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aixeko · 22 days

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-`♡´-≐ “ IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING, I'D WANNA BE NEXT TO YOU ” ≐-`♡´-

| Starring | Soft!Arlecchino x Harbinger!Reader

| Setting | Genshin universe

| Scenario | [ DRABBLE ] FLUFF! Soft with a hint of angst. Pronouns are not used. A bit fast paced. Not proofread.

► RADIO CHANNEL [Author note]

× This is so mid and I refuse to reread. I’m so sorry if the quality of the fic is not up to par with the others. × Fluff is so boring I'm sorry, It's not my cup of tea.

[ Word count: 2034 ] | Art credit: Blufyrein on Twitter & Instagram

August 20 XXXX…

“The house of the hearth has been blazing with activity ever since the children heeded the upcoming anniversary of my birth. Even with my reluctance, they insisted on celebrating this occasion, one in which I won't prevent seeing the amount of effort and enthusiasm they are collectively putting into this yearly ceremony.

It has been some time now since you last celebrated with us; in fact, it was four years ago exactly on this day, August 20th. Four years in which you had left for your mission issued by the Taritasa to Natlan, and four years since we last heard of your welfare. The children, in spite of the low possibility of attendance, still persist in accounting for your awaited arrivals, and I too bide my time for the day you return home to us.

If it isn't an inconvenience for you, please do not let their hard work wither into nothingness; perhaps even a response letter would be utmost appreciated by the children.

The hearth is set ablaze, anticipating your safe homecoming; the children miss you."

Two days have passed since Arlecchino sent her most recent letter to you, and the day of her birthday has arrived with the expected ghosting from your side. Her hands focused on providing perfection to the barbecue, moving on their own like a second conscious being, while her gaze stared blankly at the grill, her mind stuck in deep thoughts.

Arlecchino is not one to sugarcoat or disprove the factuality of a situation, but with the lack of responses, or rather no response, over the past four years, the overwhelming, woeful truth has become more prominent than ever.

Her grip on the tongs tightened; with the amount of pressure she was applying, it could bend the steel into a useless apparatus. Furrowed eyebrows follow along with a frustrated sigh and a shake of her head. No, impossible. How can a Harbinger who is soon to be awarded the ranking just below her fall victim to the accursed consequence of life, such as death? It's impossible; the odds are practically none unless you have run into trouble with the almighty archon of Natan; then that is the only possible outcome that can lead to your ultimate demise. Even the mere thought of that possibility is unbelievable; the person whom Arlecchino has married is not one known to be the hostile type despite ranking as a highly potent Harbinger. To hell and back, your personality is enough to make even the devil himself view you as a passive mortal being; you are not married to a woman such as Arlecchino herself for no good reason.

"FATHER!" A young adult male screamed out in horrorstruck desperation.

The sound of her being called awoke Arlecchino from her trance; her head snapped to the young man, whose skin, once flawless, was now bruised, with short ash-blond hair and wearing magician-like clothing that was now dirtied with his own blood. The apron wrapping around her, along with the tongs in hand, was thrown onto the ground as she rushed to her bloody child. The other children near the area hurried to their brother, their expressions sharing concern and anger at the sight.

Arlecchino catches him once his body gives up; desperate, inaudible cries escape his mouth, with the only few words being coherent: Lynette—everyone—hurts!

Those words are enough for her X-shaped eyes to light up to a color akin to flame. Arlecchino's face visibly darkened at the announcement; from its tone, the situation was a lot direr than she could have expected. She gently but hastily lowered Lyney to the ground, her voice booming with command to the children to aid him while she raced to where he had come from. The children who specialized in combat rather than the medical aspects hurtled with Arlecchino despite not being in their Fatui attire; their bodies, enraged, moved on adrenaline alone.

Another one of the children who is limping sees the reinforcements approaching and points in the direction of the ongoing battlefield onslaught. Distant screams are heard, and Arlecchino has no time to properly bring her children to safety; thus, some of the others take charge in retreating the injured to let her focus on eliminating the source of the massacre.

Once she arrives at the cluster of her heavily wounded children and spots the suspect, who's draped in a dark cloak covering their whole body, Arlecchino takes no time transforming into her stronger form.

Arlecchino's scythe bolts at the infiltrator in synchronization with her body, whose speed could be described as quick as lightning. Arlecchino is left with constricted pupils as the mysterious figure dodges the attack with absolute ease, like they have just vanished into thin air.

"It seems like the great supreme Knave has gotten weaker."

The unrecognized tone of a whisper against her ears has her swinging her scythe at a 360-degree angle; this action causes the person to leap backward with a laugh. Arlecchino stands poised, her eyes scanning the figure to make out some sort of recognizable appearance. By the sound of their voice, Arlecchino feels a sense of familiarity coursing throughout all 206 of her bones, yet she can't place her finger on why the stranger is able to invoke such a feeling.

"You made a grave mistake daring to step forth against the House of the Hearth."

One of Arlecchino's hand ignites in a surge of power, and with that, she leaves no time for a response as her scythe hurls at the figure, with a burst of multiple flaming sword-like shapes surrounding the weapon.

Arlecchino's hand snaps out, catching the leg hurtling at her head. Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and full of mockery: "Too slow."

"Not bad!" laughed the person as they disappeared once more, causing a tsk of irritation to be emitted from Arlecchino.

Arlecchino figured that enough was enough and unleashed various attacks all at once, and not a single one landed; it was like this stranger had already calculated and understood every single little detail about her fighting style. The fact that they didn't actually attack but rather used dodge gave Arlecchino a bit of insight; they were playing a game of speed while she was playing a game of strength.

The gleam in Arlecchino's eyes intensified, sparking with otherworldly vigor. Her hand rose, mirroring the spark within as she muttered, "So be it." Her voice breathed life into a realm unseen by mortal eyes, with only an unlucky few witnessing its crimson moon.

The unidentified figure struggles in their stance, proving to be immobile. Play as you like, but to challenge a Harbinger of her standing is nothing to be confident about; daring to try to manipulate the outcome to your desire against another manipulator is pathetically laughable.

Or so Arlecchino thought, because what she didn't expect was for the stranger to be able to move of their own free will, but also to strike her domain as useless and nonexistent with a familiar style.

Her eyes narrowed once back to the real world, for there had only been one person who was informed about how to elude her realm, and based on the dependence on speed rather than strength, it was already a giveaway. Moments later, her suspicion proves true, yet not as anticipated as she presumes as she sees the stranger dashing towards her—well, not a stranger but the one who swiped her caged heart away into a loving shelter, you. You sprint towards her, shedding your cloak through the stride. In a heartbeat, you jump onto her, embracing her tightly with your warmth for an unexpected reunion, but one with no complaints.

"Peruere!"

Arlecchino freezes momentarily at the sudden action, but once recognition dawns, she returns your grip with an equal amount of fierce.

"You're home."

"I'm home!" You grin and draw back to study the face you longed for and missed for the past four years.

Her eyes, no more did they fume with fury; rather, in replacement of it, there radiated a tenderness shown to a small selected lucky few. A rare softness graces her features, an expression reserved only for children and, more intensely, for you.

"Happy birthday—"

You're interrupted by a peck on the lip; honestly, if it weren't for how unexpected it is for the likes of Arlecchino, it would have completely flown past you as some sort of dust.

"I figure the odds of you arriving today would be little to none, but nonetheless, welcome back home, my dear," she paused. "Although that little stunt of yours is not one easily forgiven or overlooked."

Arlecchino glances at the gathering that has formed all around her, more specifically at the young man who is hiding behind his twin sister with a nervous smile.

"Still as stone-hard as ever, I see, but I do admit my twisted plan for a reunion could have been alternated for a sweeter one," you give her an apologetic smile. "My sincerest apologies, Peruere."

"Why didn't you respond to any of my letters?" Arlecchino asked, turning back to look at you and settling you down to your feet to your dismay.

"I did!" you perked. "It just seems like Natlan is a horrible fit for communicating with letters since, somehow, it keeps getting lost and burned to ashes in the lava."

"Your face betrays you, darling." Arlecchino's fingers danced through your hair. "Your face says it all; it's a given that you know there is no hiding anything from me. Don't lie to me; you didn't know I had sent you letters."

"Haha... Look, in my defense, my mission was a mess, and doing anything is a whole other disorder; I'm thankful that the Captain is taking over because that region is a headache to deal with."

Arlecchino places a hand on your waist, pulling you close as her lips make contact with your head. "Setting everything aside, let us use our time together again to celebrate instead of bickering."

The children cheered at the public display of affection between their parents, and the one who was "tending the wounded" was, in fact, actually bringing the barbecue from the House of the Hearth to the large field.

"The children miss you," Arlecchino whispers into your ear, her head pressed against yours.

You wanted to laugh at the children's excuse; she really had not changed much in the past four years, still playing off a cold demeanor to hide the soft shell hidden beneath it, one you had already melted through.

Your eyelids lift, catching her smile, which reveals her pearly white teeth. Your gaze softens. In reality, many things have changed since you first met her, yet she refuses to give herself credit for it. She was once only known as Arlecchino or by her Harbinger title, The Knave, but over the past years, the facade has lowered greatly to divulge the true identity of Father, The Knave, Arlecchino to just Peruere.

"I miss the children too."

For the rest of the day, that smile didn't leave; no, it was displayed for the whole world to see and ravish in. Nor did she leave your side once, insisting on even public displays of affection in spite of being surrounded by the children, and in her own words, "It's to make up for all the time that has been lost."

If only she knew that in the far future, when all of her hair turns white, with yours matching hers, she would realize it was the worst lie she had ever spoken.

If only she knew that in the future she had accidentally made an unspoken oath with herself to spend the rest of her time loving you to make up for the other half of her time that was spent hiding how much she loved you.

The smile, unbeknownst to both of you, would be a permanent fixture. It would endure through your remaining years, brightening each day until your final moments together, when life's inevitable decline finally claims you both.

