#a knight who leaves the city and wanders like a lone wolf leaving behind his weapon with the eternal wolf spirit watching over the land

[torgawl]

i might actually be the luckiest diluc lover to ever exist... or the most cursed genshin player depending on the perspective

[imalwaystiredzzz]

Hi~ May I please ask for platonic headcannons for Amber, Jean and Lisa visiting their friend's hometown and finding out they have Nymphs who are very kind to children and vulnerable but will cannibalize those who have ill-intentions

WARNING: Slight blood/gore Note: Ahh I hope that you like it, I’m not very good with writing for the Genshin impact girls and this is my first time writing for them  (⌒_⌒;)

𝒜 𝓂 𝒷 𝑒 𝓇 

> Amber the outrider!  Always on the run and ready to help others especially children, needles to say despite having no siblings she’s better at handling them more than some of them who do have. 

> Her friendship with you began when she was a child herself, often she ran around crying for her missing grandfather and hoping to find him behind a bush or up on a tree the way they used to when playing hide and seek. 

> What she hadn’t meant to do was come across treasure hoarders with less than good intentions when they come across a young girl, by herself wandering the forest. Sure, she’s brought her trusty bow and arrow, she’d practiced everyday but when it came down to it, Amber was just a child barely even ready to shoot at live, breathing humans. So she does what her mind told her to do, run.

> Amber ran and ran and ran, through the trees and thick bushes with all her might and as far as she could, but it’s never enough. Not far enough because she can still hear their heavy footsteps, their deep voice and maniacal laugh. The red girl finds herself hiding in the hollow trunk of a tree, hands in her ears and praying to the archcons that they don’t find her. 

> Which to you was a good thing, the trees, winds, and vines howl to you of a child in danger. With your command, they keep her safe in the trees. She doesn’t even notice how the bushes thicken and the shadow of the trees grow to hide her in their shadows, while you swiftly dispose of these people with a smile on your face like it’s just another Tuesday. 

>  “Do you need help?” You offer her a hand and a warm smile, hoping to entice the little red rabbit out of her hiding. She  looks at you with brown eyes, lighting up with so much wonder that the first words she says to you were; “Are you a fairy?” You chuckle and wipe the unshed tears in the corner of her eyes.

> You’ve guided many lost children to Mondstadt before, knowing that they would not disappoint in offering a helping hand. Especially to children, minor as you may be in the hierarchy of elemental beings you trust that even the sleeping Barbatos would wake to the cries of injustice. 

> Which is why you’re confused, as to why this little red bunny is back in your abode. Knees scratched and face with a band aid, she smiles goofily and you fix her up once more, bag of snacks and herbs in her pouch before setting her back to Mondstadt. But she does it again, and again and again, until the earth has memorized her steps and winds would simply lead her to your little cot., prepared with snacks and Jean’s famous coffee (not that you asked Jean how she makes them just for this energetic girl.)

> The odd afternoons when Amber finds time to visit is just lively nowadays, sometimes you miss when she would do it everyday but you’re so proud when she finally told you that she’s finally part of the knights like her grandfather. Just do be careful of the arrows as they may accidentally burn the forest and your cot,  

> She’d talk your ears off from what's currently happening to Mondstadt to about how the other knights are. Sometimes when you go about to help another lost child wailing on the top of their lungs, you’d find yourself thinking “What would Amber do?” 

Certainly it is easier with her around, she’d play with them until all their worries are forgotten and it’s time for them to go home to Mondstadt with her. 

𝐿 𝒾 𝓈 𝒶  

> ‘Really, parents need to keep a better eye on their children or at least stop them from wandering a bit too far’ is what you thought, looking up the thundering skies and dark clouds, as you trudged to the path that the grass had made for you, until you came upon a wolf? A boy? You’re not exactly sure, but definitely the nature tells you it is both and not at the same time, as confusing as that might be.

> He looks like a puppy ready to bite off anyone's hand with his small teeth dare they come too close for comfort, but that electric wound from his vision needs to be tended sooner than later. So you take him in for a few hours despite his vocal protest at first, and nurse him with herbs from your garden.  

