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owlespresso · 1 year ago

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lavender haze. vere. tags: fem!reader, alcohol, vere being himself, not 18+

The Haze is a domed Eden, straddled comfortably on the border between Hightown and the Amaryllis District, coddled between stained glass lanterns and columns of stark ivory, sat in the midst of a sprawling patch of multi-tiered gardens. Lavender curtains of wisteria layer this verdant paradise into its different sections. The stone gardens and artfully arranged hedge sculptures and various water features each a sight to be seen on their own.

You enter from the east. To your left, a triangular cut of land rises between two merging brooks. Perched upon that jutting ledge is a gazebo surrounded by pale roses and fresh foxglove, vines strewn along strips of lattice fence, affixed to the gazebo’s bottom half. As picturesque a place to meet as any, but Vere has commanded your company indoors.

Up ahead looms the Haze, a series of seven, octagonal towers of varying heights. Each one is domed, stonework lovingly etched and painted, shaped into candy-colored spirals. Hooded windows of stained glass prod out in even rows. Buttresses and arches link the towers, alongside skywalks which hover stories above ground height. It’s a mess of a building, a decadent spectacle which intrigues and befuddles the eye. Bricks and ceramics layer the towers in different patterns, a stain of vibrant color against Eridia’s greys and whites. It’s still smaller than the Senobium, built so that it remains comfortably tucked into the spire’s grand shadow most of the day. On purpose, you would assume.

A group of guards, clad in tight black and red uniforms roam the premises, prowling along the various plazas in duos and trios. Two of them eye you as you approach, as discerning as the towering doors they stand watch over.

“Hold it,” the one to the left snaps as you ascend the final step. Your brow wrinkles. They don’t turn away patrons, Vere had told you. That’s the receptionist’s job. “You stink of the road. And you don’t look like you can afford the flat fee. Scram.”

Your face rumples into a sour frown.

“I was invited.” you inform them flatly. And you most certainly do not smell—not after an hour with Leander’s fancy soaps. “And the man who invited me doesn’t like to wait.”

That seems to give them pause. The Haze’s clients are all come from places of great wealth and power—from some of the Senobium’s finest sages to the old nobility of Eiridia’s founding clans. Holding up any one of their guests could hold dire consequences for those responsible.

“If I’m late, I’m going to have to tell him why. And I would hate for anything to happen to two find guards just trying to do their jobs.” you press, resting your hands on your hips, cocking your head to the side. Your lips remain twisted into an impatient frown, boot tapping staccato against the white marble. The difficult guard’s face contorts with righteous offense, cheeks flushing pink. The leather of his glove squeaks as his fist tightens ‘round the staff of his steel polearm.

“As if any of our clients would want the company of some filthy little street urchin,” he snaps, voice rolling down the ivory steps and into the gardens below.

“Keep your voice down, goddamn you!” the other guard hisses quietly, brown eyes blown wide. “Or Vernal’ll have both our heads—”

At his coworker’s prompting, the ornery guard seems to settle down temper kept at bay by the threat of this “Vernal’s” wrath. Regardless, he still looks at you with obvious contempt, clearly unmoved by your vague threats.

“We aren’t letting you in,” he repeats. “I don’t care who you say invited you—not unless you have an actual, physical invitation or the madam’s personal seal on your person. Now, scram. Before we have to—”

“What seems to be the problem, here?” a familiar voice drawls from behind the guards. The doors haven’t been opened. Vere seems to slide from the shadow cast over the building’s entrance, heels clicking against the pale marble. His head tilts as he drags his prying gaze over the scene, lingering on you for a mere moment before turning to the guard so insistent on denying you entry. Both of the sentries have whirled to face him, both suddenly wrought with tension. Their spines have gone ramrod stiff, shoulders squared as he prowls forward.

“Just another tourist, sir,” the guard says, barely keeping the shake out of his voice. “And she was just about to leave—”

“Really? That’s a shame, considering I invited her here,” Vere says, flat and frankly unamused. The color drains from the guard’s face, and any satisfaction you could feel in the moment is cooled by the frigid, heavy feeling that settles over the vicinity. The lingering humidity so typical to Eridia’s climate has been sucked from the air, the cold hanging heavy like morning fog. “I hoped the madam’s esteemed employees wouldn’t be dimwitted enough to lie to me. I’ll have to have a chat with her about the gutter trash she decides to hire.” he croons, oozing condescension and disappointment.

“My apologies, sir,” the man bows his head. You can practically hear the restrained outrage in his voice. It won’t be enough to satisfy Vere, you know immediately. He should be groveling on his hands and knees for forgiveness if he hopes to keep his life.

“How dare you even speak to me,” Vere begins coldly, cutting him off without hesitation, “After harassing my esteemed guest. You were hoping to shake her down for some extra coin, weren’t you? I’ve heard rumors about the guards here, but I didn’t think you would actually be this stupid. Consider yourself fired—” Vere snaps, fangs bared and eyes alight with visible animosity. The otherworldly pink glints, catching the sun’s last rays. Behind you, you’re sure the gardens look resplendent, dyed in that warm, golden light.

The guard looks up at that, eyes wide and wild, unsuppressed panic written across his pale visage. “B-but sir, I had no way of knowing—”

A clawed hand shoots out, fingers fixed in a crushing grip around the man’s windpipe. Nothing about Vere’s lithe build belies the unearthly strength he levies, a forceful reminder of what he so unabashedly is—of what you’ll attempt to unleash over the following weeks or months.

The guard squirms and chokes. His hands fly to Vere’s wrist, legs feebly kicking. His struggles are rewarded by an even more crushing grip. As his bones creak and his trachea crumples, you can't help the morbid curiosity that you observe with—the strange sense of awe that comes with Vere attacking your antagonizer with such little hesitation—

The remaining guard stays frozen in place, helpless but to watch in silence as his coworker’s air is stripped from his lungs.

—Surely, Vere isn’t doing this for your sake, for some feeble, twisted notion of chivalry. He’s probably just annoyed at being spoken back to, by someone he views as so incredibly beneath him. Yet still—

Vere inspects his free hand, looking over his perfect manicure with placid interest. A faint wrinkle to his brow is all that potentially belies his agitation. The guard is getting purple in the face.

—And where do you fall, on the totem pole? Will he do the same to you if you get into a disagreement? Based on the interactions you’ve had thus far, you don’t think so. You hope not. You are in possession of something he desperately wants. And you like to think you’re clever enough to avoid the beast’s bite. You have to be. To fail is to sup on nightshade and the noxious shadows which compose him, to impale yourself on the razor ivory and sable of his maw.

A resounding splash sounds from behind you. Something’s been tossed into one of the streams close to the very base of the stairs. When you look at Vere, the stubborn guard is no longer there. There’s a small, red splatter on Vere’s cheek. His long, pink tongue slithers out from between plush, painted lips to lick it up. The remaining guard stands still as stone at his post, unreadable gaze fixed straight ahead.

“I would have just brought you with me had I known the employees were so eager to shake down unsuspecting customers.” Vere says with a put-out sigh, before turning to the remaining guard.

“Tell me,” Vere leers into the poor man’s personal space, sharp teeth flashing. “How many times has he tried that on other people? How many times have you just stood there and watched?” His voice dipped from sanguine sweet into a low, gravely snarl—a noise no mortal would be able to make. The guard, much to his credit, does not stammer or wither away or begin to beg for his life.

“This is the first time we’ve been posted together—” he begins, but Vere steps away with another, dismissive scoff.

“Booooring,” he says. He glances at you, motioning you forward. “Stop gawping and come on. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Not eager to test his already dwindled patience, you hastily bounce up the steps. Perhaps, if you were younger and braver and stupider, you would have been embarrassed at how readily you scrambled after him.

“Sorry for the trouble,” you apologize, because he’s still in a shitty mood and your blood is not hot enough to make you forget the ease with which he can dispatch a man.

“And what, my little morsel, are you apologizing for?” Vere’s eyes crinkle with teasing mirth, the tip of a fang prodding his lower lip. How many have stared down that maw just before being swallowed whole? Countless, surely. “You don’t have to grovel—but feel free to. It’s almost cute.” All wrath and rancor is left forgotten as he turns on his heel. The sheer fabric of his sleeves sways with the motion, glistening underneath the sun’s dying rays. Like a hound commanded, you are at his heels, head lowered. You can’t even look at the remaining guard, but Vere has no such trouble.

“Keep up the good work,” he says, a sneer in his voice. Will the man have to haul his coworker from the water with his own two hands? Or do they have people for that?

“Are you going to get in trouble?” you inquire, stepping through the threshold.

“Me? Get in trouble? Perish the thought,” “No one’s going to miss a single guard—not even the madame. Especially not one that acts like that. All of his coworkers probably hated him, anyway. We did them a favor.” he rattles on. He leads you past the entry point, to the second floor. You spare a glance down the rounded corridor. An overpowering flowery scent blows in your direction, making your nose crinkle. Translucent, pearly curtains, more like veils, flutter from rounded doorways. There are sounds, too, giggles and breathy moans, which makes your ears burn hot, despite already knowing this venue’s many, many purposes.

“Hurry up,” Vere scolds over his shoulder, and you don’t need to be told twice, hastening your strides. “Like I was saying—no one cares if a random guard or two goes missing. That’s why they all wear the same thing.”

“The sages who come here to get their dicks wet are the only reason this place hasn’t been demolished yet. They could commit murder in broad daylight and management wouldn’t say a word.” He rattles on, deeply sardonic. The kind of bitterness that could only come from someone with long-lived experience. There’s a graveyard’s worth of skeletons in the Senobium’s closet. You wonder how many he is responsible for.

“A murder in broad daylight.” you repeat dryly.

“Broad daylight. Not sunset,” Vere points out helpfully. “The Senobium can do whatever they want, wherever they want, to whoever they want. This place isn’t any different from the rest of the city, even if the window dressing is nice. And as an esteemed asset to the Senobium, their authority naturally extends to me… And even if it didn’t, what could they possibly do?”

The conversation moves. Vere leads you up flight after flight of stairs, until you stop bothering to keep track. You’ve already leaped into the lion’s mouth. There’s no point in counting your steps or turns. Did he have to climb down all this way just to meet you at the doors? Suddenly, you find his ire more comprehensible. Your legs feel leaden by the time he leads you from the stairs, through an arched doorway. A current of air, thick with magic, ripples over you as you pass. A warding spell, you realize a moment later. Only select people can enter this chamber.

The chamber itself is massive, a circular room with a glass skylight, the soft shine of the stars flooding the room. The moon’s pale face peers down through the glass, shining off the marble floors. A circular bed sits on a platform up against the wall. The rest of the furniture is just as fine, all carved wood and black velvet. A bottle of… something sits atop an elm table at the room's center. It’s rounded with a suspiciously tall neck. Vere snatches it up, pours it into two crystalline glasses which sit next to said bottle. It’s a pearlescent, amethyst fluid. Curls of white and silver churn amongst the pale purple, the liquid covered in a glittery sheen.

“Here,” he holds out a glass. The fraction of a second you spend hesitating makes him roll his eyes and scoff. “What reason would I have to poison my new and incredibly useful little friend? Don’t be stupid.”

You take the glass begrudgingly, because you’ve seen what his displeasure looks like. The body crumpled in the fountain sticks at the forefront of your memory. It could have been you. It still could be. He knocks back the whole glass, swallowing its glittery contents in one, smooth go. You watch the rhythmic bob of his throat, the elegant line of his neck pulsing with each swallow.

“Happy now?” he drawls, frosted with forced sugar, like he’s talking a child into taking their medicine. The condescension is grating, but you fend the feeling off. You’ll earn more flies with honey than with vinegar.

Yet, you have to wonder, how would he eat you if he grew bored, or decided this arrangement isn’t worth the trouble? Would he swallow you whole, or sever you into smaller cuts, morsels to dip in honey and savor over time? What are you in your most consumable form?

You tilt your head back and drink deep of the draught. Thicker than water, not as viscous as you feared, or cloying like syrup. Sweet in a way that somehow makes your eyes water. It coats and clings to your tongue. You blink the tears out of your eyes. Vere laughs. You’re glad he finds it funny.

