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toms-cherry-trees · 5 months ago

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Cracked || Jacaerys Velaryon x Twin!Wife! Reader

Summary: No one ever said duty would hurt like this

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Twincest targcest (Velaryoncest?), angst, spoilers if you haven't watched S2E2, for anti hating purposes is not explicitly stated but all characters are above 18.

Author's note: Won't you look at me, 7 months since my last HOTD fic! That scene with Jace tearing up definitely did something to me. My very first time writing for Jace, hopefully won't be the last!

Also a massive massive thank you and all my devotion to @moris-auri for beta reading this!

No one welcomes him when he lands in the Dragonmont.

The flapping of Vermax's leathery wings is amplified, booming throughout the massive cavern, swirls of steam rising from the cracks on the dark stone. The only ones to witness his arrival are the dragon keepers, but even they are distracted, their focus on the exhausted dragon and not his equally drained rider. When they stride past him, they don’t acknowledge him at all, almost as if he doesn’t exist. Jace wonders if he is a ghost, because only in death could someone feel the agony that seeps from his bones and still be standing.

He feels like a foreigner in this place.

Even though he has lived on Dragonstone half his life, he feels like a foreigner. The fortress is not theirs. He doubts it never truly has been. They are just keepers of these ancient walls and the history they carry within. Dragonstone is a relic that will stand on that island for a thousand years to come, as welcoming as a gush of Northern wind on bare skin. The only warmth comes from its very core, from those who habit it and who've made the great fortress a home.

But the home he left weeks prior is not the one he now returns to. The warmth has been snuffed and the hearth has been shattered.

He walks with his head held high and his back straight, gaze always ahead and chin lifted in a gesture of near arrogance. He walks like an heir, because he is. He is now his mother’s heir and he must play his part, even if all he wants to do is lay his head on her lap and weep like a boy of ten.

A moon ago he was just Jacaerys Velaryon. He was a son, a firstborn son, but with no more responsibility than studying and learning, mastering skills that would serve him purpose in 30 or 40 years. His greatest concerns were training Vermax properly, what desserts would be served after supper, and how to avoid falling into another of his siblings’ silly pranks. He had been betrothed long ago, but marriage itself was something distant, something that could wait out a few more years.

He was a brother of five with another sibling on the way; a sister. While most in the castle pined for a son, another boy, he secretly supported his mother’s longing for a little girl.

And now he is Jacaerys, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to his mother’s throne and crown. He is more Targaryen than Velaryon now. He is an envoy, a messenger, a warrior if needed be. He is a strategist and a politician. He is an asset and a threat; someone who has forged great alliances, but also has found strong enemies, their weapons aimed directly at the target behind his head, target painted there by his grandsire many a year before his birth. A wedding , hastily arranged, to strengthen their cause and their line of inheritance.

He is a brother to just four now, and the crib has been left empty.

Cregan Stark had been the one to break the news to him. Standing on a cramped lookout on the edge of the world, nothing but whiteness as far as the eye reached, Lord Stark had said that the Wall did more than keep savages and ice at bay. It held back death.

But death came nonetheless.

Jacaerys had managed to maintain his stance as a man and a Prince, receiving the news with unyielding stoicism, even when his knees felt weak and his body chilled, like ice had spread down his spine. But this ice was nothing like the one surrounding him, there on the edge of the North. This one burned, burned like dragonfire while stabbing him with a thousand knives, leaving him to bleed out while not allowing him to die. It stole the air from his lungs and the blood from his veins, and filled him with snow. His lungs couldn’t breathe, his heart couldn’t beat yet somehow he didn’t drop dead right there where he stood.

He recalls little of what occurred after, nothing more than brief, precise memories. Receiving Cregan’s condolences, and feeling the firm squeeze of the older man’s hand on his shoulder. Northerners parting silently to make way for him in the courtyard, where a restless Vermax awaited, his screeches rattling the windows of the nearby towers. Someone handing him a parcel, hastily wrapped, containing a sleek wolf pelt as a present for their Queen. The thunderstorm he traversed in the Riverlands, and the toll it took on Vermax to fly through it.

The painful tightening on his throat as he wondered if he had encountered a similar one, not far from home.

Servants and courtiers make way for him, as he approaches his mother’s chambers. They bow and curtsy, and offer words of courtesy, lamenting the loss of the young Prince. Some stare out of the corner of their eye as he passes, waiting to see if the new Prince of Dragonstone will crumble like sand before their very eyes. But he never betrays himself; not a tear brimming in his eyes, not a wobble of his lips. The occasional flaring of his nostrils is the single telltale of the sorrow that simmers just beneath his skin.

He hesitates briefly, pausing at the end of the vast hallway where the royal apartments are. Up the winding staircase, past the single set of double doors to the left, his mother awaits. No, not his mother, the Queen. She stopped being his mother the day the crown was placed atop her head, and the court of Dragonstone bent the knee before her. Grief and loss shaped her, morphing her into the leader and ruler she had been born to be. Jace can only admire her, and hope that he will be able to embrace his new role as effortlessly as she has done hers.

The double doors are pushed open by Ser Erryk. The Queen sits alone, gaze downcast and thoughts troubled, that much Jace can tell by the nervous fidgeting of her hands, twisting her rings almost compulsively. When her eyes rise to meet his, Jacerys sees in them a mirror of himself, the same exhaustion, the effort to push back and bury the wrenching misery, the bleeding wound left behind by their loss.

They are alone, just the two of them in that silent alcove. Jace could break down, weep like he hasn’t done in years and lay his head across her lap; let her slender, motherly fingers card through his hair as she assures him that all will be well in the end. But he can’t, he can’t because she’s more Queen than mother now and she’s grieving too, grieving deeper than he is and if she can keep it together then so can he, because he is her heir and he has to make her proud and be a man worthy of respect.

The Prince doesn’t cry; the heir doesn’t cry.

A man remains immovable and imperturbable.

He straightens his back, head held high and hands laced before him as he recounts his triumphs, the Houses he convinced to pledge for them and what each one has offered and asked them in return. This moment should have been his shining glory, with himself striding through the castle with pride and confidence, ready to announce to the council how he had secured the allegiance of the Vale and the North for their cause. He would bask in his wife’s admiration, drink the praises from her lips and show her he was ready to one day be a great King, with a great Queen by his side.

Instead it is just them two, hidden behind doors, picking up the pieces falling from their carefully built masks before they completely fall apart. He brings good news, great news, but they matter little and now taste like ash in his mouth, burning and bitter. His victories mean nothing to him because his little brother is dead, gone 60 years before his time, and they don’t even have a body to burn and Jacaerys feels it should have been him, because he is the eldest and he should have protected him better. He should have faced their rageful uncle and died instead, but he didn’t and now he stands there, moving and doing because if he stays still the grief will swallow him whole and bury him in a pit of sand.

And then his voice breaks, the facade cracks and they both stop pretending, because pretending hurts, like gripping a white hot rod with both hands and refusing to let go even if it’s hurting you.

Her embrace is warm; her arms feel like home. With his head tucked under her chin, his cheek pressed against her chest, he feels young again. He feels the sobs racking her body, the tears dampening her face and his hair, her fingers digging on the fabric of his cloak. They sway slightly, rocking from side to side like when he was a babe of just a few days old, fussy and restless, keeping the whole holdfast awake at night because he refused to settle anywhere but on his mother’s arms.

But now Jace suspects the motion is meant for her more than for him, to transport her to days past when she held her babes in her arms and they were safe under her wing and no one could harm them because she would sooner tear the world to pieces. Discreetly the places shift, now it's her forehead against his shoulder and his arms holding her steady. Jace feels the tears stinging his eyes and the lump blocking his throat, but he cannot break down because his mother is broken and someone must stand strong and whole and it has to be him.

Soon, too soon, his mother has dismissed him, sending him to his chambers to bathe and rest because they will have the funeral at sunset and they must not show weakness before the court. The cracks must be patched and hidden, no matter how deep they run. Not a single piece can fall out of place.

He drags his feet now; the weight on top of him has grown heavy. His posture slackens, his shoulders slump, the pretence is harder to hold. Sunset feels like a death sentence, because a funeral makes it real. It makes it true. Burning what they have because there is not even a body left behind to burn. That way he can no longer pretend that is not happening, that is all just a tale. And then, he will crack. No willpower will keep him whole because his brother, his little brother is dead and he has to face a future where Lucerys will not be a part of it.

He pushes his chamber door open with one shoulder, his mind blank of any thought; the encounter with his mother affected him deeper than he had anticipated, because even she is cracking and now is just him holding it together because he has to.

And then he sees her.

His wife sits before the hearth, so ethereal with the glow of the fire illuminating her face. Her head turns as soon as the door opens, and he immediately notices the red around her swollen eyes. At first he thinks she’s mourning, but she’s had her time to mourn and Jace knows she’s crying for him, crying because she feels the agony straining to break through his flesh. Just like they have felt each other’s every emotion for as long as they have lived, have anticipated each other’s words and read their thoughts. Connected by a bond that runs deeper than marriage, because they are of the same blood, come into the world together.

The last time he saw her before his departure, they had an ugly fight. Jacaerys had convinced their mother to keep her at Dragonstone rather than allow her to fly as an envoy, claiming they could not leave the fortress unguarded and with the larger dragons going in and out on their missions, they had to pile up their remaining strength. The Queen had agreed, and her word was final.

She could not argue with Her Grace, but she certainly made Jacaerys know how she felt about what she perceived as a betrayal and lack of trust in herself and her abilities. Jace pleaded with her to see reason, to see things from his perspective. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in her, he would never dare to doubt her strength. But he didn’t trust the men she would encounter on her journey, nor did he want her to risk taking a long flight on her dragon and run into danger. She, always the hot headed one, had called him every name under the sun and refused to see him off, choosing instead to sulk in her chamber. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, to leave on bad terms with her, but he trusted they would talk it out upon his arrival. That all would be well and their problems would be solved.

He stands silently before her, and for the first time he feels small. So small and diminished, unwilling to look her in the eyes. His gaze is fixed on the floor because the tears are winning the battle and if they do he will crack open like a dragon egg, but no great beast will emerge, only his insecurities and his failures.

His lower lip wobbles, and he bites it so hard he leaves the imprint of his teeth. His nails dig deep in his palms in his attempt to steady their accusatory trembling. He breathes in and out, slow and steady, his eyes squeezed shut as he feels himself losing control. He cannot allow himself to lose it, not in front of her of all people, not when he is supposed to be her pride, not her embarrassment.

