advisors -“ you argued. “Are just that, advisors. They give me advice, but I do not have to take it. In fact, I much prefer to completely ignore them whenever possible. It keeps them humble,” he winked. “Nikolai, be serious,” you admonished. “I am,” he protested, “I have never been more serious about anything in my life. I have given Ravka everything I have, I am allowed to be selfish in this. I want you and I shall have you as my wife, provided you will allow it.” Your stomach did a little flip and you bit your lip, trying not to show how affected you were by his words. “I don’t know,” you mused, your tone teasing, “I have had several offers for my hand this evening. I shall have to consider my options.” “Of course,” he agreed, nodding sagely before his smile turned wicked, “but perhaps there is something I could do to tip the balance in my favor?” He nudged you gently onto your back and shifted over you so that he could trail a path of teasing kisses across your collarbone and down the length of your body. “Mmmm” you hummed airily, pretending to think about it. You threaded your fingers through the mess of his curls as he reached the apex of your thighs. “Perhaps.”

[instarsandcrime]

Tuned Out

Oh gosh it's been uh. Almost a month since I've written something??? Well, I hope you enjoy this one! I loved the idea of a sick L/uc/ifer spiraling, and being broken out of it by A/la/stor's radio show because I'm weak to the idea-- though it can be interpreted as both platonic and Ra//di//o//A//pple.

And here's a quick heads-up: Though this is still the usual fluffy fic, the spiral paragraph itself is a bit rough. So I'm going to put a trigger warning below and in the summary when I add this fic to the list. If intrusive thoughts and vague thoughts of self-harm are too much, please skip the italicized second paragraph. You can still read the fic without needing to include this part, so don't feel ANY pressure to do so if you aren't/will never be ready. Please, pleeeassseee take care of yourselves!

Otherwise, enjoy!

TW: Intrusive thoughts, vague thoughts of self-harm

---

Burning. His skin felt like it was burning him alive. That was the only sensation Lucifer could feel. His tired eyes stared up at the canopy of his bed, face glowing softly with fever. Its flush spread gold across the embedded pearls above, making them sparkle like stars. He sighed, crackling sparks floating from his lips as thoughts poked and prodded at his overheated mind.

Fuck. He really was pathetic, wasn’t he? Can’t move, can’t get up, can’t get a glass of water, eat dinner, call Charlie– call. Charlie? Oh, poor Charlie. She must be so disappointed in him. He chuckled weakly, What would she even say to him that she hasn’t already thought? He could imagine it. He really could. ‘Seriously, Lucifer?! I literally meant nothing to you for years and now suddenly you waltz into my life? And instead of actually spending time with me, you’re calling from a room that could’ve gone to someone who truly needed it, ordering me to wait on you hand and foot like I’m your butler? Like our entire relationship meant nothing? You threw me away, and now you’re going to do it again?! You know what? You deserve this! You deserve to rot in your bed! Get as starving and sick as you want! At least now the inside will match the outside! You’re terrible! I hate you! No. No, you know what? I wish you got your second shot at Heaven. I wish you had at least a week of laughter, fun, and fucking fireworks so they could tear off your wings andyoucanFallalloveragai–’

A burst of static pierced the air, shattering the constricting spiral just before it could break him again– and replaced it with a new form of dread.

“Why hello there all you wayward sinners! Welcome once again to tonight’s show with your host: The Radio Demon!”

“Uuugh!” Lucifer groaned dramatically, snatching one of his many pillows to press over his head. 

Right. The stupid fucking radio. From under the shadows, the sickly demon couldn't help but glare daggers at the piece of junk resting on his nightstand. Alastor had requested those old, outdated mortal inventions for every hotel room– specifically from the 1920’s era because apparently he preferred style and substance. Whatever that meant. 

Regardless. He insisted that it was needed for announcements, communication, and entertainment. In other words– somewhere, somehow, Alastor was currently studying him and him alone with invisible eyes. Surgically scanning him at the seams for the slightest rip. The slightest tear. As if his prey wasn't the most powerful being here. Dramatic bastard.

“And how are you doing this fine evening, Your Majesty?” The radio sung.

“Go away.” The lump of fluff grumbled.

"Of course not! It is my duty as your hotelier to take note of every little detail of my building, no matter how tiny and insignificant. And I am ever-so-glad I have! It is quite the rare sight to watch our King of Hell lose face to a simple case of the sniffles. Truly a headline for the ages!"