“Delicious,” you deadpan, licking furiously at the roof of your mouth in hopes of scrubbing the taste. You’re quietly glad for something else to focus on, because you feel hopelessly out of place amongst the soft silks

When you turn to look at him, he’s lounged atop the elevated mattress, sheer silk parting to give you an unobstructed view of his stomach and chest—all lithe muscle framed by the silvery chains which drape from his collar. You take care not to let your gaze wander, no matter how tempting. The long lines of his legs are just in your periphery, one bent and folded atop a thick, bunched thigh. His chin is propped in the palm of his hand, roguish smirk curled onto fittingly fox-like features. He’s looking at you, eyes two pinpricks of luminescent pink. Unnatural in their vividity, their glow.

You look down at your feet, at the floor, at the table. Anywhere but into those prying eyes. “What?”

“You look so lost, poor thing.” Vere coos. “Come,” you take a single step towards him. “Oh! But be a dear and bring another glass with you.

And so you do. Unfaltering and unquestioning. Hopefully, if you’re compliant enough, you can finally get some answers to your burning queries. It all ends with you flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. He’s still on his side, only a few centimeters away. It doesn’t bother you as much as you thought it would.

“Why did you call me here?” you stare up at the myriad stars, an endless trail of them emblazoned across the dark, dark sky. If there ever was proof of a god, it’s hanging right above your heads.

“Do you really have to ask? I went through the trouble of inviting you and getting you inside just so we could be alone,” he purrs, an insinuation in his voice. One of his hands splays over your hip, fingers curling possessively into the thick fabric of your trousers. You squint at him, flat and unimpressed, ignoring the gnawing unease which eats at you. It’s been a constant, enduring feeling, crushing at the sides of your wearied brain since you entered this city. Yet, Vere brings it front and center, alongside a heady heat you don’t care to examine too closely. You school your expression into one of near perfect neutrality, ignoring the weight of his hand until he breaks, rolling his eyes as he rolls onto his back. Long waves of russet fan around his head like a lion’s mane, feathery tips of several strands teasing your upper arm.

“Because I wanted to get you drunk and pick your brain.” Vere replies, almost boredly.

“Hm. If you have questions, you can just ask.”

“You play your cards close too close to your chest for me to just up and ask you.” he says dryly. “Remember your first night here? You cowered when I so much as looked you in the eyes. Thought you were going to piss yourself.”

You frown. “Not true. Keep in mind that you stole from, grabbed and threatened me only hours before.”

“Didn’t stop you from following me into a dark alley after,” Vere chimes, the corners of his smile a little tight, a little too smug for your liking.

“Because you were the only honest person in the room. I knew you wouldn’t give me any bullshit.” you reasoned.

“And is that all it takes? You’re a cheap date, darling,” Vere purrs. You open our mouth to once again protest, but he continues. “You have a shitty sense of self-preservation, which means I’ll have to keep a close eye on you. Be good and listen to everything I say from now on, if you want to stay out of trouble.”

The encroaching haze blankets the edge of your good sense and sharp wit, yet another reason as to why you seldom imbibe. Even so, you only had one drink. Whatever he bullied you into drinking was no joke.

“Did you invite me here just to bully me?” you mumbled, on the edge of a complaint. Your foundations are fracturing. You observe the destruction of your carefully crafted countenance as though you are a distant spectator. Your oak spillars splinter, cracks spider-webbing up your brick walls. You’re left to flounder about in the debris, but it’s not as alarming as you assumed it would be. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but you can’t bring yourself to reach that fever pitch of fear.

“Oh,. please. I haven’t even started bullying you yet,” Vere clicks his tongue, chiding.

“Well. You’ve already tried to shake me down with my own roomkey. That’s kind of like… stealing my lunch money… I should have tattled to Leander.”

“Ew, no. That slime doesn’t deserve any more excuses to talk to me,” Vere reaches over to his nightstand and gulps down another dose of amethyst bliss, arching his back and raising his arms above his head in one, serpentine stretch. “We have to move you out of that shithole as soon as possible. I don’t trust that freak.”

“Me neither,” you muse, realizing it aloud, in that very moment. “Who gives out free food and board to someone they just met like that? He said I didn’t owe him anything, but—”

“He could take that back at any time. And what could you do about it?” Vere finishes for you, looking at you with an unreadable expression, pink eyes calm and flat. “Tell him ‘no’? On his turf? Full of his drooling goons? They practically run that part of the city. He could find you no matter where you hide or who you pretend to be.” Vere murmurs. You tilt your head to look at him. You glance down at his lips and swallow. That gets him to smile, smug and mischievous. No more of that monotone dread, that sense of being evaluated, the feeling of being sized up like a meal.

“Why are you helping me?” Vere asks after a long moment of silence. You blink at him. “I was surprised when you decided to take me up on my offer.”

“You said you can get rid of my curse,” you regard him carefully, ruminating over each word. Or maybe it’s the substance. Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, thoughts slow and sticky like summer haze.

“Bullshit. You wanted nothing to do with me even after I made that offer, and I have no doubt that slobbering beast Leander made you a similar one. Did he promise?” Vere’s voice dips into something sugary sweet and mocking, a mean edge to his smile now. “Did he hold your hand, look right into your eyes when he said it? Was he on his knees? That’s one of his favorite places to be. Really, it’s the only place he’s of any use.” Vere pries and rattles on. The small space between you feels cold, all of the sudden. Still, you are not sobered. “Why not cozy up to him? Or that fucking doctor, because I just know he offered.” His tail comes to lay over your thigh. You look at it through hardly open eyes.

Something seizes the underside of your jaw. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Vere’s hand. His nails bite into your cheek as he forces your attention upwards, into the dark maw of his gaze. Your hands, which have flown to his wrist on sheer instinct, freeze.

“I don’t know,” you begin, words falling out of your mouth in a current, previous caution utterly forgotten in the face of animal fear. “You’re dangerous—but you’re honest—and I don’t know why you were locked up or what’ll happen when you get free, but I also don’t really care.”

“You don’t care?” Vere inquires, lips curling into another smile. He looks relentlessly amused. “What if I told you… that I plan to eat every man, woman and child I see after I get out? I’ve been hungry for that kind of flesh since before you ever dreamed of coming to Eridia. Eating off the same menu for centuries will do that to you. And they won’t stand a prayer, you know. Do you really not care?”

“I probably should, but I think… I realized I can’t worry about everyone, especially people I don’t know. I’m not Leander. I’m not delusional enough to think I can save everyone.” Your pulse rings slow in your ears. It’s grounding, somehow.

Vere releases you, the tight warmth of his hand gone with him. If you were sober, perhaps you would be mortified at how much you miss it.

“You can’t play nanny to every poor sod that comes crawling up to you on the street.” Vere observes airily. “I suppose that’s a start.”

“Gee,” you say.

“Oh, please. Don’t pout,” he tuts, tapping you on the nose. He’s closer now, pressed right up against your side. “Human morality is the first hurdle to realizing our goals.” he drawls, lifting himself over you as he continues. His knees dip into the mattress on either side of your hips, eyes go bright through the lavender haze which permeates the room. “You’ve mounted it with flying colors. Now, do I need to throw in a little extra something to get you to stop moping? I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, but you’ve been such a good—”

He rattles on, voice falling to the wayside as his plump lips run absentmindedly along your jaw. Your world becomes that single, molten point of contact. Your head tilts to the side, eyelids dipping low as he whispers his filth into your skin. Little pinpricks of pleasure wind straight down your spine, throbbing pleasure building between your thighs.

The tips of his hair tickle your exposed skin, where your shirt has ridden up to expose a sliver of stomach. Belly-up, you realize idly, close enough for him to dig straight into your soft center.

“Surmounted,” you mumble groggily.

“Pardon?” Vere asks, looking up at you with one eye. His face is half-pressed into the column of your throat. A fang peeks out from between his lips. There’s a pleasant numbness settled at the back of your skull, a silvery sense of weightlessness. Whatever you were worried about before has been washed away by that dreamy lavender, that pearlescent hue which even now veils your vision.

“Before—you said I mounted it. But you, uhm, meant to say. Surmounted.”

Vere reaches out and pinches your cheek. “You have me in your lap and that’s what you’re thinking about?” He settles atop of you, chest-to-chest, one cheek gracefully perched atop his palm. “I don’t know if I should be offended or worried. That brain of yours isn’t smoothing out, is it? Your skull isn’t getting soft?”

“I’m drunk,” you remind him, still coherent enough to try and inch away from his hand, nose wrinkling. You stretch your neck until the muscles creak in protest, smooshing the back of your head into the pillow.

His finger freezes a centimeter above you, and he laughs. “You are, aren't you? Forgot about all that.”

“You’re the one who made me drink,” you grumble.

“Ah, ah, ah, I didn’t make you do anything. I simply offered my honored guest a refreshing beverage, like any half-decent host would,” Vere tuts. “Trying to blame my good manners for your sloppiness? You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I’m not really cute,” you hum, reaching over to gently toy with his hair.

“Don’t be dense,” Vere coos, pressing his finger against the tip of your nose. Your eyes cross to look at it. He snorts, privy to some sort of irony beyond your current ken. His hair gleams like… rubies under the watery light. It’s soft as it looks, silken and smooth where it washes over the sheets in tides of russet.

He sighs, “I could swallow you whole here and now and you couldn’t do a single thing to stop me.” he says, wistful.

“I know, but I would taste like—like that weird nut stuff the Wick makes.”

“Nut stuff? Now you’ve caught my attention,” he purrs in a way that even drunk, you know spells trouble.

“I don’t mean anything—dirty. Y’know, the stuff they put on the counter. It tastes bad,” you stammer. You blink several times in succession, as though it’ll make your thoughts less syrupy. The world still blurs at the edges of your vision. You’re thinking through a layer of cotton.

“Of course it tastes bad, it’s free,” Vere retorts. “Nothing worth anything comes for free. Not in this shithole.” You hum in consideration. His bushy tail is still behind him, rested off to the side, next to your thigh. You don’t dare touch it, even though you’ve already touched his hair.

He radiates warmth, and you find yourself lulled by it in combination with the downy soft mattress at your back. You make a small sound, nestling closer to the heat, to the craven beast with nary a peep of protest. Perhaps being devoured is a far better fate than you initially thought. Because it’ll at least be warm inside. Warm like the breath which fans over your cheek.

“Got to come here for free,” you mumble in the last throes of consciousness. There’s a pause.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” he says, voice dripping with fond condescension. He says something else, and something else. Vere, you get the sense, sometimes talks more for himself than he does for others. But you can’t say you mind, because you say so little. And what a wonderful ability, to be able to spin such incredible weaves of conversation out of thin air. Not that you’ll ever tell him as much.

Soft lips press to the space above your brow. In the dark, a small voice whispers. “You’ll pay your dues later.”

---

Run, the fawn within you, weak and knobby-kneed, beseeches. Its cries go unheeded.

#oz write #vere #vere/reader #touchstarved/reader #touchstarved game

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leanderfields · 1 year ago

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SYNOPSIS: No song lasts forever. Not even a sparrow’s.

C/W: Ais x gn!reader, reader is MC with the curse and all, angst/tragedy- it’s fluffy until it’s not, a few innuendos if you squint, Leander makes an appearance, so does Princess and Vere, spoilers for the red choice in Ais’s demo route, mentions of blood, mild depictions of violence (more like the aftermath; I personally think it’s minor but just in case), written before the full game has been released so some creative liberties were taken when writing about Hightown and the Amaryllis District, more or less my rendition of an early bad ending for Ais, largely inspired by Enna Alouette's Wish of this Songbird

A/N: When you blog is Leander themed, but your first official post is about Ais and it's angst... haha whoops ─=≡Σᕕ(σ‿‿σ)ᕗ

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip.

Ais took yet another drag on his cigarette, exhaling with an indolent puff of smoke. This one looks like Princess, he thought. The Soulless let out a reverberating purr on his lap.

