#Melodious Sovereigns

[nyxi-pixie]

was listening to where our blue is once more and every time i hear it im thrust instantly back into stsg hell lawd i will never escape

[violet-eng]

Fem!reader married to a Neuvillette who loves not her but someone else | NSFW 🔞 + 😢

In this one I'm going out on a limb, because I presume without any argument other than my own intuition, that Neuvillette and Focalors had a platonic relationship with feelings never confessed out of fear or genuine ignorance of them (like Violet Evergarden, yes). But you are Neuvillette's wife and so you will fall victim to his coldness when Focalors dies.

Includes NSFW with the reader and angst. Never mistreatment because Neuvi is a gentleman. NOTHING BETWEEN FOCALORS/FURINA AND NEUVI NONONO

⚠️ Warnings: established relationship between Neuvillette and reader, implied cheating, unloving and unprotected sex, pregnancy, sex during pregnancy, mentions of masturbation. Mentions of death. More sex between spouses bc yes.

mndi, if you feel unconfortable reading this then don't. Your mental health is first.

6k words, not edited.

💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️💧💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️

You had seen him crestfallen the last few weeks, after the flood, self-conscious in his own thoughts, drowning in his remorse and cowardice.

Neuvillette does not understand human feelings, not at all, though love is supposed to be a passion that transcends the natural laws of evolution. Focalors had been his friend, his companion, in the bruised body of a puppet that felt so real that its strings seemed invisible.

There was no denying the deep affection that had grown between the two, Neuvillette and Focalors, two wandering souls, roaming the world with ancestral antiquity, companions destined to the sound of agony and separation, haunted by the solemn ignorance of innocent creatures.

Love… what was it but a word in a spoken contract.

Neuvillette had married you months ago, a happy and superficially authentic marriage. You had captured his attention, and his knowledge of humans, as the Great Chief Justice, could be satiated by knowing you, a faithful human companion, devoted wife, and sublime lover.

The bed was the only moment where you two connected, where, to the rhythm of the waves, Neuvillette penetrated his marital responsibility towards your depths, that which he considered appropriate towards his so-called wife, who, in a frenzy of pleasure, crushed his pale back with her nails, set to music by the melodious moans he tore from your sweaty breast… There was no connection beyond the sexual, for as a dragon, despite the years, it is very difficult for him to connect with humans.

Focalors was an oceanid, and he was a dragon sovereign. Both turned human. Nothing more to add, two rulers abandoned by the world they were supposed to protect, what would grow between them but pure trust and admiration that would obviously develop into love?

Neuvillette didn't understand. Not until that moment. He had been deaf to his innocent heart pounding anxiously every time Focalors entered his office in her unruly human form, rampant in color and expression. He had been unaware of the flame of satisfaction in his chest that burned hot when she spoke to him in the privacy of their conversations in the theater…he did not understand, not until he understood that he would eventually lose her.

He cried, for the first time he let someone see him cry in his human form. Focalor's words, so exquisite before him, ethereal in her ornate louvered dress, echoed in his head…and in his heart… ….

"Hydrodragon, Hydrodragon… don't cry," she whispered… and he, very reluctant to leave her, wished with all his might to leap upon her, wrap her in his arms and never let her go. He would flee with her on his lap, in his draconic form, leaving Fontaine and everyone else to their fate.

No… a Sovereign would not do that… he would not do that… for to abandon his oath would deserve the most dastardly punishment of all. And maybe, just for thinking that, he deserved what happened next.

"Farewell, Neuvillette," her words, pure in his human form. His companion, his friend, his mentor… his soul mate, tossed away like the foam on the shore of a beach.

Death was a human concept, without transcendence over evolution… love, however, was another story.

He came home like a soldier after the war, he came back without a part of himself… he came back to his boring life married to a woman he doesn't even love, at least not the way you really deserve him.

"Darling," you offer him a glass of fresh spring water from Quiaoying Village, because you know he doesn't like anything else, especially in dark times like these, a glass of the freshest, coldest water suits him wonderfully.

He drinks from the glass, almost as stoic as ever, though his face is stiffer than usual. Routine is becoming overwhelming for both of you, and Neuvillette is suspiciously distant from you, more so than usual. You stroke his cheek while he sleeps to help him fall asleep, you make him breakfast in the mornings and serve him dinner when he comes home, all without so much as a hello.

You suspect the worst, because your friends have planted the idea in your head that Neuvillette has a mistress, and not far from the truth, his heart belongs to another.

After the flood, many had left Fontaine, and perhaps your husband's mistress was among them, or so you thought. How painful it had been for you to see him break for another woman, to see him crack at his most human for a heart that was not yours.

Overwhelmed, you write him a letter with the idea of leaving him and traveling to Sumeru with one of your friends in search of a new life, but everything is cut short when your symptoms begin. Pregnancy was imminent, after all the nights the Iudex had taken you into your bed, it was to be expected.

You receive Neuvillette that night, frustrated by your own doubts, debating between informing him of your condition or simply fleeing to new horizons with your child. It is so difficult to decide when your husband is the Iudex of Fontaine… and when you care about his reputation because you love him sincerely.

There is no need to search for words when your husband is a dragon with keen senses, for as soon as he set foot in the house, he sensed the scent of his brood stirring within you. The Iudex's interest, however, lay in whether or not you would confess to him.

"A package arrived for you this afternoon," Neuvillette comments as he sips the tea you prepared for him, pointing to a bag on the front table.

"Ah, yes," you say half-heartedly, taking the bag in your hands, emotions spilling from your chest as you crumple the paper between your fingers.

You sigh deeply, thinking that maybe this gift is your way of saying goodbye to him, of silently making amends and apologizing for something that is absolutely not your fault other than falling in love with the wrong man.

You take out of the bag an encyclopedia, a thick book with thick paste and yellow pages, brought from Sumeru, recommended by the very scribe of the Academya, a book of human anthropology for your dear strange husband, who seems to have a real interest in human behavior. Neuvillette looks at it as if it were a revelation, as incredulous as he is moved, touched by your gift and your attention to his interests. You try to say something, to tell him that you are pregnant, but you stop when you hear him speak.

"I know you're expecting my child," Neuvillette says, without going into the details of how he found out, touching the rim of the teacup, a wedding gift. "Whatever you need, tell me, health, food, you know I will cover all expenses."

"I want to go to Sumeru," you confess in an almost whispered tone, your words seeming to be carried away by the wind rushing through the window.

"That wouldn't be good," for a Hydro Dragon hatchling, of course it wouldn't. "You're too young to venture into a new nation, especially one with new leaders like Sumeru, not to mention the dry climate."

You don't argue, knowing he's right, and decide to simply retreat to your room and wallow in your defeat.

Neuvillette, however, with what little empathy he has generated, caresses the book with his fingertips, gliding over the fine markings carved into the cover.

A gift, he had never given you a gift before, but you had given him a gift by taking the initiative.

The months passed quickly. The precariousness of your relationship, increasingly dry on your part, provokes something in Neuvillette.

He looks at you from his side of the bed, the way you sleep peacefully with a swollen belly, carrying his little dragon without knowing it, without trying to get rid of it, loving it from the first moment. Neuvillette has seen you singing lullabies to your child these past few months, reading him stories while caressing your belly, telling him how much you want him to be born strong and healthy.

He's grateful for the deep affection you have for your child, so much so that he has tried to show it. Maybe what he read in the book worked, or maybe it is just a product of his new feelings for his wife, who is about to become a mother. He would do anything for your son to be born healthy and with a healthy mother.

He buys you fritters on the way home, from the store he found out you like best, courtesy of some Melusine, and sits next to you at the dinner table, trying to take an interest in your day and tell you about his, always aiming for your peace, a healthy heart would bring a healthy child.

His devotion is to the birth of your child, because that's what he tells himself. It's not that he was interested in you, of course not… it's not like he was surprised when you told him your clothes were too tight and you hated your new body, not when he likes to see your new figure when you lie next to him at night, with enlarged breasts and a round belly. He bought you new clothes, yes, by the boatload, but because that's what any husband would do.

He only appreciates you for being the mother of his child, it's not like his heart fluttered when he saw you helping some melusines with their problems, or coddling some baby of your friends, thinking what a wonderful mother you will soon be. It's not like h chest filled with pride when he saw you in the stores looking for maternity books and baby clothes, worrying about the weather and your child's health.

And it's definitely not like he's masturbating in his office, remembering the image of you undressing that morning to get into the tub, cutting the skin of your arms and breasts, moaning at the contact of the warm water against your body, and letting out a sigh of deep satisfaction.

That night, he comes home with the usual everyday gift, this time a box of macaroons, because he noticed that you were looking at them in the display case with great eagerness during the afternoon. And he sits down at the table with you, pours you a cup of tea and starts the conversation, even though he notices that you are much more tired than usual.

He carries you into the bedroom and helps you into your nightgown, taking the opportunity to caress your waist and back as he helps the fabric slide over your curves. And then he strokes your head to help you fall asleep, and without realizing it, he smiles as he sees you fast asleep next to him.

The birth is approaching and the strong pains make you desperate, confined to your room and reluctant to go out even to sunbathe. It was the midwife who unscrupulously suggested to Neuvillette that a little sexual activity would help you get through the contractions. And he, as devoted to his wife's health as any good husband, agrees.

You feel Neuvillette's cock thrust deep into you, deep into your velvety walls, soft and slow, not unlike what you've felt before. His hands rest on the sides of your head, his gaze fixed on his cock disappearing inside you, while you curl your legs at the delicious sensation of his thick appendage inside your pussy. He moves cautiously, sharply, trying not to hurt you, and as he pumps inside you, his gaze is lost on your breasts, bouncing to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts.

"Perfect," he whispers through his teeth, because in his eyes you are the perfect reservoir for his brood, yes, just that… he insists that you are simply his good companion, and pretends that he hasn't wanted to have you like this for weeks, under him, a mess between moans pinned to him as you cling to his arms.

"Monsieur~" you whimper, bringing a hand to your face to cover your expression, though he takes your wrist and looks at your face as if you were a treasure just discovered by a hungry, ambitious man.

When you reach your orgasm, he kisses you, for the first time during sex, Neuvillette kisses you, and even he surprises himself with his own actions. He washes your body and dresses you before you rest, now much calmer than before, sinking into your husband's chest as you fall asleep, ignoring the feelings that surface between the two of you.

When the child is born, Neuvillette is surprised to continue his affection for you. He did not fall into the same materialism as before, because now he recognized in the shared work of the novices how difficult it was to take care of a baby. It is he who washes the child because, to your surprise, he knows the strange need for fresh water that your baby requires at least twice a day. Neuvillette enjoys the laughter that you get from your child, and the way that he lifts his arms so that you can hold him and show him how well you are feeding him, he looks strong and healthy.

One day, as he was leaving the Opera Epiclese, he was distracted by the statue of the Focalors, but his attention was immediately drawn to the babbling exclamations of his son, who was waving in your arms near the fountain. How gratifying is that moment when his heart leaps with joy as he sees you holding his child.