An angry red blush painted over the king’s golden cheeks, immediately pushing himself upright. Towering wings puffed, pillows and blankets tossed about the bed as he went. "Now see here! Sinners get sick. Overlords get sick. Hell, Charlie and Lilith can get sick! Me? I’m just rehhh…Snff! Ugh, resti'g…"

"Resting. Of course. I suppose I will believe you for convenience’s sake--"

"Hhheh…! Het'shiew!"

"--oh! Bless you."

"Het'shhhiew!"

"Bless y--"

"Hep'shhhh! 'Etshhh! 'Tshhh! 'Tshhh-'tshh-'tch! ...HhhhehhHH...! HEH'TSSHHHIEW!"

"My goodness, bless! You sound absolutely miserable. Shall I fetch you a glass of water? Or another blanket, perhaps?"

"Nhhh– no." Lucifer protested between hitching breaths, conjuring a handkerchief with the flick of the wrist, "N-no thahhh...hhhah! Hhhh...”

He finally lowered the cloth when the tickle finally fizzled out, heaving a sigh of relief. “Ndo thadk you. Snff!" He took a deep breath before letting loose a mucky blow into the fabric, "It's fine. I'm fine."

A pause. "Ah."

"What? What is it now?"

"Oh nothing, nothing! I’ll let you get back to your rest. But before I go, could I mention one more thing?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s just. Well, I had my first impressions, but I assumed that the King of Hell wouldn't be so cowardly."

"Cowardly?!" Lucifer repeated incredulously, spitting a plume of smoke.

"I see your hearing is as sharp as your wit."

"I'll show you cowardly you…y-you…hhh-!" The demon’s nose twitched desperately, and he cursed between hitching gasps as it tried again and again to just get. The damned itch. Out.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't quite catch that."

"You…you self-important…hehhh…p-pompous…!" 

"How flattering of you to notice my worth! And would you believe it? You're absolutely right! I am the fundraiser for this humble project, after all. The guide for these poor, misguided souls. Ones such as yourself."

"Oh, please! We both know you’re...you're no behhh...better than…hhhH–!" Lucifer's handkerchief raised to his face.

"Trying to use your infamous silver tongue through a sneeze? My word! Charlie had told me you were stubborn. But this?"

"Eshhh! Et'SCHHH! HEH'ETSCHH'HHHIEW!" He quickly twisted his head away to let loose a breath of flame, barely singeing the well-abused cloth.

"Poor, poor Lucifer Morningstar.” Alastor teased, his voice as soft and careful as a snake in the grass. The smattering of footsteps echoed across the floorboards, circling the bed. “Always choosing your own heavenly guilt over the needs of everyone else."

"HEH'ESCHH'HHHIU! Hehh! Hhh…hghh…"

"Which is a shame, considering the ill resident who requires attention. Trapped in their own feverish mind. Alone while their partner is away. Unable to move or think or even ask for help properly. But I’m sure you wouldn’t know how it feels for them, considering how indestructible you are."

"...There is?" Lucifer finally croaked, cringing to himself at another gurgling nose blow.

"Of course! While you were hiding in your room with your wings tucked between your legs, I'm afraid you've missed someone very important. Someone close to you."

Lucifer froze. He didn't mean.

"Mmm. Let's see." As the radio host thought stubby knobs spun on their own, playing flickers of songs diluted by time. "Rosy cheeks. Blonde hair. Red eyes that sparkle so damn brightly one could go blind."

Oh no.

"Puffy bow tie. Black fingernails."

Did. Did he get his little girl sick? Please, please don't let that be the case.

"The most spell-binding singing voice."

He thought back to breakfast. How Charlie had eaten less than normal. How she sniffled once or twice at the table. Wait, did her face look pale? Maybe the light didn’t catch it?

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

"Wh-where is she-- they, um! That. Resident right now?"

"Oh, performing the usual suffering patient routine. Lying in bed. Being miserable. Quite adament about sleeping the bug off. Reminds me of the ol’ picture books that star wealthy socialites and their sickly Victorian children. The ones who die due to their parents' neglect and mistreatment."

"I could help her." The fallen angel mumbled anxiously as he pushed himself upright. "I could help her right– …now..." 

The second he dared to stand he nearly fainted, stumbling dizzily to grab the bedpost for support. From beneath a small string of black tentacles sprouted from the ground, nudging him back into place and under the covers as The Radio Demon tutted disapprovingly. 

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If you can't partake in the complex act of resting, then what good are you to our dear, sweet Charlie?"

"Shut. Up." Lucifer hissed, "I am a grown adult--"

"--debatable--"

"--and I choose what to do with my free time! And it's my jo-- koff koff! j-job to help my daughter when she needs it!" A shaky finger waved at all six radios. Or were there seven?