“You think so too, huh?” he grinned, scratching the top of her head. The other hand crushed the butt of the cigarette beneath his heel. That was enough of playing with smoke for now. Any more then he would have to make a trip to Lowtown before the sun sets. Bars weren’t fun during the day, but the streets were livelier according to a certain mage. The idea of running into familiar faces while taking a leisurely stroll didn’t seem that bad either.

Ais drove the cigarette butt deeper into his heel. Well, it’s not like he could leave right now.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Pant. Pant.

Princess sprung off his lap, wooden panels creaking as she bounced towards the Seaspring’s entrance. Her tail swayed back and forth and her tendrils followed in suit. Ais reached for an extra floor pillow. Must be someone she liked.

“Ais! Are you home?” a cheery voice chirped between Princess’s purrs.

The demon smirked, hoisting himself up the rafters. He shifted into a comfortable position and propped his head onto the back of his hand. The beams rasped under his weight. His crimson eyes flickered to his Soulless pet who was quick to follow his trail, leading a cloaked figure to a tea set in between two hastily arranged floor pillows.

“Ais! I know you’re home!”

Princess gave him an eager stare. He put a finger to his lips and tossed the Soulless a treat from up above, one she happily scarfed down.

“Ai–”

“You should try looking up more, sparrow.”

“Well, hosts usually don’t greet guests from up above,” you said, pulling your hood down to meet his gaze, revealing bright eyes full of wonder and hope. Eyes that bored into his blood-red, piercing orbs. Ais saw them one too many times before they were engulfed by the same crimson that colored these eerily still waters.

“Who said you’re my guest?”

“If I recall, your exact words were ‘you know where to find me.’” You crossed your arms.

Ais sighed and jumped off the rickety rafter. The wood creaked beneath his feet and the waters rippled across the spring as he towered over you. His lips were on the verge of smiling.

“Still not my guest though.”

“Even if I made a decision?”

“Even if you made a decision,” he flashed his fangs at you with a grin. You rolled your eyes and took a seat on one of the floor pillows. Princess trotted over to your side. Her tail continued to wag while you hummed a sweet song, pouring tea into two cups. Someone’s in a good mood. You were fairly relaxed despite dubbing the Seaspring as “the creepiest place in the world”.

“So what’s your verdict?” he asked.

“The tea is oversteeped,” you quipped, handing him a cup.

“That’s no way to treat a host,” Ais said, taking a generous sip of the moderately oversteeped tea.

“I thought I wasn’t a guest?”

Ais glanced at his cup, the floor pillows and the Soulless who seemed to enjoy your company more than his. He crouched down, meeting you at eye level. You flinched the moment his fingers made contact with your forehead. “You also thought I was a host.”

“Resorting to violence, already?” you giggled, rubbing your forehead. It differed from the crude laugh you let out when he told you about Ocudeus. This laugh was an endearing sing-songed melody that filled the empty spring with the same wonder and hope in your eyes. Ais’s own eyes lingered on the distinctly pink area of your skin.

“Answer the question, sparrow.”

Your laughter halted. The mirth fell from your face as quickly as it came. You coughed and cleared your throat, “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night.”

“Said a lot of things last night,” Ais said dryly. He made three bad impressions during your first encounter. Many things had gone awry last night at the Wet Wick. Would that be the fourth or fifth bad impression he’s made since meeting you? It was an average bar brawl for him, but not for a newcomer as soft as you were. He flexed his bandaged hand. Well, maybe you weren’t that soft.

“The thing you said about my curse… ‘Is the thought of living with it so unbearable?’”

“What about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about the things you said after that,” you paused to glance at him, but your eyes were quick to retreat back to your twiddled thumbs, “I’ve survived this far with it… but I don’t want others to suffer because of my curse.”

Ais’s lips morph into a visible frown, “So you want to take a drink.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Implied it.”

“I… want to find alternatives. Vere agreed to introduce me to some people from the Senobium.”

His frown deepened. You were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for all the wrong reasons. Though he can’t say that he isn’t fond of your chirpier side. The people of Eridia were typically solemn, apprehensive or the occasional thorn in the flesh.

“The Senobium’s bad news,” he muttered. Ais’s crimson orbs glowered at the mention of the academy. You shrunk at the face of his deadly glare. “Seriously, sparrow.”

“It’s a little better than losing a bit of this,” you tapped the side of your temple, a gibe at the same gesture he used to explain the price of drinking from the spring.

“You’d be losing far more.”

“At least I won’t lose my shitty attitude.”.

You were always the one to roll your eyes— always annoyed, and short-tempered, but it was Ais’s turn to roll his eyes now. “You want to keep that of all things?”

“Yes, some people happen to like it,” you beamed, jabbing a finger at his side. Your touch was as light as a feather.

“I’m the only person who said that.”

“Verbally, yes, but I think others might like me too.”

“Oh? Like who?”

“Leander.”

A deep chuckle escaped Ais’s lips. He threw his head back with a rumble, his horns scraping against one of the wooden beams. The spring water swelled beneath him and his tea had run cold. Princess snorted as well.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, tilting your head.

“He’s friendly with everyone. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“It’s not getting to my head.”

Ais hummed nonchalantly, pouring himself a bit more tea. The contents of the teapot had also run cold, but the demon continued to drain every last drop of the murky liquid into his cup.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He raised his cup, “Sorry. Did you want some?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I should be going now.”

“So soon?”

Words ran out of his mouth before he could catch them, but you put your hand up, a futile attempt to stop them dead in their tracks. “I just wanted to let you know about my decision. I’d rather not keep you.”

And yet they kept running.

“Not like I got many things to do here,” Ais shrugged.

“I’ve got many things to do in Lowtown.”

Ais grunted and pushed himself off the ground. He smoothed his hands over his trousers, brushing off invisible crumbs. Then, he offered you a hand.

“We’ll walk you back.”

You checked your bandages before taking his hand. He squeezed your hand before pulling you up to your feet. You return the gesture, squeezing his own bandaged hand. The demon firmly squeezed your hand once again, as if he wanted the last laugh. Ais then turned his attention to Princess and whistled. At the signal, the Soulless rose to all fours. Her tendrils unfurled and coiled around his forearm as she trotted over to his side.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he cooed.

While Princess purred and her tail wagged rapidly, bewilderment washed over your face. You never heard Ais engage in baby talk. Few people have, but their expressions were always the same. A big, bad monster coddling another big, bad monster? How strange. How absurd!

“Oh, yes you do! Yes, you do!”

You burst into a fit of laughter again. Princess cocked her head, looking up at her owner for an answer. Ais shook his head and scratched her chin.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped between your giggles, “It’s just– ha– so silly!”

“Take your time, sparrow.”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m done now.” you said, wiping a single tear from the corner of your eye. Ais smirked. Sparrow sure was a fitting name for you– who always twittered in short, abrupt bursts.

“After you.”

He pulled you towards him with a languid tug of his arm. His large hands stiffly held yours as he guided you towards the Seaspring’s entrance. The warmth of his hands seeped through your bandages. Princess trailed behind you, prancing along the wooden panels. You stared into the crimson water, the rafters, the talismans on the wooden frames– things that haven’t changed since your last visit to the spring or perhaps for a long, long time. The water formed small waves unnaturally and other Soulless creatures held your stare with a watchful, famished gazes. Shuddering, you turned your attention back to Ais.

Sunlight traced the edges of the entrance and as you neared the opening, the soft yellow rays kissed Ais’s sharp features, highlighting his jaw, nose and horns. He squinted in the harsh lighting, bringing his other hand to shield his eyes. You drew the hood of your cloak up. Princess dashed past your reluctant figures and leaped straight into the sun’s embrace. She let out a bark that sounded like a meow and, much to Ais’s dismay, stomped her legs in the bog’s muddy waters, urging the both of you to continue walking.

“You heard the boss,” he pointed.

You nodded and followed Princess. She was several meters ahead. Still in sight, but far enough to not eavesdrop. Not that Soulless creatures could listen in on conversations. Even if they could, there would be nothing to note. No words were exchanged between you and Ais. Your hands were still intertwined. Ais stole glances at you while you were engrossed in the horizon where Eridia stood proud and tall. At this angle, it looked like the sun was balancing on top of the city’s highest point– the Senobium’s spire. His eyes narrowed. He could hardly understand why anyone wanted to go to such a gloomy place.

“Will you be at the Wet Wick tonight?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ais clicked his tongue and averted his eyes to the side, “Depends.”

“Depends?”

“Might be there. Might not.”

“I see,” you smiled. Your eyes fixed themselves on the horizon and you both trudged across the mucky terrain in a stalemate of sounds. If the Soulless couldn’t find anything to note, perhaps crickets would.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Ais pressed his lips together as the bartender poured his umpteenth glass of whiskey. He sighed. Ais had only known you for two days, but there was something about your response earlier that lacked the usual bite and spite you had. The hell did you mean by “I see”? Were you finally at ease with his presence? Were you simply relieved that he wasn’t going to be there tonight? Another bad impression? He shook his head. It didn’t matter what you thought of him. At the very least, you weren’t pissing yourself at the sight of him.

“Something on your mind?” Leander’s peart voice chimed in. He patted Ais on the back with a firm smack before he slung an arm around his broad shoulders. The demon glanced at him, raising a brow. He had one of those chewy shots in his hands again. Ais licked his fangs.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Leander put his hands up defensively, “I’m not trying to pry! You just… seem a bit glum over here… in the corner.” His voice trailed off at the latter half.

“No one to pick a fight with.”

“Well, there’s always some friendly arm wrestling matches here. Or maybe some tabletop card games?”

“You just don’t want to pay for everyone’s drinks again.”

“I could pay for your next one,” he offered.

Leander caught the glass in his hand when the bartender slid it over. He nodded at her and she seemed to have gotten the memo. Shouts erupted from the Bloodhounds by the door. Someone had scored in whatever game they were playing. The mage’s emerald eyes darted to his companions then back to Ais.

“Duty calls.”

After another pat on Ais’s back, Leander was gone as quickly as he came. He jumped onto a table in the center, chanted something, raising his chewy shot glass and the crowd joined him. Claps, stomps, and hollers. Looks like he’s paying for everyone’s drinks again after all. Ais raised his glass a beat later than the Bloodhounds. He didn’t clap, stomp or holler, but the occasion was something worth celebrating. Free whiskey was better than cheap booze.

Ice clinked as he set his glass down and wood creaked. Weird. He was familiar with the sound of wood crepitating, but that sound was reserved for the rafters in the Seaspring. The Wet Wick was home to the sound of wood breaking. If wood were to creak here, the only source would be that dilapidated door. Not from the roof.

Ais leaned back against the bar counter and turned his head upward, to the sound of creaking wood. And there you were– standing on the stair landing, leaning against the railing. He tipped his head further back. You craned your neck, bringing your face closer to his, albeit at an awkward perpendicular angle. You smiled like you had struck gold. Your hair tickled his cheeks. He never paid any mind to the Wet Wick’s second floor, but he made a note to remember it now. The stairwell was also dilapidated.

“Evening, sparrow.”

“I take it you were in the mood to come?”

“Drinks were on Leander.”

“I see.”

There it was again. That damned “I see”. What the hell did you see? His eyes flickered over to your figure which was no longer cloaked. Your hair was disheveled, hands still covered like a maiden, and a yawn gracing your features as you approached the bar stool beside him. He saw something, alright.

“Sleep well?”

“Like a corpse.”

“That tired, huh?”

“I had a lot of errands to run today.”

You lunged forward and reached for a beer stein, a pitcher of water and a bottle of fruit wine behind the counter and poured yourself a helping amount of each into the mug. The barmaid paid no mind to you or your bizarre concoction. She continued polishing glasses as if you were a trick of the light. She must’ve seen combinations far more peculiar than diluted wine in a mug.

Ais swirled his whiskey, “Got a side hustle, already?”

“I guess you could say that. I’ve been taking some odd jobs. Information is worth its weight in gold here and I need information more than anything. Of course… you’d already know that,” you said, placing your hand onto your cheek.

“Hard not to know when you keep pestering me for some.”

“Not anymore! You can keep your spring secrets.”

“There were no secrets. Told you everything you needed to know.”

“Yeah, in the vaguest way possible,” you deadpanned.