The days have been sunny in Fontaine since your son was born, and to Neuvillette's relief, the bitter memories of his separation from the Focalors are just that, memories… past images that he does not cherish, as he knows humans do, not now that his being is entirely devoted to his mate and his brood. What kind of elixir have you become for him, that he can forget all his sorrows and his past loves?

Neuvillette spends hours in his office poring over the pages of the book you gave him months ago, highlighting this thing called melancholy, the longing for past situations and desires, and feeling sorry for those who feel it, because if it were a disease, he would call himself cured of this melancholy.

He finds it curious how you managed to get rid of all the gloomy feelings that plagued him, and even wonders if you are not some kind of sorceress… No, not you, not when you so devotedly cleanse your child and offer him a carefully prepared dinner, and practically put your heart and soul into every act of domesticity.

Focalors… her name and image sail through the ancient memories of Neuvillette's tattered mind, the smile of a woman he loved, now replaced by that of the one who lies beside him, coddling a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked child. Funny how in such a short time he had acquired such human habits as feeling part of a family he hadn't even planned to have.

Your relationship with Neuvillette, full of respect and admiration, help and companionship, seems to evolve into something more. You become his confidant, his mentor when he has doubts about human children or about the customs between parents and children. Involuntarily, he comes to you when he has questions, not to a library, for despite your young mortal age, you know much more than books could ever give him.

You are patient with his ignorance and loving when he is wrong. Mutual and pure respect, absolute devotion and admiration. Neuvillette doesn't believe you are human, how can you be human with so many virtues… his curiosity grows and changes, so much so that he counts the hours in court to come home and chat with you while you nurse his child.

He returns home that night with new doubts, because he has seen strange devices for children without understanding their usefulness, called fun. Can they have fun by themselves? Aren't they too young for that?…oh, and he brings a storybook, because he understands that made-up stories are interesting for babies, even if they don't understand much of the language.

He goes to the baby's room with an enthusiasm he doesn't know he has, and stops at the door when he hears you soothing your baby's cry with sweet words.

"Hydro-Dragon, Hydro-Dragon, don't cry," you murmur as you caress your child's cheek and try to feed him.

Your child is frantically breastfeeding, his tears fading as he closes his bright purple eyes, his little hands clenched into fists and his nose twitching. Neuvillette watches the whole scene from the doorway, his heart in his throat and his feelings on his skin. Those words that broke his soul so long ago now seem to put the pieces of his shattered existence back together.

He smiles, a melancholy, self-satisfied smile. And he looks at you, he looks at you with devotion, because you have finally made him understand what he feels and has felt for so many months. His devoted wife, as patient as she is charming… seems wiser and more skillful than any scholar.

Leaving your child in its cradle, you straighten your neck and turn to Neuvillette, who has entered the room.

"What a beautiful book," you murmur, picking it up, "the baby will love it.

Neuvillette watches you with one hand on the crib that protects his baby, then watches his son sleep, wrinkling his nose the way you do when you sleep.

"You must be exhausted," he whispers, stroking your arm and leading you out of the baby's room.

"Not at all," you smile, "the child fills me with vitality."

"So… Hydro Dragon," Neuvillette recalls the words you said to his baby.

"I said it when I was a girl, like everyone else in Fontaine, it was an idea that came to me suddenly," you answer, and he smiles at your expression, thinking that maybe he heard you when you were a girl, maybe you were one of the many children who recited the same words when it rained in Fontaine.

"I have to tell you something," Neuvillette says, his voice lacking authority, more like a prayer. You watch him from the kitchen.

"'Tell me.

Focalors, Neuvillette, Furina, Fontaine's hydrodragon, the flood, his never-confessed love… he tells you everything because he understands that you deserve the truth, and that he doesn't deserve you because you're too understanding of his confession. It is as if this conversation has cleared up all your doubts, and you have finally seen the real Neuvillette, who fully trusts you to know what to do with this information.

Neuvillette believes that you will ask him for a divorce and leave him alone with his son, but he is surprised to find you preparing breakfast the next morning with your child tied to your leg while you both laugh.

He does not deserve you, definitely not, for he is perhaps the most despicable man in Fontaine and all of Teyvat. To think of another while he is married, to take his wife with him in a grief that is not hers, to bind her to him forever by impregnating her… how mean he must have been, and how understanding you become as his selfishness grows.

He hugs you from behind, buries his face in your neck, inhales your scent and clings to your waist. He begs for forgiveness countless times, and you feel that he may have already shed a few tears on your shoulder, because the sky suddenly begins to cloud over.

"There's nothing to forgive," you whisper, stroking his head, "we can't choose who we fall in love with."

He looks at you in disbelief, wondering in what book he would find such an accurate statement. You had fallen in love with him, and he finally understands, for you are both victims of the disorderly course of love, so messy in its actions, indifferent to those it hurts.

He thinks about your words as he sits in his office, as he looks at the framed photograph he has of you holding his son, and wonders when he fell into the trap of the reckless love that humans call it.

The name of the Focalors does not mean anything to him anymore, even less when he sees Lady Furina in boutiques or restaurants… surely a memory has finally become just that, a memory. His heart is now the prey of another person, his wife, the mother of his son.

Neuvillette understands that there is a difference between soul mates, first love, and true love. The connection with Focalors had been imminent years ago, as both were unaware of the actions of the society in which they had become intruders, but they were nothing more than that, accomplices in a game of masks and power, the first experience of mutual affection and trust. Focalors was his soulmate, yes, because she understood firsthand everything he experienced, but being a living part of her theater did not feel authentic.

With you, however, Neuvillette had learned to be a part of his people, whether as a human or a dragon, as Chief Justice or as the father of an infant. He was no longer an intruder or a stranger ignorant of human ways, not after you. At your side, Neuvillette had known a new range of sensations, of experiences and learning based on mistakes, all very human on his part, and as expected, he had learned to fall in love again, because it was inevitable, after several problems and misunderstandings between the two of you, after the birth of his son and the new horizons that fatherhood brought. His affection for you had been disguised as admiration and redemption, his ignorance had once again avoided love, a mistake he wanted to make up for.

Sitting in your living room while he reads a book and you braid his hair and hum a lullaby, Neuvillette lets the waves of your voice carry him away, wondering what kind of marital experiences he had missed with you.

"What kind of things do husbands do?" He asks suddenly, looking up at you from the carpeted floor, surprising you with his curious question.

"Well…" you think, it's not like when he asks you why kids suck their thumbs or why people give each other presents on non-holidays. It's not a question about trivial human behavior, not this time.

"I've seen couples go out to dinner, but you told me that friends also go out to dinner," he continues, elaborating on his puzzle. "Wriothesley and I have had tea together, what would be the difference between having tea with him and with you?"

"Well…" you continue to think about your answer. "Perhaps the most obvious is living together, planning the week together, household and food expenses, child care, and confidentiality between the two. When you and I have tea, we talk about things that you probably don't mention to Wriothesley".

" Certainly," he says with a hand on his chin, "you and I do all those things, but how is that different from students who share a house? They also plan expenses and discuss confidences."

"Then I guess the biggest difference is in starting a family. Normally, people get married because they want to have a family with the person they choose, the person they love, or the person their parents impose on them."

"So sex is what differentiates married people," he says, and you remain static at his words, stopping to braid his hair, "of course… the physical and emotional affection shown by both parties in marriage…" Neuvillette rambles on, his own conclusion as he sits on the couch next to you, thinking about how he hasn't shown his affection the way he should.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, you are distracted by the details of your skirt, picking out rebellious threads, and then he thinks about the last time he kissed you and wonders what it would be like to kiss someone with marital affection.

"Can I kiss you?" The question is thrown out with innocence, causing surprise in you.

"You've kissed me before, Neuvillette," you say, smiling and getting up to go into the kitchen, "we even have a son, I don't think there's anything new to try."

"Indeed," he says, getting up and walking toward you, your back against one of the walls, "but the variable that makes this situation different from the others is that I didn't feel that way about you."

"Like what?" you ask, as he moves closer to you, almost cornering you against the wall.

"I like thinking about you, being with you, hearing you talk," he says, his tone low, as if he were ashamed to confess everything to you. "I thought it was a simple instinct to care for you as the mother of my child… but now I know it's something deeper than that."

You look at him in surprise, now it is you who has unknowns that only he can answer. The silence between you is cold and almost tactile.

"What about her? Of the Archon," you whisper, your breath depending on the question, Neuvillette's forehead inches from yours.

"It's not the same. There is no excitement or desire. I never longed for her or desired her like you. She didn't provoke me the way you did, it's almost annoying."

"Am I annoying? "Is that what she's telling me, Judge?" You smile as you touch the tip of his nose, trying to take some of the seriousness out of the conversation.

"You are adorably hypnotic, I must say. More than you should be. You have taken everything from me without me even realizing it, subtly and carefully taking over my mind and my heart," Neuvillette's hands caress your cheek, high above your skin, avoiding friction as if his touch would bruise your flawless complexion.

"Let me show you these human feelings that have taken over me, please," he whispers, his thumb sliding over your lower lip. He says it almost like a complaint, his bursting emotions becoming painful, trapped in his chest, longing for you to give him comfort and permission to act.

"I'll let you… only if you promise me something," you say, taking his hand, avoiding the marks of his fingers on you. "You will never push me aside for another woman again…"

His oath needs no words, not when he has you leaning against the kitchen table, his cock pushing behind you to your cervix. Your muffled moans as he adjusts your skirt over your waist and spreads your legs further to give him free access to your pussy, which sucks him contemptuously.

Neuvillette feels like a fantasy, thrusting relentlessly into you, touching the bulge that has formed in your belly from the penetration of his cock, pushing with his hand so you can feel it better, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you. . He kisses your cheek and you hear his muffled moans against your ear as he utters words of worship.

You grip the marble edge of the table, moaning at the burning building in your belly, your eyes glassy and spit falling from your mouth. It's as if your legs were lifeless, as if you were prey to Neuvillette and the way he drives his love for you so deep that it seems to stir your womb.

That afternoon he takes you in the kitchen, and the next morning he doesn't let you get out of bed, one hand on the headboard and the other around your waist, Neuvillette has you with your ass up like a dog in heat, hitting your slippery with his length. The strength that his support gives you is hard to bear, your breasts trembling strongly as your ass bounces to his rhythm, your skin moving like waves in the sea with each vibration that Neuvillette's relentless interference causes.

His hand slides down your body, caressing your breasts and down to your clit, your face buried in the pillows, almost crying at how good his fingers feel on your nervous lump. He fills you with his seed when he reaches orgasm, because he is dying to see you again with your belly swollen for his offspring. And he kisses you again, he kisses your forehead while you catch your breath, while you cover your body that has been bruised by his fingers, defining the lustful path of his digits over your body.