Even when the world was ending, at least you both would be next to each other, dying with a smile stretching across your features.

#erise short #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino x you #arlecchino fluff #arle fluff #arlecchino genshin impact #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin wlw #genshin impact #peruere #the knave #genshin arlecchino #peruere x reader

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tragedy-of-commons · 5 months

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composition

aventurine x gn!reader | wc: ~1k

He needs to go before he decides that he needs to stay.

tags/warnings: cute domesticity, but since it's aven it has to be a little angsty, skin drawing/inking, mentioned topaz

notes: standalone but i'm thinking of expanding on this universe in the future :3c sdfsdfsdf not happy with how it turned out but fuck it

The ballpoint tip of your pen glides over his hand, leaving another trail of red in its wake.

Aventurine watches with rapt attention. The intricate patterns of swirling ink that you insist on marking him with definitely make it harder to color-match an outfit - but he indulges the habit anyway. Perhaps it’s the artificially sweet aroma that’s typical of such cheap writing utensils; he’s now accustomed to the smell of chemically-grown raspberries while you use him as your canvas.

It’s tolerable, seeing you poke out your tongue in concentration while doodling with no rhyme or reason. Some strokes are thick and jagged, wrapping around the myriad of thinner ones to create a picture he can’t discern.

(However, when you usually finish, you beam in satisfaction. He doesn’t peg you as the abstract type, but he wonders what you see that he can’t.)

His phone vibrates twice in his free hand. The new messages that grace the screen are of no surprise:

Topaz The booking’s confirmed. I handled it and was able to score us better rooms ✨

Topaz Cruor V is too cold to skimp out on the suites with thermal heaters. Now if you could just be on time for once, that’d make my job a LOT easier.

You hum, sage. “Time to go?”

Aventurine makes a show of examining your handiwork after you pull away from him. “Unfortunately, the IPC’s gains take precedence. Although, I could argue that dedicating my time to the arts is much more valuable in the long run.”

“Hah,” you snap the cap back onto the pen. “If you argue much longer, you could make somebody mad. Don’t let my silly doodles keep you, okay?”

There’s a sad smile on your face, and though it doesn’t deter him from leaving right now, he knows that he’ll count each star separating you from him while he sleeps alone on business. He’ll do so with his gloves off, fingers tracing over the faded curves and dips of red - theorizing how many rainstorms it would take to wash you from his person completely.

He finds himself hoping that he’ll never reach a consensus. Aventurine really hasn’t gotten any better at fooling the wide-eyed child clawing at his insides.

“Yes. That Topaz is probably wishing unspeakable curses upon me right about now,” he lilts, the beginning of the end on the horizon. “See me off?”

“Don’t make it sound so grim,” you complain, “I’m just gonna miss you. You’ll be back on the 24th, right?”

You say it so casually. If he had any less restraint (or any more courage), he would let out a breathy laugh and then chase it with a kiss to your lips. In the past, honey-trapping had come natural to him when he was on assignment; wrapping an arm around the ambassador of an indebted planet, using the bells and whistles of his disposition to make friends with the right people.

You’re not any of that. You’re not any of that, and he knows. It would be pathetic if you knew how much sway you hold over him - how much sway that this pantomime of a relationship holds over him.

Though the scales are forever tipped in his favor, Aventurine finds that it’s woefully unfair. You appear as nonplussed as him; wordlessly letting him into your home at any hour, always cooking for two, and always decorating his skin with that accursed red pen.

If that makes you cruel, he cannot begin to imagine what it makes him.

“Keen memory,” he brings himself to stand, “Wonder what changed.”

“My memory is fine, thank you very much.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

You flip him off. “Forgetting a few deadlines isn’t substantial evidence!”

Aventurine chuckles, ambling over to the table by the door. On it rests his gloves, which he pulls over his hands. If the ink stains the fabric inside, no one will be able to tell. “Then I’ll make sure to amass a comprehensive portfolio of ‘evidence’ while I’m gone.”

He’s already dressed and presentable for this assignment. In truth, he could have spared Topaz the headache of his tardiness, but what’s the job of Director without a little challenge? He’s sure it will count towards her experience and character, and you get to scribble on him without the constraint of time.

You pad over, embracing him tentatively. Aventurine dithers between pulling you closer and pushing you away, before he settles on doing nothing. His heart isn’t racing, but it feels too small and too big and too full of you.

“That better be a promise,” you murmur.

(He smells raspberries. He can’t decide if it’s therapeutic or noxious.)

If he were a more selfless person, maybe he’d tell you that promises never go over well for him - that you shouldn’t bother with any of this. After all, ruling a gambler’s heart only serves to turn you into a bargaining chip.

But Aventurine basks in your warmth anyway, letting his shoulders droop. “If you’re so hung up about it, then why not?”

His phone buzzes somewhere again, and he’s cold as you pull away. “Perfect. Good luck on your.. uh, thing! Tell Numby I said hi.”

“What is it with you and that animal?” he heaves a martyred (fond) sigh.

You huff. “Warp trotters are cool, Aven!”

“Not when they mercilessly chew up your clothes.”

Your demands for more information fall on deaf ears, because it really has become time to go. Interastral travel is bothersome, but not so much anymore - meaning that if he’s not at least an hour early, he’s inconceivably behind schedule. His own reasoning tastes acrid.

That note of something has been with Aventurine ever since he woke by your side, searching your sleeping expression aimlessly. He’d chased the feeling with coffee in one of your stupid mugs, a conversation about your too-bright dreams, and letting you scrawl all over him when he desperately needs to go.

He’s ferried past the door, another farewell echoing behind him before he starts walking. The idle images that plague his mind are of stained gloves, the interior of your bedroom, and the calendar in your kitchen with the date of his return circled in red.

You wave to him from the window as he turns the corner.

He wagers he'll be back on the 24th.

taglist: @hanyi-writes, @karagatan02, @aphrodict, @nomazee

#—stellaronhvnters.#aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #aventurine fluff #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine hsr x reader #honkai star rail #star rail x reader #✧ my works

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tragedybunny · 1 year

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Well since you are asking for asks, here's one! How about a Astarion one (shocking I know) where they are on their way to baulders gate to confront Cazador but Astarion is plagued by nightmares that he will lose Tav/reader to his former master and goes to them to ensure they are still there and its angsty with fluff. Please? Thank you!

My usual apologies for my work rate Anon. I hope you enjoy.

What Haunts His Nights - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion is plagued by nightmares on the road to Baldur's Gate.

Astarion didn't really sleep, Elvish meditation was usually enough, unless the vampire ended up injured or exhausted, then he'd fall into healing sleep like the rest of his kind. So how he managed to have nightmares any time he tried to rest seemed like some sort of immense joke of the universe. Which would fit with the rest of his existence. Ever since you'd ended things at Moonrise Towers and your path to the city was clear, the same subject haunted him.

Cazador. Only this time it wasn't just him who suffered at those accursed hands. It was you, Cazador had somehow learned of your relationship and would use it to make you both suffer. Sometimes he killed you outright, other times he'd kidnap you and torture you until Astarion willingly returned to him. Worst of all were the visions of you made into another spawn, forced to serve the Vampire Lord.

For the most, he tried to hide it, much as he loved you, it wasn't in his nature to trust you with every fear and flaw. But they were getting worse, more haunting, even as his attachment to you grew. The more he loved you, the more afraid he became. Tonight though brought that fear to dizzying new heights, his siblings had found you, here at Wyrm's Crossing, meaning Cazador could find you all as well.

Instincts had firstly led him to secure their cooperation in the ritual. It hadn't been a lie when he'd said it was to protect you too. Losing you would be the same as losing himself. But now, laying here next to you in the tent you'd been sharing, other thoughts had crept in, the reality crushing down on him, Cazador could take you if he wanted to. This was no home he had to be invited into, there was no protection here.

Trying to push it from his mind, Astarion let himself fall into meditation, no deep sleep needed tonight. As soon as his mind quieted though, there was Cazador. "A willing substitute, a lamb to the slaughter." You knelt before him, bare from the waist up, the dagger in his hand carving the same Infernal words into your skin that Astarion himself bore.

Weeping silently, you endure, until the foul work is finished. Then it is as though Cazador finally notices him. "If you would have just come home boy, she wouldn't have to suffer. But look what she does for love of you."

A scream nearly tears itself from his throat, and the meditation breaks. Rolling on his side, he chokes and gasps, an impressive feat for someone who doesn't need to breathe. Squinching his eyes shut, he finds himself unable to turn and look at the place you were sleeping, knowing it would tear him apart to find you gone. "Just a nightmare, " he whispers, trying to convince himself. Gods, how unfair was this, he'd barely learned how to love, and now he had to worry he could lose it at any moment.

You had to be there though, safe and undisturbed, he couldn't even fathom anything else. He rolled, dead heart aching, to find you where he'd left you, sweetly asleep in the little nest of blankets the two of you had made. Almost immediately his eyes began to sting and he swallowed a cry. Cazador didn't have you, and when Astarion ascended in his place, he could make sure nothing ever threatened the two of you again.

Arms enfold you as he snuggles tight against your back, calming as he concentrates on the rhythmic sound of your heartbeat, the motion of your chest as you breathe, the warmth of your skin, all the signs you're real and here with him. He must be holding you tighter then he thought because you stir. "Love, you alright," you murmur, half awake.

There's a bit of guilt in waking you, but hearing your voice is a soothing balm he hadn't realised he needed. "Nothing to worry about my Sweet," he tries but his voice is shaky.

"Another nightmare?" Now you're alert and he feels terrible. Even worse, he hasn’t been able to hide this all from you.

"... Yes," he confesses, "Cazador." The name spills from his mouth like a curse.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fingers lace with his where they rest over your stomach and squeeze.

"Not really, I'm sorry." You're so kind to want to listen but he just wants to try to forget. The thoughts of Cazador have left him reeling and he worries he'll anger you by not talking, even if he can't remember a time you were actually angry at him.