“Did you not learn anything at all here?”

“Excuse me?”

There was the bite and spite you had. He was starting to miss it. He worried you’d pick up some of the insipid Hightown mannerisms, but it was for naught. You were still the spitfire. Ais smirked, “You just said information was worth its weight in gold. I know none of your secrets yet you keep asking for mine.”

You frowned at a loss for words. He was right. Though, you didn’t have anything to share that was worth even a sliver of copper. Nothing interesting. Nothing groundbreaking. Nothing that would turn a few heads. Save for your curse, but Ais figured that your curse laid in your molten hands from just a glimpse so that was off the table.

“What would you like to know?” you asked, silently resigned.

“Nothing.”

“Then why did you make a big fuss about secrets?”

Ais’s smile reached his ears. Your voice was nearing a shout. A rosy tint crept up your cheeks. The bar was dull in terms of entertainment on the weekdays– no roughnecks or angry sleazers– but seeing you worked up was a sight for sore eyes.

“You called the kettle black. Kettle’s gotta retaliate.”

“What if I want to know more about the kettle?”

“Thought you were done with the spring.”

“I am, but I want to know more about you.”

Your smile matched his, reaching ear to ear or higher if Ais’s eyes didn’t deceive him. The demon hummed, fiddling with his silver pendant that dangled by his sternum. He was feigning deliberation, but you leaned in on his sea-glass colored bicep, humming along. A sweet harmony to contrast his timbre, ushering him to a conclusion.

“Shoot,” Ais grinned.

“Why don’t you live in the city?” You pushed yourself off his arm. Your curious eyes leveled with his.

“Don’t think people here like my pets much.”

The Bloodhounds seemingly roared in affirmation. Another point scored in their vapid game. Timing was great. Ais swirled his whiskey again. Its amber color mellowed out to a muted brownish-yellow. The ice had melted.

“You live out there for your pets? Isn’t it lonely?”

“My pets are good company and… I go out at night.”

“If you feel like it.”

“Especially if I feel like it.”

“So it’s not that lonely out there?”

“Being alone and being lonely are two different things, sparrow.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Is that what you think?.”

“So yes?” you tried again.

He shook his head. You opened your mouth and formed a slight “O” shape before closing it. Ais propped his head onto his knuckles and continued, “Can’t be alone or lonely with my pets and my friend.” He tapped his temple. You rolled your eyes.

“Your friend talks?”

“‘Course they do.”

He let your snickers slip past his sharp ears. You still thought he had a screw loose up there despite him being dead serious. You, on the other hand, were dying from disbelief and laughter, but it didn’t matter if you believed him or not. If he showed you, you’d be as aimless as the Soulless or worse– pronounced as dead. Fortunately for you, he reserved Ocudeus for special once-in-a blue-moon occasions and tonight was a new moon… so he’ll play along with you. Yeah, he’s got an imaginary friend. They hit up the bar every other night and have a grand old time. The sea-glass ink that snaked around his arm was a matching tattoo with a drinking buddy whose name had long been forgotten.

“What about you? Curse aside, why are you in Eridia?” Ais asked once your hysterics simmered down.

“I’m only here because of my curse,” you replied coolly.

“Going home after you’re cured?”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Ais’s eyes never left you– like a vulture waiting on your last breath. Looks like he hit the nail on the head. Not that it was hard to miss. You were easy to read. If his heart was on his sleeve, yours was on a platter.

“I guess not.”

“No family?”

“Something like that.”

“So you’re a runaway,” he reckoned.

Your eyes fell to the table and then to Ais’s metal-clad fingers which were drumming on the wooden surface.

“Got it wrong?”

“No, I mean, you were spot on. Intuition’s good.”

“Thanks. Got it from my friend.”

“Pft– does your friend know anything else about me?”

“You’re good company,” Ais said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Bites and barks the same amount. Terrible taste in drinks, but you hold a decent conversation so… that makes up for it.”

“I’ll have you know that my tas– hic!”

Your hands were quick to clamp over your mouth. Muffled “hics” periodically bypassed your bandaged fingers despite your vain efforts. Beside you, Ais was doing his darndest to maintain a neutral expression. His lips were pressed together tightly as if all of his teeth would fall out if he were to open his mouth.

Hic. Hic. Hic.

Ais had failed. A snort filled your ears. You shot him the deadliest glare you could muster, but it had no effect on him. His smirk was as smug as always. He locked eyes with you, taking your cup and filling it with water from a nearby pitcher. Maybe with a little too much water. The contents sloshed around the rim and splashed onto the table once he set it down.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He gestured at the mug, “Need to be fed too?”

Your lips curved upward beneath your hands, shaking your head “no”. Ais motioned at the cup once again. This time, you obliged. You lowered your bandaged fingers and wrapped them around the mug. Excess water leaked into the gauze as you gulped down half the pint in hopes of quelling your antsy diaphragm.

“You a lightweight?”

“Didn’t drink much back home.” You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. The hiccups seemed to have subsided. You exhaled in relief and hoped that your embarrassment hadn’t traveled too far up your cheeks.

“No one to drink with?”

“More like… I didn’t go out much.”

“Good thing you’re free as a bird now.”

You smiled, “Yeah, I can go anywhere I want.”

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Ais pinched the bridge of his nose as the gutter above his head pelted him with cold droplets of water. Stormy clouds invited themselves to Eridia over the course of the night, but they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to rain or not. They sprinkled a bit of rain here and some there, but showers never lasted more than five minutes. Even a man past his prime could last longer than these “storms”. The demon sidestepped the gutter and set his foot straight into a puddle. He scowled.

A little water didn’t hurt Ais. In fact, he liked the rain… just not when he was cradling a flimsy paper bag filled with gourmet dog biscuits. He would rather have shrimp cocktails for breakfast, lunch, and dinner than to make another trip to Hightown and talk to that snobby baker again.

…Maybe that was a stretch. His Soulless pets deserved the best and Ais would rather bite his own tongue than let seafood get anywhere near his mouth. One shrimp cocktail was enough for a lifetime. Dealings with an elitist dragged on for only a few minutes. Seconds if Ais skipped their hoity-toity pleasantries and opted to use his fists instead– a thought he entertained from time to time after one too many “please” and “thank you's”. It was more or less an intrusive thought, a controlled impulse. Ais was more than happy to wipe the disdain off that baker’s face with a solid punch, but then Princess wouldn’t have any fancy treats for when she was on her best behavior. He clicked his tongue. For her, he would be on his best behavior too.

The sun peaked out from the ashen clouds, shining a bit of light onto Ais’s path as if the sky was seeking penance for ruining his early morning shopping trip. He turned his head. He stared too long again. Even if shrouded by clouds, the sun was always there. Nothing special. His hurried steps padded the cobblestone road with a steady rhythm. His back faced the pearly bridge that connected Hightown to Lowtown. Ais adjusted the bag in his arms as he made his way through the maze of flood-eroded buildings.

Highborn nobles would be appalled at the sight of Lowtown, but this was Ais’s turf. No pleasantries. People here were blunt enough to let the money talk. Business was business. No “please” or “thank you’s”. You only needed to pay. If you didn’t want to pay, you exchanged information or goods. A brawl also doubled as a negotiation. A shame folks here were scared shitless of the Soulless.

Hu. Tu. Du, du, du, du.

Ais stopped. His crimson eyes casted their gaze to an alleyway that bisected the deserted Lowtown street that led to the spring and the lively Amaryllis District. He spun his heel and looked up at the gilded buildings of Hightown then back to the alleyway. A detour wouldn’t hurt. The Amaryllis District was closer to the bog than that bakery was. Besides, he hadn’t been there in a while. A change of pace was much needed.The walk home would be less lonely too. The district never slept.

La, du, du, du, du.

This tune…

The Seaspring was home to a few, repetitive sounds: The blood-red waters dripping and rippling from seepage, the purrs and growls of the Soulless and hushed whispers. When one ventured out to the Wet Wick, they, too, heard a few, repetitive sounds: alcohol being poured and measuredly sipped, the shouts and hollers of those who had one too many drinks, and faint murmurs.

There was not much of a difference in terms of sound between the spring and the city (save for Hightown’s polite contempt for commotion and the entertainment district’s hustle and bustle) but Ais knew a sparrow’s song when he heard one. He was sure of it– not that he was a musical prodigy or any sort. The song was unfamiliar, but he knew the sound of your voice. He never took you for a singer, but he also didn’t take you for a lightweight. He bet you never took him for the type to spoil his pets rotten either.

He smirked as he squeezed himself through the narrow passage.

A flurry of colors greeted him at the end of the tunnel like a gust of wind. Cerulean and coral lanterns strung themselves from building to building. Booths lined the street with an array of pastel tents. The avenue was nothing short of paintings, artisan goods, hand-crafted trinkets and gadgets. Street food vendors were also up and running, undeterred by the untimely hour. The elephant in the room was a large shell-pink tent sat in the middle of the plaza. People flocked and filed themselves around a ticket booth. The sign by the entrance read something along the lines of “troupe”. The fuss rushed past Ais, failing to rope him in.

His main attraction was a lone stall several paces to his right. The stand was further from its competitors, but it was as busy as any other booth in the district. Tables and benches lined its perimeter. Most of them were occupied. Some had wax candles and pressed flowers while others had glass and frayed paint brushes. Ais scanned the area and smiled, eyes landing on a bench in the corner. It was you, alright. The tune you were humming increased in volume as he tip-toed towards your table. Your back was facing him, immersed in your art project. Your hood was drawn up as well, but he caught sight of your bandages. You were trying to be discreet, but you stood out like a sore thumb to him. The Amaryllis District was vivacious and colorful. Even the air smelled colorful. You, on the other hand, were as ominous as a disciple of death– black cloak, half of your features shrouded by a cowl, and hands wrapped in gauze. And you had the gall to call the Seaspring creepy? The superstitious folks would’ve believed you if you came knocking on their door one day and told them their time was up.

But as luck would have it, Ais never bought into that sort of bullshit. And you were scary as a rabbit. Mischief spread across his face.

He pulled your hood down, earning a squeaky yelp from you. His hand was quick to clamp over your mouth, but nevertheless, a couple of heads turned– including yours.

“Easy. It’s just me.”

You nodded and pulled your hood back up with a huff. He removed his hand from your mouth, barely dodging the daggers you glared at him. He grinned.

“Top o’ the morning to you too, sparrow.”

You cocked your head. Ais put a hand behind his neck and cleared his throat. His gaze averted yours.

“Learned something last week. Means good morning.”

“Couldn’t you just say ‘good morning’?” you muttered.

“Gets boring.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to the glass bottle in your hand. It was short and stout, snuggly fit into your palm. He peered over your shoulder and caught a glimpse of a trio of birds flying over an ocean that was a work in progress. He frowned, realizing your little work song had ceased. He set his dog biscuits by your paint palette. You raised an eyebrow at the paper bag.

“For Princess,” he explained.

“Has she been well?”

“The good-est girl.”

“And you?”

“The good-est boy.”

“The best,” you joked.

Ais rested his head on the base of his palm and watched you add strokes of blue to your ocean. It was a shade darker than the other blues. It reminded him of Mhin’s cape. He grimaced. It reminded him of one of those rare nights in Eridia where the skies were clear enough to see the stars. His eyes trailed up to the stormy clouds. He won’t be seeing any stars anytime soon. When Ais turned his attention back to you, you had moved onto a lighter blue.

“You an artist?”

“Dabbled in it.”

“How ‘bout a singer?”

“I don’t sing.”

“Could’ve sworn you just were.”

“You misheard,” you said with finality.

“Did not.” He paused, then added, “Got sharp ears.” Ais pointed to his ears. They were indeed sharp– as most of his features were. Perhaps the only thing that wasn’t sharp about him was the ink on his arms.

He was met with silence and took it as an invitation to continue prodding at you.

“Okay then do you hum?”

Your lips were taut. Your brows knitted together in contemplation. Then, they relaxed. Ais smiled as you reluctantly nodded. The movement was incredibly subtle. If he blinked, he would’ve missed his prize..

“It sounded nice.”

“You think?” Your back straightened.

