#I still need to make a name for the Nameless AU

[moonlit-sweet-dreams]

Orestes by Euripides, tr. by Anne Carson

Yuri kills Tei on the spot with 4 words.

[elizzsush]

Future Child | Twisted Wonderland

Malleus Draconia X Reader

----It wasn’t everyday you’d find a three year old running around campus causing a ruckus. Usually students wouldn’t have to deal with this, but with Crowley you had to deal with everything. Now… why is it when you catch this small trouble maker it calls you “momma”?

AUs: None Rating: SFW

Note: Hi, hi! So, basically, I wasn't going to finish this and posted it as a WIP and people really liked it. So, then I had no other choice but to finish it! And I hope you like it.

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Crowley in-listed you to help with the child problem around school. No, wait that sounded bad. A young fae no older than five got into night raven campus and has been running amok. Some students say he appeared out of thin air. So, obviously, you: the defenseless, Magic-less human with no knowledge of fae or even how some of these basics of this world work, you were the schools best bet against this ‘threat.’ And so, your oh so kind instructor pushed this task onto you and left.

Not without you demanding an extra allowance, but still.

Thankfully, you were well equipped with a grumpy cat-weasel thing who is so glad to help and definitely did not try and run away. “Ehh? Why do I have to help ya??” Grim whined as he hung limply, your hand firmly grasping his scruff as you held him up. He was so generous and did not need to be bribed at all.

You sighed, “I’ll put some money aside from this to get you tuna.” Technically, that was a lie. No, you were going to fix the window Grim broke from practicing his magic in the house, again.

“I want two cans!” The motivated cat purred and jumped onto your shoulders. Now, you can finally begin your mission and take on this… threat...?

This threat was a real threat!

The sight of the frozen cafeteria did scare you. You had learnt that after you had stumbled upon the frozen dinning hall; all of this was from the baby fae! What on Earth were you suppose to even do once you caught the child?

How would you catch this kid without being frozen exactly? Why were you put on this task?

There was a mountain of ice and a many frozen students who were actively being saved by other students most of whom were made to help. They had gotten lucky in your option. They didn’t have to find the kid. “So much magic…" An awestruck student said, "it’s hard to believe a kid did this.” The nameless person mumbled as they helped thaw the room out. You couldn’t help but hum in agreement to yourself.

What kid could do this when Deuce struggled with making anything but cauldrons while he was somewhere new! It was… overwhelming magic for sure. Even for you to stand in the middle of it, magicless. And this was just the dining hall!

Apparently, you had three more places to check out.

“Not much to see here.” Grim grumbled from your shoulder, just then a ball of fire came hurtling towards the two of you! “Eek!!” Grim squealed jumping of your shoulder while you ducked.

“Sorry!” A no name student called out… He had been using the fire to dethaw some students.

“We should leave… and fast.” You said as you turned to leave in a hurry. You tripped on the ice almost tripped on the ice while you left.

.

.

.

The very next place you checked was the courtyard, where Mr. Vargas liked to make you run in the blistering heat. PE was horrible. Everyone else got to be on their dumb magic brooms while you were stuck doing laps.

Mr. Vargas did like to make the boys sweat afterwards though. You got to sit on the grass and laugh at them cheer them on! Especially Ace, who always lagged behind.

Anyway, in the place of the field of green grass that your peers used to practice flying on a broom, was a field of fire. Green fire no less. At least it was still green? You stayed a distance away while you watched a group of five students try and summon water magic to help fight these flames. “If you don’t do this right, it’ll be off with your heads!” Next to them, a familiar short, red-haired boy was shouting at them and telling them what they were doing wrong.

You liked to think it wouldn't actually be off with their heads, Riddle was above that... Now. You liked to think it was just motivation to make them work harder!

Because it was mostly Heartslabyul students, it worked. "Hey! Riddle?" You called out to the boy. The Housewarden looked at you and jogged up to meet you a way away from the green flames. Was Sebek here as well? You swore you heard his voice shouting...

"You shouldn't be here. This area is off-limits to anyone outside of the Equestrian club because of the danger." Riddle crossed his arms; his tone was pretty gentle though. You nodded along to what he was saying, because it made sense.

"Crowley wants us to find the Fae doing this, do you know anything about it?" You decided to get right to the point. Riddle was busy enough as it was. He seemed to appreciate it too.

The boy glanced back at the students trying to figure out how to calm the fire and shook his head. "I think I heard a few third years mention a blur of H/C going into the school." He mentioned, you mostly knew the kid was in the school. It was one of the places Crowley wanted you to check out, Mr. Trein's class, after that you didn't really know where the kid could be.

You smiled and thanked Riddle before turning to leave, the boy glanced back at the fire before stepping a bit closer to you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "Uh- Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to have tea with me later I-"

"Dorm leader! it's spreading!" A student shouted out, a panicked look on their face as they rushed up to the two of you. Riddle muttered something under his breath, before jogging back to the fire. To step up to calm the flames even more than what the regular student could do so you left.

“This seemed handled enough…” You muttered, a bit disappointed that you didn't get to finish your conversation with Riddle, Grim simply rolled his eyes and you two turned to leave.

.

.

.

You went to Mr. Trein’s classroom next. Your most boring class of twisted wonderland, history, uh... you think. Truthfully you hadn’t stayed awake long enough to know what class he taught.

It was not for lack of trying either!

He just drew out his words and spoke in just a boring robotic tone, it could put anyone to sleep! I digress. The cat: Lucius liked you too, he tended to let you sleep more while waking up other students.

Anyway, in place of the classroom was… an overgrown forest? In the center of it, you noticed a tall, well groomed, teal haired male, squatting down to examine what appeared to be a mushroom….

Obviously. it was Jade. He was part of the Mountain Lovers Club. The sole member actually if you remember right. Crowley mentioned something about the clubs handling the situations. So...

This seemed… handled-ish….

You would be taking your leave now. You closed the door silently and Grim groaned. "This is so boring." He whined, "Why do we have to do this?!" You shrugged slightly.

"Crowley said he'll give an extra allowance this week if we do this." You mumbled, "We could really use it to fix that window you broke." You reminded the cat. He huffed and glared at you a bit childishly, crossing his furry arms silently on your shoulder.

"I thought you said I could have extra tuna?" He realized, jumping off your shoulder he pointed at you in an accusatory manner; you sighed a bit.

You didn’t have time to find him right now. "We can talk about this later." You walked past him but when he didn't follow you, you turned around.

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

This fae would eat him alive!

Feeling even more motivated and slightly panicked, you ran off to find the cat and disregard the threat that was getting killed by meeting this Fae kid unarmed. Uncated? Either way.

.

.

.

.

“Someone help me!” You finally heard Grims's voice after looking for him for... quite a while actually. Pushing the door to the classroom open, you found...

Nothing.

Every potion was on its self, the stirring sticks where the usually go, nothing burned, frozen, or overgrown nothing was… well anywhere. At least anywhere out of place. “Someone, help me!” A cried out a very familiar voice squeaked out. Hesitantly, you walked closer to where you heard Grim’s voice.

This felt like something out of a horror movie.

A cauldron, inside of it was the soft glow of blue flames. No doubt caused by Grins fire ears. “Grim…?” You spoke softly. Peeking inside the steel pot, you saw a young boy, a long tail curled up beside him and one horn on the side of his head. In his arms was Grim, held tightly like he was a stuffed animal. He sniffled and then looked up at you with the most striking green eyes you’ve ever seen…

“Y/n!” Grim cried out, relief flooding his voice and breaking you from the little boy's curse of cuteness.

You plucked Grim from the kid's arms and He crawled onto your shoulders.

“Momma!” The boy, still in the cauldron yelled out, stumbling to get up and jump into your arms, get hindered by the caldron he found himself stuck in. His face was red from tears, and he looked scared… his small hands shaking with fear. He sniffled more, his chubby hands rubbing away his tears as they fell. Your heart ached slightly seeing those tears.

This can't be the same boy running amok in the school's campus. He was just so... non-threatening?

So, without a second thought. You picked the small boy up and cooed at him. Grim stared at you bewildered, His experience far more intimidating them yours.

Didn't you know how tight that boy was holding him?! Poor Grim almost didn't make it. He whined and frowned at the attention you were giving the boy.

Now, you just had to take this sweetheart to Crowley.

Either way, the small boy was absolutely adorable! Sure, he may or may not have caused this week's class cancelations but really, Ace was thanking the boy for it, so all was fine! Back at ramshackle, you realized, he was just a kid.

He was using some crayons to draw. He screamed like a bit of a brat when you tried to make him eat some broccoli you got... You thought it would be good for you and grim and neither of you ate it.

His big electric green eyes that reminded you of… someone? But who was it again? Well, it didn’t matter. The boy had green eyes, H/ced hair and these two small slightly curled horns on top of his head.

His ears were pointed just like a fae’s but just slightly? They weren’t as long nor as sharp as a regular fae’s like Lilia. It was hard to explain. It was the oddest thing- he had a tail as well! A long blackish purple one at that. And he was excellent at magic, if the destroyed campus told you anything. “Are you mad at me?” He looked up at you with teary eyes after you informed Crowley you caught him.

“Why would I be mad at you?” You asked the small boy curiously, blinking at him a bit confused at the question. His large electric green puppy eyes weren’t exactly helping you stand strong and not coddle him either.

“Because I made the rooms a mess…” he rubbed his large cheeks free from stray tears. Not that he was any good at it either, you just shook your head and kneeled to the floor, wiping them away for him.

Something about this boy made you wanted to care for him and protect him- he was just do cute. “Nonsense, you were scared. A little mess is fine as long as you weren’t hurt.” When you looked at him you felt something akin to cuteness aggression. This little fae was adorable! If Crowley didn’t find his parents, you’d take him in!

Ignore how poorly you yourself lived in ramshackle! And how much of your food was canned tuna because Grim insisted on it over actual food.

And the window that you still needed to fix and were most likely going to spend this week's allowance on...

The boy nodded, cuddling into your side like a small cuddly cat.

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He was adorable but children were a handful.

Crowley, after assigning you to catch the kid, gave you the poor child to take care of. So, you had been living with the child for three whole days.

Not to say the kid- who’s name you learned was Casper- was a handful. In fact, he was a sweetheart. He tended to shy away from things a bit, and he was a bundle of nerves sometimes.

He definitely got overwhelmed when left by himself, often resorting to crying and when he cried his magic tended to...

Anyway, Despite the amount of magic he held at his fingertip, he’d rush to you at the slightest creak of the floorboards, held onto you tightly, and hide his face in your shirt.

When it was finally time to go to school you didn’t really know what to do with the kid…? We’re you suppose to just… bring a kid to class with you? I mean, you already bring a cat, and the kid would probably be more well behaved then Grim.

So you brought Casper with you. And it was fine He was very sweet, maybe a little to shy, the teachers did love him. He introduced himself to them from behind your leg.

That was two days ago, now you were in the cafeteria. You hadn't been here in two days because, well you weren't sure if Casper would be okay around the crowd of students. Some of whom were still bitter about the Ice things... and the green fire thing.

“Fufufu, what do we have here?” Lilia popped up out of absolutely nowhere. "I heard a rumor about a trouble make~" He smirked.

“Grandpa Lilia!” The kid for once didn’t shy away. You had expected him to start crying. (He had before after all, when Jade introduced himself to the boy.) Lilia simply smiled and accepted the boy's affections, nodding along as he babbled about his day. Meanwhile, you were staring bewildered at the boy.

And... That was your lunch.

With of course, Ace and Deuce coming to keep you company while Lilia entertained Casper.

Most of your lunch you'd glance at the two. 'Grandpa Lilia?' You wondered why he was unusually not shy? He was a talkative boy to you, but with a stranger, no way... “Where Papa?” He asked looking up at the older fae with his large sparkling eyes. Oh, maybe Lilia knew the boy's parents! He was an older fae himself, right?

“Yes, good question indeed where is your papa?” Lilia asked, before he looked at you, a small smirk on his face, he looked at you like you’d know! You didn’t. You had tried to correct the kid on you being his mom before two- he cried and sulked over it for a while after that. “Well, I best be Off now!” Lilia cheered and gave you the kid back before disappearing off somewhere.

That was weird right?

You day went on- Ace and Deuce were good around the kid. Casper was pretty decent around Ace and Deuce, not too shy but he wasn't rambling like he was around Lilia. "Is something on your mind?" Deuce asked curiously, a mild layer of unwarranted concern.

"It's fine..." You shrugged, "I just hope Crowley find Caspers parents soon." You sighed, and the boy in question looked at you confused. He called you Mom and you basically took care of him, so you figured he thought you were his mom.

Not that you really minded, it wasn't like he thought you were old, fae tended to not age and stay good looking forever basically. Case in point, Lilia.

You really didn't mind, you already took care of Grim, so what's another, milder tempered Grim who didn't run away? "Speaking of the kid- Where is he?" Ace asked, looking around.

Scratch that, the kid wondered off.

"Oh no." You sighed and looked at the Adeuce duo with an exhausted look they couldn't say no too. They'd help you find the kid.

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How on earth did Sebek of all people get Casper?

Sebek, a first year in your class. Some loud guy who you got partnered up with once.

Why didn't Casper run away! You most certainly would and have. Instead, you found Casper on Sebek Zigvolt of all people's shoulders. Now you and Ace were whispering about how to get the kid back. No way you were going to go up to Sebek of all people and have to listen to his "fae are superior" speech... again.

"We should... Lure Casper away with candy." You whispered, Ace gave you a look and shot down your idea.

"Do you want to give him the impression that you should follow random people with candy?" He said looking at you like you just had the worst idea ever. "I say we just grab him and run."

"No, Sebek is faster than us." You noted, "Especially you, he runs laps past you in PE." Ace bumped your shoulder with an eyeroll.

"Where's Deuce?" Ace frowned, you watched with wide eyes as you saw Deuce confidently walk up to Sebek... "oh no." Ace groaned and run up behind Deuce.

You cursed to yourself. "We don't have to follow right...?" you asked the cat who agreed with you, but you knew you kind of had to follow them.

"Hey- Sebek." You smiled awkwardly.

"Mama!" The kid called out to you and reached out towards you. he almost fell off Sebek's shoulders- thankfully you caught him. Sebek looked at you in confusion and maybe a bit judgmentally...?

"No- he isn't..." You sighed and gave up.

"A human couldn't mother a Fae of Caspers caliber!" And so... Sebek began his rant. He started with how Lilia informed him of the situation, and he was here to lift the burden of Casper from your human shoulders.