"Don't apologise, I'm here if you need me, but you don't have to tell me anything." Then miraculously, you take his hand, bring it to your lips, kiss it delicately, before cradling it with both of yours. "Love you," you whisper sweetly.

In a completely undignified moment, he whimpers softly and holds you even tighter, kissing the back of your neck. "Love you too." He can't lose you, and soon he'll be strong enough to make sure that never happens.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #x reader #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #my fanfic #my writing #asks #anon asks

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bunningchaos · 3 months

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Runaway

I finallllyyy, got this done- story thingy for KVAU on the sideline, so far got the first introduction chapter up

↼↼{Nil} - {Next}⇀⇀

Original Nightmare/Dream belongs to jokublog, on Tumblr!

Summary - Having nowhere else to return to, and forced to be on the run. Away from the hands of whom he once addressed as 'Brother'. Nightmare travels from one universe to another, in an attempt to remain undetected. Until he comes across tormented souls that screams for help. Unable to look the other way, takes them under his wings.. not without facing some issues.

Link to the AO3 for the chapter

And because I can, here's the drawing without the text

Anyways

✕-✕

Being on the run constantly, never having even the smallest amount of time to take a breather. His legs were beginning to ache with every heavy steps forward, one after another weighing him down more and more. The echoing footsteps accompanied by a noise similar to that of a wet cloth being dragged across a kitchen's counter, the accursed tendrils that drips with black goo. Staining the path he takes, it reeks heavily of negativity. That damned corruption that won't leave his body - every since THAT day, spurting out from his back yet can't even maintain a proper form. No matter how hard he tries to keep it hidden, or to control it to do something, anything. Nothing worked. The least he could muster was lifting up the tip of the extra appendage just to do a tiny wave, if it could even be counted as one. Given how useless it's proven to be so far.

Hah.

To hell with that. No, damn every single thing!

This forsaken body of his, riddled with corruption and adding onto the fact he have a rather weak physique from the get-go.

The desperate need to slow down when he knows for a fact, that danger is lurking right behind him. Yet he couldn't push forward for longer than his limits could allow. Resulting in close-calls where he could practically feel the presence of whom is hunting him down right next to him, staying as silent as possible and even curling in on himself where he hid. Praying desperately that he'd remain undetected. To not be found, dragged back to the hell he once called 'home'.

Why can't his very own body, listen to himself? Why must it get exhausted so easily, to crave for food and water. It wasn't this bad in the past, he could go for days on end without giving into mortal needs such as those. When he was with his brother..

...Right, his brother. His other half, the only sole person he had in his entire life. Aside from those residing in the village near the majestic 'Tree Of Feelings', sure they were the probably nicest bunch of people he's ever met in his entire life!- correction, his entire childhood. He still preferred Dream at the end of the day, his beloved precious twin. Whom were always the one closest to him, and vice versa. They were usually together- or so he recalls, no matter what they've always been by each others' side. Through thick and thin, not once have he allowed anyone else into his SOUL, to understand him as deeply, it was all limited to strictly Dream. Perhaps he didn't connect with others as much? Whatever, it wasn't an issue, it never was. Though it's strange, he never actually got the chance to see Dream within the village. But, at the end of the day, when they both retreat out of the lively town and back underneath the tree. Nightmare always beams at the sight of his lovely brother, the sunshine adored by all including Nightmare

This very sunshine, Dream, returned the same adoration towards the moon that didn't shine as brilliantly. Words weren't necessary, Nightmare could literally feel the adoration his brother held for him and that was enough.

So, the day that incident occurred? To simply say his whole view on the definition 'trust' was broken, shattered into pieces, were an underestimation. Every fiber of his body hurt from inside out, the overwhelming, nauseating scene induced the urge to throw up. What hurts the most wasn't the dreaded condition everyone fell under, nor the sickening laughter that rang and echoed within his mind.

It was the absolute realization of betrayal from his twin, no less. Why? Why did he have to do what he did?

Everything was fine.

Life was going okay.

No one was unhappy.

No one...

...

Was Dream ever happy?

Was it all a delusion?

Did Nightmare do something wrong?

Had he blind himself to the truth?

What have he not seen that led to Dream having to take such drastic actions?

Even now, he could still remember the way Dream cried- golden tears streaming down the delicate ivory bone. Positivity burning brightly and engulfing the surrounding with nothing but scorching warmth, comforting but deadly. The way he smiled, through the burning pain. As if he didn't hold a single ounce of regret for his decision, that twisted joy. It was horrendous, terrifying. It scarred him mentally.

"Ugh--" Wincing, his head throbbed. That was the furthest extent he could remember, everything else was a blur. Vague recollection of him holding onto five darkened apples within his arms were the only other thing he's capable of pulling up from the muddled, fuzzy mess.

How long has it been since his last rest? Surely now should be alright to relax, even for just a few minutes. Right? Singular violet eyelight glancing around, scanning the surrounding to ensure there wasn't anyone nearby. Specifically more aware about even the slightest bit of positivity. As that'd usually be a huge indicator that a certain someone were nearby, prompting a hurried, poor attempt to hide.

However, coming to the conclusion that he was safely alone. He could finally ease the tension within his body, though that made him all the more aware of the temperature. One simple breeze sent shivers down his entire body.

It's cold, so cold.

..Dream

Brother.

It's so lonely.

"..I don't want to be alone...-" A sob broke out from his gritted teeth, purple droplets rolling down his cheekbones- ones that fell from the left socket, mixed in with the corruption that oozed from the top of his skull, nearly covering that entire upper-side of his face except for a small bit that grant him the tiniest remainder of vision on that specific socket.

Alas, this serves as another way to bring attention to his very skull, the same socket itself was melting. Perhaps an additional aftereffect induced from the consumption of the very fruits that he was tasked to protect with his life.

Going against his sworn duty for which his birth were created for, having to bear with the overwhelming negativity that flooded every fiber of his body- one bite after another into the apple, Letting the magic surge within the pathetically fragile body he possesses.

Agonizing, the entire time feeling like he's being ripped apart limb by limb. One bone after another, alongside experiencing the lowest drop in temperature that even a monster wouldn't be able to handle.

No ordinary living being would, one can even compare it to being thrown straight within space, locked within containers filled with nothing but ice-cold water where the chill gets drastically worse. At points nearly coughing out the bits of fruits that he took, having to forcibly coax his body into swallowing it all- to consistently encourage himself.

'This is for your own good',

'You're doing great.',

'One more apple, just the last one'

and.. 'The pain will be over soon'.

All of those, being lies, pure deception to lull himself into the final digestion of all five apples he snatched from the tree. His own mother- creator, who gave him and his brother life. Moments before fleeing from the latter that did the exact same thing he had done, the only reason he pulled the same thing off was the terrifying reality regarding the apples' safety.

No doubt, Dream is seeking for it all back, ultimately having turned majority of the once evenly-split amount of fruits that the almighty tree beared, into absolute positivity. Ridding negativity to a extreme, a drastic low where even Nightmare struggled to function for a few.. weeks? Months? He lost track of time really, or was it years?

Everything, regardless of where he stepped foot in- was hot, calescent. For the first few.. months, or so he assumes. Positivity raging like a hellfire that burnt everything in sight, affecting even those that remained blissfully unaware of the changes. Similar to that of a tsunami that comes full-force and slowly subside, things gradually calmed down.

At the same time, negativity began arising from the pit that it was shoved down into. That's not to say Nightmare is pleased nor agree with the horrific acts and scenes that he witnesses when attempting to stay within one of those few universes at first to recope and recharge but, interfering wasn't in his range of capability during then. Having to learn how to drown out the surrounding noises, pretend he's hard of hearing and sight.

Only taking his leave when he's able to recover enough strength to carry on for a few days. Even just an hour's worth of negativity, which weren't much, have the potential to keep him going for days if he manages his reserve well. That is.

...At times not even managing to get that much, the least were five minutes at max. Courtesy of Dream showing up.

Although he now knew the physical and mental torment that Dream had to endure, one thing he couldn't remotely grasp was. The other's change in behavior, his entire attitude and mindset seeming to have morphed into someone new entirely. To the point that even Nightmare couldn't identify who the opposing guardian were, if not for the sheer positivity he emanated and the familiarity of his soul.

Their souls, intertwined in such a way that there’s an invisible connection which granted them the capability to speak telepathically, similar to that of soulmates, rather, bondmates would be much easier to explain. By no means were they in a contract or pledged any vow to one another, those were never necessary. They're two halves of the same coin afterall. Understanding each other pretty well. with or without words.

But that was the exact same thing that Nightmare despised. Loathing it so much as it allowed Dream to constantly attempt talking to him through their bond. Coaxing him to return, with words sweet as honey. Otherwise, on a daily basis- locating him. Albeit Nightmare always made a run for it, irritatingly enough leading to a huge wastage of energy.

It took Nightmare plenty of effort, excruciating painful attempts- day after day, to sever their ties. Dwindling the connection to a minimum, ensuring it won't ever work the way it used to. Making it harder for him to be located now that the both of them couldn't properly sense each other anymore. It was always disadvantageous for himself from the beginning anyways,

If Nightmare still remained practically the same mentally, even after taking not one, but five of the apples of his own side. Then what even happened to Dream? Does the amount consumed affect those mentally and emotionally too, if it exceeds a certain amount? Do, the brother- his sibling, whom he used to have.. still exist...?

Baseless assumptions these all were, he had no means of checking nor anyone to ask. The twins were unique, different from the rest of those that resided within the Multiverse. Whilst their appearance were that of a skeleton monster, their actual physical form- were far different, however it ceased to exist long ago, as they have blended in perfectly with the vessel they were put into.

Harming or injuring them critically may end up permanently killing them. No matter if they're superior, godly beings whom were literal embodiments of both, positivity and negativity respectively. Created with the sole purpose to maintain the multiverse's balance stability, and ensure that everyone remains free from any possible calamity doomed to befall if the balance is tipped off far too much onto one end.