“Yeah, could’ve taken you for a performer here.”

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

“Honest, sparrow.”

“I thought about it before… back home… being a performer– even an artist,” you gestured at your glass with your paintbrush, "But I had… another role to play.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear and swapped the blue paint out for an off-white color, sketching sea foam onto your ocean waves. A secret was on the tip of your tongue.

“Not anymore though, right?”

You nodded. Free as a bird, you thought. You angled the glass to finish up some details. You were by no means talented. It was nothing worth auctioning or featuring in a gallery, but it was something you enjoyed, something you hoped to improve at. You found yourself coming to this booth more often than you’d like to admit. The owner knew your face and you had a collection of painted glass bottles tucked away in your room at the Wet Wick.

“Do you come here often?” you asked, changing the subject.

“Only to see a friend.”

You turned your head to the building with pink curtains. His eyes narrowed.

“Not like that, sparrow.”

“You were misleading,” you shrugged.

“This district’s alright. Too perfumy though,” Ais elaborated. A philanderer was not going on his mental tally of bad impressions on you. He’d like to keep the numbers at a humble three or four. He had causal relationships in the past, but not to that extent. It’s been a while too so it didn't count. That title was more suitable for other people. He could name a few off the top of his head, but he’ll do you a solid favor and keep those names to himself.

“You don’t come here often because of the smell–”

“Too strong on the nose.” He tapped his nose for good measure.

“When you live by a swamp?” You finished.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The water smells… strange there. It’s not like the river here.”

He knew what you meant. He knew the smell. He was certain you did too. You knew that smell all too well, considering you were welcomed by it on your first day in this city. It followed you as much as it followed him. Neither of you said a thing. Not a word or a whisper. A topic like that matched the somber skies, but clashed with the vitality of the arts and entertainment district.

“Smells fine to me.”

“That’s because you live by it!”

Ais smirked.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip.

Those pesky gray clouds have finally decided to cry their eyes out after two days of dilly dallying in the sky, submerging Lowtown with their tears. The ramshackle districts of Eridia were no stranger to floods. It was something the people had grown used to, looked forward to even. Floods may destroy a few buildings or dent a couple of roofs, but they also wash away the pungent smell of blood and death. The downpour was so strong that the Soulless avoided the city. The people were free to wander about at night, albeit with a few limitations. There was not a single booth set up in the Amaryllis District. It was the only time the plaza got a wink of sleep. Well, most of the district. A handful of lights were still on and all pink curtains were drawn, a sign they could go all night long if they wanted to– rain or shine. That wasn’t the case for most stores in Lowtown. Most closed when the downpour began, but bars were open and that was all that mattered to Ais.

It was when Eridia rained that he simultaneously felt the most alone and the most at home. The flooded streets were akin to the Seaspring’s waters, but there was not a single soul in sight. He waded through the murky waters with unease. The rain turned the city into his domain. He was fond of it for many reasons, but it did not do what many Eridians loved about it the most: wash away unbearable stenches. Petrichor masked the smell of death, but it was prevalent nonetheless. Something lurked in these waters, waiting to be reaped. Or perhaps Ais’s intuition was off? His senses had been haywire for the past few days. He found himself looking over his shoulder to see if someone was behind him. Heat rushed to his usually cold cheeks. His heart raced even though he barely moved an inch. The rain started not too long ago so was it a long shot to say that not everything was washed out yet?

Splash!

Ais whipped his neck around, observing the Wet Wick’s alleyway. Blood spewed from the narrow pathway and coiled around his boots. It swirled and dissolved into the flood water congregating by the Wet Wick’s entrance. He cracked his knuckles and made his way to the alleyway. Even the rain couldn’t stop a good bar brawl. The victor of that fight was a worthy adversary if they could draw blood. Even if they weren’t, he was getting restless anyhow. Throwing a punch or two and knocking someone would be an easy fix for that. Talk about exciting.

Thud!

His grin faded as he stepped into the alleyway. His eyes dilated at the sight of Vere pining a cloaked figure to the wall with his bare hands. Blood spilled on the wall, dripping down into the flood water. Ais knew that cloak a little too well. It was black and embroidered with little bits of gold at the hem. He saw it a few times. At the Seaspring. At the Wet Wick. At the Amaryllis District.

He could count the number of times he saw that cloak on his hands, but the amount of times it plagued his thoughts every now and then exceeded the number stars in the sky– When will you visit Princess again? What kind of weird drink will you have next time? Would he be able to hear that song again?

The same cloak that festered in his mind was now saturated with blood. Despite the ebony fabric, there was enough blood in certain areas to dye it red. Your torso. Your legs. Your head. Though shrouded by a hood as always, your cowl was the deepest of crimsons. It was tantamount to the thick red waters of the spring.

Vere was the first– and perhaps the only one– to notice Ais. He furrowed his auburn brows and dropped your body onto the ground. An audible thump echoed through the alley yet you remained still, blood pooling and pooling.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Ais responded with silence. His eyes lingered on you. He hoped for you to chirp and twitter about something. Curse or bite someone if you must.

“Senobium’s orders,” Vere said, tossing his hair over his shoulder, “They were snooping around too much and… you know how that goes.”

"...I see." Two meaningless words that added nothing to the conversation, something he picked up from you. He never truly grasped the meaning of the phrase– he always thought of it as a sarcastic response– but "I see" seemed suitable to use for this specific situation. The scene before Ais was truly something and damn right he saw. He saw enough to know everything.

Vere's dusty pink eyes fell to his feet where blood accumulated. His ears drooped as he stepped away from your body. If he had put his tail between his legs, he could’ve fooled anyone. His shoulder brushed Ais’s on his way out of the alley. “We should head inside. My fur’s getting soaked.”

The demon balled his fists, words flying over his head. He sauntered deeper into the pathway and knelt down by your side. The bar’s dilapidated door creaked open and then shut, briefly shining on your marred face. There was not a single fleck of wonder or hope in your eyes. They were dull and gray like the stormy sky above you.

“I told you the Senobium was bad news, sparrow,” Ais smiled bitterly.

Rain trickled down his face, hot and briny. He smelt the stench of death before. He had seen disfigured bodies in the bog and drew blood during fights. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but somehow he could not bear to look at you or your mangled neck for any longer. He was getting tired of the rain already. He was tired of kneeling by your side. With a dejected sigh, Ais stood up.

Clink!

He clicked his tongue and lifted his boot up, revealing a shard of glass. Curious, he knelt down again, examining the shattered glass around your body. Must’ve been that bottle you painted the other day. Ais could barely make out the pieces, but he saw the various shades of blue you used. His eyes shifted to a rather large fragment by his boot. Unlike the other bits of glass, this one was yellow-orange with a small black line, the silhouette of a bird flying into the sun. Ais stomped on the fragment, crushing the painted sun beneath his feet as one would with a cigarette butt. He rose from the ground and turned his back to you, but instead of entering the bar, he ventured out into the storm.

Then maybe, just maybe, he, too, could be swept away by the rain.

#touchstarved game #touchstarved x reader #touchstarved ais #ais x reader #mine #mine:writing #angst

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chanceux-et-perdu · 2 months ago

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L’étendue de l’appel

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

((@your-dandy-king)) prev

—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—·—

The sea today is a gentle swell, to and fro, painted in curious shades of amaranth and amaryllis. The lost vice-admiral of a broken fleet watches as a rowboat approaches his ship, one driftwood eye sparkling with static emptiness. He does not know how he quite feels about this… female marshal, who claims to represent the Ministre de la Marine, who claims to be the famed horseman Murat, who claims to offer so much in exchange for so little. But then again, he is unsure of so many things.

Vɪʟʟᴇɴᴇᴜᴠᴇ: Bienvenue, Maréchale. Please, let me aid you- the steps can be slippery.

O̬ꜰ ᴄᴏᴜʀꜱᴇ ᴡᴇ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴛ̊͘ʀᴜ̢ꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀ. Bᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱʜᴇ ᴅ̫ᴏ ᴛᴏ ᴜ͠ꜱ? The tower’s light in the distance continues to flicker on and off.

•–– •••• •– – •• ••• •– –•–• •– •••– •– •–•• •–• –•–– –– •– –• –•• ––– •• –• ––• ––– –• – •••• • ••• • •– ••––••

#your-dandy-king #thread: the range of the call #rapport de l’amiral perdu

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dravencroft · 3 months ago

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A start, an end, a rise and fall No system eternal and no one immortal

Yet another dramatic illustration for little Dante and the many forces that are always trying to tug on his life and control his destiny. Sometimes I feel sorry for everything I put him through, but then I remember it makes him a great subject for this kind of symbolic drawings.

A quick explanation of most of the symbolism in this drawing:

The hands on top belong to Dante's Sire, Jonathan Faraday, current Prince of New York. He had decided to adopt and embrace Dante to groom him into his perfect successor, but a lot of things went wrong. Jonathan is still trying to force the crown on Dante's head despite everything.

The crown is bleeding because of all the lives that were sacrificed to try and mould Dante into the perfect Childe - first among them Dante's older brother, Nicholas.

The chains around his right wrist (left side) represent the Camarilla, the Ventrue clan, and Dante's own desperate desire to be perfect and strong (the Amaryllis flowers). The chains are taut because of how strict the sect's control on him was.

The chains around his left wrist (right side) represent the Sabbat and his current mentor, a Toreador Antitribu (the roses). The chains are slack because he has much more freedom in this sect, but he is still a prisoner.

In the background: the FIT Tower, HQ of Faraday's tech company and Dante's home for the first two decades of his life; on the right the tower is burning and destroyed, maybe a - hopeful? - auspice of what might happen in the future.

Dante isn't wearing any gloves. He always does, but whenever I want him to look even more vulnerable, I like to show his bare hands. They are bloodied without the protection of his gloves.

#dravensart #Vampire the Masquerade #Vampire: the Masquerade #VtM #VtM OC #Ventrue #Ventrue OC #World of Darkness #Dante #cue a wall of text under the read more with an explanation of all the symbolism lol #feel free to skip it; it only makes sense to me and like... two other people in the entire world #still; I like this one! I'm sorry for making my poor child suffer but he's such a good victim

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vivienne-writes · 1 year ago

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My Little Fairy 🧚🏻

Summary: Being one of the youngest in the family, Prince Garreth is far down the line to inherit the throne and is more than content to be left to his potion studies. However, his parents have decided to marry him off to a princess he's never met. Or... has he?

AO3: x

A/N: Here's my late submission for Weasley Wednesday! I wrote all this in one go. My brain feels like a sponge. The drawing above was based on a scene I omitted from the story cause it's right after the wedding, and we all know what happens after a wedding 👀 The princess is unnamed, so readers can base her off their MCs, but I had to give her a face so here's my OC. I'm absolutely in love with Oscar Weasley as well (all ya'll in the discord are to blame) so he's definitely making an appearance here, along with a few other made up characters to pad the story.

All was quiet in Prince Garreth's room save for the sound of bottles and flasks tinkling as he examined one after the other, debating which ones to take and which to leave behind. They were filled with an assortment of potions and ingredients alike, but far too many for the trip to his new home. Aurora. A neighboring country that prided itself on its scholars and academic breakthroughs in astronomy and ancient magic.

He had been there once before, on a trip with his father to forge an alliance between their two nations. It was nothing like his home, Camellia, a land of sloping green fields, lush rivers, and forests teeming with beasts and critters. Home to humble hamlets and cities best known for their bountiful trade in rare magical ingredients and plants. No, Aurora was situated high in the mountains to get a clear view of the stars and the heavens, the altitude keeping the nation chilly and brisk for a large part of the year.

Garreth did not mind the weather so much, nor its people. But then again, he had only been a child when he had visited. No more than a boy of eight, if he recalled correctly. But the purpose of that trip had been successful, and Aurora had deigned to ally with Camellia. However, it wasn't until quite recently that Garreth learned of the terms of their alliance. Aurora sought to solidify the alliance by way of marriage, and he was the unlucky one chosen to wed their only princess when she finally came of age. Why him and not any of his other brothers? Garreth had no clue. He'd ask his father, the King of Camellia, but Garreth was still too shaken up about being kept in the dark for so many years that he avoided his father since.