"To be quite honest Sire, I would prefer to do my tasks without your meddling. Actually, I would prefer not to perceive your existence at all, thank you very much. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless you'd rather call her yourself. But I know you won't." A mocking tone laced with static, “You c̴̨̮͊o̶̗̤̿ẇ̷̙á̴̼̖ȑ̶͉̕d̶̙͚͗̕.”

“I– wh–” Lucifer laughed in sheer disbelief, snatching up his phone. “Y-you’re– you’re joking, right? I’m not some– some godforsaken hermit!"

"Then by all means, prove it."

"I am!"

“I’m waiting."

"Oh, I’ll do it! I’ll do such a good call. It’ll be the– snff! goodest caller you’ve ever seen.” The King of Hell pouted like a child as he moved his claws.

“Ugh. Lord knows how he’ll act if he gets worse.” The radio mumbled quietly.

“Whassat?”

“My apologies, Your Majesty! I forgot that your company as of late are less of the civilized and more the rubber duck variety.”

"Of all the– if you weren't stuck to Charlie like a parasite I would take the sharpest end of my tail and shove it up your--"

Click!

"Dad?" A voice croaked.

"Charlie!" Lucifer's venom turned saccharine sweet, flipping on a dime. "Hey! Hi! H-how are ya, sweetie?"

"Mmrgh...what time is it?"

"It's. Um. Evening…time? Look, that doesn't matter right now. Are you feeling alright, kiddo?"

"Am I feeling alright?" His patient echoed sleepily.

"Yeah! I uh. IIIII just wanted to check in. See if you were okay." 

"Oh. Um, I'm okay." A bit of rustling and a pause. "Are you okay?"

"Snff! Me?"

"Yes, you! You looked so tired at breakfast this morning, a-and you didn’t eat anything which never happens! And you were kinda glowing? It kinda seemed bad but I didn’t want to ask because maybe it was a personal thing and– wait, your voice is…are you crying?!" Rustling turned into the shuffle of pacing slippers.

"What? No! Nonononono! I just--" Lucifer froze, feeling another itch start to build, handkerchief nowhere to be found under the sea of fabric. "Jhhh-just excuse mbe for– snff! For a seggond. Keebp t-talki’g…!"

He quickly pressed his hand against the speaker, stifling into his shoulder until the scratchy wool felt damp. "Hh'ntt! Hh’ngk! Hhh’TCH! ‘TCH! Hhhhh...HT'CHNXT'hiew! Guhh..."

"Sure. A-anyway, you called me pretty early in the morning and after all that and this. Soooo…is there anything I can do to help?"

Desperate claws scrambled to craft a new handkerchief and wipe his streaming face. "N-no! No, no-- snff! absolutely not! Worry about yourself Char-Char, I'm fi--....f-fihh...!"

Hang up, pinch your nose shut, do anything but--

"HET'SHHH'HIEW!" Lucifer doubled over.

–sneeze.

"Oh geez, that sounded terrible!” Charlie gasped, “Is that why you've been in your room all day? Are you sick?"

A sudden, very obvious realization hit him. Silently the fallen king sunk into his mattress, wishing he could be swallowed by his comforter. His cheeks burned. The familiar description. The taunting. 

“Can I. Call you back, Stardust?” 

“What? Whoa, whoa, wait, we’re not finished here–” With a final monotone beep, the call ended.

"You.” Lucifer clenched his fangs.

“Yes?” Alastor hummed non-chalantly. “YOU.”

“Gracious! No need to shout. Even The Devil Himself should know that a sickly patient musn’t raise his voice, lest it get worse than it already is!”

“Watch your back, bellhop. Next time I see you, no ring of Hell will compare to what I-- koff! I’ll–" The threat died with a wheeze, breaking into another ill-timed fit.

"And that's all for tonight, folks!" The radio suddenly hopped back to life, "Tomorrow's show may be a little dicey schedule wise, as our guest star is feeling quite unwell. Will he finally exit his literal and proverbial cave of sorrows for once in his miserable life? Or, much like his saintly past, will pride once again be his downfall--"

"Dad! Are you– eep!"

Charlie's entrance was suddenly interrupted when a black fist rained down on the damned noise box, breaking in a fit of bouncing springs and wooden splinters. The room stilled until a meek, nervous chuckle finally broke the spell.

"Charlie, dear?"

"Y…yeah?"

"Um. Could. Could I trouble you for a glass of water?"