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authurials · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐋.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 . you bring your parents home a christmas present in the form of your boyfriend, daemon targaryen

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 . 18+ situations ( MINORS DNI ! ), sexual situations/intercourse, oral sex (male receiving), slight praise kink if you squint, strong language

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . here is day two of my 12 days of house of the dragon celebration! a little modern!au with professor!daemon x student!reader; honestly he’s a bit....ooc in my opinion but i was on a bit of a time crunch to get this one out--running a tad behind with work and life in general, but i’m determined to keep to my posting schedule (unless something really prevents me from writing); let me know your thoughts--your response was awesome to day one! make sure you keep tuning in because next up is part one of my stepdad!harwin modern!au miniseries

“𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄,” your boyfriend, a silver-haired man of forty-eight, rolled his eyes as you once again checked your updo in the small compact mirror in your hand. “Now, stop fidgeting.”

“Fine, fine,” you sigh, tucking it once more in your bag as you adjust its position on your shoulder; you step up to the door and lift your hand to knock–hesitating. “....what if we just went to get chinese with Rhae and Harwin? I’m sure it’s not too–”

Reaching past you, Daemon wrapped his hand against the door before you could stop him, causing you to freeze in horror at what he had just done; from inside the house you could already hear the family dog, Urrax, sounding the alarm from within followed by the scolding tone of your mother. You already could hear both approaching the door to greet the guests–you and Daemon–and it took all your willpower and him taking your hand to stop you from bolting. Feeling him give you a comforting squeeze, you looked up into his face and raised a pale brow at you.

“What have you done?” You groan, leaning against his arm for extra support just as the door swings open in front of you.

The bells from the Christmas wreath that hung over the window beat against each other, shrilly ringing as they are drowned out by your mother’s excited greeting.

“My baby!” She exclaimed, immediately pulling you into the warmth of her embrace and holding you there for several moments; it allowed you if but for a moment to forget your earlier anxiety, tucking it in a corner for now as you let yourself wrap your arms around her frame in reply. All the while Urrax was at your feet, switching between excitedly waiting for your acknowledgement and sniffing cautiously at the unfamiliar man before him; only with your beloved canine’s approval would Daemon be permitted to enter the home–or at least that’s what your mom liked to let him believe. “Come in, come in–you two must be freezing! How was the drive from the city?”

Your mom was pulling you in before you could even get out an answer, and since your other hand was still death gripped in Daemon’s he was tugged along for the journey. At least she allowed you enough time to stop at the coat rack and peel off the layers of winter wear you had been subjected to only to still somehow remain freezing cold. As you unwrapped your scarf, face rosy from the wind, you hummed:

“It was alright; Daemon drove my car because dad got me those snow tires.”

“See? And you didn’t want to take him up on those….”

“Mom–” You sighed. “I just didn’t want you guys spending any more money on me.”

“Nonsense, you’re our only baby–aside from you, Urrax,” she threw in for the dog’s benefit, as if he could somehow understand them; he simply panted happily at the mention of his name, probably expecting some sort of treat. “Who else are we going to spend it on? Now, you–”

She looked pointedly at Daemon who was peeling off his black coat, stopping with one arm still in as he looked between you and your mother. You offered him no out; this had been his plan after all–wanting to meet your parents finally after nearly six months of dating. It wasn't that you didn’t want your parents to get to know the guy you were seeing, but you weren’t blind to the possibility of their opposition due to the age gap–among other things.

“Let me get a good look at you,” your mother continued, stepping close so she could get a better look at Daemon’s face; still paused in that same stance, arm tucked in one sleeve of the coat while the other held it up, your boyfriend offered your mother a devilishly handsome smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” he hummed cordially–or as cordial as Daemon could be.

“Hmmm,” was your mother’s only response, eyes looking up and down in that overly critical way she used on all the other moms on the PTA board, “Damion was it?”

“Mom--” you hissed, ears flushing from embarrassment rather than the cold this time.

“What? Is his name Damion or not?” She exclaimed, feigning innocence.

“It’s quite alright–it’s a bit of a unique spelling,” Daemon smiled, though you could see the fire he hid well in his eyes. “It’s actually, Daemon ma’am–Daemon Targaryen.”

“Oh, Targaryen!” Your mother’s eyes widened, recognizing the name. “Like the Targaryens from that fancy steel factory?”

“Correct,” Daemon’s smile had turned into a smirk, and you hid your laughter behind a smile as you finally turned away from them to kneel and greet Urrax; the beast thanked you for your attentions with gross smelling slobber-ladened kisses on your face and hands.

“Where’s dad?” You asked breathlessly as you gently pushed his face away from yours with a laugh.

“In the den, watching that damn It’s a Wonderful for the umpteenth time,” you could hear the roll of her eyes in the tone of her voice. “Couldn’t even pull him away from the recliner to help with dinner; we’re having your favorite by the way–I hope it’s not cold. We were expecting you an hour ago….”

“Well it is snowing, mom,” brushing off the jab, you rise to your full height and turn back to them; your eyes flick to Daemon, who is watching you carefully.

“I know, I know,” she waved dismissively, brushing past you and towards the den area. “Now come on–he’s been dying to meet your fella; hope you’re ready for a hundred and twenty questions, Daemon.”

“Certainly,” he chuckled, arm coming to wrap around your waist and tucking you into his side as he guided the pair of you to follow the woman.

Sighing, you let him be your strength as your head falls to his chest, “it’s not too late to run….”

You say it low enough so your mother won’t hear, already yelling at your father to turn off the TV before she even enters the room. Daemon simply laughs again, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head as his hand gives your hip a firm squeeze. Biting your lip, you tilt your head up to press a kiss of your own against the strong square of his jaw, letting your nose graze the skin there before your gaze falls back down through the doorway. Already you can hear your father heaving himself out of his chair as he and your mother argue over the TV, George Bailey’s iconic speech humming in the background.

“Now where did you put the remote?” Your mother groaned, passing in view before disappearing to the other side of the den. Daemon and you stopped in the doorway as you both peered in, assessing the situation before you interrupted what could end up being one of your parents’ infamous holiday fights.

Without fail on high stress seasonal celebrations like Thanksgiving and Christmas, where tensions ran high, your chronically on the cusp of divorce parents ended up in some ridiculous and avoidable argument that burned brightly and fizzled out just as quickly; by the time dessert was served they were usually back to their amicable albeit annoying selves, and your appetite for food and celebration was ruined for the rest of the night.

“It’s in the chair cushions, mom,” you interjected, wanting to avoid such an instant this year as it was yours and Daemon’s first official holiday with each other; you had skipped out on having Thanksgiving together last month after an argument about the very thing you were doing at your parents’--introducing him as your boyfriend. You had met pretty much every member of his immediate family, which was saying something considering there were a lot of them; he had even introduced you to the daughters he’d had with his late wife, Laena, already. And although it had gone about as good as could be expected, at least he had taken that initiative and wasn’t trying to hide your relationship; honestly, it was hot how much he loved showing you off, it was one of your favorite things about him–his confidence in his decisions, the way he never second guessed himself.

If only you could say the same.

“Like it always is,” you tacked on as you moved away from Daemon’s side and brushed past your father, hand coming up to pat him on the back as you leaned forward and dug through either side of the broken in recliner he had had since the father’s day of the year you turned five; you remembered how excited you had been when you had given your mom the five dollars from one of your teeth–believing it all the money in the world, or at least enough to get that chair your dad was eying out of a La-Z-Boy catalog that came in the mail.

Gripping the remote in hand, you pulled it from between where it was stuck and held it out to your mom, waving it as you gave her a knowing expression. Rolling her eyes, she huffed as she reached out and grabbed it, pointing it at the TV a moment before it finally cut George Bailey off and went dark.

“See? She always blames these things on me,” your dad snorted, a vision in his trademark plaid button up and the brown leather belt that adorned every pair of jeans he’d ever worn..

“Well it technically was your fault it ended up under your ass, dad,” you defended.

“Language,” your mother huffed, and as always you and your dad shared an eye roll.

“Enough with the nagging,” your father hummed, growing serious–or as serious as he ever got–as he turned to Daemon who still stood in the doorway taking in the scene before him. You realized how odd it must be, to be an outsider looking in, at least that’s how you had often felt when initially meeting his family; they had been great about making you feel included at least, except for Baela and Rhaena, and even then they still made it a point to be civil for their dad’s sake after he made it clear you made him happy. “You’re the boyfriend, I presume?”

“Yes,” he pushed off the side of the doorway and stepped forward, raising his hand for your father to shake–it was more than any of your other boyfriends had done in the past. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet both you and your wife.”

“Hm,” was your father’s response, a moment or two passing before he finally grabbed Daemon’s hand and shook it; something seemed to transpire as his critical gaze softened and he smiled. “Well, I’m glad my daughter finally brought you for a visit. She’s told us a bit about you, but I’m eager to hear more.”

“Of course,” Daemon let his hand drop back to his side.

“Now let’s get settled at the table before you begin your interrogation,” your mother playfully scolded her husband. “I already got the table all set and everything; I hope you like roast, Daemon….”

“Sounds delicious,” he hummed, once more falling into step beside you, hand on the small of your back as you followed your parents into the adjoining open concept dining room/kitchen combo.

“It was one of her favorites growing up,” your mother continued, tossing a thumb your way over her shoulder. “We couldn’t have a ham or a turkey, no–it had to be a nice roast with some of that honey barbeque glaze that was her grandmother’s recipe.”

You all settled at the table–you and Daemon on one side, your parents on the other–as your mother prattled on about hams and glazes and the one time you puked halfway digested roast up on the new carpet after getting the flu really bad when you were thirteen. Biting your tongue, you felt Daemon find your hand under the table, squeezing it tightly as your mom pulled the cover off the platter with the roast on it; your dad was already reaching for his piece when your mother stopped him:

“Prayer first.”

Daemon caught your eye and you could see the distaste clearly painted on his face, knowing that he wasn’t particularly fond of religious practices that fell under the Faith of the Seven; his own family were split in their belief systems, his older brother’s second wife converting him over to the Seven while Daemon and his niece Rhaenyra stayed within the traditions of Old Valyria the Targaryens were known for. Personally, you weren’t religious at all, and neither were your parents who had raised you with an open mind to religion but had no expectations for you to follow a particular faith; your mom only threw out that prayer stuff on the holidays and only when you had guests.

Both you and Daemon bowed your heads, exchanging slightly bemused looks as your mother began the prayer. It was as awkward and hilarious as to be expected, your mother thanking the Seven for bringing the both of you there safely that night and for blessing the food you were about to eat. Then of course she blessed your dad and Urrax who had found himself back inside after disappearing through the backroom doggy door; he was now begging at your father’s feet–the weakest link among your defense when it came to resisting puppy dog eyes.

“And Seven, if you could just make it to where I could be at the top of the phone tree at the next neighborhood watch meeting, that would be appreciated,” your mother tacked on. “In your name we pray, thank you.”

“Thank you,” you held back a snort as Daemon rubbed a hand over his mouth, stifling laughter.

“Dig in!” Your mother exclaimed, grabbing two rolls.

Your father wasted no time in claiming the biggest slice of roast for himself as you covered almost half of your plate in the potatoes that had simmered alongside it. Tossing Urrax a sympathy carrot–you hated steamed carrots–you glanced over at Daemon’s plate which had a little bit of everything on it. Smiling, you nudged him before grabbing your fork and spearing one of the potatoes, popping it in your mouth; initially it was a mistake, the morsel unbearably warm as you rolled it around for a few moments while it cooled down.

“So Daemon,” your father began, swallowing his first bite of roast and green bean casserole combo, “what are your intentions with our daughter?”

It was brutally cliche and your father knew it by the look of the humorous smile playing on his lips, one Daemon shared as he chuckled and set down his fork.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “we’re just seeing where things go for now–no definitive plans, no expectations.”

You nodded in agreement, the both of you having made what you wanted and needed from the relationship clear from the start. Daemon was a man nearing his fifties, he had long since sowed his wild oats and was a father of two grown adults, he had no need to play games with any of the women he pursued. And for that you were thankful, because otherwise you didn’t think things would’ve ever worked out for as long as they had; he was the first guy you had ever dated that was in the same age bracket as your father–all your other boyfriends born within the same decade as you–and at first you had feared it would be an obstacle you wouldn’t be able to get over but Daemon had been patient although determined for you to at least give him a chance before you completely wrote him off.

“Good, good,” your father nodded in agreement, “because you know we fully expect her to finish college first before any of that settling down nonsense right?”

“Dad, come on,” you sighed, pushing your food around your plate as heat rose in your cheeks.

“We just worry that those four years of college and the time you’ve already put into graduate school will go to waste,” your mother interjected. “It was an awful lot of money, sweetheart.”

“Well I don’t plan on getting pregnant or eloping in Vegas, so you can rest easy, alright?” You dropped a piece of gristly meat on the floor for Urrax to scarf down.

“We’re just asking,” she held up her hands in defense.

You felt Daemon’s hand on your thigh, the pad of his thumb stroking in the same pattern as he periodically gave it a squeeze. Glancing at him, you saw that he was facing forward, seemingly giving your parents his full attention as you all tabled the discussion of him potentially ruining your future.

“How old are you again, Daemon?” your mother led with the next line of questioning, putting you further on edge.

“I’ll be forty-nine this coming spring,” he answered with ease, no shame evident in his tone.

“Goodness, you certainly don’t look your age then,” she complimented, neither her nor your father showing any concern at the gap.

Of course, you hadn’t expected them to react too badly to that aspect of your relationship; you had been clear from the start that there was quite a bit of a gap between Daemon and you. They had taken it with some relative uneasiness at first until you assured them that proper boundaries to protect yourself had been put in place right from the start.

“And we were told that you teach,” your father joined in, scooping up the scraps of his food and holding it on his fork as he continued, “are you a grade school teacher? Or high school?”

“I’m actually a professor,” Daemon explained. “I chair the history department at King’s Landing University.”

Your university.

“Oh,” was all your mother said, before wiping her mouth off with her napkin and composing herself. “What kinds of classes do you offer?”

You knew she was digging, deeper and deeper, so that she may connect the dots of the secret you had held so close all those months. And if you could hold it close just a bit longer you would, but this had been Daemon’s wish when he had requested you both spend Christmas together at your parents’ house. He didn’t want to hide the truth any longer if there was any hope of this continuing past the six month probationary period the both of you had agreed on in the beginning, and neither did you truly; but facing your parents and their scrutiny was also not something you particularly desired either.

“Mostly ones on Ancient Civilizations,” he replied. “The traditions and cultures of places like Essos and Pentos; I spent much of my earlier studies traveling and writing about them and then of course Old Valryia. My family is rumored to date all the way back to its fall, and growing up I found the prospect quite fascinating–so I decided to make a career out of it.”

“Didn’t you take one of those ancient civilization courses last semester?” Your father asked, not seeming to be connecting the dots just yet as he went for a second slice of roast. By the look on your mother’s face, however, you knew that she had come to the conclusion straight away, fork hanging limply from her hand with a stray green bean that Urrax sniffed at from her side.

“I did….” You gulped, licking your lips as you reached down to lay your hand over Daemon’s; he turned his palm upwards, entwining your fingers together. “Ancient Civilizations of the Old World: The Valyria Chapter….Daemon’s class.”

Your eyes flicked between your parents, mom pale faced as she processed what she’d already known and your father still chewing, though the movement of his jaw slowed visibly and a frown curved his lips as he too began to process what you had just said. For a moment, you fooled yourself into believing that everything would be okay and this was just the initial shock, they wouldn’t really care that much, right? That was until your dad’s fork slammed down on the table and he swallowed his bite, jaw tense as he looked between you and Daemon.