Really, it saved you the time of informing Sebek you were in fact, not a teen mom. Also, it was weirdly insulting? Like hey, come on, you’ve taken care of him for three days! Almost four, “Casper is pretty happy with me, right sweetie?” You asked the boy who nodded hesitatingly. Wait- hesitantly? “Huh?”

Sebek looked a bit disheartened the Fae kid rejected him, but he was also kind of confused as well. “It’s just… I miss Papa, Mama…” the boys lips quivered a bit.

“No, no! You're not in trouble.” You fell to your knees to comfort the boy.

Apparently Sebek was hanging out with the child because he thought he was Malleus but something went wrong. Perhaps someone used their unique magic in the future ruler of briar valley.

Um… who’s Malleus?

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Day four of having a child.

Today you were going to find this kid someone who looked close enough to his dad. I mean, you apparently looked like his mom enough, so… yeah!

Also, perhaps his brother went to this school and that was how he ended up here. Finding him a dad sounded fun though.

It was a solid plan… “Casper?” You woke the boy up. You put Casper in the guest bedroom ace usually occupied when he was collared. Which was often. Even with Riddle being looser on the rules Ace always pushed sadly. “Today we’re finding your father.” You informed the boy.

“Really!” His eyes lit up. Why didn’t you do this sooner?

“Mhm, just tell me what he looks like-“ and so began Caspers rant on how amazing his father was. How he always makes time for you two even though he’s so busy, how good he was at playing superhero’s- and so on.

You didn’t even realize superhero’s existed here. Crazy. “He has black horns like me!” He grinned up at you, “oh- and black hair and we have the same eyes!” He giggled before again going on about how awesome his dad was.

“Horns, black hair, green eyes…” you mumbled, “and you're a fae, so we should probably go to Diasomnia, they have the most fae of the dorms” you smiled brightly. “This Malleus guy seems promising- and if he doesn’t want to, I’ll just make him!” You cheered and with Casper on your shoulders you were out the door!

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.

.

Was it just you or was Diasomnia slightly terrifying?

 Either way, with Casper on your shoulders like you were going to the zoo, you walked on the winding path with thorns around it and into the dorm. The halls were… very long and castle-like. 

Eventually you found the dorm's common room. Witch had three students, only one of which was a fae. With as much confidence you could muster, you approached them. “Hello! Good evening gentlemen… Um, do you happen to know someone whom this child looks like?” You smiled and proceeded to the kid. 

They very politely actually said that they think he looks like Malleus. You asked them to point you to this Malleus, and they again very politely refused. Apparently he was a busy man which was fair. But he was a father now! If casper deems him fit enough (By that you mean mistake him for his father like the boy did you.)

Still, throughout this process, you couldn't help but wonder if you were forgetting someone. 

You kept glancing at Caspers horns… who else did you know with horns? “Tsunotarou! That's who you look like!” You finally realized after an embarrassingly long time. In your defense you had only met the guy once or twice while you were dealing with Leona’s stupid plan, and didn’t Leona mention Malleus during his overblot?

“That's what you call Papa!” Casper cheered, his eyes widening in awe. Okay so, either that was a common name… which you doubt or Casper had a weird background. 

“Khee Khee what do we have here?” Lilia appeared out of nowhere! …again, still you jumped! 

“Mama is going to find Papa today!” Casper cheered in all his three year old glory. Picking the boy up and lifting him to sit on your hit you nodded. 

“Mhm! I’m going to meet this… Malleus demands he becomes Caspers father or pay child support!” You claim confidently because in reality, you were beginning to doubt the plan you came up with at 3am and woke up early for. “Tsunotarou would be a better bet but I really don’t know where that guy is… or his real name.” you muttered to yourself. 

Either way, Lilia clapped and with a large smile said this: “You're in luck! Malleus just finished his breakfast and should be heading over for his morning coffee.” So, without verbally questioning why he knew that you smiled and plopped down on the common room’s chairs watching a bit nervously as Lilia wandered off again. 

So… You were really dumb. Realistically this was a horrible plan bound to fail, but you already came this far. 

Didn’t all your friends always comment about how scary Malleus was? Wasn’t he like one of the top mages of this world? 

Okay, maybe if you didn’t come up with this plan at 3am last night you wouldn’t be so royally screwed! Hah, get it because Malleus is supposed to be some royal of… a whole nation right? Yeah, this was a bad idea. 

Getting up to leave, you heard Casper cheer for his father.

“Child Of Man?” 

“Tsunotarou?” You turned around, “Actually- no this is better than getting smited by some scary mage! Okay so I have been looking for… you, for a while!” You smiled, “This is our son: casper.” You introduced them. 

“Papa!” 

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“Mm, He does look like me.” Tsunotarou hummed; he knelt beside the child, titling his head curiously as he observed the child. “Your horns are coming in nicely aren't they?” He commented with a small smile, the boy nodded enthusiastically. 

“Mhm! They should be as big as yours soon!” Casper giggled. 

“Your speech is also advanced for a child of your age.” The older boy smiled, It was a very touching sight actually. 

“It is. Ace and Deuce have been helping me teach him some bigger stuff too.” you stated proudly as the younger boy nodded along. You sat beside where the boy stood in front of his new father. Your back against the armrest, you sat planted on the floor. “The headmage said he would be dealing with getting him back home but I have to take care of him till then.” You sighed. 

“I see, so you thought to find me as I am the child's father?” Malleus asked curiously, an eyebrow raised almost teasingly.

“If you’ll believe it, yup.” You nodded along, I mean if he believes that the kid is his, why not get him to take responsibility for that sweet child support money?

“I see, so Crowley is making the proper arrangement to get you back to us in the future.” 

“Wait, so he's actually my kid?” you couldn’t help but blurt out. Tsunotarou merely chuckles. “Am I dumb or are we actually like his parents?” You whispered a bit to Tsunotarou and stood up, he followed after you standing up as well. 

“Mm? Crowely didn’t inform you?” he said with an amused and sly smile. “I suppose it's time anyway we get properly introduced seeing as you are my future spouse” He smirked, his hand on his hips.

“I am Malleus draconia”

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Fun Fact:

The events of this takes place after Heartslabyul’s and Savanaclaw overblot. So y/n doesn’t know Tsunotarou is Malleus.

Also, Lilia knew all along.

Also, also, I'm sorry this sucked lol

NOTE: Sorry this slightly sucked I didn't really plan to actually finish the WIP I posted it as "Forever unfinished" and people liked it so I thought I'd do this anyway!

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Some of Ya'll wanted to be Tagged: @yu-night-raven @kelsyntam @reivelmin @thisisafish123 @cheshire-kitsune @dmiqueles @ranbutler-epicsans-moon @dontmindmelove @swivi @halseyhatter @barbatoss-bitch @itslucieen @bell7duck @whatever-fanfics @ziankenvirus @blcknebula @leilakaro @sarraisme

(I'm not quite sure if I did it right but thank you for liking the WIP enough to comment and want to see another! I hope it was good, I kind of think It wasn't that good but Thats why I made it somewhat long... To compensate!)

[yuansie]

the greatest gamble of all

pairing. aventurine x gn! nameless! reader

synopsis. aventurine knows that he is unworthy of love, unworthy of you. because he, aventurine, is a tainted person and kakavasha is but a person with no future for himself. in both of his names, he is unworthy of you.

genres/aus. actually idek what type of au this would fall under saurrr idk what to say ummm friends to something more (?!), romance, pining, angst with a happy ending, smidge of fluff at the end

warnings. slight (or maybe not so slight at all?) spoilers about aventurine's background, mentions of death and murder, very sad and insecure aventurine, crying, slight displays of affection (a neck kiss?!), ooc aventurine ?! (bc im still doing the penacony quest HAHSHAJ)

wc. 1.6k

a/n. me when i only write about aventurine because aventurine is love, aventurine is life. also, i just have some serious brainrot for that man he deserves everything and more i love him sm !!!! also. aventurine this wednesday im SOOOO excited i need him NOW. will be skipping my first class so i can do his trial LMFAO and this NAWT edited !! (when will i ever edit something?? idk. whenever i am not a busy uni kid) the aventurine art was made by @/20231102thu on x (twitter) !!

AVENTURINE IS FULLY AWARE THAT HE ISN'T SOMEONE DESERVING OF, well, anything. he’s just someone that aimlessly wanders this world, not having a set destination. he doesn’t have anything worth living for.  he doesn’t have a home to return to because home means returning to a place filled with warmth and love. 

he does not remember the last time he felt his heart warm up, he’s not even sure if he’s even felt warmth. it is but a distant memory filled with sadness, such sorrow that makes his heart weep without knowing it. though, nowadays, he doesn’t feel like that. there’s just an emptiness in him, but he doesn’t mind it anymore. after the events at penacony, he’s just been… lost.

he hears a door open and slide shut, followed by the sound of footsteps. then, he senses someone standing right next to him as he gazes out the windows of the astral express. you spent a long time convincing the conductor and himeko that aventurine should be a guest, and you finally wore them out with your pleading after a good amount of hours. 

“penny for your thoughts?”

aventurine glances at you. your wounds from the battle are still healing, he notes, given by the bandages that wrap around your forearm and head. sunday will have to meet his fury on another day. “just thinking that this is a nice place.”

you chuckle, “it is, isn’t it?”

all he does is hum in response, still staring out in the vast expanse of space. he likes how the stars look and as his eyes linger on penacony, he wonders if his home looked similar to that. he wouldn't know because he never saw how it looked when he left and never will. his thoughts don’t linger on that much when he instead focuses on the way your fingers brush against his hand. he flinches and stares wide-eyed at how you easily grab onto his hand, a dirty piece of flesh undeserving of the warmth that radiates from your skin and seeps into his own.

“aventurine—”

“kakavasha.”

“hm?” you tilt your head to the side, blinking at him in confusion.

he wants to look away from you, from your eyes. but he wills himself to keep looking and somehow, he ends up gripping onto your hand tightly. you don't complain and instead squeeze back, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“my name is… kakavasha.” aventurine feels his stomach twist and turn at your silence so he continues to speak, “i just thought… that you should know it before it’s completely gone.”

“and why do you say that?”

“it’s a name meant to be forgotten in the sand.”

your response is so quick that it almost gives him whiplash. “no it isn't.”

“excuse me?” he blurts out, surprised that you even said such a thing about him.

“it isn't a name meant to be forgotten in the sand,” you say, a certain calmness in your voice that has aventurine waiting with bated breath at what else you have to say. “it's too pretty to be forgotten and, well, it's your name.” 

and then he feels his face heat up; his ears, neck and cheeks feel like they’re burning up.

“kakavasha,” you hum, smiling, “kava, for short. it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?”

it does have a nice ring to it, but only because you're the one saying it. aventurine merely nods, not trusting his voice at the moment. he looks away and stares outside the window, not wanting to look at you anymore because he fears this warm feeling will take over his entire being.

a nice silence blankets over the two of you, one that you break after a while.

“what’s the story behind your name right now? aventurine… why are you called that now?”

“because kakavasha had no future,” he replies, “kakavasha didn’t have a future, he didn’t deserve to live either. who i am now, aventurine, does.”

“kakavasha deserves to live too.” aventurine turns his body to look at you, blinking in surprise. “i don’t know how you got that thought in your head, but kakavasha deserves to live just as much as the person you are now.”

“but aventurine is tainted. this name has too much blood on it, too many sins on it. the person i am now doesn’t deserve to live either. kakavasha should be a name buried in the sands of time while aventurine should be burnt to a crisp for the things i’ve done.”

yes, he is tainted. his body, his everything is tainted. it is marred by an ugly color, a stain of who he was and is, never to be cleaned. aventurine lets go of your hands, worried that you might also get stained by his sins. he should drive you away now before the aching in his small heart decides to cling to you and the warmth you give him. he will tell you his story, tell you about the mark on his neck, tell you how he killed the man that bought him, tell you about how he is a tainted person. he is a tainted person unworthy of you, unworthy of that love you hold.

he may have never experienced love. after all, all of his past relationships were purely physical. no one cared about going deeper beyond his facade, they all just wanted a fun night. so while he has never experienced it, he is no fool. he can recognize that the emotion in your pretty eyes when you look at him is love. you love aventurine, the him who has betrayed and used you and your companions in one way or another on penacony. he doesn’t understand why and maybe he never will because the mere fact that you feel something towards him is so bizarre.

so he should ruin whatever it is that you love about him and tell you the truth, taint your rose-colored view on him. aventurine needs to do it now before his heart tells him not to. he knows his heart is already lovesick, so needy of that bit of love it has received from you. his heart wants to hold on tightly to you and drown in you, drown in those feelings of yours. his tiny heart wants to love you too, it wants to love you just as much as you love him. he wants your everything to consume his entire being.

but after he tells you the truth, you will leave and you will be the first and last person he’s loved. you will be the first and last person to somehow climb over the tall walls he’s built around himself and crack open the facade he’s made.

but what if… what if you stay after everything? what will happen then?

it is that small hope that he ends up clinging to.

if he is blessed gaiathra, if he is lucky, then what if… what if this is his greatest gamble of all? a gamble of love: will he lose you or will you stay?

aventurine has made up his mind despite the rational part in him telling him to not even do it, yet he does. the words flow out of his mouth easily, though his heart weighs heavy in his chest. he expects to you leave, he really does because who would want someone as ugly as him? but the tears that leaves your eyes and roll down your cheeks catches him completely off guard.

“why are you crying?” he asks, his hands reaching out to hold your arms.

your lips quiver and a hand grabs onto one of his while the other reaches out, fingers stopping before they touch his neck. aventurine leans in without thinking and a shiver goes up his spine when your fingertips gently graze the marks on his neck. you rub over the marks, “you didn’t deserve any of that, kakavasha.”

“if i could, i would take this from you and any pain you’ve felt and will feel. i would take away all of the unpleasant memories that plague your mind. for you, i would do anything.” 

his knees buckle at your words and you both tumble down to the ground; he ends up being on top of you. your eyes widen when aventurine’s own tears begin to rain down, some falling onto your cheek.

“why would you say something so cruel to me?” he mutters. “don’t give me false hope. you should leave now before you do it in the future.”

“why should i leave the man that i love?” you purse your lips, your eyebrows furrowing.

aventurine shoves his head into the crook of your neck. “i am undeserving of you. i’m lesser than everyone in all of these galaxies.”