He hears the sharp drag of the chair as she stands, the thud of the heavy tome she had been reading being thrown rather carelessly over a table. Her steps are slow and calculated as she moves across the stone, approaching him cautiously like he is some wild beast ready to lash out. Like he is some fragile thing, so fragile that a gush of wind could break him apart.

Her hands are soft and warm as they cradle his face, gently coaxing him to look up, to meet her eyes. But he can’t, he fears he will see disappointment in them, he will see accusation, he will see her blame him for Luke’s death, for forcing her to remain back when it was their little brother who needed his protection the most.

For failing the family.

He succumbs in the end, brown eyes gingerly rising to meet her own, bracing himself for the worst. But he sees nothing of what he expected. He sees no anger, no resentment, no pity. Just worry and tenderness, and a desolation that matches his own.

The first tears he has been holding back since Winterfell finally escape the barrier of his willpower and roll down his cheeks. He attempts to blink them away but they cannot be stopped, nor does he have the strength to stop them no more. His wife brushes some away with her thumbs, and smoothes back his hair in a tender gesture

“Jace.”

That little world, the call of his own name coming from her lips is all that it needs for the dam inside him to burst. The violent sobs rack his body, tears blurring his vision and he chokes on them, while also feeling like he’s breathing for the first time since that raven arrived at the Wall. He tries to hide his face but she won’t let him, and tears shine in her eyes too and that only makes the crying worse, because his wife is suffering and he cannot console her because he’s also suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His legs weaken and his stance falters. The same apology falls from his mouth, the small words tumbling over each other and getting lost in the incessant weeping. His knees falter and he drops down; his forehead rests against her body and his hands are on her hips, fearing he will lose her if he lets go. He sobs onto her dress, not caring anymore about being the perfect Prince and heir, about being the man everyone will respect and be proud of.

His wife drops to her knees too and holds him close, allowing his head to lay against her shoulder. The scent of her body fills his nostrils, aroma of camellias and toasted sugar. It smells of happy memories and easier days, and it evokes a sense of safety in him, of tenderness, of the happiest days of his short life. His cry doesn’t stop, but it is not only for Lucerys now. It is for his mother, for his younger brothers, for himself and for all the losses to come. He cries for his twin, his wife, for now the fear of harm coming her way has increased tenfold, and the mere idea of her being cruelly ripped from his side tears a gash on his heart.

He cries until he’s sure there are no tears left to cry. Until the weight has been lifted from his chest and he is sure he can breathe again. They remain there for what feels like mere seconds and a lifetime at the same time, locked in each other’s embrace. Her fingers card through his hair and her lips press tender kisses to his temple; his arms wrapped around her, hands pressed against her back to keep her close, as close as he can to his own heart. He would gladly stay there forever, spend the rest of his days encased in her warmth and basking in her love. But the moment is broken all too soon when a servant knocks on the door to let them know that courtiers are already gathering in the outskirts of the castle for the funeral.

Jace lets himself be guided by the hand like an obedient child to sit before her vanity. She moves around him silently; unneeded words would only break the feeble spell of calmness surrounding them.

She takes care of everything for him. Wipes his face clean with a damp cloth, presses a cool spoon to his eyes so they will not appear swollen and bloodshot. He changes into a fresh tunic, and allows her to comb his hair and powder his face to disguise the redness of his cheeks and nose.

They stand together before the ornate mirror, both of them dressed in matching red and black. She helps him pin the cloak onto his tunic, fastening it to his right shoulder with a silver dragon brooch. Jace holds her gaze in their reflection, hoping to convey with gestures the emotions words fail to do. She understands; she always does.

He is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, and while it does not manage to coax a smile out of him, it fills his veins with a pleasant tickling warmth, the same he felt after their first kiss and the one he hopes to feel until his last breath.

Her fingers run up his arms gently, tracing the embroiders and trimmings of the doublet. They come to rest on his shoulders and gently push them back, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest. The right index continues the ascent, tracing the curve of the neck and the still sharpening line of the jawline before settling under his chin, pushing upwards ever so slightly to lift his head. Urging him to hold himself with pride. To unapologetically show the world that he is cracked, but not broken.

She comes to stand before him at last, smoothing down nonexistent creases from his clothes until nothing but pure perfection remains. They hold each others’ gaze for a few moments, before she reaches up to steal from him a gentle kiss.

“All ready, My Prince.”

This time, he smiles.

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jace targaryen x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x twin #jace velaryon x twin #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #prince jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #prince jacaerys targaryen #marsie writes

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beansprean · 9 months ago

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Lil comic from chapter 1 of Alethophobia by @jay-auris! Character designs by the incredible @pejntboks!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Distant shot from behind a white van parked on a patch of gravel and dirt with its rear doors wide open, pine trees in the distance against a darkening sky. Human Nandor is rummaging around in the equipment in the back of the van, muttering angrily to himself. He is wearing a green flannel with rolled sleeves over a white tee shirt tucked into cut off blue jean shorts, white knee socks, and hiking boots. The side of Guillermo's face appears in closeup in the foreground, looking at him. 1b. Shot from inside the van as Guillermo comes up behind Nandor, both now facing the viewer. Nandor has his graying hair down and hanging messily in his face as he scowls, sweat beading on his forehead. He wears a silver medallion around his neck, orange tasbih prayer beads around his right wrist, has two orbital piercings with silver hoops and a silver conch stud in his left ear, and silver vertical studs on his right eyebrow. He continues glaring at the equipment and shuffling it around with his left hand as he thrusts a camera bag out behind him with his right, snapping, "Leave Laszlo to pack everything like an overgrown child. Here, pull out the extra batteries so I can put them in the actual fucking battery cases we own." Guillermo looks down at the bag in surprise as it is thrust towards him, hands coming up automatically to take it. He is wearing a black tee shirt with a gray symbol on the chest under a sleeveless unzipped dark blue hoodie with red trim, black leggings, red sneakers, a black fidget ring on his right middle finger, and a silver cross around his neck, tucked into the shirt. 1c. Close up of Guillermo as takes the bag and removes the batteries, aiming a concerned look at Nandor as he does so. He asks, "Are you okay?" 1d. Waist up of Nandor from Guillermo's POV as he straightens up and wrestles his hair back into a messy bun with quick, angry motions. Still glaring down at the equipment, he snarls, "I dislike long car rides; I dislike being out of the city;" 1e. Reverse shot, close up of the back of Nandor's head with its painful looking bun in the foreground as he continues, "I dislike laszlo's laissez-faire attitude towards the security of our expensive equipment..." In the background, Guillermo frowns as he observes Nandor's hair.

2a. Repeat. Guillermo interrupts Nandor's venting by pointing toward his hair and asking, "Can I fix that?" Nandor's head in the foreground turns toward him, asking, "Huh?" 2b. Wide shot facing the rear of the van as Guillermo says, "Your hair, just- c'mere." Guillermo takes Nandor by the shoulders, turns him around, and pushes him down to sit on the bumper with a small, unassuming smile. Nandor looks shocked and not a little flustered, shoulders tense under Guillermo's hands. 2c. Close up on Nandor as Guillermo pulls the rubber band from his hair and lets it loose around his shoulders, covering his eyes. Guillermo combs his fingers through the strands and Nandor stills, expression hidden but cheeks going red. 2d. Close up of Nandor's face from the nose down in profile as Guillermo's hands gather his hair behind his shoulders. 2e. Close up of the back of Nandor's head from Guillermo's POV as he pulls all of Nandor's hair together neatly at his crown.

3a. Close up on Nandor's side, elbow to hip, as Guillermo's right hand leaves his head to tap two fingers on Nandor's jeans pocket. Nandor pulls his elbow away in surprise. 3b. Repeat. Nandor's other hand obliges, pulling a second rubber band from his pocket and offering it to Guillermo, who hooks it onto his finger. 3c. Waist up of Guillermo as he steps back with a hesitant grin, hands clasped together at his sternum. He says, "There. Better?" 3d. Close up of Nandor's right hand as it lifts his phone and unlocks it with a thumb. His phone case is a Lisa-Frank-esque close up of a white horse with purple, blue, and pink spots on a backdrop of a blue sky with clouds and a rainbow.

4a. Bust of Nandor as he raises his phone up to take a look at himself in the camera, expression now softened from his earlier frustration. His hair is now twisted up into a neat, round bun at the crown of his head, one stubborn strand loose at his temple. He raises his eyebrows, liking what he sees, and says "Huh. That's very good. How did you do that?" 4b. Zoom out to knees up, Nandor still perched on the bumper of the van. Guillermo stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and leans back against one of the van doors, flushed and grinning as he aims his gaze elsewhere. With a humble shrug, he replies, "Sister taught me. She said that if I wanted to impress a girl one day, I should learn how to do basic styles." Nandor lowers his phone and drapes that arm over his raised knee, left hand palming the other to balance himself as he turns his torso towards Guillermo with a grin. He says, "Well, color this girl impressed." /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #mlm #alethophobia #fic rec #fic comic #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #human nandor #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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scaredpigeons · 11 months ago

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Deus Auri

Zhongli x reader (gn)

Word count: 1.04k (smol)

CW: sfw:) mild spoilers for Neuvillettes voice lines about Morax, he calls him Deus Auri, which is god of gold in Latin— might just be a title but any little tidbit of Morax we get I just gobble gobble up. Flirting, zhongli calls you my dear, darling, vixen. No pronouns or other gender specific language used. Some kisses and allusions of wanting more.

Enjoy!

“Deus Auri.”

You can nearly hear the crack of Zhongli’s neck as his gaze whips towards you, but you keep your gaze trained on your book as if you hadn’t seen its comical swivel in your peripherals.

“I’m sorry my dear, could you repeat that?” He said, though there was an edge to his tone.

“Deus Auri—God of Gold. What can you tell me about that name?” You said, index finger gliding down the edge of the book. You were no longer reading, but still kept your eyes trained on the pages to pretend like you weren’t vibrating with excitement at his reaction.

Zhongli was naturally very stoic, a well maintained facade to those who weren’t interested in looking deeper.

You had been plenty interested, taking one look at him and instantly knowing he was no ordinary man.

Now the better part of half a year into your blossoming relationship, he still hadn’t outright told you, but he’d grown comfortable.

You’d catch glimpses of his wrists, normally covered— deep onyx with veins of pure gold. Though this only happened in the safety of his home— there was a time he had to remove his gloves to help you in the kitchen, and his perfectly pale, human hands had distracted you the entire time.

The glamor he kept up in public slipped a bit when he was more at ease.

To the eye that was actually looking, zhongli really wasn’t subtle about who he was.

