#Spiral Winding Machine

[cady181]

rubber hose with spiralled layer extrusion machine with winding machine ...

[satorusugurugurl]

It’s Alive!

Summary: After losing you beloved husband You seek out the help of the renowned doctor; Satoru Frankenstein, to bring him back, With some upgraded ‘equipment’!

Pairing: Kenjaku!Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Warning: Frankenstein themes, language, size kink, monster sex, unprotected sex, cream pies, ( it’s monster sex—kinda)

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: Kinktober day Twenty-Six: Frankenstein! I kind of struggled with this one I had like three versions going. But this one was The one I was most happy with.

He was cold. Too cold.

Your eyes watered as you remembered how your husband Suguru’s remains were rolled past yours on a cold steel table a week ago. A white sheet shielding your eyes from the irrevocable damage done to his body. This felt wrong on so many levels. But you needed him; you couldn’t lose him.

That’s what brought you to this old rickety castle, hoping Dr. Satoru Frankenstein could get your beloved husband back to life. He, of course, agreed, with no cost either, all because he was eager to test his new equipment. It almost seemed too good to be true.

“Missus.” A deep, smooth voice drew you out of your spiraling anxiety. “Missus, it’s time.” You turned to look at the young man before you. A black arrow tattoo crossed the bridge of his nose, while two additional arrows went down his cheeks, one under each eye.

“Choso.” You greeted, fingers gripping the front of your gown. “I-I’m ready.”

He led you up the stairs to the tower. You gripped the railing, climbing higher and higher until Choso opened the door to Satoru’s lab. Lightning flashed, machines hummed, and Satoru ran around his lab, round black goggles shielding his eyes from the flashing machines and whirling wind from the open hatch in the ceiling. His prestigious white hair and lab coat whirled around as he glanced toward you and his assistant.

“Ah! Mrs. Geto, Choso, hurry, it's almost time!”

Choso nodded, ushering you to the side before rushing to help Satoru. Your eyes fixed on the clothes body they were lifting into the opened hatch—your beloved husband. You clasped your hands together, bottom lip quivering, as you prayed for this to work, for him to be okay.

Lightning flashed, and thunder roared as Satoru jumped down from the stairs he was on, rushing towards a wall of valves and electronic machines. “On my word, Choso!” He shouted as his assistant ran to the room's other side, grabbing a lever. Satoru’s attention was transfixed on the flashing lightning strikes in the dark skies above. He was focused like the mad scientist he was. “Steady—steady!” A giant lightning bolt striped the mechanical structure. He had set up outside the tower on the roof. “Now!!”

Choso flipped the lever, and as he did, electricity sparked, flowing down towards the table. You screamed, covering your eyes and ears as the machines cried out screaming. Gojo laughed maniacally as the sparks continued to spark until they died down. It was only then that Gojo lifted his goggles before grinning.

“Choso! Bring him down!”

You felt a swell of anxiety as Choso began lowering the table, and you rushed forward, watching as the form underneath it began to twitch. You swallowed, watching as Satoru rushed forward, yanking the sheet off of your husband. Stitches ran along his forehead and different body parts that had been stitched back together. As your eyes roamed over his body, he suddenly blinked. One violet eye, one brown, stared up at Satoru before darting towards you.

“Oh!” You gasped, placing your hand over your chest with wide eyes. “Suguru?”

Your husband slowly sat up, looking down at his hands before his attention focused on you. You stared at one another in shock and hope. Your breathing hitched as you stepped forward, gently, taking him much larger on your own. Your husband looked puzzled at the gesture for the briefest moments before his fingers curled, clasping your hand and his.

“It’s alive,” Satoru announced to Choso. “It’s alive! It’s alive!” He laughed madly as Suguru pulled your hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss against it.

“O-Oh Suguru!” You chirped out as your relief and joy overflowed like a fountain.

Suguru kicked the rest of the sheet off before standing before you. His frame is much larger than you remembered it before. He towered over you with a sly smirk before cupping your cheek. You learned into it, fighting a sob as Satoru cleared his throat.

“I have made several improvements to your husband. Please take the time to get reacquainted with him.”

Without another word, the two men left you and your husband alone. You listen until the door shuts behind them, and when it does, you finally allow yourself to look up at Suguru. He smiled fondly before lifting you by the hips and carrying you to the nearest wall.

“Suguru?” You swallowed, staring up at his tall, muscular form. “Darling, what are you—“ you gasped, recoiling as he bunched your skirts up, lifting it to your hips. “O-Oh!”

“Wife~” he cooed, growling as he towered over you. His large muscles pulsed as he leaned down next to your ear. “You’re so small~ I can easily lift you.” You gasped as he ran his hands down, groping your thighs as he forced you to wrap them around his waist. “So cute~ so small, I’ll protect you.”

And you knew he meant every single word he said. Because you wanted him to protect you, he was tall, muscular, and strong. Your body shivered against his thick form, making you drip with need as he reached his hands up, tugging your lacy undergarments to the side. You couldn’t remember the last time you were so aroused; Suguru always had that effect on you. But his newer, stronger form made you even wetter.

“Suguru~!” You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your mouth, kissing him with a force so strong it almost knocked the wind out of his lungs.

He kissed you back, snarling as he did. He wasted no time as he reached down, stroking himself with three quick pumps before he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance. His cock was larger than you remembered causing you to hiss out in slight discomfort that slowly eased into pure pleasure. This must have been the additional upgrade Satoru had been talking about. Suguru paused momentarily, allowing you to adjust, his body as stiff and rigid as a rock.

“Are you okay?” He whispered against your lips, his two different-colored eyes examining your face.

“Yes~ I missed you so much, Sugu!” You shot out, kissing him eagerly as he continued pushing inside of you. You moaned, burying your face in the inside of his neck as he stretched your inner walls out like you had never been stretched before. He rested his stitched forehead against your shoulder, dark hair tickling your heated skin as he completely bottomed out inside of you. You never thought being fucked with such a big cock would feel good. But it felt so fucking so good, fuck it just felt so right, like he was meant to be inside of you despite the size difference.

When your body finally adjusted to the size, you pulled your head away just as he did. You lost yourself in his eyes, panting softly as you panted softly as he began rocking his hips. The head of his cock brushed right against your g-spot, drawing out a shaky breath from you as you dug your nails into his back. Suguru hissed against your skin, leaning back to plant kisses along your sensitive neck. Each roll and rock he pushed into you had his cock moving deeper inside of you. Until the head of it brushed against your cervix. The sensation was almost electrifying, making you arch off the wall.

“Fuck, fuck, holy fuck!” His grip on your hips tightened as he began pounding into you. You grabbed a handful of black silky locks, pulling at it.

“Princess,” he roared, “you’re so wet and tight for me.” His finger dug into your flesh, making you rock them faster. “You have no idea how fucking good you feel.” Suguru mewled as his cock throbbed deep within you.

The coil deep within you began to tighten; you were growing close to your release. Suguru grunted and growled in your ear, his cock sliding in and out of your slickened folds as he thrust his hips up, nearly causing the wall behind you to crack. One robust and large arm held you in place while his free hand reached up, gently choking you. His huge fingers squeezed around your delicate neck as he let out an animalistic sound as you rocked your hips against his faster and harder.

“Haah! Suguru!” You gasped, your erect nipples rubbing against his bare stitched skin. “Nngh fuck yes!.”

“Princess, I-I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m so close.”

“M-Me too!”

He didn’t need to be told a second time; his thrusts became erratic as he cut off your airway just a bit. That left you desperate. Your eyes rolled back as you continued moving, trying to push each other over the edge, and everything continued to build until you both came simultaneously. Your body stilled as Sugurue growled as his cum came out in ropes painting your walls. Your pussy clenched tightly around him, cumming harder than you had ever come before. You both stayed there gasping and panting roughly until the waves of pleasure died down. You grinned as he leaned back to look at you; his cheeks were faintly flushed as he smiled back. The two of you leaned in for another kiss, only to jump as someone bangs on the door.

You blinked, looking at the door, and several people came running in with torches and pitchforks. But they—weren't people, they were vegetables? The fuck? They yelled and screamed, not seeming to care that Suguru was balls deep inside of you. Your husband didn’t even mind them as he stared at you.

“Princess?” Your vision began to fade as Suguru called out your name several times. “Hey, wake up.” When you blinked again, you found Suguru’s violet eyes on you. “Hey, sleepy head, we're home.”

He was wearing all black, bolts sticking out of his neck. Stitches had been drawn across his forehead, smeared here and there. Huh, you glanced around before looking down at yourself. You were in a white dress and could feel the sticky, tacky face paint on you.

Oh yeah, you went to Satoru’s Halloween party. You had too many shots, and getting home was a bit of a blur. But your tall, large husband was anything but blurry. He was all muscle and kind. He agreed to be the DD for you both so you could have a fun time! And you had a fun time but were craving a different kind of fun now.

“Mmm, I had the craziest dream.” You yawned as Suguru unbuckled your seatbelt before carefully scooping you into his large arms. “You were Frankenstine’s monster, and we had hot monster sex.”

Your husband gave you a judgmental look with a laugh before shaking his head as he carried you inside. “Hot monster sex?” He shook his head. “So that’s why you were moaning and squirming the whole ride home. Because I was fucking you as a monster?”

“I was not!”

“Yes, you were, Little Monster Fucker; I bet when you get into the room, those panties are gonna be soaked.”

You pouted, crossing your arms over your chest. “They are not.” You stuck your bottom lip out. “And I’m not a monster fucker!” Suguru gave you an incredulous look.

“Says the person who dreamt of me as a reanimated man fucking her.”

You open your mouth to babble, shut it as a thought, and roam over your mind. “Wait, does that count as necrophilia?” Your husband stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head slowly to stare down at you.

“You know what, I was gonna fuck your brains out against the wall, but that was the least sexiest thing you could’ve said.”

“Wait! Please fuck me. I’m sorry!”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “Only because you said please, you little necrophiliac.” You grimaced, shaking your head in disgust.

“Eww, no, I would much rather be a monster fucker.” You sighed dramatically, going slightly slack in his arms. “Oooh, please, Mr. Monster, don’t do the nastiest things to meet Daddy!”

“Oh my god,” Suguru laughed softly, shaking his head as he carried you into the bedroom. “I want you to remember this moment when I get you a T-shirt that says: ‘Proud Monster Fucker’ on it for Christmas.”

“It’s better than ‘Proud Necrophiliac’!”

Sugar dropped you on the bed, sighing deeply. “Stop saying that damn word.” He turned his jeans down, freeing his monster-sized thick hard cock out, rubbing the tip over your bottom lip. “And put your mouth to better usage.” You grinned slowly, taking his thick, monster-like length into your mouth. Maybe you were a monster fucker, but you were proud to be one for him!

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918 @draculemon

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[kiemiu]

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝓞𝐔𝐑: 𝓘 𝓖𝐨𝐭 𝓨𝐨𝐮

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc: 2.1k

summary -> having to comfort cheol after a particularly scary scene in a movie, his sister not answering her phone resorting to you caring for him. warnings -> the suggestion of cheating.

( beneath the quiet masterlist )

9:44PM

𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 the orphanage, your mood had been remiss, arriving halfway through the movie. The drive from the Café a great distance, not doing you any favors with the added on traffic that had been nothing less than merciless. On any other day it wouldn't have bothered you to miss the beginning of a movie as much but tonight was different. For weeks upon end the children had begged, and pleaded with all their might to convince your mother to screen a particular film—an adaptation of an old folk tale, one you had been curious of since first seeing the previews even though it was aimed towards kids. Missing even a second of it stung more than you'd like to admit, almost feeling childish for the small pout that made home on your face because of it.

Without wasting another moment, you bolted out of the car and bolted towards the "movie room" which in reality was just a second living room, refurbished to look as such with an added projector and a small popcorn machine. Quickly, you slung your bag off of your shoulder, dropping it onto the front bench while kicking your shoes off before quietly tip-toeing towards the kitchen to make yourself a snack, knowing that the children themselves had already conducted something beforehand, always making their own special little treats for nights like this.

Slipping into the room as quietly as possible, throwing a gentle wave at the children who noticed you while simultaneously holding your finger to your lips to make sure they didn't alert the others, the last thing you wanted was to face the chaos of whispers and giggles from other children interrupting the movie, knowing just how rowdy they got over the smallest distractions.

Settling into a corner towards the back, you tried to focus on the screen, forcing your mind to catch up with the story. It had started out innocently enough—a group of friends exploring an area they shouldn't have been with added on lighthearted banter. Until the movie suddenly took a darker turn, something that was supposed to be lighthearted and fun with an occasional scare or two, spiraled into something chilling and borderline sinister, leaving everyone quiet. The room thick with tension.

Out of instinct you couldn't help but glance over towards Cheol, who sat stiffly on a worn floor cushion in front of you, his small hands clenched tightly into fists, nails digging into his palms with great strength. His doe eyes suddenly wide, and filled with tears as he remained frozen in his spot, eyes fixed on the screen as if he couldn't move an inch, the tremble of his body noticeable as he took rapid shallow breaths.

“Cheol?” you quietly whispered, concern laced in your voice as you leaned down closer to him. He didn’t respond, it was almost as if he couldn't. You watched as his mouth was slightly agape, his lips quivering before a soft shaky sob escaped him. A few kids turned towards him at the noise, some faces laced with concern while others snickered to their friends.

Without hesitation you lifted yourself from the couch, moving quietly but swiftly to where Cheol sat frozen in place. You crouched down to his level before gently wrapping an arm around him, quietly guiding him out of the room so you wouldn't draw anymore attention to yourselves, murmuring soft reassurances to him on your way out. You led him outside to the back porch, the freezing night air greeting you both with an occasional gust of wind.

Once outside, you crouched back down to his eye level, brushing a few stray hairs that stuck to his tear-stricken face. “Cheol," you quietly start off, your voice no louder than a whisper. "Are you okay? It's just a movie, I promise.” you quietly soothed, your thumb brushing away his tears. But as if your reassurances had no affect on him, Cheol's sobs grew louder, his hands that were balled into fists holding the bunched up fabric of his shorts suddenly shot up, hooking around your neck as he buried himself into your shoulder, his body heaving and shuddering as sobs continued to wrack out of him.

His small frame trembled wildly in your arms, each gasp of air cutting straight into your heart. “I-I want my sister,” he choked out between sobs, his voice thin and broken, laced with a despair that nearly brought tears to your eyes.

Without a second thought, you held him closer to your frame. “Okay, okay." you murmured softly, keeping your voice steady. "I'll go grab the house phone and we'll give her a call, okay?” you reassured. You brought him inside and guided him to sit by the door before untangling yourself from his grip. Quickly, you hurry towards the hall closet and grab a spare blanket, draping it over his form before saying "I'll be right back, will you be okay while I go back into the movie room for a second?" and even as his cries subsided into quiet sniffles with the occasional sob, he nodded, holding the wrapped blanket around himself even tighter as you bolted towards the movie room.

You tip-toed back into the room, slipping inside as quietly as you could. The glow of the projector filled the space and casted shadows over the walls and all of the children's dazed faces. Walking over to your mom who had been fighting a losing battle with sleep in her arm chair, her head lolling off to the side before shooting back up, only to repeat the movement again and again. Reaching her side, you tap her arm gently, before gently clasping both of your hands together in a pleading motion. "Please, please, I need your phone." you quietly whisper. With furrowed eyebrows and blurred vision she mumbles out a gruff "Why?"

"Um, Cheol really needs to talk to his sister. Please, it's urgent." You admit quietly, your hands flying around in a gesture of urgency. Your tone softened but the desperation clear with the slight crack in your voice. With an annoyed sigh, she waved you off. Mumbling out a barely coherent sentence "Her-mm-m-phone number—mm-fridge."

Shooting off of the floor, you quietly tip-toe out of the room and hurried towards the kitchen. As you pass the back door your eyes landed on Cheol. He sat slumped on the floor, his back on the glass pane of the back door, the blanket still wrapped tightly around him as his shoulders still shook with cries. The sight making you quicken your pace.

Reaching the fridge, your eyes quickly scan the fridge covered in magnets and pictures until you find a list of phone numbers. Your finger trailing down found the list of numbers on the fridge, until you see 'Kang Sae-Byeok'. You whisper her name under your breath, repeating her number like a mantra, leaving your lips in a whisper as you type it into the orphanages landline, in your head praying that she picks up.

The dial tone droned on—one second, then three, then six, then ten until you're met with the sound of the hollow monotonous tone of an automated message. A frustrated sigh leaving your lips, before you unknowingly start to nibble on the nail of your, a nervous habit you struggled to shake.

The beep signaling to leave a voicemail made my discouraged slouched position stand up straight, "Uh, Sae-Byeok, Hi. So, It—um was movie night tonight here and the movie we watched really scared Cheol and he's asking for you. Please, if you have the time to swing by to talk to him, I'd really appreciate it, He's really upset and could use your help. But—um I guess you're busy right now, so, just come by whenever you get this. Annnnd, Oh! This is Kim Y/n, Calling off of the orphanages home phone, if—uh, if you didn't know. ahem, okay bye." Hanging the phone up, you bring both of your hands to cover your face, your eyebrows pinching in embarrassment as you slowly shook your head. "What the fuck was that about?" you quietly murmur to yourself before making your way towards Cheol, a hesitance in the way you walked. "How am I going to tell Cheol?" you ask yourself, your frown deepening at the thought as you traded back to his figure.

He was still curled under the blankets, his cheeks a soft rosy color, slightly damp from the onslaught of tears that had come to a stop from his now bloodshot eyes. You sat yourself next to him, bringing your legs to your chest and resting your chin on your knees.

“I'm sorry, Cheol. I couldn’t reach her,” You quietly admitted. “But I’m here, okay? You’re not alone.”

He didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched out between you two, heavy, and thick with no movement. The whistling sound of wind being heard from the glass back door along with the muffled noise from the movie filled the silence.

After a long pause, he leaned into you again, resting his head on your side without a word. Your heart swelled at the amount of trust he had in you, a fragile thing you dared not to take for granted. Wrapping an arm around him once more, and leaning your head on the back door, the feeling of the cold glass soothing the heat that radiated off of your scalp. You whispered to him quiet reassurances, a hand rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him and slowly, his jagged breathing steadied, and his sniffles subsided.

Feeling his form slump further into yours gave you the signal that he was fast asleep. Slowly unraveling his figure from beside yours, you hook your arms under his legs and behind his back, lifting him up bridal style to carry him back to his bed.

Slipping out of the house as quietly as you could, leaving with a tight farewell to your mother and a wave to the kids, the weight of the evening still pressing hard on you even on the drive back home with the windows down. Your thoughts tangled with the same persistent questions: Where was Sae-Byeok? Why hadn't she answered or called back? Was she safe? You knew she was strong but the silence on the other end of the line felt deafening which worried you. The questions buzzed in your mind, a storm of uncertainty you couldn’t seem to escape.

Before you could fall too far down the rabbit hole, your phone buzzed on the passenger seat, David's name and his face taking over the screen, a sigh leaving you as you threw your head back against your headrest. Eyes remaining on the road as you grab your phone and answer it. A small “Hi.” leaving your lips, even you couldn't hide the strain in your voice.

“Hey, sexy.” His voice was cheerful, sultry, a stark contrast to the knot of exhaustion that sat in your chest. “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. It’s been too long without having you in my arms." he comments, a soft sigh escaping his lips. You pretended to not hear the muffled chatter of a female voice in the background, giggling and mocking his words to which he replied with a quiet laugh himself and a quiet "shh."

“Yeah,” You replied, forcing some enthusiasm into your tone although it still sounded flat. “Me too.” you added, but even you could hear the exhaustion mixed with irritation bleeding through your words.

There was a pause, then a faint edge to his voice. “You—don’t really sound excited.” a dry chuckle escaping his lips, something he did when he was annoyed, which he was a lot.

“No, I am! Really, I Promise” You followed up quickly, trying your hardest to convince him as well as yourself, but it still wasn’t enough.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make up for your lack of enthusiasm, hm?” he sneered, his tone tight and laced with something sharp. “Anyway, you sound tired. I’ll let you get back to… yknow whatever it is you’re doing. Hopefully you're in a better mood tomorrow, yeah?" His farewell sounding more like a threat. Not a hope for you to feel better but more of a you will.

The line went dead before you could respond leaving you to stare at the road ahead, your phone tossed to the side as a scoff escaped you. His words replaying in your mind. Backhanded and dismissive, they left a sour taste in your mouth, rolling down the window to let cool air brush through your hair.

Fuck David.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍���𝒔𝒕 ' 📷 : @miabcuzz @twicesuuui @kissyslut @kritkalhit @st4rcs @dumbbellxo @theforestchoseme3 @wlvlurvsfimmia @genshinenjoyer @theweirdanimation @ch-3-rry @nenukkjhj @giaqnn @crack240 @pookalicious-hq @laurenkenss @sheinhamood @pooksterrr @bbynai @diorzs @beaaluv @colorfulkittenperfection @yourl0caltrash @kidicaruslover911 @sherryuki-callmeyuki @i0nic02 @knfthxv @mina-has-been-here @monroesturnns

[ru8yx]

Secret lady Crown Prince Eshawr x reader? I don’t mind what kind of format you put it in.

CROWN PRINCE ESHAWR X READER!!

From the moment of her birth, her life had been predestined as a plaything for her family, and they bestowed upon her a name as sweet as the gentlest flowers and as passionately fiery as the wind.

As the first daughter of the Duke, every aspect of her future had been meticulously planned, shaped by the heavy weight of the family's expectations and ambitions.

Fate had woven a path she had little choice but to follow, each step leading her deeper into the intricate web of the ducal machinations.

Their destinies intertwined like a bittersweet thread, woven by the intricate hand of fate. The Crown Prince, with golden locks that danced in the sunlight and eyes the hue of molten gold, was her predestined match, chosen to be her future husband.

Under the watchful gaze of their families, she too was caught in the trap, as they bowed in introduction, their lives now inexorably linked by the constraints of their assigned roles. Like flies entrapped in a spider's web, their path forward was laid out before them, with no escape in sight.

She had endured a lifetime of lessons, honed to be the perfect future Empress, leaving no room for errors.

Her every waking moment was spent striving for flawlessness under the relentless scrutiny of demanding nobility. Everywhere she went, their greedy eyes tracked her every move, waiting to pounce at the slightest imperfection.

Despite the suffocating weight of expectations and the omnipresent gaze, she stood tall, unyielding in her regal bearing. She would always bear the title of Crown Princess, a symbol of both her lineage and the burden of her role in the tumultuous world of imperial politics.

Eshawr, the beloved Crown Prince, was exalted as the very life force of the empire, lavished with praise for simply existing.

To her, however, he was much more than that—he was her devoted husband, whose playful banter and steadfast presence provided both comfort and joy.

Despite the looming threat of his family's curse, which claimed the lives of partners of the royal family in tragic manners, Eshawr remained vigilant, standing guard through numerous sleepless nights to protect the one whom he had sworn to spend his life with.

Fate, though relentless, couldn’t dampen the love that burned within their entwined hearts.

The nobles painted a vivid picture of their love, likening it to a fairytale, with the princess embodying grace and beauty while the prince was the dashing savior protecting her from the ills of the world.

However, beneath the surface, cracks began to form, threatening to shatter the perfect facade. Problems emerged, revealing that nothing in life was ever truly flawless, reminding them that even the most enchanting fairytales could have unexpected twists and turns in the narrative of their love story.

She was known for her iron grip, unwavering and stoic, allowing no weakness or emotion to sully her image as the Crown Princess.

The nickname "Iron Grip Rose" had been bestowed upon her, symbolizing her unwavering strength and resilience.

She had endured countless trials without ever letting on the pain and suffering that gnawed at her from within. However, the tragic death of her beloved husband, the Crown Prince, left her broken and vulnerable, shattering the impenetrable façade she had nurtured so fiercely.

Plagued by the torment of losing her beloved husband, the woman spiraled into madness, descending deeper into despair with each passing day.

She refused to eat or drink, her body becoming frail and her once radiant eyes turning lifeless and dull. Driven to the brink, she pulled at her hair, howling like a wounded beast, feeling the weight of isolation and desolation, her heart shattered beyond repair.

The absence of her husband had torn away the light that illuminated her world, leaving only the suffocating darkness to consume her.

The whispers of the maids echoed in the grand halls, lamenting the transformation of the once-beloved princess into a tormented wraith.

They spoke of how sorrow had drained her vibrancy, how she appeared so lifeless and pain-stricken, murmuring unintelligible words as she rocked back and forth.

And all the while, her gaze remained fixated on a portrait of her and her beloved late husband, a time when they radiated in power and beauty, before fate wrenched his life away.