“you are not lesser than everyone,” you grumble, raking your hand through his blond hair. “everyone is the same because at the end of the day, we all want to love and to be loved.”

“i’m afraid i won’t be able to leave you now.” he hears you laugh softly, saying how his eyelashes are tickling you. he decides to get impossibly closer to you and bat his eyelashes more, smiling at the sound of your laughter growing in volume. “you’re stuck with me, so don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

aventurine’s breath gets stuck in his throat. he feels your lips brush against his neck. “i think the one who should be saying that is me… say, promise me you won’t leave?”

“shouldn’t i be saying that?”

“kava, promise me.”

“i promise. will you promise the same thing too?”

“yes, i promise that i won’t leave you.”

kakavasha, a name forgotten in the sand, was dug up and remembered, held in the hands of someone that treats like the most precious thing. kakavasha, who had forgotten how it felt to love and be loved, remembered the feeling because of a single person.

and kakavasha, blessed by gaiathra, won his greatest gamble of all time. he won you and your love, something he will now protect and hold onto tightly.

[fortunxa]

Just come home

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: In a mix of alcohol and jealousy, heartbreaks can get confusing.

author’s note: Hi!! Firstly, thank you for all the love on my ‘Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights’ one-shot ᥫ᭡ Secondly, it’s not a one-shot anymore—the sequel is officially in the drafts!! Lastly, I just hope you guys enjoy this post as much as you did my first :)

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I stand in the corner of a smoke-filled living room, the smell of cheap alcohol and sweat already buried deep inside my nostrils. The red light illuminating the space makes me feel as though I’ve entered a brothel. I might as well have with the amount of grinding and hooking up going on. Truthfully, I had no business being here other than keeping my word to my friends to join them at the next party. But, as far as I know, they are currently scattered between playing at the beer pong table and blacking out in the garden, leaving me to fend for myself.

None of this matters. My gaze is shamelessly focused on her.

I know knew the taste of her black honey lipstick too well. Her freckled shoulders supported the weight of my legs many, many times, and her fruity scent still lingers on my bedsheets no matter how many times I wash them. I felt each curve of her body and counted each scar. Most importantly, I knew the way her mind worked and knew that her abandonment issues were to blame for our breakup. ‘Leave you before you leave me’ mindset.

Now, I’m forced to watch as she drapes a random girl’s legs over her lap, her slender fingers tracing lazy circles on the stranger’s knee. My grip tightens around the glass of whisky that I’m holding, and I swiftly knock it back. The burning taste makes me grimace, but not as much as the unfolding scene. I make my way into the open kitchen, grabbing a bottle of vodka as I line up three shots. Each has its turn sliding down my esophagus before a feminine voice comes from behind me.

“Look at you! Party animal or rough night?” The redhead approaches me, her shoulder brushing mine as she cocks her head to the side. “If it’s the latter, I could help you with that. My name is–” I stop listening. Her suggestive tone is evident as she smiles at me with hooded eyes, and I give her a once-over. Her green two-piece outfit accentuates her figure, her long legs and abstract flower thigh tattoo on display. She is attractive, don’t get me wrong, but I couldn’t care less. I already know who I want, and her name is Jinx. Powder, if you know her well enough. If there is even the slightest chance that she wants me back, I would never want to feed into her insecurities by pulling a one-night stand; right in front of her, nonetheless. Although her own flirty nature never diluted, I just couldn’t bring myself to act the way she did.

“Not interested,” I reply, indifferent to her attempt at flirting. The nameless girl lets out an exaggerated sigh, tracing her fingers down my forearm.

“I’ll be around if you change your mind.” She sends me a wink, and I nod absentmindedly. My eyes track the red-headed girl to ensure she's gone, and I notice a certain someone doing the same.

Jinx’s jaw is clenched as her gaze hardens. I watch as she unconsciously digs her nails into her plaything’s leg, making her hiss in pain. But, once the blue-haired girl’s angry eyes meet my curious ones for the first time in over a month, her demeanor shifts instantly; she relaxes, turning her attention back to the blonde bombshell. I see them exchange a few words, and my heart drops when Jinx hunches over to place a kiss on the wound. Oh, that was low. I whip around and reach for the bottle of vodka again—time to drink fast until my brain moves slow, and hopefully erases that nauseating scene from my mind. I skip the shot glasses and take two considerable gulps. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look around the kitchen; it’s just me, an abundance of liquor, and a heavy lack of chasers.

I start feeling the needed buzz as my body grows hotter, and I grip the counter with a dumb smile playing on my lips. I decide to get high on my lows and stumble to the dance floor, where other sweaty bodies are already swaying to the sultry song playing from the DJ’s booth—also known as ‘the guy whose phone is currently connected to the speaker’.

I’m dancing like it’s my last night alive, each move bolder than the previous. My hands roam over my body as I let it go free to the music. The atmosphere feels suffocating in the best way possible; it almost makes me forget my heartbreak. Almost. What it is making me forget, though, is the impending hangover. I lose track of time, but my tingling limbs are telling me that the copious amount of alcohol I’ve consumed is still doing its job, and that’s enough for me.

A familiar pair of hands suddenly grabs my hips from behind, and I’m immediately transported to cloud nine. I press my back further into Jinx’s chest as her head dips into the crook of my neck, and I let out a content hum. My eyes flutter shut from the sensation, but once the spinning room feeling intensifies, I’m forced to open them again.

“You’re not pulling away,” she murmurs in my ear, a mix of surprise and relief in her voice as she matches my rhythm.

“Should I?” I ask breathlessly while reaching to place my hand on the back of her head. Her hair is still as soft as I remember.

“How would you know who’s coming up behind you?” Her raspy voice sends shivers down my spine. I let out a brief chuckle and continue swaying my hips.

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t recognize those hands.” She falls silent, and I take the opportunity to rest my head on her shoulder.

“Quite a show you were putting on, trinket,” she speaks up, and her grip on me tightens while my stomach flips at the old pet name. “Thought I’d have to start gouging people’s eyes out.”

“Oh yeah?” She nods. “Surprised you even noticed through blondie’s affection. Wasn’t my leg you were kissing back there, I’ll tell you that much.”

Jinx stiffens but does not dare retort, and I finally decide to turn around. My glossy eyes meet her blue, sad ones; despite it all, a pang of guilt hits me. I snake my arms around her neck as hers move to my waist. Her motions seem much less confident now.

“Hey, you have your flings, and I have my alcohol. We cope how we cope,” I cheer up, or at least try to in my drunken, tactless state. “We’re all good. I never blamed you.”

“But you should,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as her gaze falls to the floor covered in spilled drinks. Her face contorts, and I can practically hear the negative thoughts filling her head. Watching her in this state breaks my heart even more. I use my pointer finger to make her look at me, and I recognize the war in her eyes.

“I still love you, Jinx,” I confess, and her eyebrows knit together at the stray tear rolling down my flushed cheek. She doesn’t hesitate to wipe it off. “Just… Tell me you love me, too.” She’s silent, but not for long.

“Who told you I stopped?”

Her lips crash against mine with passion as her hands cup my face. She still tastes like candy, and she’s still my Jinx. When her tongue asks for entrance, I don’t deny it. Sweet saliva mixes with salty tears, and it takes this one kiss to communicate all of our intense feelings. The sheer intimacy that I had missed so deeply makes me sob into her mouth, and she pulls me closer. I needed more of her, all of her, and I needed it forever. But the need for air becomes too great, and I reluctantly pull away. I rest my forehead against hers, our chests moving up and down rapidly.

“Just come back to me,” I plead as my hand falls to the baby-blue clouds on her bicep. “Come home.”

Her eyes are full of adoration, and she captures my lips again—much gentler this time as if I were precious china, and one wrong move would break me. Although, in her eyes, I very well could be.

“Always.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 23

Part 1  Part 22

Plans are made around Eddie. They talk about traps, and blood, and trips to the army surplus store. But Eddie’s not there: he’s in his trailer, curled up on his single bed with Steve, trading truths like the world is ending. He wants Steve. He wants Uncle Wayne. 

He stands from the table, voices cease around him as all eyes look up. “I’m going to get Wayne.” He looks around the table. Will still looks too trusting, and Jonathan and the red-head look uncaring, but Nancy is biting her lip like she’s got something to say.. “What, Wheeler?” he asks, combative. “What the hell is your problem now?”

Her lips purse, and she crosses her arm atop the table primly. So in control. So dainty and pointed, and clean. Eddie wants to strangle her. “I’m not sure if we should bring any more people into this” 

Eddie has to take a few deep breaths. “As the reigning authority on all things that crawl out of our new hell creature feature, you need me,” he says. “And I’m going to get my Uncle Wayne.”

Nancy’s nose scrunches, mouth snarling even as she keeps her lips shut. The red-head sighs, standing as well. “He’s not going to budge, let’s just go.” 

Eddie wants to leap over this table and kiss her straight on the lips. Jonathan and Will stand as well. Nancy stays seated for a few moments, glaring at her friend before standing with a huff. “We can’t waste this much time,” she says, striding toward the door, expecting everyone to follow. “We should split up.”

“Said every person in a horror movie before they get brutally murdered,” Eddie mutters. The redhead snorts. No one else notices he talked at all.

“I can go to the army surplus,” Jonathan says. 

“I’ll go with you,” Nancy replies.

“Well, you’ll have to drop us off at my house because I don’t have my car.,” the redhead says.

They all pile back into Jonathan’s car, taking their same seats. It’s a matter of minutes before they’re pulling onto a suburban street and stopping in front of a suburban house and with a suburban car parked in the driveway. The redheaded’s house, presumably, by the way she slides out of the car.

Eddie turns to Will before he leaves. “Will?” he asks.

Will looks between him and Jonathan in the driver’s seat, making eye contact with his brother in the rearview mirror. Something must pass between them because Will turns to him and says, “I’m going to stay with them.” 

It comes out like it hurts. Eddie feels it, too – the way there’s a string tying them together, and each step away from one another pulls it taught. The way the one connecting him to Steve lies flat and dead on the pavement. He doesn’t want to let Will Byers out of his sight. “Okay,” he says, dawdling until the redhead honks impatiently. 

He gets out of the backseat of one car and slides into the passenger seat of another. It’s clean and new. Matches the house and the girl and the life, he bets, before monsters crawled into it.

“You live at the trailer park, right?” she asks, turning the key in the ignition and backing out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” he says. 

The car’s quiet. She doesn’t turn on the radio. Neither does Eddie. 

The girl’s voice breaks it like a shot. “Why are you so focused on Steve Harrington?” She says his name like a curse. He wants to blame her, but he remembers that little kerfuffle in the Harrington backyard before all of this had started. 

Responses run through his mind, unsaid. Things like, he saved my life, or, he looked so scared when that thing broke down his bedroom door, or, he told me things in the quiet of my bedroom that I can’t stop hearing, or, I think he’d rather be dead than alone.

He doesn’t say any of that. It’s too much for this nameless girl who wasn’t there with them when it counted. “He’s not what you think,” he says, not looking over at her to see how the words land.

She’s quiet for a minute, Eddie sits in it. She doesn’t respond until they’re pulling into the entrance to the trailer park. “Coming from you, that might actually mean something,” she says, quiet, like it’s a secret. “Now, which one’s yours?”

He directs her, a right and then a left. Wayne’s truck is in the driveway.

She parks parallel to their small plot, pristine and practiced, probably in driver’s ed. Eddie stares up at his own home, heart beating like a demogorgon is waiting for him inside.

“Four days?” Eddie asks.

A sigh. “Yeah.” She doesn’t reach out, doesn’t comfort him. He’s glad. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

Eddie laughs – it’s all air. “This is the longest I’ve stayed away since I ran away at thirteen.” Wayne’s probably sitting in his recliner right now, a game on, and a bear slowly warming in his palm. “He’ll be scared shitless.”

Eddie gets out of the car and approaches the front door, the girl a step behind. He gets the insane urge to knock. Like four days in a hell made this place alien to him. Like this is no longer his home. Ho opens the door.

He forgot what it smelled like; musty, yeah, but like Wayne’s laundry detergent, and coffee brewed too strong. Like home. There’s staticy cheering coming from the small, piece of shit television in the living room. Wayne’s sitting in his chair, looking at him like a ghost had just walked through his front door.

He looks tired, ragged in a way that’s more than a couple doubles at the plant. The chair’s not reclined. There’s no beer. 

“Wayne?” he says.

Like that’s the kick in the ass he needed, Wayne jumps up, striding over to pull him into a tight hug, palm clasped to Eddie’s neck, bringing him down until his forehead is resting on Wayne’s shoulder.

“You’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do, boy,” he says, gruff. 

Eddie laughs straight from his lungs. “I missed you,” Eddie says, quiet enough for his ears alone.

The redhead clears her throat from where she’s dawdling at the front door. Wayne pulls away, keeping his hands on his shoulders and holding him at arm’s length like he might disappear if Wayne doesn’t keep two hands on his person. “Who’s your friend, son?” he asks, reprimanding for the lack of manners.

“Oh, uh, Uncle Wayne this is–” he stops talking entirely, looking at the girl with wide eyes as he suddenly realizes he doesn’t know her name.

She rolls her eyes. “Barbara Holland, sir,” she says, reaching out a hand for Wayne to shake. Wayne does, tightening his other hand on Eddie’s shoulder in the process.

Eyes shifting between the two, Wayne asks, “You got something to tell me?”

Apparently that’s all it takes to break him. He’s crying again. Hard and ugly, snot immediately clogging his sinuses. “So, much Uncle Wayne,” he says around his tears. It comes out like he’s choking. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Alright, alright,” Wayne says, gruff, even as he leads Eddie to the couch, welcoming Barbara to make herself at home with a wave of her hand. “How ‘bout you start with taking some breaths, huh?”

It takes time they don’t have to spare for Eddie to regulate his breathing like Wayne taught him, and by the time he’s calmed, he feels like a dishrag, wrung out and used. Barbara’s sitting at the kitchen table, analyzing her nails so critically that he can almost pretend she wasn’t here for his breakdown at all.

“Now, tell me,” Wayne says, like he always does. The same gravity over a scraped knee or a failed test as coming out as queer or moving states to live with Wayne permanently. It’s all important. 

“I went to hell, Wayne,” he says, unable to meet his eyes. Maybe this is the thing that’ll finally stretch his Uncle’s credulity past recognition. “There was this thing, and it dragged me to hell.”

“You Catholic now, boy?” Wayne asks. 