“Well, why don’t we start with where you heard such a name?” He asked.

“I was with the traveler last week, helping she and paimon with a commission in Fontaine.”

You can see the minuscule wince he gives out of the corner of your eye. Just a twitch of the brows as he blinks, so graceful, but you catch it because you’re looking for it.

“I overheard a conversation she had with a lovely gentleman over there, though I didn’t get to introduce myself. He mentioned the name when the traveler was asking him about Rex Lapis.”

You closed your book, finally turning to look at him, though you kept your gaze coyly through heavy lids, peaking demurely at him through your lashes.

“And you know, I thought that was very strange, her asking him about Rex lapis, when she could learn anything and everything about him from our resident expert.”

“The traveler has not visited liyue to see me in some time, darling. And I'm sure there are others who’ve studied the gods. I am not the only knowledgeable one in Teyvat.”

“I know, I know.” You chewed on your lip a bit for effect, looking puzzled. “So who is this Deus Auri? Is it perhaps another one of Morax’s many names?”

You looked at him expectantly, grinning as he grew more stiff in his seat beside you. A mere foot of space between you on the couch and he looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him.

You wanted to, you have wanted to, but he so chivalrously insists upon taking it slow.

Hand holding in the harbour. Chaste kisses good night. You wanted so badly to break through his barriers but you knew he was holding back.

“You are…” he let a puff of air through his nose. “Correct in the knowledge that Morax was known to have many different names. Unfortunately that is all I can say on the matter.”

“So cryptic.” You squinted at him. He often shut you out when you pried like this, poking and prodding in places you know you shouldn’t be, but he was always kind and straightforward about it—so you usually dropped it as soon as he denied you.

“Do you think he had a favourite name that he went by?” You pushed a bit more, hoping to get him to give you just one more crumb before you played your cards. It was time, you were getting tired of hiding it.

He smiled thoughtfully, relaxing into the couch once more. “I’d like to think that he enjoyed the name Rex Lapis, the name given to him by his people. I’m sure it brought him a great sense of pride.”

You grinned, soaking in his expression and words. Knowing what you know— gods. He really was so cute sometimes.

You open up your book, stilling your grin to prepare for what was next.

“Really? I’d like to think Zhongli is his favourite. Retirement is a good look for him.”

You expected denial, perhaps his neck snapping back to you like it did when you first mentioned the ancient name.

What you didn’t expect was to be tackled to the floor, a gloved hand supporting your neck instinctively as you and your book tumbled along the floor with the blur of rich oranges and browns that took you down.

When you finally settled, you were on your back with him looming over you, pining you to the ground.

“You little vixen. How long have you known?” His eyes were wild, hair a mess, cheeks flushed and breathless. Disheveled.

He looked more beautiful now than you’d ever seen him before.

“From the moment you opened your mouth.”

He kissed his teeth in a quick tsk, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Nothing escapes you, does it? I knew I would be in trouble with you.”

You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him back towards you.

“And yet you kept me around regardless.” You smiled, giving him a quick, teasing peck on the lips.

“How could I not? You have an inescapable magnetism that I am completely captured by. I’m afraid to say that you’re unraveling me even as we now speak.”

You grinned at him, face feeling just as flush as his.

“How much more unraveling do I need to do to get you to let down those walls you keep around you?”

“They were gone the moment I saw that you knew the truth, my dear, you should have said something much sooner.” He tilted his head with a soft grin.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him ever closer.

“Kiss me then, you old blockhead.”

He gave a rumble in his chest that sounded very much like a growl, and it set your nerves on fire.

“Behave.” He said sternly.

“No promises,” you said as you kissed him.

#zhongli #zhongli fluff #rex lapis #genshin morax #genshin impact #genshin zhongli #genshin impact zhongli #zhongli fic #zhongli x reader #zhongli x reader fluff #fluff #genshin fluff

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falmerbrook · 1 year ago

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It’s interesting that there’s no snow elf structures or ruins left in Skyrim (that we know of or see in the games) besides the Chantry of Auri-El. I can see a few reasons why that might be:

From a Doyalist perspective, the game developers just didn’t add any for whatever reason. Maybe they didn’t even consider it, maybe they didn’t have time, maybe they didn’t want two sets of abandoned elf ruins (alongside the dwemer), etc.

The snow elves used building materials that degraded faster or didn’t last thousands of years. Given the Chantry of Auri-El and the way shrines and arches around it have stood relatively in tact for thousands of years without anyone tending to them makes me doubt this option though.

The Nords/Atmorans destroyed any snow elf structures or settlements. This would be plausible if, like the last option, their structures weren’t very big or permanent, but like with the last option that’s sort of doubtful. Dragons, however, could’ve helped with that.

The Nords/Atmorans converted snow elf structures or used them for their own purposes, and now we just can’t tell they were ever something else. Our one reference for snow elf architecture (the Chantry of Auri-El) is made of stone (either built or carved out of the mountain (the cooler option imo)), and perhaps old snow elf ruins were just used as templates for Nord barrows or cities because of their sturdy build and location. There’s a theory I’ve seen floating around that the College of Winterhold either at one point was a snow elf ruin that was converted into something else, or was built on top of one, due to its similar architecture style to the Chantry of Auri-El. Maybe cities like Windhelm or (the original) Winterhold were built on top of snow elf cities.

Perhaps it’s just a mix of the above. Maybe only their important or significant religious structures were built of stone and the rest of was easier for the Nords/Atmorans to raze and then degrade back into the environment. What wasn’t destroyed was eventually incorporated into the Nord’s society as tombs or cities.

And none of this is in the game because the developers maybe perceived the snow elves as just a prerequisite for the falmer, rather than a group of people with a culture of their own. Or maybe for some behind the scenes reason in the development of the game like I mentioned earlier. Who knows.I have fun speculating about it though

#headcanon #tes #the elder scrolls #skyrim #skyrim headcanon #falmer #snow elves #mine #I spend approximately 30% of my free time thinking about falmer/snow elves so I might as well post some of those thoughts

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nyxaffixed · 7 months ago

Note

I am in LOVE with your Wedding Bells AU!!! I always love it when people integrate jewelry (specifically gold) into fictional cultures and this just takes the cake--- is there any jewelry/item associated with non-spousal partnership or platonic partnership? I'd love to integrate this kind of idea into my (for-my-eyes-only, never to be published anywhere) fanfic lmao

Most jewelry in the lamb/sheep culture is non romantic. It’s based off of intent on both parties, sort of saying nonverbally what you think you are to someone, and how they in turn perceive you.

For example, if you’d like to be friends with someone, you’d give them something for their hands and arms, but if they put it on their clothes you know they only think of you as an acquaintance. Anything above the head is reserved for family, and anything on the feet is for people you hate.

If someone gave you a necklace, and you wrapped it around your wrist, it’s basically rejecting someone’s proposal, but saying “I’d still like to be friends though”.

There’s creativity with how jewlery is displayed, and most of the Lamb's follower's offerings are either somehow attached to their fleece or displayed in the temple.

When Shamura gifted Auri a set of bracelets, they put them on their horns (because Shamura is now family). Shamura saw this, put the pieces together, and realized that Narinder and the Lamb were married.

Shamura told their other siblings, but all the bishops refuse to tell Narinder, because they think its funny.

Edit: Im so glad you like this au. Please have fun with it in your writing! If I didnt fully answer your question, please let me know. I feel as though I may not have.

#narilamb #wedding bells au #cotl wedding bells au #cotl #cotl lamb #cult of the lamb narinder #cult of the lamb #cult of the lamb fanart #im glad people like this au #anyone can use this au but please tag me if you make stuff from it so i can like and share and gush at your art

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sohnric · 1 year ago

Text

sweet like candy – e. sohn

pairing: eric sohn x fem! reader

genre: summer au, strangers to something more ?? fluff, suggestive. very much stargazing by the neighbourgood and fantasize by the boyz capsuled into a fic. eric is a simp and a hopeless romantic because i said so. a girl romanticizes sharing a lollipop (its me im girl)

warnings: alcohol, maybe some minimal swearing, a heated make out session that hints onto a hookup (no smut mentioned!). the use of a cheesy nickname babydoll (dont @ me or i will deactivate), reader has hair long enough for a claw clip

word count: 6.9k

a/n: almost cried while trying to name this fic somebody send help. Also this doesn't feel like my best work its kinda rushed imo but 🤠 yolo

part of the @deoboyznet summer on you event! cant believe i made it on time

a summer tradition of renting out a cabin every year invented by a couple of friends takes a turn for eric when a new addition to the circle brings him to his knees - in other words, he never knew tequila could taste so sweet.

If anyone ever asked Eric Sohn if he believed in love at first sight, he would, without a doubt, say yes.

What was the proof he had? Well, absolutely nothing. All he ever knew about love at first sight was from romance movies he watched during lonely nights with his roommate Juyeon, never having the experience of the whole world stopping and zooming in on one particular person, taking his breath away– but to put it simply, Eric Sohn is a true romantic. Call him cheesy if you want– he wouldn’t like it, but he also wouldn’t disagree.

On one summer afternoon, though, his world tilts in its axis– the moment comes, and he is finally able to test out his theory.

You walk out of the passenger’s side of a red 2008 Toyota Auris, hair put up into a claw clip, jean shorts showing off your long legs and a pearl white button-up opened and lazily thrown over your outfit, and suddenly, Eric Sohn finds his knees buckling and his palms sweating with affection. He was aware that Juyeon’s girlfriend was bringing her best friend to tag along to their little summer retreat (more like a trip to a cabin in the middle of the woods), but he sure as hell didn’t expect the stranger to make him feel this type of way.

Sure, it might just be him being incredibly attracted to you. But with how fast his heart was beating when you smiled at everyone after introducing yourself to the group, he was sure he was slowly, but surely falling for you. And he was falling hard.

He feels like the world is moving in slow motion as he watches the group go and unload the car– you and your best friend Yeri were the last ones to arrive– and what wakes him up from the haze is when he watches you struggle to carry a cooler out of the trunk into the cabin, his legs dragging him closer to the vehicle and near to your body.

Now is his time to shine. “Let me help!” he hurries out, sneakers crunching on the gravel. His hands firmly grab onto the handle of the blue cooler, muscles flexing under the weight (making him wonder why you would willingly want to carry the thing and not ask him or any of the guys for help in the first place), and when your eyes look up at come in contact with his, he presses a smile to his lips. “I’m Eric, by the way.”