The outcome is presumed to be a sight of pure tragedy.

This current.. branch-off from a universe's timeline, was neutral. Nearly completely empty if he had to roughly gauge the amount of souls that were present. Which were harder than expected, granted, because of his lack in energy and the fact that those living beings didn't have enough strong emotions of either sides for him to properly make a clear estimation of.

Grasping onto the front of his shirt, the apple-shaped soul within his ribcage throbbed. Pulsing against the delicate bones that encaged it, confined deep in the frail body.

Where even were the few residents that existed here? Surely there'd have already been one or two in sight, yet he had not managed to come across even one. Feeding into his loneliness, he desperately wanted to see a trace of soul yet also not at the same time. No one would want him, of all people around. That and his absolute lack of trust and faith in others were other issues to top off.

Even so, Nightmare craved some companionship. Anyone, someone—

He was never the type to take isolation well, clinging desperately onto what little bit of attention was given to him. Usually provided by his dearest twin, which was no longer an option, leaving him all alone, devoid of physical contact or any form of socializing—out of fear, paranoid that the one he talks to might be in cohorts with Dream… No. No, that isn't his brother anymore, not anymore. No longer is the bright, beautiful sunshine that lights up his day here.

He, it—whatever he became, is a shell of his former being. Now overtaken by this filthy, disgusting, horrible entity that enraptures anyone and everyone he comes across. Luring them in with the sweetest of words, into a false sense of security. Stripping them of their free will and identity, bound to an inescapable lifetime of servitude to the S A V I O R.

This was painful.

“Starlight!” A soft and warm voice called out, accompanied by quick footsteps. The young guardian turning around to face the direction of the noise, only to be met with a blur of yellow and white. Startling him, unable to react at all as a pair of arms wrapped itself around his shoulders and pulled him straight into an embrace..

“S-Sunshine!--- Sheesh, be careful!” Grumbling under his breath, and leaning back slightly to cast a sharp, disapproving glare up at his twin. The brilliant ray of sunshine that beamed with sheer joy and excitement, didn’t even flinch nor react to the stare.

“I can’t help it, can you really blame me, Nighty? It’s been houurrsssss!” Whining, Dream tightened his grip over the other. Pulling him even closer, the coldness from Nightmare blending perfectly with Dream’s warmth. Lulling the temperature into a comfortable level for both of them

How dramatic. Rolling his violet eyelights, he reached up and gently caressed the other’s strangely-soft cheekbone. Earning a content, happy noise from him- which turned to a startled yelp once Nightmare abruptly pinched and tugged at the cheek. All the while, grinning mischievously

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t even that long, I’d reckon it to be around… uh-.. around…—” Voice trailing off, it’s only now that realization dawned on him that he did indeed lost track of time, the sun was already beginning to set. Huh? What did he even do the entire time before coming back to the tree?

“See! This is exactly what I mean, you don’t even remember how long it’s been since we were last split up from this morning!” Huffing, the bright guardian’s warm golden eyelights fixated itself on the opposing guardian’s chilling violet ones. Like two jigsaw puzzle pieces, each had traces of each other’s colour within it, that only shows upon the close proximity and emotional connection they shared- a mutual agreement from their bond.

A dazzling purple swirl making it’s way within Dream’s eyes, blending and mixing until it formed a symbol similar to a star within the middle. Topped off with a thin line on the inner edge. Whereas Nightmare, were the same except with a mesmerizing yellow moon.

“At this point I’m beginning to question if you prefer spending time with others over me! Given how you keep forgetting about me during your time in the village” Dream whined. Much like a child throwing a fit, though to be expected granted their age. Tilting his head away from the pinch, then leaning forward to rest their foreheads against each other.

“You know for a fact that’s not true. I’d pick you over everyone else, anytime.” Expression softening, Nightmare slowly reached his arms around Dream’s torso. Now returning the embrace, it’s soothing..

“...I know, sorry. I can’t- I just can’t help it.” Closing both sockets, Dream’s voice came out in a whisper. Tone shaky out of slight.. Fear. That one emotion being so dauntingly obvious to Nightmare, the negative feeling catching his attention immediately. Though before he could even address it, his attention drifted.

“Nighty?”

“Yeah?”

“----”

The sudden jerk of his body shifting forward as if he’s about to fall, shocked Nightmare out of his thoughts. Returning back to reality as he hurried backwards. Eyelight shrinking to a singular pinprick the moment his vision registered where exactly he was heading. It’s the edge of the cliff, had he been one second late to realize what’s going on. It’d spell his doom, plunging deep into the darkness underneath the snowy forest where- even he couldn’t see what lies below. The distance being too far down for him to properly gauge but, one thing for certain?

Falling was a high chance of death.

Horrifying.

Yet- selfish as it were, part of his mind were saying otherwise. Ridiculing him for reacting in a panic, that death would’ve been a much better choice. Far better than dragging out this pathetic life of his.

Truth be told? He didn’t disagree with those impulsive, irrationalities creeping in from every dark corners of his mind that he tries- time, and time again, to push aside. There haven’t been proper reasons for him to persist in continuing afterall.

He no longer have a home to return to, his brother is now.. Whatever he is, a forsaken damned monstrosity that takes on the hollow shell of his beloved, precious sibling.. Said entity constantly hunting him down, for the sole purpose of dragging him back to where he supposedly belongs- other than that, the extended reasons? Nightmare didn’t know, why, why do THAT thing consistently search for him? Having naught but assumptions and wild guesses to lead him by.

That being, the magic in his possession, brought forth by the apples he consumed. All of which were perfectly infused within his soul entirely by now. The last bits of negativity that ensures the multiverse don’t fall into the ruins of sheer, blinding positivity.

Having heard the disgusting coo’s directed at him as he ran, that overbearingly sweet voice which he once loved.

“My dearest Starlight!~ Come back, you can’t run forever!” Ugh, yuck.

Much like a prey that falls into a spiderweb, stuck to the sticky strings that weighs down heavily. Preventing any form of escape. These train of adverse thoughts were detrimental to declining his mental state.

“...Why must I keep trying..?-”

It’s tiring.

Dropping down to his knees, the tendrils on his back slowly curled around himself like a blanket. Not serving any purpose other than small amount of comfort, the frigid wind blowing past him. Coldness nipping at his bones through the fabrics of his clothes. As the day passes, his desire to be held– to be close with someone, cradled within their arms comfortably- increasingly got unbearable. Truly, desperately sought for even the faintest shred of hope yet were far too afraid to reach out for any.

“Why do I even bother?”

Not once have he ever felt safe, danger lurks everywhere. What might seem safe, could turn out to be the complete opposite.

He knew that from experience.

Closing his eyes and allowing darkness to consume the blurry vision he has, Nightmare could feel his mind gradually blanking out. Essentially halting any form of thoughts that tried to emerge, the despair invoked from the hopeless situation he’s been thrown into- slowly showing itself from how much of a toll it took on his near-unstable head. The weight of it all pressed down heavily, rendering everything meaningless.

One debilitating day after another, having zero purpose in life than to keep moving forward, run, scamper like an escapee..

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Perhaps, a long rest would be okay. A nice, lengthy nap- to escape from the burdens of reality.

An eternal.. Slumber.

Or so, that would have been his thoughts. If not for a sudden influx of negativity filling his senses. It was the first time in such a long period that he felt something this intensely. Every fiber of his being invaded by the surge in magic. Unexpected but not unwelcomed, his soul pulsing quicker, and quicker, greedily drawing in the negativity to sustain itself- the sensation was overwhelming, a heady mix of power and confusion. Causing him to reel back from the sheer dizziness, unaccustomed to being this ‘full’. A huge contrast to the empty hunger he had grown used to.

Help

Who was it?

Godithurtspleasemakeitstop

Who even are you?

Someoneanyonepleasehelpme

The fuzzy voice rang within his skull, instinctively holding both hands over the sides of his head in an attempt to ‘block out’ the noises. Proving to be plenty useless as that did nothing to lessen the invading sound that echoed from seemingly nowhere.

Whoever, or whatever, in this level of distress- had called out to him. Specifically him, strange.. Far beyond that, to the point it’s eerily unsettling.. Why? This has never happened before, so why? Why now, of all times when he was so close to giving up entirely? The timing was uncanny, almost as if the universe had conspired to keep him hanging on by a thread. Force something into his life which he wanted so dearly, right at the moment when he nearly let go. On the verge of embracing darkness.

Shouldn’t this desperate cry for help be heard by Dream instead, the very guardian beloved and adored by all. The literal beacon of light that shines down and grace the surrounding that he steps on. Yet, right now, the plea wasn’t directed to Dream. It was him, compelling Nightmare to respond. For the despondent cries, called out to him. So loud, too.. loud.

..Swallowing back a gulp of air, despite not needing to breathe. Wait..

If.. just maybe, if he can’t help himself out of this endless hell that forces him to be on the run daily. Maybe… just potentially, could he instead help this one desperate soul?

That abrupt idea was far-fetched and seemed almost stupid. Especially considering how badly he was struggling, how could he even fathom the concept of saving someone else- to possibly pull them out of the darkness, be their.. moon, within the darkened sky. Light up a new path, to provide them with hope, or a reason to keep going. Turn their life around.

At least, before the impulsive ideals gets deeply rooted within his mind, before he gave in and committed to the final decision of ending it all. Potentially, this one attempted act of compassion could allow him the slim opportunity to finally feel useful, helpful even if for just a brief moment. Just this one time.

This might be worth it, right? Though he doesn’t have any actual expectations, however, something within the back of his mind was screaming at him not to ignore the plea for help– that he’d deeply regret it if he turns his back on this very rare chance, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime situation. Or, ironically enough, once in a blue moon.

While Nightmare weren’t the greatest at assisting someone out of a dark place, as proven by his own predicament. Nor can he claim to be a bright and wonderful as his twin, but, surely he’s capable of at least.. Lending just one person a hand. It’s only ONE person. There likely wouldn’t be a second chance like this granted.