Eddie sputters, indignation and laughter mixing, and when he looks up at Wayne, he looks just the same. Just like his Uncle who would follow him to hell if he asked, who would believe him if he said the detention wasn’t his fault. Every time, no questions. 

“Maybe not hell,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But it was somewhere else, and I left Steve there.”

“We left Steve there,” Barbara said, as if she’d been on the other side at all. 

Wayne looks between the pair, brow furrowed. It’s a small town. This won’t take him long. “...Steve Harrington?” he asks, incredulous.

“He saved my life,” Eddie says, knowing nothing will convince his uncle quicker.

Wayne looks at him the way he always does, intense and searching, but trusting. On his side, no matter what. “You got a plan?”

“Yes,” Eddie says just as Barbara says, “a stupid one.”

“Well, I ‘spose you’ll be needing this old man’s help.” He leans over and pulls his shotgun out from behind his recliner, laying it across his knees. “Let’s go save your guardian angel.”

Part 24

[magicalrocketships]

single dad AU🫶🫶

Max says "I of course used to race cars. Before," and Daniel looks at him, slightly confused, because Max looks barely old enough to be a dad, let alone one who has kids in the ages 7-9 category at the karting track, and Daniel had definitely seen Max getting off the bus at the stop near the track earlier, trailing two excitable children.

"My dad would have been world champion," the girl tells Daniel, refusing to let go of the picture she's holding out, supposedly for Daniel to sign. The boy, who's both younger and the spitting image of Max, hooks his chin over Daniel's forearm to peer at the screen of Daniel's phone, which is still showing the end of the race Daniel would have been racing in, had it not been his stupid, fucked up broken hand.

"Maybe I can get you tickets for a race," Daniel says, holding his phone out for Max to type his number in. He ignores Max's I don't need tickets to a race, and keeps holding his phone out for Max to take. He sees the exact moment Max spots that Daniel's put him in his phone as hot dad max, and the exact moment Max decides to keep typing in his number.

Max's daughter wears a Ferrari cap to shake hands with Daniel in his garage at the race. She meets Daniel's gaze fiercely. Unrelenting. Daniel understands that. He's protective too. Max's son is dressed head to foot in Daniel merch, including a t-shirt that's so big it comes down to his knees. Daniel respects that. He makes his mind up to send him t-shirts that'll fit him, if Max will give him their address. When Daniel's finished shaking hands with the kids, he looks up at Max, who is dressed head to toe in nameless navy, except for a baseball cap with Daniel's name on it. "Hello," Daniel says, and all Max says back is hello.

Daniel hand delivers the merch. Max lets him in. He's making lunch. Daniel is asked to stay, if he'd like. He eats tomato soup with the unrelenting gaze of all three Verstappens fixed on him. Four if you count the cat. Afterwards, Max's daughter says be nice to my dad and no kissing, and drags her brother into the living room, shuts the door, and turns the tv on loud. Daniel breaks one of the rules but not the other, and stays.

This is not exactly five fun facts and is instead, five little lines telling a story, but I hope you will allow it.

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (12)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY

I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”

I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.

It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.

You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?

The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.

“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”

You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.

“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”

He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.

“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”

The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.

“The previous one failed, though.”

“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”

You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.

“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”

You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”

The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.

“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”

“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”

“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”

His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.

My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.

Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.

Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.

Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.

Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.

“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”

“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”

“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”

Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”

“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.

“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.

He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.

“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”

“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”

He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”

You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.

“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”

It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.

It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.

You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.

“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”

“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”

“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”

“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.

“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”

“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”

You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.

“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”

“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”

“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”

His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.

“Jade? I was joking—”

He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.

“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”

Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .

“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”

Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.

[theficpusher]

They Just Don't Know You by mukeandziamgotmelike | nr | 1306 //So, oh, tell me, tell me you won't break my heart. That you won't tear my world apart. That you'll be there when I need, cause I wanna tell them they just don't know you, they just don't know you, they just don't know you, they don't know you like I do.// -OR- Liam has been dating Zayn for months, and still, for some reason, no one approves of him. It's annoying, and Liam wishes they would stop. He doesn't know why they don't trust Zayn, but he just wants to tell them that they just don't know him like he does.

Screaming But Daddy I Love Him by Wishingforloushair | E | 21873 Harry has always tried to be the perfect Christian boy his religiously fanatic mother demands him to be. At seventeen he's never eaten fast food, drunk coffee (unless it was decaffeinated) or touched himself. That is until he meets Louis, one of the church's youth musicians. With his 'I Heart Jesus' stickers on his beaten up guitar case, his band (The Redemption Riffs), and his taste for good quality coffee, Louis' relationship with God is entirely different to Harry's, and Harry is positive that Louis is either a divine vessel, or Heaven-sent. Prepared to worship at Louis' feet, Harry is ready to learn a whole different way of worship and devotion with Louis' help. “That’s coffee,” he remarked, pointing at the dark substance in the other boy’s cup. “Yes, it is,” Louis said, taking a sip from it, his eyes fixed on Harry. “Is it decaffeinated?” Louis raised an eyebrow, putting his mug down. “Will it make you feel better if I tell you it is?” “Lying is bad.” “Then, no, it’s not decaf. I don’t drink decaf coffee because it tastes awful.” “But,” Harry swallowed, glancing over his shoulder before leaning forwards. “Drugs are bad,” he whispered.

What Side Of Love Are You On? by FallingLikeThis | T | 25000 Ever since Harry finally made the decision to come out to his mother as bisexual, she’s been foisting women on him left and right, determined it’s just a phase. But when she puts out a personal ad to find the perfect partner for her son, things really get complicated. Suddenly, Harry’s heart is being pulled in two very different directions. On one side is the sweet, caring woman he has fun with, but doesn’t know his mother chose for him. On the other is a man who seems to be his mother’s worst nightmare, but makes Harry’s heart flutter in ways he’s never felt before. When all is said and done, maybe they’ll all learn that when there is no clear path to go down, the best option is to follow your heart. A Because I Said So Au with a bisexual twist.

but daddy i love him by wanderlou | nr | 28924 Someone cleared their throat and they all turned to the person; Charles. “I cannot and will not support this marriage.” “But Daddy…I love him,” Louis pouted. Or the one where Harry and Louis are getting married and Louis' dad hates Harry. Harry does everything to try and earn his respect during the wedding weekend.

adrenaline by reveries_passions | M | 38208 “Harry Styles,” Nameless Boy who now has a name says. Louis is too busy having an internal crisis to realize the boy has just introduced himself as Harry Styles. Harry Styles, only son of Des Styles, PhD, Dean of Harvard Medical School. Harry Styles, known by everyone and their grandmother. Harry Styles, star rower. Harry Styles, youngest enrolled student in graduate school at Harvard University. Oh my god, Louis thinks, mortified. I just slept with Harry Styles. As he reaches out tentatively to shake the boy’s hand, another thought hits him. Oh my god. Harry Styles is gay. ~ louis tomlinson, college dropout, up and coming dj, and gay activist, is the notorious owner of exclusive underground gay club, adrenaline. harry styles, med student by day, partier by night, child prodigy and seemingly heterosexual son of harvard professors, is the youngest and arguably the smartest student at harvard medical school. or: a one night stand wasn't supposed to become the greatest love story of the 21st century.

Counterbalance by YesIsAWorld | E | 44777 Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

your memory over me by shimmeringevil | E | 64355 Three years have passed since Louis last saw him, but all it took was a few minutes in Harry’s presence for him to be relegated to the desperate twenty-one year old that was practically begging his boyfriend for an ounce of reassurance that he still cared about him. Harry shouldn’t be here. He’s brought too many unresolved feelings with him, that Louis thought he’d never have to face. It’s Harry’s apparent apathy that’s the most difficult to come to terms with. Anger, he could handle. Regret, he would welcome. But Harry’s amiability, and carefree demeanor can only be born from indifference. He’s moved on. He doesn’t care. And that is something Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever be strong enough to face. - OR - The worst heartbreak of Louis’ life walks right back into it when his parents invite their family friends on an all-expenses-paid trip for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Facing a past that he tried to bury long ago, Louis learns that some people have a way of sticking with you even when they’re gone.

Of Mates and Men by bananaheathen | E | 630460 In which, Louis and Harry meet as best men for their best friends' wedding... well... sort of. Or, the one where Harry's just moved back from New York and Louis doesn't believe in romance. Or, I guess... the one where Zayn and Liam are getting married.

[moth-bells]

Hi so, I dont know whenever I'm gonna be able to write or draw anything I like for my cryptids au, so I'm going to give you all literally all the lore and if I ever get to it, its already here.

It also doesnt always make perfect sense but I think that gives it charm and I'm not gonna run around in circles trying to make it perfect Gonna try and make this generally in timeline of events order

The earth is formed. From the dust of star dust rises two figures

They have no names and they were never born, forming from things they do not understand, yet know all too well

They are always at one another's side

They are both everything and nothing to one another

They witness eons together

Watching little specks shift and change and grow

They watch life and ease life along with hands that do what is needed without thought behind how it happens

They have purpose yet none here, witnesses

The duo watch as the earth fills with life only for it all to nearly vanish

They watch life persevere despite that

Those first peculiar humans, though without that name yet, come to be. So small and fragile, yet the two can see potential with these ones

They travel the globe, checking in on different places, seeing how the people so similar are slowly changing. They find it fascinating, though they feel this with other animals

One day, they realize many of these people that they've visited, perhaps assisted at times, and occasionally revisited, have places of worship

Neither of them understand, but they gather that these humans seem to look at them as higher than them. Gods.

Are they? They arent living in the same way as other beings. They cant die. They dont age and were never born.

If not gods, what are they then?

They dont know.

They do eventually move on, but one day, an unknown amount of years later, they return to one of these villages

The people, they do rejoice for their deities have graced them again

The duo decided to linger here longer than before.

One day, theres murmurs of malcontent floating

The two have witnessed battles, but stayed out of them.

They had never watched wars begin, the quiet wisps of smoke that would soon become flames

Now these two, unnatural as they are, were not infinitely strong.

Yes, they were stronger than many of these small humans, who were much smaller than them

But, if there were many humans against one of them, there was only so much that they could do

The humans, separated into factions, decided that one of the duo were a true god while the other was something evil and wrong.

Such is the way of humanity

The two realized they might have stayed too long now, deciding it was time to leave

It was too late for that now.

These two beings, nameless, named and renamed by many, but never calling each other by any.

Two who had been together since they were glints in an existence less universe

Were separated

Humans from either side took their 'rightful' god. Determined to use their worship against the other side.

The two beings were able to take some of them, desperately trying to not be taken away from the other.

They were not gods, though, not in the way these humans thought.

What they were was unknowable, but they still were not ever powerful.

With enough force, they were dragged away by the people who once looked at them equally

The one yellow as pollen was taken into a deep cavernous temple, locked into the darkness, with nothing within it. No escape. The entrance to this prison was sealed with a boulder.

He screamed for them to release him, but his words, something only his other understood, fell on deaf ears.

He pushed and clawed at the rock, but it was too heavy

These people believed their worship of isolation and fasting was pure and accepted by their god.

The other was left to a fate less horrendous, but equally lonely.

Tossed down into a pit, deep with only a manmade covering to hide it.

He as well demanded to be freed, but none of that was to come

These humans worshipped the sky at night that this being reminded them of, that being the only thing that he could see from his prison, though there was also a reminder in the daylight of who he was missing

The humans dropped food of animals down to him.

They werent able to starve to death, nor did they need to eat in the way animals and living things did, but it would give them extra energy if they needed it. No, they took in the rays of the star above them.

So, with the one in the pit, he received more that enough to keep him mobile.

The one in the cave, however...

centuries passed. Thousands and thousands of years

And they who have been here since before time itself, before knowing that of light and space and earth and death

They changed

Slowly, over time, of desperation and madness, and forces they themselves would never truly understand

They changed.

The cavern, where slowly less and less voices of prayer came, lost to a memory

Where eyes as blue as the sky became milky white

Where his mind grew blank with bleakness and its voice lost all form of words

Body became sharp and thin and twisted

Claws and teeth long and sharp.

In the pit, staring up at day and night as blood, and bodies of animal sacrifice fell upon him

One day, he accepted them, hoping for the strength needed to climb free

Eventually, it forgot why it was even down there.

And then the food stopped coming.

It had spent years and years, copying the shrieks and cries of a wounded animal, luring certain animals to the wide spaced grate above

It never felt hunger but it ached for the blood and rush that the meal provided

Its body became more wild, more dangerous

For some years its back ached until there was a weak flap of wings

Wings.

W i n g s.

Freedom.

The other was still trapped for sometime, having long forgotten what it was. What it was missing. Neither could remember but they could feel it

It would be sheer luck that some unfortunate children, merely teenagers, would come to that stone that their ancestors had made and laid there, not just a myth among them now.

That a god lay in the cave, dangerous and angry, locked away when it tried to turn against the people that worshiped it...or so they say the story goes

It would be their misfortune as they struggled to move the circular rock, that light from the evening setting sun would start to peek through inside

And something would come leaping out at them.

They fled from the monster, leaving one screaming to their fate to the creature so starved.

After, once its frenzy ended, it luckily took off into the forest surrounding it, away from the pain of the sun on its wide white eyes

It was fate, it would seem that they would find one another again

So changed by time and humanities unknowing cruelties

More animal than whatever they may have been to begin with

The winged one had found it one day, though not knowing fully why it was pulled toward it

The blind one, having changed even more in these years of freedom, lashed out at the new arrival

This, in turn, made the winged one defend itself.

They fought, clicking and screeching at one another until the teeth were dug into fur

Something clicked in this mindless mind that this thing was the same as itself.

They backed away from one another

Slowly, they reapproached...they chirred and cooed and inspected one another. One with sight the other with smell.

And they laid down together for the first time in forever

They wandered for some years, avoiding the creatures they felt compelled to hide from.

Until one day..

A small little voice spoke up at the blind one, not screaming or attacking with things that hurt

"Puppy..?"

[vodika-vibes]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write a fic about CX-2, because he needs some love and maybe a reader or S/O could rescue him from tantiss and take care of him and feed him good food and make sure he’s happy and healing

Idk if he is tech or dogma or anyone we’ve met before cause nameless clones deserve so much love and idk why I feel lowkey emotional, but it made me so sad when he got turned into a kebab, after all the torture and stuff he went through, I just wanted to hug him

Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful day!