In his office, he remembers the past hours with fanciful lust and longs to return home to enjoy this new activity that you have made him experience, this new addiction that your body represents against his. He longs for your company and your warmth, your voice moaning with pleasure and the way your nails dig into his back. He adores everything about you, not only because you are the mother of his child, but because he finally understands, after several months of reading and reflection, that he has truly fallen in love with you, his precious human wife.

[anundyingfidelity]

400 followers ask

Adam Warlock and reader with the sunshine x grumpy dynamic, the reader is someone dangerous and very powerful that none of the other heroes want to get close to due to her reputation and her history, but Adam ignores it and in the end they fall in love 😩✊❤

long time i don't write for adam so yesss! hope you like this, i tried my best for a grumpy x sunshine dynamic for this one hahaha

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☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

I'M NOT IN LOVE — Adam Warlock x female reader

Word count: 689 (got carried awaaayyyy).

Genre: fluff.

Warnings: none I can really tell?

When Rocket and his team broke you out of your prison, he quickly understood why you were locked in the first place. A woman, captive of a crazy sorcerer who just held you as nothing more than a pet on a dirty planet, who was rageous and powerful, capable of destroying a star. That’s what the old man said to them.

Rocket was a fool and didn’t take his word though. Not until you tried to blow the ship going back to Knowhere, or when you tried to escape destroying miles of half built homes, or the countless times where you broke something with your super strength.

“Alright, stay here, witch,” Rocket ordered, taking you with Nebula’s help to a new place you’d call home for now. Behind his small figure, Adam followed closely in silence but intrigued by you, who seemed to completely ignore him.

“I’m not a witch!” you fumed, moving your arm away from the tight grip coming from the purple robot. “Don’t touch me, scum.���

“Nebula, stop,” the raccoon uttered as she stepped closer to you, ready to punch your face. She grunted and left the room, passing by the Sovereign.

Rocket continued. “We don’t wanna hurt you-”

“Then why take me here?! I never asked to be part of your stupid team!”

Being locked for so long had its effects on you, Rocket thought. That day he warned everyone to not be close to you since you were extremely dangerous, but Adam didn’t understand the captain. He had a second chance with the Guardians, it was fair to do the same thing with you. Under Rocket’s suspicious eyes, Adam got his approval to visit you and help you to the real world.

Contrary to the team, Adam was different. He saw pain and fear in your eyes that mixed with your powers made you a dangerous being, but a beautiful one nonetheless. He was the one who introduced you to the terran culture and their music. With it, Adam discovered the sounds of some songs would calm you down and he’d come to see a new sweet side of you. 

“Play it again,” you whispered, as you shared an earphone with Adam on the roof of your place in the middle of a somehow cold night. “I wanna hear it again.”

Adam beamed, doing as you said. The psychedelic melody started anew. “You like this song too much,” he teased.

I'm not in love

So don't forget it

It's just a silly phase I'm going through

Your brows furrowed, clearly annoyed. “Is that a problem, goldie?”

He just chuckled. “Not at all. Stop furrowing, it’s a joke.”

And just because

I call you up

Don't get me wrong,

Don't think you've got it made

Still you narrowed your eyes at him, with that angry face of yours. Sometimes you took so literal anything that escaped his lips. It was cute. Under the light of the city he admired you completely. Yes, sometimes you were a little mean to him and the team. Still you tried because of him. Adam was a very special person for you. But you wouldn’t admit it easily. 

I'm not in love, no no,

It's because…

I like to see you

“Okay,” you whispered finally, your features softening as the song played. It made you feel calm, at peace. Something you didn’t remember feeling before. Now after Adam came to your life, things were sort of different. You could feel it as much as Adam. He was bright, sunny, while you were totally the opposite of that.

But then again

That doesn't mean you mean that much to me

You locked eyes with his own, noticing he had been observing you long before. You sat so close together that you could feel the warmth of his body, contrasting the coldness of your own. He leaned closer with eyes closed, and as scared as you were, you let him kiss you softly on your lips. A quick peck on your lips before he pulled away.

“Sorry…”

You smiled, cheeks flushed. “Don’t.”

 It was the first time he saw your smile.

[riddles-fiddles]

Pspspsp MC with a royalty kink and wants to act out this fantasy with Rook Hunt. Afab please:)

I am hearing you out. I'm pretty sure Rook does have a royalty kink as well, though he would rather take the paper of a knight, a bard, hunter, or any other kind of servant lmao

Au Clair de la Lune (+18)

Synopsis: Rook partakes the role of a loyal knight who's eager to please and show his absolute devotion to you. Charcaters: Rook Hunt Tags: royalty kink, praise kink, worship, oral sex, most foreplay Notes: AFAB gender neutral reader, 1k word count, everyone is 18+ Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

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Rook rests his forehead down to the back of your hands, the ones which he holds with deepest esteem - like they are a pair of jewels with indefinable value. "I thank the grace you bestow upon this humble knight," his voice is a melody of sincere devotion, lips ghosting over your skin. "I'm grateful for allowing me to taste your skin, your higness."

As his eyelids flutters open, his gaze is captivated by the way you stand there, a mighty and imposing figure sat on the throne - the bed you two shared - as the moonlight hugged your curves with lavender outlines, enhancing the strands of hair shadowing your features, the way your shoulder curved slightly to the front, an uncoscious gesture to your desires.

He revels on your beauty, the way your stern gaze looks back down on him paralyzing his heartbeat; the feeling of being merely a pawn to your orders sending thrills down his spine. Rook has the heart of a poet and the desire to please of a servant, and being by your disposal was enough for him - his merciful, generous ruler.

Rook reserves his duteous instance; knee firm against the floor, hat pressed against his chest in a chivalrous way, his sharp eyes are cloudy with restrained lust, resigned on your next demand.

"Your obedience is commendable," a gracious smile paints shyly between Rook's lips at your words, his features softening in antecipation for your approval. "But it's not quite enough to prove your loyalty to my reign." With a low tilt of his head, Rook glances over your majestic face with inquisitive silence while his hands traveled down to your thighs, his gloved digits a feather brushing along the lines of your knees before tracing the design of your ankles. The gesture was careful and zealous, as if he was touching a monumental paiting - because in his point of view, that's what you are anyway.

"I beg your pardon, my sovereign. Allow me to correct my unfit behaviour."

Rook gently enveloped the back of your sole, bowing down to press an affectionate kiss over the curve of your feet, his warm breath tickling on your skin as the gesture left a lingering, warm feeling over your exposed skin. Taking his time, his lips climbed with passionate devotion over the same trail his fingers had previously marked on your body, his contented sighs a sweet incantation.

You reveled on the silent worship that Rook incited over your skin, wordless promises of his love and desire for you spreading to your nerve endings with every new kiss. His confident gaze met yours by a flickering moment, the sight of his face resting against your skin as he held your thigh with adorational attentiveness making you sigh in antecipation, heart skipping a beat as you marveled at the raw emotions shared between you two. Though you played a stern facade with your uptight words, there was no concealing of the way your body naturally responded to Rook's touch, practically melting against the contrast of his warm lips and the cold leather of his gloves.

Slowly, your thighs parted, revealing your bare core. Rook admired with contented surprise as you did so, tongue dewing over his lips in antecipatio with hunger glistening over his indigo eyes, gladly coming up to meet yours as you held his chin up, grip possessive and urging. "Prove your devotion to me, Rook," your voice lingered like a sweet spell hummed into his ear. "Bring pleasure to your majesty."

"Oui, mon majesté. Votre commande est mon plaisir."

Rook readily removes his gloves, laying them on the floor right beside his hat. His lean, firm hands come to rest on your soft inner thighs before leaning in, pressing a kiss over your clit, tongue spreading the folds. He gently sucks the sensitive bud over his tongue before pressing down, circling around as he alternated between different kinds of stimulation.

Your gratified sigh beckons him further. Rook brings two of his slender fingers to your wet core, slowly pressing down as he kept his mouth occupied with your clit, languish laps being contrasted by the intense, eventual sucking.

His heart jumps with delight as your pleased groan fills his ears, a hand coming to grip on the back of his head before pulling him closer, breath hitching slightly by the feeling of your hips bucking up, desperate for more friction.

His tongue is quick to match the pace you so desperately urges to find, rolling around the bundle of nerves in reverse to your motion as his fingers thrusted inside you slowly - teasing your sweet spot by pressing his digits against the soft area everytime he pushed them deep inside you.

You cry his name out like a prayer as your back meets the bedsheets, pleasure quickly turning overwhelming. Taking advantage of it, Rook positions both of your legs over his shoulders, lifting your hips slightly from the bed to get better access to your sensitive area; skilled, lean fingers rolled deep into your core, building pressure beneath your abdomen. The wet sounds that resonated shamelessly through the room, Rook's slurps and the merciless slapping of his fingers against your slick core sent shivers down your spine, your orgasm nearing its peak as your eyes fixed on the man's focused face.

And with a final, rough thrust, Rook's finger curls agains, sending an aggressive jolt of pleasure all through your body, making your back arch and your thighs close around his head. Rook can feel your orgasm shaking you from head to toe, but his mouth doesn't cease until your body finally starts to relax, too enthralled by the way you squirm under his touch, a shudder of veiled excitement mixed with satisfaction running over his own skin at the prospect of being the one responsible for your climax. His tongue savours the taste of your cum, and as you lift your head, a panting mess from the overwhelming explosion of senses, your flushed face greets Rook's confident yet messy grin, his face glistening with your slick all over. Still, he looks absolutely overjoyed, licking the mess from his lips greedily. "My precious, terrific knight," you sing the praises in soft, panting whispers, your grip easing around his hair in gentle caresses. "Your devotion is undoubtedly unmatched. Come, allow your ruler to reward your efforts." Rook's smile widens, his whole being flourishing with a chaotic mix of love, gratitude, pride and excitement by your sincere praises, quickly lifting himself from the ground to taste your mouth he so much longed for.

[strugglingwriterwattpad]

chocolate flowers sneak peek

Chapter one – a hatful of dreams

As the sun struggled to break through the fog, a chilly morning greeted the passengers of a 1940s trawler boat. The rhythmic sound of ocean waves and the distant tolling of a ship's bell filled the air. Emerging from the thick mist, the boat approached the new city's dock, its passengers eagerly awaiting their arrival. Amidst the scene, a peculiar figure stood out - donning a vibrant green waistcoat and a scarf bursting with colours. With curly brown hair and eyes that matched the waistcoat’s hues, this enigmatic individual climbed the mast, their presence illuminated by the sun's rays piercing through the fog and ship smoke.

“After seven years of life upon the ocean, It is time to bid the seven seas farewell. And the city I’ve pinned seven years of hopes on Lies just over the horizon. I can hear the harbour bell!” Emerging from the icy mist, a magnificent ancient metropolis caught his eye. A grin spread across his face, for he knew that his days as a sailor were numbered and his new life as a proud shopkeeper was about to begin. “Land ahoy!!”