“Ah,” you gasp, a grateful expression breezing over your features, “thanks. I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Eric hums, watching your every move. Your figure walks over to the front of the car, your head popping in close to the window to look inside, and when a satisfied look overtakes your features, Eric finds himself asking. “Is that everything?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “we can head inside, I think.”

The boy tries hard to keep his cool, he really does. But with how he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, attempting to find a topic that would engage him in a conversation with you, he feels like a boy that is just experiencing a crush for the first time in his life. Everything about you is enchanting– and sure, you could say he was just painfully attracted to you and this had nothing to do with love– but he was also convinced that if you asked him to jump off the Empire State Building, he would do it without giving it a second thought (which is kind of worrying, but again– it says a lot).

You open the door to the cabin for him, and he finds himself speechless at the action. Once your eyes meet again and you offer him another subtle smile, he finds himself gasping at the sentence that comes out of your mouth.

“Hey! We’re matching, kinda,” you note, pointing towards his outfit.

And you’re right– Eric didn’t even notice at first, too enchanted with your sheer existence– but you two were indeed wearing the same thing. Jean shorts, and a white button-up– in your case, thrown over a white tank top, in Eric’s, closed (although he did leave it a bit open at the top, revealing his tanned skin). Suddenly, the boy is glad he’s wearing a red cap to cover up his hair, since he foolishly thinks the hat provides him enough shade in the face to not reveal his burning cheeks as he utters out a weak response.

“It looks so much better on you, though.”

With that, he walks into the cabin– escaping the situation, not really paying a single thought to chivalry and letting you go through the door first– and as he reaches the crowd of people in the kitchen, he prays for all high sources to find him, get to him and wipe his brain clean of all thoughts, because

even though you are basically matching (and he does think you look so much better in the outfit than he does), all he can think about is just how much more he’d like your outfit if the white button-up enveloping your body was the one he’s wearing right now instead.

The next time Eric finds courage to talk to you is when it seems like you’re not finding it to talk to anyone else yourself– the big group is currently sitting around a fire, marshmallows and sausages slowly burning in the blazing flames– and while everyone around was either talking to each other or singing along to the songs Jacob was playing on the guitar, you were sitting alone in the middle of two commotions: Chanhee and Changmin arguing about something seemingly important, and Yeri and Juyeon making out right in front of everyone’s eyes.

And Eric was supposed to listen to Sunwoo talk about his latest heartbreak– how the man still gets no girls despite having such an objectively handsome face, Eric truly doesn’t know– but the topic of the conversation was too boring for him to engage with it. That, and he was also painfully aware of your every move– you didn’t even move much– and word– you weren’t talking to anybody– and that was slowly driving him insane.

You looked a little out of place. Eric supposes it was because you didn’t really know anyone here– except from your best friend and her awfully sappy boyfriend– but even though it was logical and a little expected for you to be a bit excluded in such a foreign circle, the man took it as his mission to make you feel as welcome and as included as he physically could.

Completely ignoring Sunwoo’s blabbering (like he was doing for the last few minutes anyway), Eric confidently (and a bit shakily– hands sweating and breath hitching in his throat) walks to the other side of the bonfire, from where he’s been watching your stone expression through the flames, and sits down in the small place between you and Changmin. Changmin wasn’t even facing you, too engrossed in the debate he was having with Chanhee, and so it was Eric’s job to wobble his bottom into the place, efficiently making the older boy move away with a light elbow jab sent into his lower back.

“Hi,” he clears his throat, “are you having fun?” he asks, but mentally curses at himself right as the question escapes his mouth– does she look like she's having fun? Of course she doesn't, you stupid idiot.

You smile at the question, though, nodding. “Yeah,” you hum, “having lots of fun listening to your friends argue and my friends making out next to my ear.”

“You seemed like it too, y’know,” Eric laughs, “they’re always like this, by the way. They’ll forget about the fight in the morning.”

“Oh, that could never be me,” you sigh, shaking your head at the sentiment.

“No?”

“No,” you shrug, “I get too petty. If we have a fight, I’m not speaking to you for at least two weeks.”

Eric finds himself laughing at your comment. “I’ll remember that for future reference.”

Straightening your back and looking at your companion– as if you were going to call him out on his subtle hint of there being any future meeting between the two of you– you suddenly gasp and swiftly turn towards the bonfire, an honest mourn escaping your lips.

“Oh fuck!” you curse under your breath as your hand reaches towards a stick that’s had its end in the flame, the device efficiently resting against a rock in a position where you didn’t have to pay any attention to the snack you were cooking– more like burning– for yourself. With a quick move for the stick, you pull the tip of it out of the scorching red of the bonfire and look at it in an examining way, as if the result would be different and the marshmallow would unburn itself if you stared at it long enough. “I completely forgot about this!”

Eric takes a glance at the burnt piece of fluff, letting out a laugh at the black marshmallow in front of your face. “That’s not how you make a good s’more,” he notes, poking fun at your annoyed face.

“Oh, no shit, Sherlock…” you mutter under your breath, but your face looks a bit sad to see the piece go to waste. “I don’t know why I even tried, I’m bad at this stuff.”

There comes his moment, Eric thinks. “Well, you’re lucky, ‘cause you just met an expert at making s’mores.”

“Does a thing like that even exist?” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at the male in disbelief.

“Of course it does! You’re looking at one now,” he grins, leaning over you to take a brand new marshmallow out of the bag to your right– sandwiched between your thigh and the couple in love– before he reaches over to your hand and takes the roasting stick out of your hand, slides the white fluffy cloud through the sharp tip and hovers it above the flame.

“The key is to hold it above the flame, and not in the flame,” Eric chuckles as he looks at you from the corner of his eye, watching your expression change.

“Oh, but I thought the key is to burn the thing,” you ironically gasp, shaking your head at his teasing. “Where did you even learn all of this?”

“I grew up in the States,” Eric hums, “they would deport me if I didn’t know how to make s’mores.”

The comment gets a giggle out of you– a sound Eric almost folds at and falls into the open fire (thankfully, he held his composure– he doesn’t think 3rd degree burns would suit his look) – and it takes everything in him to not scream like a teenage girl at the thought of making you laugh. Yes, that’s how down bad you managed to get the male.

“Do you have a special recipe?”

“Just the basic one,” he shrugs, turning the skewer in his hand to make the marshmallow equally glazed on each side, “I will make it extra good for you, though.”

“I thought a master always does their best?” you tease, watching as the boy crumbles under your gaze.

“Not always. I don’t like to put effort into things that aren’t worth it,” Eric hums as he takes the marshmallow out of the burning fire, examining it, and after deeming it worthy, taking the skewer and holding it up in between his knees. The male takes a graham cracker and tears it in half, before adding chocolate to one of the sides. After he’s done, he carefully places the golden fluff ball onto the cracker and closes it, offering the sweet sandwich to you with a subtle smile.

“For you,” he winks as he turns back towards the fire, putting another marshmallow onto the stick to make himself a s’more as well (and also mentally kicking himself at the sudden burst of courage). He hears you take a bite out of the snack, his knee bouncing up and down nervously as he awaits the verdict.

“Man,” you hum, “this is so good.”

“Told you,” he says, “if there’s something I’m confident in, it’s making s’mores.”

“That’s a very unuseful skill to have,” you note, but continue to eat. The comment has him chuckle and shrug.

“Well, I used it now, so I’d argue it’s actually very useful.”

A hum cuts out of your throat at this, finishing the s’more he made for you with a satisfied sigh. “Is this how you got girls back in the States?” you ask, making the male choke on his spit.

Eric was too young to get girls when he learned how to make the greatest s’mores. He went camping with his dad and his older sister and he burned a couple before he got it right. He was in middle school and before what the kids call a glow-up these days (back in the days, you just called it overcoming puberty), but still– he decides to test the waters with another lazy, half-assed flirty comment. “Only the pretty ones.”

He hears a chuckle out of you– a reaction he decides to not pay much attention to or overthink, for he doesn’t really remember what a good reaction to flirting is anymore– but then, you sigh and nod. “Well, I give your s’more a 5 star review, so I’d find that believable.”

The comment has Eric press his tongue into the inside of his cheek, battling a victorious smile that wants to oh so desperately appear on his lips. Turning his attention fully to you, he looks at you with confidence coating his insides– it only grows when he notices you staring at the side of his face, the flame of the fire twinkling in your eye and making your features sharper and twice as attractive to the poor boy.

His eyes scan you over for a few seconds before he notices a glimmer of something on the side of your lip– a chocolate stain that has him cautiously lean in and swipe a thumb over the sweetness, not even thinking twice before smoothing his finger over your skin.

“You had a little… something there,” he hums as he licks the chocolate off his thumb. Your eyes still trained on him force him to avert his gaze back to the fire– for it was unbearable, as if sparks were flying and burning his skin, everything about the interaction making goosebumps appear over his body; even though he felt hot in his cheeks and not at all cold– when the sight of his marshmallow in flames suddenly comes to him, startling him awake.

Hurriedly dragging out the burnt snack out of the fire, he hears you chuckle at him from the side– so much for not ruining the moment. (It’s okay, though. As long as you’re entertained.)

“I thought you were a master at s’mores,” you poke fun at him, “got distracted?”

Meeting eyes with you, Eric shrugs, a lazy grin settling to his lips. “I guess you could say that.”

The night progresses quickly– with Sunwoo getting so drunk he borrows Jacob’s guitar and clumsily strums the strings, freestyle rapping about the most random topics with flushed cheeks and eyes dramatically glued to the fire; Hyunjae wanting to have a competition of who can jump over the flames and Sangyeon having to stop his drunk friend with the force of his own body– and Eric finds his eyes lacking the candy he’s been occupying himself with the whole evening. You disappeared somewhere into the house a few minutes ago, and although he didn’t want to be clingy, he walked up to the cabin with a nervous pep in his step– that’s it, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

Eric walks through the doorway, having his body immediately be met with the joined common room slash kitchen area. The cabin is kind of small (too small for the amount of people currently occupying it) and kind of old, but it’s a tradition to rent it every year during the summer, so no one ever questioned the decision or made the move to rent out a bigger one, no matter the growing friend group.

Your figure finally appears in the dimly lit kitchen area, your back turned to the doorway. Standing at the kitchen sink, it seems like you were doing the dishes– tons of plates used to carry grilled meat and sausages dumped carelessly into the sink, forgotten in a minute and leaving the last remains of food dry up on them and get hard to scrape off, a couple of glasses and mugs with their ears broken off from their age waiting with coffee stains at the bottom– and Eric immediately feels his heart fall down to his stomach, because why would one do the dishes in the middle of the night? Those usually get left there until the morning, when the least hungover person will take mercy on the rest and take care of them. Were you feeling excluded from the conversation? Did you feel bored?