In The End

Summary:  It’s been a year, 12 long months, since the last time that you saw CX-2. You went on a date with him, and then he vanished, with only a simple message saying that he had to work and that he’d contact you when he could. And then he fell off the face of the map. And now, almost a year later, and with the able assistance of a group of Wookie Mercenaries, he’s back with you, safely on your ship headed for the haven you’ve arranged beforehand.

Pairing: CX-2 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1359

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So as much as I love Tech and Dogma, I love the idea more that CX-2 is someone else entirely. So, here you have CX-2 being happy with his family. I just needed to take a break from my AU event, I have so many ideas for them, but it's like there's a traffic jam in my brain, I can't get the words to word.

Your knuckles are white as you grip the sleeves of your jacket. You’re very, very stressed. But then, you’ve been stressed for the better part of a year.

Hopefully, now that CX is safe, your stress levels will drop to a more reasonable level. And your medical droid will stop chiding you to practice yoga. That would be nice.

Speaking of said medical droid—

The door to the infirmary slides open and the silver droid hovers out and over to you, “The Patient is awake and aware. There seems to be no lasting damage due to his year-long confinement.”

“So I can see him?” You ask.

“He needs his rest.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The Droid sighs heavily, a very human reaction you can’t help but notice, but then he nods his head. “You brought him food, I take it.”

“Uh, yeah,” You gesture to the small tray of some of CX’s favorite foods. A pasta dish, with some roasted veggies, and a proper dessert. 

The droid eyes the food critically, and then nods, “That is all acceptable.” He says, “I am returning to my charging dock.” And then, abruptly, he hovers off.

You watch him fly into another room, and then slowly stand and grab the tray of food. Hopefully, he’ll be happy to see you. It’d be heartbreaking if you went through all of this trouble, and he wasn’t happy to see you.

Lightly, you knock on the door and then press the control to allow the door to slide open when you hear an answer from inside. You step into the room, making sure to shut the door behind you before you focus your attention on him.

He looks…well, he doesn’t look well.

Oh, sure, he’s still the handsome man that you fell in love with. Only he’s lost a lot of weight, his abdominal muscles are clearly defined, not protected by the thin layer of fat that gave him a very pleasant squish. He also has bags under his eyes, and you’re pretty sure that there’s a hint of grey in his dark curls.

But he’s still CX.

Your name falls from his lips, he looks astonished to see you, and then he averts his gaze, as if ashamed of something.

And that just won’t do.

You cross the small room and set the tray of food on an open table, and then you reach out for him, stopping just shy of touching him. “I missed you,” You say, your voice soft.

His dark eyes snap to meet yours, and the smallest smile crosses his face. “I missed you more,” CX replies, his voice slightly raspy, and for once, you believe it.

He reaches up and takes your hands in his and pulls your hands to his face, and you eagerly cup his face, content to feel his warm skin against your hands again. You don’t fight him when his arms snake around your waist and he pulls you as close as he can without pulling you onto the bed.

He buries his face against your chest and just breathes.

You gently card your fingers through his curls, your other hand moving from his cheek to wrap around him, holding him as tightly as you can. Just enjoying him.

You lightly drop a kiss on the top of his head, “I thought you were dead,” You murmur against his hair.

He trembles slightly, “I’m sorry. I never meant to disappear.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You should be.”

“Never.”

He pulls back, and looks up at you, “Cyare,” this time his hands come up to cup your face, “You don’t understand, I’ve hurt so many people—”

“It doesn’t matter.” You reply, “Not to me. You didn’t have a choice, CX. I know that.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

You shush him gently, “We’re going somewhere else. Somewhere where the Empire can’t touch you ever again. You have brothers there.”

CX looks baffled for a moment, “Brothers?”

“I think they called themselves Nil…or null?”

He blinks at you, “We’re staying with the Nulls?”

“Yeah, when I was looking for you, I managed to stumble over them. We’ve been offered a place with them. They have a whole settlement for clones and their families.”

“Even clone assassins?”

“All clones,” You reassure, “What do you think?”

He looks uncertain for a moment, “I suppose we can try it out, and see if it works.” CX finally agrees, and then he pulls you in so he’s able to press his face against your chest again, “cyare?”

“Hm?”

“What scent are you wearing?”

“What scent am I—?” You pause and your face flushes, “Oh, right. I’m not, not really.” You gently push him back and lean in to kiss his forehead, “There’s actually something I need to get for you, I left it in my room.”

CX peers at you, “Can it wait?”

“It’s a surprise. And I think, well hope, that you’ll like it.”

CX watches you for a moment, and you smile at him reassuringly, “I’ll be right back, I promise.”

He unwraps his arms from around you, “Alright,”

You beam at him and quickly drop a chaste kiss against his lips before you turn and hurry out of the room. You’re vaguely aware of him sitting up in the medical bed and swinging his legs off the edge as the door slides shut behind you.

You walk the short distance to your room, and don’t bother shutting the door behind you. There’s no need, you’ll only be in here for a moment, after all. You walk around your bed (big enough for you and CX to share), and lean over the much smaller bed, a loving smile crossing your face as you look at the face of your sleeping daughter.

CX’s daughter.

He vanished before you even found out that you were pregnant, so hopefully, she’s a good surprise.

You scoop Eli into your arms, adjusting her weight so she’s comfortably nestled against you, and you head out of the room. The scent that CX asked you about was baby powder, which you seem to always smell like since giving birth to Eli.

You step back into the infirmary, and CX opens his mouth to say something but stops when he sees Eli.

“...cyare?”

You sit on the bed next to him, “This is Eli, she looks like you.” You lightly brush a dark curl off your daughter's forehead, “Luckily, can you imagine if she got stuck with my hair color and your skin tone?”

CX doesn’t say anything, you glance at him and notice that he’s staring at Eli, wide-eyed.

“I found out that I was pregnant 2 weeks after you vanished,” You explain, “She’s 5 months old now. Would you like to hold her?”

“Can I?” He asks, his gaze darting to your face, “Am I allowed?”

“She’s your daughter, you silly man. Here.” You pass the baby over to CX, and adjust his arms so that he’s cradling her properly, “She’s a very calm baby, she doesn’t fuss a lot.”

Cx stares at Eli, mesmerized, “Was the pregnancy easy?”

You shrug, “Unimportant, I had plenty of help.”

“Cyare—”

You smile at him adoringly, “Next time, we’ll do it properly.”

He blinks at you, “Next time?”

“Um, well…if you want a next time.” You correct sheepishly.

You watch as he brushes a finger down Eli’s nose, “I’d like there to be a next time.” CX murmurs, “I can’t believe you gave me a baby.”

“Well, you gave her to me first,” You say with a soft laugh, “I’m just returning the favor.”

He glances at you and a genuine smile, the first one since you’ve been reconnected, crosses his face. “We’re going to be okay,”

“Of course we will.” You lightly lay your head on his shoulder, “We’re going to be better than okay, we’re going to be great.”

You feel him press his head against yours, “I love you,” The words are soft as if he’s not sure he has the right to say them, and you smile. 

You turn your head and press a kiss against his bare shoulder, “I love you too, CX.”

[ghostie-dude]

A Royal Quarrel -

In which ; Princess Anya is on a mission. Prince Damian was forced to be here. They clearly do not get along. royal au!damianya! they are both aged up in this.

word count ; 1.6 k

notes; one of my first one shots. inspired by this post by @anishake! i hope i did this au justice </3 reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

As the maids add the last touches to her hair, braiding her pink locks, she glances at her father, standing to the side; his crown glistening in the sunlight filtering through the windows of the grand bedroom.

“Is it going to be common for you to need me to help you during your missions, papa? You usually never let me interfere,” She teases, grinning. His highness shakes his head, smiling back at his daughter.

“Don’t count on it, princess. You’re still much too young for this,” He walks forward, patting his daughter’s hair with affection. 

“Hah?!” She exclaimed, her expression souring within minutes. If any words could be used to describe the young princess, all the castle staff would agree; reckless, dramatic, lively. She sunk her head, making contact with her dresser, acting dejected beyond comparison. “Papa never fails to hurt my feelings.” 

The maids who are helping her get ready giggle, patting her hair as they had so many times throughout her life. They had, afterall, watched her grow up here; amongst these castle walls, causing trouble ever since she was born. 

“Come on, Princess Anya. We need to get ready for the prince, don’t we?” She says with a humorous tone. Anya sticks her tongue out at this. “As if! I’m just helping papa here. Nothing more, so don’t spread gossip!”

The king looks at his daughter’s antics affectionately, watching her bicker with her maids as if they were family. Momentarily, his anxiety regarding the evening settles; he breathes, calming down in the familiar presence of the young princess.

~ - ~

The prince stands in front of a mirror, the gloom in his face matching that of the darkened room; his hands outstretched, he watches his reflection with unmoving eyes as a servant fixes his suit, adding touches here and there. It was unnecessary; the prince was good looking enough to make anything work, everyone knew, and yet his father made sure hours were put into his son's appearance before any lowly event he forced him to attend in his place.

“Lord Damian, if you’d please move a bit to the right. . .” The servant asks in a meek tone, his head bowed.

Wordlessly, the prince grimaces, shifting a bit and sighing. He’d been here for ages already. He begins to resent his highness, his father, and the fact that the only reason he was being sent to this event was because the king couldn’t bother to attend. 

“Save face, make name,” He mutters to himself, his expression changing; he looks forward, just as the king enters the room, two guards flanking him. Everyone in the room bows as he approaches, stopping before his son. The prince lowers his head.

“Your highness,” The prince says, not daring to look up.

“Damian. I trust you understand your role in the evening?”

The king trains his sharp gaze on his son, and the prince doesn’t fail to pick up the malice that laces his tone.

“I do, your highness,”

“Don’t get too immersed in the evening. Do your job,” The king narrows his eyes, leaning towards his son’s lowered head. In his ears, he mutters softly. “They’re nothing but lowly rulers from a nameless kingdom. A peasant king from a peasant kingdom. I expect you to maintain an image.”

The king stands up straight, causing the tension in the room to reach a peak. Prince Damian shivers under his fathers gaze.

The castle staff watch as the king leaves the room.

The prince’s gaze never left the floor.

~ - ~

The evening is as boring as Princess Anya had expected it to be. She swirls her drink in her glass, her expression clearly displaying all her boredom; she never was good at hiding how she felt. Her highness, the queen, sits next to her daughter, giggling at her clear distaste. The Forger Monarchs were known for their tight bond, and it was clear how much the princess’ parents cared for her, even through these small actions. The king shakes his head at his daughter’s antics, as they sit at the front of the hall, each in their respective throne. He clears his throat, nudging his slouching daughter and mouthing at her to sit up straight, to which the princess pouts, causing the queen to smile and share a glance with her husband.

The room was lively, the event an obvious success, and it was finally time for the evening’s festivities. The king stands up, clearing his throat once again, louder in order to catch the attention of his guests. The king’s presence is overwhelming; immediately, the large hall quiets down, a light atmosphere around the evening; it is a comfortable event, one meant to celebrate.

“I thank all of you who graciously attended. We offer our utmost respect and gratitude to each and every one of you, standing in this hall before us today.”

Queen Yor and the princess stand beside the king, and all three curtsey in unison, sparking applause amongst the guests. 

“And now, without further ado; My dear wife and I-” He affectionately embraces the queen, who laughs. “- will start the evening’s dance off.”

The two face each other, hand in hand, and bow. Then, they make their way into the crowd, who move away to clear space for the pair; they begin the traditional dance, always sparked by the rulers of the kingdom.

“And now, we’d invite all guests to graciously join the king and queen,” One of the castle’s staff announces after a few minutes, clapping; the lights in the grand hall dim, allowing the moonlight from the floor to ceiling windows illuminate the hall, giving it a magical tint.

This is the signal the princess has been waiting for. She makes her way through the crowd, her eyes never leaving her target - Prince Damian, the second born of the Desmond Monarchs. She was, after all, on a mission. 

She reaches him, stopping a few feet away. His dark hair shines in the moonlight, she notices, his eyes trained on her parents as he gracefully handles his glass. Most of the guests have joined in the dance, yet he was alone, standing to the side.

She glances at her parents, who give her a masked glance back. It was all planned out, to the very second; the Forger Monarchs had this evening dotted to the T.

The clears her throat, leaning towards the prince with a friendly expression on her face.

“What’s a prince like you doing here all alone, Mr. Desmond?” She teases. “Care to dance?”

He glances at her. His first thought, immediately, is pride; ‘Fallen for me already, has she? Well, I can’t blame her, I am truly the most handsome prince to grace these halls.’

He is so easy to read that Anya has to move her head to hide the scoff that graces her features.

“Why, I guess I could spare a dance for a desperate princess like you,” He teases back, his face contorted into a smirk. “No shocker you have no partner for yourself, huh?”

At that moment, the princess forgets all about the plan. Her mind is blank. All she understood was that she had just been insulted by the prince, who was here all alone, that too.

She smiles sickeningly at the prince, turning around. She moves towards the gates to the garden connecting to the hall; she knows she can’t get upset at his behaviour, or she risks ruining the plan. 

Her parents notice her leaving, and look at the prince, who was gazing at her retreating back with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

‘Did she just . . . smile at me? Did she just smile and leave?’ His exasperation knows no bounds. Does she even know who he is? Does she know what a big deal it is that he agreed to dance with her?

Out of pure exasperation, he follows her swiftly, exiting the hall and entering the garden behind her.

“Do you think we should follow them?” The queen mutters, her face on her husband’s shoulder.

The king stays quiet, thinking over the situation. He evaluates quickly, reaching a conclusion within seconds. 

“She’ll be okay. She knows what to do.”

The prince calls out, causing the princess to stop in her tracks. She hadn’t expected him to follow her out.

“Do you even understand who I am?” He continues, reaching her. He stood inches behind her, facing her back. The princess thinks, trying to figure out what to do next.

“I’m talking to you! You should be grateful I even agreed to dance with you, a lowly princess like you should cower before the likes of me. You’re forgetting your place,” Once again, the princess pauses, her mind going blank.

“Do you not hear me?” He grabs her shoulder, turning her around to face him. “Answer m-”

Within the next 2 seconds, the princess twists his arm, throwing him over her shoulder and pinning him to the ground. His hands are pinned over his head, and her other hand holds his face up towards her’s, as her legs straddle his hip, holding him down. She leans in, her face centimetres away from his. He's too shocked to move.