> It’s a few hours later when a purple witch trespasses your abode, the hair on the back of your neck rises and you are reminded of another one wearing a hat like so, just of scarlet color and leaving chaos in her wake.  “I’m simply looking for my student,” is what she told you with a tight smile and a tremble in her hand that she tries to hide.

“Oh so he is your charge.” You lead her to your cot, where the sleeping wolf boy is and you watch her shoulder relax as she looks at him.

> She apologizes for the intrusion and thanks you for helping Razor, but what catches you is that she apologizes for the thunders and dark sky like she knew. Knew from the way you hold yourself and the way your energy is different from a mortal, “I’ve read about your kind from the books.” Oddly enough her air of danger and knowledge entices you, so you open your door to her and Razor when they need a place away and secluded lest the boy have accidents while mastering the use of his vision.

> Afternoon tea with Lisa is relaxing as she talks about the books and her friends while you talk about plants and things that have piqued your interest over the week which she then supplies more information about. You don’t tell her how sometimes you get bored and lonely being in the forest, but she picks on it and leaves books around your house. There’s a new shelf for mundane things - love stories, poems and epics. And she doesn’t tell you her favorite food but you always give her a bag of fresh vegetables before they leave. The flowers in her window are blooming a bit more livelier lately. 

𝒥 𝑒 𝒶 𝓃  

> What you didn’t expect was for Lisa to invite the acting grandmaster of Mondstadt, Jean Gunnhildr herself, and that fiery woman’s child, Klee. You could only hope that she doesn’t set the whole place on fire; or that Razor and her would make the whole place explode.

>Jean, Lisa and you would have weekends booked for tea parties and when they could come in the afternoon, rather than night, because Jean’s job has always been taxing, you’d welcome the children too. Some kids that you’ve helped in the past would wander about looking for you so they’d be playing with the two, like a playdate.

Just hope they don’t pass out from exhaustion as Klee and Razor’s energy are boundless and Jean would have to carry the kid back to Mondstadt.

>You’d make it a point to make Jean a small serving of her favorite pizza and tea. Something that would help her relax, as you notice her tight shoulders, and the bags under her eyes, when her hands trembled from exhaustion or her skin too pale.  You make her candles, gift her bags filled with snacks, leaves and herbs to help her with the stress that she goes through on a daily basis. 

> You didn’t mean to show her this side, you have an inkling that Lisa knows about the darkness in you without even truly showing it. It’s not that you’re insecure or scared, but there is something about Jean that makes you want to hide the ruthless blood lust that boils in your veins when you come across cruelty to the weak. 

And for the first time in a while, you’re scared to turn your back and look at her. Is she horrified? Does she hate me? These thoughts run in your head, as blood drips from your hand and face, the bodies of these vile people scattered in the field. In your defense, they do deserve it, to be left to rot, to scream until their throats are bleeding and the light in their eyes gone with the singular thought of there’s no help coming here.

They deserved it, for what they did to the poor teen with red hair and dead eyes, skin as pale as ice and arms much too thin for her age with a cryo vision in hand. (Rosaria)

> Albedo may be the best alchemist in Mondstadt, but he is no doctor and even the church couldn’t guarantee her full recovery. “With all that has happened only a miracle could do such a thing,” the sisters tell the blonde with sadness in their eyes, so where did that lead her? Back to you.

> Jean only embraced you, she couldn’t approve of what you did but she also couldn’t thank you. Only that she accepted you, because in the dark corner of her mind, she had the same thought but her morality hindered her from doing the same.

> Jean was all the light and good, the embodiment of righteousness in the world and you wouldn’t mind jumping head first to commit the deepest atrocities if it meant protecting the weak.

In the end nothing much has changed, only that there are no more masks, formalities and silent walls are broken between the two of you. 

Jean could come to you for things that she wouldn’t never do and you would be more than happy to help protect the city and the people that she loves so much.