“What are you doing here so alone?” he asks, making you turn your head over your shoulder and smile at him– a stone falling off his heart at the action– before you shrug at him.

“Washing the dishes,” you say, as if it wasn’t clear already.

“I see that,” Eric chuckles, “what I meant to say was, why are you washing the dishes in the first place?”

“Well, somebody’s gotta do it.”

Eric huffs– and he doesn’t even know why he’s so defensive about it. “That someone didn’t have to be you, y’know.”

He’s standing next to you now– your eyes meeting as you stare at the boy for a heartbeat– a smile spreading on your face at his furrowed brows. The action has him visibly relax, watching as you shrug and get back to the dish washing. “I just wanted some alone time for a bit,” you muse, “outside was getting too loud for a second, I’m not used to crowds.”

“Ah… once Sunwoo drinks, he can’t shut up, so I kinda get that it was starting to feel insufferable,” Eric notes, nodding at you in acknowledgement before the realization hits him. “Wait– you said you wanted to be alone, so I should probably-”

You halt him with a soft laugh– the one Eric finds his heart liking a little too much, with how it jumps up and down and makes all of him feel warm inside– a soapy hand reaching out in his direction. “It’s okay, you can stay,” you muse, “I enjoy your company.”

“O-okay,” Eric stutters– so much for the smooth lines he had prepared in his head before coming in here, all of them flying out of his head straight out of the window– and to not seem so silly, he gets his hands occupied and reaches for the clean dishes you started stacking on the counter next to the sink, deciding to dry them and put them away. The kitchen falls into a comfortable silence that only gets broken by an occasional scream landing through the walls from outside, and Eric can’t help but indulge himself in the domesticity of the act.

He can almost imagine you two washing the dishes like this in your shared apartment after you two cook dinner together and eat it in your cozy living room. That scenario sounds almost too good for the boy, having warmth slowly ooze into his cheeks, and that, he finds to be the hint that he should probably stop thinking about you in that way now or else he’ll get too distracted and break the glasses he is currently putting away. (God forbid– there were not enough of them for the entire friend group in the first place.)

“Are you having a good time, though?” Eric finds himself asking through his weird delirium.

You smile– oh god you smile, you should stop doing that if you want him to survive the night– and nod at the boy, calmness overtaking your aura and slipping into his cracks as well. “I am. It’s nice meeting new people and everyone’s very nice,” you say.

“That’s good to hear. How long have you and Yeri been friends?”

“A couple of years,” you note, “we met during high school. We always dreamt of moving away to college and living together at dorms or something, so it’s… it’s nice that it worked out for us,” you say, having Eric nod at your words with a sweet smile.

“That’s great to hear,” he muses, “I met Juyeon and Sunwoo in my freshman year of college, and the rest just… came along after a while.”

“Your friend group is pretty big,” you point out, having the boy shrug.

“I guess so,” Eric mumbles, never really thinking of it this way– in his eyes, this was normal. This was how he operated, how he lived. A lot of people around him, always close– one would think such a large friend group wouldn’t be as close with each other, but it’s quite the opposite in his case, he thinks. Maybe he was just blessed.

“How do you do that?” you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I dunno,” he snickers, “guess you could say I’m quite the social butterfly.”

“I can see that,” you laugh. Eric watches you, his hands now empty of any dish– he’s been drying them quicker than you manage to clean (and rightfully so, the food is stuck on there) – he starts noticing the details of your sheer presence. How you have a slight smile playing with your lips even when your eyes are glued to the sink, how your hair slightly slips out of the claw clip and frames your face, how close you’re standing– his eyes slip towards your hands, noticing the water running down your forearms and dangerously close to the sleeves of your shirt.

Acting on reflex, mostly, the boy reaches towards your sleeves and gently tugs them up, the contact of your skin that he initiates and should realistically be prepared for making the tips of his fingers tingle, the action having you stop in your movements and glance up at him through your eyelashes– a sight he wishes he could engrave into the back of his eyelids so he could stare at it forever and always.

“Thank you,” you hum, voice barely louder than a whisper when he retracts away from you, taking his previous stance against the kitchen counter.

Eric hangs his head low for a second, clearing his throat to ease his own tension. Now is your turn to start up the conversation, a casual question falling off your lips as you get back to washing the last remains of dishes. “Yeri said you come here often?”

The boy nods enthusiastically to your sentence. “We do. We started in freshman year, because Juyeon was going to this exchange program to Paris for a couple of months, so we threw him a goodbye party. Then he came back, so we threw a welcome back party here. And then we celebrated Younghoon hyung’s birthday here, and it kind of stuck, I guess? We go here at least once a year during summer.”

“That’s a nice tradition to have,” you sigh, turning the faucet off as you finish rinsing off the last dish– a big bowl that Sangyeon used to marinate the meat a few hours ago.

“It is,” Eric nods, smiling fondly at the sentiment. He reaches for the bowl and dries it with the now damp rag (there were a lot of dishes to dry, after all), and moves to put it back to its place under the sink. With your figure still in its previous spot, the boy puts away the towel onto the kitchen counter and gently grabs your waist with his free hand, moving you away a few inches to the left. He crouches and opens the cabinet under the sink and puts the bowl into the pyramid of other ones, straightening his back when he goes back into a standing position, catching you staring at him from above, watching his every move. Your body is leaning against the counter, having Eric mirror your stance only a few inches away from you before speaking up again.

“You’re welcome to join us when we come back next time.”

The time reads 3AM– or at least that’s what his circadian rhythm tells him, because he doesn't bother to check as he twists and turns in the bed, too hot and too alert to fall asleep– when Eric decides to walk down the steep stairs and try to get some fresh air. The cabin is hot inside, but he still takes his lost button-up that he had thrown over one of the kitchen chairs and puts it on before he makes his way outside, knowing that the forest will make his bones get cold with the crisp breeze.

He opens the door and moves to sit on the little patio– the silence of outside is overwhelming even after the cabin has quieted down and everyone has gone to sleep (each one on a different level of tipsy ranging from completely chill Sangyeon to doesn’t know where he is Sunwoo– with Eric somewhere in the middle of the spectrum). His legs drag a little tiredly as he scans his surroundings– god forbid there’s a bear out waiting for him– when the sight of a figure sitting on the floor takes him by surprise, their head already turned to him after hearing the sound of the door opening.

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he walks over to you, noticing your frame dressed in a tank top and sweatpants, hinting that you at least tried to get some sleep before coming out here, just like he has.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug, confirming his suspicions.

“Same here,” the man sighs, “mind if I sit with you?”

“You’re welcome to join me,” you smile at him, patting the floor next to you and watching as Eric crouches down before taking a seat on the wood, ignoring the sunbeds and old rattan chairs situated all over the patio. (If you’re on the floor, he’s on the floor– it’s as simple as that.)

You’re holding a lollipop in between your fingers, your other hand occupied with a half-empty bottle of tequila that was previously passed around the circle at the bonfire. Eric raises his brows at the sight, having you shamefully avert your gaze from him.

“I thought it would be a waste to not finish this,” you say, snickering, “and I also… kind of hoped that it would put me to sleep…”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures?”

“I guess you could say that,” you laugh. Taking a sip from the bottle, you gulp the alcohol down before putting the lollipop inside of your mouth, sucking on it and licking your lips after. This is not the way you’re supposed to drink tequila, but Eric figures that gathering salt and a lime would be too much work anyways.

“Are you really using that lollipop as a chaser?” he giggles, making you hum.

“Yeah,” you stare at him, a grin overtaking your features, “this girl taught me to do that at a party last year. It’s not as good as literally anything else, but it gets the job done. Wanna try?” you ask, offering him the sweetness on the stick and the bottle.

The truth is, you were only a bit tipsy when the group slowly started to scatter into their beds. Eric didn’t drink as much either– only enough to make him laugh at everything that was said and make his staring at you twice as obvious as it was before– so he thinks he can take some more. As you said, it would be a shame if the bottle went to waste– and also, something about the idea of drinking with you alone on the patio was making his hopeless heart hammer against his chest in dangerous measures.

“Sure,” he agrees, taking the bottle first. The boy takes a sip, feeling the alcohol burn down his throat, and when he moves the dark brown glass away from his lips, he is met with the image of you leaning closer to him, offering him the lollipop. His hand instinctively grabs the plastic stick, thinking you’re letting go of it, when he’s met with the feeling of your flesh under his fingertips. You put the lollipop against his lips, making him open up on instinct and suck on the strawberry flavored candy, a million different sensations (all unrelated to the alcohol) swimming through his brain– you’re so close, you smell so good, he’s holding your hand, he’s sucking on the lollipop you previously had in between your lips and it’s driving him crazy– before you take the candy out from between his lips and put it back into your mouth, tongue swirling around the sweet ball.

The lollipop had an aftertaste of tequila on it, but it was enough to chase down the faint bitterness– Eric finds himself wanting to taste more of the sweet strawberry, but foolishly desiring to get the sensation off your lips instead. His eyes stay locked with yours throughout the whole exchange, sparks flying in between the two of you even though the bonfire has long gone out, his fingers lazily dropping from the candy.

“How was it?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper– goosebumps appearing all over Eric’s skin when he swears your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second.

“Good,” he admits. It’s silly how he feels so breathless at the action.

The sound of the wind playing with the leaves of the forest is the only thing accompanying you two. It’s as if you two were thinking of the same thing when you pull out the lollipop out of your mouth and offer it back to Eric, watching with utmost interest as the boy leans closer to capture it in between his lips, never breaking eye contact. The action feels a little too electrifying to him, a little too intimate, but he can't stop– can't even imagine wanting to.

Taking a sip of the tequila, but not chasing it down with the candy, you speak up again, lazy eyes practically glued to him. “This would be a perfect moment for a kiss…” you mumble, licking your bottom lip for a split second before biting down on it.

“Are you flirting with me?” Eric foolishly asks, tone of voice a bit weak, a little unsure, the candy still in his mouth, making his words come out a little jambled.

“Mhm,” you nod, grinning to yourself– Eric wonders how much of your behavior and how much of his raging heartbeat is due to the effect of alcohol in both of your veins.

His fingers pull at yours as he takes the candy out of his mouth, voice dropping as he answers you. “Then we probably shouldn’t waste the moment.”

Even though the intentions are clear, the boy can’t bring himself to make the first move– he’s completely enchanted with your presence, staring at you with tension in his shoulders and eyes trained onto your face, watching and examining it for any shift or change. Focused on the way you move, he thinks you must have realized you were going to have to be the one to take the first step– your lazily smile before you lean closer, impossibly close– making Eric’s eyes flutter shut with anticipation, your breath fanning his face making goosebumps appear all over his body.