At the same time, selfish as it were. He hoped, prayed internally that this time. Perhaps, he could have a lasting companion. No matter the duration, he’s recovered enough to muster some ounce of magic to utilize to his advantage afterall. That all aside? It was unfair, really. Dream, he had others by his side. Not only that, but a selective few that were closer to him than most others. So.. if THAT thing masquerading as his brother. The guardian of positivity, could gather a group of his own. Why can’t Nightmare?

Why can’t he do the same? To have one, or two- if lucky enough, assuming the ones he come across that cries for help.. Is.. trustworthy. Unlikely, that’s for certain. Those that were this far tainted to the point that they’re able to fill him to the brim, definitely have issues. A extreme and severe issue, does it matter? Perhaps, he’ll be careful. That’s for sure.

There won’t be a second time where he lets down his guard.

Nonetheless, practically being offered a dish, laid out perfectly on a table which he could either, accept or refuse.

He’d be a fool to not take it.

Without needing to reconsider twice, and also pushed on by the consistent urges repeating in the back of his mind. He steeled himself for the possibilities of failing, knowing full well it wasn’t going to be a guaranteed success.

When was the last time Nightmare actually communicated with someone anyways? Hell if he know. Although, with his capability to sense one’s emotions and his keen observation. Combining it both and playing things safely, calculating every single possibilities, could have a tiny glimpse of hope for the situation to turn out favorably.

Greedy as it is, the flame that died out, reignited itself again. If he couldn’t save his own twin, he can try harder to save this person. Whoever they are, by any means possible.

No matter the cost.

There’s nothing for Nightmare to lose at the end of the day.

Getting up onto his feet, with his hands pushing against the ground whilst the tendrils shifted to it’s original position behind his back. Nightmare raised a hand out infront of him to conjure a purple vortex of magic, swirling luminously and casting a radiant shine within the surrounding. Surprising even himself, not expecting to have that much energy, Nor enough magic within his reserve to pull off something like that, portals were usually so much smaller and less.. Flashy. This is gonna be an issue he has to deal with later on, the fluctuation in negativity had given him a huge boost that he wasn’t accustomed to.

Unexpected, but greatly appreciated. At the same time, concerningly shuddersome. Mildly dreading the hell that he’d witness, especially one capable of providing this heavy amount of negativity. None of the other horrific sights engraved within his mind supplied this much.

“Alright, you can do this. Night.” Quietly encouraging himself, he took a step forward and entered the gateway he manifested. It fading and closing with a burst of magic after he’s fully through to the other side.

#bunningart #undertale au #undertale #utmv #sans au #nightmare sans #dream sans #KVAU Dream #KVAU Nightmare #KVAU #Knight's Vow AU #Knights Vow AU #Knight's Vow #Knights Vow #bunningstory #do this count as dreamtale variant?#for just this one part #i 'unno.#passive nightmare sans

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blissfulip · 7 months

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—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation

Cw: blood, self flagellation, masturbation

Words: 1.7k

[A/N: extremely blasphemous, but again, you saw the tags. Please read at your own risk! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby

Playlist made by my baby Soln <3 @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Extra ecclesiam nulla salus.

There is a certain comfort in fear. When you see what awaits you at the gaping, harrowing mouth of hell, knowledge of the place you must avoid, ultimately, is power. There was a time when Viktor pitied those who did not know—those who lived despondent lives, unaware and unafraid of damnation. Recently, he had found himself wishing he knew less.

A ravening beast with a thousand bloody teeth, inside its mouth a cauldron, and in it the souls of the accursed with sin, boiling over scorching flames as legions of fiendish demons dragged in multitudes more. This image plagued Viktor’s mind without rest, be it vividly in his dreams, in the colossal fresco at the entrance of his local cathedral, or in the comical props onstage at the theater plays.

The parish clergy that had taken him in as a kid had made the mistake of noticing his outstanding intelligence and awarding him time to dedicate to studying philosophy, a privilege that many of the choir monks and lay brothers did not receive. In university, philosophy had turned into physics, and soon that turned into astronomy, which he had to keep a secret on account of the recent prohibitions put in place by Paul V’s Inquisition over the study of Copernican theories.

After he was ordained and returned to his home cathedral, this once silent yet innocent interest had turned into complete secrecy, and the fear of God that had once given him solace now tormented him. At times he considered giving up on his work; the mechanical objections of Copernican theory should not be of this much significance to him after all; there had to be something of value in what Thomas Aquinas had to say, and perhaps Agustine of Hippo had some good points. Nevertheless, it was the night sky that called to him, and even this far from it, he could not escape.

But outside the church there is no salvation , and Viktor knew that even if he was never to be condemned as a heretic in life, what awaited him in death was a flaming tomb at Epicure's side. Quod extra ecclesiam nulla salus.

---------------------------------------------------

His parish was a pious one, but Viktor would refuse to receive lithe from the members of his church. The first time he tried this, the bishop was immediately alerted, and he was secluded to live in the small room inside the chapel as a ‘punishment’ for his impertinence. Viktor did not mind; the lands he had been previously allotted were too much to care for on his own, with cleaning being especially hard once his leg would start tiring out, and the presence of the personnel of lay brothers that would follow him around made his studies impossible; thus, the contained space of the church was comfortable to live in on his own.

It had been a particularly cold morning. The week before, he had received word of the imminent visit of his diocesan bishop, and the impending possibility of his stay at any moment in the near future had tied his eyebrows into a permanent knot and his shoulders into a tense bundle of nerves since that morning.

To his dismay, the state of his works had made no decent progress, his journal being nothing more than a few numbers and three words on a painfully empty piece of parchment. He understood Latin; he had studied it at length in university, but when he took a break to read the Bible, the words on it floated around aimlessly, in a messy concoction of nothing.

“Per fidem enim ambulamus et non per speciem,” he repeated to himself in a whisper, and then closed the pages lethargically.

He read the cover of a white volume that had been lying on his desk for over a month now. He was sure he would have possibly agreed with what Foscarini had to say, so the feeling of dread he felt every time he laid eyes upon the title was mystifying to him. Though it made sense after some reflection, he was afraid.

When he read Copernicus, it felt distant, a world he was only a visitor in, but the Foscarini was a carmelite father, one of his own that was now nothing short of a persona non-grata in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. Viktor was afraid that what he had to say might make sense and that he might be so correct in his observations that this knowledge would drag him into the same status.

In retrospect, he should not have read it.

In fact, opening the cover was a big mistake on its own. Not even 3 pages in, the door of his room unceremoniously barged open, revealing the full figure of Father Isodore. Viktor and him never really got along; his time in the monastery as a kid was full of rule-breaking and inappropriate questions, and to Father Isidore’s dismay, insatiable curiosity remained Viktor’s fatal flaw well into his adulthood.

Not a single word was uttered as he carried his sunny disposition and rubicund complexion over to Viktor’s desk. There was no use in trying to hide what he was holding; Viktor carried the same guilty look on his face every time he did something he was not supposed to. Once a cute kid trying to hide some innocent misdeeds, his expression had grown into one of unadulterated shame and indignity in the wake of sin, and the bishop knew this all too well. The book was snatched off his hands aggressively.

“‘Epistle concerning the mobility of the earth’,” he read, “would be an interesting read if only as a piece of fiction, and perhaps in a different climate.”

“Your excellence, I eh—”

“Save it. Don’t worsen your sin by bearing false witness.”

Viktor looked down and sighed in resignation, a disappointed sadness creeping up in his throat.

“You are very much aware those texts have been forbidden, but since words seem to slide off you, I hope physical penance can remind you of your depravity,” Father Isidore said coldly as he handed Viktor the whip that usually served as no more than a piece of decoration adorning his wall. “Ten of them, and be intentional. One pater noster after each.”

“Yes, father.”

“It’s a shame; I have come to congratulate you on your work for the community. Repent. ” The emphasis on the last word punctuated his departure.

A cold feeling arose in Viktor’s stomach as he looked down at the whip, something akin to fear but also awfully comparable to excitement.

Three deep breaths are what he allowed himself; it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible. He removed his vestments unhurriedly, only his bottoms remaining as he sluggishly kneeled by the bed, and the chilled air on his back was, in hindsight, not as bad as he thought at the moment. His hand trembled slightly when his grip on the whip tightened, and his jaw locked into a gritted grin as he sucked air in through his teeth.

The first flick of his arm was swift, like ripping away a bandage to make the pain go away as fast as your wrist could tug at it. It did not help; the feeling of the small metal beads digging into his skin was instantaneous, and it disappeared soon, but the burning that replaced it lingered.

“ Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra .”

A swarm of ants biting at the exposed skin on his back was a scorching fire.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a malo.”

Then it subsided, and the slight chills on his arms were due to something else. He took his time with the second hit, languidly whipping both hands back this time to maintain the same level of strength. The aching this time was different; the burning of his skin was quenched by the few droplets of blood and sweat trickling down his spine. And there was something else—a burning feeling that was misplaced not on his back or wrists but in his lower stomach.

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen...” He started once again, both hands holding one another around the handle of the whip, closed in prayer as he shut his eyes tightly for concentration. This proved to be fruitless when an uncomfortable tightness in the fabric around his crotch distracted his attention away from the words he was reciting. He tried to continue with his prayer, but an ill-calculated movement tugged at the tender skin of his back, and the brief sting made the already confining feeling worsen, morphing into an odd mixture of ache and delight.

He figured out what this meant soon enough. The conflicting feeling did not originate from any sort of confusion about what he was experiencing; it came with the quandary of his two options: either keep going to conclude his penalty and follow orders, or go against those orders to avoid tainting this sacred act with his depravity.