The descent into insanity reached its pinnacle as she vented her anguish on her surroundings, smashing even the most fragile of vases and leaving her hand bloodied from the shattered shards.

As tears streamed down her face, she saw her deceased husband before her, his teasing smile still haunting her. In her delusion, he beckoned to her from the balcony, his tall figure standing against the backdrop of the sky.

In a moment of desperation and despair, she gripped her dress and lunged toward him, only to be met with a fatal fall from her chamber’s window

❝ they say, if you stand underneath the balcony of princess [name] you could still hear her cries and screams of pain❞

HII THX SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING 🫶hope u enjoyed , (hope its not badly written ) and no happiness 💕🎀

[lxxiezz]

I want to see Sonic scared.

You're evil.. I love it.

I'm gonna make it Sonic shitting his pants OVER reader, if you want him generally scared then please have me know!

Sonic x mobian!reader (It's not really specified but i see that more fitting)

Sonic was never one to get scared easily. Sure, sometimes he can get startled when caught off-guard.. but that's not the point! Sonic portrays himself like the brave hero he is, always fighting for what's right. Yet it all changes when he sees you getting striked down by one of Eggman's whacky concoction he created to destroy Sonic.

But how did you wind up in that situation? Let's run it back, no?

It was a calm afternoon as usual everyone was doing their own thing, until they get notified that Eggman is yet again, up to no good. Sonic and his partner - you, were the first ones to arrive, fighting side by side through the array of robots, the rest of the team soon arrived aswell, but they all got seperated, including you, from Sonic. You defeated the enemies with a bit of struggle, but nothing too terrible, until you spot that blue blur being attacked a bigger, seemingly stronger killer machine, he was taking it head on so he couldn't notice a random blast of what it seems like a laser beam, heading straight at him.

If someone asked you what were you thinking, you would'nt be able to answer that yourself, since you weren't thinking at all, in that moment everything seemed to slow, as you jumped over an enemy and flung yourself in Sonic's direction, taking the blow instead of him, you could hear him yell out your name before everything went dark.

Sonic has never felt panicked, or scared. But for the first time ever.. when he sees you sprawled on the ground motionless, it all washed over him in one huge wave, he notifies the others to get out of there and grabs you and runs at a inhumane speed away from all the danger and stops once he's a safe distance away. "(Name)!! (Name)!!"

He'd call out, shaking your body by your shoulders, but you remained unresponsive. He felt real panic and fear for the first time ever. It was horrible. Tails soon flew over an took you away to patch you up. Your condition was critical. It took hours of whatever it is that they were doing to get you fixed up, and when he saw you again.. bedridden and unconsious. He didn't feel relieved, not yet. He was terrified for your wellbeing.

Panic was going through his system in waves, just when he thinks everything's okay he'd spiral back into the same thing.

It was only 2 days later when you finally woke up, Sonic was by your side holding your gloved hand and staring out into the abyss. When he felt your hand twitch his green eyes snapped to look at your face, your eyebrows furrowed as you opened your eyes, letting out a little grunt as you slowly tried recollecting the past events. You didn't have enough time to wake before you feel a certain hedgehog jump on top of you and hold you in an embrace. "Ack- ow- Sonic!" You yelped at the pain in your torso, looking down at the hedgehog as he hurriedly backed off to not hurt you "(Name), (Name).., i was so worried!" He'd exclaim, looking at you.

"I'm fine Sonic, I'm okay now."

You reassured, holding out your hand to caress his cheek. You saw the worry and fear in his green irises finally wash away. You were okay.

Ok so this turned out way different than i initially thought it would but oh well. I'm too tired to think thoughts right now anyways.. Hope yal like this!

[perlen-gold]

A MelkorxMairon story

inspired by saintstars

“Come.”

They call me Great Death, the Constrainer. Black Foe of the World, Master of Lies. They say I am merciless and proud, atrocious, barbarous, brutal and ruthless, abominable and terrible to behold, wicked and vicious. They are not wrong.

 “Come,” I whispered, my voice a phantom of its earth-cracking thunder tracing across his heated stone-skin.

I imagined him adorned lightly. Onyx-black, ink-soft lace balming his skin. A hue of jewelry, the rings he so liked, fragrant with flawless gold.

Lose, the scarlet-crimsoned whisper of his hair, embroidering the tickling shadows about him, breathing with a faint, warm glow, lose, unbound, free.

Instead, iron and steel. Rather, I felt it was the blunt taste of metal humming beneath my fingertips., winter-gray and silver-cool.

Never had I hissed at the melody of cutting cold as he, freezing snow and whirling ice. Now, as I envisioned him in soft-light fiber and warmth-glowing fabric, I nearly did.

Instead, I touched upon the spiral shell of Mairon’s armor, inch by inch.

Enough work.

I almost say it.

I feel Mairon tense the moment the words soar upon my tongue. I think his bruises, sprains and scars, so carefully withheld beneath his armor, coil.

My own injuries are throbbing as the mountain’s heart pulsates.

On the tip of my tongue I finger two different syllables, then. I taste them, long and probing. They are not familiar between my lips.

Instead, I murmur, “Come.”

Then try, taste, whisper.

“Please.”

As I stroke the sounds, I feel the remnant scars of my wounds squirm and stretch.

Enough work. I had said those words before quite differently.

He had been absorbed in a long list of parchment, winding and dry, just like now, after an endless day of meetings and councils.

War is an ever-hungry machine that constantly must be fed and patted and attended to. Not I but Mairon is its master who keeps it ever roiling and toiling. Its needs are both endless and unending.

There are weaponries to be forged, armor to be hammered. Hosts of Orcs to be commanded, captains to be instructed, recruits to be trained.

Expedient though they are, Orcs make poor comrades in arms. Constantly squabbling, perpetually fighting each other for position or food or simply the lack of distraction or wit, they are ill-made for cooperation and it takes more than a whip to tame them. Fear might control them but it takes more to make them efficient, Mairon often says.

And efficient he makes them. Orcs and goblins have a natural aptitude for battle, their fighting is simple and crude nonetheless, Mairon often also sighed, and the imbeciles end up killing each other before they even learn how to swing an axe in an accurate arch.

Then there is food and rations to be retrieved and organized, routs to scout and news from spies and traitors to be collected and molded into benefits and advantages.

I knew all of this because Mairon had told me, complained to me of these things more often than I wished and, what was worse by far, even made me listen till I was fed up and bored beyond even my unyielding power. Oh, there was relentlessness in him that heeded neither my ostentatious disregard nor my sour mood whenever he pestered me with these trifles. I might have escaped, oh yes, but he would serve me thrice the tales of battlements in need of improvement, insufficient food resources and incompetent Orc armorers designing poorer battering rams when I hungered for the naked sheen of his skin.

I have always thought Mairon mercilessly vindictive beyond even my desire for revenge.

“Your army, my lord, needs attention”, he would say lilting as skittering pearls and with a tone so quizzacious I might seize his throat eventually which would make him laugh and brush the sweetest gasp against my ear.

Once, I sank my teeth into the tender rose-petal softness of his beautiful neck and he moaned softly into me while he enumerated all the little repairs needed for some dispensable outpost in such a shuddering, smile-curving little voice that I, smeared with his gold-liquor blood, considered biting off his tongue. It made his heedless smile curve even wickeder.

There had been always only one way to silence the brazen little creature.

And for a while he writhed and arched beneath me, trembling, mouth and body sealed, only to continue his speech in the fire-gilded afterglow of our bodies, his throbbing flame-heat and shivering legs still around me.

Oh, even my fell cruelty, which I thrust into him, could not match his own.

This time, however, it was different.

I say war is a machine but, in truth, Mairon is the machine that is war.

Like the rings he so loves for their boundless, immaculate symmetry, none of his designs or schemes knew either end or beginning and it was these endless, tedious things in his fingers around which they always snaked like wild adders eternally, perpetually.

And Mairon is just as endless and snaking.

There is no detail to escape his lidless mind’s gaze. No mosaic stone unset, no jigsaw piece uncontemplated. Every piece my and his spies gathered glides between his sizzling fingertips.

Not a single piece of floating ash is unknown to him. No trifling squabble crumbled under his high boots unseen, no minor sentiment of unrest skittered across his path without his notice. He weaves a single-minded Orc’s gripe into his hair when he rises in the crisp morning, he holds an outpost’s trivial failings in his grasp when setting the chisel in his forge and he slides a letter intercepted over his skin when he undresses in the evening.

I call him my little flame, and it delights his curving dagger smile, for he is neither little nor single-tipped flame.

My troops, on the other hand, my Balrocs and generals and captains and Orcs call him the lidless, sleepless, all-seeing eye. I might be the god they serve but one single gush of wind loosening a lone scarlet-gilded, fire-whipping strand of Mairon’s hair sends them scudding and scurrying as ants.

I did not, or barely, notice at first.

So consumed was I that it was only an irksomeness in the beginning before it grated at my attention, more and more.

Always there had been a piece of something on Mairon’s mind, a roll of parchment in his long-fingered hands, a whispered request in his well-shaped ear, another meticulously drawn map, another scouting route worked out, another keen-eyes report at his sharp-angled elbow.

It was as though catching an industrious spider weaving double the nets or spotting the arctic fox growing twice the pristine fur.

And yet.

I say I heeded not the change, at first. Yet, in truth there was something vexing me outside the range of my vision, like a buzzing fly my dragons cannot see yet not quite bait either.

When then, at long last, it woke me out of my razor-riven raptness, it was like a silent shiver running through the earth meeting a mountain, a cresting wave crashing against a sheer cliff of rock after building for weeks.

Ah, I had not known it had been there.

Suddenly, however, my ire raged clear and raw.

“Enough!”

Ah.

My skin prickling as the stagnant air before a storm.

My voice, having sundered heavens and cleaved continents, a lightning bolt lit.

Plans and maps, plans and schemes, schemes, schemes and plans! I had been surge-swelling with them like a river breaking its bed.

My captains and leaders, Orcs and goblins, their heads snapped around to my seat as if I had broken their necks. However, I was no longer seated. Why had I come to this counsel at all, dark creatures in my service startling and groveling? Mairon had stopped dragging me there long ago and I rarely obliged him when he did.

I did not take notice whether it was letter parchment or outline scroll I tore from Mairon’s hands. A shattering on the onyx black floor, I felt myself towering, looming with my mounting rage.

In the breathing space between us, him and me, my body was sparking at the edges.

Never had I, quite unlike Mairon, endeavored to control my wrath, unlike him who could mask the brightest blaze of anger like ash covers the still-glowing embers within.

Instead, I felt my shape rise and my all-seeing vision expand, fraying at the edges, burn with it.

Whatever it was that I tore from him crumbled into smoke and electric sparks under my hands.

And still he would not look at me.

Ah, there it was, the hilt and pike of my sudden temper which I was fingering like my warhammer, Mairon’s steady gaze still, still, still fastened on what he had been reading an instant before, parchment and scrolls and lesser creatures and, oh, everything without even once in weeks upon weeks and months uncounted looking up at me who was his master.

The fortress around us, the raven-black stone floor beneath our feet shivered with a ringing tremor.

I thought ages to pass but, in sooth, Mairon stared at the quivering remnants of what I had just ripped from his hands much longer while my rage sloshed and billowed into vastness.

Then, his gaze flared into mine.

It was as though a ray of morning light hit me, clear and spear-piercing.

His gold-crystal eyes were aflame as a crisp winter’s dawn. This was the only warning I was given.

I saw his transformation only in shreds ere Mairon lashed himself upon me, flame-gleaming fur and blaze-white teeth.

My wrath was sharp enough to wrap us both and Mairon’s teeth even sharper.

Fire cannot consume the mountain but it can sweep across, melt, mold and scar it beyond recognition.

Ah, and scar each other we did in our conflagration.

If any dark creature, Balrog or maggot Orc had been present, they must have fled for no insect lingers to watch whether slashing rains or whipping winds may triumph over the storm.

Had we been lesser beings, we might have easily slain each other.

Instead, the stone-blind walls around us gasped as we fought and parts of Utumno well-nigh collapsed under our rage.

When at last we both sank against opposite walls, the torches shook under our breaths as grass before the scythe.

My anger, however, fled as swiftly as it had come and his surely must have to.

The air tasted of stale smoke and departing thunder.

As we huffed, I expected him to limp toward me. Even lean against me, his inferno fury and my cosmic wilderness abated and washed away by the great tide of our fighting, leaving as brine-raw and satisfied enough to huff and touch each other’s wounds with well-practiced fingers softly and tender lips. I would have licked his wounds, and more, and his lips could have kissed mine till we shook from a different kind of fury and another quake came upon Utumno ere an unsimilar fatigue settled between us, and then we would have finally tended to each other’s injuries in a more lasting way.

What rags of his fine-woven garment had withstood his skin-changing were torn to shreds by me and fell from his bare skin.

Yes. I expected his sly smile dripping mockingly from his slyer lips.

Though rare, it had no been our first fight, after all.

As our breaths pooled in the empty counsel room, I saw Mairon rise to his staggering legs.

Instead, however, he left as abruptly as he had flared, limping.

He strode from my hall, naked, gold licking beneath the glowing soles of his feet, the hue of fire-lit blood in his whipping hair and gleaming skin the only cover to veil his lithe shape.

A single Orc stumbled from behind an onyx-carved column.

It stared.

And stared.

And stared.

And stared.

“Please”

The sounds touch queerly between my lips.

I feel my eyes, one of crystal-frozen ice and one of molten-moving magma, close against the silence of his shadow-hewn chambers.

There has been neither council nor meeting.

We have not talked since.

Mairon moves not.

My vision is obscured by the dusk of my own eyes.

The dancing darkness within me notwithstanding, I know his eyes, perusing the endless lines on the rustling scroll in his slender hands tenaciously, to have stopped, poised, on one spot alone.

Slowly.

Slowly my scarred hands begin to move.

Gradually, I touch upon what has been shaped unerringly by him. Layer by layer. Piece by piece.

I remember not undoing his or any other armor ever before. Haltingly, my fingers find few gold clasps sleeping beneath.

Iron plate and greave slither ceaselessly against each other, harness and chestplate.

I have never tasted, brushed my tongue against this creation among so many of his, immaculate in its deadly beauty as everything he invents.

But what my scorched hands find is not beauty alone.

Inch for inch, I let my scabbed finger pads slide over smooth plates of metal, one after another. Perfectly round circles of twisting iron, dark as night, black as a midnight’s dream. Slender-long gauntlets gliding sleekly against each other without the slightest hitch.

Polished, my charred fingertips find the glossy plates against his stomach.  

Not a nook or cranny on the metal stretching across the small of his back; neither scratch nor scrape beneath my quiet palms straying along his waist, down his iron-veiled flanks.

No plate hugging his legs, no piece of armor whispering, pressing against his thighs ever requires a drop of slick oil. I can feel it underneath my tingling hands. Not one part of metal will ever rub against its brothers nor bear mark or squeak. Like snake scales rising against each other’s fall.

As I wander him, a thought strikes me like a smiling fish in the presence of the diving king-fisher. That even Aulë himself would envy this. It is coiling perfection lured to making. It is usage spelled into fascination.

Another thought strikes my pricking skin, then. It is not what he has worn before.

My realization is another spell woven by the king fisher. When has Mairon created this new armor? It must have taken him an age of life to master it into being.

When did he do it? Where had I been?

But, of course, no beauty for Mairon without purpose.

I think, even Aulë will envy this.

It may be a day, it may be an age eternal till I draw his body against mine. Bare skin to skin.

Under my hands his armor is coming undone like a mountain peak, year by year, age by age.

I allow my gaze to fall on the graceful line of his neck then, note the lustrous strand of fire-lit hair that coiles around it. The smooth heel of his hand, aligned to the scroll, the tips hidden behind the faded yellow. The sharp angle of his left elbow, the serpentine line of his muscled back. The svelte shape of his ear, the cutting line of his jaw. All this, I merely graze with my gaze, light as raven feathers before I let the knuckles on the back of my fingers follow my eyes’ hushed trail.

Beneath, slashes and lacerations like gouges half-knitted, purple bruises and blood-cusped strains, half-healed.

Wroth and savage had been my violence, vicious and cruel his own.

I expect his skin, his body to be fire scolding, a blaze like a hurricane. My touch, however, evanesces upon contact with it as though one wraith reaches for another.

Somethings tugs at me then, strange-shaped and eternally coined.

He does not stir, does not move.

Still, his fire has not blazed my scarred skin. And still, Mairon’s voice of melting steel has not spoken to me.

I might pry into his mind, of course. What futility. Mairon has never given anything he did not offer first.

Last is his hair, bound tightly, wrought infinitely to the lovely shape of his neck. It is not in my nature to hesitate, not once, and like softest silk each flaming strand loosens between my stroking, combing fingers.

At last, my time is come to speak.

My eyes still veiled by the endless darkness of my own lashes, against the warm fall of his hair I lay my lips.

“Precious.” Murmurs. “It is enough.” Whispers, straight and firm. “Even you have an end to your flames. Even you must rest.” Murmers and whispers from my lips.

My darkness, a fortress. ”Even you must not be consumed by one thing alone in this world.”

Mairon stirs not. And yet, I feel it in the jolt of rigid muscles against my naked skin like a bow-string springing back.

I catch the thought he aims albeit he aims it not at me. It is the first time I hear his golden voice ever since I returned.

It is like laughter, only viler.

You are one to talk.

Around his naked waist and chest my hold tightens. In anticipation, perhaps, of another attack, wondering idly what other beastly form he might use, I look forward to whatever claws and teeth he will sink into me this time with a kind of grim satisfaction.

I palpate that almost-thought  of his idly, turn it around in my silent-grown mind seeking out its facets and angles.

His skin is cool silver light upon the parched flesh of my fingers despite the honed flames it shields within.

No beauty for Mairon without a purpose.

There.

Ah.

Here, at last. A morsel of truth.

Slowly. Gradually, I begin to comprehend. And yet, still, I understand not.

Long is the silence stretching between us, infinite as the darkened night sky, dull as the lessened moon shredded in wispy mists.

Slowly. Slowly, my arms’ force increases. Slowly, the hold of my embrace tightens.

Slowly, I force Mairon’s body around. Force him to turn. This is what I do and this is what I try.

Ah. Many are the minds and brains fooled by his appearance. He might shroud his viper shape in a robe of splendid cloth but I have seen the bare stretch of his arms and shoulders bent over the forge, his back straight and straining. The ones he seduces think him fair and beautiful alone, yet I have heard Orc sword masters threaten their fosterlings with Lord Mairon’s lust for challenge. His legs apart, sinews and muscles aglow in the sheen of the furnace. He would not even have to lift the hilt of his sword. Among the recruits, his physical strength is a legend told at night fire watches.

And with all his strength he is fighting me now, ah, what resistance against the strain of my arms around his back and sides, against my will to bind him to me, force his body around to face mine.

Vaguely, I am wondering once more if he will transform again, now, in this instant, to raise the amount of bristle and teeth and claws he can punish me with or if he will simply sink and dig his gilded nails and incandescent teeth into my flesh as he is.

Neither of us is speaking.

But this. This is more a fight of wills rather than a battle of physical force, and this once, this once in our eons of time, my will prevails over his.

I can feel him straining as his ember-honed cheek comes to rest upon my beating pulse. It is like holding a candle to my chest.

I feel the touch of his breath as warm as sun-lit honey on my chest, flecks of gold in it.

All at once, I am unable to remember. This. The wisp of his fiery hair. The width of his smooth brow. The length of his body, flush against mine. Unable. Unable to remember the last time I felt his gold-leaping warmth seep into my storm-cloud skin.

My injuries matter not. Their circling pain is forgotten like morning mists fracturing at the break of dawn. We move not and do not speak. However, this once, I will not let him escape.

Puzzled yet I am. Pondering. Wondering. I, Melkor, confess I fail to grasp his ire fully.

Would he envy another craftsman thus? Ah, I think not. Too proud Mairon is of his own prowess, too confident, too brilliant in his own skill.

Would he resent thus what he deems utter folly? He has stood and endured far greater whims of mine.

I know the fight to have seeped out of him, now. There is only the pooling of warmth, small huffs against my skin.

I am closing my eyes to darkness and stillness again.

Long is the silence stretching between us.

“Do with them as you please.”

At first, Mairon does not move.

Then, against the total blackness of my eyelids, I can see him stir. Rise. His head tilting back. His fire-honed gaze, at last, upon my face.

My hand opens for him.

They cannot burn me any more than their luminous light already has.

As I open my eyes, despite myself, my gaze falls upon them as splashing water from the sky.

Even before my eyelids lift, I know their lovely glow shedding light over my maimed, scorch-darkened hands. I know not whether Mairon’s eyes follow the lust of my eyes, become drawn and ensnared as mine. If not, I can neither examine it nor him.

Even now I cannot part my gaze with them.

If the moon had been carved into thirds in the bejeweled night, none of it, though born from that same radiance, would have glistered like any of them!

One sun-lit and citrine-hued, bright as sun-filled water. Vivid as the very heart of the earth the other, a thousand rubies aflame. The last, a brilliant, ever-shining, ever-pure, dazzling white.

Even now I am mesmerized at the luminosity of the first light, percolated through the incinerated cage of my fingeres.

Even Mairon’s light of fire-drunk gold almost dulled beside them. Almost.

This, maybe, is what makes me realize the flash of Mairon’s hand toward the blinding light.

All of a sudden, through the luminous splendor and breath-taking, sky-rendering incandescence, fear jolts through me like a thunder-spear.

No, I am no stranger to pain, not even to dread, the loathsome spider be cursed and all her descendants, but never has terror such as this seized at my hammering pulse.

The yell, the roar aimed at Mairon ignites in my throat as volcanoes erupt with spilling fire.

Almost as soon as it builds, I huff out a breath of absurd emptiness. Mairon’s supple fingers have gripped the resplendent silmarils long before my anger rushes in. Beneath his skin, like strands of his own hair, silk shimmers between him and the precious jewels.

Of course.

My chest almost tears with swallowed, frayed laughter.

Whatever rules Mairon’s black-sooted heart, greed is not a part of it.

His fiery gaze is thrumming into mine, the long-lashed gold of his eyes never once wavering to the wonders aglow between our hands. I imagine his wrist flick and a burst of radiant light clattering across the onyx floor.

Mairon’s voice is quenched iron, spitting with cooling water, “I shall cast them into the darkest sea, the deepest pit and highest sky.”

The fury of this world grows between us, gathers in the thunder lightning and earth-shading clouds, a fell music of drums and clangs.

It is arduous at first, cruelly laborious, to wretch my craving stare from them.

I can see Mairon’s eyes follow the length of my glance, the direction of my lusting breath.

They are magnificent in their effulgence, entrancing in their beauty, enrapturing in their unfathomable luster.

Long has the silence stretched between us.

Silently, I speak.

So you shall.

Mairon does blink. Now. Once. An eternity. Twice.

Finally, ultimately, I can see his gold-glittering eyes flicker toward the luminescent jewels in his hand, his gaze falling, cast down.

“I shall forge a crown fit for them and you, my lord,” he murmurs, lowly.

No love for the sea, the earth, the skies?, I think

“They are to be set in a crown by my hands already.” I speak aloud.

There it is, the sneer.

“It is like calling the elven child hoarding heaps of sand an architect.” Mairon returns, slyly as a minx.

Insolent creature, I think, letting the words flutter soft as lashes against his smile-honing lips.

“Not tonight,” I hum, drawing him closer still, pressing against his curving lips, “Tonight you are mine.”

I think, tonight I am yours alone.

Mairon’s limber shoulders rise as he lifts his hands to lay them along my face, his willowy fingers astir, roaming through my hair where there are caught the colors of the night and the light of fading stars. The light in his eyes is enough to blind and scar the whole world and everything that comes after.

They say I am merciless and proud, cruel and pitiless, tyrannical and spiteful, enviously, greedily, recklessly selfish beyond imagination. They call me Master of Lies, Great Death, Black Foe of the World. I feel giddy with delight when I think of it. It is all true.

Let them not see what else I am.

He, whom they call Sauron, whispers into my ear, his arched fingers woven into my shadow hair, his graceful limbs, the length of his pressing body pouring sun-lit heat into mine of melting ice and frozen stone, the smiling cheek of his lips thawing against my ear.

“You have yet to say ‘please’, my lord.”