A knock at the door dragged Garreth from his thoughts, but he didn’t deign to answer. He knew who it was, and his visitor never bothered to wait for a response anyways.

“Garreth, are you still sulking?” Oscar asked, resting an elbow on the door handle as he watched his youngest brother take a whiff out of an unlabeled flask. Garreth gave no reply, but Oscar forged ahead, unperturbed by the other’s silence.

“Come on, getting married isn’t all that bad. Look at Septimus! Consort to the lovely Queen of Amaryllis with five children and counting. He spends his days hunting, reading, rearing those adorable nieces and nephews of ours… I’m sure you’ll get to be Potions Master of Aurora if you please the princess well enough.”

Garreth rolled his eyes. "I'd rather be Potions Master here like I've always planned," he grumbled under his breath.

Being one of the youngest, Garreth knew he wouldn't have any claim to the throne. Not with seven brothers and four sisters ahead of him, and he didn't want it either if, somehow, all his siblings dropped dead and gave him a clear shot at being king. Since he could learn to read, Garreth possessed immense talent and love for potions, and his parents supported his studies. They indulged him with a tower of his own, supplied him with everything and anything he could ever wish for, and placed him under the tutelage of the court's Grand Master. He was more than content to have stayed on this path, forging his life by his terms and no one else's. But he supposed there was a reason now for his parents' indulgence. Perhaps he'd go along with the marriage without complaint if they gave him everything he wanted.

“Why can’t you marry the princess instead, Oscar?” Garreth asked, throwing his brother a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’d be able to win her over with that charm of yours.”

"Would if I could. I hear the princess is quite lovely. But father's word is law."

Garreth returned to his packing, dejection weighing his shoulders with a slump. Oscar was right. As doting of a father the king was, there was no swaying him once an order had been decreed, and none of his brothers could save him from this miserable fate.

Oscar regarded his brother with a sidelong glance. Out of all his siblings, he was closest to Garreth, pulling him into all sorts of mischief and saving him from them. But this was one predicament he had no hold over. He had spoken to the king about the matter more times than he could count, going so far as to argue with him. Oscar even pleaded with his mother to do something. The king loved his queen and took her word before anyone else, but she only shook her head sadly. Switching the princess' betrothed would be considered an insult, and Aurora was too great an ally to lose.

Garreth finally looked up, staring out the window as he fought back the tears that prickled his eyes. "I just don't… understand why they'd keep this from me for so long," he finally admitted. Sure, an arranged marriage was awful in itself, but the lack of trust from his parents wounded him. "They could've told me ages ago. Kept me from believing the false truth that I had any agency of my own. It would've been easier to accept it that way."

Oscar bit his cheek with a frown. “Perhaps they only wanted to protect you,” he answered softly, “to keep you happy as long as they could.”

Garreth scoffed. Happy. If the king and queen truly wanted their children happy, they’d let them choose a life for themselves than marry them off to strange princes and princesses. And if Garreth were to marry for himself, there was only one girl he could think of. One lovely little maiden that had haunted his dreams for years…

~~~

“Garreth? Your father has requested your presence – oh dear, he’s not in his room again.”

Lady Matilda rubbed her temple with a frustrated groan. Leave it to her youngest nephew to escape when he’s needed most. “That child’s probably wandering the grounds again,” she muttered as she closed the door behind her, head reeling with all the possible places he could be hiding in. As she turned around a corner, she nearly slipped and snapped her ankle.

"Genevieve, what have I told you about leaving your toys in the corridor?" Lady Matilda eyed the youngest of her nieces, hiding behind a curtain, as she picked up the offending marbles strewn over the floor.

"Aunt Matilda, I know where Gaz went," the child giggled with a toothless grin, her beautiful locks all tousled and in need of combing. "I think he went to the gardens to find lacewing flies again."

“Just because you tattled on your brother doesn’t mean I won’t be back for you, young lady,” Lady Matilda said as she tossed the marbles back into Genevieve’s room with a wave of her wand. “And that hair better be brushed when I return.”

“Yes, Aunt Matilda,” Genevieve pouted.

"Now, to find that little prince," Lady Matilda sighed.

Meanwhile, heat crept up Garreth’s neck, forcing him to tug off his sweltering vest and leaving it to fall in a crumpled heap on the grass. He’ll come back to it later. But right now, he was searching for any sign of a bowtruckle. His eldest brother William told him they liked to hide in the hedges, between the branches that provided camouflage underneath the thickly packed leaves. Garreth wondered what they looked like outside his book's diagrams and ventured out to see them.

But the morning had gone on, and after much crawling and searching, Garreth found neither stem nor leaf of the little creatures and was beginning to turn back to the castle for a fresh glass of pumpkin juice when he heard a sharp shriek.

"Help!" cried the girlish voice, one of his sisters most likely. Garreth sprinted around the corner and came face to face with a little lass dressed all in blue and silver with stars crisscrossing her dress. They were not the colors of his court, red and gold, which all the princes and princesses of Camellia wore. Garreth knew not where this little lady came from, but she was in dire need of assistance as a couple of naughty pixies had begun pulling her hair and clothes this way and that.

“Leave me alone, you pesky things!" the girl cried as she swatted them away. But they returned, taunting her while pinching her skin.

She seemed about his age, so Garreth wondered why she didn't repel them away with magic. Well, whatever the reason, he didn't think the poor thing should be left to fend for herself. So, with a flourish of his wand, Garreth sent the impish creatures flying with a repelling charm. Their teeth chattered, and their fingers clicked impudently, cursing him in a language he didn't understand as they flew off before he could repel them again.

The girl straightened up, fixing her eyes on Garreth as she looked him up and down. "I suppose I have you to thank for that," she grinned, patting down her skirts to form some semblance of tidiness before readjusting the ribbons in her hair. “I shan’t think what would become of me if you hadn’t come along.”

She waited for his response, but Garreth stood speechless, captivated by the stars bedazzling her eyes as she looked him up and down. She was a pretty thing, not like anyone he's ever met around his father's palace. And she was very eloquent, her accent dancing with a different lilt than he was accustomed to. Having realized that he was staring, Garreth cleared his throat.

“You could’ve simply used magic to save yourself, you know,” he mumbled, keenly aware that she was staring just as intently as he was.

The girl shrugged. "I've no magic yet," she stated simply, as if that were a common occurrence, for it wasn't, at least, not in Camellia. Children began displaying their magic around five or six years of age, and this girl may have been around ten or eleven. Her eyes darted to the wand in his hand. "I see you're quite skilled already," she nodded at chin at his wand. "Have you started on lessons yet?"

"Of course," came his reply. "I'm a prince. We're taught far earlier than most." He wanted to ask why she had no magic or wand yet, but it seemed rude to ask that of someone he just met.

The girl tossed her hair with a huff. “You’re no prince. Your clothes are all messy!”

Garreth looked down. His pants were scuffed with dirt from crawling around, and his shirt was wrinkled and creased everywhere. He even had leaves in his hair now that he brought his fingers up to push them away from his sweating forehead. Fighting the urge to blush, he bit back, "I am a prince! I –"

“If you’re a prince, then I’m a fairy,” the girl teased. There was no way this ragamuffin was a prince. Princes were supposed to be stately, well-dressed, and handsome. And although this boy before her was handsome, he was anything but stately. Well-dressed, yes, but his clothes were an utter mess.

“Why are you even here?” Garreth demanded.

The stars sparkled in the girl’s eyes as she beamed with excitement. “I heard there were unicorns here. Is it true? I’ve been walking around in search of them.”

Garreth blinked. Of course, there were. The forests of Camellia were filled with them. Even the royal stable housed a few for his sisters' delight. But if she wasn't from this court as he suspected, there was a good chance she had never laid eyes on them before. Garreth decided that this girl was pretty. Immensely so. And he'd like to impress her just a little bit.

“Come this way. I’ll show you.” And as they walked, she practically skipped with glee, unleashing question after question about the numerous beasts that proliferated the lands of Camellia. And for once, Garreth was glad to have the answers.

As the afternoon drew to a close, Garreth realized there was more to the adorable stranger than he initially thought. Where most of the young daughters of his father's courtiers were shy, timid, or downright snooty, this girl was excitable and feisty. She didn't care if he was a prince or not. She didn't seek his favor or endeavor to please him. Throughout the day, she teased and taunted but always good-naturedly. She asked many questions but listened with rapt attention to all his explanations. About the unicorns, his court, and most of all, his potions.

He showed her the gardens where he got most of his ingredients, and she knew several of the plants already, having read about them in books. Like him, she had a penchant for snacks and shared several with him until her pockets ran out.

"I feel awfully terrible," Garreth said, watching her skirt twirl in the wind now that it wasn't weighed down by candy and treats. "You sure I can't give you some in return?"

The girl shook her head. “Consider it thanks for showing me your sisters’ unicorns. Felicity was my favorite one.”

Garreth nodded. This was the most fun he'd had in a while, and something about this girl enchanted him. Everything she touched or looked at made them seem new and magical to his eyes. She saw the world with a fresh perspective he had never thought to see before… and it made him want to bask in her presence a bit longer. She was magical, this girl. Even if she didn't possess a lick of magic herself.

“I’ve got an idea,” she whirled to face him. “You see that tree over there? Want to climb it?”

"Sure," he chuckled. At this moment, he'd do anything she asked if it meant keeping that bubbly smile on her face.

“Good! Last one’s a rotten egg!” she jumped to a sprint.

"Wait! No fair!" Garreth called out, but she stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder, her thin legs dashing even faster.

Unbeknownst to either, the king and queen of Camellia had been watching their son from atop a third-floor window with an emissary dressed in a fashion similar to the girl’s.

“They seem to be getting along swimmingly,” said the king, giving his wife a thoughtful glance.

But the queen remained worried, clutching a hand to her chest. Garreth was her youngest son. Her baby. She harbored a soft spot for him and wanted him home for as long as possible. With an electrifying glance at the emissary from Aurora, she asked, “Won’t my other sons do? My second eldest, Septimus, has always wanted to marry a princess. He’s a sentimental boy and woos ladies aplenty with his poetry and prose.”

But the emissary shook his head. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I must remind you that while the terms of the alliance hinge upon the princess’s union with one of your princes, it must be of her own choosing. And as such, I have no say in the matter.”

The queen returned her attention to her son, who was now busy picking fruit from the tallest branches of the tree for the princess. While affectionate with his sisters, Garreth has never shown any inclination or affection for any other young girls in their court. No matter how well-dressed, respectable, or accomplished they were, he never gave them so much as a glance. The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted her reverie, and the king and queen turned to find Lady Matilda.

“Garreth is hell-bent on escaping me, it seems,” she began, but the king held up a patient hand.

“No worries, dear sister,” he gave her a soft smile. “He’s with the princess.”

~~~

“Where the fuck is the princess?”

“Genny!” Septimus hissed reproachfully. “Must you use such foul language?!”

“Must you be a bore, Sep?” Genevieve stood on tiptoes, craning her neck to find her future sister-in-law’s carriage amidst the procession trailing into Camellia’s royal court. “I hear she rides a carriage of fairest white and starlight. But it’s too dark to see a blasted thing through this window!”

William tapped a finger against his chin before taking out Oscar's bishop with his rook. "You'd see the carriage if you'd just wear your bloody spectacles," he murmured.

Genevieve spun around. “I heard that! And you know why I refuse to wear them. They make me look like Aunt Matilda.”

Oscar looked up and clutched his heart with feigned surprise. “Aunt Matilda! How long have you been standing there?” He dodged Genevieve’s shoe as the others erupted into laughter.

"Prick," she bristled with annoyance, skipping across the room to fetch her shoe. "Anyways, has anyone seen Garreth? He's the man of the hour. He should be waiting downstairs with Mother and Father to receive his lovely bride."

Oscar shook his head with a frown. “You know where he is.”

“Hiding,” said everyone in unison.

It would have been funny, but their brother had stubbornly refused to appear before anyone, dreading their well wishes and congratulations. What should’ve been a joyous event felt like a death sentence, and Garreth was doing everything he could to stay hidden and out of sight. It was a shame, for his siblings have traveled, or are still traveling, from far and wide to see him and witness his marriage.