With a firm grip on the rope, Willy descended to the icy deck, while his fellow sailors readied the boat for docking. Navigating through the bustling engine room, he collected his worn-out plum-coloured tailcoat and weathered wooden suitcase. “Got a tattered overcoat and battered suitcase! Got a pair of leaky boots upon my feet. Got to drag myself up by my one good bootlace! Gotta work my rotten socks off if I wanna make ends meet!” With a daring leap, he landed on a supply crate just as it was lifted from the ship's hold. The crate soared high above the dock, swaying gracefully in the air. “I've poured everything I've got into my chocolate. Now it's time to show the world my recipes.” The brunette received a small bag of coins from the captain, the metal creating a clanging sound as it landed in his icy, pale hand. “good luck Willy!” he hollered waving off Willy with a supportive grin. “I’ve got twelve silver sovereigns in my pocket. And a hatful of dreams!”

Willy gracefully leapt off the crate and onto the back of a truck as it passed by, embarking on his exciting journey into the city of his dreams. The landscape he passed was blanketed in a thick layer of ice and slush, a messy combination of cobblestone debris and melting snow. With a burst of energy, the ghostly boy jumped down from the vehicle, his hands gripping a frozen lamp post adorned with tattered flyers and posters. With a graceful twirl, Willy descended the gleaming metal pole and found himself in the awe-inspiring town square. “There’s a famous restaurant on every street here. There's Brandino's and the Bar Parisienne”

The bustling square was adorned with a majestic cathedral, its towering presence casting a shadow over the surrounding area. The harmonious melodies of the choir echoed through the air, filling the square with a symphony of enchanting notes, reminiscent of the sweet songs of songbirds. In the centre of the square, a frozen fountain stood still, its waters suspended in time, a testament to the frigid weather that had gripped the city. On the opposite side, a grand dome building beckoned him with its grandeur, a destination he knew he would eventually reach. However, he couldn't resist the allure of exploration that lingered in the air, enticing him to wander through the square a little longer before embarking on his intended journey.

“Restaurant map, sir?” A cheerful attendant at a cosy booth offered a map of restaurants to the gentleman in a brown top hat, who graciously thanked him with a silver coin. “thank you!”

“Got a little map to tell me where to eat here...” As Willy unravelled his map, he suddenly spotted someone right by his side. To his surprise, it was a shoeshine boy, and the brunette had unknowingly placed his foot on the boy's box. The boy, with a mischievous grin, demanded a sovereign while wiggling his fingers, as if he had just completed a remarkable shine on the chocolate maker’s boot.

“Had a dozen silver sovereigns, now I'm somehow down to ten!”

With excitement in his eyes, Willy made his way towards a vibrant produce stall. As he reached out, his hands embraced an astonishingly enormous pumpkin, bursting with both delectable taste and vibrant hues. “Want the finest produce? This is where they stock it!” Willy narrowly avoided being hit by a streetcar that honked loudly, causing him to drop the pumpkin in shock. “That's three sovereigns, mate” The pumpkin splattered all over his boots, undoing all the work the boy had just completed moments before. “Though the prices are suspiciously extreme!”

“You break my pumpkin; you pay for it.”

“I've got five, six, seven-“

The dreamer strolled past the shops on the street, but his attention was immediately drawn to a charming green cottage-style shop. His eyes widened as he watched a woman inside, working cheerfully in her colourful attire, leaving Willy breathless with admiration. The vibrant hues of her clothing perfectly complemented the lush greenery that adorned her store, resembling ornaments on a festive Christmas tree. She was wearing an off-white blouse with puff sleeves that peeked through her green corduroy pinafore. The seams of the dress were decorated with different flower embroidery similar to his own waistcoat patterns. Her hands, covered in gardening gloves instead of winter ones, bore the marks of soil on each finger, a testament to her love for nurturing plants. The woman appeared to be around his age, her skin plump and her eyes sparkling like shiny coins. She captivated the poor adventurer with her beauty, snapping him out of his trance as she waved goodbye to a customer and the shop door chimed closed.

As he counted his coins, the chocolatier spotted the Shoeshine Boy cleaning his boots once again and reluctantly handed over yet another sovereign. At least the pumpkin was off his boot this time. “...six silver sovereigns in my pocket And a hatful of dreams”

[eatmangoesnekkid]

I want to be pristinely clear that while "The Melody of Love" critiques patriarchy, it doesn't promote the war or tension between sexes, this deep soul wounding, or encourage the de-centering of men. While I understand what women who participate in this movement are trying to do and I agree that there is a dire need for women to stop obsessing over men and generally become priorities in their lives, when you listen to those who promote this movement, there is a haunting hollowness of hidden, unaddressed hurt and pain at the root.

That's why the "de-centering men" movement would never be part of my mission. Far from it. I like to get to the root of the reality—which is deep in the body and not out there. And yes, you should be at the center of your reality, at the center of your universe, the "de-centering men" movement puts a wedge between men and women, instead of bringing us all together, including non-binary people. As usual, I find myself not being part of typical polarized ways of thinking, and more present in a nuanced 3rd lane which has been the case for most of my life. When the handy man comes over to work on my home, if I'm in that movement, I would not consider giving him some tea, juice, or water to quench his thirst. While this gesture from me is not necessary, it does show kindness to someone who enters your home and will feel thought of and move around your space with good vibes due to your hospitality. Such beautiful energy shared between two people and emitted out into an aching world.

Through my critiques, I am making a much larger point about the level of harm these systems-patriarchy, capitalism, and Abrahamic religion do to us because they live in our bodies. They cause breast pain, pelvic pain, back pain, pussy pain, period pain, blood clots, cysts, tumors, and the like. These systems ferment like sauerkraut into our breasts/hearts, hips, bellies, tailbones, and spines and impact our wellness like our moon cycles and experiences with menopause. They negatively influence how we breathe, how we think and perceive, how we make love, how we regenerate, the care and attention we cook a meal, and what we receive and attract. They trigger us to value production over getting a good quality of rest and not staying up late at night. These punitive systems do the work of keeping our nervous systems locked into flight or fight and survival states on a daily basis. Only healthy relaxed women engage the most openhearted passionate love and yield healthy families and healthy communities/villages.

But I don't just critique like an academic. I am rootsy, braless, barefoot, and revolutionary to my core, therefore, I channel practical solutions that lead readers towards healing their bodies and truly evolving their lives into bliss.

The melody of love movement is about deep spiritual repair and care: the strength and capacity of love, the truth of our soul and destiny, the intimacies and passion of the body meeting earth, and the regenerative qualities of the female body and how they favorably impact her quality of well-being and abundance. Essentially my work brings your body into a state of love that allows you to masterfully maneuver beyond these wicked systems as an embodiment of love, one of the highest frequency, a reclamation of your original sovereign template that taps you into the inexhaustible reservoir of energy that lives inside your female body, this spark of creation. After we build up our energy and increase our capacity, it is my vision that we will then lend our bodies over to being of service to something larger that favorably recalibrates our global world into greater harmony.

There is actually a deep yearning present inside my own heart to witness more men truly rise into a more healthy honorable expression of themselves on the planet. To de-center men, no matter what your sexuality may be, yields great harm to the feminine heart. I’m not sorry to say this but-- a real woman could never do that. She would die sorrowful...deeply heartbroken. -India Ame'ye, Author

[crowandmousewritingco]

Pairing: Ezra x trans!reader

Words: 850

Rating: M (nothing explicit but dynamics implied)

Author: Mod Mouse

Summary: You are the center of attention at Ezra's gathering.

Notes: Thanks to @jennaispunk for reading it over!

The candles burn low in the intimate room casting shadows on the walls behind you. But you didn’t notice. You were looking ahead just like you were instructed to do. All you saw were the sparkles that danced on the floor from the multitudes of stars that graced the wall. Your dom had jumped on the idea of a celestial themed night at the club. 

The guests for tonight filed in one by one, escorted to their assigned seats by the attendant. Wine was poured and chattered filled the space as slowly each spot was taken. A soft music from a string quartet wafted through the room, giving a high class feel to the space. 

Once the last guest sat at their plate, the lights switched off sending soft murmurs throughout the crowd. All except for the spotlight on your figure. You were the center of attention for tonight. Legs spread to shoulder width, arms braced behind your back, and nude as the day you were born. Goosebumps prickled your skin as you waited patiently for your duty. 

Soft footsteps ascended the raised dais to where you stood as a soft applause rippled through the crowd. You could feel the presence of your dom standing next to you, and your fluttering heart calmed. The soft fabric of his suits brushing against your chilled skin. How you ached to nuzzle into his side like you could in some scenes, but this wasn’t one of them. He had the ropes tonight, and you were the canvas. 

“Welcome esteemed patrons! Thank you for joining us this twilight. Tonight we have a beautiful array of presentations for you. But first we must prepare the highlight of this carnal evening. So let’s not waste a singular moment. My ropes please.” Ezra spoke as another pair of footsteps came closer. 

The attendant set the rope in Ezra’s outstretched hands. “Thank you. Now maestros, a melody.” 

Soft violin music drifted through the space filling the ears of the attendants. A gentle touch on your shoulder alerting you to his orientation, but you kept your head down. His gloved hands caressed down to your shoulder blades and you instinctively lifted your arms. 

“Such a stunning specimen.” Ezra praised as he slid the rope around your chest, mindful of your scars. Slowly he pulled the two sides of the rope to your back. 

“Mercury takes its place as the sovereign planet keeping close to the warmth of the center of our cosmic asylum ” Ezra recited as he pulled the rope around your chest once again securing the line with the first loop.  

“Venus the next sphere. Brightest amongst her peers shines as a point of lust and love in the darkest of skies.” He continued as he pulled the rope through all three loops containing your torso in the intricate ties. 

His hands never leave your body as he takes his time moving in front of you. You dared take a peak at him and your stomach flushed with heat. Ezra appeared diving in his dark blue suit that glittered in the light from the intricate celestial embroidered sleeves. How you wanted to kneel for him. 

“The mother Earth that houses our great inventions, and keeps us grounded.” He pulled the rope over one shoulder securing it to the front loop before repeating the step with the other shoulder. 

“Mars that brings vengeance and scarlet across the horizon, and yet hope for the future of our kind.” He brought the rope back behind your back making sure everything was secure. 

Ezra returned to your back as he attached another rope to the other ropes. “Jupiter whirls as the storm in his soul, and commands the legions of moons as the army of the skies.” He pulled your arms back, joining them to the knots in your back ties. 

“Saturn with the rings as rich as any royalty's jewelry spinning at such incomprehensible speeds ” Adding a rope around your thigh and the other on your ankles.

“Uranaus and Neptune, the blue giants that are as frigid as their outward appearance.” A steel ring descended from the ceiling. Carefully he joined all three ropes on the ring making sure they were all tight. He turned his head and slowly the circle ascended pulling your body up slowly.

Your head dipped as the meditative sway of suspension took over your psyche. Gently you hung as the art piece you were designed to be. With one knee in the air as if you were kneeling, you drifted as the ropes subtle twisted and turned with the air. 