“You two met….in his class?” Your mother asked breathlessly, setting her fork down with more decorum than your father had. “He-He’s your professor?”

“He was,” you clarified, “but he’s not anymore. I made sure I didn’t take any of his classes this semester after we made things official–”

“As if that somehow makes it better,” your father cut you off.

“Dad–” you sighed, expecting the pushback; an age gap you could rationalize to your parents, dating your professor? That wouldn’t be as easy. They were very by the book, your parents, particularly when it came to company politics and procedures, and the golden rule they lived by was that you didn’t date your co-workers–especially if they outranked you. It not only complicated things in their opinion, but it was also unethical for a superior to date someone who was under them because it created an unsettling power balance. And you understood that in some instances of students dating their professors that power imbalance did occur, you were just lucky that that hadn’t been your experience with Daemon.

“It just isn’t right,” your mother shook her head, “for a professor to date one of their students. You must understand that, Mr. Targaryen.”

Oh, now they were on a last name basis–this wasn’t good.

“I understand your concerns,” Daemon hummed, “and trust that they were addressed early on between your daughter and I, but I would never jeopardize my career or her academic future in such a way.”

“But you have by even continuing to see her,” your dad argued. “Even if she isn’t in one of your classes, she’s still a student at the college you work for.”

“Yes, however we both keep our personal lives very separate from the university,” he continued, standing firm in his words. “Your daughter only has two more semesters left, so we see no need to worry; once she has graduated we can make our relationship more public so as to not put either of us in an uncomfortable position.”

“You must see how unethical and even immoral this is,” your mother continued to push before looking at you. “Honey–”

“Daemon has never allowed his private feelings to impact his treatment of me in class,” you defended him. “And now that I’m not on his roster it’s easy for us to keep those parts of our life separate. I understand that this isn’t conventional and it might even be inappropriate but….fuck! I don’t care, okay? I just really don’t and if you can’t accept that then that’s fine–well, not really, but I’m not going to let it affect my relationship. Daemon and I will continue to see each other no matter what you have to say.”

You didn’t dare look at Daemon, too fearful that it would cause you to falter in your words, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face; a part of you didn’t even have to look to know that it was an expression of pride he wore as you relaxed back in your seat. Your parents sat across from you, stunned into silence, father staring at you as you mother fiddled uncomfortably with her silverware; all the while Urrax panted obliviously, begging for scraps at the side of the table.

“Now,” you sighed, taking a deep breath as you pushed back from the table and stood up, hand reaching for Daemon, “if you’ll excuse us–I’d like to show Daemon my room. Okay?”

For a moment you feared that they’d ask you to leave the house entirely, unable to process what had just transpired let alone accept the simple fact that Daemon and you had been brought together by his status as your professor.

“Okay,” your father sighed, the one word lifting the burden from your heart as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “But we’re talking more about this–”

He gestured between you and Daemon with his fork.

“In the morning.”

“Dad–” You frowned, ready to nip any objections to your relationship in the bud.

“I ain’t gonna say nothing more about my thoughts on the whole ‘professor’ thing,” he said the word with a hint of distaste. “I just want to get a better picture of….it.”

You saw your mother nodding in agreement, seeming to come back to herself as she took a deep calming breath in and let it slowly out.

“....Alright,” you agreed after a moment before turning to leave. “Dinner was delicious, mom….good night.”

“Night, sweetie,” you heard her sigh as you left them to the rest of their meal and led Daemon upstairs.

Your childhood bedroom was the same as you had left it when you moved out for college, a shrine to the young girl you had once been when your mom still drove you to practices and away games, back when you spent a majority of your time in your father’s shadow. If only you had stayed that age. But alas, you grew up as kids tended to do and as Daemon pressed you back into the floral print bed sheets all thoughts of your adolescence left your mind.

Moaning, you kissed him back with a fervor, one hand combing through his silky shoulder length hair while the other one pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. Pulling away temporarily, he quickly undid the buttons of the shirt before shrugging it off his shoulders, tossing it to the floor of your bedroom before leaning back down to kiss you. His kisses made you breathless, trying to catch your breath between each one as he rubbed against you.

“I didn’t expect all that down there….” he chuckled, lips trailing the length of your jaw and down to your neck, he sucked on the skin there as you let out a gasp your hands falling down to grip at his lower back; his hips pressed into yours, rubbing the outline of his hardening cock against your core.

“Me either,” you pant, laughter on your tongue as you reach your hands between the two of you to fumble with the buckle of his belt. “Fuck….help me get this off.”

“Eager, aren’t we?” He teased, pulling back all the same to give you better access, his own hands reaching down to help undo the zipper of his pants.

“As if you aren’t,” you shot back, licking your lips as you saw the hint of his cock peeking out from between his open fly.

His hand found the back of your head, fingers rubbing your scalp as he patiently waited for you to shimmy his pants down past his buttocks and pull his semi-hard cock out. Spitting in one hand, you grab it in a firm grasp and slowly stroke from base to tip, eyes flicking up to gauge his reaction. You watched the tilt of his head as he looked up the ceiling, eyes closing as he let out a soft moan, hand still tugging through your hair before pressing back against your skull. Once he stiffened a bit more, you rubbed your thumb over the leaking tip, leaning forward to take it into your mouth. Another groan escaped Daemon’s lips, louder this time, deep in his throat as he slowly pressed forward–feeding you his cock.

“Good girl….” He sighed reverently. “So good for me….that’s right–take me all the way to the back of your throat.”

Glowing under his praise, you reminded yourself to relax the back of your throat muscles as he had instructed you in the past, feeling the head of his penis slip into the narrow opening. It was difficult to remember all of it–relax, breathe through your nose, don’t neglect the base….at that thought you reached up your hand, caressing over the heavy weight of his balls before gripping where the shaft met the bottom. Her jerked slightly in your hand, bumping the back of your throat and causing you to gag but you simply stalled, taking a deep breath through your nose and letting it out before continuing.

“There we go,” he grunted, hooded eyes flicking down to stare at you–jaw unhinged, mouth open as you took his dick so well.

Never one to want to waste cum down your throat, however, Daemon tapped you on the shoulder when he was good to go and you pulled back. Licking your lips, feeling how swollen they had become with the tip of your tongue, you rested back on your elbows, clothes still on but disheveled as you awaited your boyfriend’s next move. He wasted no time of ridding you of your shoes and pants, leaving you in your button up blouse–sans buttons when he tore it open much to your ire–as well as your bra and panties; though the latter quickly followed as Daemon discarded your underwear as well, free hand stroking his cock as he placed himself between your legs.

Using one hand to open you up, he used the other to guide himself inside of you, tip of his cock teasing your clit with a few brushes across before finding its target. Biting your lip, you fell fully on your back as you kept your legs wide open for him, only closing momentarily to squeeze his hips as you resisted the urge to lift and impale yourself on his cock the rest of the way. Daemon liked to tease you in the beginning, pushing in inch by agonizing inch, until he was balls deep into your pussy–only then did he give you both what you wanted.

He fucked into you with an enthusiasm none of your other lovers could’ve ever hoped to match, hands gripping either of your thighs in a vice grip as he held you open for himself, watching at how well he pounded your pussy. A satisfied smirk curved his lips, eyes flicking up to meet yours, which were glazed over and unfocused as all you could do was lie there and take his punishing pace. Gasping, you reached down with both hands to grip his wrists, holding on for dear life as you already felt yourself so close to the edge; usually when he noted your approaching orgasm, he would slow down and drag it on, taking you to edge and keeping you there for hours but tonight it seemed he had different plans. Instead of slowing down when you felt that knot forming in your stomach, he went faster, fucking into your with even more vigor as you held in the more alarming of your moans–last thing you needed was your parents hearing your professor screw you into the matress under their own roof.

“Daemon….” you whimpered. “I–I….I need to–”

“You know how to ask nicely, pet,” he teased, rhythm never letting up as his hands slipped from your thighs to your hips, slamming you down onto him as his hips met your ass in a stinging slap again and again.

“Can I–oh!” Your body jerked as one of his hands slipped to your clit, rubbing the bud with the warm pad of his thumb as he kept up his onslaught of attacking thrusts. “Oh shit–fuck! Daemon, can I–can I please cum?! I need to cum all over your cock, I need–ah!”

All senses left you as Daemon reared up, the force of his thrust lifting your lower body as he held you there, back arching and pressing further into the mattress as the dam in your stomach broke–your orgasm washing over you. His thumb stopped moving on your clit, instead holding you there in the chasm where pleasure met pain, lips and thighs wet with the slick of your arousal. You felt the pulse of his own release wash over inside of you as he gave small rolls of his hips against your suspended ass, grunting as the tension finally broke and he let you fall once more to the bed, partially into his lap. Your legs rested uselessly on either side of his hips, racked with residual tremors of your post-coital bliss; sweat coated your skin, prickly and orgasmically uncomfortable as your entire epidermis hummed with sensitivity, body jerking involuntarily from the slightest caress of Daemon’s body brushing against yours.

After a few moments of settling, he finally pulled himself from inside you, a broken whimper leaving your mouth at the loss. Chuckling, he settled his body against your side, shifting both your bodies slightly so that he could tuck himself against your backside, flaccid wet cock rubbing against your ass as you leaned back into him. Your head tucked under his chin as you quietly laid there, feeling how his seed slipped out from inside and dripped onto the bed sheets, both of you allowing the quiet to envelop your bodies before sleep eventually claimed you.

#˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 :#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen one shot

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girlygameofthrones · 2 years ago

Text

Duty to the House

Description: Your brother Aemond prepares you for your wedding ceremony to another man.

Pairing: Aemond x Targaryen/Sister-Reader Insert (this was originally written with an actual OC in mind, but it was vague enough to change to a reader insert. If parts come off as wonky, that’s probably why)

Warnings: Incest. I’ll say smut to be safe, but it’s pretty safe for what you can find on this hell site. Possessive/jealous Aemond?

He was staring at you. You did not see him, but you were aware of his presence. Whenever Aemond was in your vicinity, you could tell. It was the way your hairs stood on end and the pace at which your heartbeat quickened, its rhythm soothing and frightening all at once. You spotted the silk gown hanging in front of you and could not bring herself to look back at your brother.

Aemond remained in his spot, watching the proceedings play out. Your handmaidens had prepared the bath for you. A line of soaps, lotions, and shampoos were arranged. You didn’t think your maids knew that Aemond was watching because they weren’t afraid.

“The bath is ready, princess,” your handmaiden informed you.

Your other handmaiden was suddenly behind you, just beginning to slip your robe from your shoulders. Then you all heard:

“That will be enough. Your presence is no longer needed.”

You couldn’t have ordered the girls to stay even if you’d wanted to. At the sound of Aemond’s command, they scattered, muttering apologies and hushed: “my prince!” before scurrying out the door. You whipped around to see Aemond behind you. How he’d slinked inside with no one noticing was beyond your understanding. He could move like a shadow.

“Aemond,” you began, the pounding in your chest quickening. “I have to get ready now. It wasn’t your place to dismiss my handmaidens.”

“Aye, sister, I know,” Aemond drawled. “But I just had to see you before you were given away to that louse.”

Your cheeks grew hot. “This marriage will strengthen our family and the future of House Targaryen. It is my duty to–”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand. Then he cupped the back of your neck, forcing you to look into his face. His violet eye glittered with possessiveness and malice. You shivered but could not deny the knot that formed in the pit of your stomach, nor the ache below.

“Always the obedient one, Y/N,” he jested. “Always the dutiful one. I suppose it is best for our position, as you said, but I won’t take back my words. He is a louse.” He offered a sneer. “We can’t shame our house, can we?”

You watched him but did not affirm his statement. After a moment you reminded him: “I was getting ready for my wedding. You interrupted us, Aemond.” The words burned as they came out. His grip on the back of your neck tightened. You prayed the pain would not stop, because it was proof that he was there; he was touching you.

“We can’t shame our house, can we?” he repeated. “He’ll expect you, walking with your head held high, the blood of the dragon coursing through your veins.” As he said this, he leaned in, and you could feel this blood he spoke of racing through your body. “The beauty of old Valyria, the majesty of the House of the Dragon… We shan’t disappoint.”

“N-no, we couldn’t do that…” His gaze was captivating, holding you more hostage than any chain or rope would be capable. You sighed. “Which is why I must prepare for the ceremony.”

He ran his fingers through your white hair, breathing in deeply and shutting his eyes. He released your neck only to cup your face in his hands. Calloused hands, hands that had held a blade daily in his training with Ser Cristen, hands that had commanded a dragon, brushed over your soft skin. So soft that his touch left marks.

“Your handmaidens simply can’t comprehend your nobility,” he breathed, a smirk playing at his mouth. “They’ll wash you, shampoo your hair, and wrap you in a gown. In the end, they are incapable of appreciating you for what you are.”

You chewed her lip until Aemond brushed a finger down to stop you. “Are you capable of appreciating me for what I am?”

The invitation was so subtle, but Aemond seized it in an instant. You stumbled backward as he planted a hard kiss to your mouth. Hungry, impatient, and possessive, but somehow with all the reverence of a man praying to a goddess. You tangled her fingers in his hair, then his shoulders, gripping the leather. Aemond let out an insane laugh as you pressed yourself into the kiss hard enough you could bruise him.

“Take off your clothes, Y/N,” he commanded in a whisper.

“Aemond,” you moaned. “I can’t…we can’t…”

“I’m going to bathe you and I’m going to dress you,” he breathed. “We can’t shame our house, can we?” He paused in order to cover your throat with quick, burning kisses. “I will present you to your fool of a lord husband. Only those with Valyrian blood can bring forth the flame of a dragon. Only I can bring forth your radiance.”

With trembling hands you pulled the robe from your shoulders. You could physically feel him watching you. The garment fell in a crumpled heap at your feet. Aemond swept your hair back, placing a strong hand to your back. Then he guided you to the tub, allowing you to sink into the hot waves. His touch was the hottest of all. Somehow hands that were suited for swordplay were also suited for applying scented creams to your neck, shoulders, back, and chest. He gathered some of the water and trickled it over your hair. Upon applying the shampoo, he sighed appreciatively.

The ache was growing, his touch both tantalizing and tortuous all at once. Aemond rinsed your hair, taking extra care to smooth it out himself. He pulled back and instantly you swiveled to understand why he’d stopped. He smirked at your desperation. It was the same smirk he wore when he had an opponent on his back.

“Your hair is beautiful,” he assured you. “Let’s clean the rest of you.”

Your breath caught as he shrugged out of his coat and tunic. Even halfway clothed, he climbed into the bath with you, pulling you toward him. He mounted your backside between his legs. His arms snaked around and he began rubbing lotion into your stomach and thighs. As he sped up, you were forced to grip the edges of the tub. When his fingers became even more explorative, you responded by reaching up with one arm and pulling his face down. A whimper escaped you as you lifted your jaw to meet him in a breathless kiss. Steam clouded every mirror in the chamber.

You were dried and clothed with care, Aemond clearly appreciating every part of you. When he was finished with his work, he admired you for a moment.

“We can’t shame our house,” he reminded you once more. Then he sighed. “But your betrothed is still a louse.”

#aemond imagine #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine

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humming-pokemon-helpers · 7 months ago

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[It's a video! The one filming, as usual, seems to be Cross, who voices a low, electric "whoaaaaaaaa" as she films the legendary Reshiram, from its talons to the crest of its fluffy head. The dragon seems to be at rest, fluffing out its wings before the camera settles back at its feet on the three people in the room, standing tensely.

Two of them stand together--Tula, and presumably Vanilla, facing Vision in garishly purple robes. Tula's hand rests at her hip, where her sword sits, but Vanilla's position is a bit more diplomatic, hands open in front of them as if to negotiate. Even so, Tula speaks first.