When your lips finally touch his, he feels like he’s being kissed for the first time again, with the amount of fuzziness in his stomach and buzzing in his ears. He regains his composure quite quickly, though, as he positions his head in a way that makes you two even closer to each other, lips pressing firmer against yours now. His hand instinctively reaches out to hold your jaw, fingertips glazing the soft skin under them, your lips retracting only to go in for more.

Blindly placing the bottle onto the floor next to your bodies, you peck his lips and sigh into the kiss. “Damn, you’re good at this…”

“We’re only getting started,” he muses, making you chuckle.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he nods, watching as you once again lean in and suck on his upper lip, making his eyes flutter close again. A weight appears over him as you shift in your place and move to straddle his lap, your hand moving to cup his cheek and tilt him upwards, everything about the kisses getting more hurried– less gentle, less hesitant– when you tug on his bottom lip with your teeth and grant your tongue entry into his mouth.

Sweetness mixes in between you, your hands moving around his neck, heavy breaths shared across the patio. Eric feels like he’s levitating, his body having an out of body experience, yet being awfully present– every little shift pushing him to overdrive, the slightest touch making his skin burn and heart drum against his ribcage.

You shift in his lap, making him huff under the pressure, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck. Teeth glazing the jointure of your shoulder, kitten licking the place and sucking in a bruise that will eventually be visible to everyone when you two wake up in the morning, Eric feels your hands tugging down the sleeves of his shirt, fingers feeling up his biceps. The action makes him chuckle into your neck, but the smile fades quickly as he feels your nails scratching gently at his flaming skin.

“Take this off,” you mutter, and Eric finds it endearing– helping you take him out of the button-up, sitting under you in just a white tank top and black basketball shorts.

“Why?”

“Your arms looked good in this,” you hiss before you hide your face into his neck, leaning down to give him your fair share of kisses and love bites, having the male teasingly joke as his hands run up under your tank top, painfully aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra anymore.

He moves his head to the side to give you more access before speaking out, tone of voice husky and coated in lust. “What if I get cold now?”

“Then I’m more than happy to move this to your room,” you purr into his ear.

Eric sighs, fingers playing with the hem of your top before he lets his palms drift towards your exposed stomach, roaming across naked skin. Goosebumps appear all over your body at the action, making the boy victoriously grin. “It looks like you’re the one that's cold, though, babydoll.”

Rolling your eyes at the male, you shut him up by latching yourself onto his lips before you speak against his mouth. “I’ll take that as an invitation, then?”

“Wake up Eric! The girls are leaving, you should at least go say goodbye!” Sangyeon roars into the boy's room, making the male turn over in the bed and huff out in frustration. He drags his arm up to shield his eyes from the sunlight hitting his face, the intention of just rolling over and sleeping more written very clearly in his face.

“Come on man, we’re leaving in an hour too, so you should go send them off and then pack your shit so we can load the cars,” Sangyeon says when he gets no reaction from the youngest. It’s to no use, apparently, and so as the oldest and most observant out of the group, Sangyeon decides to use physical force– he knows Eric would hate to have you go without saying goodbye. He’s not stupid. Or blind.

A strong hold on his calves drags Eric out of the bed and makes his half-naked body fall to the floor, a yelp coming out of his throat finally making Eric’s body fully alert and awake.

“Yo! What the fuck–”

“Put a shirt on and go say goodbye to Y/N before she goes, would you, sleeping beauty?” Sangyeon huffs before rolling his eyes at his younger friend, escaping the room and shutting the door close after himself with a loud thud (to add more effect to the scolding, Eric thinks).

The mention of your name has Eric quickly scrambling out of the bed. His heart hammers at the adrenaline rush, pulling a clean shirt out of his bag and dragging it over his head, the basketball shorts from yesterday’s night found on the floor being pulled over his lower frame in approximately 0.5 seconds. Eric takes the stairs 3 at a time– with how steep they are, he questions how exactly does he not trip and break his spine on his way down– and puts on a pair of slippers he finds at the door (that are not his, or his size, for the matter, making his heels comically stick out from the back).

Without checking his appearance in the mirror anywhere, he swings the door open and walks out of the cabin, watching as the group settles in a half-circle around your car, Yeri loading the trunk with her duffle bag before she closes it shut and smiles at her boyfriend Juyeon on the side. Eric joins the crowd, clearing his throat when his eyes fall onto your figure, the sight in front of him freezing him in his spot.

You’re standing there, in your jean shorts from the day before, an oversized white button-up enveloping your frame. A clueless stranger might not tell the difference, but he does– you put the shirt onto your bare skin and buttoned it just enough to reveal a bit of your cleavage– and it’s so similar to the outfit you had on yesterday, just with one difference.

You’re wearing Eric’s shirt. You’re wearing his shirt and your neck is scattered with red and purple-ish bruises, and no, Eric wasn’t that drunk and he remembers everything, but the events of last night suddenly play out right in front of his eyes like a movie, still nailing him to his spot and wiping out all of his vocabulary.

The boy feels hot in his cheeks as he watches you and your best friend pay your goodbyes to the rest of the boys, the men pulling you into side-hugs and fist bumps, shared ‘It was nice meeting you’s and ‘You should come by next time too’s resonating through the place. Soon enough, you reach the end of the make-shift half circle and lock your eyes with Eric, a playful smile softly appearing on your face.

“It was nice meeting you, Eric,” you hum, “I had fun,” you note, shooting him a knowing look.

“Me too,” he nods, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. He doesn’t know where the confidence of last night went, but he suddenly feels unarmed and lost. What does one do now?

The sight of you in his shirt makes him feel like his biggest (wet) dream has come true– call him cheesy, but it also wakes up a sense of déja vu in him from the day before– you with sunlight in your eyes, hair messed up in a claw clip. He feels like he just fell in love at first sight again. Is that even possible?

It’s good you have a sense in you that makes you take the initiative and be in charge when you see him faltering. A giggle cuts out of your throat as you lean in and hug the boy around his neck, your lips dangerously close to his ear as you speak in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be heard by the men around you.

“I stole your shirt from you, by the way. You should text me if you want it back, so we can meet up, or something,” you mouth, lips gently glazing the sensitive skin of Eric’s ear, and god does he feel like he's going to suffocate from the lack of oxygen this causes in his lungs.

“You look amazing in my clothes, so I won’t ask for it back,” Eric hums, “but I’ll text you just in case you ever wanna bless my eyes with the sight again.”

“Deal. I’ll make Juyeon text me your number,” you say before you pull away from him, shooting him a wink that almost has his knees buckling like a school boy in love for the first time.

You walk backwards and wave at the group, sending Eric one last look before you join the passenger’s side and close the car door behind you, the sound of Yeri starting the engine resonating through the quiet forest. The men wave at you until the Toyota disappears out of sight, only scattering inside when it does to gather their things and load up their cars as well.

Eric is woken up from his trance by a teasing whistle coming out of Sunwoo’s mouth and a father-like slap to his back from Sangyeon.

He wonders if he’s truly being so obvious. (He's unaware of the fact that you two had very visible matching love bites on your necks. It doesn’t take much effort to put two and two together– don't tell him that, though.)

Still, Eric shrugs and goes inside with a different kind of pep to his step.

When he licks his lips, he swears he can still taste the strawberries.

#dbn: summer on you #deoboyznet #the boyz #eric sohn #tbz #eric sohn x reader #eric sohn fluff #eric sohn angst #eric sohn scenario #eric fluff #eric angst #sohn youngjae #tbz fic #tbz x reader #tbz fluff #the boyz x reader #the boyz fluff

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waterfall-ambience · 2 years ago

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look ok i cant admit this where a lot of people i know irl can see but ive noticed that sometimes when i brainrot a little too hard, i start behaving a little more like my blorbos and taking on some of their personality traits.

i dont know if this is kinning or what have you because a lot of the time i just like them or think they're funny, usually both. and i dont think its a deliberate, conscious decision either because otherwise i would not be worried about my family thinking that my personality has changed in the weeks that ive started obsessing over a new thing.

#auri rambles #is it subconscious mimicry? is it just another silly little side effect of the blorbo brainrot??#this is just a thing that happens and ohhhhh my god i need to keep the rise of the tmnt obsession on the down low in front of my family #THEYRE GONNA FIND OUT. THEY'RE GONNA #if i decided i was going to be like this i would've stopped by now because the potential embarassment isnt worth it!!! its really not!!!!#'hey your responses to questions are kind of sophisticated and almost bordering on smart-alecky lmao'#IM SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO COME OFF THAT WAY!!! i think its just that some aspects of my normal personality come out more #when enabled by blorbo brainrot. or something. fuck my gay life.

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thesparklingwriter · 11 months ago

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a world of our own

“At least allow me to wake up properly first.”

tags: established relationship, fem!reader, fluff, reincarnation, zhongli is napping!!!!! how strange!!!!!

masterlist | ao3 link | taglist | next

The god of contracts is a man of routine. There is a correct time for him to eat, a correct time for him to sleep, and it has been this way for years. For centuries at a time, he indulges himself in the comfort of consistency and routine. If you asked him about it, he would tell you that there’s a lot to be said for discipline, especially when its self imposed. But the truth of it is entirely different.

The routine distracts him from the fact that you are not around and he relishes in the comfort that comes from it. He can reminisce about you and the time you had together, while he goes about his day, without getting paralysed by the thoughts.

When you come back to him, however, after years of him waiting for you to be reincarnated, the routine seems to change. Instead of him heading to bed immediately as the clock strikes ten, you might find him waiting a little longer so that he can to drag you to bed. And even if, by a stroke of luck, you both manage to be in bed by ten, he can never resist asking you about your day and listening to you recount it in detail. Sure, he might wake up at seven in the morning every day without fail, but he often finds himself smiling at you as you sleep, and before he knows it, time has run away from him, and you’re waking up and bringing him along with your morning routine.

You would never truly know the extent of the routines Zhongli has stored in his head, and he makes sure of that, because he would never want you to change the way you live to humour him. Maybe he finds eating dinner at nine pm strange, but he’ll ignore it for you.

But when you’re out running errands on a weekend and Zhongli finds himself in a empty house, he might find himself instinctively heading to kitchen for his four o clock tea, or tempted to pick up a book as six pm draws near.