“Some lowly princess I am, huh?” She scoffs, causing his eyes to widen and his cheeks to redden at the sheer closeness between them. “Don’t worry, Desmond,” she spits. “I know my place. Maybe I should remind you of yours.”

She stands up, brushing the grass and dirt off her gown and fixing her crown. 

“I don’t want to see your face near me ever again.” She sneers, forgetting her mission. She enters the hall, her scowl never leaving her face.

Meanwhile, the prince lays frozen in place, his face red and hot.

“Shit,” He mutters to the sky, clutching his chest as his heart races.

[smaller-comfort]

It is wip Wednesday, my dudes. And I should be baking, but it is way too hot and I am currently way too inebriated, so here we are.

I doubt I'll be able to finish anything by next week for @ghostinthegallery's birthday, but here are some more teasers of the obyron/zahndrekh thing and the oltyx/yenekh thing and also a tiny fragment of Lysikor's No Good Horrible Very Bad Day.

Aaaand some SoS modern AU, because finishing gotta start somewhere has temporarily rewired my brain, and I am having far too much fun with it. Somewhat nsfw.

Scrap file bit from the snecrontyr Obyron/Zahndrekh monstrosity (it's over 7500 words send help), which still has no title. It's gonna be something extraordinarily pretentious, though- I can absolutely see myself going Shakespearean for this one.

--

“How would you serve me, dear friend?”

He couldn't look up. He couldn’t; Obyron squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead into the floor a little harder. “However would please you most, my nemesor.”

Zahndrekh sighed, and that faint noise of disappointment felt like a gauss rifle blast to the chest. “Obyron,” he said, very quietly. “Would you look at me?”

It was, perhaps, the hardest thing Zahndrekh had ever asked of him. He would have rather faced down another thousand guerilla separatists in the swamp- but he could not disobey an order. He lifted his head.

“Oh.” Zahndrekh touched his face, gently turning him so he couldn't help but meet his lord's eyes. “No, I see- I’m asking too much of you.”

The idea that he had failed- that he was not enough, that Zahndrekh could ever ask something of him that he could not give- he would rather have taken a gauss rifle to the chest.

“Forgive me, my lord.”

“No‐ no, Obyron. There is nothing to forgive. On your feet.” Zahndrekh was frowning, just the smallest crease between his eyebrows. “I shouldn't- I won't. You're a good man, and a fine soldier, and it is an honor to have you by my side. You're dismissed- go, enjoy the celebration.”

He wanted to protest- dead gods, he wanted- but he would not disobey an order.

------

I really hope no one gets tired of necron weddings in conjunction with these two idiots because I'm writing another one. Not their wedding, at least, but *a* wedding. Snecron Oltyx/Yenekh, also currently without a title.

Oltyx and Yenekh are simultaneously Jock4Goth and Himbo4Himbo, and I think that's beautiful.

--

As Oltyx watched, Mesekhet skinned an ork with quick flashes of her claws. She draped the skin over Qareh's shoulders, affixing it in place over the cresting protrusions of their spine. Qareh, in turn offered her the creature's heart; a choice delicacy, by any measure.

They tumbled to the ground together, Mesekhet's whip-scorpion knife blade of a tail wrapping around Qareh's hips.

Oltyx thought of them as flesh memories, all the things that he had no more context for. He could not remember his own face, or his brothers’ or his father's. He could not remember the taste of ice wine, or any occasions where he might have drunk it. But he did not need to remember eating to know hunger; or to remember drinking to know thirst. There were things that he knew without needing to remember.

So it was with Mesekhet and Qareh: flesh memories, their mouths and hands moving with a hunger that Oltyx knew without remembering, bodies locked together and voices rising in ecstatic harmony.

He looked away, and felt something cold and hollow echo in his flux (his heart; his blood). He should be happy that two of his kin had found a way to assuage their hunger within each other. And he was; he was happy for them. He couldn't name the feeling that left him feeling so cold.

'Took her long enough'. Yenekh stepped out of the void and draped his arms over Oltyx's shoulders from behind, dripping with fresh gore.

He replied with an interrogative.

'Mesekhet. Thought she'd make Qareh wait another fifty years.'

Yenekh's closeness banished some of that nameless cold. 'How could you tell?' He tapped the question on the back of Yenekh's hand, enjoying the way the blood-slick metal felt beneath his fingers.

Yenekh didn't answer for a long moment, and then he let go of Oltyx with a shrug. 'You just know, sometimes.'

----

Lysikor and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (working title). He's actually having a great time here. He absolutely does not at any other point in this story.

--

“Valgûl, Twice-Regicide!" Lysikor laughed. “I should take lessons from you. I've stolen ships, constructs; overthrown a fringe world or two. But you- destroyer of dynasties! The future and past of Ithakas, stolen, vandalized. I could spend an aeon learning from you.”

“What second regicide have I committed?” Oltyx was too amused to be indignant. He'd forgotten- Lysikor had always been strange, but he was at least an entertaining sort of strange.

Lysikor tapped his cracked dynastic cartouche with one gnarled finger. “Unnas’ successor, of course. Didn't you murder Oltyx when he fought the Unclean? Stabbed in the back, I hope.” He leaned forward with that strange, unnerving eagerness. “Perhaps you could share the details with me.”

Oltyx laughed, because Lysikor wasn't wrong, not really. “The dynast of Ithakas fell in battle- I only scavenged his corpse.”

“Ah, Valgûl, King of Vultures! Nevertheless, it is an honor.”

-------

Okay, so the modern AU endgame has always been an ot3 situation, because I am extremely predictable. No title yet (the sequel to Life/Work Balance is called Staycation, because of course it is). Anyway, Aephorul and Resh'an have had sex on every flat surface in their townhouse, and most of the non-flat surfaces, and this is why they never host dinner parties. (They have like. An entire playroom. And yet somehow they still have an alarming amount of sex in the kitchen. This is just one of the many facets of Aephorul's extremely convoluted strategy to keep other people out of their home.)

--

There were times, Aephorul reflected, when he really wasn't entirely sure how his life had turned out the way it had. Now was a good example: here he was, lounging at the kitchen table, drinking the good wine directly from the bottle. Meanwhile, his husband was spread out on the table, bent nearly in half by the extremely large and muscular older man who was fucking him with enough force to make the whole table rattle in alarming ways.

It was impressive; the table was very sturdy. All of their furniture was sturdy, in fact, for this very reason.

Maybe this wasn't a great example, actually. Aephorul knew exactly how he'd ended up here, and it was mostly because whenever Resh'an wanted something, Aephorul would move heaven, earth, and all of their heavier furniture in order to give it to him.

[blue-cat-ter-flies-blog]

A 'Time Traveller's Wife' kinda AU this time! The time-travelling premise of it I mean, not the entire story/plotline AU. Endgame Sukugo but with some past SatoSugu implications. It also kinda leans heavily on that 'Love you for my entire life; mourning me for the rest of yours' post too. Also a bit of a nod to Shiwa sung by GUMI.

This either happens a year before JJK0 happens or during the year between JJK0 and canon JJK starting. Dunno how it happens- either a weird curse/delayed curse attack or a cursed object- but Satoru, somehow, ends up in the past and in front of a starving little, nameless boy.

This is the first meeting between Gojo Satoru and Ryoumen Sukuna, whom Satoru names/calls Ryou. Something something shenanigans, relationship building, falling in love (Sukuna), realisations (Satoru finding adult Ryou/Sukuna hot and thinking that he could easily fall in love with him). Unfortunately, it only lasts a year on Satoru's side even though it was Sukuna's entire human life for him (short for us but respectable for Sukuna's era). And their last meeting is when Sukuna is dying- dunno from what, author's choice, but I feel like being a bit tragic here.

Satoru is late, again, and it's breaking his heart enough that he's crying as he's holding Sukuna. And Sukuna, in an attempt to ensure that Satoru would never forget him... asks if Satoru would marry him (remembering a conversation they had once about nosy Elders and omiais badly disguising political plays and eugenics that segued into how marriages had changed by Satoru's time). Satoru says yes but the reason behind it changes depending on when this happens.

Before JJK0? Satoru has fallen in love with Sukuna as well and wants to call Sukuna his husband even though they won't be married for long. He'll be a widower for longer than he's been a husband when he's back in the future.

Between JJK0 and JJK canon? Just lost Suguru and is now losing Sukuna. And while he was able to at least have Suguru's body to bury, he won't even get that with Sukuna and at least this marriage will leave him something as well other than the feelings.

Either way, Satoru is left behind and mourning. He's still happy when Sukuna embeds his own CE around Satoru's ring finger and the teary smile on his face before he disappears back into the future is the last thing Sukuna sees before he dies- alone but not lonely.

And then canon begins and is only derailed because Sukuna feels the 'ring' he put on Satoru and now wants to focus on his 'wife' and his step-kids.

Unless it's a canon divergence in which Sukuna did become the King of Curses but only for a short while. He 'disappeared' and left behind his 'Fingers' but actually managed to do some sort of weird shit and figured out a way to make sure that when he reincarnated as 'himself', he would be able to remember everything. The Fingers were kinda like some sort of seal array/markers that would keep 'himself' in tact through the centuries until he was born in the same time as Satoru.

The only reason why he was able to stay away for so long instead of heading straight to his spouse was because he was busy hunting down his 'Fingers' for himself and staying under the radar. Something was nagging him to do this first before he remembered everything. And then his nephew found one of his fucking Fingers- the last one, in fact- and he needed to shake it out of him.

And that was how Sukuna and Satoru met again. Bonus points for Sukuna going 'Oh, it's you, you're the one I've been looking for.'

[roswellsmokingwoman]

(Aziraphale x Crowley) Headlights - Chapter 5

Read Here - NOW COMPLETE!!! Good Omens Human AU with a divorced Crowley and Aziraphale finding love again and getting back together.

Soho, Present Day

Crowley is a coward, plain and simple. And so what if he is? His cowardice brings out Aziraphale’s bravery. After all, it was Aziraphale who called first after three years. It wasn’t that Crowley had been too stubborn to make the first move, and it wasn’t anger that stopped him from dialing the number of the bookshop. Only now, it isn’t the fear of rejection that stops him from proposing. 

How does someone propose the second time around? There’s a shortage of articles on the subject of remarrying your once-spouse. He knows Aziraphale too well to doubt that Aziraphale’s expectations grow with each passing day. Because a ring would be too small and my physical heart too impossible, I gave him nothing and nothing was enough. Is that romantic or pitiful? Crowley wonders.

Now, with all of his grand plans, his ability to propose falls short. So, if he can’t take to one knee, he resorts to a course of action he knows Aziraphale will understand. He’s tried his pen at romance and never managed a convincing tale. The one he’s written now, to him is the essence of romance but to others, it must be a maddeningly ineffable tale of two idiots

The binder is thick and heavy between his hands, and he holds it awkwardly like a sandwich, presenting it to Aziraphale the way in which a child presents a drawing to a parent–clumsily, with both pride and embarrassment. Binders are new–he’s never put the pages of a book in a binder, but it’s helped him this time around to have the presentation. It’s a crude approximation of cloth-bound pages he’s used to, but it gives the image of a finished product. 

Aziraphale eyes Crowley suspiciously, his brows furrowed. “What’s this?” he asks, but his heart thumps in his chest. Best not to assume , Aziraphale reminds himself. The memory plays over in his mind, and if it is what he thinks it is, then Crowley must be telling him he’s ready. His hand hovers near the binder, too afraid to take it. 

Crowley thrusts it out to him. “I want you to read it,” he insists, handing off the binder with its hundreds of pages. 

“Is it your book?” Aziraphale whispers. 

Crowley nods. 

Aziraphale isn’t prepared for this. He desired this so desperately, but he still hadn’t brought himself to buy a ring. He’d looked at several, comparing each to the platinum band with a crimson stone that Crowley once wore. None ever came close to it. You don’t need a ring to ask , Aziraphale tries to tell himself. 

“Could we read it together?” Aziraphale asks instead. 

Crowley miscalculated. He hadn’t accounted for those moments when Aziraphale chose cowardice, too. And then he would pass off the helm to Crowley, eagerly awaiting his savior. He’s smiling so innocently, the bastard, Crowley stews. 

But Crowley agrees and sits down with Aziraphale on the couch, sharing a thin tartan blanket. It’s supposed to be Aziraphale’s reading hour, and the room is already set–a candle with wooden wick flickers, infusing the room with warmth. The lights are dimmed except for those nearest to the couch, for ambience. 

Crowley clears his throat, shifting as Aziraphale lays his head on Crowley’s shoulder. He begins reading, inflecting as he’d imagined the pages should be read. Aziraphale smiles, mesmerized by Crowley’s cadence and the gentle rasp of his voice. 

He had the patience of Job. The nameless man lives in the dark. It isn’t the kind of dark that eyes can adjust to, forming dim and blurry shapes. The darkness is perfect and impenetrable. The man walks through the void, measuring days on his watch that never stops running, the sole light that reveals nothing in the darkness. He knows time, just as he knows he’s spent one thousand one hundred and eighty-two days here. 

And while he doesn’t remember his name, he might as well be called Job because, against reason, he believes the darkness will abate. Job had been left here, all those many days ago, to wait. How and who had left him, he doesn’t know. But he remembers a flit of blond and the smell of a good bookshop. He remembers the pleasant voice of a man, reading from Chaucer at his desk. Job remembers love, vivid and bright, that carries him through the pitch blackness of this place. 

“Too bad it won’t be published,” Crowley states wistfully, interrupting the flow of the novel.

“It’s too beautiful not to publish,” Aziraphlae argues. He thumbs over the pages fondly, smiling at Crowley. It’s a smile that Crowley struggles to argue with, blinding and beautiful and sincere. 

“It’s you and me,” Crowley reminds him, nevertheless.

“I wasn’t reading Chaucer when we met,” Aziraphale notes. “So is it really?”

“Creative liberties, angel.”

[eanul-rmbl]

Part 1: A Lifetime of Dreaming

Zagnos Prince AU

wc: 2.1k+

I'm super excited to be working on this!! I don't often post on tumblr, so this is rly exciting for me!

.

.

The boy’s eyes opened themselves, forcing him awake.

As he raised his head from the soft linen sheets, he saw the back of the head of some other kid; black hair dark as night, adorned with a red and orange wreath of leaves glowing like embers.