[morcez]

Vending Machine

Itadori x reader drabble

genre: fluffy fluff

Your day was already going shit. The weather was terrible; the sky was so dark that you couldn't tell it was a day, and rain combined with wind caused shivers all over your body. Of course, you forgot your jacket at home, having to endure the harsh weather through the thin cloth of your shirt. You spot a vending machine selling your favorite snack. You approach dingy the vending machine and see that your favorite snack is at a low price, maybe one thing will go right today. You feed the vending machine your money, Watching the spiral spin, and it stops once your snack is about to drop. Of course, this happens to you

“Shit. shit. shit,” you say kicking the vending machine. 

From a different point of view, you look insane. No matter how hard you, kick, hit, and slam the vending machine it won't budge. During your battle with the old vending machine, a slightly muscular arm slams the vending machine. Not only has the snack you purchased fallen but also most of the other snacks in the vending machine have fallen as well. You look up to see a cute boy with a lighthearted smile on his face.

“Guess I used too much force,” he says nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. He bends down and grabs a couple of snacks for himself. 

“Well, enjoy!” he says walking away.

A small “thank you” leaves your mouth. You were too astonished to make conversation with the handsome strong man.

At least something that day went well. 

AN: This is actually so bad. I wasn't gonna post it but I felt like I needed to post something.

[1800-page-not-found]

Being drunk and complaining how you think your bf/gf is prettier than you (genshin men+women x fem reader) PART 3

ITS THE HARBINGERSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Not doing scaramouche cuz i already did in part 2

Dottore, Columbina, Sandrone x reader (seperate)

TW: implied unhealthy relationship (for dottore bc that man does not treat anyone like a human being, i have mixed feelings about that guy), and id like to state that i do NOT support toxic relationships.

Making another part for the other harbingers bc im really sleepy rn and I just wanna give you guys something because I havent posted in a long time.

The next part contains Pantalone, Tartaglia, Arlecchino x reader (seperate)

Maybe i'll do Signora, Pierro, and Capatino? but Capatino wears a mask??? wtv lol

Please note that you may not like "[name]"s personality, as it may differ from yours.

You had met Zandik when he was a scholar at the Akademiya, before he was expelled for his crimes and immoral acts. Fortunately, unlike the last girl who had fancied him, Sohreh, he did not mutilate your body, because somehow in that rather small and close to non existing heart of his, was you.

But unfortunately, you could not escape his unhinged mindset. You relied too much on the Akasha System. When he did get expelled, you followed with him. After all, thats what the Akasha showed which was best for you. Hundreds of years went by, and he became a powerful harbinger. He still gave you freedom, to some extent. So how did you wind up at his office, crying and drunk?

"Zandik" You cried.

You were ultimately weak in the mind due to your heavy dependency that Dottore had created for you. He smiled as you cried into his shoulder, dampening his clothes.

"Yes dear? What happened for you to come crying to me?" He was your white knight.

You quickly learned that somehow, dottore would always save you, relieving you of your agony. Like he did with the ruin machines when they found Sohreh's body.

"O-one of your clones said you didn't love me and you had another woman…" you hiccup in between your words.

"My dear, do not fret, there are no other women in my life besides you. Why would I require someone else? Those clones can be quite troublesome, and not all of them are friendly. I apologize for their behavior." He soothed you, patting your back. 'Yes, yes...let it all out,' he thought. His clones were doing well, their original sole purpose was to create insecurities and confusion in your mind.

"But-But, I'm not even that pretty, even you're prettier than me! Theres plenty of women who are better than me-what if you dont love me one day?" You mumble, your head still lying on his shoulder.

"Darling, I have to say, I am surprised by your irrational behavior. My affection for you is undeniable, and the fact that you would suggest otherwise is quite hurtful..." Your eyes widened.

Oh, how could you hurt him like that?! After everything he's done for you?...

"No-no! I'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you, I-"

"Do you trust me [name]?" He cuts you off.

"Huh? Of course I do!"

"Good, now please can we move on? If we continue to talk about this, my heart will ache even more." He starts to make an expression that he knows will make you feel guilty. You've really fallen deeper into the rabbit hole now.

--------

Columbina had saved you at your lowest, and you had devoted your every fiber of yourself to her. You decided to get stronger, your sole motivation being paying back your benefactor. Well, that was until the angel-like harbinger said you could pay her back by forming a relationship with her.

You did start off as friends, but that slowly spiraled into a more intimate relationship. You promised to be there for her whenever and wherever, but really, does the harbinger who's ranked third really need protecting?... I mean, you're so much weaker than her, how can you protect her when she's in danger?

That thought slowly grew in your mind-you can't help but just let it all out when drunk on the fine vodka Columbina had brought back for you and her to enjoy...until well, you drank the whole bottle.

You stared at the empty bottle in your hand that once held the highest quality of vodka.

"[name], my dear, what's on your mind?" Columbina spoke softly, her voice sounding like a lovely melody in your ears.

"Mmmm...I don't wanna bother youuu..." You dragged out your words, slurring your speech.

Columbina stood up from the couch and took the bottle out from your hands and gently placed it on the glass coffee table, making a small 'kling' sound. She sat back down and held your hands, which were rather cold so she decided to warm them up.

It was strange how she always kept her eyes closed, but no matter what always aware of her surroundings. This only increased your insecurity, after all, only one with great strength could do such things...and you couldn't.

"[name]." She let go of your hands and placed hers on your cheek, and kissed you softly. "Your thoughts will never be a bother all right? I'll always be there to protect you and be by your side." She smiled at you warmly.

You started to cry, the alcohol heightening your emotions. "That's-that's the thing!" You let out a sob, wiping your tears. "I-I don't want to just rely on you, I want you to rely on me too! But, I'm so much weaker than you and, and you excel in everything! You're smart, strong, independent, and so, so much prettier than me and everyone, you deserve so much better than me I-" Your rant was cut short when Columbina kissed you again softly.

"Oh, [name], I never knew you felt this way, I want you to know that I rely on you every single day, there is not a single moment where I don't rely on you. I know you probably don't believe it, but you make me feel so happy. I don't care if you think that I outshine you, because in my eyes you're the most beautiful and amazing person in the entirety of Teyvat. You're perfect in my eyes just the way you are, and no one else can take that spot." Her voice really soothed you, and as she spoke, you stopped crying.

"R-really? You mean it?..." You sniffled, wiping your tears off your face.

"Yes, now please, there's no need to cry anymore alright?" she kissed your forehead and held you in a warm embrace on the couch.

"Mhm…alright, thank you, I love you…" You rubbed your eyes, tired from crying and fell asleep in Columbina's arms.

Once you were sound asleep, Columbina picked you up, carrying you in her arms bridal style and set you gently on the bed, making sure you're comfortable before crawling into the bed and cuddling with you.

The next day, you woke up, eyes puffy and not a single memory of last night. When you asked your lover, she just giggled and walked away, leaving you confused.

--------

Sandrone was an interesting character. When you first met, you had actually died. Well more like on the verge of death. Somehow, for some reason, she had saved you, as she had basically turned you into part automaton.

You were supposedly her 'puppet', but, puppets don't act this human. You were crazy for confessing your love to her, the harbinger who was known for only caring about her own works, and having a god awful personality to come with it.

Well, fortunately for you, you did count as one of her works, so perhaps that was the reason why she accepted your confession and you two started being in a relationship?...you still couldn't wrap your mind about this, you were really happy to say the least.

Today, you had practically begged her to come with you to have a picnic and stargaze. She was being quite stubborn. But of course, she couldn't outmatch your own stubbornness and you, thus she gave in.

You were so excited, yet here you were, sitting on the blanket, extremely drunk. You smiled at her, all giggly and bubbly as you wrapped yourself around her arm, hugging her.

Sandrone sighed and frowned, she stopped her work just for this? I mean, it was you... (She'd never admit to loving spending time with you, she's gotta keep her reputation up... but everyone knows, even you, that she has an extremely soft spot for you (and only you.))

"[name]...quit staring at me like that!" sandrone flicked your forehead, earning an 'owwww' from you.

After recovering from the ferocious attack, you laughed and smiled. "But you're just sooooo pretty! I can't keep my eyes off you, the prettiest girl in Teyvat!"

You lowered your voice to a whisper "I think you're prettier than me, all the other harbingers, and the Tsaritsa- Ow!"

She slapped the back of your head. "I will not allow you to speak of her majesty the Tsaritsa like that, [name]!"

She crossed her arms and turned her head away from you, looking angry.

Although, her words seemed to contradict her statement just now. She spoke quietly under her breath, "plus, youre the most prettiest girl in Teyvat, [name]..."

You perked up, perhaps having heightened senses was a good thing. "I heard that!" You shouted and smiled. "You really think that-"

"W-what?! No! You must be imagining things!" She yelled back at you. "Damn it, I shouldn't have heightened your sense of hearing too! Ugh!"

All you did was laugh teasingly at her frustration and embarrassment getting caught being nice, specifically to you. Until you blacked out from the alcohol. That reallllllllyyyy freaked her out, as she frantically carried you back home. (Well, the only reason she showed her 'nicer' side was really due to the only witness being her modified automaton.)

You had slept for a whole day before waking up at noon, with a god awful hangover, causing you to throw up.

(Sandrone ordered one of her machines to take care of you in secret and report to her every hour about your status.)

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 3

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, implied soapghost // CW: angst, hurt no comfort (yet), suicidal ideation, violent thoughts of self harm, MWIII spoilers

---

Everything is wrong — the dead bodies surrounding him, the strange hiss in his ear, the hateful expression on Ghost's face as he describes all the things Soap doesn't remember. 

All the ways he's hurt the people he loves the most.

No wonder Ghost is treating him like he's the enemy. It's because he is.

He sits back on his heels and stares at the blue sky he thought he'd never see again. The smell of death and human waste wafts through the broken-out glass of his helmet and sends him back to his hole in the ground where he would sit in a gut-churning mixture of mold, blood, and his own shit for the days and sometimes weeks between the ice cold spray-downs just before Makarov paid him a visit.

He's dizzy. Exhausted. Horrified.

And the inescapable hiss from his helmet makes him want to stab out his ear drums. The violence of the visceral thought sends a shiver down his spine.

Years.

Ghost said he's been trying to kill the 141 for years — months upon months of being nothing more than a mindless machine, a puppet for Makarov to pull the strings and make him dance. The implications of the broken out glass and the hissing are clear. Can he even trust himself not to turn again if he takes too big of a whiff of whatever is pumping out of his helmet?

He holds his breath. The longer he doesn't breathe, the more the world goes hazy. Vicious pain slices through his temples, and his lungs convulse, sucking in huge gulps of air. His vision blackens at the edges, the compulsion for violence rising higher—

Wind buffets his face, and the blackness clears away.

He supposes that answers that question.

He tries again to remove the helmet, but it seems to be sealed to his tactical vest — a vest that doesn't have any straps to loosen that he can see. Panic bubbles in his chest, and he struggles harder, desperate to remove the thing that tethers him to Makarov. The thing that made him kill for him.

"Stop," Ghost orders, the harsh tone grating like shards of glass over Soap's skin.

He stops, though the panic still simmers in his chest and tries to leak through his mouth as a whine. He can't bring himself to look at Ghost. Can't stomach that hateful look in his eyes.

Soap thought he'd never break. Thought he'd die before ever betraying his dearest friends and family.

Apparently, he was wrong.

What is left for him now if those he loves can't trust him? If he can't trust himself?

The memory of Ghost's scarred hands trailing over his bare chest jerks him from his spiraling thoughts, and he bites back a groan of frustration at his own coping methods, especially when the subject of his thoughts is sitting right in front of him, hating him.

During the time he remembers with Makarov, Soap used the phantom sensation of Ghost's hands on his skin as a distraction from the pain and torture Makarov put him through, telling himself he could one day feel those hands again if he just held on for another day. Back then, he believed without a doubt that Ghost would love him no matter what Makarov did to him.

Now Ghost won't even let him get close enough to touch.

He wishes he'd stopped fighting when Makarov first showed him that video, when the first wave of realization and despair rolled over him that no one was coming. Maybe he could've willed himself to die and saved the 141 at lot of pain and possible death—

Dread hits him like a sledgehammer straight to his chest.

"Price and Gaz... they're alive, right?" Soap croaks through a parched throat. "I didn't... I didn't hurt them, did I?"

"Hurt, yes. Kill, no... though not for lack of tryin'," Ghost growls.

It's the barest kind of relief, like a hot breeze on an even hotter day. 

As if he can bend nature to reflect his thoughts, the wind blows the fetid smell of some kind of industrial waste their direction. Soap grimaces at trading one foul smell for another. The chopper blades cutting through air grow louder, like an axe on a swinging pendulum, coming closer to cutting off his access to Ghost with every swing.

He's not stupid. Once he gets on that helo, he'll be indefinitely detained and probably never see Ghost again. He'll be lucky if Price and Gaz come to see him at all. The thought burns his throat like bile.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to the sky. "I don't remember. Please... please don't hate me."

Emotion builds in his chest like a bomb waiting to blow. All he wants is to be held. To feel a bit of the kindness and human connection he's been missing for so long. But he doesn't know who he is anymore. He feels like Soap, though clearly he hasn't been Soap for a very long time.

"If Makarov could make a man look and act like you once, he could do it again," Ghost rasps. "How do you expect me to... to..."

Ghost trails off, and Soap dares to glance up. He finds Ghost's eyes have mellowed into hesitant distrust, which is an improvement from blind hatred, but after imagining a warm welcome for so long, it's still a slap in the face.

He doesn't blame Ghost, though. He hates himself, too.

And he's right. It kills Soap to admit it, but he's right. It's possible that whatever Makarov did to the man he sent back from Siberia with the 141 has been done to him, too. It's possible that everything he's ever known or thought about himself is a fabrication built on Makarov's lies.

The rhythmic thrum of the helo gets louder. Bubbling panic turns into a cold stone in his gut. 

Even if he is the original Soap, he let himself get caught — wasn't good enough or strong enough to either avoid capture or escape later on. He's a failure in every sense of the word.

"Ye should probably just kill me now," Soap says, though he barely recognizes the strangely detached monotone falling from his lips. "I don't remember anything, and I'm only a danger to ye."

"I'm not... I'm not gonna kill you." Ghost's gaze sharpens. "Not unless you make me."

"Nae," he says in the same monotone. "Wouldnae do tha' to ye. At least... this version of me wouldn't."

He doesn't have a gun. If the amount of bodies surrounding them is any indication, he likely ran out of ammo and threw the gun aside in his pursuit of Ghost. The knife he dropped earlier, though... 

The blade glints in his peripheral vision, a siren song of potential relief. 

Ghost is hurt. He probably wouldn't be able to stop Soap before he could reach for it and stab himself in the eye...

Ghost might still try to stop him, though, and could hurt himself in the process. Soap can't risk that.

Or maybe he just can't stomach the idea of dying knowing Ghost did nothing to prevent it.

The helo glides over the closest warehouse, sending dust and debris flying. Ghost waves to catch the pilot's attention, and it descends, hovering as close to them as it can get and less than a foot from the ground. Soap reaches over to help Ghost up—

Ghost smacks him away again. Soap can barely hear him over the sound of the helo, but it's clear as a bell in his mind all the same. That growl. That hateful tone of voice.

His chest cracks open. The knife gleams in the sunlight.

"Let's go!" Ghost yells over the noise as he reaches the aircraft and grasping medic hands pull him inside.

And even now, after everything, Soap is helpless against following Ghost's orders. He pulls himself into the helo, leaving his last hope for a swift death glinting on the pavement. A medic slams the door shut with a finality that makes him shudder.

The medical staff are already stripping Ghost's gear to get at the wound. Soap moves toward the back of the helo to get out of the way, the sense of detachment growing stronger and the stone in his gut heavier as the helo rises into the air.

He's traded one prison for another, one torture chamber for another. He's seen too much during his time in the military to hope that the government won't treat him just like Makarov did — strap him to a chair until they're satisfied they've bled him dry.

And he's seen too much hate in Ghost's eyes to hope that his one-time lover will save him.

Not that he deserves to be saved...

The medical officer in charge comes at Ghost with a syringe likely full of a local anesthetic, but Ghost catches his arm and points at Soap. "I can wait. Sedate him first," he orders.

Shock clear in his expression, the officer looks between the two of them and opens his mouth, no doubt to protest. Soap beats him to it.

"Do it. Please."

The idea of sedation is a welcome one. His despair is too potent to take much more of the distrust bleeding from Ghost's mask-shadowed eyes. 

The medical officer shakes his head but does as he's ordered, setting side the syringe for Ghost to prepare a different one while his subordinates clean and stitch up Ghost's injury. A raised bag of blood hangs on the ceiling, already draining into Ghost's body to replace what he's lost. It must have been a lot for him to need a transfusion so immediately. Soap bites his lip, a thread of worry weaving through the numbness.

Was he the one that shot Ghost in the first place? It kills him that he doesn't even know.

The officer pulls off as much of Soap's outer gear as he can — the tac vest is a mystery to him, too, apparently — and eventually cuts off the arm of Soap's shirt to get at his bare skin.

The prick of a needle and the cold slide of drugs into his system sends him spiraling.

He remembers the sensation. A crack opens in his mind, and memories slip through — a thousand jabs to the neck followed by the paralyzing cold intruding in his blood stream.

And as much as he dreads that distrustful look in Ghost's eyes, for the length of time it takes the sedative to take effect, he keeps his gaze fixed on Ghost... if only to remind himself of where he is and who he's with.

Ghost is here.

Not Makarov, but Ghost.

Perhaps it's the drugs. Perhaps it's his own mind playing tricks on him. But as he slips under, he swears he sees a flash of longing replace the distrust in Ghost's eyes.

He clings to it as oblivion sweeps him away.

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 >>

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-One

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: This chapter got out of control and ended up split (did I add another 1k per beta notes? yes, yes I did). I also wrote half of this chapter in the blackout haze I was in during this past season soooo take that as you will.

Many many thanks to @darkwolf76 for her un-spoiled eyes on this chapter and the encouragement I needed! Go check her work out for Strong Family Feels!

Much love to @selfproclaimedunicorn who likes to see what pretty jars we can shove these characters into to shake them around. ALSO check out her fantastic fic as well!

@vampire-exgirlfriend is my favorite person in the whole world, the Rhaenyra fan to my Alicent fan, the fox to my rabbit. I adore you and this story would not be here without you.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - Oh, Father, Tell Me

Aegon spirals on his morning ride and in the face of Daemon's arrival. A tense conversation with Larys Strong. Won't anyone just leave him the fuck alone?

The wind howled between the cracks around the windows and Abby snuggled deeper into the covers, Wylla’s hands clasped around her own. The bed was three times the size of the one she had in the Red Keep, and she tried not to think that the last person in this bed had been her mother.

“It’s alright,” Wylla whispered. “You shed all the tears you need.”

The words had been robbed from her in this haze of grief and loss, of confusion, and so many other things that raked at the soft meat of her insides. She could only nod into her pillow, and let Wylla push her hair from her face, half unfamiliar words in the song she sang quietly to her. It was only as Abby finally began to drift off, did she hear the sound of the door open, but she did not open her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Wylla hissed.

“You’re here to make sure nothing untoward happens,” Aegon’s voice drifted over her, followed by the soft thunk of boots on the rug. “The bed’s big enough; I can wake the other ladies to join us.”

“She just fell asleep-”

“Is she alright?” Aegon’s voice was softer and closer all the same, and Abby felt the bed dip as Aegon climbed on top of the covers behind her. The warmth of him was like a fire, soothing and comforting as he pressed up against her back, effectively keeping her contained between him and Wylla. She turned her head slightly and Aegon’s lips tenderly grazed her temple.

“She will be.” Wylla’s hands squeezed hers and Abby sighed, finally able to drift fully asleep.

Sleep had eluded Aegon, and he had woken far too early for his tastes, the murky gray light that signaled the coming dawn creeping in through the windows. The maid who had come to stoke the fire had stared at him, wide eyed, before dropping into a curtsy and hurrying from the room. He rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to Abrogail’s temple before dragging his stiff body from the bed and slipping quietly out onto the tiered balcony. He reached up, fingers caressing the wisteria blooms he’d sent back with Ser Simon all those months ago. Abby adored them, and he wanted to bring a piece of their garden here.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong.

Jace had said little after the revelation, speaking of what he’d overheard, his voice harsh and cracking between breaths and in Aegon’s hands lay the admittance that his sister had truly sired bastards by the tongue of her own son. Jace had put the lives of his family in his hands then, amid his gasping and tear filled eyes. It was the moment that Alicent Hightower had been waiting for all these many years…and Aegon only kept a hand pressed between his nephew’s shoulder blades, sat beside his childhood companion, and simply sat there with him in the dark.

By rights, Aegon should hate the boy beside him. His feelings for his sister were a tangled knot of Helaena’s embroidery thread that joined the ribbon tied through his ribs. A piece of him that he would never be free of, for Aegon didn’t know how to cut himself free of it. It was not his sister in the crypt that Jace had heard, however. It had been the king, sire and grandsire, the head of their family. The man who looked past Aegon as if he was a specter that was too painful, and then the moment where those eyes focused and for those fleeting heartbeats, Aegon thought the king saw the son that he had.

His own hand held the blade - or in this case, lit the match - and it occurred to Aegon then how obvious it felt. Targaryens believed in a cleansing fire. Their house words spoke of this, Fire and Blood. Fire and Blood had come for House Strong, not a powerful wave crashing against the towers like some suspected Lord Corlys to have been responsible for it. His weak father had taken the accusations personally, and defended his daughter with the same sort of viciousness that Mother had defended Aemond. The same sort of viciousness that he never bestowed upon them.

Too weak. King Viserys was too weak but it was not weakness, Aegon thought, to spare a child. Had Rhaenyra admitted what had happened, he doubted anyone would have faced death. Ser Harwin would have gone to The Wall, Rhaenyra’s sons disinherited. Maybe Aegon would have become her heir then. Not that he wanted it, but Aemond would have even at that age, and that might have been something.

No. Instead, the king spilled blood through the sort of schemes he disdained of.

Harrenhal was too unfamiliar for Aegon to make his way through quietly. It was early enough that he wasn’t bothered, but it meant that the murmured conversations of the servants were his to overhear.

“They say it’s a Second Great Council,” a voice had said to their companion; two servants scraping out the great hearth that had burned low through the night. “I heard that the king will name his son heir at the wedding.”

“He didn’t name him in King’s Landing,” the other voice had pointed out.

The first voice laughed. “But more are coming to the wedding. You can see the tents for miles!”

The court had whispered those rumors the whole of Aegon’s life, every time his name day came around that it would be the year that he would supplant his sister as heir. Rumor that would chase along the whispers of court each time Rhaenyra gave birth to another brunette boy.

He wants me to inherit nothing! He wanted to scream at them. They all saw it. They all saw over and over again how little King Viserys cared for his long sought after first born son. The boy he stopped caring about as soon as Precious Rhaenyra’s little Jacaerys came.

Jacaerys Velaryon, who looked like Ser Harwin and always had, who shared the same dimpled smile as Abrogail. Jacaerys, who the king doted on and spoiled and paid more attention to than Aegon.

Jace, who had come running to him when he was small, crying because something had frightened him. Jace, who tagged along after him when Aemond rolled his eyes and stuck his head in a book.

The castle was already bustling as Aegon made the long walk to the stables, Kostōba already saddled by his request. He reached up to rub his palm along his face while he fed the horse a carrot for his good behavior and left out the main gates and down the trail west, away from Harrenton and towards the roost where Sunfyre and the other dragons had nested.

His father had ordered the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong in order to cover up for his sister’s indiscretions.

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him as he climbed on, chittering and confused, watching him with great, golden eyes and trilling softly; a whistle of a song. Dreamfyre was curled up a ways away, Vermax chittering beside her while Moondancer perched up along the jagged rock of the ruined tower that made up the dragon roost. They all watched as Aegon and Sunfyre took off and Aegon let his stomach drop, the wind from the ascent pull tears from his eyes and tried to escape into the nothingness of the sky.

Did he even want to be king?

He had meant it when he said that he would not contest Rhaenyra’s claim. Kingship looked exhausting, with everyone demanding and expecting and pushing and pleading. He already dealt with the favor seekers and the clout chaser amidst court, preying upon him to aid their own desperate grabs at ascent. Cassandra Baratheon had been a more dangerous indulgence; the comely heir of a Lord Paramount with eyes set on something more. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that allowing her to think she could get her claws in him had been a risky move, and one that he was pleased had worked out for the better. She had not been the only one, nor, he knew, would she be the last.

Sunfyre let out a loud shriek and swooped down, the flotilla of previously peaceful ducks floating languidly upon the still waters of the lake now a frenzy of frightened calls before the dragon let out a pleased groan and scooped a mouth full of the water fowl into his mouth, belly just skimming the water, tail splashing in the sudden descent and quick ascent to avoid crashing into the depths. Water splashed up, the droplets catching into colored streaks of light in the early morning rays. He shouted in surprise and delight, Sunfyre shaking water from his head as he indulged himself, successfully pulling Aegon from the spiral of uncertainty that he had found himself in.