“Zhongli?” You call out, pulling the door shut with your foot. “I got the lea leaves you said we were out of,” when you don’t hear a response, you assume he’s in his study, or perhaps in the garden, so you set to putting your purchases away. But it’s strange—Zhongli always notices when you return home. He almost always comes to find you immediately. So the silence is strange. You go into your room to change, and then pass by the living room on your way to his study, and find him sat on his armchair with a book on his lap.

“There you are,” You smile, leaning over the back of the chair and kissing the top of his head softly. It takes you a second to realise that he’s not ignoring you because he’s reading.

He’s napping.

The thought makes you laugh. Never in the years you’ve been married to him have you ever caught your husband mid nap, and even though the sight is strange, it also makes sense. His posture remains as perfect as it when he’s awake, and his head doesn't even droop slightly as he breathes in and out slowly.

You pause. What do you do in this situation? You circle around the chair to face him, laughing quietly at the somewhat stern expression that graces his sleeping face.

“Deus Auri,” you say quietly in a teasing voice. “What would the people of Liyue think if they saw you now, hmm?”

You gently cradle his face in your hand and decide that if you don’t convince him to lie down, he’ll wake up in pain somewhere.

“Come on, up you get,” you say softly, gently tugging at his hands. He opens his eyes ever so slightly, smiling when he gets a glimpse of you.

“You’ve returned,” he says.

“I have.” you reply, and he smiles a little more. “Come.”

Zhongli clears his throat as you take his book off his lap and rises to his feet. Of course, you would never truly receive the pleasure of having him lean on you even slightly, for despite his sleepy disposition, he thinks it would be rude of him to expect that of you.

“Where are we going, beloved?” He asks. His voice betrays him, the slightest edge of sleepiness audible in the way he ever so slightly slurs the end of his words.

“I’m taking you to bed.” You say simply.

“At least allow me to wake up properly first.”

You stare slack jawed at Zhongli, surprised that even in his half asleep state he can find the energy to make such jokes. He stares back at you, a devious glint in his eyes.

“That’s not necessary.” You laugh, opening the door to your shared room and ushering him in. “If you’re going to sleep, for the sake of your neck, please lie down first.”

“I had no intentions of sleeping originally,” Zhongli replies, humouring the way you fuss and fret over him and tuck him into bed, muttering questions about how an archon, someone who was entrusted to take care of a whole nation, could not take care of himself. For a brief second he thinks this is hyperbole on your part, but says nothing.

“Whether you had intentions of sleeping or not, my point still stands.” You kiss his forehead softly, and he uses the action to take your hand.

“You’re not staying.”

“I’m not. I—”

“Stay.” And maybe if your husband didn’t have such a hold on you, you might have told him that you had plans for the rest of your evening, or that you wanted to shower. You might have declined and told him to get the rest he clearly needed. But when he looks at you with those deep amber eyes, eyes you’ve stared into a thousand times yet could never get tired of, you cave.

“Ten minutes. And then I’m going back to the other things I need to do.” You reply, avoiding his gaze.

“Ten minutes,” Zhongli concedes, pulling back the covers and allowing you to pull him into your arms. His daily routine has already been thrown off for the day, so what’s ten more minutes when it’s with the person he loves?

notes: hi drops this leaves again, i spent so long trying to think about how zhongli falls asleep and i've decided he doesn't drift off he just... BOOM falls asleep and he wakes up in the same way. i also dont think he'd be a napper but i think his body would get used to having a solid 8 hours of sleep so if that gets disrupted his body automatically try to get the time back somehow out of habit but basically this means no sleepy zhongli. maybe if he was ill. maybe if he was dying. maybe i will test my theory. how far would i go to test this theory? idk i feel like bringing chaos this year

taglist: @thelonelyarchon @aixaingela @medusuu

#swzhongliflufftober #zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli fluff #genshin fluff #zhongli x reader #fanfiction #zhongli fanfic #zhongli flufftober #flufftober #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact fan fiction #genshin fan fiction #genshin zhongli #zhongli genshin x reader #zhongli genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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materlux · 4 months ago

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The Priestess and The Swordsman - Chapter 1: A Xianzhou stowaway.

Eden: A planet mostly avoided by travellers, due to their obsession with their aeon and their tendency for human sacrifices. The planet is lush and the soil is fertile, they produce more food than they could ever eat, and it’s all thanks to their ‘benevolent’ god, Yaoshi, the Abundance.

The Garden of Auri: The garden was once well kept and beloved by the nearby residence, then like a sudden switch, the residence abandoned the garden. It has been left to its own devices since then, to this day no one knows what happened.

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

CW: Angst, break down, hurt/comfort, mentions of: Blood, death, Jing Yuan. 3.8k words

The Xianzhou Luofu, one of six Xianzhou Alliance ships owned by the Hexafleet, traverses the endless universe in search of Denizens of the Abundance. Dedicated to The Hunt, Lan, and shares THEIR hunt for the Abundance, Yaoshi.

The Luofu is led by the Six Charioteers of which only three members are known; Yukong, the Helm Master of the Sky-Faring commission, Fu Xuan, Master Diviner of the Divination commission, and Jing Yuan, General of the Cloud Knights.

Of these three people you don’t know who you’d rather have met first, or at all if you could choose. You’d been hiding out on the Luofu for less than a few days, but people had already taken notice of your strange behaviour, and so for the last couple days you felt like you were being watched. And you were, by the cloud knights, see some store owners must have thought your strange behaviour was a sign, a sign of theft or plans of theft.

Being watched by the cloud knights only made your behaviour worsen, how were you supposed to know that they thought you were just a kid up to trouble, and not that they had figured out that you were from Eden.

You’d been hiding out in an uninhabited house in the back of some garden that most people avoid, the garden in question you’d later learn was called Garden of Auri. It’s not necessarily overgrown, but some bushes could use a trim and some flowers were growing out of their beds. You didn’t mind, if anything the extra plants made for good cover, you felt safer among them, they also offer good test subjects.

Plants no longer grow inexplicably around you, flowers don’t bloom in places or at times in which they’d surely die, you were free. And yet this didn’t feel like the freedom Kaira and Lethe had shown you, or the freedom you had dreamed of and read about.

The mark on your arm, the one that was burned into your bones, has spread further. Long black tendrils like water running along your skin, reach from the palm of your hand, down the back of your forearm and onto the front. It doesn’t burn anymore, but your arm is getting weaker and sore, you still cover it the best you can.

The Alchemy commissions healers offer little help, in their defence it’s not easy helping a patient, who won’t tell or show you the problem. The best they could offer was a recommendation, a specific kind of herbal tea sold in Aurum Alley that is supposed to soothe soreness and help with sleep.

Aurum Alley, the street most tourists are drawn to, with its friendly atmosphere and many options in delicacies native to the Luofu. It’s here you buy most of your supplies, given its more laid back nature and the openness of the area, and of course the lack of on guard cloud knights.

By now you know these streets like the back of your hand, you use the small streets and back roads to stay out of sight. You buy your recommended tea from Du’s Teahouse, Boss Du has by now given up on convincing you to buy some of his other ‘teas’. Maybe your mistake is that you got too comfortable in these streets, that you don’t notice the people following you.

Running through the near empty alleys was not your plan, you had hoped to lie low for at least a couple more days, maybe even a few weeks more, before you became part of the normal society. You aren’t out of shape per se, but you’re very thankful for your knowledge of these streets and your agility.

The cloud knight following you doesn’t have trouble keeping up speed wise, but you keep turning down a new street that at this point they don’t know where in Aurum Alley they are. In the end you lose them in the winding near identical streets, and you make your escape out of Aurum Alley.

On your way to the garden you nearly collapse, it’s odd that’s never happened before. You sit on the ground against a wall in the shade, this road isn’t frequented so there aren’t many people around, you’re on your own.

Your breathing becomes laboured and shallow, your vision is blurring at the edges, and it’s suddenly far too hot despite the usual weather of the Luofu being a comfortable temperature. You close your eyes, but this only makes everything spin slowly, it makes your stomach churn. You hunch over your legs and hold them close as you breathe in deep.

The world around you gets tuned out, you don’t notice the sound of boots and clinking metal, it stopping abruptly then coming closer. You only notice this person when a warm hand is gently placed on your upper back. Your breathing stutters for a moment, you lift your head to look at the person, you squint but can’t make out any distinct features with your blurry vision.

It takes you a second to tune the world back in, so you can hear what they’re saying. “What?” You ask in a quiet voice, so quiet the word is nearly lost in the wind, but they hear you.

They adjust and repeat themself, “are you okay?” They ask, their voice like honey in your ears, it takes a moment before the words and their meaning register.

“Mhm,” you hum and nod once, the action makes your head throb with a dull pain. You breathe deep and carefully, your knees slide away from your body to make the action easier.

“Are you sure?” They ask, there’s concern in their voice, it makes you uneasy. “You’re shaking,” they add.

“I’m sure,” you breathe, but you are shaking, you notice, and you cradle your arm to yourself like it hurts. It does hurt, the feeling hits you like a ton of bricks, the pain spreads from your hand to your shoulder. The burning feeling is back in your bones, it almost makes it numb. You fight back tears, you don’t want to cry in front of this stranger, you can’t trust them yet, you can’t show them weakness that they can use against you.

The hand on your back moves soothingly along your shoulders, you try to focus on it. “Breathe,” they instruct you, their voice is soft. “Let me help you.”

“No, it’s fine.” You try to shake your head, but it hurts too much.

“It’s not fine, you need help.” Their right, you know their right, but you can’t trust them. “C’mon, let’s get you somewhere safer, somewhere you can get help,” they say, but you make no attempt to move. They stay by your side, waiting for something, for you to give in to their offer of help and you do.

“Fine,” you mutter, closing your eyes again to ignore the world spinning faster. They watch you for a while longer before they mutter a quiet apology, it barely registers in your mind before you’re pulled into warm arms. You don’t get to protest as they stand up with ease, and turn to make their way down the road.

Your mind becomes more muddled and you start dozing off, they speak a few more words, most don’t register in your swimming head. You think they introduced themself, something with a title.

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You wake up 3 hours later, in a clean bed, in a sterile room. This must be the Alchemy Commissions infirmary, despite having been here at least twice, you have never seen the inside of the building outside of the consultation rooms.

A woman, foxian, with dark hair and eyes checks on you when you wake. She sets a glass of water down on the small table beside your bed, and offers to fetch you some food, you’re about to decline when there’s a knock on the door.

The woman opens the door, a child walks in followed by an imposing man, he looks down at the child with an apologetic expression as she scolds him. The foxian woman leaves the room, the two new people continue their conversation, like you aren’t even there.