[tacitwhisky]

Fic: Jon of the Kingsguard, pt 4

Jon x Sansa - AU where Jon goes to Kingslanding instead of the Wall, there’s no war, and he becomes a knight of the kingsguard even as Joffrey marries Sansa / AO3 Link

The crowning of king Joffrey is a spectacle unlike any other, the crowd that gathers in the square before the sept of Baelor a hundred thousand strong, the sound of them as they cheer deafening. Jon watches it all standing behind the new king and queen in his white armor and white cloak. Arya keeps glancing at him from where she sits, brow scrunched in a frown. Neither she nor Sansa he’d told before he took the oath, and the first she’d learned of it was when she’d seen him in the yard of the Red Keep, white cloak around his shoulders. She’d stopped dead, dumbfounded.

When he’d seen him a moment later Joffrey had laughed. “What are you doing in that cloak, bastard? Take it off or I’ll have it stripped from you.”

“I cannot, your grace. A knight of the Kingsguard serves till death,” Jon had answered coolly, and he’d drawn a savage pleasure from the way Joffrey’s face purpled and he’d begun to sputter. For a moment it seemed as though he was going to call for Ilyn Payne to fetch his chopping block, but Sansa had lain a hand on his arm. “Let my half brother have his jape, your grace. Today you are crowned king of the seven kingdoms before all the realm.”

Joffrey scowled and shoved her hand away. “I want him gone. Take his cloak, Selmy.”

“He has spoken the oath, your grace.” Selmy’s own white cloak played in the breeze. “Only death can take it from him now.”

Joffrey’s face twisted and he whirled and shouted for his horse. Alone for a moment, Sansa had given Jon a sad smile. “You shouldn’t have done that. He will never forgive you.”

Even shining in cloth of gold sewn with the crowned Baratheon stag Sansa had never looked sadder, and Jon realized that she must know well and truly what Joffrey was beyond the shadow of a doubt. He’d felt the sudden urge to reach out, offer her comfort or simply say something, anything. But they have never been close, so in the end all could do was shrug. “Joffrey can bugger himself on a spear.”

Sansa’s mouth curved, and for a moment she looked young again as the laughing, beaming girl she’d been in Winterfell. She reached out and squeezed his arm. “You look gallant.”

And then she was gone, and Jon had fallen in beside his white brothers behind the king he now served.

Tywin Lannister replaces Ned as Hand. He is a hard man, his gaze whenever he sees Jon cold. “Joffrey is only a boy,” Ned warns Jon when he clasps hands with him a final time before he returns north. “but Tywin will stop at nothing to see the Lannisters keep their power.”

“I’ll watch him.”

Ned nods to himself, a look of something like sorrow passing over his face. “Your mother, she- I will tell you of her one day now that Robert is gone. She would be proud to see the man you have become, Jon.”

And you, father? But even a man grown and a knight of the kingsguard, Jon does not have the courage in him to ask. They clasp hands, and then Ned and Jory and all of the Winterfell men are gone.

His white brothers Jon comes to know. Some are easier to love than others. Barristan Selmy and Arys Oakheart were both honorable knights but poor company; Meryn Trant and Boros Blount poor knights and poor company both. And Jaime Lannister... Jon knows him well enough from his time with Tyrion, but he has never trusted him and does not now. Joffrey is his blood, and Jon will always remember him as he first saw him: a gold knight riding into Winterfell beside Robert all those years ago that Bran had mistaken for the king.

Joffrey grows no fonder of Jon as the months pass, a sneer always on his lips when he looks at him. Jon finds his own loathing growing with each passing day. He’s always known Joffrey is a stupid, callow child, but it is one thing to know and another to have to stand silent witness to it. If Robert had been a poor king Joffrey is only worse, callous and cruel to all around him, handing out petty and mocking judgements when he can bother to sit the Iron Throne as justice.

And Sansa… . as a knight of the Kingsguard Jon sees her each day seated with her lord husband at meals or beside him at court, and each day Jon understands more and more why she had taken to spending her days in the tower of the Hand before her marriage. A thousand small ways Joffrey cuts her: sneering jests and petty insults, and a thousand small ways Sansa bears it. Anger fills Jon until he is a cup near to spilling, but he can do nothing more than grit his teeth till they ache and stand silent behind king and queen. Say something, he snarls inwardly, but he does not know if he is speaking to himself or to Sansa, show him a wolf has teeth.