"Where's your boss, Miss Ghetsis Wannabe."

"Boss?" Vision sneered. "He needs me more than I could possibly need him. He's off working on his special little machine, though. Apologies for disappointing you, little grunt."

Before Tula can bite back, Vanilla jumps in.

"So, to be perfectly clear... your plan is to use Reshiram to force people to release their Pokémon. While you have Reshiram captured. And you're saying you're better than Ghetsis was, because...?"

Vision shakes her head. "Hmph. Reshiram and I formed a bond of trust far before I captured them to ensure our plans could succeed. And I intend to give them their freedom, too. Is it truly so hard to understand that without Pokéballs, Pokémon could still choose to spend their time around humans? Or is that the only way you can envision your bond? As captor and captive? It would be one thing if all Pokémon chose to join their trainers before being captured, but can you say without a singular doubt that there aren't Pokémon trapped and abused in the current system? If it takes the fire of truth to bring about justice, then so be it!"

"Justice? Don't talk about justice when your 'plan' is going to hurt and kill innocent people and Pokémon!" Vanilla reaches for the sword at his own hip. Negotiations were through.

"If your idea of justice is so perfect, then you can burn with the people you're defending!"

At a swish of Vision's wrist, Reshiram flexes the length of its entire wings, a thrumming noise and a steadily increasing heat filling the room as it activates its Turboblaze. The camera-Pokémon moves closer to her trainer, as she fumbles trying to pick a Pokéball from her waist and hold her sword steady.

They whisper to their partner. "Tula, you should..."

She shakes her head, rejecting the thought of fleeing before it's even finished. "...I'm supposed to protect you."

As the ground, ceiling, and even Cross shake with the force of the charged power, though, the notably absent member of the fight appears with a flash and a Beheeyem, yelling loud enough to overcome the noise.

"In the name of-- do none of you care of what would happen if the ceiling collapsed in on you all, here?!"

Both Vanilla and Vision's fur stands on end. Tula pivots and breathes deep, holding tight to her own sword as Vision responds, her voice cold but even.

"Colress. I have this under control."

"We have an agreement, Vision. Our tools aren't yet prepared. The emotions. The setting... These are far from the ideal experimental conditions. Bide your time."

As Vision grumbles, and as he backs off from the impending attack, Colress gestures at the 'visitors'.

"Now, Beheeyem. Show our guests out, would you?"

As Tula steels herself and lunges at the scientist, yelling something along the lines of "Don't you fucking dare, you fucking--", the camera flashes with blinding light, and the surroundings change from the crumbling ruins of a castle to a lush forest. There's the distinct sound of a thud against the earth, the cry of a Beheeyem, and something hard and plastic hitting the ground before Cross reorients herself to the scene just in time to see Colress's Beheeyem teleport away, and Vanilla rushing to help Tula off of the ground.

"Shit. That must've hurt... are you okay, babe?"

Tula peels herself off of the ground with a sharp intake of breath.

"Yeah... I'm... It's all my fault, I couldn't..."

"No no no," Vanilla assured as a few Zorua wandered over to assess the scene. "You did amazing. We just need to figure out how to deal with that Beheeyem..."

One of the Zorua--the yellow eyes suggest Vanilla's nephew, Bach--nudges over a worn Luxury Ball.

"Huh? What is..."

Vanilla picks up the Pokéball, and the video ends.]

//tagging @plasmaapologist for Tula !

#pzzt! uploaded by cross!#pokeblogging #pkmn irl #high stakes pokeblogging #a vision in the mirror #tw violence #tw threats #tw death mention #ask to tag #long post

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earenwen-leafwhisper · 2 years ago

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Part 5 of "Breathe, everything will be fine"

Masterlist: here

Abstract : The arrival of a dragon in the north is not common, Daemon on his back was even more surprising.

Pairing: Daemon x Fem Chubby reader

Edit : I just edited several errors and a paragraph doubled by errors I hope it will be more readable

The night was dark, clouds covered the sky, the light wind coming from the north took the cold of the wall to the castle, the window of your room was open, you looked outside. The branches of the trees moved in heart, only the torches of the guards illuminated the earth, the few distant houses had their lights off for several hours.

The serenity of the places allowed you to find a form of calm, you tried to recapitulate the past events, see where you could have been at fault, you tried to understand, but did not succeed completely. You tried not to mope about yourself, life went on and the future could be positive, you just had to believe strongly enough.

For several weeks you watched the arrival of heralds and crows, all were intercepted by the guards, you tried to read the messages, but Suzanne always found a way to get away from your objective, whether by taking you to another section of the castle to find books, or by going through the kitchens, offering you a new embroidery motif, etc. at a rare moment you heard your father shouting through the door leading to the great hall.

«Never!... Can... dream»

Watching the heralds, you could see that they were messengers from the capital. It was true that you no longer received crows from Daemon and that worried you. Not for yourself or that he has indeed manipulated you, but of a possible conflict that would be played out in the capital, because between the conflict north of the wall and another at King’s Landing, the north would have been torn.

Suzanne had you insured two days before, King’s Landing wasn’t in danger. The same morning she heard your parents talking in the large room after the visit of a first herald. According to her, their discussions were heated, the main cause being the prince.

“Apparently, the prince will ask for your hand, he has made several proposals.” Suzanne was focused on her embroidery, a shy smile on her lips.

"Really?" You were looking at Suzanne, both surprised and doubtful.

“Recently, the king himself would have sent messengers. Daemon would be visibly furious. That’s all I could hear.”

"Furious?"

"Who knows my lady, perhaps he is truly in love with you. You know the prince’s temperament better than anyone in this castle."

“He’s not unconscious either, Suzanne.”

“Perhaps your union will ease the trials between your two families?”

Suzanne had a point, you were hoping she was right.

That night, it was late when a noise came out of your contemplation, it seemed to you to be a great cry, it did not seem human to you, rather like a very big animal, much larger than the bears living in the forest bordering the castle. A few minutes later, a warm wind was felt, you looked out your window, the guards hurried out of the castle, the few servants still standing and outside entering the castle. When once again the roar was heard, this time you were looking in its direction, the darkness that reigned because of the cloudy sky, was illuminated in an instant, huge flames split the air. With wide eyes you watched the scene, a dragon passed in the north, it seemed for a long time that a dragon was so far in the north, from Aegon the conqueror if you remembered the writings of the books of Red Keep.

Your heart began to palpate, your hands became moist, your mouth dry, why would a dragon fly so far? The answer was quickly found when he landed, frightening the guards, armed with their swords, trembling but remaining in formation. A movement on the dragon made you observe it more assiduously, this form was humanoid, he rose from what seemed to be a saddle, he descended with ease from the animal. The form approached the guards and it was there that you could distinguish a hair, long and clear hair, a dragon with a long neck. It was to be none other than a certain prince.

Daemon came in person to the castle, your first reflex was to want to get out of your room, to be at his side. Placing your hand on the clinch of the door and opening it, you were greeted by Sir Geubert, standing in front of your room, his back was facing you.

"Stay inside your room lady Y/n. please." Sir Geubert was on his guard.

“Good.”

You closed the door, returning to your window, Caraxes was lying on the ground, his head staring at the guards, Daemon entered the castle accompanied by several knights of your house. But you were looking for an excuse to go out for any reason.

Your parents were awakened by servants, your father was bitterly hurried, your mother was wearing her dressing gown and a long robe adapted to the cold climate of the northern night.

The great hall, whose walls adorned with enormous stone block, was lit by a few torches, a fire was lit in haste. Daemon was standing in the room, looking around him, the walls were adorned with torches, some flags and tapestries in the colors of your house. The ceiling was adorned with a large chandelier made of wood from trees and deer, heavy candles were placed there. The lighting gave warm tones to the room, but the large shadows which the torches created brought a gloomy side to the place. If for you it was the house, for Daemon, the place was freezing.

The door opened revealing your father, dressing in dark trousers and a tunic with the main color of your family, resting on a shirt of an off-white. His features were drawn by lack of sleep, his gaze fell on the prince, he stared at him for several minutes. Before entering the room. Your father standing in front of the chair being dedicated to him at the big table, when he spoke.

"What are you doing here, Prince Daemon?" There was a kind of disdain in his voice.

“You know the answer to this question.”

“So you can parade around the city? What did you put in her head?”

"What am I putting? Nothing that wasn’t there already."

"You have corrupted her!"

“Oh, I can’t be accused of that.”

Daemon was having fun with your father’s anger. But he was here for something more important, if he couldn’t use the same technique he used for his brother, he had to be more honest with your father. He had learned of the pride of the north, of their loyalty and courage, but all this could be eroded when honour was tainted.

“I came to marry Y/n." Daemon spoke calmly, too calmly.

"You will never have her hand!"

“If not me, who? Stark? His child is too young for her and the Lord is old. Bolton? Bastard who already humiliated her?! I’ll burn it alive. Oh maybe Baratheon? Or Lannister? Your house is too small for their own ambitions.”

Your father was furious from the inside, veins were beginning to appear/grown on his face.

“How many suitors showed interest? How many at least try to court her?”

Daemon was staring at your father, several times you had explained to him the arrangements between your family and others. How just one interview ended quickly, how young men hardly looked at you, rare were those who forced themselves to be kind, they did not see beyond their cock, Daemon often said to himself, they did not see what he saw. In the silence of your father Daemon resumed.

“How do you think she feels? Have you bothered to look beyond your own ambition?”

"This is my daughter!"

“What confuses your mind, although I see that there is not only a desire for power, you would have already accepted my demands.”

"She will not marry, a person of your family to degenerate! You Targaryens, the inbreds! Your line is doomed to the darkness of this world! But not her!"

Daemon will be fists, clenched his jaw. That he insulted him, but not his house.

“Even on my deathbed, you don’t marry her! I’d marry her to a peasant, you don’t! May she be happy or not!”

Daemon advanced with a fast and dangerous step, his hand resting on the knob of Dark sister. Knights were rushing to the door to intervene. But this did not bring back the anger that reigned in the room. Your father caught in his alas continued.

“What matters is that she has an heir! No matter who she marries, they just didn’t understand that it was just that! I don’t care if they go somewhere else! Get out of my house!"

Your father kept screaming, Daemon’s blood was bubbling in his veins, how could he speak so of you? He looked at the two guards in front of him, it would have been easy for him to disarm them, then he looked towards the open door, there were several knights posted there, he recognized this young knight whom he had beaten at the tournament and who was left beside you. Sir Gaubet? Goubert?

The gaze of Daemon was drawn by a round shape half hidden behind the knight, the prince’s anger was coming down at full speed, he had become worried. How long have you been a spectator? He was watching you, your eyes were red, your lower lip was shaking. The rage that Daemon felt began to multiply, you did not look at him, the wounded look was not intended for him, this look was intended for another man. Daemon turned to your father. As he was about to speak another voice interrupted him. A woman’s voice.

"Husband! That’s enough!"

Your mother had just entered the room, forcing you to enter.

"We shall speak again tomorrow, your words are foolish." She turned to the prince. “If you allow it, you will spend the night at the castle or you can still sleep with your dragon outside.”

Daemon turned to the door and walked towards it, he approached you, his gaze had softened while watching you, but you ran away not paying attention to those around you. Geubert left after you, Daemon followed him closely, the others could fuck off, you were important to him. Far more important than you could have imagined, Westeros could burn if it allowed him to be by your side.

The end of the night was agitated, Geubert kept your door, preventing the prince from approaching you, which enraged the prince.

“I know you’re loyal to this house, but she doesn’t need a guard.”

“How can you know what she wants or needs?”

The sound of the door opening made them turn in this direction.

"Sir Geubert, they will know nothing, let him in."

“They will know at some point.”

“You’re not going to the night watch.”

“That’s not my concern, Lady Y/N.”

“Please.” Your voice was just a whisper

“Very good.”

Sir Geubert shifted, letting Daemon into your room. He sighed, this situation hurt him, he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you. He wouldn’t forgive himself.

Your room was changing from the apartments in King’s Landing, it was much smaller, but large enough to have organized a full-foot wardrobe, a table where there were several heavy books, an oak chair engraved on the feet. A fairly large window adorned with a thick and dark curtain, to are opposite was a small chimney, from which embers slowly lighted the ground near. Two carpets covered the floor with wood, one near the table and the other covering the floor near your bed. This one was large, covered with several pillows as well as heavy blankets and fur.

You were standing in the middle of the room. Daemon looked at you, his heart was palpitating. Several months had passed since that night. Didn’t have time to talk to you properly, had any news. You were the first to break the stillness of the moment by placing your arms around his torso and placing your head against his torso. He hastened to hold you against him,

“I was so worried, I didn’t hear from you…”

"I have sent you many crows," he placed his hands on your face, raising your head towards him.

“They must have intercepted them…”

With his thumb he began to caress your cheek, smiling at you, finally you were reunited. Looking at him you could see the Daemon you knew, the soft look, a smile you never want him to go from his lips. In the great hall you could only witness the cries of your father and his hurtful words. A moment of doubt settled in you.

"Why do you want to marry me?" Your words were barely whispered, you were surprised when Daemon answered you.

"Do you still not know? Or is it their words that cloud your mind? I love you Y/n. He laid his forehead against yours. “Avy jorrāelan tolī than mirros else isse se vys”

“I love you too, Daemon.”

Your words were so simple to say to him, his few words gave you the impression of having less weight on your shoulders, your lips were gently touching before a kiss was exchanged. It was as if time had not passed since the tournament. You placed a hand in her hair, one of his hands came down from your face and into the hollow of your kidneys. Seconds are minutes, minutes are hours. Still dressed, you sat on the bed, your head against his chest, you listened to him talk about his last weeks at the Red Keep, how he had made the decision to see you against his brother’s advice.

"Fuck the lords, they think what they want."

You fall asleep in his arms, the sound of his voice relaxing you enough to be able to sleep.

It was the rays of the sun that woke you, in the mist between sleep and awakening, you felt a mass around your bust. You gently raised your head and saw an arm, following his arm, you noticed long silver wire against your shoulder. Daemon had spent the night at your side. You turned slowly and gently, to face him. His facial features were relaxed, his breathing calm, his hair was on the pillow, giving your pillow y/f/c silver tones. Daemon was undressing during the night leaving himself only in trousers.

You put your hand against one of his shoulders, the warmth that Daemon gave off, contrasted with the sweet morning ice break. Slowly, you began to caress his shoulder with your fingertips, rising very slowly towards his neck, then his cheek. You didn’t want to wake him up, since the time you imagined waking up with him, you wanted this moment to last as long as possible.

This was without counting on Suzanne and Sir Geubert.

Suzanne knocked on the door, it was time to prepare for the day to come, Sir Geubert was the first to open the door, hand on the knob of his sword. The sound of the door awakened Daemon, who jumped up.

"Sir Geubert?" You looked at the knight, worried.

“Your servant arrived, The prince better get out before there are more servants in the halls.” Geubert was on the defensive.

Daemon, hair tangled, looked at the knight, a mixture of disdain and fatigue.

“He’s not wrong, Daemon…”

"Fuck the servants."

“I know… but let’s not have accusations…please.” You looked at Daemon with all the sweetness that anything could show her.

Daemon sighed, grabbing his shirt and shoes, he got dressed and started leaving your room not without a kiss on your forehead.

The night was not great advice for your father, he continued to rant during the interview with Daemon, your mother was present too.

You were in the hallway leading to the big room, sitting on one of the benches there. One of your legs was shaking, you were looking at the door closed, Suzanne kept you company, embroidering and trying to reassure you with her words. But it did not help you, no words beyond the door were audible, nothing could predict whether what was being played would be good or bad.

Many of the knights posted at the door and in the corridor could see very clearly, the anxiety that was gnawing at you, many felt bad for you, they knew how your father was.