He would have thought it was any other servant, but he already knew all the servants well from helping them around the house. These laundry sheets weren’t even his; they were a menagerie of his siblings’. He wondered, briefly, if this was another dream; one where he actually was a house servant, nameless and loveless and yet, somehow, free.. He quickly shook the thought from his head. All the house servants had names, and love. So, instead, he let his thoughts wander back to the kid with the rough, black hair, and why it was so different to his own soft, curly white hair.

Hypnos blinked, realizing that he had been staring at the air for far too long, as the kid had long since left and never looked back. Yawning, he felt himself falling back into the various linen bed sheets as his eyes closed on him.

.

“Get your things, boy,” was all that Father had told him, yet it was all that was needed for little Zagreus to understand.

They were leaving the House. Finally, for what seemed like the first time in his life, Zagreus would be free from the confines of what very much seemed to be his prison. Zagreus could hardly wait; six years and he had only been permitted to leave the House a handful of times. Six years of stuffy clothes and boring parties had the boy endured. Six years of the same tiles and floors and windows. Six years of..

Well, the House wasn’t that bad, but Zagreus was still excited.

Quickly, he gathered his little sword and some clothes, some things to play with and shoved them all into the first satchel he laid his eyes on.

As he skipped over to the entranceway to the House, Father laughed (or perhaps scoffed) at him lightly before returning to a sterner tone of voice.

“You don’t need all of that stuff, boy. We are merely going to a political meeting,” he stated, big and tall and all opposing-like. Zagreus pouted. Politics weren't fun.

Father extended his arm, to which Zagreus had felt some sense of hope. Maybe he would comfort him. Maybe he would let him ride his shoulders. Maybe.. “Give me your bag, boy. I’m going to check it.” Zagreus’ world came crashing down. His father was a bloodstained traitor. Like the one in those story books with the heroes. Zagreus was the hero, and he was supposed to defeat this villain, this fiend.

“But, Father!” he exclaimed, crossing his arms, and then pushing them down, and then doing all sorts of movements and actions and thrashing that all said I don’t wanna!. Father did look pleased at this, and Zagreus flinched.

He quietly handed over his satchel.

.

In the end, Zagreus was able to keep at least his sword, and a few boring things that Father had put there himself.

“I would not that the son of the King would look like a fool who only plays with his toys.” Zagreus mumbled to himself on the roof of the wagon carriage. “Look at me, I'm soooo important”.

“What was that, boy?” A stern voice, as per usual.

“Nothing, Father!”

Zagreus fumbled with his small wooden sword. One day I'll have a real sword! he thought to himself. “A real sword, and I'll be knighted with one some day! A knight!” The dull wooden sword danced around gracelessly in his small hands; aimless and clumsy.

Zagreus could hear his father speaking. “You won't be a knight, boy,” he stated as if it were his mission to make Zagreus’ day outside the House miserable. “You'll be something better; you'll be a king. You'll command knights, you'll lead them; and you'll have reign over the entire kingdom.”

Zagreus lit up at his father's words. The wooden sword in his hands danced once more before the little prince pressed it hard against the carriage roof as he looked down from the roof to his father.

“Really, father?!” he asked excitedly. “The whole kingdom!”

Hades knew not if he was feeling a twinge of pride at his son or embarrassment at his son's impudence. “Yes, boy. Now get down from the roof. We are nearly there and I would not that the son of the King would look like a fool.”

.

The woman was tall, pale as the moon and yet with hair as dark as the night sky. It felt as if she were shrouded in the night, or as if she were the night itself. Zagreus imagined that she held dominion over the sky, forcing the harsh summer daylight out in order to provide the people with soft, cool comfort.

Zagreus moved from side to side, anxious to explore the palace, in place. His hands were locked firmly behind his back in order to keep it straight, yet his eyes wandered all over the tall pillars, open spaces and giant doors. While being only a little smaller than the House, this palace was all new to Zagreus. He had only been here a handful of times, and each time he'd enter felt like an entirely new experience,

Nyx and his father exchanged pleasantries. They breathed in “Greetings,” and “It is good to see you,” and “How fare your children?” and all sorts of other boring questions that all sounded like statements.

They shook hands, faces straight and professional. Zagreus could gag, except his father was right there next to him.

Nyx then turned to Zagreus. Her eyes were motherly; understanding and kind (which completely betrayed her otherwise stale, regal expression, in Zagreus’ eyes).

Her voice was, likewise, unexpectedly motherly. “It is good to see you, my child. You have grown,” she stated as her lilywhite hand moved to pat him on the head. She stroked it lightly, gently and for but a brief, ephemeral moment. “You may explore the palace while your father and I discuss matters concerning the kingdom. Run along now.”

Zagreus grinned at her widely. It was only around noontime, giving Zagreus plenty of time to explore the palace. He soon ran off with his small wooden sword in hand.

The little prince's main goal was to find any hint of straight, long hair, white or black, that he could spot. Rumours and tall tales had spoken of the children of Nyx, all of which currently residing in her palace, each with long strands of hair either black as night, or white as the stars. He had heard such from the servants back at the House.

First, he checked the training grounds. He ran up the stairs, and found naught but studying quarters and sleeping rooms and libraries (which all made his head swim), so he went back down and ran left and right and left again. He ran all sorts of ways until he saw an open doorway that led to a dry, open field of pale dirt and dust. He dropped his sword at how used the area looked. Zagreus could imagine tens of knights-in-training using the area. He imagined their banter, their loud voices, their freak strength and power.

There were weapons all about; some small, most large (taller than the little prince himself), all played neatly on a wooden rack. In fact, that and one row of wooden training dummies were the only “neat” things among the entire area. The rest was a wasteland of broken wood, massacred dummies and the echoes of their inanimate screams. An axe a little taller than Zagreus had been long scattered on the ground, dusty and bathed in grime.

Sadly, Zagreus hadn't found anyone training, so he decided to leave the area in search of the palace's kitchen area. The sun had already passed its peak once he left.

The servants’ area was much larger than Zagreus had remembered. Perhaps it was because he never thought to explore there until now. Left and right, the place was swimming with servants; all busy and all dashing excitedly, hardly giving the little prince any notice. The most he had actually heard was an aside “What's a kid doing here?” he could barely catch.

Lost among all the excitement, Zagreus stumbled into a smaller room. Drapes of various cloth hung from the ceiling, as various apparel and clothing hung from strings of clothesline. They painted a menagerie of shades of purple, red and gold; all shining in their own way.

Zagreus would have found himself staying in that beautiful small room forever, had he not caught the sight of white hair. His heart rate picked up, until he realized that the hair was cut short, and curled like that of a sheep. It wasn't long strands of straight hair, the rumours had stated, and so Zagreus thought that it was any other boy servant with white hair.

He turned his back and ran off.

.

The rest of the day was spent with Zagreus running all around the palace in search of Nyx's children. He heard from servants of the House that two of them were near his age; twins, both seven years. He had also heard of two only a little older than his sister’s age, though he had forgotten the specifics, as it hadn't applied to him.

He had checked the library, the training grounds, the kitchen, the dining room, the servants’ quarters and just about any other place he could think of in the palace, yet he could not find any trace of long, straight hair of night or snow.

The sun was about to begin setting, and little Zagreus found himself sighing, sitting atop the thick wall of some balcony he had found.

He watched as the trees were bathed in sunlight, appreciating its beauty and yet still disappointed.

“I couldn't find any of Nyx's children this time, either..” he mumbled to himself, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel.

Zagreus looked around what was beyond the balcony area. His eyes roamed down to the ground, where little servants rushed like worker ants. Then, he scanned the horizon, vast and ever so boring and unchanging. Lastly, he gazed across the balcony itself.

With little hands gripping the top of the balcony wall, feet planted on the ground and a head resting cooly on the wall, another boy was gazing at the sky. He seemed to be staring at the full moon, but his face was turned and Zagreus couldn't see clearly what his eyes rested on.

As the sun fell around the boy, Zagreus found he was beautiful; bathed in red and bronze by the dying light of the sun itself.

His white hair was dyed gold as tiny particles of stardust glistened within it. Zagreus thought its curls were similar to that of a sheep's, or to that of the clouds. Either way, it reflected more light as the moon grew higher up and the sun fell lower.

“You know, most of them are awake at night,” the mysterious boy said, watching as the moon crept further up the sky. “That's why you rarely ever see any. Try sleeping over; that'll catch you one of Nyx's ever elusive children!”

By the light of the full moon, his face shone with what seemed like stars for freckles. His eyes, however, were shrouded behind his fluffy hair, turned away with the rest of his face.

“..Why haven't I seen you before?” asked Zagreus. He stopped himself from trying to catch a better glimpse of the boy, shivering grimly at the thought of his father calling him impudent and impolite at the idea.

The boy paused, released his hands from the balcony wall before putting them back on and shifting listlessly back and forth.

Finally, the boy had turned to reveal tired eyes and a mischievous grin. “Because I'm awake at night, too.” With that, he was gone. It was as if he had disappeared into a puff of smoke, or cloud, or perhaps stardust.

Either way, Zagreus found himself alone in the palace with naught but the comfort of the Moon's presence to console him. The balcony wall he sat on was cool against the skin of his small hands. All around was blue, shrouded in night and yet not at all scary or uncomfortable. Several minutes passed, and the moon was settled high above.

“Let us go, boy.” A large, firm hand placed itself onto Zagreus’ head, patting firmly and awkwardly, yet with a recognizable stoutness.

Zagreus yawned. “But it's late, father,” he mumbled before falling softly onto his father's side.

“All the more reason to get home soon, Zagreus,” mumbled Hades, who guided the half-asleep little Zagreus over to the carriage. The little prince was too tired to have heard anything, yet slept soundly on the ride about to the House.

That night, Zagreus dreamt of the boy he had met at the palace, replaying the moment and each previous second of it.

[decarabiandivorce]

Til my voice grows tired, I only ask for your embrace.

okay @cashewally-sarcastic when you said Nameless Bard playing the lyre for the ffd au my mind went crazy <3

Anyways here is some Red-haired warrior and Nameless Bard cringe :3 featuring Venti and Amos

He could never forget the smile his friend had when he played that lyre.

It reminded him of the day that they met when he acted as courier between the city and desolate wilds.  The bard sang and sang until his voice began to fade, and he had realized he stood still for the entire day. The wanderer was just another member of the audience, a sword for those who needed protection.

They didn’t talk that day. Nor the day after that. Nor the days or weeks after that.

Yet whenever he wandered back into the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the isolated city, he would spend an hour or so listening to the bard.

There weren’t many musicians in that city, he realized around his fourth visit. Unlike the other nations he had been in, there weren’t people playing the drums on the street corners nor the piano being practiced near a window. It was as if the source of all music came from a single boy with pale blue eyes.

To speak so eloquently was a skill, and the bard smiled as his audience gifted him with coin and cuisine. It was a kind the smile, the one without malice nor bite. He talked a bit with some of the kids, letting them pluck his lyre’s strings.

It was routine.

Until it wasn’t.

“Mister Warrior,” The bard spoke to him around his fifteenth visit. “There is snow on your cape.”

“There is.” He replied.

“Mister Warrior,” the blue eyes looked so wide, “Do you come from outside?”

Then a new cycle began. While the man had coin and cooking, the accounting of a record would do just the same. He told the bard the vast seas of Liyue, and how their mountains were as tall as the very tower they were under. He told of fishes so large that they could swallow a great sword in one fell swoop.

The bard chuckled with delight as he went over every detail, staying quiet as he absorbed every word. As he held the warriors hand and the lyre in the other, the warrior knew that this was no ordinary fellow. He didn’t know what to say when his story was done and silence blanketed them both. To ask about the fellow’s family? To ask what it was like to live under such tyranny? It would do harm to be persistent so soonly met.

But there was one question that had been burning in his heart since the day he listened to the lyre’s master, “O’ Bard, what is your name?”

Then there was something else in that man’s eyes, a child-like mischief, “Oh? You make sure to secure yourself a front row, yet my name you do not know?” He giggled at the warrior, “Guess.”

“Guess?” The flame-haired man barked, “There are a million different names one can go by!”

“And you have millions of seconds to try and try again.” Spoke the bard.

He stared at the person, that kind smile revealing itself to be that more mischievous than a wind sprite, “You can’t be- fine. Are you…. Named after a plant?”

“A plant? In this city?” chuckled the bard.

“Dose it start with a vowel or consonant?”

“Those aren’t guesses.”

“Do I have to say your last name, or-“

“Oh!” The bard laughed and laughed, a chime in the soundless city, “You are so…. Ahahaha! I’ll give you a hint, it’s a lot more obvious than you think.”

Day by day. Night by night. Song by song the warrior returned.

The Gunnhildr clan requested his assistance in transporting some wool they received, to be a bodyguard for a meeting with a Lawerence. Yet as the high priestess, a young women with soft blonde hair, argued with her equal- a lady clad in jewels and dancing hues, his mind wandered to that bard.

“Is it Josh? Adam? Orville? Blake?”

“Do I look like an Orville to you?” The bard giggled during their 21st meeting.

“Cyrus. Gwen. Vergil. Glenn.” “Fine names they may be, but none of them are me!” his laughter was the brightest in the entire nation. His head would tilt just slightly, and his braids would follow alongside it. There was a strange allure to it all, one that kept him as captive without song. Or perhaps this was a song on its own, one without a tune or notes.

“Erik.”

“No.”

“Wendy?”

“Nope!”

“Did I say Blake?”

“Yes you did my dear friend!” The warrior tried keep his heart steady at the words, “Are you running out of names? Then do you wish for a hint?” He nodded, smiling as the bard began to play, “It’s closer than you think, a mouse beneath a sink. It is right in front of you, don’t you worry. It is something that exists within the heart of every being. The name I have- one not in any record, it the name I made for myself- of my own accord.”

Ragnvindr sighed as he tried once more, then concluded the day- determination in his core.

25th, 28th.

32th. 34th.

The time moved on, meeting after meeting, as he tried to list out anything that would fit those qualifications. What could be in plain sight, perhaps sun right in front of him night after night?

“I give up, “hissed the warrior, his arm around his friend’s waist as he did so. “What could be matching such a saint’s voice? No name spoken in human tongue could be of worth.”

The bard laughed, “Well if you must know… the name I have shared so freely with other is the very song I sell. For my name is Carmen, you see and that is song in it’s entirety.”

Ragnvindr stared at Carmen, the only person he had felt such a closeness with for a long long time, and punched him on the shoulder. “Carmen…” He repeated like a prayer, “Carmen… it fits you.”