Arya at least shows no hesitation in baring hers. Without their lord father to rein her back she becomes more wild than ever, the lone voice at court without fear of Joffrey’s wrath. “He’s just a stupid boy,” she snorts when Jon tries to warn her, “crown or no.”

Jon shakes his head, but in truth the words only make him miss her all the more desperately. As a brother of the Kingsguard he no longer has the time to spend with her that he once did, to spar or wander Kingslanding or ride out from the city. Every moment he can he seeks Arya out, but if it is once a week then he is lucky. This is the path you chose, he reminds himself, but it is a hollow kind of comfort.

His mind wanders to Alayaya sometimes during long afternoons when he stands guard, the sleek shape of her against him, the slide of her smooth skin against his, the grasp of her fingers around him, the lilt of her voice as she whispered: you will not be the first of your white brothers to visit our house. So easy it would be to slip his white cloak and find Chataya’s again, find a few hours comfort there. You swore an oath, he reminds himself, but in those moments it is hard to remember why.

And during long nights when the sheets of his bed seem suffocating he thinks not of Alayaya, but Dancy and her wicked smile and red hair. The thought stabs a knife of shame in his gut though he does not understand why. I am no Joffrey, and she no Sansa. Was this how his father had felt for Jon’s mother, the same desperate shame like poison in the blood?

Bastards are a gift, Alayaya had told him, but Jon knows it a lie. And so while he shames himself in his thoughts, he resists the urge to visit Chataya’s again. He will not stain his white cloak for lust or loneliness or a few hours fleeting comfort.

Months pass, and under Tywin’s handship the realm is quiet. Across the Narrow Sea Myr and Tyrosh go to war and there are rumors of dragons in the east, but in Westeros summer never ends. In the north his lord father and the Night’s Watch begin to settle wildlings into the gift, Robb marries a Karstark girl, and Bran returns from the Hightower a maester. The news makes Jon smile, but there is precious little else to draw joy from.

And then, late in the year, everything changes.

Jon is not there to see it. Later, he’ll hear of how Arya challenged Joffrey, told him he was no true king, and how Joffrey flew into a rage. When Jon hears of it he abandons his post and strides through the halls of the Red Keep searching for Arya. He finds her already in the stables saddling her horse, Syrio beside her. A look of relief flits over her face when she sees him, and she runs and throws her arms around him. “Jon!”

Jon hugs her tightly, then pushes her to arms length. “What happened?”

“It’s over. Joffrey broke my engagement to Tommen.” Arya’s face twists and her eyes flash. “I’m glad of it. I’m sick of him and the court and all the south. If he’d ordered the gold cloaks to seize me I would’ve killed every one of them.”

Dread knots Jon’s gut. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Of course not. But only because Sansa convinced him not to order it.”

“A girl must be leaving.” Syrio has pulled himself onto the back of his horse. His eyes flick hawk-like from point to point outside the stable. “Before a king is changing his mind.”

Arya grabs Jon’s arm. “Come with us. You hate it here as much as I do. We can finally go home.”

Home. It is all Jon has ever wanted, all he’s ever dreamed of since he was a child, but he has no home, not in Winterfell and not in King’s Landing. “I’m a knight of the Kingsguard, Arya. Only death can free me.”

“I don’t care.” Arya’s grip on his arm tightens. “Come north with me. Father will protect you, or you can take the black like you always wanted. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Through Jon’s mind flits Sansa’s face, the pleading look in her eyes. It hurts like drawing an arrow from his arm, but he pulls himself from Arya’s grasp. “I took an oath. I swore I would serve.”

Arya steps back. She studies his face, her own puzzled and uncomprehending. “You hate it here. I know you do.”

Jon shakes his head. Dearly he loves Arya, but she has never been a bastard: never known the bone-deep shame, never heard the hiss of whispers, never felt the cold gazes of those who watched in mute judgement waiting for him to show his true treacherous nature. “I do. But I swore an oath.”

Hurt flashes over Arya’s face, and she whirls and jumps onto the back of her horse. She turns it to the door of the stable and without a word kicks it into a walk. Syrio gives Jon a nod as he falls in behind Arya, and then he is following her out of the stables and Jon is left alone in the stable but for the whicker of horses in their stalls and the sickly sweet scent of hay.