It was only in the early afternoon that the door was opened, you stood up with your hands clasped in the centre of your chest.

Sir Reinfrid, who was inside, looked at you and shook his head, they couldn’t come to an agreement.

It was outside the castle that you found Daemon, He was observing the landscape that you were so familiar with. You’re taking a step back, not wanting to be too much on him.

“I want to marry you according to the Valyrian tradition, no one can contradict our union.”

Daemon had begun to speak, always looking at the horizon. Your heart began to beat faster, you approached him, placing one hand on his shoulder. Daemon turned towards you, pushing a hand on your cheek.

“Let’s go, we’ll go wherever you want, Caraxes can take us away from Westeros if that’s what you want.”

“Daemon…”

“Be my wife.”

Daemon’s voice was tender, it is true that you wanted above all to be at his side, but your family was also important. Daemon took you in his arms, you could smell him, it relaxed you. The decision was not easy to make, but he filled you in a way that no one could do it that you listened to your heart rather than reason. You agreed.

In no time, you and Daemon found yourself in front of Caraxes and before you even understood it, you were on the back of the dragon, Daemon in front of you, holding the Carax straps. The takeoff was fast, you were holding on to Daemon, trying not to scream, your heart beating so fast that you thought it would explode. The cold north wind pricked your face, you buried it in his back.

You didn’t notice that beneath you, as you left the shimmering room, knights galloped towards the castle, the Stark standard floating.

Translation:

Avy jorrāelan tolī than mirros else isse se vys / I love you more than anything else in the world

Tag list :

@the-phantom-of-arda

@tinypnut

#daemon targaryen x chubby reader #daemon x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x chubby reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction

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beanmom-blogs · 2 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt#16 : Third-rate

“Now hang from it.” Came the authoritative woman’s voice.

“Hang? But how am I to shoot a bow if one arm is otherwise occupied by holding up my body?”

The woman sat, sideways, on a bench in the practice yard. Her reasons for sitting sideways were not immediately evident, it wasn’t till one took a closer look that they would see she was missing all but the stump of thigh of her right leg. The trousers she wore were hemmed in a way so that sitting down it merely gave the appearance of the leg bent at the knee. Patiently, she replied, giving the man a head tilted in a matter-of-fact manner. “You hang, Leonardaux, by your legs. Because yours both still work.”

The prod about her missing limb was met with a roll from Leonardaux’s eyes. It was now iteration number five, and the Dragonsong War was well underway. This Lord de Remedoix had decided to take up weaponry, to fit in with those who otherwise lifted up their shields, swords, spears, and bows. Adept as he was by sword and shield, he found that sometimes the ring of metal against the scaled hide of a dragon was too much for him to bear. And that the sing of an arrow through the air was indeed more the sort of music he preferred. As he flipped himself over the jut out wooden pole and held himself from it by knees only, the woman gave an approving hum. “Just like so. Now. I expect you to climb on and off the bar as you are, twenty repetitions, thrice daily.”

“Ser Lyne..” he began.

“I will hear no balking from you, do you understand? You were the one who came to me wishing instruct, t’was not I with whom had mentioned you might further your studies to new forms of combat. Do I need to show you I am no third-rate Knight, despite the lack of leg?” Her hand reached for her own bow, sitting where the leg should have been.

“NO! No… no no.. I..” From his upside down position, Leonardaux swallowed thickly. “I’ve a fear you will indeed show me nonetheless, but I beg of thee, kind Ser, to ah. At least put such measures off until I am well on mine own way to mastery and.. perhaps whence not hanging upside down?”

Lyne chuckled, dry but still full of humour. “Say the words then, else you’ll find yourself with a stomach full of fletching.”

Not about to drop down from position without getting permission, Leonardaux complied. Ego slightly bruised, thought still with all the reverence due. “I yield to thee, Ser Violyne of Honour and Might, for thou hast bested of me in combat.”

“Very well. You may find your feet once more, Lord Remedoix.” She gave a brief pause, a sniff to the air, and a click of her tongue before producing an addendum. “Then come escort your wife inside for I feel a touch of chill begun to set in the air.”

With a soft smile, he backrolled and dropped, bending at the knees as his feet re-found their purchase, walking over to her after. “Twenty repetitions, thrice daily. Beginning tomorrow, as per instruct.” Leaning his shoulder down to give her a solid something to grasp and pull herself up, a cane finding its way along her side in lieu of the missing leg. Because one did not simply pick up and carry a decorated war veteran, not even if they were your own wife.

#ffxivwrite #ffxiv write 2024 #ffxiv elezen #before they were reme #fabienaut remedoix

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holly-fixation · 8 months ago

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Okay I've had an OC idea in my head for a while and if anyone's interested I'll put it to paper:

In the same AU as Until it's Useful, Safer Sephiroth's daughter is pulled into Dissidia/Opera Omnia alone. She appears on Spiritus's side with all the villains, including the actual Sephiroth. Spiritus explains that he chose powerful warriors for his side of the battle. Various game villains are arguing about how to take down the heroes and either break out of this world or control it. She is silent for most of the discussion, watching everyone carefully as they reveal their pasts in order to defend their positions. After Sephiroth joins in with a plan of controlling this world, it finally clicks.

"You're all failures." It wasn't an insult. It was simply a fact, a realization. Some villains tried to counter her argument, especially because she was completely new. She parried each answer with their own words. Spiritus chose absolute failures. Though Spiritus claimed to be a god of this world and that the fastest path to victory was small teams, she refused to join anyone that failed in their world's quest. In her eyes, only Kefka (FFVI) and technically Ardyn (FFXV) were worth her time.

Finally Sephiroth questions who she thinks she is. Her glowing red eyes met him.

She explains that He won in her world because he didn't waste his greatness toying with the humans by deliberately using Supernovas that would keep them alive. So he won the battle and the Meteor struck the city. He found her in a bunker by following the string of Reunion.

Sephiroth believes the story is nonsense. Why would he bother keeping a child?

She counters saying in her world, he couldn't understand Mother directly. And without keeping her, he never would have, even though it was only a partial truth. She also told him to keep his Jenova quiet.

His eyes widened.

So the teams are chosen. Sephiroth with Exdeath just like the actual game. Nova with Ardyn and Kefka. She quickly grows board of their efforts to defeat Materia's warriors, answering their questions and instantly slaughtering any monster they request her aid with. They're far beneath her skill. Her time is much better spent trying to find a way out. This world's dying life-force is not helping her cause. Neither is Jenova. She can only hear half of the conversation between Sephiroth and Jenova. It annoys her, a cheap failure compared to the one she knew but lost the connection to in this world. She occasionally speaks to her, usually to point out flaws in Her plan.

She discovers the Shinryu, the dragon that's eating this world's existence, and decides she'll destroy two birds with one stone. First she'll kill the creature to protect this world to get the heroes off her back, then she'll absorb its life essence and hopefully gain enough power to break out of this world without risking its existence and raising red flags on both sides of the gods' war.

Of course, being the successful Sephiroth's daughter, she knows Supernova. The issue is that supernova cuts a hole to another dimension with said event could temporarily destabilize the world she was currently forced to stand on. The moment she began fighting the dragon, the world struggled to hold together and both heroes and villains went to the epicenter to stop it before the world collapsed.

The dragon is far stronger than she expected, and it required a transformation. She did not have time for the massive intermediate form of rebirth. She becomes a Safer and, with one final supernova, takes down the dragon. Both she and the dragon collapse, her wing wrapping around her as her form reverts, her legs and right arm nearly destroyed from the reckless transformation. She absorbs every last drop of energy created from their battle, but the dragon's life force is far to weak to heal her. Or more accurately, far different than the Lifestreams and World Crystals or any life cycle she knew in her home.

The heroes find her struggling on the ground, and upon seeing the wing, Cloud gives into terribly dark thoughts. Aerith may not be in this world, but he could make Sephiroth suffer using this woman. Despite Nova's statements otherwise, Cloud approaches. She immediately lifts a magical barrier. This doesn't stop Cloud from attacking nor does it stop his teammates from failing to talk him out of it.

Sephiroth, who initially ignored the world tremors, is nearly brought to his knees by the pull of Reunion. At first he's confused, angry, but the logic hits him like a truck.

That stupid alternate daughter of his is in danger, and this pull is her way of calling for help. Whether intentional or not it didn't matter to him. He would make it stop. No one will ever have this kind of power over him.

But when he finds Cloud at the epicenter, his judgement could wait. He defeats Cloud's friends before calling Cloud to the defeated and suffering teammates. Cloud has no choice but to abandon his resolve, and Sephiroth uses a torsion to pull both himself and the useless girl away. Maybe after interrogating her, he can decide whether or not she deserved to live.

...on second thought, I'll just write this anyway. I still have more ideas and this post is getting pretty long 😆

#ffvii #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #cloud strife #jenova #alternate universe #original characer

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angelamajiki · 4 years ago

Text

[ peace treaty - kiribaku ]

AN: this is a fantasy au piece, enjoy! :)

CW: yandere, dubcon, arranged marriage, stalking, coercion, dragon/animal anatomy, fantasy au, afab terms, predator/prey dynamics, size difference, facesitting

“A mate, huh?” Katsuki chuckled as he stroked his companion’s horns, looking into the horizon thoughtfully.

“Think about it! We need hatchlings to lead the future generations of the Bakugo clan.” Eijirou pleaded with his mate. “Don't you ever miss the company of a woman? I know I do.”

Adding a woman to their pack would certainly bring its advantages. It would undoubtedly strengthen their positions as clan rulers if they were to have a wife and children to carry on both men’s legacy.

“Fine,” Katsuki conceded. “Let’s go find a mate then.”

The pair returned to their respective forms, wolf and dragon, as they began their hunt through the wild countryside for their new mate. Days of running down the mountainous forests away from their clan, they settled on resting at the edge of the woods, looking at a clearing just over a shimmering river that separated the two territories. Beyond the meadow was a small fortress surrounded by the community that they presumably controlled—a perfect place to start their search after some well-needed sleep.

Katsuki was the first to awaken from his slumber at the sound of a woman’s voice. And a heavenly voice it was, signing an alluring melody. Peaking his head over the bushes, the young prince saw the enchanting woman bathing alone in the stream. The other man had awoken as well, just as equally entranced by the naked dancing woman.

“A vixen...” Katsuki murmured, twisting to look at his mate. It was clear to both men that she was the mate they were looking for. Independent, vexing, sweet. She was perfect.

“Let’s snatch her up now while she’s distracted, ” Eijirou grumbled impatiently, eager to take her back to their den at once.

“Patience, Ei. I want her too, but now is not the moment to strike. Let's watch her a bit more; she needs to be more than a pretty face, you know that.”

Katsuki did not doubt that she wasn’t their perfect match, but he is a predator to her before he’s a man to her at this moment.

The blissfully unaware maiden that you were, you went on with bathing peacefully in the warm, summer day. Your attendants had followed you from the castle, watching from afar as they knew you valued your time alone in the stream. After some time, one of them called for you back to the castle for supper. Dried and dressed, the group of you departed from the meadow by horse as the sunset.

“So, she’s a princess, Katsuki.” Eijirou’s tail trashed with excitement. “If we marry her, we’ll get this territory too! Oh, I wonder if she likes to travel..” The red-haired man went off on a tangent about his many fantasies for you while the blonde thought deeply. This was almost too perfect; he had just the plan to corner and ensnare their lovely little prey.

The men stayed at the edge of their territory, for the time being, glad to notice that you had returned to the riverbank almost daily. Sometimes you took your handmaidens; sometimes, you came alone while they trailed back.

They learned that you liked to flip through many a book while basking in the sunlight. A library would be a perfect wedding present for you-they intended to spoil you thoroughly with the dragon’s hoard.

Five days had proven to be enough time for the men to watch you and returned to their clan to make the necessary preparations for your place as their lovely spoiled mate.

---

A fortnight later, a letter from the young prince arrived at your doorstep, addressed to your father, the king.

“An alliance? With the barbarian tribe, that’s unheard of, father. Are you sure it’s not some trick?” You doubted, finding it difficult to understand his request. The barbarian clan was...mysterious, to say the least. Living up in the mountains beyond the river, they were a solitary bunch who were ruthless and never exhibited mercy towards their foes. Not much was know about them because they simply never made alliances or held diplomacy with other clans or kingdoms.

“Perhaps they wish to make allies with the next closest kingdom, my dear.” Your father spoke quietly, his voice wavering as he avoided your eyes. “You’ll go up the mountains to discuss the terms with young Bakugo. An older gentleman like me is not suited for those kinds of traveling conditions.”

Nodding solemnly, preparations were made for your immediate departure. All of your belongings were brought to your carriage, something that struck you as rather odd. Although father did say something about the uncertainty of the amount of time you would spend with the barbarians for the sake of discussion.

With that in mind, you set off into the forest just as the sunset.

---

The journey had taken nearly five days through the rain and snow, your small carriage trudging up the mountainside to the den of the barbarians. As your carriage came to a stop, two men helped you out and down, both possessing a tenderness that didn’t seem possible for them. The blond was bare-chested, even in the snow! He stood at about six feet and had a body that seemed the gods themselves sculpted it.

“Welcome to my clan, your majesty.”

His smirk was wolf-like, eyes bearing down on you like a predator who has caught his unwitting prey. “Come, let’s get you inside to warmth and comfort. I'm sure you’ve had a long journey. Eijirou here will help with your belongings and join us after you rest.”

The prince held out his arm for you to take as the red-head beside you gave a toothy grin before setting off to work. He...he was something more than a man, he had to be! Standing at well over six and a half feet, he was much more muscular than the blonde; Eijirou airs about him more than human. It was inexplicable.

Katsuki gave a gentle tug to your arm before ushering you to the massive tent that stood in the middle of the community of barbarians who looked onto you with glowing pride. What an odd bunch of people, but you couldn't very well judge them now, could you? They simply had a different culture, another way of life.

The tent seemed larger than life on the inside and was impossibly warm. It had had a large bed adorned with piles of pelts and furs near a roaring fireplace. Many bookshelves lined the walls, as well as prized kills and weaponry were displayed. Katsuki led you to a table near the warmth of the fire. How-

“Magic, princess. I am fortunate enough to possess it, as well as many of my clansmen.” Katsuki boasted, clearly prideful of his abilities. He could only hope it impressed you, which it certainly did. “It keeps us warm up here in the dead of winter, which is soon approaching. It protects us, provides for us, all of which it will do for you too.”

Your smile could hardly be contained as you gazed upon the handsome man with wonder. For you, too? Would this he be so kind as to lend you its strength while you struck a deal with them? The barbarians were indeed nothing like the fairytales you had heard about them.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Sir Bakugo. I am truly humbled to be here with you.”

“Call me Katsuki, little one. We should grow familiar with each other before our wedding.”

His wolfish smirk grew wider as he saw the look on your face. Ah, he so loved that look of feeble innocence and confusion on your expression.

“Oh, did your father not tell you?” he chuckled, taking a sip from his cup. “This is an alliance through our union. Suppose you’ll have us, of course. Otherwise, we might have to resort to other means down the mountain.”

Us? Oh, he means-

“Ei, don’t be shy and stand in the doorway. Come greet your bride properly.”

Thundering footsteps came from behind your seated form as Eijirou towered over your much smaller frame.

“Please, tell me you agree to us, my love. We've waited so long for your arrival, won't you let us have you?” A scarred but gentle hand enveloped yours as the dragon shifter kissed it tenderly. “There’s no need to be frightened; we intend to treat you like our queen and spoil you rotten with all the world’s riches. Grant us your blessing.”

How could you deny them? Your kingdom was in danger, yet these men, they lulled you into such a state of comfort and safety. Perhaps it was the magic at work?