“Ethereal!” Ezra exclaimed as applause rippled through the room “I present my solar system!” Colorful globes descended and surrounded your form representing the mentioned planets. Lazily they orbited you in slow rotation. You were his sun and he wanted everyone to know that. 

Your eyes gazed down to Ezra as he watched his muse above him. Only adoration for you graced his features, and your heart fluttered in your chest. You closed your eyes once more as you fulfilled your duty to the night: Ezra’s chandelier.

Credit: @inklore

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[dodorimo]

a twist of fate

Camgirl!Tav x Raphael snippet (yeah, you read that right). Haarlep makes an appearance, kind of.

Something I talked about on my priv and wanted to give it a shot. Let me know if you like it, or want it to continue ;)

· · ──────  ❊  ────── · · [23h10] hells-sovereign said: A breath of life in a deadened heart Your head a golden halo Neck the elegance of a swan Would that I could tether your soul to mine Two hearts beat as one

Eirin patiently waited for the text-to-speech to read the message to her, painting her toenails a teal blue color. She always painted them on camera, with her feet in plain view on top of a desk—one of her little weekly rituals, before the main attraction.

Really, poetry?

Did a kid wander into her stream? This wasn’t the 14th century and she wasn���t a wide-eyed teenager. There was nothing impressive about it. Hells, a computer could’ve done it.

Well, she wasn’t going to reprehend anyone’s child. She got enough on her plate as it is. Like keeping a steady grip on her nail clippers. For a $400 tip, she would do a lot more than just sit there for a minute and pretend to listen. Bless their father’s stolen credit card.

She gave the camera her best smile. The one that made hearts race and men forget what to say next—a skill that often came in handy in her line of work. “Well, for that amount, I think it’s only fair you get to decide what I’m going to use in this next part.”

She tilted her camera upward, the fabric of her pleated skirt rustling against the mattress. A collection of dildos decorated the shelves, contrasting sharply with her many stuffed toys. It wasn’t lacking for options to choose from. Rugged and long, small and curved, thick and straight as an arrow. She had them all.

“So, what do you choose?” As she waited, she tapped her chin lightly and pursed her lips; a little theater for her audience. A melodious beat hummed in the background, meant to soothe frazzled nerves.

hells-sovereign is typing…

The text on her screen flickered for a few seconds, then disappeared, only to come back later, this time with a loud beep noise.

[23h15] hells-sovereign said: he wants the biggest the red onr with the ridges

“He wants”? This text was full of typos and lacked the eloquence and carefully placed punctuation of their previous messages. She could see it now: two boys, aged twelve or eleven, hiding in an attic, each armed with a smartphone, snickering at the screen. One is a pretentious brat, the other is an insolent little urchin. Awesome. She tried not to grimace.

“As our sovereign commands.”

Good thing she unpacked her best lube for that day.

[wordsvomit101]

Obsidian Reverie

(??? years, ??? months, ??? days after His Majesty Leviathan received his name )

Amidst the enchanting ambiance of the Midnight Masquerade, an exquisite event held under the gentle light of the pure white twin moons, reminiscent of the legendary quiet goddess, Astrea, attendees are whisked away into a realm of unparalleled opulence and mystique.

Captivated by the allure of the evening, Glasyalabolas finds himself entranced by the ethereal atmosphere. The grand ballroom, adorned with towering marble pillars intricately carved with astrological motifs, emanates an aura of timeless elegance.

Bathed in the soft, moonlit glow that spills through stained glass windows and cascades from the sky above, the palace roof has been removed for this extraordinary occasion, allowing the eerie radiance to suffuse every corner of the room.

Scenes of ancient myths and legends are depicted in the intricate carvings adorning the pillars, their stories coming to life in the flickering torchlight. It is as if the very walls of the ballroom resonate with the echoes of a bygone era, transporting guests to a realm where fantasy and reality intertwine.

Guests, draped in luxurious fabrics of silk and velvet, don ornate masks that conceal their identities, transforming them into ethereal beings of mystery and allure. Each mask is a work of art, crafted with meticulous detail and embellished with feathers, jewels, and intricate filigree, adding to the air of intrigue that permeates the evening.

The flickering glow of glowing mantas and jellyfish swimming languidly as they cast dancing waves of shadows upon the polished marble floor, creating an enchanting backdrop for the swirling movements of the dancers. Soft strains of music fill the air, a haunting melody that seems to echo from another realm, beckoning guests to lose themselves in the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

As the night unfolds, the Midnight Masquerade becomes a tapestry of secrets and desires, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, and the true nature of its inhabitants is revealed. In this realm of darkness and enchantment, anything is possible, and the masks they wear are but a reflection of the mysteries that lie within.

Dressed in opulent attire and adorned with a mask that concealed his true visage, Glasyalabolas moved with grace and poise, his dark gazes and commanding presence drawing the attention of all who beheld him. Yet, amidst the swirling crowd of guests, his eyes were fixed upon one figure alone—The devil of Envy and sovereign of Hades.

As Glasyalabolas, the towering figure of ambition and madness, approached Leviathan with a graceful stride, his demeanor regal yet infused with a hint of a wild charm. Bowing respectfully, he addressed the beautiful being standing alone as onlookers couldn't help to let their gazes wander to him and the wave of shock could be felt as they saw the figure of the tall devil, having the courage to dare to ask for what they wish for from their king. With the utmost deference, he extended his hand with a regal flourish, and a hush fell over the assembled throng.

"Your Majesty," Glasyalabolas began, his voice carrying a tone of veneration, "might I have the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"

His gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, swept across the room, a silent challenge to all who dared to meet his eye. Yet, beneath his mask of confidence, there lurked a primal fear, a knowing sense of walking straight into the gaping mouth of a monster.

Leviathan regarded him with a cold and measured gaze, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of shadows. There was a silent pause, tension hanging in the air like a taut thread.

Glasyalabolas continued, his tone soft yet insistent, "It would be a pleasure to glide across the floor with you, Your Majesty, to the haunting melody of the tango. Shall we indulge in this moment of respite amidst the chaos of our realms?"

With a distant gaze, the beautiful devil's expression was still a perfect embodiment of indifference, "Very well," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if granting a trivial request to a begging peasant.

Clad in robes of darkest obsidian with hints of royal violet, Leviathan moved with predatory grace, his every step a silent promise of retribution. Around him, the air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura, a palpable reminder of his status.

Undeterred by Leviathan's aloof demeanor, Glasyalabolas pressed on, seeking to provoke a reaction from his king, "I must say, Your Majesty," he continued, his voice laced with a subtle challenge, "I have always been curious about the secrets that lie hidden within the depths of your kingdom. Tell me, what is it that drives you, that fuels your ambition?", before placing a small but worshiped kiss upon the strong gloved hand of the divine devil opposite of him.

As they came together upon the polished marble floor, the haunting melody of the waltz filled the air, a mournful lament that echoed the pain of ages past. The music, a symphony of longing and despair, wrapped around them like a shroud, enveloping them in its melancholy embrace.

Leviathan's response was brief and detached, his attention only half-hearted as he allowed Glasyalabolas to take the lead in the waltz.

"Ambition is a fool's errand," he remarked coldly as if directing at the devil he allowed to lead him, his silky smooth voice tinted with arrogance before gracefully answering the question beckoned by the noble, "Stability", he continued after finishing an elegant twirl, "is the foundation upon which Hades stands. The foundation that needs to be maintained, regardless of the challenges that may arise"

Their dance began with a delicate grace, each movement a testament to their otherworldly power and elegance. Glasyalabolas's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with hidden intent. "And what of those who would dare to challenge your authority?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you not fear the repercussions of their defiance?"

Their movements are like a symphony of grace and aggression, Glasyalabolas' hand on Leviathan's waist and his other guiding his king to his tempo. Leviathan's long coat floats behind him and with the light from the twin moon shining upon them, makes him shimmer like a thousand stars, glides across the ethereal void with the agility of a practiced ease. His dance is a mesmerizing spectacle, each step a ripple in the fabric of reality. His long limbs extend and retract in fluid undulations, creating hypnotic patterns that draw the eye inward into a vortex of wonder.

Leviathan continued to look upon him impassively, not bothering to waste his breath, looking down at Glasyalabolas despite their height differences.

Glasyalabolas, with his silver tongue and piercing gaze, sought to ensnare Leviathan in a web of intrigue and ambition, weaving a tapestry of manipulation and desire with each graceful step. Yet, beneath his facade of confidence, there is still lingered a primal excitement, a recognition of fear before the formidable force that stood before him.

But as the tempo quickened and the music soared to dizzying heights, a shift occurred, a subtle yet undeniable change in the fabric of their dance when Glasyalabolas dared to come closer.

Glasyalabolas's inquiry sliced through the air with calculated precision, his words carrying a subtle edge of curiosity. "Your Majesty," he began, his tone deceptively mild, "forgive my impertinence, but I cannot help but wonder of what happened that day, a spectacle upon the rift of the North of Hades"

Leviathan's gaze darkened at the mention of his past, a flicker of something indefinable crossing his features before he regained his composure, ready to continue to dismiss Glasyalabolas before another audacious question was asked, a glare marred on his gorgeous visage.

"What drove you to such depths? What horrors did you endure before claiming your throne?"

Leviathan's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, a warning simmering beneath his icy face, before an exquisitely cruel smile graced his lips, an elegant arch to his brow, with a soft inquire for a lowly devil before him, "So you seek to understand this King?"

Glasyalabolas felt a chill run down his spine as Leviathan's gaze bore into him with a steely intensity. It was as if he had crossed a line, delving into forbidden territory that should never have been breached. However, his curiosity only mounted higher, the allure of being able to know a side of Leviathan, it is both a threat and an offer that would kill him if he treks further.

But, in the pursuit of knowledge, only fools who are brave dare to venture into the darkness, for they know that it is in the depths of uncertainty that true understanding is found.

With an excited gulp, Glasyalabolas summoned his courage and approached the enchanting Leviathan, his facade of calmness strained but resolute.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice quivering with anticipation, "forgive my audacity, but I must know... What is the answer to my question?"

Leviathan regarded him with a cool detachment, his gaze piercing through Glasyalabolas's facade with unnerving precision.

"The answer?" he echoed, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, "Hmm, how about I let you have a taste then?"

Leviathan tightened his grip and seized the waist of the taller devil. With a steely gaze and a subtle shift in his movements, he seized control of the dance, his silent command rippling through the air like a ripple on a still pond. At that moment, Glasyalabolas realized the true extent of his folly, as the balance of power shifted inexorably in Leviathan's favor.

As Leviathan took control of the dance, Glasyalabolas couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of being ensnared in the coils of a giant serpent, his movements calculated and precise, each step a predatory strike. In his mind's eye, he was no longer the noble demon, but a mere raccoon, small and insignificant in the presence of such overwhelming power.