He did not want to be king, nor did he want to hide himself away amidst the ash and bone of the past the way his father did. He wanted to wake each morning buried balls deep in his wife, senses filled with her to erase away the haunted dreams of loneliness and pain. He wanted to greet the day upon dragonback and watch the sunrise; a streak of blue as vivid as Abrogail’s eyes, streaked with pink and orange and purple, the rays turning Sunfyre more golden and brilliant than ever. Where the world was quiet and peaceful, where nothing chased and demanded and clawed. Aegon wanted a life away from the harsh demands of King’s Landing. How peaceful it was here at Harrenhal. Yes, he missed the sound of bells from the Great Sept, the bustle and crush of Flea Bottom, but it was not a longing that bred contempt. Aegon knew that in his bones. It was an ache of appreciation, of thankfulness, because the quiet here, unexpectedly found as he and his dragon danced above the God’s Eye, was a gift he had not realized he had needed, let alone wanted.

The Isle of Faces was shrouded in the morning mist and the high, bone white boughs of the weirwoods reached up through the fog, the sprays of vivid red leaves like drops of blood against the snow. Sunfyre kept a distance away and Aegon did not urge him closer. He knew little of the island except that it was the last home of the Southron Weirwoods, a sacred place of worship. He squinted towards the island, the little outcropping that jutted out into the water, and startled as something moved.

The antlers caught his attention; the twist of the them at first fooling him for branches of a tree before the figure moved. It was no beast, at least, not one that Aegon had ever seen before. It was a shadow in the mist, a figure of some great height but he could not tell if it was what adorned its head or if the figure was truly tall. It moved out of the trees, the damp swirling around it as it stepped into the streak of morning light that lit up the little outcropping, shrouded in shadow.

Aegon’s ears pricked as a strange sound met him. A loud but low humming seemed to emanate the closer they came to the island. He had never heard such a thing before and although it was a distant sound, it reverberated in his bones, vibrating along the back of his neck.

His father had Lyonel Strong and his son were killed to protect Rhaenyra from further accusations.

The accusations had not been erased, and Aegon had seen the way Ser Simon had looked at the boy, eyes wide, the man who was so quick with words stunned speechless.

Everyone knows. Just look at them.

He craved the sweet rush of Arbor Red down his throat, or the taste of Abby’s cunt on his tongue. He craved escape and with an anguished shout, he urged Sunfyre faster, letting his roar claw at his throat just as Sunfyre joined him, the sensation of his dragon a comfort in his chest. The pair of them yelled together, Aegon breathless and lightheaded, his throat protesting at the scream he let out.

Sunfyre let out another trilling call and took off higher, the end of his tail slapping against the water and Aegon craned back to watch the figure as it grew smaller and smaller in the distance. The feeling in his stomach was one of uncertainty; an unsettled sensation that roiled in his belly like a sloshing ale tankard. He leaned over the horn of his saddle, running a gloved hand along Sunfyre’s scales. Another strong beat of his dragon’s wings, and Sunfyre sped faster into the dawn sky, the cold of the clouds hitting against Aegon’s face, cooling the perpetual heat of his skin and stinging his eyes. Yet he inhaled the smell of petrichor and let it course through his body and wash away the odd sensations and the thoughts that plagued him.

Still, it stuck.

His father had his wife’s father and brother killed to protect his sister. His wife’s other brother had a hand in it.

His sister, Aegon would never forget, who stood in the face of their brother’s maiming, the grievous injury that could have killed him; an ugly and long, painful death from infection and agony, to change the focus to her, and the perceived injustices against her, to the expense of the rest of them. Instead of punishing her children in any sort of capacity, she turned it into something completely different. Cruel and unnecessary; no one had been speaking of it. It had to do with Vhagar, not an attack on Rhaenyra herself. But she had run with Jace’s quiet words of a foolish child, bringing in what wouldn’t have been on the table had she not been fucking Harwin Strong and trying to pass his children off as Laenor Velaryon’s.

The king had eagerly gone along with it, further than even Aegon expected. King Viserys Targaryen, first of his name, was mild, milquetoast, and so averse to conflict that he and Aemond would start muttering, “Oh no, my indigestion! Oh no, my ulcers!’” every time some sort of disagreement or conflict began to rise at whatever familial occasion came about. Their sire, who yelled and railed when he wished to be contrary to exercise his desire…had ordered the deaths of his Hand and the man’s heir—the man who his heir was fucking.

Three children too late, of course, but the king had been backed into a corner and had snapped and spread his wings to show he could be just as dangerous as Prince Daemon. Aegon knew that much about his father. Even if none knew how it had happened, did Rhaenyra know what their father had done for her? Aegon could not know her mind, but he knew if it had been himself, he would have raged at it.

He would have gone into the king’s room and torn his heart from his chest. This fool of a king who waited too long, acted too late to do anything and left them all here: fractured and broken with no hope of anything but blood across the throne.

Was Rhaenyra not also a dragon? Or had she rolled over and showed her belly in the face of their father’s twisted adoration?

Alicent Hightower’s children. Never brother nor sister..

Aegon had no choice. There was no world he existed in where Rhaenyra was not his sister. She had enough luxury to put distance between them, and how aggressively she did. Her shadow loomed behind him, and he knew that his own dogged her. She was not coming to this wedding for him. She was not coming to share in his incandescent joy to finally be bound to the one he loved. She was coming to assert her place, to remind them all that she was their father’s favorites, their father’s chosen.

What would she do in the face of House Strong who saw Jace’s face, and would soon see his brothers? What would the king feel compelled to do? Would he set the rest of the house ablaze to erase whatever physical similarities would undermine Rhaenyra’s claim? As if three sons of his own weren’t enough to undermine her? Take their faces instead of their tongues.

King Viserys despised nothing more than being made to look like a fool.

It was never just Mother who railed at what was plain to see. It was never just her.

‘Do you think Rhaenyra’s sons will be your playthings forever? When she ascends the throne, your life may be forfeit. She could move to cut off any challenge to her succession. You are the challenge, Aegon! Just by living and breathing!’

Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, the chirping purr he made one full of confusion and concern, his great head turning to look back at him. Aegon remained slumped over the saddle horn as the dragon flew aimlessly above the God’s Eye and the rolling hills of the Riverlands. It would be so easy to unhook his belt and let himself roll off and plummet into the depths below. To escape the machinations and lies and secrets of his family and replace it with the depths of blue would be a simple escape. Whatever violence his mother and grandfather saw in the future, could he simply… make it go away? If he went away?

He could not. He would not. Not now. Not when he was so close. He could not leave Abby here alone in this world; he would not abandon her the way she had been left behind by everyone else. He’d promised and he meant it.

Aegon looked up from his staring at the pink frills along Sunfyre’s neck to blink up, eyes stinging, as a warbling, undulating call echoed from the east. It echoed over the rolling green fields and the forest that hugged along the banks by the castle. It was a distant sound that sent a shiver down his spine, undulating and unnerving. His stomach swooped and dropped uncomfortably, and the half bottle of wine he’d drunk last night threatened to slosh up. Sunfyre rumbled beneath him, a growl in his throat as he whipped towards the east with a screech.

There was only a single dragon in the sky; his sister must have gone further to meet the carriage that held the children and the Velaryons. The blood red of Caraxes’ scales glinted like garnets in the morning light. The distant sound of laughter joined the dragon’s call as the red pitched and turned north.

Sunfyre’s warning call screamed louder across the sky. He didn’t need to be told; Sunfyre simply knew. They bolted after them a heartbeat later, racing towards the hulking, melted spires of Harrenhal, thoughts of oblivion, of glutting on lake fish forgotten. His friend might not be quite as old as Caraxes, but he was just as big, and fast, if not faster. A screech let out, a flash of hot light expelled from Sunfyre as they gave pursuit, but the wyrm merely dropped down and another laugh echoed back. Something hot burned in Aegon’s chest and Sunfyre shuddered beneath him.

The command rested on Aegon’s tongue, tempting as a fresh bottle of wine, as his winsome lover spread upon his bed. It was from a deep, feral place in his chest, where Sunfyre’s presence glowed warm and molten through his veins. He bit his tongue and Sunfyre screeched for him. The need to take the other man and his dragon in his jaws, rip and rend and shake the bits of them as blood sacrifice to the gods, was near consuming. A rage inside of Aegon that had built over the years threatened to bubble up. The hot tang of blood rushed into his mouth both from dragon dreams and the fact that he’d bitten himself to keep from shouting. He was desperate to do something with this rage that had nowhere to go, and the idea of rending Daemon Targaryen limb from limb, offering him as sacrifice at the feet of his mother to free her from the strangling fear that turned her angry and desperate.Aegon would take the threats of their family, prove to Aemond that he too was capable of standing up, bold and strong. To show Otto Hightower that he was not the feckless fool he sought to puppet. To prove to Abrogail that she would never have anything to fear, ever again, and that their family would be safe.

To show Rhaenyra that she could keep her claim that she so desperately wanted, but that she would not come for them, lest she meet the same fate.

To show his sire-king, the decrepit old man he was, that Aegon would defend them with fire and blood too when he would not. To force King Viserys to see him and know that this was the creature he’d turned him into; that he’d turned this family into. Where his mother had turned cruel and desperate to protect them, where Aemond was angry all the time, where Aegon lived each day with a sword above his head, wondering if that morning would be the day the king did not wake, and the dragons would scream.

Another laugh echoed as the pair ahead swooped down to skim the water before bursting back up, amused and uncaring of the screaming dragon that gave chase. Daemon was enjoying it. He howled as that rage took him, and Sunfyre screamed along with him. They were nearing the great curtain walls of the fortress now, the sun to their right casting their shadows along the glimmering blue of the God’s Eye, the antlered shadow on the outcropping long forgotten. The wyrm banked further northwest to the dragon roost and Aegon hissed.

“Lilagon, Sunfyre,” he commanded, and Sunfyre danced. The dragon glided effortlessly into the turn, coming up up along the inside as they circled Harrenhal and used the momentum to burst past and rocketed straight for the broken tower. Sunfyre let out a warning cry, banking around and rising up, wings spread. Aegon had no thoughts, no words, except to protect. This was his, and this laughing man and his strange dragon wyrm had chosen already.

Like Viserys, Daemon had chosen his side, more dangerous than the rest of them.

The dragons below in the pit started shrieking in response to Sunfyre’s call, but Moondancer shot up, her calls far less distressed, the verdant green of her scales glimmering as she twirled in the air. At the little dragon’s approach, the wyrm circled towards her, the elongated neck ensuring that Caraxes’ eyes did not leave Aegon and Sunfyre, warning him away.

“Sȳrī tymptan!” came the distant shout. Aegon felt Sunfyre shift. “Aōha kepa avy dīnagon ozūndegon amastas! Rhaenyra aderī kesīr ulza.”

Dreamfyre was ululating from the ground in response to Sunfyre’s warning and Aegon glared towards his uncle.

“We’re fine,” he murmured to the dragon, scratching at the scales along his neck. Sunfyre huffed his displeasure but did not cry out again. Dreamfyre was still making sounds, but the distressed call had stopped and the two of them lowered to the ground, Moondancer still above and circling. The Dragonkeepers were rushing about, and Ser Arryk was holding onto his horse’s bridle, the stallion stomping its feet with fear at the shouts of the dragons. Aegon could see a wheelhouse in the distance, another Kingsguard stallion leading it ahead.

He undid the hooks on his saddle and slid down Sunfyre’s wing before the dragon could settle properly, his golden eyes fixated on the other dragon settling himself away from Dreamfyre. His breath was quick and his skin felt overly hot, prickly, like he was about to let out his own flame. Daemon Targaryen was far more fluid; lazy, even, as he swung himself down, the fall of the man’s hair and his long limbs a familiar sight. There was a strange moment when the man turned and cocked his head, that Aegon thought he was looking at his brother, and wondered in a terrifying moment, if Daemon Targaryen was Aemond’s future.

The last time he’d seen his uncle had been at Laena Velaryon’s funeral. A figure seen occasionally during his childhood, Daemon Targaryen was more a staple of stories and sneers than what Aegon would consider an actual uncle. He’d holed himself up on Driftmark with the Velaryons and the twins before he married Rhaenyra, and the pair of them had refused to come to court since their marriage. The man had changed little over the years. Tall and silver haired, Daemon was a figure of health compared to King Viserys, still recovering from the long trip up from the capital.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Aegon said, a final, gentle pat against Sunfyre’s neck, the dragon’s head turned to keep his golden eyes on the Blood Wyrm and its rider. Aegon lifted a hand, tugging his glove off with his teeth before pushing his tousled, wind tangled hair from his eyes. He would not be intimidated. He would not let the whispered threats of what Daemon Targaryen would do if the opportunity found him overtake him. This was his home, and Aegon was still the king’s son, and the prince was a guest. He’d made his loyalties clear years ago.

He remembered with such startling clarity running after his sister, shouting her name, begging her to wait for him, struggling to get his coat on and tripping in his haste. “Nyra wait!” She was striding down the hallway, the sun catching on her long silver hair, like Visenya reborn, waving to Daemon and Laena Velaryon. His sister had paused and looked back at him but it was Daemon’s sharp, cruel smirk that had stopped Aegon short as the man reached for Rhaenyra’s shoulder and drew her attention.

“He is of no importance.”

More who did not want him.

Aegon stumbled slightly as he felt a huff of warm, sulfuric breath hit his back, followed by the gentle bump of Sunfyre, the warmth of his purr vibrating inside the hollow between his ribs and through his limbs. There was a gentle chirp, like a bird song, and Aegon turned to press his hands against the dragon’s warm snout, pressing a kiss between his flared nostrils. “Lykirī,” he murmured, calming them both. Another pat against his warm scales and Aegon shoved his gloves in his pockets. Ser Arryk was watching him from his post near the stone cottage where the Dragonkeepers were staying. The elder man’s brows were slightly furrowed, his face impassive, but his gaze flitted to Daemon’s briefly before looking back to him.

“Your Grace,” Ser Arryk said. There was a question in the simple greeting that came from the years that Ser Arryk had been his sworn shield. It was nothing specific and sometimes it caused a prickle of uncertainty and self-doubt, different in the self-conscious feelings that Ser Criston stoked.

“I’m sure the prince would appreciate the quiet solitude of the carriage ride,” Aegon said on his approach, his gaze darting towards Daemon as he stalked towards them. The carriage would be there shortly, back in sight after the bend around some of the boulders that marked the border of the shale caves here along the lake. “He does spend much of his time surrounded by the babbling of children.”

“How thoughtful you are. You certainly don’t get that from your mother.”

Aegon ran his tongue over his teeth, jaw aching with a pain that was not his own, Sunfyre still rumbling beneath his skin. The bait was blatant, so low hanging that he could kick it should he so wished. How he wished to take it and pummel Daemon with it. His mother’s hands may have left scars upon him, but she was his mother. His defender even when he disappointed her. These last few months were strange and hopeful in a way he didn’t know how to handle. Her touch had been gentle across his brow or upon his shoulder, her smiles tentative but there, the furrow between her brow easing.

His mother who cuddled him when he was small and afraid when she was pregnant with Daeron, that he would lose her, who cared about the small folk in her sponsorships and initiatives she was so busy with. Nothing Aegon would do was ever good enough, but sometimes? Sometimes it was.

The response to Daemon was on his tongue, ripe and juicy as a grape. “And we know you get nothing from yours.” Cruel and barbed and hooked, his own teeth bared if Daemon Targaryen was so eager to see what he was made of.

“I did not realize you and the queen were so close for you to recognize what qualities I did or did not receive from her,” Aegon said instead, wan smile and cursory look in the elder’s direction. “If you were wondering, I do get my good looks from her, and a taste for honey cakes.” He shrugged, reaching over to stroke the velvet softness of his stallion’s nose. “The hair is, of course, from my father, the king. I notice Baela wears the same displeased expression you wear. As well as your nose.”

The smile he gave Daemon was a bit brighter this time as the carriage pulled up, Ser Marbrand on his steed. The door opened unexpectedly and Baela herself came out, silver braids swinging and the gold bands shining in the light. He had spent enough time around his cousin over the past few months to see the same uncertain tension in her shoulders that he frequently saw in Aemond as she took in her father.

“I heard Caraxes,” she said by way of greeting, the deep greens and blues of her riding leathers scored with seahorses and dragons. Daemon’s attention swung to his daughter and Aegon ignored the rest of the conversation as it turned into High Valyrian, rapid and ancient, their accents markedly different from how he spoke with his own siblings. A raw feeling struck hard inside his chest, and he watched them for another moment before his attention swung to further movement at the carriage.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Prince Daemon,” Larys Strong’s voice carried unexpectedly well given his low tone. “Forgive me for not getting out - it is rather difficult for me to move here.”

Daemon’s face was impassive at being addressed by the lord of Harrenhal and Aegon looked at the soft, torn up ground that the carriage had stopped in. Baela gave Aegon a nod before pulling her father’s attention, her Valyrian flowing easily. “I thought we could go riding. Just you and I.”

“Another carriage is on its way, your Grace,” Ser Marbrand said. “I shall stay here, Ser Arryk.”

Kostōba pawed at the ground and without being asked, the footman tied Aegon’s horse to the back of the carriage. Aegon bristled, opening his mouth to demand the servant cease until Larys’ voice came once more.

“Join me in the carriage, my prince. We are going to be family soon, and it’s so difficult to get time together.”

Aegon’s eyes narrowed a touch, long lashes hooding his eyes as he turned his attention back to the footman who had handled his horse. He could hear his uncle and cousin still conversing in rapid Valyrian, their words muffled just enough, so easily flowing between them that Aegon couldn’t keep up. The horses knickered and whined, pawing at the ground with the proximity to the dragons.

“Of course, Lord Larys. We will indeed.” Aegon gave him a tight smile and gestured for him to enter the wheelhouse first. The ones from the capital prioritized privacy with their screened in windows. The ones belonging to House Strong were more easily opened, the windows with little, folded shutters and fluttering linen curtains; far more open and far less like a cage.

Larys tapped the handle of his cane against the roof of the wheelhouse, and with a gentle jerk they headed back. Aegon leaned back against the plush pillows of the bench, stretching his legs out before him. In the small space, it was a sight to see how tall Larys Strong was. He was a thin man, much like Aemond, but while Aemond walked as straight as a blade, Larys made himself small. A sick feeling curled in the pit of his stomach as the understanding washed over him; the feeling of seeing one in the mirror. Aegon did the same thing. Curled shoulders and slouching to avoid the gaze of those who would bite at him.

The only difference, Aegon surmised, was that Larys’ desire to be undetected did not come from something as childish as his own desire to be unnoticed.

The soft sound of scraping drew Aegon’s gaze down to peer at Larys’ metal boot.

“When you take your seat here, my prince, you should know what you’re up against,” Larys said softly, his dark eyes pinning Aegon like one of Helaena’s bugs to the board. “You handled the council meeting well, as the squabbles of the Blackwoods and Brackens are exhausting to us all. Of course, Grover Tully approves of you. He may have sworn oaths to your father’s chosen successor, but make no mistake that he will raise banners for you. His grandson, Elmo, on the other hand…”

Aegon recalled the elder man with a wash of inferiority. Elmo Tully was tall and broad, with dark, auburn hair and piercing eyes that shifted from blue to green, he recalled, because it had unsettled him. ‘Lucerys’ eyes,’ Aegon remembered thinking when he first sat across from the man at the small council table.

“Aunt Celeste isn’t your mother, is she?” Aegon’s brow furrowed as he tried to reconcile the woman who had helped raise him with how she could bear this giant of a man. Ser Harwin let out a sad sounding laugh and shook his head.

“No, my prince. My mother was Lysa Tully, granddaughter of Lord Grover. I squired in Riverrun before my father became Master of Laws for your father.” Ser Harwin shook his curls from his face, reaching to tie it back to keep it from his face. “She died when I was a little sprog, barely walking.” A distance took his eyes and Aegon averted his gaze to offer the man privacy.

“He supports Rhaenyra,” Aegon finished, not wishing to dance around implications.

“He will, if only because he views the Hand and your mother as overstepping the crown’s wishes and the contract between the throne and its people.”

Aegon frowned at this, arms folded across his chest. “Speak plain, Lord Larys,” he said with his own hard look. Aegon understood games, he understood doublespeak, but there was much left to the imagination and he would not be made a fool of. “The throne provides for its people. What imagined overstepping is he so worried about? He’s simply sore that he lost Harrenhal to me.”

“He’s concerned about the dragon this marriage placed in his lands.” Larys shrugged softly and leaned back in the seat, the carriage jostling over a particularly large bump. “Harrenhal of course is a boon, but not in the way you might think. A comely bride is merely an additional perk, not the prize as it was for you.”

Aegon hummed softly in a way that reminded him of his brother and curled his fingers into his arms to resist the need to pick at the skin. Aemond had said something similar over the course of his nameday. How now all would see how vulnerable he was, and the way to wound him most grievously. Aegon, on the other hand, had sneered at that. Abby was not a weakness to him. To lose her would be to lose himself, yes, but it would not destroy him like Aemond tried to imply.

Of course it wouldn’t.

“They’re here to discuss the marriage contract. Lord Elmo is here on behalf of his father since Lord Tully is abed back at Riverrun. Several of the other river lords are with him, wishing to hammer out the details the crown and I worked out in regards to the inheritance of Harrenhal and jointure, the dowry, and the fact that Lord Elmo sees your placement in the Riverlands as a threat that you will take the Paramount seat from him should he not support you.”

Aegon’s face twisted in confusion, nostrils flaring at the insult at being accused of something he had no desire for. He leaned forward, a hand reaching up to the handle along the roof of the carriage to balance himself.

“He accuses me of coveting his seat?” Aegon hissed. “Just as these lords think I’m plotting to steal my sister’s throne. Why are they so quick to think ill of me? To accuse me of villainy and brand me traitor when I’ve done nothing of the sort. I plot no schemes or collusions—”

“You were born,” Larys interrupted with a soft and earnest voice. He too leaned forward, mimicking Aegon’s position. “You are the first born son of a king who murdered his first wife in the hunt for a healthy, living son, Prince Aegon. You did not choose this mantle, you did not choose to be born the son of the king, and I did not choose to be born with my own struggles. But these are the lots we have drawn in life and we must make the best of it.”

This close, Aegon noticed how he looked a bit like Ser Simon, who himself looked like the ghost of Lord Lyonel. Larys’s features were sharper than the rest of his family, he and his sister both, likely from their Frey mother. But the dark eyes reminded him of the amber glass eyes that stared out of the mounted stag heads and bear heads that lined one of the small halls in the Red Keep.

“Your own struggles?” Aegon snarled. “Like murdering your father and brother so you could have the seat instead of skulking about the Red Keep for the rest of your days?”

Aegon leaned back and so did Larys, who dropped his hand to grip the handle of his cane. He looked out the window silently, his jaw clenched, fingers tapping against the amber bauble on the cane. Larys did not ask him how he knew.

Caraxes’ whistling shriek echoed high across the lake valley. There was an even more distant answer: the long absent cry of Syrax that he hadn’t heard in years.

As Larys Strong’s dark eyes found him, Aegon felt like the elder was peeling away his skin as methodically as he peeled fruit, or the flesh of the convicts in the torture cells of the Red Keep. Aegon watched the twitch of his features and the shadow that passed over his gaze.

“Prince Aegon,” he said slowly, words measured, pausing for a moment before he finally continued. “The death of my father and elder brother was a tragic accident. It was never supposed to happen that way.”

Aegon’s mouth went dry. So what Jace said was, in fact, true;that Aegon had blurted it out to the man accused was of no matter. The bottom of his stomach dropped out with an unpleasant swoop.

Larys’ can thumped softly against the floor of the carriage. “It is not something that was done out of greed, or selfishness. Nor was it years of resentment. I loved my father very much. While a lesser father would have cast a babe born as I was aside, to dash their heads against the stone and write the babe off as another loss in a long line of tragedy, he fed my appetite for learning. He taught me how to hone my mind the way my brother honed his blade. He offered to send me to the citadel if it was what I wished, just as he attended in his youth before his brother, Tristafer, died and he became heir. When I declined to go to Oldtown, he helped me find a place in the world where I could excel.”

“Then you killed him,” Aegon said, voice low, brow slightly furrowed. “A man you claimed to love, who had done so much for you, and you burned him alive.”