“Please, may I think on it?” Your heart battered against your ribcage with fear and excitement. Two men, both for husbands. What a strange culture indeed.

“Only if you let us have you tonight. Give us a chance to prove our worth as not only husbands but as men to you.”

Blood rushed to your face, heating your cheeks as you felt aflame with shame, and to your horror, arousal. They are seasoned men. Indeed they’ll treat you as gently as they have been the whole time?

“O-Only if you are gentle with me. I am...inexperienced.”

That was all the approval they needed. Eijirou, still behind you, swept you up in his arms and onto the bed. Wanting to show some display of his true strength, he ripped your gown clean off your body. Whimpering, your hand flew to grip his forearm fearfully. “Gentle, please, gentle.”

Eijirou shushed you softly, placing a sweet kiss on your trembling lips, hands beginning to wander to down your sides and to your sex. Stroking your clit in small circles, the men relished in your little whines and moans.

“I think I should give you a taste, huh? I haven't eaten all day.” He purred as he dipped down to press kisses to your lips before diving in with his hot tongue, lapping your clit.

Katsuki’s searing kiss swallowed wanton moans and cries. Eijriou’s hands kept your squirming hips firmly in place, positioning you to sit on his face while the blond continued to lay passionate kisses on your lips, neck, and chest.

Teeth sunk into your neck as the prince wasted no time in marking up his newfound territory. Your cries heightened in pitch as you gripped red hair, calling out Eijirou’s name as you came from his overwhelming sucking and slurping of your juices.

“N-no more! Please, that's enough!” Whining, you began to shake when his tongue barely came to half after your cries. Panting and writhing, you peeled off his tongue and laid on the furs next to Katsuki.

“I think that’s enough for this evening; poor thing is already exhausted.” Katsuki chuckled as he dabbed the sweat off your brow and cleaned in between your legs.

“We’ll build up your stamina and be sure to stretch you gently daily.” Eijirou quipped as he took his place next to your side. Up close, you could see how different he really was. Red iridescent scales trailed on his sideburns and h

shoulders. Absentmindedly, you stroke them and wondered if there were more.

“After all, it’s customary to lose your virginity on the wedding night, so need to rush you in right now. Have you made your decision, given Ei’s stellar performance?”

Letting sleep overtake you, your head nodded gently as he rested on Eijirou’s shoulder. The hunt was over and the men could not be more happy with their choice.

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intangibly-here · 3 years ago

Text

i miss you (more than anything)

zhongli x gn!reader

- scenario; 2.4k words - modern!au - fluff - jealousy

————————————————————

zhongli isn’t one for jealousy— usually.

title from mitski - francis forever.

requested by anon.

————————————————————

“an excellent choice, sir.”

again with the nicknames...

slender fingers pick up a considerably stylized box, the smooth white a stark contrast to dark, glove-adorned palms. zhongli turns the box over in his hands, inspecting the various fine print explanations splayed along the edges of the plastic. now this is...

BANG!

clink.

zhongli barely stifles a flinch at the sound of the door slamming, hinges squeaking and metal lock clicking into place with a whirlwind of motion. amber eyes flick up to the doorway, then back down to the polished counter.

five minutes late.

he sets the ice cube he’s handling into a wine glass after a brief pause, beginning to fashion up a flute of apple cider vinegar. the pattering of lively footsteps against tiled flooring rapidly grows nearer, clattering to a halt directly across the bar from where he stands.

“hey there, mister zhongli! looking just about as boring as ever!”

hu tao plops into the cushioned chair, swiveling back and forth on the seat and leaning forward to watch him pour the concoction.

(it’s designated for customers of course— though that’s only usually. she happens to claim, to his exasperation, that she has “owner privileges”; whatever that could possibly mean when the place itself is meant to serve the needs of customers: that would include the spacing and chairs they may potentially desire when they enter the premises. unfortunately, he’s given up on understanding on her whims.)

from his position across the counter, zhongli absentmindedly spies the edge of a bright-red butterfly wing from underneath her outfit’s loose, flowing sleeves, the simple pendant string looped twice around her wrist.

swallowtail.

it’s the name (”like the butterfly, zhongli! the butterfly!”) of the establishment he’s currently employed at and is “run” by the granddaughter of a distant relative (though the bar is legally owned by said relative’s family). due to his— well, rather particular (per say) spending habits and a lack of mindfulness regarding the matter of what they liked to call savings (why would there be a need for these “savings”? he’d like to protest he’s traversed life well enough without them), he’d been pushed into putting the multitude of experience from past jobs into this one.

and well, here he is now.

chop. chop.

two evenly-sliced apple slices tip over from against the blade of the knife and onto the wooden cutting board. fetching a sprig of mint from the small potted plant just below the rack of knives (growing lights and shelving did wonders in the spontaneous lighting of the nightclub), zhongli finished decorating the non-alcoholic drink of choice for the pseudo-proprietress. who knew what havoc she’d cheerfully throw herself into, archons forbid, if it were liquor. she’s already enough of a handful as it is.

he sighs in resignation and slides the beverage over. the ice tinkles in the glass confines. he does have a favor to ask today after all. hu tao gives the drink a sniff, then puffs her cheeks in mock anger.

“no alcohol? booooo, you’re such a rock.”

she takes a generous sip anyway.

“so, what did you call me here for? not very zhongli-like for you to ask something of lil’ ol’ me. archons, have you been replaced?”

she squints at him judgingly, then raises an eyebrow when he hesitates to answer.

“doesn’t look that way, old man.”

zhongli can feel the beginnings of a headache forming between his brows. he waves his hand dismissingly as if flicking away her babbling nonsense.

“i have a favor to ask of you.”

“oh-ho?”

hu tao smirks playfully and pushes the half-finished drink aside, craning her neck forward.

“what can i do for our esteemed mister zhongli, hm? hehe.”

zhongli clenches his fist under the edge of the woodwork in an effort to calm his raging annoyance.

(it doesn’t help.)

he should just ask, shouldn’t he..?

“..i’ve been pondering this for a number of days now, but nothing quite appropriate for the occasion has happened to come to mind... do you happen to have any gift ideas for...”

he looks to the side to avoid eye contact and trails off, but hu tao immediately gets the memo.

“ohhh..” her smile only grows wider, “this is for your daaaate—”

zhongli’s face flushes the slightest tinge of rosy pink and he hisses a sharp “shush!” through gritted teeth. and here he had thought she couldn’t get on his nerves beyond how she’d already acted thus far...

the cheshire grin on her face still continues to climb.

“well, you’ve definitely asked the right person! how about...”

some new polaroid film? is what she had proposed.

“it’s not some fancy-schmancy anniversary gift, no? just a date! a date! don’t worry yourself so much over it— no, don’t look at me like that. if you called me over to ask about it, you’re deeeefinitely losing hair over this— okay, okay, i got it! don’t kick me out! old man... sheesh. why don’t you get some more polaroid film and wrap it up all nice? useful and an excuse to take more pictures together! i know, i know, i’m a genius— mmph!”

he can still hear her voice bouncing around in his head (”can’t believe you’re getting rid of your boss, mister zhongli! didn’t take you for the rebellious type—”). zhongli brings his hand up to his temple and breathes out another sigh. it’s not like her idea was a terrible one; if anything, it were a wonderfully exquisite proposal— not that he would tell her.

“i’d like to purchase this, if you would.”

he hands the box over to the shopkeep, who scans the package and rings up the bill. indiscreetly, he feels up the pocket of his jacket. thank the archons he remembered his wallet today. it would certainly be embarrassing to put this particular item on your tab.

“sure thing, mister zhongli. i’m assuming this is a gift,” they eye him knowingly, “so would you like it wrapped up?”

deja vu, his brain mutters, this is very much deja vu. he shuts it up promptly.

“not this time, but you have my sincerest thanks for the offer. i’d like to wrap it myself.” he can feel his (generally..) expressionless face flaring up the faintest hint of pink and berates his mind once more. only when it comes to you...

acquiring the purchased item, zhongli dips his head in acknowledgement as he heads out. the plants hanging from baskets strung along the ceiling sway their leaves to and fro, nearly catching a wayward lock of his hair. he smooths the stray strand back.

“thank you once again, aether. let lumine know they can drop by for some tea again whenever they’d like for me, please.”

the bell hanging over the doorway tinkles when he pushes it open, and the bustle of the busy harbor seeps into the tranquility of the shop. aether nods and waves a hand at him in return, resting an arm on the cash register.

“come again.”

while he’d imagined many ways your planned outing could play out, this was certainly not one of them.

he’s approaching the meeting spot you two had decided on (right in front of the flowering quince tree near the park; its blooms resemble those of simpler, smaller silk flowers, and it happens to be quite the scenic location to wait) when he spies not only your stature, but another figure residing right besides you.

who...?

as he steps closer, he can hear your laughter, the kind that he knows bubbles out of your chest and escapes your lips unconsciously. your amusement isn’t lost on your companion apparently, because they smirk teasingly, letting out a full-blown laugh of their own.

“oh, zhongli, over here!”

your voice snaps him out of his meandering thoughts, and he stops fiddling with his earring (when did he start doing that?), continuing forward from where he’d paused in his observations of this newcomer. something starts to bloom in his chest, small and bittersweet. he’s not sure what to make of it.

following your beckoning, zhongli finally makes his way to your side, mentally taking note of your.. friend? he doesn’t remember you mentioning anyone like this before though. surely he would remember your friends, no?

his earring sways in the wind, white tassel fluttering cheerfully.

“zhongli, this is my friend kaeya. i met him when i made that trip to mondstadt awhile back, remember that? oh, and kaeya, this is my boyfriend zhongli.”

(the little dragon curled up in his heart preens at your introduction of him, small and sweet.)

ice blue meets molten gold when zhongli’s eyes dart up to make eye contact with this stranger. they squint at him, assessing, then dip into the makings of a playful twinkle. a hand reaches out for a handshake, which he returns in equal measure. interesting...

“he got a little lost touring liyue and i happened to see him here in the park. small world, huh? i know it was our day love, but do you mind if we take him around for today?”

zhongli smiles appeasingly, gentle and assuring as always. he can recognize the slightly nervous look on your face, one that’s a stark contrast to how energetic you’d looked just a few minutes ago. if kaeya’s company makes you happy and you’d like to take him around, then who is he to refuse your request? you two will have more time to spend with just the two of you later, he reasons with himself. accompanying your friend, and in turn his acquaintance, is nothing big.

(and no, it’s certainly not you calling him love that makes him cave.)

“of course we can.”

tugging at the string of his eyepatch, kaeya swiftly ties his hair back and adjusts the collar of his shirt. “so, where to first?”

zhongli takes your hand in his, squeezing softly. you squeeze back.

getting along together should come just fine.

he takes it back.

he takes it all back.

he’d accepted it at first because, well, this was your friend. he shouldn’t be controlling who you interact with nor who befriended you - that’s not up to him. it shouldn’t ever be. however— with every passing moment that kaeya inched closer to you, taking up the entirety of your attention and bringing that bright, bright grin to your face—

(this was supposed to be your date. just the two of you. he hasn’t seen you in a month; surely he can feel a bit selfish, right?)

the three of you turn the corner to an intricately-themed restaurant and pause, where even zhongli looks appreciatively at the beautifully grown bamboo stalks lining the edges of its front walls.

“wanmin restaurant,” kaeya reads, craning his neck up to gaze at the signboard. bold red calligraphy is sprawled across the rough-cut wood. “awfully simple name for such a stunning place, isn’t it?”

if he weren’t stewing in a pot of conflicted emotions, zhongli would surely inform him of how carefully selected this title was, how it represented more than just a name, how it hid at least several decades worth of effort and teachings— but as it is, he (really, of all people) has no patience for that at the moment.

first tugging on the hem of your outfit, zhongli then takes you by the elbow and hastily leads you forward to the glass doors of the establishment. he grasps your hand in his as usual, but something must be off, because you twitch a little and look at him curiously.

he turns his head away, lips pursed just the slightest.

“let us dine here for the time being. it is an appropriate time and place, after all.”

the sun shines brightly in the clear sky as if illuminating his words.

kaeya raises an eyebrow, singular eye looking on inquisitively and arms crossed, then moves further ahead of you both once more. the corner of his mouth dips in a clear show of mirth. bowing with one arm held at the waist, one not unalike a formality from a server, he looks straight into zhongli’s eyes and holds the door open for entrance.

“that sounds like an excellent idea. well, if you would.”

“thanks for the tour around you two.”

kaeya hums his thanks with a cheerful lilt to his voice as you all stand under the porchlight of zhongli’s house.

(it’s not the largest abode, but it’s cozy and sweet, and it’s definitely enough for the both of you whenever you decide to stay over. tonight is one of those nights, and they may as well become more frequent after the trip you took abroad.)

his car keys reflect the glow of the bulb, swinging around his finger in loops. they clink noisily, metal against metal, and he grabs them all at once, halfway through another turn. in his car sits a box of treasure-themed artifacts, likely old and had found its way into your hands somehow. zhongli knows you’d been meaning to give them to someone, but he hadn’t known it were kaeya— either way, the artifacts that’d been laying on his shelves for weeks were now handed off.

ruffling your hair, kaeya pulls you in for a brief hug; although zhongli can feel the bitter pang in his chest, he stays where he stands, keeps it still and small. he can wait.

that said, the moment kaeya drives off, he’s hauling you into the house and curling up on the couch, pulling you onto his lap and tugging you into his arms. the long thought over gift sits patiently on the counter. it’s waited the entirety of today; it can wait another.

right now, he needs you.

your body sinks against his, relaxing from the lively, though exhausting, day. slumped against his chest, he burrows his head in the crook of your shoulder and cuddles you, nuzzling into your neck. finally, you’re home. home with him.

it’s warm...

“..it was our day...”

you shift your head at his mumbling, lifting his chin to presumably look at his expression. your attention is his now. not kaeya’s. not anyone else’s. just his.

(his eyes are soft and droopy, smudged red making them look especially mellow in the dim lighting, and lips pushed into the slightest pout. he knows what you’re seeing when you gaze at him fondly, and you can almost see the puppy eyes he sports. how unusual of him.)

“someone’s a little jealous here, hmmm?”

you drag out the syllables teasingly, and from lips that are pressing kisses against your skin, he responds a little muffled—

“perhaps.”

#zhongli #genshin impact #fluff #jealousy #zhongli x gn!reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #request #cecilia

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 28 - ao3 -

The answer, it turned out, was paint.

It wasn’t an answer that Lan Qiren would have anticipated in any way, shape, or form. He had been under the impression, as had Lao Nie, that Wen Ruohan had stopped painting long ago. After some teasing by Lao Nie, the man had even off-handedly confirmed it at a private dinner they’d shared at a discussion conference – there had been more than usual planned in this past year, accounting for the fact that all of the Great Sect sect leaders (except Wen Ruohan) were unusually young, and therefore active. And although no one acknowledged it as a reason, everyone knew that it was also meant to help calm the concerns of the smaller sects regarding the chaos in their Great Sect leaders’ personal lives, between Jiang Fengmian losing his servant to his beloved or possibly the other way around, Lao Nie’s extremely bizarre marriage situation, and Lan Qiren stepping up unexpectedly to the position of sect leader on account of his brother’s retreat from the world.

According to Wen Ruohan, it hadn’t been anything in particular that had made him stop painting, only a lack of time and then of interest; there had been a severe crisis some time ago, long before either of them were born, and he had been obligated to devote himself exclusively to those affairs for an extended period of time. When he had finally resurfaced, years later, he had returned and found an old painting sitting there half-finished, and staring at it, realized that he was no longer the same man who had begun it.

He had never painted again.