“You would think,” Genevieve plopped down sadly beside Septimus, resting her feet on her brother’s lap, “he’d come out and spend time with us before he goes away.”

“If it’s any consolation,” said William, “Aurora is practically next door. He can visit us or vice versa whenever we wish.”

“It’s not the saaame,” Genevieve moaned, hugging Septimus’ arm. “One by one, you’re all leaving me. Save for you, William, since you’re taking father’s throne. So, I’m stuck with your sorry ass.”

“You might be married one day too, Genny,” said Septimus.

“Never! I’d rather be a spinster like Aunt Matilda and serve Camellia to the end of my days. Mother knows I’m too capricious to be wed.”

“Never say never,” Oscar muttered, upending the chessboard as he realized his inevitable defeat.

The sounds of William's protests and Genevieve's shrill laughter escaped the study, and Garreth, who had been eavesdropping for a while now, frowned with a painful pang of his heart. This was his last week with his siblings, and here he was, running away from the sight of them like a petulant child. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't withstand their pity. Their fake happiness. But… if he were to face the rest of his life stuck in a loveless marriage, perhaps it was best to enjoy what remaining love he could get from his rambunctious siblings.

With steady resolve, he plastered on the best smile he could muster and opened the door, greeting everyone with a decidedly cheery look. The others knew it was a façade, but they made no mention of it, relishing in their brother's presence before he was taken away from them forever.

~~~

The week leading up to the wedding was a hectic mess that whizzed by in a blur. From outfit fittings to dining with guests, Garreth was extremely grateful for his siblings' help. Many of them were married and helped him endure the craziness of being a royal groom-to-be. And the ones who weren't, like Oscar and Genevieve, managed to steal the limelight whenever they noticed Garreth growing increasingly overwhelmed by the attention.

Thankfully, out of the dozens of guests, Garreth had not been requested to meet his future bride or her parents. He wondered if she dreaded their wedding day as much as he did and if she was soaking up the last days of freedom before being shackled to a man she'd never even met.

But as the wedding day drew nearer, word of his fiancee’s beauty began to spread like wildfire. She seemed to be roaming the grounds, coincidentally avoiding places Garreth was known to linger in. But she couldn't avoid his siblings' notice, with William and his other sisters claiming to have met her during a walk around the pastures. Genevieve, being the most eager to lay eyes on her, finally met her where the unicorns were allowed to graze and went on and on about the princess's kindness and beauty to whoever would listen.

So much so that Garreth was beginning to grow nervous. He didn't care about his fiancée, to begin with, but… if she truly was the beauty they claimed her to be, would she find him dull and ugly? Garreth twirled a lock of hair around his finger. He knew it sent many girls’ hearts aflutter, but would it be enough to impress the princess?

“Genny’s a right ole church bell,” Oscar groaned from the sofa he was napping on, crossing an arm over his eyes. He opened one eye lazily and watched Garreth fuss over his hair. “I could be mistaken, Gaz, but are you seriously primping yourself right now?”

A flush crept over Garreth’s face. “Shut up, Oscar.”

Oscar bit back his smirk. A nervous Garreth was better than a sullen Garreth.

~~~

Come the morning of the long-awaited wedding day, the palace was awash in the sun’s buttery gold light, flitting through the towering glass windows in soft, dazzling beams. But the entire court was abuzz with servants and nobles running to and fro to get everything ready, too busy to take notice of the sun’s blessing light.

Garreth dressed slowly, his limbs moving of their own accord while servants helped him with his vest and refinery. This would be the last morning he’d ever wake up in his own room as a single man and free prince of Camellia. He wondered if it was too late to hop on a stallion and make his escape.

“Don’t even think about it,” came the gruff voice of the Grand Master from the doorway.

“Professor Sharp,” Garreth swallowed loudly. Even with a limp, his master still managed to come off foreboding. “What are you doing here, sir?”

"Making sure you don't do exactly what you're thinking, son," he replied, ambling towards the nearest armchair. He studied his protegee with an unreadable look before saying, "I know you must be expecting the worst, but you'll come to love Aurora."

“How do you know that, sir?”

Professor Sharp gave a wry smile. “Because I was born and raised there. Everything I’ve taught you, I learned in Aurora. They can teach you things you couldn't learn anywhere else."

Garreth gave a tentative smile in return. In all the years he spent under his master's guidance, this was the first time he divulged anything about his personal life, and Garreth was grateful for it. It appeased his heart a little and gave him something to look forward to, even if this marriage might be as torturous as he expected.

And to Garreth's dismay, the torture started as soon as he stepped into the massive ballroom where the wedding would take place. Grand and luxurious, no expense was spared for this wedding, and the heady scent of flowers filling the room began getting to him. Standing on a dais with his brothers as his best men, he wondered which of them would catch him if he were to faint.

“Quit your fidgeting, Garreth,” William chastised, peering over Septimus’ head. “And Hector, spit that gum out of your mouth before I get it out myself,” he snapped at their second youngest brother.

Garreth rolled his neck, clenching his teeth as the fabric of his coat made his neck itch. He utterly despised formal events. The stuffy clothes, the simpering nobles, all of it got on his nerves, and William seemed determined to make everyone as equally annoyed as he was. Thankfully, Oscar had the mind to discreetly transfigure his coat, widening the neckline to give Garreth more room to breathe.

Garreth gave his favorite brother a grateful smile and turned his face towards the double doors as music began to fill the room, the peaceful strum of the orchestra drowning out the wild beating of his heart as it began to race.

This was it.

The moment he'd been dreading for. But regardless of his feelings, Garreth would push through the day with as much grace and charm as possible. There was no sense in starting off on the wrong foot with his soon-to-be wife.

~~~

The princess clutched her bouquet nervously as she waited for the doors to open. The musicians began to play on the other side, signaling her queue to get ready to walk. Her cold, clammy palms started glistening with sweat, and she took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart.

This was it.

The moment she'd been waiting for. The moment to find out whether she made a good choice all those years ago when she was not but a girl older than ten. She felt soft, comforting hands grip her arm gently, and the princess turned her head to gaze down at her loving mother, tears threatening to spill down her face. A sob from her other side, and the princess wavered at the sight of her father, the stoic king of Aurora, now weeping into his handkerchief.

She was their only daughter. The only girl to have been born in three generations, equally as witty and intelligent as her brothers. They knew this day was coming, and she would still reside in their palace as the heiress to the throne, but it hurt to hand her off to be wed. The king and queen had so many words to tell her, so many ways to say they loved her, but when the doors flung open, they knew it could wait. This day was to celebrate a new love. A love they hoped would grow between their daughter and the youngest prince of Camellia.

From behind her thick veil, the princess could barely make out the silhouette of her groom. All her focus was centered on her feet, ensuring she didn't trip on the extravagantly puffy skirt. While the veil was annoying, it at least shielded her from the crowd's immense staring, as many craned their necks and eyes to see if she was as lovely as the rumors had whispered her to be. If all went well, she'd only have to do this once in her life, a thought that didn't seem as comforting the longer she pondered it.

Goodness, did this walkway never end? Her petticoat was a bit itchy, and she wanted nothing more than to kick her heels off and scratch that itch. The princess focused on trivial matters to push the nagging possibility that Prince Garreth might never come to love her. Oh, she's heard the rumors. He didn't take the news of their betrothal well, and it broke her heart a little to learn that he didn't remember her at all.

Well, no use crying about it now. The grave's been dug, and it's time to lie in it. She came to a halt right before the priest, each of her parents breaking protocol to hug her before sitting beside her new parents-in-law. And when she turned to the priest again, she felt her fiancé's arm barely graze against hers, sending ripples down her spine. Even years after, without a clue how he looked or acted now, he still had the same effect on her.

~~~

The priest droned on about the sanctity of marriage and the importance of unification between nations, and Garreth fought back his drooping eyelids. From the corner of his eye, he saw William reach an arm to pinch Hector awake, and a chuckle escaped Garreth’s lips before he could stop himself.

“Any day now, Father,” he muttered as quietly as he could, and Garreth swore he heard a soft giggle from behind the veil. Well, he supposed this marriage wouldn’t be as bad as he thought if his wife possessed a shred of humor.

When all was finally said, the priest stowed away his holy book and looked to the young couple before him to ask if they would take each other as their lawfully wedded spouse. Oscar sighed in relief when he heard Garreth say, "I do," although knowing his brother best, it sounded a little too much like pulling his nails out. And when the bride finally spoke, "I do," everyone in the room waited with bated breath for Garreth to reveal his new wife's face.

His hands shook with trepidation as his fingers met the soft fabric of gossamer and tulle. He shouldn’t be this nervous. He had no reason to be. But his eyes fell on the bride’s hands, and the bouquet quivered in her grasp. Garreth realized she was just as anxious as he was, and it consoled him. Made him realize he was not alone.

Gently, so painstakingly slowly, he lifted the veil inch by inch, past her chest, her shoulders, then her chin, and – oh.

Garreth's breath stilled, his skin blooming a viciously red hue as he took in familiar, star-bedazzled eyes framed by exquisitely long lashes and the most luscious pair of lips he had ever laid eyes on. Lips that curved in a shy but taunting grin as she dared him to remember her. Remember that distant day of chatter and play. Judging from how he gaped at her, it all came flooding back, clear as a bell.

"I guess you ARE a prince, after all," she teased, eyes still searching his for any sign of assurance. Any sign at all that she did not make a mistake by choosing him. Over Garreth's shoulder, the princess could make out his siblings, straining to catch a glimpse of her face, but one in particular, Genny, waved at her with an enthusiastic grin.

All tension in Garreth's shoulders fled him as he smiled down adoringly at his new wife without care that all eyes were on them. "There she is," he hummed pleasantly. "There's my little fairy."

The rest of the world dimmed away in a blur as Garreth leaned down to kiss his bride, his skin erupting into flaming ripples at the feel of her soft lips against his. This marriage may not be so bad after all.

#garreth weasley #hogwarts legacy #weasley wednesday #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x you #fic #my stuff #au #i got the background from pinterest but if anyone knows who the actual artist is pls lemme know

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freerangeranger · 11 months ago

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👽- What is a major headcanon that you made for your canon? Does it apply to how you see all pokemon canon?

👋 - What other blogs canonically exist in your world? This can be mutuals, people you like, or people who you agree with.

👽 Okay this is a hot take - but legendaries are not gods. I had a great discussion with some friends about this recently. Pokemon comes from a very different culture and understanding of religion than western media. Christianity has a long history of persecution in Japan - it has basically no cultural impact by comparison to Europe and America beyond pop culture use of christian iconography. There are Christians in Japan, but they make up 1-2% of the population.

If I were to sit down and write out a religion for - let's say the Kimono Girls and the Tin Tower Monks - I would turn to Shinto or Buddhist traditions for inspiration rather than Christian and Catholic dogma (which I am arguably more familiar with being a white person living in the Americas.)

The funny thing is that this isn't really a hot take looking at Pokemon canon. People really don't know anything about Arceus, Palkia, Dialga, Giratina, ect (which is like the closest we have to proper deities). The legendaries that are acknowledged aren't treated like omnipotent beings - more like powerful creatures to be respected and appeased. Would be kinda weird if your god could choke on a ratatta and die or get bodied by a 12 year old and their weird dog.

So yea. Long story short - Honey doesn't think Ho Oh is a god. She thinks it's a powerful pokemon that should be nurtured, and its home defended so that it returns to Ecruteak and uses it's awesome power in the service of the people. Her hometown of Blackthorn worships Dragons - which are clearly not gods but are still powerful and worthy of appeasement and tribute. Do what you want with your own character's beliefs but consider it. Could be fun to expand cultural horizons.

Or just make Arceus "Poke-Jesus", I'm not your mom.

👋 My personal blogs @/therangerunionoffical, @/xxumbreonespeonxx and @/prettyskitty973 are all in the same universe. (I have another blog on the way but it is very much a work in progress.)