The other man looked down at his cane, impassive in the face of Aegon’s words. He took a breath, a slight shake of his head, then met Aegon’s eyes once more. “Princess Rhaenyra kept my brother at her side and my father, love him as I did, he did not stop it. He could have. He did not.” Larys paused and his eyes went downcast, sweeping across the floor, but Aegon did not think he was truly looking at anything. “The king saw a threat to the stability of the royal family and made his wishes clear. When the king wishes something, it will be done. Your father wanted to silence the whispers. I would not let some assassin come after my family. We all make sacrifices in life, Your Grace. Often, that is in response to…,” Larys met his gaze, “...the actions, or inaction, of our fathers and our siblings. Duty and sacrifice are tenets of your mother’s, so I know you understand. I sacrificed them to salvage what I could of our house, and to save my sweet sister who was meant to return here as my brother finally came to take his place as future lord.”

The silence was oppressive, the air thick from it, as Larys held his gaze for several more moments before releasing him to look out the window. Aegon had nothing to say and instead looked out his own window towards the lake and the trees along the shoreline. Larys had given him much to consider and it was a new experience to not have it all blamed upon Rhaenyra or even the fleeting implications in the complacency of the king. Larys had implicated his own father and brother; a mess made of the four of them.

Aegon recalled the pale, silent ghost that Abby had turned into after the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin, barely remembering the discussion of her returning to Harrenhal. His mother had been quiet too and locked for hours in the sept. Aegon had thought she had been grieving with Abby, had grieved the loss of the relationship she had had with Lord Lyonel. Did she too know about this?

It was so much. It was too much for him to think of all right now and he didn’t want to focus on it. The danger at hand now was the presence of Elmo Tully and the other lords who were raising an issue and trying to prevent his marriage. The anger at being misjudged and assumed that he was coming for things he could not give two shits about, that took the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to be king and he didn’t want a Paramount seat. He just wanted his dragon, and Abrogail, and whatever family they made for themselves.

Well. That was a season. This chapter got so damn long that we've had to split it in two, which at the end of the day is a good thing. I'll get to flesh out the second half and start moving us into a couple housekeeping things before we launch into the long awaited family dinner, a spicy spicy chapter, and THEN THE WEDDING! As an FYI, I'm starting a new job on Monday! I will no longer be WFH, so my writing time is going to be a helluva lot different moving forward, but we're still sticking to the 'at least once a month' chapter updates. And with the next chapter now half down, I'm hoping to get back to a small buffer. Thank you all for being here, and I always always love to hear from you. If you're not sure what to say, a reblog lets more people read this story! My askbox is also open! Thank you for reading <3

[Next Chapter]

[blissfullyapillow]

┆I’ve loved you from the start

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ Neuvillette x fem reader

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ wc: 10,483~

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ Prompt: pinning, pinning, and more pinning. Wait, it’s mutual?! Oh, your heart can’t take this… “Oh how I’d wish you’d wake up one day, run to me confess your love at least just let me say, That when I talk to you, Oh cupid walks right through, And shoots an arrow to my heart…. Oh the burning pain... Don’t you dare look at me that way..”

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ warnings: fluff, slowburn, mutual pinning, lots of Fontaine characters make an appearance, reader is referred to as Name instead of Y/N but same thought applies (reader insert)

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ Pillow Talks: Hi guys! I’ve spent the last few days writing this, and I have to say I’m in love with how it turned out! I had to do my man justice (get it?) with a fic I can be proud of. Anyway, I really hope someone can find joy and comfort from this fic. As a side note, yes this fic was inspired by the song From the Start, by Laufey. The specific lines stated in the prompt is what really inspired me to write this. Regarding Neuvillette, I tried to be as lore accurate as possible here haha. I wish you all a wonderful holiday season. Stay safe out there. With much love, Pillow ‹𝟹

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ Masterlist

Credits: sillyakito on pinterest

I tap an impatient finger against my knee as I take a slow survey of my surroundings. Everyone is patiently seated, although animated whispers reach your ears as citizens anxiously wait for the trial to begin.

I don’t know what to expect…

As the people beside me engage in idle chatter, I take a deep breath to mentally prepare myself. My friend convinced me to attend one of Fontaine’s public trails, insisting it was a rite of passage as a new citizen of Fontaine.

Unfortunately for the both of us, they came down with a cold the day before the trial.  I would’ve loved if they could accompany me, but I’m here nonetheless.

Another quick glance around the courtroom sets my nerves on end. I’m fine with huge crowds but at times they can feel suffocating. My finger tapping increases in speed as my thoughts begin to spiral.

Before my thoughts can completely spiral out of control, a loud sound catches the attention of everyone in the room.

There, sitting before everyone in a comically large chair, is the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Something that is no small feat in the world of Teyvat.

He has a commanding presence; there’s something about him that makes it difficult to pry my eyes away. He situates himself before the people of Fontaine, and before long the trial is well underway.

I wind up being swept up in the moment; I’m heavily invested in this case. I close my eyes for a moment, playing detective to deduce whom the culprit is.

The majority of the attending party is not as quiet as I’d prefer them to be; It’s hard to think when everyone is so rowdy.

“Oh my, did you hear that? She’s definitely guilty!” “Disgusting.” “Who? Her? I doubt it was her! Do you not see the remorse on her face? Oh, what poor soul…”

…

aha, that’s it!

I open my eyes with a triumphant expression. I’ve determined who the culprit is. At least, I think so. Now to wait and see.

“Order!” The man before the citizens of Fontaine slams what appears to be a cane to the ground. The room is immediately engulfed in silence.

I gaze at him in awe.

The man, who I now know is the Iudex of Fontaine, talks through his deductions before a machine generates the final verdict.

I silently cheer since I successfully determined the culprit.

Overall, I’d say this was a valuable experience. There are definitely some prominent flaws in how trials are viewed and the implemented system. Of course that was only one trial and I shouldn’t get ahead of myself, but something about the fate of another being viewed as entertainment just doesn’t sit right with me.

With my head in the clouds, I don’t pay attention to where I’m going.

Well, not until I accidentally bump into something.

A small “omph!” comes out of whatever I bumped into. That’s weird. Why would an inanimate object make a—

The sudden realization that I bumped into someone dawns on me. I’m quick to bow my head in embarrassment.

“Sorry! I wasn’t paying attention..” I hope they aren’t mad!

I blink my eyes open when I hear nothing, and I find myself face to face with a Melusine.

“It’s no problem. We can all be clumsy at times.” The Melusine smiles at me; it’s the most heartwarming smile to ever grace my eyes.

I can feel the way my heart melts as the Melusine continues to smile at me, although she tilts her head in confusion.

Oh, I haven’t responded to her yet!

“You’re right. Still, I’m so sorry for bumping into you.” A sheepish smile lifts my lips. The Melusine sighs as they shake their head in dismay.

“Oh dear. You remind me an awful lot of Monsieur Neuvillette. He tends to over apologize for things when it comes to us.” This time, I’m the one tilting my head in confusion.

“Monsieur… Neuvillette? … Did I say that right?” The Melusine nods her confirmation, although she seems a bit surprised by my confusion. Why, though? “Are you new to fontaine?” She asks. When I slowly nod my head in confirmation, her eyes sparkle with an emotion I can’t pinpoint.

“Ah, I see. Well, my name is Sedene. It is very nice to meet you.” Sedene holds out her hand for a friendly shake, and it takes everything in me not to squeal over how adorable she is.

I haven’t lived in Fontaine for long, but all of the Melusine have my heart. They are all so sweet with their own personalities, it’s hard not to have a soft spot for them! They especially helped me out with navigating the city when I first arrived, their eyes devoid of judgment or apprehension when communicating with me.

Sedene tilts her head at me once more, and it takes me a moment to realize I haven’t responded yet… again.

My face warms in embarrassment.

Why do I keep getting lost in thought today?

I smile at her as I extend my hand, and we shake. “So, what’s your name?” She asks me. “Name.” Is my response.

She considers my answer, trying the name out on her own. “Name… it sounds pretty.” Sedene’s thoughtful comment causes my smile to morph into a grin. “Not as pretty as Sedene! Still, thank you.” I bend down to my knees to be at eye level with her.

I notice her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t seem to take offense to my action. If anything, she seems overjoyed. “Y/N, have you met Monsieur Neuvillette yet?” I shake my head no in response to her question.

“Monsieur… Neuvillette…,” Sedene nods again to confirm I have said the name correctly as I speak, “..Who is he?”

She blinks her eyes owlishly, before she bursts into a fit of giggles.

I’m a bit taken aback, but I find myself joining in on the laughter. Once Sedene stops laughing she gestures for me to follow her. I oblige her request as she begins to skip away.

Before I know it Sedene has led me to a new area, and now I stand before a large door. Sedene politely knocks before a voice from inside calls out, “Come in.”

Huh, why does that voice sound so familiar?

My question is quickly answered once Sedene pushes the door open and I follow her inside.

Sitting before the both of us, at his desk, is none other than the beautiful Iudex of Fontaine.

Oh, Monsieur Neuvillette!

everything clicks for me, and I find myself feeling a bit overwhelmed.

I’m standing before such a prominent figure in Fontaine! With no appointment or anything! I’m sure you need to schedule an appointment to see someone like him, right?

Is there some sort of etiquette I should follow here?

I break out into a nervous sweat as Sedene introduces me.

“I hope I am not imposing on your work Monsieur, but I have someone I’d like you to meet. This is Y/N, and she is a new citizen of Fontaine.” I shyly wave and offer a smile as Monsieur Neuvillette fixes his gaze on me.

Archons, my heart is pounding!

…

He remains silent.

I catch sight of his curious eyes roaming my figure, before they leave me to return to Sedene.

A soft, warm expression takes over his features as he communicates with her.

It makes my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

“You are fine, Sedene. I was just about to take a break from all of this paperwork anyway.” He speaks in a very refined manner, but his tone is more relaxed than it was in court. Obviously that’s to be expected, but still.

“Well hello Name, you can refer to me as Monsieur Neuvillette. Thank you for being good company to Sedene.” The Iudex of Fontaine now stands. He makes his way over to us.

I scramble my brain for a dignified response since the only fact in my mind is that I’ll be able to see his pretty features up close.

Oh,

He’s coming closer.

He’s standing in front of me now.

Damn, he’s even more handsome up close.

“Hmm?” He hums, prompting me for something. But what could it—?

Oh, yeah. I need to respond.

I open my mouth to thank him for his generosity, maybe even congratulate him on how smooth the trial seemed to go today.

Unfortunately, he chooses that moment to glance at Sedene, and he chuckles at whatever he sees.

Oh, my heart.

…

“Yeah.” Is my blunt, ineloquent response.

Oh ARCHONS why is that the only word that came out of my mouth?

He seems a bit taken aback by my lack of a response, but then he smiles.

At me.

He chuckles once more, and he lifts his hand. He moves his hand in my direction, and my entire body stiffens. His fingers grace my cheek.

My heart stops.

“You had something there. Do not worry, I have removed it.” Monsieur Neuvillette tilts his head in a polite gesture, a warm smile on his face as he retracts his hand.

I forget to feel embarrassed since I just had THE beautiful Iudex of Fontaine touch my cheek.

“Thank you..” I murmur, sounding a bit more eloquent this time.

“You are quite welcome. How long has it been since you’ve arrived in Fontaine? Do you hail from Liyue?” Neuvillette’s eyes roam my form once more as the realization dawns on me.

He’s studying my clothes, since I’m not wearing clothing native to Fontaine.

“Ah, yes. I just moved here recently. From Liyue.” When the word ‘Liyue’ leaves my lips, Neuvillette’s expression shifts for the briefest of moments.

It’s subtle, but I notice the quick frown that turns his gorgeous lips upside down, before they resume their neutral position.

“I see. Well, there are many things to enjoy in Fontaine. I hope you find Fontaine to be a suitable new home for you.” He sounds sincere, and it makes me happy.

“Thank you Monsieur.” I twiddle my fingers as my gaze leaves his face, to look around the room.

I assume this is his office.

There are shelves in the room, huge as they are, and there are two piles of paperwork on his work desk.

Sedene strikes up a conversation with Neuvillette, but I tune it out.

That is, until my name is brought up again.

“So, what do you say, Name? Does that sound like something that’s of interest to you?” I whip my head around to look at him, and his gaze is as fierce as it is intense.

Uh, what was the question?

He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can I interrupt. “Y-Yes! Sure, that sounds wonderful…” I chuckle nervously, hoping he doesn’t realize I didn’t catch his question.

He smirks at my response.

“So you don’t know what I have asked of you, yet you agree nonetheless? You are proving to be an intriguing individual Name. I shall see you here tomorrow then. Promptly in the morning, at 9, and not a moment later.” He turns then, walking back to his desk.

“Yes.” Is the only response I’m capable of mustering.

Oh my.. wait, did I say my question out loud earlier?

I watch as he sits down at his desk once more, that same smirk on his lips as he returns to work.

“Thank you for introducing us, Sedene. I shall see you tomorrow.” Sedene happily waves goodbye to Monsieur Neuvillette, and I hastily follow suit.

We leave Monsieur Neuvillette to his work, and Sedene happily bids me farewell outside of his door. “It seems you’ve intrigued Monsieur Neuvillette. That is not an easy feat (Name). I shall see you here tomorrow. At 9 o'clock okay? Don’t be late.” Sedene moves in to give me a hug, and I quickly bend down to return it.

As I leave the Court of Fontaine, I’m in a daze.

What did I just get myself into?

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

It’s 8:50. I am most definitely not running late to my surprise meeting with the chief justice of Fontaine.

On the contrary, I’ve arrived early!

Too bad my sense of direction isn’t serving me well..

“Um, excuse me? Do you know where I can find Monsieur Neuvillette’s office?” I kindly ask a Melusine I stumble upon.

They generously agree, and soon I’m led to the same door I stood before the previous day.

I check the time. It’s 8:57 now. How fortunate.

“Thank you so much!” I gratefully give my thanks to the Melusine before me. I bend down to give her a hug, and she accepts. “No worries. Thank you, (Name). It’s been a long time since Monsieur Neuvillette allowed himself to be involved with another person.” Oh?

Before I can ask the Melusine to elaborate, the door to Neuvillette’s office suddenly opens.

I look up, and he stands tall and proud above us. He awkwardly coughs into his fist as he glances at us. “Name. I’m glad you could make it.”

I take that as my Que to rise and properly stand in front of him. I discreetly wave goodbye to the Melusine as she skips away. When I turn back to face Neuvillette, he has a glint in his eyes.

I can only hope to decipher what it means.

He moves to stand beside me outside of his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Now, are you ready to begin?” I feel a sudden burst of energy surge through me, jumping up in excitement. “Yes! I’ll admit, I have no idea what we’re doing and I usually don’t wake up this early, but I’m ready!”

My words clearly take him by surprise, as his whole body stiffens and his gorgeous eyes widen.

“My… you sure are full of surprises.” He sounds smug about it for whatever reason, but I take it as a compliment.

“Sedene had asked me to show you around Fontaine, since you are new to this nation. Normally, this is not an activity someone of my.. position.. would partake in with a citizen. So count yourself lucky, as it was Sedene who requested it.” I eagerly nod my head in approval, and a shy “thank you,” leaves my lips.

He only nods, noticeably turning his head to look elsewhere.

He was struggling to contain his smile.

“Let us be on our way then. There is much to show you, while the day is still young.” So with that, Monsieur Neuvillette guides me out of the Palais Mermonia, which he later explains is the name of the building his office is located in, to show me the sights of Fontaine.

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

Neuvillette proves to be a wonderful tour guide, though I didn’t expect any less from him. He points out famous shops that the citizens rave about, making a point to mention Chioriya Boutique, run by a famous fashion designer from Inazuma. My eyes sparkle as I catch glimpses of the clothes, but Neuvillette is quick to continue our tour.

I can’t help but pout as we continue on. My eyes struggle to leave a particular piece that has caught my eye. Little did I know, Neuvillette was all too aware.

As we continue our impromptu tour, we run into many people who are familiar with Neuvillette. Each and every one of them express genuine surprise at seeing him out and about, especially with someone they’ve never seen before. 

A famous magician, Lyney, performs a magic trick for us as his assistant Lynette silently stands beside him. I politely applaud, enjoying the cool trick he managed to pull off. 

Halfway through the tour Neuvillette stops me. He pointedly looks towards a building a few feet ahead of us. My confusion morphs into one of delight as a girl runs out from behind it, quickly swarming Neuvillette as she asks for an interview for what apparently is the third time that week.

Later on, nearing the end of the tour, we run into a tall, beautiful lady. Neuvillette introduces her as the Champion Duelist, Clorinde. To say I'm starstruck is an understatement. She seems a bit stoic, but a subtle smile remained on her lips as she questioned what Neuvillette was doing with a citizen of Fontaine. 

I giggle as he slowly becomes more flustered with Clorinde’s obvious teasing, briskly walking off as he bids her a quick farewell soon after. She smirks, turning her gaze to me. I smile at her, and she nods politely before she continues on her way.

Our tour ends with a chance meeting, with none other than the Archon herself. 

Well, if the whispers you heard are true, then former Archon… ish? I don’t know the whole story, and it honestly sounds complicated. I don’t particularly care to know the details, as I give Furina a friendly wave of the hand. She stops to greet the two of us. She almost looks like she wants to ask Neuvillette what everyone has already, but she refrains from doing so, quickly entering her house with what appeared to be boxes of macaroni in her arms.

…

I think it’s better not to ask.

With that, my tour of Fontaine with Neuvillette concludes. The two of us return to our starting position, back to the Palais Mermonia. Neuvillette’s expression is hard to read as the two of you stand in front of his office door. “Thank you so much for doing this for me. Or, well, I’m not sure if it was entirely for me but either way I appreciate it! I got to meet a lot of cool people, although some of them made me nervous with how cool they seem…” You chuckle as you express your thanks. 

“No need to thank me. I actually enjoyed myself quite a bit.” You both send a smile in the other’s direction, before an awkward silence ensues. 

Luckily, you believe you’re good at handling these. “Um.. so, until we see each other again?” You extend your hand for a shake. He looks taken aback for a moment before he reaches out towards you, shaking your hand. 

“Until we meet again, Name. Truly, you are a lovely individual.” He politely nods, smiling at you before he turns, entering his office. 

His back is turned as the door shuts behind him.

Thank goodness.

You quickly place your hand over your heart, as the organ beneath your chest pounds violently against your ribcage.

Archons, how did you manage to walk beside him all day long? He’s genuinely an intriguing individual, and you enjoyed the various expressions he made. From a look of exasperation with the young reporter Charlotte, to looks of endearment as some Melusine waved to him when they spotted him, to an adorable look of embarrassment as Clorinde took it upon herself to extensively question his motives.

A soft look paints your features. Your cheeks, along with your heart, feels so warm.

You take your time leaving the Palais Mermonia.

Your only wish is that you’re able to meet Monsieur Neuvillette once more, even if your wish is quite far-fetched and impractical.

Who knew a rainy day would be the thing to grant your wish?

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

A heavy sigh leaves my lips as I hold my umbrella above my head. This rainy weather is quite fitting for today; after that trial I just witnessed, anyone would be sad. 

I roll my shoulders as I attempt to work out the kink in my neck. I stayed behind as the other citizens slowly filed out of the courtroom. The verdict weighs heavy on my chest. It was a tough case to watch, and it pained me to see the grief stricken look that crossed Neuvillette’s features as he announced the defendant guilty. 

I sat alone in the vast courtroom to give myself time to absorb everything that occurred. It almost felt like too much, but then again, I’ve always been one to put myself in others shoes even when it doesn’t directly affect me.

I shiver; it’s getting quite cold with this heavy downpour.

My gaze shifts to the sky. Although the circumstances were not ideal, I can’t help but feel a sense of peace wash over me as the rain splatters to the ground. A raindrop drips down from my colorful umbrella, splashing to the ground before my feet.

I’ve always loved the rain. Sometimes it can be a bit of a nuisance, but even so, there was something so beautiful about it. I adore all kinds of weather, but rainy weather has always held a special place in my heart. It calms me enough to sleep during late nights; it makes what would’ve been an ordinary night cozier and a bit special.

Nothing soothes me more than the gentle, or rough, splatter of raindrops against my window.

My  thoughts drift back to the present as my eyes come into focus. Whoops, I was daydreaming again.

I glance around, hoping no one spotted me zoned out, when my eyes connect with a familiar pair of dark blue-purple slit eyes. Said eyes widen, before they visibility soften. He takes long strides towards me, and my heart flips in my chest. 

‘Act cool, Name. Act cool,’ My thoughts warn me.

“It’s lovely to see you again, Neuvillette.” I cringe at my choice of words, internally berating myself for sounding cheesy.

“It is lovely to see you again as well, Miss Y/N.” Neuvillette smiles courteously in my direction, before his gaze shifts towards the sky. “Ah, my apologies. This heavy rain must be quite an inconvenience for you.” I glance at him, with what I’m sure is confusion on my features. Why is he apologizing for the rain? 

It’s not like he’s the one causing it. 

“No need to apologize for something that isn’t your fault Monsieur.” I’m not sure if I’m imagining the way his body winces. 

“No, no… ahem–” He awkwardly coughs into his fist, cheeks warm as he looks elsewhere.

Huh. How odd.

I shake my head to get myself back on topic. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette, do you have an umbrella?” My question draws his gaze in my direction. I suck in a sharp intake of breath at the intensity within his gaze.

“No, but do not worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He dismisses my concerns, stepping forward to walk in the rain. “It was nice seeing you again–” He pauses, glancing at his side. There I stand beside him, stubbornly holding the umbrella over his head.

He sighs.

“Y/n, I was honest when I said–” “I don’t care. I mean–” I catch myself, reminding myself Neuvillette is a respectable man that I can’t talk carelessly with as if he were a friend. “I mean… I understand. Still, please let me walk with you. I may be imagining it, but you do not seem well. I imagine a trial like that would make anyone feel ill. Not to mention you were the one presiding over the whole ordeal…” I’m a bit nervous that I’m overstepping my boundaries, but I figure it’s worth a shot.

Monsieur Neuvillette looks startled as he stares at me. I shift my weight from foot to foot, feeling awkward once more.

He suddenly looks away. Silence continues our conversation; with a gentle grasp of his hand, he removes the umbrella from my hand to hold it above the both of us. 

“Please, let me repay your kindness.” I nod, following him as we walk side by side through the torrential onslaught of rain. 

It isn’t long before we enter what appears to be an indoor cafe, ducking inside. Neuvillette closes my umbrella before he hands it back to me. I whisper my thanks, following closely behind as we find empty seats.

“Is there anything you’d like to try?” Neuvillette gestures to the menu in front of me. I feel bad, but I can’t resist looking over the menu. Scanning the various sweet items, my mouth begins to water. “This looks so good! Oh, but this does too. Hmm, maybe I want to try this…” I talk to myself, temporarily forgetting that Neuvillette is sitting in front of me. A sudden burst of laughter startles me, and I quickly place the menu down as I watch Neuvillette.

His eyes are crinkled, his hand running through his hair as he laughs unexpectedly.

Stop it, heart. 

He quickly composes himself, chuckling to myself. “You certainly seem eager. Please, order what you want. It’s on me.” I open my mouth immediately to protest, but he speaks before I can utter a single objection.

“The only thing I want to hear from those lips is what you want to order.”

Archons.

This man will be the death of me.

So, I oblige, telling Neuvillette my order before he promptly stands to leave, ruffling my hair as he passes.

My face burns. 

There’s simply no way he said that to me. No way. Nada. Zlitch.

Except…

I know what I heard.

Augghhhh.

I roughly put my head in my hands as I will my heart to calm down. You barely know the man, he didn’t mean it like that… yet.. 

I’m in trouble.

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

Neuvillette returns with my requested order, and I know my eyes must shine with horribly contained excitement. “Do not wait for me, go ahead and…” He struggles to contain his laughter when I don’t even wait for him to finish speaking, happily devouring the treat before me.  

He returns a minute later with my requested drink, just to see an empty plate. He really struggles not to chuckle. “Don’t laugh. I see it on your face, mister.” I warn. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Y/n? I would never laugh at a lady enjoying a sweet treat.” His tone is smug, accompanied by a grin. He places my drink in front of me before he sits in front of me once more. I pout at his obvious teasing, but decide to let it slide.

“Say, where’d you get the fancy glass? What’s in it?” I’m curious, leaning a bit closer in hopes of catching a glimpse at the context. 

“Ah, this? It is simply water, my drink of choice.” He looks all too elegant as he swirls the glass in his hand before he takes a long sip.

Your eyes are glued to his person. 

I should feel embarrassed at my shameless staring, really, but the sight before me is too beautiful to pass up.