Lan Qiren was unsure if this was a real story or not – Wen Ruohan, he had learned, seemed to consider the truth about his past to be little more than a gentleman’s agreement between friends – as it seemed to be an especially pointed reminder aimed at Lan Qiren’s situation in particular.

Lao Nie had certainly taken it as such, throwing in his own concerns about Lan Qiren’s work schedule, and when even Cangse Sanren had joined the growing mob of all the rest of his friends, Lan Qiren had finally, if reluctantly, agreed to defer to their concern. He’d finally taken a step back and reorganized his duties as sect leader, standing his ground against the elders and insisting on having more time to devote to his own interests, including those outside of his work as a teacher – music, study, quiet contemplation, even maintaining his training with the sword, despite the fact that he would never match his brother as a sword cultivator.

It had, in fact, made him a better sect leader, less prone to working until he burned out, and he was grateful to his friends for their wisdom and steadfastness in the face of his stubborn grief.

At any rate, though, Wen Ruohan was no longer the painter he had been in his youth, and the hints of burning that marked all such paintings that Lan Qiren had seen suggested that the transition had been an unpleasant one for him. It was a surprise, therefore, to receive, as a gift from the Nightless City, a painting in that immediately recognizable hand which was so freshly made that Lan Qiren imagined he could still smell the grinding ink.

The painting depicted a dragon amidst a misty bamboo forest, its massive coils interwoven throughout the bamboo until it appeared almost part of the earth from which they sprung, or alternatively that speared through from above by a rain of spears; in its claw it held a beauteous dragon pearl, shining bright against the dark haze that surrounded the rest of the painting, and its eyes were fixed upon it as if it had forgotten all else.

The pearl, Lan Qiren presumed, was himself, given Wen Ruohan’s fondness for comparing him to one, which Lan Qiren still did not entirely understand – while he knew it was a sign of Wen Ruohan’s appreciation for him, and an indication that he treasured him, he thought that the particular choice in the type of precious stone was likely to be due to the fact Lan Qiren largely preferred white and grey and silver for his clothing.

(Privately, he had determined that one day, out of sheer spite, he would wear an outfit primarily composed of blue for no other reason than to give the other man a shock; he just hadn’t found a reason yet to justify the expense of having such clothing made when he would only use it the once.)

Similarly, the dragon was the symbol of imperial might, of overweening power and influence and even arrogance; naturally that would be Wen Ruohan himself. But as for the rest of it – the lonely but beautiful bamboo forest, often associated with moral integrity and loyalty, yet juxtaposed in this painting as piercing spears, penetrating the dragon’s hide as if attacking him – the dark mist that seemed to envelop the dragon, held at abeyance only through the light of its pearl –

Lan Qiren did not understand.

There were too many meanings possible, and he did not know how to differentiate between those that were there and those he only wanted to read into it. There was nothing for it, but that he would need to ask the artist himself what was meant.

When, as expected, an invitation came a few days later, requesting that Lan Qiren visit the Nightless City in his capacity as Wen Ruohan’s sworn brother, Lan Qiren accepted.

There were all the necessary pleasantries when he arrived, of course. No longer could he just slip in through the back door, a younger brother come to leech off some resources from an elder; he was the Lan sect leader, and that came with certain obligations even on a casual visit. There were a few formal procedures, and then dinner with Wen Ruohan and his wives, with whom his dynamics had completely reversed – Madame Wen had thawed towards Lan Qiren on account of his new position as sect leader, which guaranteed that he would never be able to move to the Nightless City and thereby obstruct her personal power, while the new concubine, former maid, seemed to think that his involvement in her ascension to the position she now held was a matter of embarrassment, resulting in her wanting to snub him whenever possible.

Wen Ruohan largely ignored their antics, his eyes fixed on Lan Qiren throughout their meal, and afterwards, he had finally dismissed them all and taken Lan Qiren back to the small study he preferred to use for their time together.

“The painting you sent was lovely,” Lan Qiren said, playing a little with the cup of tea that was warm and aromatic in his hands. “You have lost none of your skill.”

“I rebuilt it,” Wen Ruohan corrected, looking amused. “You ought to have seen the first few efforts; I think I wasted enough paper to feed a small family for a year.”

Lan Qiren smiled at the thought. He could scarcely imagine Wen Ruohan struggling the way he described, making an effort and finding his ability wanting; still less could he have once imagined Wen Ruohan having admitted to that fact in front of another.

It was a little like what Lao Nie had said, that between the two of them they were excavating the residual humanity left in Wen Ruohan, slowly and methodically moving aside stone and dirt in order to find the treasures lurking beneath.

“I like it even more, then,” he said, and decided to be a little bit bold. “I like knowing that you thought of me for as long as it took you to make it.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes curved in delight. “You need not be concerned on that score,” he said, his voice still calm and unhurried as always. “You are not so easily expelled from my thoughts, now that you have entered them…ah, little Lan, little Lan, you make me impatient! I had made plans on how to broach the subject with you, and yet now that you are here, I find myself rushing forward, intent to get to the point like some savage Nie.”

A savage Nie of whom he was exceedingly fond, he did not say, and Lan Qiren managed not to roll his eyes at him.

Instead, Lan Qiren put down his cup and folded his hands in his lap. “Don’t hesitate on my behalf,” he said, then added, a little dryly, “I’ve had enough indirect statements to last a lifetime.”

“Welcome to politics,” Wen Ruohan responded, just as dry, but his smile faded and his expression grew more intense; he stood and came closer to Lan Qiren, looking down at him for a long moment before taking a seat beside him. “Qiren, why are you here?”

Lan Qiren blinked, a little confused by the question, but before he could put together an answer, Wen Ruohan continued. “You are sincere and true to yourself; you follow your sect’s rules because you believe in them whole-heartedly and wish to live up to their strictures. Yet do they not say Do not associate with evil?”

“I don’t think you’re evil,” Lan Qiren said. “I think we disagree on what actions constitute evil, on what divides good from evil, and that you are more comfortable walking closely along that line than I. I think that there will be many times in the future where we disagree once again on what is or is not the straight path, and what is the crooked, but – fundamentally, I don’t think you’re evil.”

He considered the question for another moment longer, then added: “And if you were, what is there to do about it? You’re still my sworn brother, bound by oath and blood, and that makes you my responsibility whether I like it or not. Even if you were evil, the only thing that would be left for me to do would be to try my best to lead you out of the dark and back to the light.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him again. His red eyes were narrowed a little, his gaze as intense as it had been when Lan Qiren had been little more than a child, although experience had made it a little less overwhelming.

“You know that I see you as a pearl in the palm of my hand,” Wen Ruohan finally said. His voice was low and intimate, and Lan Qiren shivered to hear it. “A treasure I never expected to find, a gem of such surpassing purity that I fear it will burn me to dare profane it with my touch. Time is eternal; the pearl flows, the jade turns, and yet I remain, walking my crooked path and you your straight broad bridge, shining with righteousness. I see you and yearn for you both day and night, and even in my dreams…”

He reached out and put his hand on Lan Qiren’s. “I would have you be mine, if you would have the same.”

No hollowed-out puppets soon to be discarded here, Lan Qiren thought nonsensically, and swallowed.

“I am yours,” he said carefully, pronouncing each syllable at a time. He had to get this right, he thought, and he would only ever have this one singular chance to do so, or else he’d lose something as bright and shining as the pearl Wen Ruohan was always comparing him to. “I am your sworn brother, as you are mine; I will always be yours.”

“I know,” Wen Ruohan said, and it seemed for once that Lan Qiren had expressed himself clearly rather than muddling it up: he hadn’t misunderstood him into thinking that what Lan Qiren had said was a rejection. “If I were not one of those evil men that your rules warn you against, I would find it in myself to be content with that. But I am, and I am not.”

Lan Qiren wet his lips with his tongue. “You know what I told you,” he reminded him. “About how I – I could compromise myself if I had to, if it made you happy, but I don’t want to have to. That is not who I am, what I am. I don’t want to have to bend and yield. I don’t want to break under the weight of love the way my brother did.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him, patient and waiting.

“I’m not comfortable with that type of intimacy, the type shared between lovers since the start of time,” Lan Qiren finally said. “I don’t want it intrinsically, and I don’t think I want it logically, either. More than that, I don’t think, having never wanted it before and not wanting it now, that I will ever want it. My brother once compared me to a block of ice or a mountain lake frozen over in winter, frigid, and there was something true to what he said. There is no heat that will make me melt as others do…and yet.”

“And yet?”

“And yet you are not the only one who wishes to possess.” He met Wen Ruohan’s eyes. “I, too, would have you be mine.”

His stupid Lan sect heart, burning a hole in his chest; it should have been enough to make him forget his own wishes and be willing to give in, to want to give everything to his beloved no matter the cost to himself, but it wasn’t – he wasn’t. And yet, at the same time, he judged his own affections to be no less than his brother’s for all that they were quieter and less flamboyant, understated rather than loudly proclaimed

Wen Ruohan leaned forward, bringing their faces closer together. “Then why don’t you claim me?”

“Because I cannot offer you what I should,” Lan Qiren said truthfully. “What you would expect –”

“And when,” Wen Ruohan cut him off, “have I ever cared for the expectations set out by the rest of the world? Would I have done half the things I did if I cared for the world’s conventions and determined my aims through their lens?”

Lan Qiren had to admit that he had a point.

“I know what you are,” Wen Ruohan said. “To taint you would be to ruin my own pleasure, to force you would be to deny myself – and I never deny myself. I am greedy, little Lan; I am not content with what the world would have me want, not when I can have what I really want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“Lao Nie told me that he told you about his wife,” Wen Ruohan said. “How he stayed and she went, and they were still happy…I want that, with you.”

Lan Qiren frowned, not understanding.

“I want you,” Wen Ruohan told him, and his long-fingered hand traced over Lan Qiren’s cheekbone. “I want to have you, to own you, to keep you. I want to possess you down to the marrow of your bones; I want every inch of you in every way that I can have you. I want you to be mine – and I don’t need to fuck you to have it.”

Lan Qiren stared at him.

Wen Ruohan smile was like his smirk, triumphant and arrogant, certain of his impending victory. “If I want sex, I have my wives or Lao Nie for that, don’t I? To my wives I have only promised power, which I have given them. As for Lao Nie, I know now that he cannot promise me his heart: he is too facile, too free, too easy with others – he is compelled to share not only his body, which I wouldn’t mind, but also his heart, and I find that I am as unwilling to share in matters of the heart as you are to share your body.”

He shifted closer yet again, until their eyes were level with each other and their breath intermingled in the air between them.

“You will not be like him,” he said, voice dark and certain. “You’re barely willing to divide your attention to things you consider less important than your particular interests. Your heart is your clan’s curse and its treasure, taking you to the heavens and casting you down to the hells – if you give me your heart, full and entire, it will be as if you have removed it from your chest and put it in my hand. No one else will have any part of it, not like this, not in this way. It will only be me.”

“That is true,” Lan Qiren said. “I love no less deeply than my brother. My heart is a placid lake with a surface as clear as glass – you can see everything therein. Within it, there are only my interests, my nephew, my few friends, and you.”

Wen Ruohan’s smile widened.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Lan Qiren asked. His heart was beating in his chest so fast that it hurt. “If you want the assurance, you have it already: I am yours, and you are mine, and it would shatter me to let you go now. Is that what you want?”

“It is.” Wen Ruohan laughed, and it was full of pleasure. “Ah, little Lan! It is, it is.”

“What does it change?” Lan Qiren asked. “How is it different from what we have already?”

“It changes everything,” Wen Ruohan said simply, and Lan Qiren thought about and felt that he was right. “Knowing that you are mine makes it easier to release you into the world, to watch you shine and others see it; let them all look and know that it will never be theirs. All good things in the world are mine, and you are the best among them.”

“Pretty words,” Lan Qiren said, aiming for dry but probably just coming off as short of breath. “I’m a little more interested in the practical.”

“I would have you share my pillow while you are here,” Wen Ruohan said. “I do not need you to share your body with me, but I would have your company as a husband has his wife’s…and there are things that can be done without involving your body, depending on your tolerance.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Wen Ruohan grinned. “As it happens, that’s a matter I’ve given some considerable thought to…”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes, and felt the heat in his ears fade a little; he appreciated the small reprieve from the emotional intensity, the humor breaking the tenseness of the moment.

“You know I find you beautiful,” Wen Ruohan said, and this time his hand came to rest on Lan Qiren’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his lips, and as quickly as that the reprieve was gone. “Perhaps you would permit me to find my own pleasure beside you, gazing upon you, or even invite another to share the bed while you busy yourself with your work – you are never as beautiful as when you are focused, your soul and mind wholly absorbed in your passion for the subject. Perhaps I would invite you to read a spring book for me, spilling out dirty words in that cool tone of yours that you use regardless of the circumstance, so that I might torment myself with hearing you at any time and think of that…I have a thousand and one ideas, little Lan, and I would try them all to see which ones you like and which ones you don’t, to yield to your preference and glory in so yielding.”

None of that sounded like something Lan Qiren would dislike, he thought to himself; it really was only his own personal involvement in the act that he truly objected to. And if Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren’s heart and Lao Nie’s body, and both their friendship besides, perhaps even he in his ceaseless ambition could find a way to be satisfied with what he had for a time.

“I would like that,” he said honestly.

“Then having gained a cun, I will take a chi,” Wen Ruohan said. “I would like to kiss you.”

Lan Qiren swallowed.

“…all right,” he said. “You may.”

And he did.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year ago

Note

No worries, it's fine if you want to skip that part.

Karkat's betrayal occurs in the beginning of Act 5. The "Dragon Army" referred to a plan to use trolls armed with lava-spewing rifles to invade the Sylphs' aerial city and conquer it. They had a bunch of different grunts, officers, heavy tanks, etc. as a fully equipped fighting force. It was an actual army. (They called it the "Dragon Army" because they were all dragons, not because they had a dragon theme.) Karkat was in charge of training the army, and had some kind of formative, traumatic relationship with "the general" Tavros, the leader of the force.

Tavros, with all his lava-armed soldiers, took a gamble and opened battle with the Sylphs before the Sylphs were "ready" to use their magic powers in combat. This puts Tavros in a position where he could be saved by a battle won with his soldiers' blood, or doomed by one lost with them. He chooses to make the gamble.

The battle was lost, and Tavros was almost certainly doomed (at least mortally wounded), but Karkat took advantage of the chaos to reveal that he had been secretly allied with the Sylphs. The Dragon Army defected in its entirety to their side.

The Dragon Army was the largest fighting force the Sylphs had. They won the war as a result of Karkat's betrayal. A good part of the problem with this was that the Dragon Army members were treated as heroes, a disaster of an outcome that was the inevitable result of the fans making them into their own kind of "Miracle of Life"/"Yaoi Boosts Morale" Squad. (See also my earlier rant about Doc Scratch.)

As a kid, Karkat joined a weird fringe cult called "the Meat Grinders" after being kicked out of a different, more normal cult. The Meat Grinders revolved around an event called the "Great Grinder" which was supposed to usher in some kind of apocalypse/revelation. Since it didn't happen on schedule, the Meat Grinder cult went off the deep end and kidnapped a very young Karkat and his mother, forcing them to live in "The Maze" until Karkat would trigger the Great Grinder.

Upon arriving in the present, Karkat's motivations are not clear. He joins the Draconian army and does the stuff he does because he believes that he is "triggering" the Great Grinder. He is wrong. The Great Grinder happens later on, but it doesn't happen in the exact way Karkat believes. It's quite ambiguous as to whether he's right or wrong about it -- he may be wrong, but on the other hand, the Meat Grinder cult may not have been completely wrong either. It's sort of up in the air, which is pretty frustrating.