He unlaced his trousers before going for the third whip. The aching feeling on his back was almost completely gone, replaced by a numb tingling along the wounded skin and an unbearable heat in his groin. The fourth hit was one-handed. Right hand wrapping tightly along the handle and left hand mirroring the grip around his cock as he pumped himself mechanically. When the metal hit the skin, a jolt of what felt like electricity traveled all the way down to his stomach, the member on his hand twitching in anticipation.

There was no fifth hit or anything beyond that. A final tug with a firm hand and gritted teeth culminated in his climax, hot viscosity percolating through his fingers as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. His chest heaved up and down as he whispered a string of prayers. Shame washed over him.

“Castigo corpus meum.” He repeated incessantly until he had enough strength in his legs to stand.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #viktor au #priest au #legion #Spotify

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daphnefisherofficial · 1 year

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bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

defy your destiny | rewrite your fate.

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley) x Avatar Fem!Reader/OC

Update Schedule: Semi-daily (schedule depends on my work, most of the chapters are already written and I'm writing buffers coz I can't stop, help--)

Summary: Under the luminous full moon of the pre colonial Philippine archipelago in the year 900, Mira Batala's fate to serve their patron moon goddess, Mayari, as an avatar was sealed from the moment a divine kiss was bestowed on her forehead from her infancy. Gifted with a second chance at life, her extraordinary birth marks the onset of a divine oath to be honored and fulfilled as immortality soon became a curse rather than a gift. As she outlived her family and becomes the last of her olden lineage, Mira embarks on a millennia-long journey of protecting her people and guiding the travelers of the night through its darkest.

bugna: takipsilim (destiny's twilight) is a thrilling saga of ancient gods, boundless love, and a woman's timeless odyssey. As Mira confronts her past and embraces her role as Mayari's Avatar, she discovers the essence of her bugna (true destiny) and the interconnectedness of all strings of fate tied to her own: namely her intertwined destinies with Marc Spector, Steven Grant and Jake Lockley as the reincarnated fragments of her greatest love's past life.

TW/CW: Abuse, Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Comfort, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, Falling In Love, Fluff, Historical, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping I'm Sorry, Idiots in Love, Not Beta Read, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Reader-Insert Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Build, Smut, Soulmates, Trauma.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME.

MASTERLIST BELOW

Prologue | A Kiss Of Intertwined Destinies

Chapter One | Shadows Of The Past

Chapter Two | Dreams Of Fate, Farewell & New Beginnings

Chapter Three | A Chance Encounter Above The Clouds

Chapter Four | The Homecoming

Chapter Five | Ties & Strings That Bind

Chapter Six | Coffees, Paninis & Museum Dreams

Chapter Seven | A Night of Discovery, History and Connection

Chapter Eight | Avatar Of Mayari, Protector Of The Night

Chapter Nine | Forgotten Memories & Inevitable Truth

Chapter Ten | A Taste of Camaraderie & New Adventures

Chapter Eleven | When The Sparks Fly

Chapter Twelve | Between Awakening Desires & Celebratory Nights

Chapter Thirteen | Companionship & Late Night Confessions

Chapter Fourteen | The Hidden Protector

Chapter Fifteen | Bound By The Crescent Moon

Chapter Sixteen | All Has Been Revealed

Chapter Seventeen | Moon Magic & Mysteries Of The Night We Met

Chapter Eighteen | Shared Burdens & Unexpected Alliances

Chapter Nineteen | Choices and Commitments

Chapter Twenty | The Doorway of Accursed Memories

Chapter Twenty One | Lieutenant Darius Carter

Chapter Twenty Two | A Love Forged in War (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Three | The Jackal and the Moon (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Four | Il Lamento della Luna (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Five | Meeting the Sun and Stars (coming soon)

Chapter Twenty Six | Konseho ng mga Diwata // Council of the Gods (coming soon)

MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON.

Also, I will be cross posting this on Wattpad and AO3 soon, so I have commissioned an artist to create a book cover. Here's a sneak peak.

I'm super excited to show you the rest once she's done. In the meantime, please follow her on Instagram @lindsaynid_arts if you wanna see more of her artwork.

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aldbooks · 5 months

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A bit Helion angst for you this morning…

Helion was not a fool. From the first moment he'd seen the boy across a crowded ballroom while they both played the charming courtier, he'd sensed the power hidden deep within him and the invisible chains which kept it there. It hadn't taken but a small effort in logical reasoning for him to understand what it meant, and only a small effort more to understand why it had remained a secret.

For centuries, he had kept that secret, doing his best to keep his distance lest anyone suspect while eagerly drinking down every bit of news or gossip that reached him about the boy who was rapidly growing into an almost universally loved and respected male. It killed him to be so separated from both his mate and his son, but for both of their safety, he would endure almost anything.

Then came Amarantha, and Under the Mountain.

He'd been present the day that started it all. When Lucien Vanserra, brash and confident, had almost gleefully informed the witch of his friend's refusal of her proposal. The way he'd insulted her so boldly to her face might have been amusing if not for what happened next. How he'd managed to hold himself back despite his near blinding rage, he couldn't say. Perhaps that small logical part of his brain had known that attempting to interfere with a female infinitely more powerful than him would not have ended well for anyone. He'd been nothing then really, a distant member of the royal family, always welcome to their table but of no true importance...

Of course, it wasn't long after that the accursed masquerade ball was held and they were all plunged into the witch's wretched curse. A few months later he suddenly found himself the unexpected High Lord of Day, brimming with power he was unable to use. He had wondered and worried then how Lucien was dealing with the increase in power he had surely received as the new heir. Wondered if he understood what it meant. Wondered if he could control it, or if it might yet give away the secret he and his mother had fought so long to keep hidden. Yet everytime the fox showed his face, not one hint of what he was appeared, and Helion prayed it would stay that way even as he was forced to watch his son suffer further indignities while his brothers sneered and laughed at his torment.

What came after Amarantha might have been worse.It wasn't just the battle with Hybern while his son was off on the continent Gods knew where, looking for a queen who might have been impossible to find, or the High Lord's meeting when he'd come face to face with his estranged mate, unable to speak to her. It wasn't even the knowledge that Lucien had found his mate and yet seemed doomed to the same fate of being forever separated from her.

It was knowing he now had the power to rival Beron's and still somehow being unable to do anything about it.

Another war came upon them in the form of a death god and Helion began to despair that his broken family might never be whole again as they all perished to a seemingly insurmountable threat. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Through a combination of efforts and luck on the parts of many, their world finally found themselves facing the possibility of true peace. And his son was at the center of it's heros. By another stroke of luck, Beron's own sons had solved the issue of freeing his mate from the hateful male's hold and he now found himself standing in front of the family he had been so afraid of losing, unsure how to claim them for his own.

#Helion Spellcleaver #helion acotar #lucien vanserra #helion x loa

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a-very-sparkly-nerd · 2 months

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I’ll Do Whatever It Takes (i’ll make a million mistakes)

surprise 🤭

More than anything, Callum was disappointed in himself. Disappointed in himself for not knowing better, disappointed in himself for getting his hopes up, for thinking he could finally have a happily-ever-after.

But what had he ever done to deserve one? He deserved whatever karma the universe decided to dish out, but their son didn't. He hadn't inherited the evil or the dark heart, hadn't done a single thing except be born to an accursed man.

He hadn't been able to step foot in the nursery. Hadn't been able to make himself look at the tiny, wheezing, prune-purpley-red little infant in the cradle he'd sworn to protect, but ended up breaking that promise, too.

All the Sky spells in the world hadn't worked, nor Sunfire healing, and Earthblood stabilizing abilities could only do so much for so long. Even magic, what he’d leaned on since that day he’d first laid eyes on Zym’s egg, had been as utterly helpless as he.

Since he'd been born just a week ago, Callum had spent every spare second locked in his study hopelessly searching for some kind of remedy, a mission he knew was doomed from the start but had to cling to, only leaving to slip into bed with Rayla and let her hold him as they both sobbed.

His wife slipped into the room now, a soft thunk reaching Callum's ears before she was standing behind him, arms looped around his neck and chin on his shoulder. "Hey."

He clasped her hand. It felt like all the apologies he'd spouted every night could never be enough, not for her and not for Ezran and not for their poor little sickly child. "Hey. Um, how are you holding up?"

The past seven days, Rayla'd mostly been helping him not-really-grieve, stuck somewhere between denial and bargaining, bringing tea and food and soft kisses. Callum didn't know what he'd done to deserve it. He hadn't been able to comfort her, hold her tight and soothe her, at least not yet. They'd always both been so good at tamping feelings down to help the other.

She shrugged sluggishly, moving to sit on his desk in front of him and take his hands, gently stroking the soft, tender skin between his wrist and thumbs. "I'm- I'm okay. Ish."

Callum pressed his lips to her forehead not solely for the purpose of keeping his tears out of her sight. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Rayla."

She shook her head, arms snaking around him. "Don't. Your genes aren't your fault, your history isn't your fault, random bad luck isn't your fault. The universe hating us isn't your fault. I wouldn't change anything." She brought his hand to cover her still-swollen stomach, where the baby weight had yet to fade, and for a moment it was almost as if their son had yet to be born, and they were happily oblivious to the disease fighting tooth and nail to claim him since the second he'd arrived. As if things were as okay as they could be.

"Callum, I need to talk to you," she said softly, combing through his hair, and he moved to look at her because he owed her that at the very least.

"Yeah?" Whatever she said next surely couldn't be good, but he'd rather hear it from Rayla than anyone else.

"Callum, every second that child is alive is a miracle," she breathed, crying silently as her lips trembled, face splotchy. "If the worst happens, if we lose him... I want you to be there. I want you to know your son at least a little bit."

"Rayla..." Callum gasped out, shaking his head in disbelief. He'd known, but confronting that terrible reality was the worst thing that could possibly happen.

She caught his wrists, holding them in her lap and drawing him into her lap, tilting his chin up. "I'm not done yet. Callum, I..." She pulled the source of the earlier thunk closer to them from the side of the desk, settling her small, pale hand against the large, dusty tome. Callum didn't dare reach for it.