Leviathan's steps upon the marble floor became a haunting echo of a predator stalking its prey, a symphony of sinewy grace and raw power that left Glasyalabolas trembling in his wake. With each graceful twist and turn, he felt the weight of Leviathan's gaze bearing down upon him like the unblinking stare of a serpent tearing him down to his bone and squeezing every air he had in his organ.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the tumult, there lingered a strange kind of beauty, a twisted ballet of desire and despair that spoke to the depths of a shared agony. The echoes of their voices mingled with the haunting melody of the waltz, a cacophony of whispers and sighs that reverberated through the halls of eternity even fearing away the swimming mantas and jellyfish.

Glasyalabolas found himself swept up in the maelstrom of their dance, his senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of adrenaline and fear. It was as if he stood on the precipice of oblivion, teetering on the edge of some vast abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

However, the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, bringing his consciousness back to reality.

As they stood locked in a silent tableau, the music singing of the two figures bound together by fate and forged in the fires of eternity. However, instead of reveling in the romance of the moment, Leviathan carelessly dipped an exhausted and scared Glasyalabolas, a stark contrast to the beginning where Glasyalabolas had led the dance.

With a benevolent grace, yet a coldness that cut through the air like a blade, Leviathan smiled down at him, his eyes betraying none of the warmth that Glasyalabolas had hoped to find.

"Know your place," he intoned softly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and power.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the terror stirring in his mind, there was a perverse thrill, a perverse ecstasy that coursed through his veins like wildfire. For in the embrace of Leviathan's dark and commanding allure, Glasyalabolas found himself trembling not just with fear, but with a hunger and admiration that burned hotter than the flames of Hell itself for the devil above him.

[ryn-halo26]

Okay part 2 of the sovereign headcanons

P'Taxeck: Tal'Ris, wanna team up with Kir'Sha and S'Thenhin?

Tal'Ris: Uh- sure okay

L'Rhenn: Quit showing off your voice!!!!

G'Girehk: Everyone deserves to hear my melodious voice!!

Fel'Ees: I'm at the soup store, what clothes do you want

D'Deridahn: Excuse me, you are where

I mean, kinda already is

L'Rhenn: Hah, sovereign of dreams gets nightmares

N'Dellex: It falls under dreams so of course I have them!!!!!

Rak'Xit: L'Rhenn, check this out, portal to another plane of existence

L'Rhenn: Aite bet *jumps in*

Kir'Sha: S'Thenhin, what are you reading?

S'Thenhin: *aggressively clicks out of Ao3 tab* NOTHING

Tal'Ris: Maybe you should try something else.?

P'Taxeck: Fuck you! I can make my humans however I want!!

Z'Tinqin: Lafayette!

I'm taking this horse by the reins

Making redcoats redder with bloodstains

Lafayette!

And I'm never gonna stop until I make 'em drop

And burn 'em up and scatter the remains

I'm—Lafayette!

Watch me engaging 'em, escaping 'em, enraging 'em, ow

Use'Dia: Dude, shut up.

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Honoring Lugh: A Daily Dance with the Many-Skilled God

Lugh, the radiant Celtic god, pulsates with the energy of mastery in countless domains. From the fiery forge of the smith to the battlefield's clashing steel, from the whispered secrets of bards to the cunning of a trickster, Lugh embodies excellence in its most vibrant forms. If you feel called to connect with this multifaceted deity, you can weave his essence into the tapestry of your daily life, and establish a dedicated space for him on your altar.

1. The Forge of Skill

Lugh is the patron of crafts, his hands shaping both exquisite jewelry and formidable weapons. Dedicate time to honing a skill, be it wielding a paintbrush, coaxing melodies from an instrument, or nurturing a flourishing garden. Approach your practice with intention, for each step towards mastery is an offering to Lugh. Research techniques used by historical artisans, or experiment with new approaches, mirroring Lugh's own innovative spirit. 2. The Thrill of Competition

Lugh, the champion of warriors and athletes, thrives in the crucible of competition. Challenge yourself, be it through physical exertion in a sport or mental focus with a strategic game. Perhaps you train for a race, push yourself for that extra set of reps, or engage in a friendly board game night with loved ones. As you strive to outdo yourself or a worthy opponent, channel Lugh's competitive spirit, honoring his love of the contest. 3. The Mantle of Kingship: 

 Lugh, a sovereign god, embodies the qualities of a just and righteous ruler. Integrate these values into your daily interactions. Advocate for fairness, stand up for those who cannot defend themselves, and lead with integrity. Is there a cause you feel passionate about? Do you mentor someone less experienced? These are all ways to embody Lugh's kingly nature in your own sphere of influence. 4. The Spark of Innovation: 

 Faced with challenges, Lugh is renowned for his ingenious solutions. When confronted with a problem, don't be afraid to think outside the box. Research unconventional approaches, brainstorm with others, and trust your intuition. Perhaps Lugh will guide you towards a creative solution that surprises even yourself. 5. A Tapestry of Nature:  

Lugh is intricately linked to the summer months, the vibrant life force that bursts forth during this season. Savor the warmth of the sun on your skin, spend time tending a garden, or simply revel in the beauty of a blooming flower. As you connect with the natural world, acknowledge Lugh's presence in the cycle of growth, harvest, and renewal.

6. Sharpening the Mind's Edge: 

Lugh is a god of wisdom and eloquence. Engage in activities that stimulate your intellect. Devour captivating books, delve into philosophical discussions, or learn a new language. Challenge yourself with puzzles and riddles, keeping your mind sharp and ever-curious. By honing your intellect, you honor Lugh's keen mind and gift of gab. 7. Duality's Dance: 

Lugh is a god of both light and darkness, summer's warmth and winter's chill. Recognize the duality present in your own life. Embrace both your strengths and weaknesses, acknowledging the shadows alongside the light. During times of hardship, remember that Lugh navigates both darkness and light, and that even challenges hold the potential for growth. 8. A Life Ignited by Passion: 

Lugh approaches everything with unbridled enthusiasm. Infuse your own life with that same vibrant energy. Pursue your passions with dedication, celebrate your victories big and small, and find joy in the journey itself. Let your spirit soar with the same fervor that Lugh brings to every aspect of his existence.

Weaving Lugh into Your Altar Practice

Your altar can serve as a focal point for connecting with Lugh. Here are some ways to incorporate him: Symbols: 

Include items that represent Lugh's domains. A spear or sword honors his warrior nature, crafting tools reflect his skill as a craftsman, and a quill or book acknowledges his wisdom.

Colors: 

Gold and red resonate with Lugh's solar associations, while green reflects his connection to nature.

Offerings: 

During meditations or rituals dedicated to Lugh, consider offerings that reflect his diverse nature. Freshly baked bread or crafted objects honor his skill, while fruits and flowers connect him to the harvest.

Mantras or Chants: 

If you feel drawn to them, incorporate chants or mantras that praise Lugh's attributes or recount his myths.

By integrating these practices into your daily routine, you establish a connection with Lugh, the multifaceted Celtic god. Remember, this is a personal exploration. Discover what resonates most deeply with you, and weave Lugh's influence into the fabric of your life. As you do, you'll find yourself not just honoring him, but also cultivating the very skills and qualities that he embodies.

[wanderpawn]

thank you, furina...

✧ neuvifuri angst ✧

Neuvillette shows up at Furina's door in the middle of the night, knocking fervently; something is very wrong, but they're unable to speak. Their first thought was to come to her door because they knew Furina would be the only person who could get it out of them.

warnings: hurt/comfort + angst, Neuvillette has dissociative identity disorder, Neuvillette is transmasc, they/them pronouns for Neuvillette, a slight hint of a switch is described, there are briefly described sh scars, Neuvillette is called by one of their dissociated parts' names, lots of hugs at the end!

word count: 1,005

link to ao3

There was water. Everywhere.

The streets of Fontaine were completely soaked, and the lonely culprit who caused it was left standing awkwardly on the front steps of the house of the only person they knew would be able to fix it.

Knock knock knock. Knockknockknockknockknockknockknockkno —

“YES, I’m coming, I’m coming! Sheesh, it’s almost one in the morning, you’re lucky I’m still awa—”

The door swung open, and Furina was met with an unusual sight, certainly; in her threshold stood Neuvillette in a state she had, quite frankly, never seen them in before.

Their hair was much shorter. Furina remembered they had mentioned recently they were getting another haircut. But short hair aside, they appeared rather… chaotic?

They were without their coat, for one. They hugged themself tightly across their chest; the absence of their gloves revealed the pale blue nail polish the two of them had matched with a couple weeks ago, freshly chipped and cracked. Neuvillette’s long, blousy sleeves were pulled much higher than usual, revealing the thin, white, horizontal scars on their left wrist that Furina had spent so many nights absent-mindedly tracing as she hummed sweet, yet solemn melodies.

There was no solemn melody that could fix the way Neuvillette was feeling right now, though.

Furina’s gaze softened instantly as it settled upon her friend’s petrified face.

“Neuvillette… are you crying…?”

And sure enough, as they let out a loud sniffle, a few tears fell down their face, pained with a contorted expression.

“Come inside, okay? You don’t have to say anything, just come inside.”

The Hydro Dragon followed their friend inside her townhouse, watching as she flicked on various lamps as she made her way across the room.

“Sit down on the couch, I’ll be right there.”

Neuvillette nodded slowly, even though they knew Furina wasn’t watching, but it was the only sign they could give in that moment; before taking a seat in the corner of the couch, hugging their small frame to their chest anxiously.

Furina returned a moment later with a glass of water, a notepad, and a pen. She put them down on the side table near Neuvillette, and they eyed the glass of water hesitantly as they blinked the tears out of their field of vision.

The ex-archon then sat down next to the Hydro Dragon, mimicking their curled-up posture.

“What’s wrong, Neuvi?” She asked finally, her voice laced with worry.

‘It’s not like them to be this upset…’

Neuvillette merely stared at her for a good few minutes, occasionally wiping stray tears on their sleeve, but Furina waited. She knew they were trying to get the words out.

Eventually, with so little air in their lungs, and a shaky voice, almost a whisper, they mumbled,

“I need you… to say that I’m the real Neuvillette….”

Somehow, Furina wasn’t shocked at all. She merely smiled and scooted a tiny bit closer to her friend, who was currently staring intently at the couch cushion between them.

“Of course you are. You’re the real-deal Hydro Dragon Sovereign, the actual Chief Justice Neuvillette. ‘There is only one Iudex of Fontaine in this world,’ remember? Neuvillette, look at me– you’re crying again…”

Neuvillette sniffled, rubbing their wet face on the bunched up fabric that was their sleeves. “I’m sorry…” they muttered through gritted teeth.

“What’s got you like this, Neuvi? Whatever it is, it’s not silly if it’s got you this upset.”

They looked into Furina’s eyes then. Even if it was only for a second, seeing her usually sparkling, wonder-filled eyes in such a state of crinkled concern over them was enough to push Neuvillette over the edge.

“I… I was at the bookstore… a-and there was this book…” They choked then, staring at the couch cushions once more.

“Go on…”

Neuvillette whimpered slightly as they recalled the fuzzy memory.