The moment his eyes begin to open once he’s finished savoring the taste, I avert my eyes so fast it’s comical.

Unbeknownst to you, he witnessed the whole thing.

He won’t out you though, you’ve treated him with kindness by sharing your umbrella and he can only tease you so much. 

“Anyway, are you feeling better?” I ask. He looks confused for a moment as I take a sip of my drink. You can see the moment it clicks for him, his eyes visibly widening in recognition.

“Oh… yes… I.. am…” He seems completely taken aback by that revelation; it’s all too cute. “I’m glad. I know it mustn’t be easy presiding over cases, but you really do such an important job. I’m sure many are grateful that of all the people in Teyvat, it’s you whose the Iudex of Fontaine.” My words are sincere as I relay my honest feelings to him, closing my eyes as I take another delightful sip of the coffee I ordered.

This taste is absolutely divine. I haven’t had coffee that tastes this good in so long.

I keep my eyes closed as I savor the taste, slowly opening them. 

Just to find Neuvillette staring intently at my features.

To be fair, I did the same thing to him moments before, but gosh this feels embarrassing. I hope I wasn’t making a weird face!

I quickly avert my eyes, looking down at the table as I struggle to contain my smile, surely making an utterly goofy expression. 

I hear Nevuillette’s gentle laugh.

I slowly look up to see such a delicate look on his face; archons, I’ve always wanted to be on the receiving end of a gaze like this. Now that I am, I feel all too overwhelmed, yet simultaneously all too.. Elated. 

I giggle; it bursts out of me like a spoiler to a movie bursts from the lips of another. Neuvillette catches himself, coughing awkwardly into his fist, a habit I’ve realized he has, before he looks down at the table.

Now, we both look silly huh?

I smile to myself. 

I’m glad I was able to help him relax…

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

We step outside once more. I’m prepared to share my umbrella with him, whether he wants to or not! 

Thankfully, that isn’t needed. We both look to the now clear skies, as the stars twinkle above. It seems particularly easy to spot them tonight, not a cloud or raindrop in sight. 

I cheer.

“Look, Neuvillet- Monsieur! It’s stopped raining!” I excitedly point to the dreamscape of a sky, before I turn to face Neuvillette.

I falter at the fragility of his gaze; he’s as still as a marble statue carved to perfection, his fixed expression conveying a tempest of emotion as he longingly looks to the sky. 

“It’s over…” The words are murmured under his breath. My own leaves in quiet gasp, completely rooting me to the spot as his pulchritudinous expression holds me captive. 

A few moments of silence pass between the two of us, both of us admiring different things, yet they are entirely the same at the root. He slowly lowers his gaze to return to mine once more, and they hold me at his every beck and call, as they always seem to do. 

“Ah.. my apologies. I was lost in thought.” He smiles, turning his body to face me. “I appreciate the time we spent together today. I hope to see you again soon, Y/n.” His words cause my heart to flutter with an undeniable yearning that shouldn’t be there. 

Yet, my heart longs for the man standing before me, it performs somersaults in my chest  as he moves, ready to part ways.

“By the way, you can refer to me as Neuvillette.” His statement is simple, yet it holds so much weight. 

He nods in lieu of saying farewell, his steps echo throughout the quiet streets of Fontaine as he makes his way to his destination. 

I can only clutch my chest as I watch him leave, embedded to the spot long after his figure disappears from my line of sight.

Oh, Archons.

What have I gotten myself into?

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

My eyes unconsciously wander to the door once more, waiting for a hand to pry it open from the inside.

I hear giggles beside me, and I can only groan as I get caught red-handed in the act for the fifth time this evening. 

“Name, Monsieur Neuvillette’s meeting should be ending soon.” A sweet Melusine whispers into my ear. I can only muster a meek nod, returning my attention back to the task at hand. 

I’m waiting with a few Melusine, Sedene among us, as Neuvillette finishes his very important meeting.

I wandered into the Palais Mermonia of my own volition, just to find out that Neuvillette is occupied in a meeting. I planned on leaving after I heard the news, but a few Melusine nearby seemed to recognize me and asked me to sit with them.

Lo and behold, I’m here learning how to weave a flower crown with fellow Melusine as we wait outside of Neuvillette’s office.

“You’re doing great Name. Is this really your first time weaving a flower crown?” Sedene’s curious question boosts my confidence. “Yes, it is! I’m glad I’m doing so well that you felt the need to ask that.” Sedene happily nods beside me, before she skips away to tend to something.

I concentrate on weaving the final piece; my trembling fingers complete the flower crown. 

The group of us let out a collective cheer, before we quickly quiet down when Sedene scolds us. We are just right outside Nevuillette’s office after all.

“It looks so pretty! Look at the one I weaved.” A Melusine holds her flower crown up for me to see. It’s much more intricate than mine, but I only feel a swell of pride as I give her my honest praise. 

Suddenly, we hear voices from behind the door. My leg starts to bounce as my eyes remain fixated on the door, waiting for the moment it’ll open. 

I don’t have to wait long, mere moments later the door opens slowly, and Neuvillette’s guest is escorted out of the room. They wave to him, a short blonde with a floaty… thingy. Is that a toy or a person?

I almost want to rub my eyes to make sure I’m seeing things correctly, but I figure it’s best not to question it. I often encounter many creatures and people I wouldn’t expect, but they’re usually a delight in their own unique way.

The blonde traveler and their companion spot all of us sitting together. They seem like they want to come over. They place one foot in front of them before the small floating child beside them interrupts, loudly proclaiming “Paimon is hungry! We’ve gone way too long without food!” The blonde traveler stops and simply smiles, waving in our direction. All of the Melusines wave back in friendly greeting. Well, if they’re friends with Melusines then I see no reason to be cautious. I join the rest of my companions in waving. The blonde traveler winds up chasing the floating thing as they dash towards the exit.  

Huh. What an.. Interesting encounter. 

My thoughts are interrupted when the person I’ve wanted to see most finally emerges from his office. I feel my jaw go slack as I stare in his direction.

He has yet to notice me, so I take the opportunity to admire him. My eyes trace over his form, going painstakingly slow as they admire his length waist white hair. They settle on the adorable ribbon holding his hair in place. I tilt my head, noticing the almost horn like accessories adorning his head. I wonder what that really is? It suits him, but I wonder if..

All my thoughts come to a halt when he finally turns, and his bewitching orbs hold mine hostage. 

I couldn’t look away even if I willed it; nothing regarding his appearance has changed, but it’s almost as if.. The scenery, the world around me has grown more vibrant in color. 

The pounding in my chest feels surreal as he smiles at us. He takes slow and deliberate steps in our direction, curiously eyeing the flower crowns in our hands.

“Name, you may want to close your mouth.” Someone whispers in my ear. 

I immediately close it, feeling all too embarrassed.

Uh.. 

It’s not use. I can’t formulate a single thought.

I dumbly watch as Neuvillette finally reaches us, engaging in pleasant conversation with the girls around me. I pointedly look down, fiddling with the crown in my hands. What if he scolds me for being here, and distracting the Melusine from their duties? I’d hate for them to get in trouble because of me, or to be on the receiving end of Neuvillette’s disappointed gaze.

“Name. What has your mind so occupied that you didn’t notice me sitting down beside you?” Saying I jump in my seat is an understatement.

I’m startled, jerking before I turn to gaze into those mesmerizing orbs once more. I giggle awkwardly before I raise the flower crown in my hands. His gaze finally leaves mine, looking at the object in my hands. 

I’m relieved he’s finally stopped looking at me, but I can’t help but feel a bit sad as well.

What is wrong with me!?

I close my eyes and take a grounding deep breath in.

When they open once more, I feel much more composed. “Neuvillette, these girls showed me how to make a flower crown.” I hear words of agreement as the Melusine all speak up at once. “Yes, and Name has done a wonderful job.” “She’s great company, Monsieur.” “Monsieur, do you want to join us?” “Why don’t you try hers on Monsieur Neuvillette?” Neuvillette laughs, holding up his hand with the onslaught of comments.

“Ah, I see. I’m glad to hear it. I know firsthand how lovely her company is. I’d be delighted to join you all. I do not mind trying Name’s flower crown, as long as she is okay with it.” You gawk at Neuvillette’s smooth response to every comment previously directed at him. You assume it’s a skill he must’ve picked up being the Iudex of Fontaine, being able to take in information from multiple sources at a time.

“Um.. yeah, I’d love it if you could try mine on. Sorry if it isn’t as pretty...” A shy smile lifts my lips before I gesture for him to lower his head. He dismisses my concern with a simple, “Nonsense,” before he’s lowering his head for me. 

I easily place the delicate crown upon his head, admiring his well kept hair up close. 

My eyes find the horn like accessories once more.

I shouldn’t.

I really shouldn’t.

Yet I do.

My hand has a mind of its own, reaching out before they gently caress the blue accessories on his head.

I hear him suck in a sharp intake of breath as the Melusines around us gasps in dramatic surprise.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, actually allowing me to continue.

I’m not going to waste this opportunity. I selfishly lift both of my hands, caressing each appendage as I feel the smoothness beneath my fingertips. My hands glide up and down; it isn’t long before they reach the base of the appendages. There’s no way this is an accessory, they don’t feel like one. Are these actual horns? Hm, if they are then surely he’ll feel it if I…

A careful squeeze of the bases has him jumping, jerking away from my touch. I immediately start to apologize, but stop myself when I catch sight of his face. His entire face is redder than the shiniest apple in Mondstadt, his eyes looking every which way as he clearly tries to compose himself.

For whatever reason his breathing is a bit ragged and he groans, hiding his head in his hands.

I’ve never seen Neuvillette look so flustered before; this sight is a treat for my eyes, and I’m enjoying every last second of it.

I can’t resist the small coo that leaves my lips.

He groans again.

“N-Name, thank you for the beautiful flower crown. I’ll keep it in my office. Please, excuse me.” He quickly stands, speed walking to his office before the door slams behind him.

You’re a bit bewildered now. And a bit confused.

If those are actual horns on his head, then is Neuvillette really a human? I mean, he could be a hybrid of some sorts maybe. I’ve seen those around when I traveled to different nations, looking for a new home to settle down in.

I feel a bit bad for touching his horns like that without his permission. My worried eyes turn to ask the Melusine if I upset Neuvillette, only to see them all crowded around me, eyes wide and full of awe. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette let you touch his horns Name!” “How unexpected.” “Oh my gosh you two are so cute!” “The other girls were telling the truth!” They all chatter excitedly amongst themselves, giddy and barely able to contain their enthusiasm. They quickly bid me farewell when the door to Neuvillette’s office opens once more, giving me quick hugs and pats on the back before they scatter.

One even wishes me luck.

What do I need luck for? I’m not entirely sure, but I’m definitely taking it. 

Neuvillette appears more composed when he sits down beside me, the flower crown still on his head. “I thought you were going to put the flower crown in your office?” I ask. He seems confused for a moment, before realization reaches his eyes.

“Ah, yes. I did say that. I decided your hard work deserves to be appreciated, so I will wear it until the day comes to an end.” His words elicit a broad grin to appear on my lips, and his eyes noticeably take in the sight.

A smile presents itself on his lips as we spend the next few hours just chatting amongst ourselves. 

I’ve learned that Neuvillette can be quite humorous, given the opportunity. I’ve realized a lot of things about him from our interactions. Like how he prefers to keep distance between himself and the citizens of Fontaine, since it is possible one day they may end up on trial. It makes this relationship we’ve formed a bit unusual, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make me happy.

He also loves water. He wound up telling me how water tastes different from each region, and the feelings they evoke in him when he indulges in their pristine taste. 

Oh, and the warmth he displays towards Melusines is just another thing that I love about him, he can be so–

Wait..

My entire body goes rigid as warmth engulfs every crevice and limb, my body burns like the hottest of waters against human skin. 

Well, my feelings are quite obvious, but to admit it so easily to myself would mean…

Neuvillette stops speaking, eyeing me curiously as I internally berate myself for developing such feelings. I truly don’t know what to make of it, so I simply grip my clothes in my hands, pushing my feelings aside.

Neuvillette seems like he wants to say something, but decided against it. His eyes glance at my balled up fists, and his eyes swirl with an emotion I fail to pinpoint.

“I see you’re still wearing clothes from Liyue. This is not a complaint, just a mere observation.” Ah. I look down at my clothes.

He’s right, maybe it’s time I get something that’ll blend in more. I mean, I see people around Fontaine wearing clothes from Inazuma, Liyue, and Mondstadt even, so there really is no need for me to buy new clothes. I feel comfortable enough to walk around in the clothes I used to wear around Liyue. Still, I have to admit I love Fontaine’s style when it comes to clothes. Maybe I’ll get something new, just to see how I feel in it.

Neuvillette slowly stands. My eyes follow his movements, and they take note of his offered hand. “Come, there is somewhere I wish to take you.” You don’t need to think twice; you happily take his hand, and he helps you stand. 

You dutifully follow Neuvillette, choosing to not read into the fact he has yet to let go of your hand.

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

I admit, I’m shocked.

Neuvillette escorted me to Chioriya Boutique, and in mere moments one of the staff took my measurements as requested by the Chief Justice. 

The bewilderment on their faces caused a snicker to slip from my lips before I stopped myself.

People’s reactions to Neuvillette are always so varied and dynamic, it’s very entertaining to see yet equally intriguing. 

Neuvillette bombards me with questions regarding my fashion choices before he relays this information to the staff. I wait, expecting something more to happen, but alas he ushers me away from the boutique. 

I sigh, pinching my nose. I really hope he’s not trying to get me anything. I’d love to pick something out for myself, but he wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise! I couldn't resist his earnest gaze, so I wound up waiting to the side as he requested.

I look up when the sound of footsteps reach my ears. He approaches me, a satisfied pull of his lips sends my heart into overdrive.

“I have taken care of business here. Now, perhaps we could take a walk by a riverbank ro somewhere similarly fluvial.” He extends his hand to me once more. I’m baffled to say the least. I consider protesting, opening my mouth to insist he does not need to get anything for me, but his hard glare is warning enough.

My mouth closes unceremoniously, and I quietly take his hand. He’s radiant now, humming as he walks closely by my side.

I look to the sky, the blue hues have long since shifted to beautiful pinks and purples.

Oh, Neuvillette. 

You are none the wiser of the effect you have on me…

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

I wait outside the Opera Epiclese as a strong downpour of rain threatens to drown the poor souls who don’t have an umbrella. 

I didn’t witness the trial today, but it’s become a habit to walk with Neuvillette after his trials. He was conflicted about this habit when it first began, but now I notice the undesigned glint in his eye whenever he catches sight of me after a trial. 

So, it’s turned into a regular part of our daily routine.

Unfortunately it seems the trial wasn’t an easy one today; as people file out of the courthouse, sullen faces are many a dozen. 

My heart squeezes painfully in my chest; if the citizens' faces look so solemn, then I can only imagine…

Minutes pass, long after the last person left the opera house. I start to second guess if he’s even here anymore. Maybe he left so I wouldn’t have to see him? Fortunately, he chooses that moment to emerge from the Opera house. 

My eyes light up, excited to finally see him… but..

Oh..

poor Neuvillette…

I bite my lip when his calm, neutral expression catches my eye. Neuvillette isn’t one to openly express his thoughts and feelings through expression, but I know it must’ve been particularly harrowing if he can’t even muster a frown. 

He looks up, and his impassive gaze locks with mine. He feigns a smile as he approaches me. My hand grips the handle of the umbrella; my heart aches for him.

“Thank you for waiting for me, Name. I apologize for taking so long, shall we pro-” Something about his eyes, devoid of spirit, arrests me. His rigid movements evokes a dreadful throb in my chest. 

I drop the umbrella I’m holding, opting to rest my hands on his cheeks. He’s a bit startled by my actions, lifting his hands to rest on top of my trembling one’s. He sighs deeply, closing his eyes. 

He leans into my touch.

Silence ensues.

The cold nibs at my skin. It threatens to seep into me through the fabric of my clothes, but I couldn’t care less when the man before me is clearly hurting.

A moment passes before Neuvillette clears his throat. I already know he’s going to try and brush this off, like he normally tends to do. 

“Name, while I appreciate your concern, I don’t–” “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry.” The rest of his words die in his throat. He’s silent, but I can see the effect the words had on him; his eyes squeeze so tightly it looks borderline painful.

“Name.. where did you hear..?” Oh. He wants to know where I learned about this.

“Do you remember that blonde traveler you had a meeting with that day? And the floating child thing, wait, I think they said their name was Paimon..” You think out loud, satisfied when Neuvillette stiffly nods in confirmation.

“Well, they were one of the attendees of today’s trial. They stopped to chat with me when they saw me waiting here for you. They told me when I see you and it’s still raining, if I say ‘Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, Don’t cry,’ it’ll cheer you up.” My explanation doesn’t seem to surprise him. He only sighs.

It takes him a moment before he slowly opens his eyes.

“I… see. Well.. They were correct. I’ll have to thank them during our next encounter.” I smile brightly at him, and in response his gaze seems to soften. I look out to the sky; the rain has considerably lessened its intensity. Droplets still hit the ground, but it’s an improvement from the earlier downpour. 

“I do have to wonder though, why does an old children’s song speaking of the hydro dragon have such an effect on you, Neuvillette?” He raises an eyebrow, something I didn’t know he was capable of. 

I giggle as he informs me, “It’s not that the song has an effect on me per se, but…” “Hmmm?” I prompt him with a  gentle smile on my lips. He looks elsewhere. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me, hydro dragon.”

The way he whisks his head, still resting in the palm of my hands, to gawk at me confirms my underlying suspicions. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but if I’m really not.. Then maybe..

I release Neuvillette’s face in favor of wrapping him in a warm embrace. He emits a choked sound from deep in his throat when I start to stroke his back, repeating the rhyme once more.

Neuvillette’s sigh sounds equally exhausted as it does exasperated. “Whoever created that rhyme must have believed the Hydro Dragon was akin to a bleeding heart. It could  not have been known if the Hydro Dragon would grieve for humans…” You ponder the meaning of his words for a few moments, before you respond with your own thoughts.

“While that may be true, it’s something only the Hydro Dragon knows the answer to. Whether he sympathizes with us silly humans…” I pull back to look at him. I’m really praying the love I feel stirring in my heart isn’t obvious on my face.

His eyes widen a fraction. He appears completely taken aback. I listen for the sound of the rain, and when I don’t hear it I look back to the sky. The rain has stopped now.

A droplet drips down from the building above, landing on my nose.

Neuvillette’s body shakes, and I return my gaze to him. 

He pulls me close as laughter racks his body. This is the first time I’ve ever heard him laugh so brazenly; I’d be a fool not to join in.

It takes a long time for our laughter to die down, but once it does Neuvillette speaks. His words, “The people of Fontaine are innocent. Through the time I have spent by your side, it was easy to determine that you share a similar verdict, Name.”

I avoid gazing into his eyes for the duration of our conversation, lest he notice my fairly obvious lovestruck gaze.

 

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

He takes a step closer, and I take a step back.

My heartbeat is loud in my ears; roaring louder than an obnoxious car engine as it speeds down the highway. 

He mimics every move I make; for every step back I take, he takes a step forward. This continues until I’m left with nowhere to retreat, back pressed firmly against the wall behind me. 

He takes his time approaching me as my eyes anxiously dart every which way. His office looks the same as I remember it, except…

My mind registers the flower crown on his desk, beside the pile of paperwork that he just finished. 

He kept it?

My thoughts are brought back to him when he’s standing before me, blocking my view of everything else that isn’t him. “Name, could you please repeat what you just said?” I swallow the lump in my throat. He sounds angry. Livid, even. All I did was make a joke about myself..

“I said that, uh, I’m sorry for ruining your image. Being seen with me must not be a good look for you, being the Iudex of Fontaine, and then I said my feelings for you were stupid–” He doesn’t let me finish, slamming his hands on either side of my head. 

SLAM!

I jump. 

I feel small between his arms and his imposing figure in front of me. It’s difficult, but I manage to maintain eye contact with him. The emotion in his eyes reflects a raging tsunami, oppressive with a dangerous glint that’d make anyone feel weak in the knees. My knees feel especially weak right now, being caged in like this. 

“The words you speak reek of lies. It’s a fabrication your mind has created to protect yourself.” His words are true and pierce through the walls I’ve been trying to maintain around my heart. “I don’t understand…” I whisper. 

another lie.

“What is it that you don’t understand?” His voice is low, and the words sound like a growl leaving his lips. “I.. don’t understand why someone- a being- like you, or how, you could possibly.. Return the feelings I harbor for you. You’re the Hydro Dragon after all, are you not? A respectable, prominent figure at that, whose company brings me pleasure and shines a light on my mundane everyday life. So, why, how is it possible that you… you said you…” I struggle to finish my statement, but he waits for me patiently.

“...You said you feel the same, but I don’t understand how you possibly…” He clicks his tongue, clearly aggravated. I don’t believe he’s aggravated with me, rather more, with what I have said. 

He closes his eyes. It’s almost as if I can see the gears turning in his head; he’s figuring out what he wants to say in response to my absurd claim, as he previously called it..

His eyes slowly open, and ardent determination is evident within his burning iris’. His next words stun me into complete silence, absolutely enraptured with the overflowing emotion seeping from his words. 

“Honestly Name, I’m trying to comprehend how you haven’t determined this for yourself, but it is alright. I will make things clear for you now, Celestia and the Heavenly Principles be damned; I yearn for you like a traveler yearns for a haven, a place of respite for their weary soul. My heart aches to feel the weight of your hand in mine. It longs to memorize every ridge of your palm, admire every dip and curve of your body, outline any and every beautiful scar that embellishes your natural beauty. So I’ll be damned if I allow you to stand before me belittling yourself when we are both aware that your words hold no significance; the truth of the matter lies in the longing gaze you’re giving me now. It lies in the quick withdrawal of your hand whenever mine ‘accidentally’ brushes against yours. It lies in precious tears upon your lashes, as you try to conceal your feelings for me. It…” His powerful words lose momentum as said tears escape the confines of my lashes, painting the planes of my face as they drip down at a leisurely pace. 

He lifts a gloved hand to wipe them away, before he pulls it back in a moment of uncertainty. I watch, beguiled, as he removes his gloves before reaching for my cheek, thumb tenderly caressing my tear stained cheeks. 

A strangled sob threatens to escape my lips, so he leans in, unhurried and deliberate with every movement he makes.

His lips brush against my own, yet they hover mere millimeters from pressing firmly against my keen lips. “May I?” His question is simple in nature, yet the implications of his words hold so much weight it threatens to suffocate you. It’s all you’ve wanted, truly, yet you find yourself in a daze. 

He waits. Patiently.

I close my eyes and breathe, and he breathes with me. 

So when I open my eyes once more, my answer is resolute, unyielding, in its truthfulness and authenticity. 

“Yes.”

I can feel his breathing speed up, as little puffs of air tickle my face. His hands feel softer than I’d imagined, as they rest upon my cheeks. 

His tentative lips eradicate the irksome space that previously separated us. I smile into the kiss, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. It doesn’t take long for the both of us to feel comfortable. Our lips part, only to seek the warmth of the other’s once more. This time, it’s Neuvillette who smiles as we kiss.

His lips eagerly taste mine as we explore each other. His hands move from my face to brush against my sides, stopping at the hips. They reside there, pulling me closer. A sweet hum reaches my ears, emitted from deep within his chest. 

Joy bubbles up from within as our kiss comes to a natural conclusion; Neuvillette pulls back to provide me an opportunity to breathe.

I feel warm all over as I study his smokey gaze. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. My palpitating heart can’t take much more of this. 

Yet, I verbalize no objections as he languidly captures my lips once again. He’s impatient now; his hungry lips seek to claim every aspect of me, mind, body and soul. His lips easily devour mine, his tongue, which sought entrance moments before, now laps against my own. 

A shiver racks my body as the warmth flooding my body threatens to be my demise. My hands seek purchase on his shoulder, pressing into his shoulder blades. I’m astonished by the passion within Neuvillette’s tender, yet heated embrace. 

I have to pull away, lest I be swept up in his treacherous waves. A wistful sigh escapes his parted lips as he rests his forehead against my own. I gasp for air; He stole my breath away, just as the mighty waves of the sea indiscriminately rob many of their ability to breath, resulting in futile attempts to resurface.

 I require more time than I’d like to admit to catch my breath. 

“So.. does this mean you like me or?” My joke does not go unrewarded. His unamused look drives me into a fit of giggles. 

Love washes over me, like a gentle caress, when he joins in.

I admire his unabashed laughter as his thumb rubs soothing circles on my hip. 