Read more on ao3

#yeah i know everyone is writing some variation of this premise so here's my take #bc we all know what would go down #the dragon prince #tdp #tdp spoilers #rayllum #tdp s6 #tdp s6 spoilers #giveusthesaga #fankid

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joelhappyhil · 19 days

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DAWN design

The current focus of Beta 1.93 is the reworking of Boons, features meant for non-combat to better define your character in that mode of play. And today I want to talk about one Boon that I disliked in "The Accursed".

The Boon I'm looking to change today is "Turning Over A New Leaf". As shown below, it's a Boon that rewards the player for choosing not to use their Ability, a universal element of DAWN, since in flavor this Ability is something the character is against in some way.

The issue with this is that, though it makes sense in general sense, helps you get into character, it was miserable to play with. Not only does it effectively remove a part of the user's character sheet, but it's hard to determine when it can trigger as a gm.

The new idea is to give players a reason why their character may not want to use their ability all the time while having a sold trigger that all people at the table can understand.

For the concept I immediately thought of the physically harmful abilities of characters like Prof Iji from Jungle Juice or Deku from mha, something that can go above and beyond in performance but is also dangerous to use at its full power.

The result is "Self Destructive Strength" (name pending). Some simple Advantage at the cost of Stress, but with the requirement that it cannot be triggered when using your Bonds and Skills, lends to the loner vibe that comes with "The Accursed".

#indie ttrpg #dawn #ttrpg #game design #indie stuff #books #ttrpgsolidarity

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cauldronlakefiles · 9 months

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Alan Wake and The Implications™️ of Gnosticism as told by Carl Jung (1916)

So in AW2 NG+, there is a new video called "Spiral," where he ruminates on the implications of what the Spiral could mean (spoilers below, and a very long post ahead)!

"There are loops beyond these loops. Vast, complex super structures. Beyond what's happening to me now, ahead of me. And I'm there as well. A version of me, something I have become- some elevated, enlightened version- an archon, a demiurge, a demon of some sort- playing a secret game."

Now this is veeeery interesting to me.

In the Gnostic religion, The Demiurge (literally "artisan" in Greek) is described as a creator of the material world. He is the God of the world, but not the God of the universe. Think Cronus or Odin, under Uranus and Burí. The Demiurge cannot create something out of nothing. He takes matter, already existent and created by the upper god, and turns it into our world, though it comes out imperfect due to the matter being imperfect.

Then, we have another Greek word admist his monologue: the "archon." The archon is Greek for "ruler" but in Gnosticism, it is the builder(s) of the universe, composed of a team. There's usually seven, and each one rules a planet.

And finally, the demon. That's self-explanatory. In Gnosticism, the definition is interchangeable with the Archons. The Archons are demons and the demons are Archons. Yes, this is relevant.

What I find interesting is the intersection where these definitions meet, the center of the Venn diagram. The Demiurge, the Archon, and the Demon is Yaldabaoth, The Son of Chaos and The Prince of Darkness. He is also known in some iterations as Samael, the Angel of Death, and is primarily viewed as the precursor to our modern day Satan, as well as the Gnostic equivalent to Seth, Saturnus/Cronus, and Typhon. He is described as having a face made of "half flame, half darkness, defiled with blood."

If you ask what his morality is, you will spur a fishtfight among the occult (as I found out by perusing the various forums and subs). He is generally considered evil or amoral, but he used to be depicted as a genuinely "good" God. He is usually described as arrogant, a "fiery nature," ignorant of higher powers and jealous of other gods.

Now, Jung further developed his idea of the Demiurge and Archon and Demon from Yaldabaoth, giving him the name of Abraxas, as taught by Basilides. Little is known about Abraxas, as the sources beyond Jung are scarce, though his name dates back to the ancient Greeks. The church burned much of the text that held his name. The Catholic Church outright banned him for being a pagan God and a demon. He is the God of time, and is more powerful and more dualistic than the aforementioned Yaldabaoth (both morally and figuratively) . He was a prominent figure in his book, *Seven Sermons to the Dead,* where he had this to say about him:

"That which is spoken by God-the-Sun is life; that which is spoken by the Devil is death; Abraxas speaketh that hallowed and accursed word, which is life and death at the same time. Abraxas begetteth truth and lying, good and evil, light and darkness in the same word and in the same act. . . He is the God of the cosmos, extremely powerful and fearful. He is the creative drive, he is form and formation, just as much as matter and force, therefore he is above all the light and dark Gods. He tears away souls and casts them into procreation. He is the creative and created. . . His power is the very greatest, because man does not perceive it at all. He is magnificent even as the lion at the very moment when he strikes his prey down. His beauty is like the beauty of a spring morn. To see him means blindness; To know him is sickness; To worship him is death; To fear him is wisdom; Not to resist him means liberation … Such is the terrible Abraxas … He is both the radiance and the dark shadow of man. He is deceitful reality."

Abraxas is duality, the God and the Devil combined in one. He is the beginning and the end. The first word and the last.

Anyway, we reach the part where he has successfully Ascended. He pronounces himself the "Master of Many Worlds." He becomes, in this sense, an "archon, a demiurge, a demon," and I can only imagine what that entails. Talk about a character arc!

#alan wake 2 ng+#aw2 #alan wake 2 #alan wake ii #alan wake spoilers #alan wake 2 spoilers #alan wake ng+#Alan wake

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apenitentialprayer · 1 month

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In Christ, YHWH Himself Becomes the Accursed One, by Christopher Powers.

According to the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, nothing good happens to Jesus once he is put on the cross. All the signs are against him. He has been mocked, and the mockers have asked for a sign that he is the Son of God. Well, the sign has been given. Here is the sign that Jesus is the Son of God: darkness. God has pulled back.

Reader, do not miss the point. Everything turns against Jesus: the cosmos, the political world, his compatriots, his fellow religionists, his chosen companions, nature itself. There is no mercy. There is no grace. There is not even a fragrant breeze.

And have you ever thought about this? There is no silence.

One might hope to come to one's death in peace, to have a calmness and quiet about you within which you could compose yourself to face your end. Jesus had no peace. Not only did he have the pain from the nails and the agony of suffocation; he had the horror of screams. A crucifixion scene is a scene of screaming. Raymond Brown says that crucifixions were "particularly gruesome" because of "the screams of rage and pain, the wild curses and the outbreaks of nameless despair of the unhappy victims." There was screaming around Jesus for hours from the others, only a fragment of which is recorded in the Gospels (their taunting of Jesus). And finally, in the end, Jesus himself screamed.

Yes, Jesus screamed out in the midst of his pain, not in rage, not in a curse, but in a loud cry. The Word of God incarnate does not merely speak; it is a screamed-out question, and it is his death cry. My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? What does it mean?

It means, I think, the obvious thing: that Jesus died in the worst way possible, that he died in unimaginable pain, and that his physical pain was accompanied by the mental and emotional pain of being abandoned by God. He entered into our human condition; he came down from heaven and was begotten by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary and was made man. And then he went down further. He entered into the saddest and lowest human conditions; he entered into griefs and degradations and betrayals and tortures. He entered into them, he went down, and then he went down further. Jesus plumbed the absolute and literal depths of what it is to be human. He wept, sometimes with us and sometimes over us. He visited our tombs. And —it sounds trite but it's literally true— he shared our pain.

This, to be honest, is good news for us. There are no depths to which we may have to descend that Jesus has not already descended. However bad your life gets, Jesus will be with you. He can be with you, because he has gone down even further.

[... A]ll of us know that we have untested limits. For Jesus there were no untested limits. And with trembling in our bones we can voice the sacred truth, that it is . . . good . . . that Jesus was so completely tested. For when Jesus screamed, it was, as I said, not in anger, not in rage, but in: a prayer. Although screamed out, the words My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? are a prayer.

Jesus feels nothing but abandonment from God, and yet nonetheless he prays to God. He no longer feels any intimacy with God — less than twenty-four hours earlier he was praying to his "Father" that he be spared of all this; now he cannot pray to his Father, but he can still pray like any human being can pray, to "God," to indeed "my God." He screams, yes, he cries out, yes, but it is a question that he cries, and a question rests upon a relationship, on the reality of one to whom a question is addressed. Jesus goes all the way down to the very bottom of human existence, and even at the bottom, even in the midst of all the pain in the universe, even in the absence of any sign at all that he has a divine Father, even there at the bottom a human being can still pray to God, can still ask, if nothing else, why this God, to whom he is speaking, why this God has forsaken him.

We find God by going down this road, down the road that goes down. Leonard Cohen, in his song "Suzanne" (which Susan used to sing to me), saw deeply, if not perfectly, when he said Jesus realized "only drowning men could see him." Jesus saw this from the cross (I think this is what Cohen means by "his lonely wooden tower"), where, Cohen says, he was "forsaken, almost human."

No, that last modifier is wrong: forsaken, fully human is the point. Yet it may be true that only drowning people can see Jesus. We who have suffered the depths can catch sight of him, I think, because Jesus was fully human all the way down: in the darkness, beyond the darkness, forsaken, fully human, he sank (as Cohen almost says) beneath God's wisdom like a stone.

Rev. Canon Victor Austin (Losing Susan: Brain Disease, The Priest's Wife, and the God Who Gives and Takes Away, pages 135-136, 137-138). Italics original.

There is no pit so deep that He is not deeper still.

Betsie ten Boom, as recorded by her sister.

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aixeko · 1 month

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❣ " Your Strength Won't Die With You. The Torch Will Be Carried On… By Me. " ❣

| Starring | Scout!Arlecchino x Scout!Reader

| Setting | AOT Alternative Universe

| Scenario | [ DRABBLE ] ANGST! Hurt no comfort. Pronouns are not used. Mention of Clervie.