“I was at the bookstore, and there was a book… about a character named Madame Neuvillette… who is a supreme court member… and I think it was a popular book, too…”

Furina nodded slowly. “I see… so not only did it set off your dysphoria, but it also stole your identity…”

“Yes, exactly.” Neuvillette worriedly glanced over at their friend, tugging on their horns absent-mindedly.

Furina took a deep breath. “First of all, you’re definitely the real Neuvillette,” she began after a moment of deliberation,”Second of all, you’re a man, through and through. You have short hair to prove that.” She glanced over at them, delighted to see the tiniest ghost of a smile on their face. “And third of all, can’t you file some sort of ‘cease and desist’ order against this book?”

Neuvillette sighed tiredly. “I wish it were that simple… Wouldn’t it seem petty and narcissistic if I limited the artistic expression of Fontainians simply because I’m not comfortable with it?”

“Monsieur Leviathan Neuvillette, you once wrote a law that no domestic pets can be named after me. I think you can write a law that no one should be able to use your likeness in fiction.”

Neuvillette hunched over, sliding down on the couch, their eyebrows knit with exasperation.

“...I suppose I’ll try it…”

“Yaaayyy~!!” Furina cheered, leaning in to give Neuvillette a big squeeze.

The Hydro Dragon happily returned their friend’s hug, finding a nice place to rest in the crook of her neck, and finally allowing themself to smile a little.

“I’m happy you were able to say it out loud this time,” Furina spoke warmly, hugging them a little tighter. “You’re getting stronger, Neuvi.”

“Ahaha… yes, maybe so… is that why you brought the notepad?”

“Maybe…”

Neuvillette glanced over to the side table, eyeing the glass of water once more.

“Thank you, Furina.”

The rain outside had almost completely stopped at this point. It would be a peaceful remainder of the night; just Furina and the real, actual Hydro Dragon Sovereign, Leviathan Neuvillette, who understood each other better than anyone else.

Because in the end, Furina was right. There is only one Iudex of Fontaine in this world.

Just as it should be.

Thank you for reading my cringe little self identifying fic ( ；∀；) (it's totally not me writing about how I'm the real Neuvillette, whaaat, noooo... /sarcasm)

[blackjackkent]

Rakha has two pieces of news to deliver to the myconid sovereign.

"I have slain the creature called Glut," she begins matter-of-factly. "It was scheming to slaughter your circle."

Narrator: You are one with Spaw. Your throat tightens, then relaxes. The air is serene, your mind untroubled.

Rakha's eyes drift half-closed. Her breathing slows. Her mind quiets. Yes. This was why she came back instead of pressing directly on to Moonrise - just the hope of this sensation again. The peace. The serenity, as Spaw called it. A silence that shuts out the beast urge at the back of her mind and leaves her quiescent and calm.

"((*the songs we sing now carry your spirit...*))" murmurs Spaw's voice, interleaved with the calm melody. "((*I first named you Peace-Bringer. I now name you Kin Spirit.*))"

If there was more time, if there was no vegeance still waiting ahead of her... she would happily live in this cloud of spores forever if it would silence her mind like this.

But of course it does not last. It passes, and the low, everpresent growl resumes in the back of her skull.

"I've brought you Nere's head," she mutters. With one fist she lifts the decapitated head as if delivering a meal at an inn.

Spaw reaches out and takes the head with surprising gentleness into its enormous, slimy hands. "((*the drow sought to shatter our Circle*))" it intones, and she can feel the intensity of its strange, alien emotion resonating through her bones. "((*in dealing death, you have brought this Circle life. and thus we name you - Life-Chanter. as our Circle grows, so shall your song. wherever you go, only listen - and you may hear it...*))"

The song rises in a sudden crescendo. The myconids in all directions are swaying in a fervent, desperate rhythm, spores filling the cavern to a choking density. But she does not choke; she breathes and the world fades out, her mind as silent as her surroundings, everything gone but the song laced through with memories, scattered words from all the greatest comforts she has known since she became conscious on the Nautiloid...

...peace-bringer. in dealing death, you have brought this Circle life...

...attack with purpose and savor your kills...

...even a feral wolf has a caring hound at heart...

...when darkness falls, you make your own light...

...you seem like a good soul... you deserve a chance to save yourself...

...there are answers out there... we’ll find them together...

...hearing all you’ve done inspired me... I want to join you...

...I don’t judge you for what happened...

...you will not walk alone into this night, remember that...

...I know what it is like to be burdened by forces outside of your control.. we are alike, you and I...

...I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you...

...the best plan is the one that works...

...in death, new life, always...

...courage is found in the battle against fear, not in the defeat of it...

...you truly are a soul that steels my own...

...i’m deeply proud of you...

...there will be another time for us...

...

...

She isn't sure how long she has drifted in this haze of peace, but eventually a sour note sounds within the melody, then dissonant chords mix with Ethel's cackling laugh and Alfira's screams, and she hears Sceleritas's obsequious whine against her ear--

...i'm sure Master will be better soon... a fellow of your fine breeding is never down for long... i cannot wait until your next act of shameless barbarity...

...

She wakes slumped against the wall beneath one of the enormous, overhanging bioluminescent mushrooms. She is soaked with sweat from head to foot and trembling like a leaf; for a moment she cannot focus her gaze. Then Wyll comes into view, crouched next to her, his hand on her shoulder.

"All right?" he asks gently.

Her mouth is dry; her tongue feels heavy and thick and her voice is a little slurred when it emerges. "My head hurts."

He passes her a waterskin from their packs, watches intently as she sucks down a mouthful greedily. "Not surprised," he says wryly. "That was a hell of a trip those 'shrooms sent us on."

"A biological attack..." Lae'zel rasps weakly from Rakha's other side. "We must-- strike-- take the initiative..."

"Oh, please," says Shadowheart, further down the wall. She's sitting up, sipping from another waterskin and grinning very faintly. "Better to thank them for the free sample and move on." She squints at Rakha. "Though you look a bit like you've seen a ghost."

Rakha shakes her head slightly. "I wonder if they bottle it," she mutters.

It isn't meant as a joke, but Wyll and Shadowheart both laugh anyway.

[dereliction-if]

Will the ros take care of the mc if they get sick.

OH MY GOD ARE YOU SERIOUS?! This Q is heart breaking like omg... ok ok I'll hurry here's the answer...

( I picked relationship status, k?)

The Heir:

Your wellbeing is the most important thing rn. They'd do anything they can - and this is a lot - to make sure you're getting the best treatment possible. The best doctors, the best medicine, whatever your heart desires, your favourite food, cause you gotta eat right? They'll be by your side as much as possible (of course a bit depending on how seriously sick you are, there's no 24/7 if your MC caught a tiny cold ;) ) they will stay with you and talk or listen ....or if you're too tired, then just be close to you, hold you, stroke your hair, give many kisses on your head and hands and on your boo boo wherever that might be, cause it aint healin properly without a smooch at the ouchie spot... They'll make sure to check your temperature, see if you drink enough...

The Commander:

why are you sick? ugh, so weak. seriously? this is so annoying. will you whine about it? please don't. you must be close to death before they reach a level of worry that might show. This doesn't mean they ain't worried earlier but god damn they won't show it! But if it is serious you will notice they get nervous, fidget a lot, get restless. They will make sure somebody takes care of you and if he thinks they don't do enough, are not careful enough or anything like that it'll get ugly. Some people will lose their jobs, get screamed at. Everybody is tense around them. But no matter what, they will do their best to make sure you will be better soon. Please get better soon.

The Sovereign:

poor kitten, mommy's gonna take good care of you. she has to work a lot and take care of many many things you'll learn about - maybe. But when she has time or manages to make time, she will check in on you and, yes, take care, take very good care of you. she's a strict one and you better not be a baby about some "oooh i hit my pinky" or "i think i might have caught a cold when i was sitting by the window in the warm Spring weather, when i was making a flower crown" ugh ugh, no no no, don't do this. but you wouldn't have come so far if you were a cry baby. but if she senses you seriously feel bad or suffer, she will be the most caring and kindest one around - as long as you listen to her, drink up that bitter potion, stay put in bed - no feet outside, and go sleep early. If you are a good kitty she will reward you with gentle strokes & caressing, kisses, some sweet hummed good night melody until you fall asleep... and much more...

The Mage:

Oh they forgot. You can get sick. Hmm. They have no clue what they're doing but they will ask you every few minutes what you need. And they will try to make you laugh and always try to keep the spirits high to not pull you down. But when they are taking care of something or making an errand they are actually anxious af. They will ask the other members of the group for help and they will do their best not to be nervous around you, and fail often enough. But they'll get you everything they know that you like and that would make you smile. They will be with you 24/7 if you're not sending them away, trying to distract you with stories or a little magic. And when you rest, they will lie down with you, if you wish, and hold you tight the whole time. It's the worst time of their life for them, and they've been through - objectively speaking - A LOT WORSE THEMSELVES...

The Mercenary:

shit shit shit shit shit! That was not the plan, you, you can't just get sick. That..that ...no, that is not how this works! AAaaaaah! They panic, because ... they won't admit, but they are worried sick. And, they really suck at being sensitive and caring and all this...stuff. Damn. They are really really overwhelmed with their own thoughts and what they should do. You will see them restlessly pacing a lot, trying to think of how to behave properly because while they want to take care, nobody ever took care of them, and while they kinda know what they would have wished for... they.. they cannot just touch you that way and be that soft and.... They fight a lot with themselves and then they'll disappear. But before you gave up on them, they return and bring a huge - and I mean humongous - sack with all kinds of things! They bought everything they could get their hands on, and some stuff, ehm, that they ehm, borrowed... anyways... vegetables, bandages, herbs, potions, balms, fruits,... and... a teddy bear?

The Knight:

oh no...Don't be sick please! How could this happen? They must have gotten careless and they curse and blame themselves. Lucky for you they know how to take care of you. And while they keep an almost distanced professional attitude, it is kinda hilarious. You've rarely seen them so focussed and I mean, laughing should help with healing, right? They're definitely strict but in a more gentle way. There's not much room for any nonsense, you have to get well soon, please, for yourself and them. They are very worried and check in on you a lot. Like really a lot and you might get annoyed but they insist it is for the best of you. They'll check your temperature often, offer you water and some soup. And who would reject a strong loving hand on their forehead? especially if it moves to stroke your face with the most gentle expression possible on their face. They'll stay by your side at night, not sleeping well if you toss and turn...

[jumbled-messy-confused]

A Battle of a Different Kind (2)

Summary:

In the opulent halls of the Tsar’s palace, General Kirigan’s strength is still being tested to its limits. Amidst the grandeur and forced gaiety, Alina Starkov makes a bold move to rescue him from the clutches of exhaustion and the Tsar’s insensitivity. A delicate dance unfolds, revealing resilience, sacrifice, and unexpected grace.