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

Distinct giggles can be heard from the other side of the door.

Neuvillette sighs.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, meanwhile my chest rapidly rises and falls in mirth.

“Do not encourage them.” He groans.

I overhear Sedene tell the other Melusine of the sight she was met with earlier this evening, as Neuvillette and I walked into his office hand in hand, and the girls gathered around her squeal with glee.

I peeked out of Neuvillette’s office a few moments ago, and my eyes were met with the adorable sight of a group of Melusine gathered around Sedene as if it were story time. 

Now, I rest my head on Neuvillette’s shoulder as he signs the last document of the evening.

“Oh dear. I worry they’ll continue to discuss this for many days to come.” I can only smile as his face is colored with endearment; his eyes soften and he fails to stifle a smile.

“I don’t see anything wrong with that. They’re having fun, and they care dearly for you, Neuvillette..” “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong.” His retort leaves me feeling confused, but he only reaches for my hand.

I watch as he plays with my fingers, humming a tune to himself. “Dear, they have come to care deeply for you as well. Do you not notice the way Sedene’s eyes light up whenever you speak with her? Or how Kiara always runs in your direction the moment she spots you? Or, how about when– mmph!” The rest of his words are muffled behind my hands, pressed firmly to his mouth.

I can feel the grin he’s making.

“Okay okay, point taken.” I grumble, removing my hands.

My heart flutters when he sends a wink my way. 

He turns his attention back to the signed document on his desk, moving it to the finished pile. “Speaking of caring deeply for someone… Name, I have something I wish to tell you.” 

“Should the day ever come where you choose to remain by my side, I shall reveal something I know will be of interest to you.” I’m sure my face looks as astonished as I feel, because Neuvillette simply laughs, running his thumb along my bottom lip.

“Now now, there’s no need to make such a face.” “What are you talking about? Reveal.. What?” He only closes his eyes, emitting a quiet hum.

“My name, of course.” 

My entire body stills as the gears turn in my head.

“Wait, so Neuvillette isn’t..” His eyes compel me, keeping mine locked with his as they open once more. A deep emotion lies within them, granting me a glimpse of the altruistic soul within. 

“I have always asked citizens to refer to me by my last name.” His words make sense, and with the knowledge I have of him, he is one to keep people at a polite distance. Still… It's a bit shocking.

Even so, I have no qualms with this arrangement.

“It’s a deal, I’ll patiently wait for the day you tell me your name. ..First name, I mean.” There’s a glint in his eyes that reflects pleasant surprise, albeit there’s a hint of a challenge that resides within them.

“Oh? You sound confident. Not that I’m opposed, that is the ideal outcome I desire for our relationship.” I smile, placing my fingers under his chin as I lean in for a kiss.

He smiles as our lips embrace each other, placing his hands firmly against my back.

I had every right to feel confident; after all, I finally was able to witness Neuvillette on his knees, ring in hand as his loving gaze threatened to break the dam I was avidly struggling to hold back.

My eyes glisten with unshed tears as I join him on the ground. I practically throw myself onto him as I embrace him, and his carefree laugh is an alluring melody to my ears. He leisurely slips the ring onto my finger, pulling back so he can properly face me.

“Now, are you ready for me to consummate our arrangement?” My head bobs up and down so fast that I make myself a bit dizzy.

Warmth gives Neuvillette’s features an almost angelic glow as a delicate finger, free from the confines of his gloves, brushes along my cheek. 

“Hmm…” He stalls.

I pout. He beams.

“Alright, alright. I will leave you in suspense no longer. My name is…”

⋆｡𖦹 ° ♡⸝⸝ ✧˖

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[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 5

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

⊱𖣂⊰ | masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟎𝟓 | 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

chapter word count: 3.1 k

content warnings: mild dissociation, blanket warnings

a/n: So! Chapters may be more spaced out from now on. I've got six halfway written and seven and eight outlined, but I'm swamped in schoolwork rn, so the updates will have to take a backseat. I swear I wont abandon this though, I already got way too attached to it. Anyway, I offer you this plot-continuing chapter. I hope it answers some of your questions and leaves you with some more.

Thanks for reading!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 next day with a bitter taste on your tongue. You lay unmoving, in a similar way to your first morning. The only difference is, there is nothing in your mind. No anxieties, no thoughts, no nothing. The you two weeks ago would be embarrassed, but now you just feel numb. 

You vaguely remember snapshots of yesterday, although you still can't recall specific sounds or sensations. Everything —the past, present, and future— is stuck in a haze. Even nature seems to be aware of this, as you can’t hear the soft coos of birds outside your window, or the rustling of leaves as wind passes through them. 

Time ticks by, and the shadows in your room morph as the sun traces its revolution in the sky. They get longer, fuzzier, and they move around the space as if chasing some unobtainable treasure. 

You can relate, you think.

Your fingers reach out to them, before your hand falls limply to the floor. You graze the wooden floor with the tips of your fingers, the coldness to the touch diverging with the warm blankets. When they collide with something solid below your bed, you sigh, closing your eyes. 

You stand up and kneel before it, gently taking the small box you had stashed under there. The latch clicks when you open it, and your old clothes, the ones from home, greet you. You run your hands across the cushy fabric, softened after many trips to the washing machine. 

A chuckle spills from your lips at the sight. If you’d known you'd be whisked away when dressing up that morning, you would have chosen something comfier, maybe more nondescript. It turns into a sob when you bring it towards your face and you discover that it barely smells of home anymore. 

Unlike yesterday, no tears begin to fall from your puffy eyes. You are too tired to spiral again, your tear ducts too dry to spill over. You simply stay on your knees, caressing the fabrics over and over again. 

Your door creaks open, and Zeke’s head pops in, zeroing on you. 

“Hey, kid,” he says after a beat. “How are you feeling?”

You pay him no mind, not even turning to look at him. His boots fall heavily to the floor as he walks towards you, and it is only when he kneels next to you that you shift your gaze to him. You swallow, nothing coming out of your mouth as you open it to answer.

“...Hungry,” you finally croak.

He nods, helping you up. 

“I’d say breakfast is ready, but it's way past time for lunch,” he jokes, his smile slowly disappearing when you don't respond. 

Zeke looks down at the box in your arms, noting its presence. He hesitates for a moment, and delicately takes it from you to place it on your desk. You let him, watching as he closes the box, but leaves the latch open.

He guides you downstairs, where a steaming bowl of something is waiting for you in the kitchen. 

You robotically take the cutlery and begin eating, scooping up spoonfuls of thick soup. The warmth returns the color to your skin, and your complexion begins to look less gray. Your thoughts start to flow once more, and you eat with newfound energy.

“Didn’t you have a meeting today?” you ask softly, putting down your empty bowl. 

“I got off early.”

He shrugs, like it's no big deal that the War Chief got off early on a meeting about a developing war. You look at him, skeptical, and you're tempted to once again start over analyzing his actions. Your attempt falls flat with his explanation, though. 

“You were sick, kid,” he says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “I couldn’t leave you alone all day.”

You want to cry again, You turn his statement, tone, words, everything, over and over, trying to find a second, secret motive for it. The sincerity with which he delivers his answer comes up against everything, and you, for the first time, believe him wholeheartedly. 

You look down, furiously blinking away a new wave of tears. You're not quite sure why they threaten to fall; it could be the residue emotions from yesterday, your conflicted feelings about your world, or Zeke’s genuine confession. Maybe you don't want to know. 

Silence settles over the room again, only this time it’s reassuring, not constricting. Zeke doesn’t ask about the stray tears that you fail to contain, instead choosing to return to his lunch. You’re grateful you don't have to offer an explanation, knowing still that he would listen to you if you wanted to give him one. 

Zeke takes your plate after he finishes his, making a beeline towards the sink. You let the sound of flowing water fill the atmosphere, while you contemplate the day before you. As you glance out the window, you notice that the sun is already past halfway through the sky, streaking it with stripes of gold and orange. 

Your cheek rests on your palm, and you trace over the lines of the wooden table with your other hand. Maybe you could work on your written vocabulary. 

You hum, as you think about the book you are one third through decoding. You don’t like the prospect of being alone in your room, but there are limited options as to what you can do now. 

A thud interrupts your musings, and you tilt your head up to see what Zeke had dropped at the table. Your breath hitches when a white baseball rolls over to you. 

“Want to play?” Zeke asks. 

You tentatively grasp the object in your hands, bringing it from one palm to the other. To anyone else, this offer would be seen as what it plainly was; an invitation to play catch. To you, however, it reads like an olive branch. Zeke was offering you the one part of his past he looked back fondly to. 

“...Yeah.”

Only three people had interacted both with the ball and with Zeke in the original series. Ksaver, his mentor; Colt, his successor; and Eren, his brother. A new category opened up in the list– you, his ward. 

The white baseball flies through the breeze, parting the air around it with a whizz. You catch it in the leather glove in your hand, before grabbing it and lightly throwing it back to Zeke. He stands across a small patch of grass behind the house, the space being deemed as the current ballpark.

You had been at it for some time, and both pink and purple joined the array of colors above. Baseball was never a thing that popped into your head as a pastime, school work and other hobbies taking the priority of your free time. 

It is, however, great to keep your mind occupied. The mindless duality of throwing and catching –as well as the repetitive nature of it– gives you something easy to do, with no risk of overthinking the action. 

On the other hand, you needed to be sharp to catch the ball and then measure how much energy you would push into it. This helped you concentrate on it, instead of letting it blend in with your environment. 

The cool wind blows across your neck’s nape, bringing some relief in the afternoon sun. Your mind is too occupied with the game to linger on your breakdown yesterday, and you let your emotions flow through you, catching them and releasing them just like the ball. 

Emotions are a fickle thing. They are the reason for the titans, for the connections between people, for the conflicts that ruled the world. They are the very thing that drove the story, and the very thing that ended it. Feelings are as impulsive as they are irrational. And so, on an impulse, you take a very, very, rash decision. 

“I want to go to Paradis,” you say, throwing the ball back at him. 

Zeke freezes as the weight of your statement settles in. The ball lays still in his baseball glove and he makes no move to toss it in your direction. After a beat, Zeke speaks up. 

“You want to go to Paradis…?”

You nod, swallowing 

He throws the ball back, and it lands in your glove with a thump. 

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to tell me this?”

“I know the timeline of your plan.” Your heartbeat quickens and you look down. “This isn't where I’m meant to be, and I- '' you hesitate for a moment, hoping the vulnerability of your request aids you in its acceptance. “I want to go home. As soon as I can.”

The ball flies again towards Zeke. You throw it with more force than normal, and your downturned gaze means you don't see exactly where you toss it, going off purely of muscle reflex. 

And still, you hear the telling thump that indicates that Zeke has caught it. 

“And what exactly do you plan to do?” he asks. “The timeline can’t move up, no matter how much we wish it to.”

In a sense, Zeke is right. The original plan went like it went simply because of the time it took to bring Paradis’ technology somewhat close to that of the rest of the world. And that is without mentioning the allies that would be introduced later on. The Azumabitos and the Tyburs all had their role to play, if things continue on as they were fated to. 

And if things continued like they were fated to, and you still found yourself with no way home, then at least you'd be spared of the rumbling. You don't want to take your chances with the rest of the Eldians and Marleyans at Fort Salta. 

“I can help you,” you offer. It is a Hail Mary, one you aren’t sure Zeke believes a hundred percent. “Besides, the other Volunteers will be there too, won't they? Yelena can keep an eye on me for all I care.”

You catch the ball as it is flung to you, tossing it once, twice up in the air before pitching it to Zeke. 

“I know you have no reason to trust me on this. But all I want is to go home.” 

Zeke examines the sphere in his glove, and you know he is considering your offer. You suppose the proposal is tempting; you are a wildcard that could, at the very least, be a thorn on the road to achieve his goal. And yet, you could also make it easier.

“If I did decide to send you,” he starts slowly, “–and it’s not definite, just a hypothetical– I need to know that we are on the same page. About everything.”

You nod. The imaginary page in question had been scribbled all over with the details discussing the small-scale version of the Rumbling as well as the (not so) fun bonus of the sterilization plan. Half truths with a dose of lies; that’s how you and Zeke operated with each other. Now, he was asking for honesty. 

“I want out the moment you enter the paths.”

“And you're well within your right to demand so,” Zeke concedes. “After all, there's nothing more tragic than being dragged into a fight that is not one’s own.”

Fight. 

You could very well be fighting not only other people, but fate itself. Has this already been decided? You want to argue that no, that your presence here was a new variable, that you could argue with Eren that this was proof that the future could change. 

And if you failed… then maybe at least you could have the small comfort that you tried. And you would be in Paradis, unaffected by the Rumbling.  

“Okay,” you breathe out, catching once more the ball Zeke throws at you. 

A small lifetime ago Tom Ksaver and Zeke Jaeger stood in the very same positions you both stand in now, the mentee becoming the mentor, the new apprentice once again having more answers than the teacher. The euthanasia plan comes to light anew, along with the name of Zeke’s old mentor. 

“So. Ksaver’s plan?”

Thump

“Just how far does that story cover?”

Thump

You shrug, drawing back your arm with the glove. “It's just snapshots. I couldn’t tell you his favorite color, for example.”

Thump

“Fascinating,” Zeke responds. “Do you know how it came to be?”

Thump

“Something about not being born equals no misery?”

The ball flies off to Zeke, who keeps it. He turns it in his palm, throwing it up in the air and catching it again. His eyes trace the path the ball takes above his outstretched hand, and you see how his gaze turns reminiscent, his words heavy and his sentences anchoring to the reality Ksaver presented to him a little over a decade ago.

“All of our grief, all our suffering, it has no place in this world. It exists in us, perpetuated by the fear we instill in the people. And so, if we had never existed in the first place, neither would our torment nor the fright titans cause.”

You nod, your gaze a tad distant, as the ball soars towards you. 

Tom Ksaver had been enthralled when Zeke had proposed the eradication of all Eldians, via the elimination of their ability to reproduce. Both men were governed by their trauma, its invisible hands molding the clay of their stories. 

Ksaver’s dead wife and son pushed him to seek a grandiose way to end his life. He looked for the son who never got the chance to grow up in Zeke, and was comforted when their views intersected. He died with Zeke as his successor in titan, research, and objectives.

Zeke’s trauma had defined his goals. Always going against what Grisha had traced in his future, and yet still being so cosmically intertwined with the man. He had gained solace when he believed he had found someone similar in his younger brother. 

Through the same circular glasses, their point of view was equally clouded by their experiences. 

“I am… very sorry it had to come to this.”

Zeke shrugs. “It's not your responsibility to apologize, kid. You weren’t even born into this world–how could you possibly bear its burden?”

You suppose he is right. Zeke’s point of view hung on the divine burden the sins of their forefathers had placed at their backs, and you, without a drop of Eldian blood in your veins to damn you, were guiltless before the slaughter. 

You double up on the commendation for his cause, hoping to secure a ticket to Paradis Island among the Volunteers.

“Still. I find it honorable how you chose to shoulder this responsibility.”

The statement deals in half truths. 

You truly are in awe of Zeke’s determination and conviction in his own plan, regardless of the abhorrent nature of it. But he doesn’t need to know of your disagreement, just of your admiration. 

You swear you see his eyes get misty before he turns his head to the side, effectively blocking you from confirming it. Soft coos in the trees rise in nature’s harmony, and you watch as Zeke adjusts his glasses, discreetly wiping away stray teardrops before they become apparent. 

You and Zeke talk well into dusk, only retiring inside when the sun dips beneath the horizon, giving way to the first stars in the sky. No agreement is reached, and Zeke skitters around the subject for the remainder of the conversation. 

The fire crackles beneath the stove as Zeke whips together a small dinner, and the smell of toasted bread fills the kitchen’s air.

“ –and I’m just saying,” you continue with your side of the argument, “who do you think your brother would have an easier time trusting? A bunch of adults who he views as enemies? Or someone his age, who can pose as a victim from Marley?” 

“That’s true,” Zeke acknowledges, most likely remembering the single time they met, along with Reiner’s account. “He is rather… brash.”

You don’t tell him that it was Eren who originally sought out Yelena, to then pretrend to be on board with Zeke’s plan. Trust was a minor detail in the equation, and Eren simply relied on his future memories and carefully built facade to get him through. In the end, he didn’t need to trust them, just manipulate them enough so they could be useful.

“So I can go? Please?”

���Eat your dinner.”

“But-”

“You were sick yesterday, eat your dinner.”

Like a moody teenager, you huff at Zeke’s reply, shoveling a slice of bread into your mouth. The jam in it was delicious, but you weren't about to compliment the cooking of the chef when the chef in question was being a jerk and avoiding the topic. 

“Whatever,” you mumble between bites. 

One would think you were arguing about some party you didn't have permission to go to, or some unjust punishment caused by failing grades. Certainly not a world-altering conspiracy and a trip to the dubbed Devil’s Island. 

Zeke stands up with a sigh, and you look at him questioningly as he walks out the kitchen. Damn, you think. Had your pleading finally annoyed him into an early bedtime?

You don't wait alone for long, though, and Zeke once again enters the kitchen after the sound of rummaging in the adjacent room ceases. His hands hold a sheet of paper and a pencil, you notice, as he walks towards you.

The chair Zeke pulls screeches against the floor, and he sits down next to you. A pencil and paper are placed in front of you, the writing utensil rolling towards your hand. You take it before it falls, and your eyes dart between the paper and Zeke. 

There, in scribbled writing, lies another twenty six symbol alphabet, different from the Marleyan one you’ve been learning. The unfamiliar runes stare back at you, and you tilt your head with furrowed brows, trying to decipher the meaning of Zeke’s offering. 

“What is this?” you ask, pointing at the sheet with the pencil in your hand. 

“The Eldian alphabet,” Zeke answers. 

Your eyes widen, and your gaze flits between them both. 

“Wait. So I'm…?”

“Yes.” Zeke nods as he takes a seat again. “I’ll have to talk to Yelena, rework some points of the plan. But you are going to Paradis.”

Your sudden hug catches Zeke by surprise, and you squeeze him tightly, wanting to transmit the depths of your gratitude. Finally, finally some of your anxieties about your fate in this world will be quelled.

“Thank you,” you mumble against his shoulder. 

“Of course.” He pats your back comfortingly. “And you better not slack off on Marleyan either, Gabi told me you still struggle with fluent reading.”

The sentimental atmosphere shatters. That snitch. 

“Give me a break, old man, I started learning it only a few weeks ago.”

“Sure.”

You pull away from the hug, rolling your eyes at his comments. Zeke chuckles, and his gray eyes find yours again.

“I’ll get you home, kid. I promise.”

taglist: @dressycobra7 @xngelsau @bloodchapell @i-think-im-adorable13

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[nomsfaultau]

The Blood God and His Fledgling

An AU wherein Techno is a depressed ancient vampire and thinks Tommy is the reincarnation of Theseus. The first one is here. 

Part 2-The Bus Stop

The Blood God hadn’t left his room in centuries. The wolves were in a frenzy, instincts registering a predator-master-god in a way they couldn’t comprehend. The raucous noise approached a howl and- no, that wouldn’t do at all. That would register as danger to the mind of a prey animal like the human boy. But his complete mastery over his thralls made it a non issue. Dozens of blood-red eyes lit up in the darkened husk of his home, and silently the wolves streamed out into the overgrown wilderness of the manor grounds.

Only one monster remained. The Blood God hesitated at the threshold, suddenly forced to reckon with the beast he’d become. Would Theseus be horrified to see him? He truly didn’t know if this boy, this splitting image of his friend, actually was some sort of reincarnation, or revival, or miracle. And if he flinched, The Blood God might never learn. With a snarl of frustration, he realized his eagerness might just drive his once chance of happiness away.

He didn’t know how to be human anymore. It hadn’t mattered, before. It was easier to abandon the false mask, to sink into the beastial nature of his shapeshifting. 

The Blood God clenched his hand, forcing the stubborn claws to recede onto something tame. Next the tusks, fangs shrinking in his boarish snout. With no reflection to guide him, he clasped his face, touch his only guide as he tried to mold himself into the dull blur of mortal features. It was a face none on earth could remember, including The Blood God himself.

It was the face Theseus had loved. The Blood God had concerned himself so much with still being human, then. Ever so scared of being the monster. And Theseus was the only one who hadn’t cared, who saw him as a man.

He couldn’t remember why it seemed so important, now.  

The gnarled bloody bat wings sprawled uselessly, a permanent stain no matter how he tried to rip them from his form. At best he could fold them and sternly coerce the leathery patagium to mimic the drapings of a cloak, his bone white scruff merging into the guise of a mantel. It would have to suffice to conceal the inhuman nature of the rest of him, patience wearing thin. Perhaps it would be enough. Please let it be enough. Please let his friend remember him. The Blood God threw open the door-

-and realized it was midday. 

His snarl echoed like thunder, rumbling in the clouds overhead. They darkened with his frustration, nimbus whipped into a spiral of vicious winds slowly spilling out on the earth below. Theseus’ head jerked up at the first crack of thunder, vamperic hearing barely catching his distant groan. As the heavens split into a torrential downpour, he retreated under the awning of the bench, knees folded to his chest so his boots wouldn’t get soaked. 

The world surrounding was foreign, rivers of black and gleaming horseless carriages and blossoming sky shields protecting mortals from the downpours. He floundered momentarily in the dauntingly unrecognizable civilization. It mattered little before, aloft and indifferent as he watched humanity from above. But once suddenly necessary to navigate, he was far less certain. 

He latched immediately on the one island of familiarity in the sea of incomprehensible human machinations. In a blink, The Blood God stood at Theseus’ side. The awning was made of a strange not-fabric that deterred water, but was threadbare and pockmarked. And with the wild gusts of wind picking up with his heady excitement, the mortal was utterly drenched, lip and body curled in protest against his condition. 

It was Theseus. It's all he could think, so close. The Blood God soaked in his image, as perfect as the day he died. Theseus down to the way his cobalt eyes crinkled when he scowled, the slight deflection of his dark thick eyebrows betraying the vehemence he was trying to project with an undercurrent of shameful crestfallen truth. The soft duo nicks of scars across a square jaw, every part of him right down to the stray freckles on his skin. 

The hero breathed once more. 

Theseus didn’t notice him, obliviously sullen, until a crack of lightning had his gaze flicker to the heavens. On a double take his eyes widened upon The Blood God, scrambling back with a yelp of ‘BWAH!’

The Blood God flinched. 

“JESUS MAN DON'T SNEAK UP ON A BLOKE LIKE THAT!” he squawked incomprehensibly. Theseus let out a breath, scooping up drenched hair from where it’d flattened into his eyes to look at him. Not fear. No not fear, and the tension freezing the vampire eased in a slump. Only startled, and…annoyed. He didn’t recognize The Blood God even slightly, the fact immediately blatant and agonizing. Another glance to size him up, and Theseus pointedly pinned his eyes on a nearby post to avoid the awkwardness of staring at a stranger. 

It wasn’t fair to the child before him, the swelling betrayal choking him. Abandoned for a second time then, and he knew it wasn’t Theseus’ fault, could never have been, but it didn’t ease the fact his friend left him alone for thousands of years when he died. But Theseus was a hero. And heroes were destined for tragedy. And so the wound in his chest speared entirely through to lodge in The Blood God’s, too, and unlike the human he was not offered the relief of death from a mortal blow. 

A reincarnation, then. But why now? Had- had his friend being reincarnating over and over for the sake of reuniting, and he’d been sunk too deep in his grief to even notice? Or had he gone more than blood-mad? The splitting image of Theseus perhaps, but that meant nothing if the similarities were only skin deep. Yet attempting to reign in his long doused hope might have been pointless, soul soothed merely by soaking in the image before him. 

Theseus’ gaze flickered to him through periphery, but each time their gaze locked together it jolted away as if caught red-handed. He hunched into himself defensively, though that might’ve been to ward off the chill of the weather. The Blood God used to summon storms to tease him, the image of the hero laughing while drenched plastered into his mind. But now Theseus only looked miserable, like a little sopping wet raccoon. 