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

× Since I haven’t posted in a while might as well. Maybe once I’m done with work then I will probably turn this into a oneshot. × I imagine Arlecchino as Levi Ackerman and the reader as Hange Zoë, like it’s so right to me. Levihan, my beloved doomed couple. × Please bare with the quality, I'm writing this half awake at midnight 😭😭

[ Word count: 2009 ] | Art credit: Anko on Twitter

The sun hung high in the azure sky, no longer obscured by the thick roiling clouds, casting the world in its muted, almost sickly warmth. The haze once clouding the environment now reveals the onslaught accursed by humanity's exterminator, known as the Titan. Your comrades, individuals with a name, a family, and a lifetime of histories, are now nothing more than indistinguishable pieces, the Titan's mnemonic of their victorious reign over humanity.

You stand tall in front of a headless comrade, your expression unreadable, yet the heart telltale a great difference. You have been doing this for years; yes, you have seen your ally die in dedication to their heart to push forth humankind for a chance at advancement, but the experience does not account for the hardship the mortal heart has to endure.

You crouch down and wrap their head in a blanket, preserving all that remains to honor their life with a proper burial. One of the scouts came to retrieve the corpse from you, a solemn expression displayed on his face, exactly mirroring the rest of the regiment.

In the corner of your perception, you observe a hint of pink. Your eyes soften ever so slightly at the familiar identification of the fallen scout. So that's why that Titan is beaten hollow. You thought, your gaze turning to the carcass of bones and to the slaughterer of said carcass.

Arlecchino? The first time her name rolled off your tongue, it was with an inquiry rather than a declaration. It was an unfamiliar hesitation as if in fear of mispronunciation, leaving an unwanted first impression.

She was a new addition to the scout regiment, someone from the lowest part of the three divine walls separating humanity from its destructor, the underground. Arlecchino had come with another, a pink-haired girl by the name of Clervie. The duo had ill intentions to assassinate the scout regiment commander in exchange for gaining citizenship in the wall farthest from Titan territory and the most extravagant of the three.

In turn, the outcome of the attempted extermination led to this: Clervie's unfortunate death and an outraged, newly reawakened Arlecchino. It was pitiful, really, to harbor such confidence in one's own ability with such lackluster experience in Titan territory; their fate was always bound to end in tragedy.

You perform the same repetitive, heartfelt action you've carried out on hundreds and thousands of fallen soldiers. A blanket wrapped around their cadaver, a funeral to release their soul, and a flame carried on by the living.

You give the body to a scout, and with Clervie's cloak in hand, you make your way to the living corpse that is Arlecchino.

"Welcome to the life of the Survey Corps."

At the feeling of the cloak dropping onto her lap and the reverberation emitted from your voice, Arlecchino's head slowly tilted up to gaze at you. The intensity of those unique crimson-marked eyes is fuming with seemingly all of humanity's rage, and you can't help but admit the overwhelming predatory and prey-like dynamic in the air.

"The loss of the one dearest to you is the tragic reality as humankind hopes. The scout regiment has long lived with losses since the founding of its creation, but does that result ever dwindle the flame? No, it doesn't."

Your hand lifts from its position and outstretches in a proposition for her acceptance.

"Losing is all we ever know, and those who brave through it are the ones to continue igniting the flame of the passing and the living. Become the strongest," the corner of your lip curves upward in a smile, "and lead your comrade to a victorious battle; that's what they lived and died for; that is what she would have wanted for you."

Arlecchino The second time her name left your lips, your tongue rolled with expectation for the capabilities the woman held in those limbs of hers and for the beginning of a profound bond between soldiers.

A lifetime seemed to fly by before there was some sort of reaction or action. Arlecchino wraps Clervie's cloak around herself and goes onto her feet without accepting your hand.

"Fine. I will follow you," she says, standing beside you, her once-lowered head now raised to the sky. "Foolish, suicidal bastards."

Like second nature, your posture straightens, a widening smile stretching all over as you clench your right fist and strike your chest just above your heart with firmness.

"Dedicate your heart."

Arlecchino made a sound of disapproval, a clear indication that she did not resonate with the Survey Corps salute. She moves from her position and makes her way to her horse. You shake your head with the smile still on your face; soon enough, you follow suit onto your own horse, making your way back to the safety of the divine walls' protection.

Days, months, and then years passed by since that day; you both aged together in the weak and strength, the mature and the experiences. Death scythes had struck many times at the both of you and each time survival was granted, an invisible thread seemed to tighten around the two of you, especially in the most vital and fragile part of the human body, the heart itself. If it ever dared to break, then the consequence of its utter annihilation would be so great that death would be a gentler fate.

It was meant to be another mission, a normal and non-risky one; nothing should have gone wrong according to the commander's calculations.

You're mounted on your horse alongside your fellow soldiers, and beside you is your partner, Arlecchino, the strength to your weakness and vice versa. You wave to the awing citizens, awaiting the gate of the wall to open so your expedition to survey outside can begin.

"You see that, sister? The crest on their cloak—those are the wings of freedom! It shows that they are our saviors; I want to be like them when I grow up!"

Your gaze softens upon overhearing the conversation between a young boy and his sister. Oh, how pure and innocent a child's mind is; if only they knew the nightmare that each member of the scout regiment has to endure every expedition.

The gate lifted up, and every soldier turned their attention to it, and simultaneously, every horse began building momentum to charge out.

"Isn't that Captain Arlecchino? They say she's worth more than hundreds of soldiers; if only there were more of her, then our taxes wouldn't be wasted on dead corpses."

Your eyes furrow at the backhanded compliment as you pass by the gossiping citizens. You shake your head in disapproval, and it seems Arlecchino has heard it too; sharing the same displeasure, she mutters a distasteful comment about their words. You turn your head to her, a knowing smile stretched upon you; in turn, she gives you her usual nearly unreadable expression; at least to everyone else, it's unreadable.

"You achieved what you sought; are you not satisfied with the compliment?"

The gate fully opened, and the commander's voice boomed in announcement of the beginning of the Survey Corps expedition outside the wall. Soldiers roared, and horses soared in determination.

"You're one to talk."

Arlecchino sprints past you, making you let out a laugh as you follow behind her. The outside wind blows against your hair, and your eyes are set forward, shining with hope and perseverance.

It was meant to be a normal and safe mission, so why did this happen?

ARLECCHINO The third time her name slipped past your lips, it was an involuntary one, sparked out of fear and anxiety for your closest ally's life—feelings that you hadn't truly felt in a long time.

With your two blades in hand, you strike the nape of the Titan looming over Arlecchino. A hint of relief flashes, and I'm grateful you weren't too late. You retrieve your omni-directional mobility gear [ ODM ] and land beside the injured Arlecchino.

"What happened? Can you move? Is it your arms, your head, or your legs?" Questions spur out at an inhumanly rapid pace, faster than you have ever talked. You were scared; you were so scared.

Arlecchino placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"My legs, but it will be fine. A horde of Titans came my way; other groups came to help me and tried to fend them off, but unfortunately couldn't. What about your group? Where are they?"

You were going to answer her with the same regrettable answer; your entire group had also been completely wiped out, but your words would forever be left in the void because the next thing you knew, Arlecchino shoved you away.

A sound of pain is produced from your mouth as your body makes contact with a tree. Your hand clutched your chest as you tilted your head upward from the ground. You're left gaping as a 15-meter titan has its foul mouth clutch around Arlecchino's hand. Without thinking, a sudden phenomenal rush of adrenaline submerged you against all logic; you used the last ounce of strength left in you and charged with your broken ODM straight at the titan's nape. Due to the malfunction, your ODM wasn't fast enough, and because of this nonstrategic decision, you served yourself on a silver platter to the beastly abomination.

"Idiot," Arlecchino grumbled under her breath.

With only a single available hand, she manages to strike the Titan's nape, releasing you from its grip. Arlecchino crumbles to the ground as her bleeding intensifies at a substantial rate. Sweat and blood bead on your face; you push yourself and slowly drag your battered body to Arlecchino. You wrap a hand around her in a protective manner; the very moment your eyes set on hers, tears stream down your face. With great speed, you scan for the purple signal flare, a smoke indicating an emergency of some kind.

"Stay alive for me—okay...? Help will be here soon, please- I.."

Before you could say anything more, Arlecchino fired the purple smoke signal for you.

"Take my gear; yours is damaged. You can still save yourself."

"What-?"

"You know better than anyone else that my injuries are too grave. By the time we reach the wall for help, I won't be alive."

Your eyes meet hers; no longer does it share the same characteristics as the one you saw all those years ago. No longer were they fuming with rage equivalent to humanity, but rather a reflection of tranquility and delicacy as that of a hare.

"Don't do this to me... please Arle-"

She brought a hand to silence you. Her gaze softened, and following along, there was a small smile.

"My real name is Peruere," she uttered in a hushed tone.

A wider smile spread across her parched lips. With her fist clenched, she struck your chest, exactly where your heart is located.

"Dedicate your heart."

With a final, whispered breath of your name, the weight of her eyelids, burdened with exhaustion, at last forced her eyes shut. The realization finally dawned on you at her modified version of the Survey Corps' salute.

Peruere. The last time her name escaped your lips, it was a cry of anguish and betrayal soaring through the dimming sky. The grief gnaws at your fragile heart from the crushing fact that you failed to protect and save one of the only people who ever genuinely mattered to you. The sting of betrayal scorches your soul because she will never get to experience the entirety of your life while you get to live through every moment of hers. Soon enough, the memory of her eyes, her features, the memories, everything, will be lost to the world, haunting you forever, a thorn in your side at the price of freedom that came with the loss of your love.

And in the end, the only solace you have is the weight of her absence, one that echoes louder than words ever could. All that is left is emptiness, a void that can never be filled by anyone else.

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ] × Originally, I didn't intend to kill Arle but rather the reader. It just came to suddenly and since I couldn't decide I spun the wheel lmfao.

#erise Short #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x y/n #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #arle angst #arlecchino angst #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin wlw #angst #hurt/no comfort #arlecchino genshin impact #genshin

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