Earlier in his life, he was close friends with his mother, who had taught him to respect power and to make alliances with power. He doesn't fully understand this. He is vulnerable to her charms, but he is also a bully, and he is constantly making a series of betrayals and denials in his life, betraying those he thinks are weak, allying with those he thinks are strong. (This is important for the ending, where Terezi does her thing and figures out that this is his whole deal.) He was brainwashed for a long time as a kid, but the part of him that believes in his mother's lessons is still there, and this makes his mind confused in a lot of ways.

Anyway, I don't know, there's a lot in there about how I don't like the way Karkat's betrayal is depicted. But there's also a lot to like. I am actually kind of grateful that Hussie did this, since it led to all sorts of messed-up conversations among fanboys about the nature of "real world morality" vs. "webcomic morality," whether it's OK for the author to break his characters' "character arcs" in order to have a satisfying endgame, and so forth. The infamous Problem Sleuth/X that combined all the endings/branches had these kinds of debates too, but it didn't have the emotional punch because Problem Sleuth is so far from our reality that none of us really give a fuck about the Cheery/Darkly/Pom/Spoiler endings. (I mean, they're nice to see if you've seen all the other ones, but they don't really matter.) In Homestuck, these things are happening to characters we relate to, and they matter.

What is your favorite Homestuck act(s) and character(s)?

Second to last, and out of order: 5 (and 6)

In retrospect, Act 5 is a lot better than I remembered. It’s disorganized, sure, but the plot is full of clever twists that actually end up making sense, and the characterization is so consistently great that it eventually starts to seem like it’s happening for its own sake. The whole “Closure Trilogy” trilogy is probably my favorite single Homestuck block of text.

I feel like there are two kinds of Act 5 criticism, and they’re two sides of the same coin. Either, “this is the point where Hussie lost the plot completely and sprinted madly off in a dozen different directions with no idea what was going on, and it sucks” or, “this is the point where Hussie deliberately tossed out a bunch of red herrings and sprung a million bizarre, non-canonical stuff and it was a marvelous, exhilarating experience.”

I’m kind of in the latter camp, and I can’t really explain this except that I’m so impressed by how many plot threads were kept in the air and eventually brought back. None of the stuff that happened in Act 5 makes me feel like any of the plot threads were sacrificed or fumbled, because there are so many threads. Even with the many, many gaps, there was still a full story in there somewhere, and Hussie had the foresight to make it really dense and complicated so it would look like a giant blank canvas to the casual reader. It wasn’t all really there, but it can be reconstructed by fans into something that sure looks like a really dense and complicated web of themes and plot threads.

The characterization is really great too, with some notable exceptions. Egbert. Meenah. Kanaya (no offense). Doc Scratch. I’ve felt this way about Doc Scratch for years. The character is annoying and boring and the comic treats him with a shitload of grandeur but it’s difficult to see what could be interesting or dramatic about him outside of Hussie himself treating him as an Important Character and forcing you to look at him for hours on end. I guess “deeply unpleasant asshole on his own terms” isn’t particularly interesting, except for the whole “does this constitute a betrayal of character” thing I’ll talk about later. (Why the fuck did Hussie make two of these guys? I could have lived without one. I absolutely could not have lived without the other, what the fuck?)

Karkat. The fucking Dragon Army. Every single thing Karkat did between his introduction and the moment he betrayed them was fantastic.

I could say more but tl;dr: Act 5 is a metal boulder wrapped in barbed wire that I have thrown into a swimming pool labeled “Controversial Homestuck Act”

#homestalgebra #rhythmic-idealist

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andraaste · 3 years ago

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I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 10

Well finally, chapter 10 is here sooner than expected ! Happy reading my friends 💕

Chapter 10 : You are very far from the account, my beautiful

- I've been doing quite a bit of research on the powers of aengels and dragons since the other night, and there is something I would like to try. But for that, you have to trust me a minimum.

- All right, tell me what to do.

Without warning, Lance grabbed my hand and held it in his, this one made slightly rough by its semi-transformation. He had no say in letting me understand what he was waiting for. Closing my eyes, I focused on the now familiar tingling sensations of the contact of his skin against mine. The latter, still weak, ran through my fingers with a pleasant feeling. It was soft, almost natural, as if my palm had only waited for this contact to finally feel completely itself.

Locked in the cold huge cage of his tanned hand, my fingers began to vibrate slightly as the comforting warmth of my powers began to roam my arm. One against the other, our palms seemed to constantly counterbalance two radically opposed temperatures, struggling to find a happy medium. Strangely, I felt soothed by this sudden contrast akin to a duel of fire and ice. It was a reflection of our interactions, at Lance and me.

Complex, yet intense.

When my light finally diffused through our fingers, I felt its quiver slightly as it gradually grew more confident. I visualized it penetrating his skin, running through his muscles, up to his arm. Exactly like his ice had done on my body two days earlier.

A slight breath escaped his lips, which made me open my eyes again and, for a moment, I couldn't take my gaze from the smile that marked his face.

A proud smile, and above all sincere.

I couldn't stop my lips from echoing his. My powers thus awakened, I felt fully myself, and it was powerful, exhilarating. My light took on vividness, of a color with equally warm hues, marking the skin of the dragon in multiple streaks similar to mine, like a multitude of beams of light. I could see my energy pouring into him, running through his veins, marking every one of his pores.

Suddenly, his ice mingled with my heat. The fine lines of lights that ran through his arm multiplied into new ones in bluish hues, these seeming more vivid than mine. With astonishment, I discovered them running through me in turn. Slowly, as if trying to perfectly marry those already existing, mingling with dissonance on my pale skin.

I was totally hypnotized by the spectacle that presented itself to me, so much so that it took me a while to notice that Lance had loosened his grip to come and let his fingers run languidly over my wrist, thus tracing invisible shapes against my skin. Several shivers ran through me under his slow movements and I wasn't sure he himself noticed what he was doing. Closing my eyes for a moment, I focused on the gentle, yet sure, movements the dragon made. So, as with Leiftan, I thought I felt an emotion that was not mine. A light feeling, close to admiration. Confused, I opened my eyelids and looked into his blue eyes.

Lance hadn't taken his eyes off me.

He suddenly understood what had just happened. Pulling on my wrist, he pulled me closer to him, bringing his lips to the hollow of my ear.

- Who allowed you to enter my head, little human ? he whispered to me.

His voice, both sweet and teasing, sent a shiver running down my spine. So I could feel his breath against my neck and knowing him so close to me made me both nervous and languid.

- It's you who is far too easy to read, I had nothing to do with it.

His weak laugh, with much more hoarse intonations than usual, grabbed all my attention.

- How did you do that ?

- I don’t know how to explain it. It happens to me sometimes in Leiftan's presence since we fought together, but I didn't think it was possible with anyone else.

The dragon imperceptibly contracted its jaws at the hearing of the aengel's first name.

- I see. Again, it's probably because of this exchange of powers, he told me, pausing a little before resuming, a slightly more sullen tone. So does that mean you feel his emotions ?

- It happens sometimes, yes, I answered him innocently.

He let out a much less jovial laugh as he leaned on the dresser behind him, his back arched slightly in my direction. Never breaking the link between our skins, he nonchalantly put his hand that still held mine on one of his thighs, his palm up, leaving me free to withdraw it if I wished.

- I guess he's still overflowing with sweet feelings for you.

I gave him a heavy look, which he answered with a vague shrug.

- Don't look at me like that, you had to be blind not to see what he felt for you. I remind you that I spent a lot of time with him and I can assure you that he only had your name in his mouth.

It’s true that Ashkore and Leiftan had been allies, there was a time.

I realized that, when he behaved so relaxed around me, like a moment ago, Lance sometimes managed to make me forget this tumultuous past that we shared. And I had to admit that these moments, however fleeting they were, were sometimes pleasant.

- Nothing ever happened between Leiftan and me, his feelings have always been one-sided and to be honest, I think he felt that much because I was like him. What's more, I was with Nevra at that time.

My interlocutor observed me for a moment without saying anything.

- Andraste, you can believe me when I tell you that he fell madly in love with you the moment you arrived. It's not just a matter of race, although I can understand that it sounds appealing. I myself was curious as to why you were so important to him, but I came to understand that he was just really infatuated with you. On the other hand, I'm intrigued that you still feel his emotions if this phenomenon dates from the battle, he added.

I pondered his words. Leiftan's feelings for me troubled me, I didn't know what to think.

- I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe spending the last few years together in the Crystal has brought us closer together, who knows ?

Lance winced slightly at hearing the theory that didn't seem to please him much, it seemed.

How was it possible that I could feel their deepest emotions, and most importantly, why didn't they seem to feel mine in return ? I didn't understand a thing. I had convinced myself that this was the result of our aengel powers, but why was this also happening with the dragon ?

Our conversation having distracted me, I realized that my light still continued to shine weakly on his skin, running under the sleeve of his top. And it was... simple. Without any effort to provide. I then remembered a detail. During our training several days ago, when my powers had reactivated as anger had risen in me, their color had turned whitish, totally cold. While at this precise moment, the latter shone a much more orange hue, pouring a pleasant sensation down my muscles. Did my emotions interfere with the process ?

Catching me off guard, Lance pulled on my wrist and pulled me even closer to him. So brought together, I could make out every detail of the scales that dotted her neck and jaw, they bewitching me with their almost unreal shades.

- I don’t hide from you that I don’t hope that it’s the case, he said to me in a deep and low voice, making my heart beat a little faster without me knowing why.

- And why is that, exactly ?

His gaze became more penetrating. He raised an eyebrow as I leaned in a little more, until I in turn came to press my lips close to his ear.

- Oh by the way, if you could stop calling me "little human" when you light up the room with my powers, I added lower.

I felt his lips widen against me as he slid a hand through my hair to reposition it behind my ear.

- A human with two or three powers, at most. I wait a little better to be blown away.

Angered, I pulled back to slap him on the shoulder with my free hand. Lance rubbed the affected area before laughing frankly at my daring.

- You are easily offended.

- And you should avoid letting your guard down in my presence, you know that I tend to get carried away a little.

- I thought I noticed it, indeed. But I guess I tend to like it myself, he said with a mischievous sneer.

We stared at each other for several long seconds, a silly smile stuck on our faces as our hands seemed unwilling to let go. Positioned in this way, our bodies standing far too close to each other to remain conventional, I felt strangely relaxed. And when his eyes suddenly drifted lower, peering down at my mouth with some undisguised curiosity, I found myself wondering what would happen if our lips met. If the simple contact of our skin had such virtues, what would it be in the face of more privacy ? I had the impression that each of my emotions was heightened tenfold in his presence, and like an addiction, I had this impression always wanting more, never to be entirely satisfied.

Lance seemed to recover and I was surprised to see his scales slowly resorbing.

- We're going to stop there for tonight, he said softly as he began to regain his human form.

His skin finally returned to its usual appearance and quickly, no more draconian attributes marked Lance's body.

Cautiously letting go of my hand, he let his fingers run along my skin until only emptiness caught up with me. The broken link, our powers diminished in liveliness, descending the lines drawn on our respective skins in the opposite direction, to the tips of our fingers. Disappearing totally, I felt a cold suddenly embrace me as the warmth of my light and the coldness of his ice no longer caressed me.

I was cold for the first time since waking up, and I felt that as I left Lance's coolness.

The dragon leaned a little more against the edge of the dresser and observed me for a moment without saying anything, as if lost in an internal reflection that he didn’t seem to want to share with me. Suddenly, he raised an arm and came to rub a loving hand through my hair, catching me totally off guard.

- Well done, Andraste. I had my doubts you'd make it, but ultimately I'm impressed, he told me as he slowly pulled his fingers away from my scalp, pouting mockingly.

I crossed my arms, an eyebrow raised in annoyance.

- You really don't have any hope in me, actually.

His soft laughter echoed again as he finally pulled away from his prop. Leaning over me once again, his large figure towering over me completely, he whispered to me, like a secret :

- If you knew what I think of you... you are very far from the account, my beautiful.

(Chapter 11)

#eldarya #eldarya new era #ashkore #lance #lancika #i am not your enemy #eldarya lance #lance eldarya #eldarya the origins #eldarya writing #eldarya fanfiction

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writingsbychlo · 4 years ago

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let me down slow (prologue)

word count; 3432

summary; you’re in love with stiles stilinski who will never love you back, and mitch stilinski is freshly heartbrokenand home to try and redeicover himself. after being ditched by stiles, mitch offers you some company.

notes; let me just make it clear that there is no wolves in this, also, she’s 18 and Mitch is 20. OH, and a big thanks to @stylesharrys for proof reading this for me. I love her.

warnings; smut, unprotected sex, underage drinking, that’s pretty much it.

Your toes caught on the slightly uneven paving stone on the front garden of the Stilinski household, noting the absence of the cruiser on the driveway, the space beside it clear of the usual powder blue jeep that was never clean, but a black jeep that was clean sat in its place, a precocious vehicle that and you roll your eyes in a heatless judgement.

In some ways, Mitch Stilinski was the opposite of his younger brother.

He excelled at lacrosse, earning himself a scholarship to a college on the other side of the country, and handing down his famous ‘24’ number to his brother, who had finally tried out for the team at the beginning of junior year after his brother left. He was clean, and he worked out and ate healthy foods, and he had a car from this century that he actually respected. There was something under one of the seats of Stiles’ jeep that was unrecognisable at this point, and you didn’t particularly want to question it.

Despite this, there was a lot they both had in common. Their sarcasm, and loyalty, and passion for the things they loved. Not to mention, the spooky similarity between them both.

Though, Mitch possessed the ability for growing facial hair, which had started coming in his sophomore year, and now in his senior year, Stiles still had a baby face that was smooth and soft, and entirely hairless. It was adorable, really.

So, no, the absence of the blue jeep didn’t immediately clue you in to something being off, because you assumed he may have pulled into the driveway to make space for his brother’s car. Instead, you remained positive and sunny, a collection of DVD’s clutched in your arms and a change of clothes in your bag for the sleepover you were intending to have with your best friend, pizza money tucked into your bra for the food you would undoubtedly order and your heart skipping a couple of beats as you waited patiently for your spastic best friend to swing the door open following your series of knocks.

A few beats passed, before the lock was clicking and the door was shifting, and you dragged your eyes up along his chest. It was not the skinny and plaid covered frame you’d anticipated, but that of the messily cut tank top of a broader and more muscled older brother, a piece of candy hanging from his lips as he chewed it slowly, staring at you expectantly with a blank look.

“Mitch. I see you’re home, then.”

“Well, well, well. Aren’t you the observant one?” His words were sneering, and you scowled at him, used to his moody attitudes from over a decade of knowing the Stilinski boys, but not missing the colder than usual undertone to his words. The banter between the three of you had always been playful, somewhat teasing but his lips would always flicker up at the sides and you’d always been able to see the amusement sparkling in his eyes - much like his brother’s - but this version of Mitch just seemed empty and angry. “What do you want?”

“You’re being awfully rude to someone who knows your real name. I’ll post it under your next status update on Facebook. I wonder if the lacrosse team at Syracuse knows how to properly pronounce Polish names.”

Your threats about revealing his name always got a laugh out of him, or at least a fond roll of the eyes, but this time he just grunted at you and pulled a sour face, sighing like he had somewhere else to be, despite the fact that he was standing with bare feet and a pair of sweatpants on, and clearly had no other plans.

“Fine, be moody. Is Stiles here?”

“Do you see his jeep on the driveway?” Your jaw dropped at the tone of his voice, your shoulders slumping as you glanced back for a second, and when you turned back to him, you didn’t let your eyes meet his. Heat was crawling at your cheeks, and you took a few steps back from the doorway, swallowing down the beginnings of the lump forming in embarrassment from your faith and optimism, and Mitch let out a groan, lifting a hand to run through his hair as he swallowed the last of the candy stick he’d been nibbling on. “Wait, wait. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have been so rude to you.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen you in a bad mood, Mitch, it’s alright.”