Notes:

While this story can stand on its own, I highly recommend reading “A Battle of a Different Kind (1)” first for a deeper understanding and richer context. And, yeah, well. Just be warned. *shrugs*

The grand dance hall was a spectacle of overwhelming opulence. Gilded walls, sparkling chandeliers, and lavish draperies adorned every surface, creating an atmosphere of excessive luxury. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sound of forced laughter, a grotesque exhibition of the Tsar’s wealth and vanity. Amidst this ostentatious display, the music alone stood out like a beacon of genuine beauty. The orchestra played old pieces from Ravka, their melodies touching the hearts of those who listened, a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony of the opera.

But even the beauty of the music couldn’t help Kirigan much. Genya’s gaze once more lingered on him, her worry for his well-being still a constant hum in her thoughts. His weariness was palpable once again, and it was clear that the brief rest had already ceased to be effective, leaving him drained of strength once more. She glanced around at her fellow Grisha, who were also keeping a watchful eye on the General, their concern mirroring her own. For what felt like an eternity, they had to watch as the Tsar engaged Kirigan in tedious conversation. The sovereign’s voice was a constant drone, filled with self-importance and oblivious to the General’s condition. Kirigan, bound by etiquette and too proud to show any weakness, listened with a polite mask, though his fatigue and disinterest were evident in the stiffness of his posture and the way his lids occasionally closed longer than a blink. Genya’s heart ached at the sight; her respect for Kirigan’s endurance mingled with her disdain for the Tsar’s insensitivity. “He looks ready to collapse,” Fedyor, standing close to her, murmured, eyeing Kirigan’s pallid complexion and the way his eyes seemed to focus on nothing and everything at once. Genya nodded, her concern growing with each passing moment. “We need to find a way to get him out of there,” she replied softly.

The Grisha began brainstorming, their minds racing to find a solution. They whispered among themselves, each suggestion more desperate than the last. Minutes passed without a viable idea, and Genya grew increasingly frustrated that none of them could come up with a way out.

It was then that Alina voiced a sudden inspiration. “I shall ask him to dance,” she declared, her face set with determination and resolve. Ivan, with dry humor that didn’t quite mask his concern, replied, “I’m not sure if that will save him or doom him further.” “Dancing with me is a thousand times better than enduring another minute with the Tsar,” Alina retorted with conviction, and without another word, she began to weave her way through the crowd. Ivan, watching her go, shook his head morosely and grumbled, “Only if you know the steps!” His husband stared at him in disbelief. “You seriously think he doesn’t?” Ivan shrugged. “Have you ever seen him dance in all these years?” The way Fedyor’s expression turned slightly worried clearly indicated that he hadn’t. Ivan raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that said, “See? I have my reasons.” Genya, observing the exchange, couldn’t help but be amused by the dynamic between the two. And, in contrast to Ivan, she was quite confident in Kirigan’s abilities. Though she had never seen him dance either, no one was as versed in courtly etiquette as he was; he had been navigating these social intricacies long before any of them knew him. Surely, he could manage this as well.

Meanwhile, the nobles parted for Alina, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. Murmurs followed her path as she moved with purpose, her eyes fixed on the throne. Genya watched, her heart caught between admiration for Alina’s boldness and a bit of amusement at how Kirigan would react to this rather unusual idea.

As Alina approached the throne, the Tsar and Kirigan turned to look at her, their conversation halting as she stood before them with an air of confidence. Genya, however, noticed the slight tremor in Alina’s hands, a sign of her underlying nervousness that only someone close to her would recognize. In that moment, Genya felt a surge of gratitude for Alina’s bravery, appreciating how far she was willing to go to help the exhausted man.

“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice admirably clear and assured, “May I have the honour of stealing General Kirigan for a dance?”

The room fell silent. Such a request was unheard of, a breach of protocol that sent whispers fluttering like startled birds. Genya watched as the Tsar stared at Alina in utter astonishment, his jaw practically dropping. Kirigan, on the other hand, only showed a flicker of disbelief, a brief moment where something akin to surprise flitted across his face before his expression became unreadable.

To Genya’s amazement, the Tsar’s astonishment quickly turned into a sneer, his features twisting with a mix of curiosity and amusement. He seemed genuinely intrigued by the audacity of the young woman before him. “Very well, girl. Take him away,” he smirked condescendingly and granted Alinas request with a contemptuous flick of his wrist. Genya had the distinct impression that he was at least as curious as everyone else to see if Kirigan, the epitome of confidence and elegance, would make a fool of himself. And with growing dread, she realized that this might actually happen. Said General’s face had, namely, by now turned to stone.

“Oh oh,” Fedyor muttered, his eyes wide with apprehension; Genya herself felt a lump form in her throat at Kirigan’s icy expression. Alina, meanwhile, was clearly under the most stress. A flicker of panic crossed her face, but she was committed now and had to see it through. Yet, it was obvious that her hand was trembling slightly as she placed it in Kirigan’s, and together they moved towards the dance floor. To top it all, the crowd parted for them, leaving the pair completely exposed, all eyes on them. By now, Genya felt a surge of anxiety that mirrored Alina’s, her heart pounding as she fervently hoped this would go well.

The music started, a beautiful Ravkan piece that Genya recognized instantly. Kirigan stood for a brief moment, listening to the opening notes. The room seemed to hold its breath, unsure of what to expect. Then, the General began to move. And he was a revelation. Kirigan danced with an elegance that took everyone’s breath away, his movements fluid and commanding, perfectly in time with the music. He guided Alina effortlessly across the dance floor, her steps mirroring his with a mesmerizing finesse.

Genya released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and mentally chided herself for doubting him. Of course, Kirigan could dance—he was the most graceful man she knew. It should have been no surprise that he moved with such poise and precision. She marvelled at how effortlessly he seemed to glide across the floor, his movements a stark contrast to the weariness she had seen moments before. Genya had to consciously tear her gaze away from the duo to glance at her fellow Grisha. Ivan stood with his arms crossed, clearly impressed. “I must admit, his talents extend far beyond the battlefield,” he remarked with a wry smile, a grudging acknowledgement in his voice. Fedyor’s eyes shone with pure joy, his usual cheerfulness amplified by the delight of watching Alina and Kirigan dance so wonderfully. Even David, typically lost in his own world, seemed momentarily fascinated, his usually distant gaze focused intently on the dancing pair.

The guests were equally captivated. Whispers of admiration and surprise rippled through the crowd, eyes following every graceful step of the summoner pair. Some guests exchanged glances, clearly impressed by Kirigan’s unexpected talent, while others simply watched in awe, unable to tear their gaze away from the enchanting display. Kirigan, for the first time that evening, seemed to truly enjoy himself. His stern facade had softened, and a genuine smile graced his lips—a smile meant only for Alina. His eyes, usually so guarded, now shone with a rare lightness, reflecting the joy of the moment. Alina beamed, her face alight with happiness as she looked at Kirigan. They whispered to each other, their faces radiating contentment with each exchanged word, creating a lovely picture. Despite his pallor and exhaustion, Kirigan clearly relished this brief moment, and it was wonderful to see. Gradually, more and more people joined the dance floor and filled it up, the scene becoming a beautiful tableau of swirling colors and elegant movements. And soon, Alina and Kirigan were almost lost among the other dancers. After a few minutes, Genya watched how Kirigan skilfully and gracefully guided Alina towards the back of the hall, where the door was located. She briefly wondered why, then she recognized that the music was nearing its end and Kirigan had obviously decided he had endured this farce long enough and was ready to leave and rest.

Ivan observed it as well. He and Genya exchanged glances, nudged their colleagues, and discreetly made their way towards the exit. With a final, elegant twirl, Kirigan and Alina slipped away from the dance floor and the prying eyes of the court. Behind a screen of guests, the Grisha made their escape.

Outside in the corridor, shielded from curious onlookers, Kirigan’s pace began to slow. He pressed a hand to his side, his face tightening in discomfort as he took a careful, deep breath. The group instinctively halted, understanding he needed a moment. Genya observed how Kirigan leaned heavily against the wall, rubbing his face with both hands, the dance having clearly taken the last bit of his strength. When he finally looked up, he managed a faint smile at Alina. “You are full of surprises, Miss Starkov.” His voice was tinged with both amusement and gratitude, yet his fatigue was so evident in his eyes that Alina couldn’t help but hug him gently.

Hiding her face, she murmured softly against his chest, “For a moment, I feared that ‘surprise’ was the worst idea I’ve ever had.” Kirigan’s expression turned concerned, and he lightly pushed her back a bit, lifting her chin with a gentle touch. “That wasn’t directed at you. It was entirely because of that insufferable, arrogant fool of a Tsar. The way he dismissed you like some bothersome insect… I was livid.”

Alina leaned back into him, admitting, “That was quite obvious.”

He allowed her to rest her head against his shoulder again, closing his eyes as he returned the embrace. This time, it was Alina who eventually pulled back. Her eyes filled with loving concern as she looked at his tired face and then she wrapped his arm around her shoulder and encircled his waist, taking on some of his weight. “You look ready to drop down any second,” she murmured gently, before her face brightened and she quipped with a playful smile and a wink, “May I accompany you to your room, General?” Genya smiled at her friend’s boldness, mirroring her earlier demand, but that smile quickly faded as Kirigan simply accepted defeat and leaned heavily on Alina. It spoke volumes about his condition. Nevertheless, he was feeling well enough for a light-hearted reply. “Only if you promise not to plan any more surprises tonight.” Alina made a mischievous face. “No guarantees.”

As the two began to move, Fedyor waved the others over with exaggerated urgency and cheerfully added, “Better not let them out of our sight. Who knows what Alina might come up with next!"

Everyone laughed, the tension of the evening finally breaking. Together, they formed a quiet procession that led Kirigan away from the grand palace and towards the sanctuary of his quarters.

Genya felt a wave of relief wash over her, grateful that he could finally rest. She knew that they would all ensure he had the support and care he needed. Together, they would help him find the strength to recover and face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[adelha-mathilde]

Falling In Love With You

Falling in love with you made me live again.

Before I met you, I was able to move and hear and speak. I thought and acted and made both good and bad choices.

But that isn't really living, is it?

There's a vast difference between existing and truly being alive.

Then I fell into your orbit. Like falling from bitter winter snow up into summer sunshine that banished the cold in a breath.

Sometimes watching you smile and look at me hurts my eyes. There's so much color and warmth in you. So when you get sad and grieve, I want to pour all that bright joy and love back into you.

Your words and laughter is music to my soul. Such renews my love for music and gives my heart the want to sing. So when you whisper your fears and grief out, I would sing you warm melodies of love and acceptance.

Taking your hand and holding you close is my home. My sacred place of belonging reminds me of my childhood, sitting before the church stained glass windows. At times I wish we could live in the moment of cuddling close and holding hands as we walk. So when you flinch away due to pain or doubt, I would envelope all of you into me and never let go.

Our Sovereign Lord blessed us with each other. For us to find each other and walk towards a promising tomorrow. Hand in hand and hearts open. We may not ever be able to see the light in ourselves that Christ gave us. Yet we so easily see that burning candle's brilliance in each other. I believe that was ordained.