The Blood God’s wing stretched out to shelter him from the rain before he remembered it was meant to be a cloak. Belatedly he reached as if his hand held it in place. Theseus blinked, then looked up at him. It took a second to cough up a grateful grin in the midst of his stormy mood. “Oh, uh- thanks. You also forget an umbrella?” Theseus offered awkwardly. The Blood God froze, suddenly sharply aware he’d lost track of human tongue. Perhaps he could rely on a jumble of conversations he’d heard from passing conversations below? But- oh, Theseus was giving him an odd look for the hesitation. Too accustomed to introspection, The Blood God feared the breakneck pace of mortal lifespan was foreign to him now. “Talkative, arntcha slenderman? What’s your insta? …twitter?” The Blood God…couldn’t understand him. Theseus squinted at him. “Huh, coulda sworn by the silver mop,” he gestured vaguely at the wild tangle of The Blood God’s hair, “and everything you were a cosplayer? For some rizzless edgelord anime? Eh- no offense, since the cloak was definitely a W ‘cause of storm. Has to be drip given we’re both drenched!” Uncertain what was even being said, he cautiously shook his head. Certainly as chatty as Theseus, immediately brightening once he had someone to talk to. Perhaps that was just being sheltered from the rain, however. At least he seemed to catch The Blood God’s lost expression. “Boomer, then. What’s your name?” 

That at least was intelligible. “τέχνα.” He hadn’t used the name in millennium. That name -that man- had died with Theseus. But perhaps it could be reborn alongside him.  

“Techno? That’s a funny name.” It rolled strangely on his tongue, made unfamiliar in a way that hurt. To no avail, The Blood God tried to correct him. But maybe it couldn’t sound the same, no warm love shaping every syllable. He swallowed the distance bitterly. “Techno! Sick. That a nickname, is it?” 

“...’Tis not Nicholas, nay.” The Blood God was quite pleased with having deduced what a nickname was, and even more so with hearing Theseus laugh. 

“You must be a riot at parties.” Violence? Upon who? Whoever it was would be slaughtered if Theseus willed it. “Halloween ones, prolly. I’m Tommy.”

The Blood God jolted. “Are you certain?”

His nose crinkled up in bafflement the same way as Theseus. “Uh. Well, Thomas if I’m in trouble, but that’s just for my mum innit?” In these unenlightened days, he supposed children might not be named Theseus anymore. Tommy. He rolled the name around in his mouth, and then discarded it. 

“Was it fate that drew you here?” Why now? Why not centuries sooner? 

Theseus scowled. “Waiting for my friend to show up.”

“So am I.”

Brightening at their commissary, Theseus butted his arm with an elbow. “We can wait together then.” Yes. They had to. Eternity, if this really was Theseus. But reminded by his misfortune, Theseus darkened slightly. He swiped his nose angrily to get rid of the water dripping down it. “Mine was meant to show ages ago. Rotten useless ditcher. AND my phone died hours ago, so I dunno if he texted me about it before ghosting.” He gestured with a piece of black glass clutched protectively in his hands. “Maybe he cancelled or something, dunno. Might’ve checked the weather forecast, unlike me.” 

He understood at least one word in the plaintive cry! “The weather is a capricious god, tied to its whims and falling carelessly to dash mortal plans,” The Blood God lied awkwardly to cover up part of the Theseus’ misery was his own fault. He was pleased to discover he laughed the same as Theseus, too. He found he wanted to replay the sound over, and over. 

The chuckle trickled into a sigh. “I’ve been skipping buses out of- well, spite by now. But the last one dipped right before the storm.” What was a bus?? “Guess I’m stuck out here,” he grumbled glumly. 

Opportunities multiply as they were seized. “I offer my home as an aegis from the storm.” Theseus blinked, then seemed to catch what he meant. Hah, so the language barrier went both ways! 

“You’re not gonna kidnap me, are you?” Theseus joked. Like many words he wielded, The Blood God made little sense of ‘kidnapping’, but laughed along anyway. It seemed to ease the slight tension to his shoulders. “It’s prolly too far lol.” Another slight widening of his eyes as The Blood God gestured to the manor, and then a double take at the structure nestled between tall modern buildings. “Why am I surprised you own a castle? But really, I can handle a little rain, no skin off my nose…” it became an utter downpour at once, Theseus squeezing his eyes shut as the gales slammed into him. Making a disgruntled expression, he rose, water pooling at his feet. “...or not! Lead on then, Hannibal. You can’t be worse than drowning.” 

Next>

[thicctails]

><((((º>‿︵‿︵‿︵Undercurrent‿︵‿︵‿︵<º))))><

A Merformers x Reader Fanfiction

Chapter 2 ° Coastguard

Blessed be Randy the coffee machine, your holy god of caffeine. May His hazel liquid flow eternally into graceous Bartholomew, vessel of Randy's divine lifeblood; discount noname brand coffee that had expired last week.

Taking another sip of your beloved breakfast drink, you forced yourself to walk towards the greeting area of your clinic, praying to any deity that was listening that you looked at least passably presentable. You'd taken far longer to pull yourself away from the tender embrace of your nearly flat air mattress than you should have, and both your nerves and back were paying for it.

The head researcher of A.E.R.O. was meeting with you today to discuss your collaboration effort with them, and finally tell you exactly what species you'd be getting to work with. You hoped it would be something exciting, like sharks, dolphins, whales, or nudibranchs.

Taking a shaky breath, you shoved your anxiety down into the pit of your gut where it could, hopefully, only be noticed by you as your hand grasped the handle of the door. You pulled, ready to take the first proper step towards your new life.

Ka-thunk!

Ah. It was a push door.

Willing the colour that had suddenly flooded your cheeks to kindly fuck off, you meekly pushed the door open.

A man was standing in the main entrance room, leaning against Desk the desk and scrolling through something on his phone. He was dressed fairly casual for someone in his position, sporting tan cargo shorts, a forest green t-shirt, and a black lab coat, his company's acronym emblazoned in crisp vinyl across his breast pocket. He had tousled light brown hair and deep brown eyes that were framed by square glasses. At the sound of your approach, he lifted his gaze from his cellphone and gave you a warm smile, pocketing the device and turning his body towards you.

"Doctor L/N! It's nice to finally meet you!" he greeted, extending his hand to you. "My name is Dr. Burns, but please, just call me Graham."

Though it had been difficult to tell sometimes, you had not actually been raised by a pack of rabid wolves, so you returned the gesture, gripping the man's hand and giving it a shake.

"It's a pleasure to acquatence your make."

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Hey, God? Could you do a little smiting? Yeah, right here please.

"I- I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't mean to say that." You managed to get out, almost shocked that you hadn't fucked that sentence up as well.

Breaking News! Local PhD holder flubbs basic greeting! Becomes World Champion speedrunner for ruining first impressions and instantly loses any chance of being considered for further employment and any shred of respect this man had for them!

"It's fine. Honestly, I was just as nervous as you when I first started." Graham laughed, startling you out of your own mental spiral, "I was so preoccupied with my own worries that I tripped and fell face first into a pool on my first day."

You stared at Graham for a moment, stunned that he was still talking to by choice and not out of obligation, before a small, strangled chuckle left your throat, sounding more like the dying squak of a strangled seabird than a laugh.

"Come on, the rest of the team is waiting for us in town." the brunette said, gesturing for you to follow him.

You arched a brow but obediently followed after him, trailing after the researcher like a duckling waddling after a pair of boots.

"Oh? I was under the impression this meeting was to discuss my contract." you replied, trying to scrape together a professional-ish sentence while simultaneously praying that you weren't coming off as rude.

"It is, but once everyone got wind that we would be working with someone new, they got a little," he paused, hand waving about as he searched for the right word, "excited. It's been a while since anyone besides Marissa worked close enough for us to talk to them on a semi-regular basis."

"Can't wait to meet them!" you said cheerfully, lying through your teeth.

The idea of having to interact with another human being today had been draining enough, but to have to converse with several? When their opinions of you could impact your career?

Your hands twitched around Bartholomew's smooth, ceramic body, wishing you'd added a few ounces of pure caffeine to your coffee. Maybe you'd get lucky and get struck by a bus.

Unfortunately, God wasn't known for being kind to you, so you arrived at a small diner completely unharmed.

The worn bell above the door dinged as you and Graham stepped inside, the smell of greasy fries and cheap burgers wafting all around you as he led you over to one of the booths, the cracked red leather seats occupied by three other people in various states of dress.

There was a younger woman with russet skin and shockingly red hair that was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few hairclips keeping her bangs out of her bright blue eyes. She was dressed in a cream and light orange dress, matching knee-high boots complementing her outfit. She was scrolling on her phone, but put the device down when she noticed your approach.

Ah, the mortifying feeling of being known. It never failed to make you uncomfortable.

The other two, who were seemingly in the middle of seeing who could chug a milkshake faster, were men, light skinned and with almost identically brown hair. It was easy to pick them apart, though, seeing as one was built like a brick shithouse and looked as though he was cosplaying some strange cross between a soldier and a Ghostbuster, and the other was a twink that also happened to be absolutely rocking some sun-bleached overalls and a set of the most obnoxiously yellow rubber boots you'd ever seen in your entire life.

"Hey, dingbats!" the woman hissed, nudging her closest colleague, who happened to be the rubber boots guy, "The new vet is here!"

While the two guys attempted to swallow their drinks without getting a brain freeze, Graham gave you a somewhat sheepish smile. "Dr. L/N, I'd like to introduce you to Doctor Sari Sumdac, Doctor Spike Witwicky, and Doctor Blaine L. Parker."

"Mainframe." Blaine said, slamming his cup down with a satisfied sigh, "Call me Mainframe. Only my Mama calls me Blaine."

"I'm still good with Spike." the other man chimed in, extending his hand to you as you and Graham slid into the opposite booth seat. You shook it, quickly repeating the action with Sari and Mainframe.

"So, you're the new guy, eh?" Mainframe asked, "We've been waitn' for Marissa to finally pick someone. She's too picky, if you ask me."

"Not picky enough if she hired you." Sari shot back, and for a moment you stiffened, afraid you were about to have front row seats for a fight, but Mainframe's laughter and Sari's teasing expression quickly calmed your nerves. She looked back at you, her face taking on a more genuine look, "He's not wrong about us waiting, though. A.E.R.O. has been around for a few years now, but you're the first vet we've gotten assigned to work with us."

Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening slightly in surprise before you remembered to shut it, "Really? Why?"

The gathered marine biologists looked at each other for a moment, before Spike leaned in closer to you. You matched his action, wondering what exactly he had to say.

"Did Marissa fill you in on what exactly A.E.R.O. means?" he asked in a low whisper.

You thought for a moment, then shook your head. Actually, your employer had told you very little, just enough to get you to sign a contract with her. You didn't regret your decision; anything would be better than the place you'd come from, but this secrecy did make you wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

"A.E.R.O.," Spike continued, "stands for Aquatic Extraterrestrial Research Outpost."

You blinked, leaning back as you turned over what Spike had just told you. Had you heard him correctly? No, surely not. Clearly you hadn't had enough coffee yet.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, chuckling a little "I must still be a bit groggy, because I thought you said extraterrestrial for a moment there."

The four shared another look, then once again focused their attention back on you.

"You heard correctly, Dr. L/N." Graham said, producing an envelope from the interior of his jacket. He quickly glanced around the diner, before sliding the envelope over to you. He continued speaking as you picked it up, hands shaking slightly.

"Five years ago, several objects from deep space suddenly entered our atmosphere and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. It was presumed that they were abnormal meteors of some kind, but a government owned dive team discovered that they were actually pods of some kind, made of materials not found on Earth.

"They were empty by the time they were found, but not long after they were discovered and retrieved, strange signals began to be picked up by sonar sensors, and sailors around this area began to report seeing bizzare creatures swimming beneath their boats, some of them claiming that their vessels were attacked, which was corroborated by several documented cases of boats coming in with scratch marks on their hulls."

You opened the envelope and reached inside, withdrawing several polaroid photographs. Each one was of a different boat, ranging from dinky little sailboats to bulky fishing trawlers. However, they all shared one unique feature; a set of deep gouges that tore through wood and metal, left behind by something that had to be absolutely huge.

Well shit, slap a tinfoil hat on your head and call you a believer, because there wasn't much in the ocean that had claws to begin with, and certainly nothing with claws large enough to do that kind of damage.

As you began to tuck the photos back into the envelope, you noticed that one of them was drastically different. It was blurry, taken on the coast during what looked like a storm, but not even those hindrances could mask the appearance of the... thing that had been captured on camera.

It was big. Like, really big.

The closest thing you could compare it to would be some kind of whale, but it looked so wholly unlike any species you knew of that you immediately tossed that idea out the window. It had a long, silvery body, covered in large, armour-like scales that almost gave the appearance of it being segmented. Thick, spiny fins jutted out along most of its tail, purple webbing torn and ragged. It's upper half was obscured, as the creature was diving back down beneath the surface, but the very beginnings of its torso hadn't quite been submerged when the photo was taken, and you could see a long row of crimson gills that glowed in the moonless dark.

"What the fuck." you breathed out, shoving the photos back into the envelope before tossing it away from you like you were playing the world's strangest game of Hot Potato.

"Yeah, that was pretty much our reaction too." Sari said, picking up the envelope. "We've been calling that one 'The Meg', since you could almost mistake it for an overgrown shark, if you only caught a glimpse of it.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned softly as you considered everything you'd just been told.

"Let me get this straight," you started slowly, dragging your hand down your face before resting it on your chin, "You and Marissa want me to find a way to study and treat a highly aggressive, barely studied, extremely dangerous alien, let me repeat that for you, alien species with no prior experience and, since you four work at a separate facility, no team?"

A pregnant silence met your question for a moment, before being broken by a very timid, very nervous "Yes?" from Graham, who was rubbing the back of his head.

You looked at him, looked at the rest of his team, looked at the exit of the diner, and considered your options; accept this batshit insane, borderline suicidal offer and risk getting torn limb from limb by sea monsters from beyond the stars, or move back in with your parents.

"Well Christ on a bike, sign me up." you replied, before snagging the nearby coffee pot and, after checking that it wouldn't give you third degree burns, chugged the whole damn thing, determined to get enough caffeine in your body to drown out that little voice in your head that alway nagged that you should have been a lawyer.

[snail-eggs]

Can we please hear more of your beautiful thoughts on Craig Boone?

my god, anon, do you know how long I've been contemplating this ask? I have so many thoughts and none of them are simple enough for me to put into words sdhfdf.

Boone is one of many canon characters I often rotate in my head, both because of the fact that I am currently writing a fic with him and just because he's a fascinating guy. He's got this country boy stoicism to him (thank you Rags for using that phrase to describe him. I will never forget it) that I think people don't really use to their advantage?

It's really easy to ignore the depths of his character when you don't know the type and don't see it walking around every day: stoic, quiet men who would rather gut themselves in front of their mother than talk about their feelings. There is such an inherent softness in that fear of vulnerability. Like they want to make themselves an impermeable wall to protect themselves and I think that much is true for Boone, especially after Carla. In my mind, that softness had a lot more space to shine while she was alive. I feel like it's obvious (at least to me) that Boone became hardened by her death, by having caused it---this isn't anything new. If anything, it's so easy to read that it is in the text of the game itself. But Boone, as I write him, is sort of subconsciously fighting the desire to want to be soft again, even if just a little. It's why he has these moments of tenderness with my courier; Craig Boone, not the man we know that has been hardened by his actions but Boone, the man that is still in there, craving love and tenderness like any other human being is begging to be set free.

But then, of course, there's this conscious effort to suppress that. He doesn't want to want that, doesn't think he deserves any of it---at least not anymore. Whether he does or doesn't actually deserve it is irrelevant in this all because he isn't operating on fact or the absolution that Six gives him time and time again. He's already resigned himself regardless of it all.

And that grief, that resignation, sends me on kind of a spiral. Like, how would it have changed his behaviors, mannerisms, the subtle things, you know?

This is pure headcanon that I'm pulling out of my ass here, but I think, Carla's death especially, made him more militant. Made him want to cling to routine and fill his day so that he never had time to think about her for even a second. Never had the space for the image of her in his sights to pop in and break him all over again. I imagine that he hyperfocused on the little things: on the cleanliness and machinations of his rifle, the exact time, down to the minute, at which he ate every day, every person he recognized coming through Novac and which direction they went off in when they left. He wouldn't let his hair grow. Would take a razor to it every other morning, sometimes dry because he felt that he deserved the burn of it. Everything oscillates between discipline and punishment with him and nothing else.

Realistically, I could go on for hours about him but I also don't know quite what to say without like a specific question. I guess this was my long-winded way of justifying his baldness and subsequent un-baldness in my fic but whatever. Thank you so much, anon, this was fun!

[hanayori89]

🪶🪶Lesson 10: Believe in the Boy 🪶🪶

Each ripple of seismic quaking beneath your feet was nowhere near as lethal as the rumbling of insults that were currently cascading from your lips.

Your hand continued to jangle a knob that jutted out and was adorned with a grip of decorated grooves meant to fit your fingers. The more you tinkered with it, the more you felt anger laced with panic regurgitate in your throat. Were you wrong to assume this was the launch lever of this apparatus?

But you knew Groose; you had grown up with him after all. Whatever made sense to most likely be the launch lever was most definitely not the launch lever. When another minute went by without any result, you yelled into the empty chasm of spiraling hills. You stomped around and stuck your head into the machine's barrel, the wind from your own voice slapping you in the face as it echoed back at you. The heavy rock you had stuck into the barrel remained secure, nestled so tight that not even the force of the earth's crust convulsing was moving it.

"GRRR Groose! When I get my hands on you-"

But your screams of aggravation were subdued compared to the howling of the old pinecone.

Ugh. Impa. Link would want me to help her. But how?

Around you, cannons of wind spiraled upward from below, and with them, an idea was shot in your general direction. You slid off your Skyloftian tunic, standing in nothing but a billowy undershirt and your knight pants. You ran toward the precipice of the level you were on and jumped toward the air current, your hands gripping securely around each sleeve of your tunic.

The risk was great, but you couldn't stand idly by as the old hag continued to screech. You weren't a mighty hero, but you were still a knight. And even if Skyloft no longer had need of a knight, who was to say the surface didn't?

Did this evil, the imprisoned, somehow lead you to fall into your own destiny?

You slowly backed up until your back hit a mound of congealed soil, the plateau of the next tier. You took a deep breath and, with a calm mind and knees bent, blasted yourself into a running start and leapt into the closest gust of barreling air. The fury of the gale was something you had underestimated, as the air propelled you upward, but not without slicing up some of your flesh. You bit your bottom lip, relieved to see your tunic puff out, and it began to parasail you away from the current and toward the center of the chasm. As you descended downward, you frantically scanned each tier of spiraling land for any sight of Impa.

But it wasn't Impa you spotted first.

Beneath you, almost as inconspicuous as the soil, a gargantuan entity began to move. 

And you were falling straight toward it.

Your mouth fell faster than your floating body as you looked at the monster that was sprouting through the ground. Layers of grimy scales coated its body, and the light reflecting off of them gave the illusion of movement, as if it were covered in millions of worms. This was nothing compared to the alarming number of teeth protruding from its gums. Its long-fossilized fingernails sprung from the pads of its colossal feet as it kneaded at the mess of decaying dirt encircling its body. From where it broke forth, the stone column that had been in that part of the ground now sat lodged at the top of its skull.

"EEEK! No, no, nooooo!" You began to flail your body, hoping to guide yourself toward another of the powerful and abundant zephyrs scattered about.

But as it goes, Hylia had other plans.

"EEEKKKK NOOO! I'm sorry I laughed at the remlit joke! I won't do it again- ahhh!"

From one of the many coiled layers of land, Impa's voice rang out. "Brainless Sky child! Why didn't you stay put!"

"You ungrateful old pinecone! I was coming to save you!"

"Nonsense! I told you the hero would come!"

Link. He won't come. He has to keep his goddess safe. Is this thing what he was going on about? Is this... the imprisoned?

Before another thought could come to you, your body crashed down on top of its head. The impact of your landing forced your knees to bend and crumple. You began to slide backward off of its slick scales. But not before managing to catch the stone pillar on top of its head, your tunic somehow was tangled around it as you hung from your sleeves.

"EEEEE!"

Like a flea on a remit, it began to shake its head in an attempt to buck you off. As you whirled through the air, the verdancy of the grass and the singed sienna of the dirt began to bleed into a nauseating swirl of puke inducing bile-colored tie- dye.

Your hands began to slip as you felt vertigo take over.

"AHHHH!"

You could hear Impa praying in consistent chants. "Hylia, help her."

But she wasn't going to help you. You were the collateral to lead Link back down to the surface to destroy this beast for Zelda. Beyond that, you were an obstruction to the divine love story between a hero and his goddess.

She had no reason to save you.

But Link, you may not have been Zelda, but at the very least he considered you, his friend.

Even if you hadn't been much of a friend to him these past few years.

Between life and death, there was nothing more left for you than to believe in a boy you once called friend. 

As you felt yourself begin to slip, your vision blurred by the array of temporal colors whisking together, your hands slowly released their grip from the sleeves of your tunic.

The feeling of fabric within your grasp was replaced with the texture of human flesh instead.

"Y/N!"

Link pulled you up, anchoring your body against his with a strong arm around your waist. The possession of dizziness made it hard to focus on his face; the green of his tunic seemed to weep into the vestiges of the grass and dirt that had been whipping around you. When the vertigo began to ease up, you looked up at him, your head buried in his neck as he held you against him. Your eyes caught the glint of a sword. One you had never seen before.

"HYAH!" You could hear the creature beneath you cry out; Link's sword bulging from the stone pillar in its skull.

"Hold onto me. Don't let me go." His voice was a comforting sedative to the anxiety of looming death that had just controlled you.

You obeyed without a single retort. You held onto his waist as you both fluttered down to the ground.

You landed on your feet first, falling over, only to be scooped up by Link's arms.

"This isn't over. Stay here." And just like that, the tranquility in his voice was replaced by a burning husk of rage.

You watched as he ran away toward an air current, allowing it to shoot him upward back on top of the imprisoned's head to finish the job he started.

The job he would always have to finish for as long as he existed. 

Your fingernails dug into the soil your sore body rested on, as your head weakly hung. But your eyes couldn't help but remain upward, following Link and his fancy footwork. Every grunt, every bead of sweat, and every swing of that blade was that of a hero. He was no longer the Link you knew. In fact, you realized now that you never knew him well at all.

The Link you had thought you had known, the feeble little dork of a boy who struggled in Eagus's dojo, was schooling the ultimate of evils right before your very eyes.

And for some reason it made your heart rush. 

But the next part—the next part—is what made you wonder if, in fact, you were, if not dead, dying and your brain was being deprived of oxygen. Certainly, it had to explain the high level of emotion you were feeling toward Link in that moment.

Because around him, swishes of lavendar and navy. You scrunched your eyes closed, hoping it was just another dizzy spell.

But then you heard a voice beckoning him.

"MASTER!"

Before you knew it, Link grabbed you and pulled you into his chest as the creature began to writhe in agony. You saw another whimsical blur of the same colors that surrounded him like a spectral aura. Droplets of Link's sweat streamed down his face and pelted your own. You could feel his chest rise and fall, each breath a satisfactory heave of his deft skill.

"Y/N... close your eyes. Don't look at it. I don't want you to see something so evil." Link's voice came out in labored whispers. His fingers trailed circles on the small of your back as he held on to you, as if you had just witnessed a nightmare and he wanted to put you back to sleep. 

Then a soft, seeping tone of remorse hit your ear. "I want to preserve your innocence from this for as long as I can."

Link...?

You kept your eyes shut, but even beneath the umbrage of closed lids, it wasn't enough to block out the forcefield of evil. Ink drops of violets and reds—specks of black darker than your own closed eyes—rotated around, threatening to swallow your very soul. The wind wailed, as if it were crying in anguish that it was being repelled and embedded beneath the tomb of soil with this creature.

Then you saw flashes of light. Through squinted eyes, you observed a circular crest carved into the ground begin to flicker. The seal instantly ushered in the unfamiliar, robotic voice from earlier to speak again. 

"Master... you must use your skyward seal."

Link released you from his stronghold and walked over toward the center of the seal, where the stone column now stood back in its rightful place in the ground. He raised his sword, and a procession of light flitted down the shaft. Link's soaked, dark blonde locks swayed in tandem with the rhythm of malevolence being retracted back from where it came.

Then you saw an orb jump forth from his blade. An ethereal twinkle of a girl without a face, levitated by his side. Despite not having a face, you could feel her; she was watching you. And just as quickly as she appeared, whispers of the same amalgamation of blue and purple condensed back into Link's sword.

From the form of Link's strong back, you saw his head slowly turn to meet your frightened gaze.

"L-L-Link, there's a g-g-ghost in your sword..." 

The sound of his exhale told you he knew he owed you an explanation. It also told you he knew whatever he was about to disclose was only going to deepen the hero plot to a ridiculous and incredulous length.

"Y/N... what you just saw was the imprisoned. And this... is Fi... she is the spirit of my sword." 

He turned back to the task at hand, striking his sword downward. Not bothering to elaborate any further.

As if all heroes had phantom women living in their swords. 

Edited: 8/18/24