The blogs that I actively interact with include @/paldean-ranger-brandy, @/professor-amaryllis, @/iheartnimbassacity, @/touya-san, @/skygodtraumabond @/aura-acolyte, @/galar-ranger-magnus, @/ringtownrangerlark and @/misdreavusmishap (among others.)

By extension this means that @/dustbuneary, @/meltanfan395, @/teamphobia, @/teamgamble, @/pokemonshelterstories, @/prof-lemon, @/sneasedtomeetyou, @/skrub-dubs, @/corkycare, @/fox-poke-fanatic, @/koffing-time, @/coinflipshade, @/eartheats *deep breath* @/floaroma-sanctuary, @/caoimhe-from-hoenn, @/the-koiking-pond, @/pokemoncenter, @/teamwinterofficial, @/pkmnsciencej... are all in the same universe. i have absolutely forgotten so many people i apologize in advance

#irl pokemon #pokeblogging #rl pokemon #asks #pokemon irl #pokemon ranger headcanons #pokemon ranger #honoria lore #pkmn irl #ooc post

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cutest-bunny-writings · 10 days ago

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Note: This is more about me mourning my almost-relationship and why it didn't happen than anything else. It's not a fanfiction piece, just an original.

Please don't plagarize.

Only the Garden Knows

I should've known when he plucked the first white lily from my plot. But the snapdragon gripped me so, and I released the lavender stems I had been holding for so long.

The morning glory and amaryllis consumed my being, or so I thought. I realize now it was just the columbine and geranium slowly strangling me, stems reaching menacingly towards my being.

He preferred the gardenia. I preferred the forget-me-not and daffodil.

I began to notice a little too late that my garden of daisies, gladiolus, and iris began to wilt. Ever so gradually did they go from vivacious and beautiful to lifeless, bent, and broken.

The honeysuckle vines wrapped around my ankles to pull me back, where my companions await among their violets, carnations, clematis, lilacs, pansies, and the reddest of roses.

I abandoned my yarrow and white jasmine in the garden, only to be replaced by zinnia.

My nasturtium led me to the ever-so tempting tiger lily, but I left behind my magnolia and sweet willian in acknowledging it's presence.

His cyclamen and hydrangeas grew tall. Tall enough to tower over my being and shield me from all, but his unwavering and acid-filled stare.

I ignored the poppies and pink camellias sent my way by the concerned gardeners that held the very things able to extend my existence and end it, if necessary.

Bluebells ring distantly, faces toward the earth, just like their company: lily-of-the-valley, red tulips, calla lilies, hibiscus, and blue hyacinth.

I was too late. The yellow carnations and orange lilies reared their heads and punctured my being.

I turned to the lotus and begged, but all she had to say was "my child, I cannot aid you in this time. You abandoned my guidance and your companions."

I told of his yellow roses and their numerosity.

"The black-eyed susan cannot aid you either, my child."

So I answered. "I will foster the marigolds and peonies."

I had to take time to consider what to do with my sunflower. I decided to shove her away, and only present her to the gardeners.

I turn my face to the sun and bear witness to the life it brings us all.

I have no need for men with scythes that can cut me short when I can dig my roots deep and be bound with the earth.

I end and begin when I say so.

So I clutch the lavender stems once again and embrace my botanical sisters that cried for my absence.

Do not waste your droplets on me, for I always return from whence I came.

You, Creator.

#flower language #original writing #original work #symbolism #symbolism writing

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starryjuicebox · 9 months ago

Text

Beloved (9) - Interruption

Summary: Halsin finally enters the scene.

Pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Tav

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist | Ao3 Link

Kythorn 1495

Our wedding festivities have begun at last. I was very surprised when Astarion announced that we would have a royal Silevrenian wedding. I had resigned myself to never seeing my kingdom again. Thankfully, Rolan was more than happy to send us to Silevren, so long as we promised to bring back a wedding favor for him. Astarion said we could have just forced his hand, but I would much rather be in the Ramazith Tower’s good graces.

Before we left, I disguised my eye color and hid my fangs with a simple spell, but I think Aelia caught on that something was different. I suppose we aren’t twins for nothing; I just have to make it through this tenday.

My family is wary of Astarion. Mother pulled me aside on the first day and commented on his crimson eyes and sharp fangs. The concern in her eyes wounded my very soul. I reassured her that I would be fine, but truthfully, I don’t know if I will be. They have been very cordial in his presence so far, but I cannot help but worry. Astarion will not hide who he is from them and I’m not sure how they are feeling about his…nature.

Nevertheless, it is too late to turn back. We will make our vows before our loved ones, then we will make our vows before each other, Corellon Larethian, and the Oak Father. I cannot falter.

I overheard a servant gossiping that Astarion had spent time secretly embroidering the blue roses into my dress. I had assumed he had commissioned a seamstress to do it, hearing that he did it himself…I was beside myself with joy. It is such a shame I can never tell him I know the truth. The blow to his pride would be far too great.

Baby’s breath, heliotrope,and irises made up the flower crown he gave to me as part of the first day tradition. I am sure he just had a servant pick out flowers; after all, he had once said, “flowers are so overrated. They’re bright, gaudy, and almost never make good poisons.” Surely, he couldn’t have known what their meanings were, but I cannot deny that my heart fluttered. After all, everlasting love, devotion, and trust - things I thought the Rite had taken from us were woven together in a symbol of our union.

For my part, I placed atop his head a crown of red roses, honeysuckle, and amaryllis. Though I dare not hope he is familiar with the language of flowers, it was imperative to me that I at least express my feelings on what will be the most memorable days of my life.

I had just hoped they would be the happiest ones.

Stella Ancunín

“Forever and always, I will stand by your side. With the Moon, Stars, Oak Father, and Corellon Larethian as my witnesses, I will be with you until the sun itself burns out. Ai armiel telere maenen hir.”

“Aeterna amantes. Lovers forever, until the world falls down. My consort, you shall want for nothing. We shall be together, forever. Anything you want, you need only ask. We will be sovereigns - this I vow to you.”

Such were the vows they had shared over three centuries ago in front of his consort’s family and their friends, upheld for three centuries. True to her word, while she seemed to have grown more and more withdrawn over the years, she never attempted to actually leave his side. There was only one incident early into their marriage where he hadn’t been able to find her. She had explained that she had been deep in trance, not hearing him arrive home, and that was why she didn’t greet him at the door. He still wasn’t sure he believed her, but she had dutifully met him at the threshold the moment he returned every single day ever since. Even when she barely looked at him.

Astarion tightened his hold on his consort, trying to shake free of that terrible memory. He would see her back to her old self. She’d come back to him, fully. It was an inevitability.

Of all the tools at his disposal, his body had always been the most effective…and the only way he really knew how to express himself. When words failed him, surely he could get his feelings across another way?

"Astari-" he cut her off by crushing his lips to hers, pulling her slender frame against his own.

She stiffened initially, but melted just a moment later into his touch. Over three centuries of lovemaking led their bodies to slot together as perfect puzzle pieces.

He reached up to cup one of her soft breasts, running his thumb over its peak. “My treasure, you-”

Clack. Clack. Clack.

An incessant tapping grated on his ears. The Ascendant gritted his teeth.

With a low growl, he waved his unoccupied hand, parting the curtains. A large brown owl hovered outside their window, rapping its beak frantically against the glass.

“Who…?” his consort murmured from his embrace, raising her head to peer at the bird.

His fingers itched to just close the curtains again, but Stella was already gently extracting herself from his arms and swinging the window open. Astarion clenched his jaw, but forced his body to still. It was too late to stop her.

The owl’s feathers rippled and grew into flesh, Halsin now standing where had once been the large bird.

“Pardon the interruption,” the Archdruid rumbled, rolling his shoulders back.

“I sent a servant to tell you to leave, yet you trespass into my consort’s garden. I allow you to live slightly longer by ignoring you, and now you interrupt us. Tell me, exactly why should I not simply kill you where you stand?” Astarion hissed, a hand flying to Crimson Mischief on his side.

“I assure you, I would not have done so, had it not been urgent. I received word from Francesca of the High Forest that there has been a strange army of sorts marching towards Baldur’s Gate. More specifically, their leader seems to be a vampire by the name of Lady Incognita. I would have sent word by carrier pigeon, but I was unsure how far her influence extends. I feared the letter could have gotten compromised.” Halsin held up his arms in a placating gesture.

Another vampire coming towards his city? Preposterous. This “Lady Incognita” surely had a death wish. Astarion furrowed his brow. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but just where had he heard it before?

“Lady Incognita… Amanita Szarr?” Stella gasped, hands flying to her face.

“...Who?” Though the last name was all too familiar, Astarion struggled to recall an “Amanita”.

“The author of the letters in the attic of the Palace, all those years ago.” she wrung her hands, ruby eyes filled with fear.

Why was his treasure so afraid?

“I am the strongest vampire to ever walk this land. Let them come. They will meet their end,” he declared, arms spread wide.

He had spent so long carefully maneuvering politically. All of Baldur’s Gate danced like marionettes on his strings. Since he had married into the Silevren royal family, he even had his fingers in another kingdom’s politics as well. A bloody battle like this one was sure to be an exhilarating change of pace. Lady Incognita would be no match for his powers. He had spent the past three centuries exploring everything a Vampire Ascendant could do.

Halsin frowned, turning to the Ascendant’s consort instead. “I was concerned for your wellbeing, little bluejay. They will not spare anyone in the castle.”

“Halsin…please, don’t call me that.” Stella lowered her eyes, almost shrinking behind Astarion.

“My apologies. I do not mean to overstep. I simply wanted you to know that danger is coming.”

“Will you help us? Stand with us?” she reached out to the Archdruid, though Astarion grabbed her arm before she could touch Halsin’s.

She froze immediately. “S-Sorry, my lord.”

Something within his chest twisted. Why was there such a difference in how his consort treated them? Did he not shower her with affection? He knew she had once had a romantic connection with Halsin, even permitted it. But after his ascension, she had spent even more time with the other Druid than before. Despite that, after the Netherbrain’s defeat, barring the reunions and other special occasions that would cross their paths once more, his consort had not once left the castle to go visit, nor even requested to do so.

Astarion didn’t understand.

Pulling her into his arms protectively, he drawled at the other man, “Your warning has been heard. Now, leave us.”

Stella remained silent, staring down at the plush crimson carpet beneath her sapphire-encrusted slippers. His most recent present to her, aside from the flower garden outside.

Halsin sighed, running a hand through his brown locks, now speckled with gray. “Unfortunately, I cannot aid you in this upcoming battle. I…”

The Archdruid seemed to be at war with himself, yet ignored Astarion’s demand to leave.

“There is… a natural order that I am duty bound to protect. Lady Incognita seeks to re-establish this natural order. Thus, I cannot interfere. But alas, I could also not sit idly by without warning you of her incoming attack.”

Annoyance coursed through him, though he couldn’t quite fathom why. Nonetheless, he knew he wanted Halsin gone from his castle. “If you aren’t here to help, then leave,” Astarion snapped.

The Ascendant could sense his wife’s objection to his words through their bond, but still she said nothing.

Halsin nodded. “I will take my leave soon, but there is one more thing I wanted to tell you.”

The Wood Elf leveled a gaze at Stella.

“I had once told you that I wished for you to be able to spread your wings, if you so desired. It seems it is as I feared. He has caged you. The harmless game has become all too real.”

How dare he? In a flash, Astarion’s hand was wrapped around Halsin’s throat and slamming him against the wall. The surface cracked from the sheer force. He bared his fangs, fully ready to rip out the larger man’s throat.

“Starry, please!” Stella cried out, rushing towards them. Her cold, thin fingers gently curled around his arm.

“You dare barge into our��home and then accuse me of mistreating my consort?!”

Crimson filled his vision, and he couldn’t hear anything over the cacophony of his thoughts shrieking out the deepest fears he’d always shoved away.

Halsin was trying to take away his treasure. His Stella. His consort.

He would not let that happen.

The roaring in his ears turned out to be his own shouts.

His eyesight cleared.

A mangled body lay still before him.

“N-No, Halsin…”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #ascended astarion #lord astarion #ascended astarion x tav #angst #astarion x oc

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