You reach out for the glass, your hand shakes weakly and you feel heavy. You can barely hold onto the glass, the shake in your hand gets worse with the weight. You end up attempting to place the glass back on the table, it almost doesn’t go wrong, almost. Your shaking ends up knocking the glass over, water spills over the table onto the floor, at least the glass didn’t break.

The room is quiet, you note, you look up and the two new people are looking at you. They both look sympathetic, you hate that look it reminds you of the priest, but there’s something more in the man’s eyes. It’s like he knows something about you, it makes you want to shrink in on yourself, and you do a little, sitting against the pillow behind you with your head hung.

The child sighs and walks over, she grabs the empty glass off the table, then excuses herself and leaves the room, presumably to get more water. The man observes you from afar, before moving closer. He stands at the foot of the bed with crossed arms, you study his attire but avoid his face.

“Priestess,” his voice is stern, but you recognize a softness in it, he’s the stranger. With one simple word you are reduced to a meek pile of anxiety, he knows, you repeat those two words to yourself over and over again. Someone from the Xianzhou Alliance, someone dedicated to The Hunt’s mission to kill the Abundance, someone knows who you are, where you’re from, what you did.

“Priestess,” he repeats, you shake your head, tears line your eyes. You shouldn’t have stayed on the Luofu for this long, you only wanted to lose the people hunting you before you moved on. “Priestess?” He sounds closer now, a warm hand grasps your shoulder, it makes you flinch.

“Sorry.” The word comes out in a muddled mix of coherent speech and a sob, tears stream down your face in warm lines.

“Hey, look at me.” His voice has softened and lost its stern edge, he hovers by your side. You shake your head and lean away.

The child comes back with the refilled glass of water, she places it on the small table and takes in the scene before her. Your distressed disposition meets her analysing gaze first, then the man by your side whose hand now hovers over your shoulder.

“General,” she starts in a stern tone. “I told you not to stress out my patient.” She puts her hands on her hips, like a mother scolding her son. The General looks guilty, “Lady Bailu,” he tries. She points to somewhere further in the room, and like a kicked puppy the General of the Luofu steps away from your side.

“Breathe child,” Lady Bailu tells you, she walks around the room and comes back with some tissue papers to dry your eyes. “Here, drink.” She pushes the glass closer to your bedside, you heed her command and pick the glass up gently, you have to focus hard not to spill it again.

Lady Bailu turns away from you and sends the General a glare, she ushers him to a corner of the room, the two engage in a discussion of sorts, Lady Bailu scolds him and he lets her.

You hold the glass in both hands, sipping at the cold water carefully. You sniffle and regain control of your breathing, the glass is cold in your hands and it grounds you. The room is quiet, save for the muttered discussion in the corner, they must be discussing what to do with you.

You feel heavy and weak, you were never this meek when you were a child, but you also weren’t a wanted criminal on a ship full of people dedicated to hunting your aeon. You suppose anyone would become meek in such a situation.

“Child?” Lady Bailu catches your attention, there’s something comical in this woman who looks younger than you calling you child, but based on the horns and tail she must be vidyadhara. You look at her, she stands by your side, the General keeps his distance.

“The General wants to talk to you,” Lady Bailu tells you in an even tone. “Do you want to talk to him? You don’t have to, not now.” She looks deep into your eyes, you mull over your options, is it really okay if you deny the General? You know you’ll have to talk to him eventually, now that you have been found out, it will be near impossible to get off the Luofu.

You decide to rip the bandaid off and get it over with, the General has to be a reasonable man, maybe if you explain everything to him, he will offer you some leniency. “It’s okay, I don’t mind,” you tell Lady Bailu, she nods and shoots the General one last warning glare before leaving the room.

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The chair is settled on the floor with a dull thud, the General takes his seat by your side, you don’t look at him. The room is quiet, the air is dense and you shift in your seat.

“Tell me,” he starts, “are you from Eden?” It’s a stupid question, he already knows the answer, he knows who you are, it’s meant as an ice-breaker.

“Yes.” You don’t offer much in your reply, it’s soft, barely piercing the air.

“Eden is a planet favoured by the Abundance, right?” The planet is untraversed, but not unknown. “It is.” You still won’t look at him.

“You are part of the cult of the Abundance-”, “were,” you correct without thinking, it dawns on you that you just cut off the General of the Luofu. You shrink a little. “You were part of the cult of the Abundance?” He wonders out loud. “Yes, I left.” You didn’t really leave, more so fled the place after your crime.

“Why’d you leave?” He asks, you don’t know what to say, you don’t know if you can tell him the truth about the cult. Not because he can’t know, but you don’t know if you can retell it, to relive it. Repressed memories float around the forefront of your mind, the blade you should have discarded long ago, the blood, the feeling, the pain, the scar aches.

“Why’d you leave?” He tries again, this time softer. He must sense your nerves, your tense shoulders and uneven breathing. “You don’t know?” You ask instead of answering.

“I believe I do, but I want to be certain.” He keeps an even tone, he wants to hear it from you, you know, but you can’t say it. “What do you believe?”

“You’re wanted by the High Council of Eden for the massacre of the cult of the Abundance, including a priest held in high regard.” That’s the story the Council is going with, it’s not wrong factually, but it lacks your motive. “That’s true.” You feel small next to him.

“Why did you do it?” He asks, how could you ever articulate what you saw that day, what words could ever do it justice. You can’t find any, but it seems your silence speaks more than you intended.

“They did something to you, didn’t they?” He asks tentatively, you just nod along, words elude you at this point.

“Did they hurt you?” His tone grows darker, but somehow you get the feeling it’s not because of you. You nod again, and the General takes a deep breath, he thinks over the information and which questions work best. He doesn’t want to stress you out again, but he has questions that need to be answered.

“Is that why you did it?” The it stays unspoken, but you know what he means. Was it revenge? Yes, was it revenge for what they did against you? “No.” Your short answer hangs in the air, the General’s brow furrows.

“Then why?” He asks, you think it over, how can you tell him everything in the simplest way. It has to be simple, because if you make it complicated you might not finish. “For them,” you answer, your voice rises slightly, like you're not just telling him but yourself as well.

“The two underage victims?” ‘Victims’, the word leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, if it wasn’t for you they wouldn’t be victims, if you could’ve just accepted your fate they’d still be alive. “It’s my fault.” It’s your fault, you used them for your own desire to be free. It’s your fault, they stayed longer than they should, you walked out too far. It’s your fault.

“But you didn’t kill them,” he states it like it matters, like that fact alone means you weren’t a part of the problem. “They were there because of me.”

“That doesn’t make it your fault,” he reasons. “But.” You want to argue, tears spring to your eyes, you can’t argue with him.

“It’s not your fault,” he reassures. “They chose to be there, they chose to be with you.” His hand hovers over your own, warmth radiates from his palm. “But.” The word comes out choked as tears begin to fall down your cheeks.

“It’s not your fault.” He holds your hand gently, the warmth and rough texture grounds you to the present. “You didn’t know what would happen, neither did they.” Your breathing stutters, the blanket in your lap soaks up your tears.

“It’s not your fault.” You can’t hold it in anymore, you didn’t intend to break down in front of the Luofu General, but sobs wrack your body. You cry freely, he holds your hand the whole time, his thumb begins to gently stroke over the unmarred skin on the back of your hand.

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After you’ve calmed down the General leaves your side and Lady Bailu comes back, she offers a soft pat on your hand. You feel icky, but a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Lady Bailu stands at your bedside opposite of where the General sat, she holds out her hand. “Let me see your arm,” she instructs, you hesitate, but let her inspect the black tendrils. They’ve grown in quantity since you last looked at them, their beginning to resemble a broken spider web.

She hums to herself, deep in thought. “Does it hurt?” She asks, you shake your head no. “Do you know how you got it?” She asks, you think back to the statue. “Yes, the statue in the church was crying. Drops of water from it landed in my palm, it burned.” She nods along as you explain, studying the marks more closely.

“A crying statue,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Did the statue represent a specific god?” She looks around the room, she spots whatever she is looking for on a nearby cabinet. “Yaoshi.” Lady Bailu returns with a wet cloth, she gently dabs it on the markings, you sigh in contentment, you hadn’t realised the marks were so warm. “The Abundance.” She nods to herself.

“Is it possible that the Abundance has cursed you through the statue’s tears?” It’s the best theory, it explains the odd marks and the strange reason for their occurrence. “Yeah, Yaoshi would do that as punishment for what I did.” It makes sense, you disrespect THEIR church during a ceremony, that would anger any god and cause retaliation.

“Then I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do then,” she says, she seems genuinely sorry. “That’s okay,” you assure her, she offers you a smile.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You think the question over, the incident that led to you being in the infirmary is the first of its kind. “Do you have anything for pain or soreness?” You ask instead, it was just a fluke you assure yourself, it won’t happen again. “Pain and soreness, yes I think I have something for that,” Lady Bailu says before she leaves the room.

Lady Bailu comes back with a small container, she opens it to show you the salve inside, she smears it over your arm and makes sure to cover the marks. She then finds some gauze and wraps it around your arm, she gives you the salve and a few rolls of gauze, along with instructions.

Leaving the infirmary you make your way through the Alchemy Commission’s streets, once you make it back to the road where you collapsed, you’re met with a familiar face. The General smiles at you, he seems much more relaxed now.

He walks along with you in silence for a while, he notes the small container and gauze in your hands. “Did you figure out what the marks are?” He’s making small talk, you look down at your bandaged arm and think back to Lady Bailu’s theory.

“The theory is that Yaoshi cursed me for my crime.” He nods along.

“I would advise that you don’t say THEIR name out loud,” he warns, you hadn’t realised you were doing that, it was like second nature for you to call them by name. But it makes sense that it would be taboo to do so on a Xianzhou Alliance vessel, you’ll have to keep that in mind for later travels.

By the stairs to the garden you turn and begin your ascension, the General looks on in confusion. “Priestess?” He calls after you, the title makes you freeze. “Please don’t call me that,” you ask, looking back at him.

“Then what should I call you?” It’s then that you realise that you never introduced yourself, you laugh to yourself and offer him your name. “Was there something you needed?” You ask him afterwards.

“Why are you going to the Garden of Auri?” He looks at you, seeming perplexed, you’d think the General of the Luofu would know every part of the ship, you muse to yourself. “I live there.”

He observes you for a moment, like he’s thinking what you said over. “General?” You ask with a raised brow. “Please, just call me Jing Yuan,” he replies, he shakes away his thoughts and bids you farewell, you watch him leave before continuing up the stairs.

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