Carmen grinned as he rubbed his shoulder, “Of course I have used other names in the past, if you were to guess those a point I would award. Himmel like the sky in my eyes. Ventus like the wind that surround by life. Names are the shortest poems one can give, and Carmen is the name what which I live.”

Even after that game was finally done, the meetings between the two were not undone. Stories were spoken, and from then on Ragnvindr knew- the boy in front of him was no sheep. A contender against the very wolves that threatened his home, the bite beneath that silver tongue was a sight to behold. Hawks and eagles were this man’s kin, for the soul of a fighter shined within.

“Soon, I will see that sky,” Carmen muttered as he pressed his face into Ragnvindr’s coat, his voice muffled by the fur.

“I don’t doubt that,” He replied, “I would be more than willing to take you with me the next time I leave.” His friend stiffened, as if he was struck. “Hm?”

“That would be easy,” Carmen’s words were soft now, an air of uncertainty and one other emotion contained within it, “To leave Mondstadt and never return. To fields of yellow and trees that could reach the moon. Yes, that would be nice.”

Carmen’s eyes no longer looked a soft blue, but instead a cold steel, “But I am sorry, dear warrior, I can not leave. Not yet.”

“What could possibly lead you to stay here? In this sunless city of drab and dreary? Shouldn’t a bard such as yourself yearn to make the world your muse?”

He could feel Carmen play with the ends of his red hair as he replied, “Fly fly fly, like a bird in the sky to a ship in the sea. A branch within it’s beak, hope for only those in misery.” He did not chuckle, “This is my home, for the people of Mondstadt need me. They need a song in their steps to help them throughout the day, and while I do need food in my stomach, their smile is all the pay I need.” He brushed Ragnvindr’s bangs aside, “I…. I am planning something. Would you help me?”

Silently, the warrior nodded.

Carmen reached into his pocket, and a small little paper folded into a flower emerged from it, "Pray repay me with hope and a smile, and stand with me to welcome the day when the storms blow no longer."

He held it gently in his hands, his eyes widening,

“Carmen.. what are you planning?”

“Be my warrior, my dear Ragnvindr. Please, I beg of you. Let me see Mondstadt shine with the sun you speak of.”

“I….”

“Ragnvindr….”

“Carmen...”

“…” Ragnvindr’s heart wavered for just a second at Carmen’s silence. The calculating look he had for penning words and analysis was on full display. The eyes of a beast more fearsome than Lupus Boreas was in front of him, and what was worse was he was not after his blood nor his flesh- but his heart and will.

“I do. I promise to stick by you, til the very end.”

--

Whispers of the rebellion snuck into every conversation, tiny non-verbal cues to not let the wind carry their voices. All of it composed by a lyre playing bard, the one who is sitting right besides him holding a small creature.

“What is that.” Ragnvindr asked, pinching its weird feather ears. “It looks evil.”

“It’s not!” Carmen cried out, “His name is Venti!”

“Venti,” Ragnvindr looked, “You named him Wind. Is it cause he can fly!”

Carmen ignored his words as he slowly pet his friend, “He is like one of those birds.”

“I can assure you, he is not a bird.” Ragnvindr grumbled into his palm, “Seriously where did you even get such a thing.”

Carmen gasp and held the creature tightly, “Don’t you dare call Venti a thing! He is a wonderful little wind wisp!”

--

Ragnvindr’s frown turned into a scowl, “A wind wisp. As in. A wind elemental being. When we are going to have Windblume soon.”

“Yes.” Said Carmen, “Well I think its going to take a couple months or so before the final date is settled, Venerare is still handing out ‘props’ to the people.” He hugged the little wind wisp some more, before his smile graced his face. “I wrote another song! May you lend me your ears?”

“Of course,” Ragnvindr said in-time with a chirping from the wind wisp. Venti said on top of Ragnvindr’s friend’s head while Carmen began to tune his lyre. Soon enough he was set to play a song. It was a lullaby, one that whispered of smelling baked goods in the air and spices from afar. As the notes dwindled out, Ragnvindr thought of the cinnamon sticks from down south, and internally promised to buy a jar for him.

Amos was the next person Ragnvindr befriended, even then he would have called that a generous statement. She was Decarabian’s wife to him at first. Then she was Carmen’s other friend. Then she was a pretty good hunter. But a friend? He would have to think about that a bit more. Friendship was something sacred, more divine than the lord of the city. To call a person he had spent time with but not laughs with a friend… hm.

Yet he could not fault her with anything. The way she took care of herself was perfect. The way she took care of other was perfect. In another time and another life they would never have interacted and perhaps would have never even known each others names. She would stare at him sometimes, her eyes drawn to his hair like so many other Mondstadters.

Her hands were soft. Her heart was soft. Her eyes however, colder than snow.

His hands were rough, his heart closed off, and Ragnvindr would never listen to what Carmen said about his eyes. Calling them a kind hearth amidst the winter. Foolish.

“Is there something wrong with my form?” Ragnvindr muttered to her as he practiced his swings in the courtyard. The gales have been getting rougher with Amos now permanently out of the tower, for her spouse was growing desperate.

“I have never seen such a style before, I apologize if I stare.”

Ragnvindr grunted in response, taking the statement for what it is. “Have you ever held a greatsword before?”

She looked nostalgic, “A long time ago. A lady who’s hair was darker than night wielded such a blade. Her family had long since departed and she was going to head out. She was the first to leave, to read the writing on the wall in the midst of the war.”

“Any clue where she went? Perhaps I know of her decesenednts.”

Amos laughed, but it was not a happy laugh, “As if she would tell me. Even so, to befriend someoe’s kin just because I knew their ancestors centuries ago dose not seem fair. Their lives are their own and to bind them to the actions of another… I shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

Ragnvindr swings and she rambles, occasionally grunting in response, “That tone of yours…. You sound like you don’t miss her.”

“I do miss her. As I mentioned its been years. I.. have made peace with that. I made peace a long time ago. It’s fine.”

The practice dummy was beginning to break, “We can change the subject if you want.”

“….”

“….”

The duo stood in silence, the only noise being the rustling of wind and the practice of form. Amos played with her hair as she fiddled with the string of her bow, the only gift from her lover she refused to part with.

Ragnvindr readied his stance once more, the movements becoming routine and clockwork. He grumbled, knowing that relying on such muscle memory could make unpredictable movements his downfall.

“Fight me.” He whispered, Amos’s head snapping up as he dose. “Fight me, “ he repeats himself , a little louder this time.

“I don’t want to shoot an arrow though you.” She smiled.

He laughed, “Then pick up a sword and I shall pick up your bow. You could even use a lance if you want.” Her eyes glanced over to rebellion’s hidden armory, amusement dancing on her face as she imagines using such weapons after so long. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps things will be okay.

--

It all comes crashing down like a stack of cards.

A mission gone wrong, intel not accurate. His back is against a wall with a squad of about thirteen men besides him. Carmen is staring at him, that look in his eyes tells him all he needs to know.

“What ever you are planning don’t do it.” He wants to say. He wants to shout and scream at his friend, but they all know what’s behind the corner- blocking their only way out.

Pale blue eyes already look glassy and dead as the bard reaching onto his chest and plucks the metal flower Ragnvindr gave him for their rebellion’s anniversary-placing it on the warrior’s chest. The hesitation in Carmen’s actions as he raises a finger to his mouth only worsens the pain in Ragnvindr’s chest. He hates this. He hates this so fucking much.

Quietly, Carmen makes it to the edge of the corner, and dramatically walks into the tyrant’s gaze. The remaining rebels manage to crawl though a window as their leader talks to the tyrant, his heartbeat pounding in his ears preventing him from listening to what they were saying. He just needed to trust his friend, even if it kills him inside.

Venti and Amos are asking him what happened as the squad recovers from the failed mission. They see Carmen’s symbol. They don’t want to believe it, and neither dose Ragnvindr.

Still, the Windblume must survive, even if its leader’s heart does not.

--

The announcement shatters them.

It shatters everyone.

--

Venti keeps asking why everyone looks so mad when he asks about Carmen.

--

He and Amos aren’t fighting! They aren’t!

--

--

Venti is gone.

--

He wants to storm that tower with Amos. “That would be easy,” he thinks, the dream of taking all away from this panopticon. To leave Mondstadt behind and say fuck you to all that scowl at Carmen’s face. Where the four…three… of them could sit on the deck of a harbor without care.

Yet there were still rebels who believed in them, and that’s what made it hurt even more. Perhaps if everyone simply abandoned their ‘traitorous’ leader, then things would be a clean cut. No. Gunnhildr was adamant that Carmen was innocent. That Decarabian’s machinations were working on them all and that without sunlight, sleep, substance, and song they were all starting to succumb.

His song. His wonderful wonderful song.

In the distance howling winds and the turning of the gales, he could make out the softest hints of a harp. It wasn’t a lyre, but he could feel in his heart that it belong to Carmen. Call him delusional. Call him insane. That was Carmen playing in the tip of the tower, playing a song without a name.

He doesn’t talk on those days, the audience within him not wanting to break the performer’s spell. He feels as if he was back then, just two people meeting on the street with duties of so routine. Yet whenever he wandered back around the city, delivering supplies from the snow-drifting clans to the very few rebels that remained, he would spend hours or so thinking of that bard.

Amos gets him, she understands his hurt. Perhaps far too well, for the one with her heart on her sleeve has given up trying to yell. She cries and sobs into his arms, until he is also weak in the knees. He holds her like a lifeline, another one taken from her by divinity.

Days and days pass, and the nights feel the same. The world around him is as grey as the stones, perhaps another side effect from it being so long without sunlight. The tower feels larger, and he is so small. The tiny spirit of hope that used to beg for fruits from him now shot by an arrow by ones Ragnvindr called friend.

That person was drinking on the edge of bridge, not caring a bit about what they did. Was it because it was so long ago? Or perhaps the alcohol had darkened their soul. The flame of rebellion and blasphemy raged in Ragnvindr’s heart, for he knew that his friend would not want him to taint the rebellion by killing it’s members. That part was soon quelled with the memory of Carmen’s adoration for Venti, how the wolf in sheep’s clothing would be quiet stabby.

It's so easy, such a simple action to do. He was already intoxicated, so a simple push was all he needed to do. Fall from the sky, like the wisp that they killed. Ragnvindr wishes he could sink that low, but he knows himself and his morale code.

He feels frustrated every day, as more and more complain. He tells them to shut up and behave, and they call him a lapdog for a master who is away. For once Amos is the one to tell him not to storm the tower, but he sees in her eyes the thoughts of retaliation. Another announcement comes that day, from the man he hates the most and his best friend right besides him.

He looks healthy, his cheeks never looked fuller but all that doesn’t matter with his now cold eyes. “What happened to you?” He wants to shout, but instead he clutches at the flower on his chest, desperate to not throw such a sacrifice away.

Decarabian places a hand on Carmen’s shoulder, blabbering about how wonderful his son is to the crowd. He can’t read the room, nor tell from the rebel’s hooded glances the emotions boiling within. Amos grips his hand tight, but before he could retort she gestures to a group of people- rebels in their own worth. They see Carmen as bad as his ‘father’ and driven to desperation the people will slaughter. Amos’s sharp gaze catches their movements, as their hold their swords and lances with gazes murderous. He can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t give a shit, when the world itself turns back on someone so perfect.

That night the warrior prays for forgiveness, of a festival for a dawn is something he cannot gift him. Windblume- what a joke. A terrible irony. What use was love when the one he cares about the most was suffering? To save the people of Mondstadt without any adoration was always the goal, but to see them turn their back on the one that sparked that fire made his eyes darker than coal.

Hand in hand they walk to the front gates of the tower, not caring whoever sees them. He can only hope the letter towards Gunnhildr and Venerare was enough, for there was too much rage in his chest to wait to say ‘I am sorry’ out loud in front of both of them. He followed right behind the silver-haired archer as the two of them walked up step by step.

Together they opened the doors, and their fates were set.

--

Carmen looks so peaceful as he plays the injured Venti a tune. Ragnvindr can not help but stare at his friend, as if he was the sun and the moon. He missed this. He could never put into words how much he missed him.

He was using a harp. Ragnvindr tried not to smile as he knew he was right. It was Carmen that played those notes.

He hadn’t asked about the state of the rebellion. The returning of the flower was all the confirmation he needed. Did his friend yearn to take his offer all those months ago? As much as he knew his friend, he could never read his thoughts. They were like a language written by the ancients that made the ruins all across Teyvat, and only Venti was the archaeologist.

Carmen buried his face into Ragnvindr’s new coat, this one with the symbol of the storm god on it. It wasn’t as fluffy as the one he used to wear, but it was okay. This was all okay.

He ran his hand down Carmen’s back, a part of him still in disbelief that the bard was right in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, hugging Carmen tight.

“It’s… fine… You just…cared….” Carmen did not cry, but the faint glimmer in his eyes told him all he needed to know. Venti burrowed himself between the two men, Ragnvindr’s face softening as the wind wisp leaned into the warrior’s palm. Carmen watched as his friend held up Venti like a vase of glass and yawned.

“Perhaps I should sing you the lullaby this time?” Ragnvindr asked.

Carmen shook his head,” Do you even know a lullaby?”

“I’ve been reading some of them.... while you were gone.”

“Oh.” Carmen held Venti tight, “I… am not in the mood for stories.”

Ragnvindr’s heart sank.

He should have arrived sooner.

Carmen brushed Ragnvindr’s hair away from his face, “Tomorrow… let’s do something. Not a story- something real.”

There it was, his Carmen. The bags under his eyes and the crown on top of his head may have suggested otherwise, but Ragnvindr knew that it was still Carmen underneath all those fancy layers.

“I can’t wait to accompany you.” The knight smiled as he pulled Carmen into an embrace. “That man… is going to let me take you into the town tomorrow.” Ragnvindr closed his eyes and felt Carmen’s breathing and his heartbeat. Sure, it was pacing a lot faster than normal, but he had to believe it wasn’t out of fear.

“That sounds wonderful.” Carmen spoke softly. “I don’t have my lyre anymore… so no playing for the crowds.”

“Mh.”

Carmen tried opening his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a yawn.

He was tired.

So tired.

And to lay within his warrior’s coat while holding Venti and Ragnvindr?

It…

It left a bitter taste in his mouth but perhaps… it would be okay…

…

.

The prince of the tower closed his eyes, sealing the fate of all the rebels in and out of Mondstadt- as the last star of hope became complacent.