“I’m still sorry, kiddo.” Once again, you were scowling, the nickname he knew annoyed you so much peeking through, and at your distaste for it, he was grinning at you cheekily, and just like that the tension between you both had been brushed away, no matter how many months passed between seeing on another. “Stiles isn’t in, though. He went out, like, a couple of minutes before you got here, I’m surprised you didn’t catch him before he went.”

“Well, did he say how long he’d be?”

The elder actually cringed, leaning on the doorpost and looking out at the surrounding of the street for a second, before fixing his attention back on you. “He told me not to wait up, so I'm assuming he’s going to be a while.” His eyes then dropped down to the bundle in your arms, and a pitiful look took over his features. “You had plans, didn’t you?”

You simply hummed, feeling your body deflating sadly as your plans fell through, and while you were disappointed, you couldn't exactly say you were surprised. Lately, your plans had been coming second in his eyes a lot, and he let out a sad sound himself. Something between attempting to comfort you, and annoyance at his younger sibling, and your cheeks twitched to show a barely present smile, one shoulder rising and falling as you tried to brush it off. “I bet he said something about Lydia needing him, huh?”

“He did, actually..”

You nodded, more to yourself than to him, before doing your best to perk back up, adjusting the belongings in your arms and trying to mask your disappointment. “Right, well, that’s all good. I can just catch up on some reading, anyway, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, it’s a shitty thing for him to do.” His voice was a little sharper than usual, and you let out a laugh, nodding at his words as he stood up a little further and opened the door for you. “Why don’t you come in, anyway? You can hang out with me?” You paused, eyes narrowing at him for a second as you studied him, and he raised his brows at you in his own silent analysis of your reaction. “You’re in love with Stiles, it’s been written all over your cute little face since you were freshman, and my girlfriend broke up with me, and you’re not the worst of his friends. So, why don’t you bring your broken heart inside, and we’ll order some takeout, and wallow in self-pity and misery together?”

Once again, a blush was covering your face, splotchy patches of warmth that made you uncomfortable. You wanted to get in your sweats, and order food and laugh with your best friend, but now Mitch was holding open the door for you and looking at you with a little grin, and you accepted, taking a few steps forwards and over the threshold and into the house as your emotions bubbled up and over.

Dropping your bag beside the front door and kicking off your shoes, the man plucked the armful of belongings from you and moved away for only a second, placing them down on the table and coming back to stand before you. It was an uncomfortable tension, but it was unusual. You had hung out with Mitch on multiple occasions, but never just the two of you. You sniffed lightly, and he let a rumbling sound out from deep within his chest, before placing an arm around your shoulders stiffly and pulling you into a loose hug. “I’m sorry about my brother, he’s an ass.”

You nodded into his shoulder, before bringing your arms up around him and squeezing him tightly, your hands bunching up in the back of the thin cotton shirt he was wearing. Only a second later, he was wrapping his other arm around your waist, and pressing his nose into your hair, letting out a shaky breath over your skin, and suddenly you were clinging to one another, your sniffling breaths muffled against his body.

You were trembling, you could feel it within yourself, the rush of emotions all making you feel weak, and yet no tears came out, because you weren’t entirely sad. You felt comfort in the arms of your friend, you felt safe, and you felt understood. His own pain made you feel less pathetic, and the way he was holding onto you just as tightly gave you the understanding that you weren’t suffering alone, and so when you were finally ready to pull back, his cheeks were a little damp and you gave him your best smile, bumping your forehead against his chin before stepping back.

“You promised me food, then?”

“That I did. What do you feel like?” He beamed, dragging a hand down his face and walking towards the kitchen letting you follow of your own accord and hop up onto one of the stools at the counter to watch him as he sorted through takeout menus. Passing them over to you, you glanced down at the pile of laminated and colourful leaflets, and you looked back up at him, shrugging.

“Stiles normally just orders us pizza, I brought a twenty because he likes the stuffed crust ones and to put his own toppings on and it adds one hell of a cost.”

He chuckled, rubbing his hands together and leaning his hands on the counter. “Yeah, that does sound like him, but what do you have?” He fixed you with a look when you gaped a little bit, before sighing and spreading out the collection before you. “Next time Stiles goes to just order a pizza, tell him what you want. These places are good if you want Chinese, but the Blue Dragon is my favourite because they do some pretty awesome spring rolls and dumplings. There’s also a Korean place, or an Indian place if you want something spicy but I don’t know if they deliver, we may have to go get it. If you really want pizza, there’s a place in there that’s better than Dominos, they just aren’t as popular so Stiles doesn’t bother with them.”

Upon finishing his spiel, your eyes were wide, and you thumbed through the other booklets, noting the way some of them had meals and dishes circled or highlighted, and the shiny blue of a fold-out menu for the Blue Dragon caught your attention, and you shifted it to the top.

“Do you really want Chinese food, or are you picking this because I said it was my favourite?”

His voice was stern but playful, and you opened it up, waving him off idly as he laughed at you and he circled around to stand beside you, the warmth of his body flushing over your side as he waited patiently. “I do actually want Chinese food, by the way. But since this is your preference, I figured we could order from here. You can tell me what’s good, and you get the stuff you like. Win-win.”

“Alright, I’ll take that deal.”

The two of you debated for a couple of minutes over the choices, before he was pulling out his phone and sitting up on the counter beside you, legs swinging as he orders all the food you both wanted, indulging you each time you poked at his leg and added onto the order when you came across something you liked, and you were sure you’d spent considerably more than you had on an unnecessary amount of food, but if you didn’t have the funds, you could always pay Mitch back.

He was holding up a bottle of whisky, offering you a glass with a few chunks of ice in the bottom, and you accepted it happily, following him through to the living room and collapsing on the couch. It was a little awkward, to begin with, the two of you chatting between yourselves and sipping on the drinks you had, before eventually settling on a movie. When it began, however, you were a few drinks in and suddenly the conversation was flowing smoothly, the dialogue and plot of the film falling away as the two of you inched closer to one another from opposite ends of the couch, more and more enthusiastic about the topics you ricocheted between.

Food had arrived, and you’d eaten, between laughs and jokes and his eyes lingering on you each time you tried new portions of the meal so that he could watch for your reactions. You loved them all, his recommendations panning out, and soon, half of the bottle was gone, and you were laying out across the couch with your legs across his lap and you head in the cloud, warmth filling you from head to toe.

He had a hand on your knee, full-bellied laughs coming from his mouth as he stroked up and down your leg gently, the movie had faded away into the background. He had listened as you poured out your heart to him over his younger brother in your tipsy stupor, and he in return had shared with you the truths of his break up.

You told him about the way you hated that Stiles seemed to never have time for you anymore, and that he continued to chase Lydia years later than his original crush, hopelessly falling at her feet when she’d only just become aware of him and was using him for her own gains. He told you about Katrina, the blonde bombshell whom you remembered. She was a cheerleader at Beacon Hills high and Mitch’s high school sweetheart, and she went to a college in New York like him, but after the first year the spark began to fade, and the distance may as well have been ocean’s wide, because they had drifted. What hurt him the most was change, the nagging feeling that he could have done something different, that she could have been the one if he’d made more visits to her on the weekends and more trips to see her on the holidays.

The confessions had only ever been shared with one another, and suddenly the two of you had a bond that nobody else could touch, because your deepest fears and secrets had been exposed to one another in a night of greasy takeout and almost a full bottle of whiskey, but the absence you’d felt when your best friend wasn’t by your side was filled in an entirely new way by Mitch.

It was playful and refreshing and relaxing, it was everything you didn’t know you were missing. Until it wasn’t.

Somewhere between the end of the movie and the end of the bottle, the atmosphere between you both had changed. Somewhere between the time his thumb has stopped rubbing at the skin below your knee to move up to his fingers digging into your lower thigh, and when you sat up to talk to him and found yourself almost seated in his lap. After you told him to stop calling you kiddo, and he called you kitten instead, the energy between you both was different.

His eyes were darker and he was licking at his lips and then his mouth was slotted against yours, tongues tangling and hands roaming and the temperature in the room shot up to boiling. You were in his lap, grinding and letting his hands wander, and then he was thumbing at your tits and mouthing at your neck. Somewhere between him moaning kitten into your mouth and sucking on your lower lip to the way he was bucking his hips up into you and suddenly, it was more.

He was dragging your panties to the side and you were tugging down his seats just far enough, and then you were riding him on the couch. Sloppy and messy and a combination of the need for connection and the wish for affection, you were all but sobbing into his mouth as your eyes rolled back and his fingers dug into your bare flesh, and then it was over.

You were sweaty and hot, and you felt boneless as you let him lift you off of his body, pressing one more long kiss to your lips before he was tucking himself into his sweats and laying back on the couch and chuckling at you with a dark smirk when you wobbled on weak legs as you went to clean yourself up. It wasn’t awkward when you returned, it was calming and relaxed and you grabbed yourself a second plate of takeaway food and settled back down onto the couch with your feet in his lap once again, and a new movie on the screen.

The night passed with the rest of your movie collection, and eating a surprising amount of candy, and you inevitably changed into your comfy clothes when the hour passed midnight. You had teased him about his long hair while running your fingers through it, and he had made you flustered in return by speaking through his food and telling you how you weren’t complaining while tugging at it and bouncing on his cock.

It wasn’t until you heard the rumbling of the jeep that you felt that same dread and loneliness slip back into your body, the squeaking of tires on the stones and the slamming of the door one side, and you rolled yourself off of the couch with a groan, a scowl taking over in place of your smile as you scooped up everything you had and tried to shove it haphazardly into your bag, booking a cab in the process and leaving you phone on the side.

He began to grab at the rubbish littering the surfaces with you, the two of you stumbling and scooping up empty food boxes as you crammed them all into the kitchen bin, and did your best to clean up after yourselves, when the door finally opened, the sound of Stiles kicking off his shoes and hanging up his cute, humming happily to himself as he walked through the house.

“Oh my God, it smells like food in here. Did you get takeout? Did you save me any an-” He paused as he saw you, your eyes avoiding his as you grabbed your phone, smiling at the boy you had spent your evening with as he slid it towards you. The easy and lightweight vibe you’d found so easily with Mitch was now thick and tense, and you wanted to leave as soon as possible. “Hey! What are you doing here so late?”

You purse your lips, a tight smile on your face as you pushed past him without a word, and Mitch simply fixed him with a disbelieving look, the hyperactive of the pair of brothers was watching you go curiously, and both followed you to the front door as you pulled on your shoes.

“Are you mad at me, or something?”

“Yes, Stiles, I’m mad at you.” You bit your tongue from saying any more, wanting to let him wallow in it a little longer, and his jaw dropped and brows furrowed as he watched you go. Leaning up to press a kiss to one stubbled cheek, you patted his shoulder as you opened the door and stepped out, pulling out your phone to check on the taxi, only to see it pulling up to the curb, and you flashed him a toothy grin. “Thanks for being such great company while your brother was a jerk.”

He leaned against the door, muffling the sound of protest from Stiles behind, his body filling the doorway as he winked at you cheekily. “No problem, kitten.”

With that, their front door slammed shut, and you were stepping into your cab, tired and buzzed and ready to get into your own bed, and try to forget that the boy you loved had once again forgotten about you to chase after a girl who would never see him as anything more than friends.

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midnight-ranger-general-jiyan · 4 months ago

Note

Jiyan listened to Jien’s comments with a thoughtful expression. The sincerity in her words and the gentle humor in her smile caught him off guard. He allowed a small smile to touch his lips, appreciating the brief reprieve from the weight of the battlefield.

“Honesty is a necessity in my position,” he said, his voice steady and contemplative. “In times like these, the truth is the only thing that truly matters. It’s not about revealing personal fears but about ensuring that those who follow and those who fight beside me understand the reality of our situation. There’s no room for pretense when lives are at stake.”

He paused, considering her next question and the way she’d offered her help. “You’re right; I am speaking to a stranger. But sometimes, it’s the conversations with strangers that bring the most clarity. And sometimes, it’s those conversations that forge unexpected alliances.”

Jiyan extended a hand towards her, his gaze meeting hers with a warm, genuine look. “I’m Jiyan. It’s a pleasure to meet you under these circumstances, though I wish it were under better ones. And you are?”

He listened as she spoke of her offer to help, and his expression softened further. “I appreciate your willingness to assist. While our supplies are managed by Lolo Logistics and the Magistrate of Jinzhou, the sheer number of injured means we can always use additional hands. My medics are stretched thin, and finding more soldiers who need aid is crucial.”

He gestured towards the battlefield, where the sun was dipping lower, casting long shadows over the debris and wounded. “If you could assist in locating and helping soldiers who are in dire need of medical attention, it would be immensely valuable. The medics will reach those who are already marked, but those still waiting, those who might be in hidden places or are barely clinging to consciousness, need immediate attention.” Jiyan’s tone was earnest, his gratitude evident. “Your skills in tracking and providing support could make a significant difference. It’s not just about the immediate help; it’s about ensuring that every life has a chance, that no one is left behind simply because we couldn’t reach them in time.”

Jiyan’s eyes softened as he gave her a grateful nod. “Your willingness to help is deeply appreciated. I’ll make sure to get you in touch with our field operations to coordinate your assistance. Until then, do what you need to prepare, and please stay safe."

Jiyan extended his hand, palm facing upward, and focused on his aero resonance. A small teal loong—a dragon formed of shimmering, ethereal energy—emerged from his hand, curling and undulating with a graceful, almost serpentine motion. The dragon's form was delicate yet vibrant, its scales reflecting hues of teal and azure as it hovered in the air. “This qinglong,... Jiyan explained, It’s attuned to my resonance, so when you come across soldiers who require help, the dragon will guide you to them and alert me of your location.” He carefully directed the dragon towards Jien, allowing it to hover before her. With that, Jiyan took a step back, allowing her the space to engage with the qinglong

Evening wind sighed over the curling and rising fields. Tattered armor and weapons lay scattered about, adding onto the chaos of the dry grass and dying flora. The remnants of battle left a lingering bitter smell in the air and a moan of pain sounded over the grass that rippled with the wind. One step, then another, the soldier with his arm hung heavy over the woman's neck is about to collapse but his feet move, possesing a mind of their own. One foot in front of another, he's sure he's about to collapse. How long has it been since the battle began or ended? Where was he? Last thing he remembers is the blinding pain that sent him tumbling, and his comrades and the General getting lost amidst the swarm of TDs, and the next moment he sees this...horned woman towering over him with the light beating at her back like a broken halo. He was dreaming, he told himself, already dead. But then her strong grip found it's way onto him, helping him rise. She doesn't speak to him, she doesn't feel the need to, and in an oddly comforting way he's thankful for that as talking would require too much strength. His feet take more steps, one foot in front of the other. His weight and balance hanging onto her like a lifeline.

"We're close.." She spoke, but by the time the wounded and exhausted soldiers manages to raise his head they've already taken several more steps ahead. She spoke softly to him, mild tone thick with indifference as she paused in her step to let him catch a breath. Had she not found him, he would've died amidst rock and torched grass. But he makes note to thank her later. Looking up he can see through blurry eyes the sight of men walking about the camp, but they were still not spotted themselves. "Just a little more.. You'll get proper medical care there, I'm certain" Jien said, nudging the soldier with the arm that was around his back. Her tail flicks behind her, stirring the grass.

@shards-of-the-lost 🐲

(first time doing this so please feel free to correct me if I've made any errors 🙏😔)

Jiyan stood at the crest of the hill, the sun casting long shadows over the battlefield below. His broadblade gleamed with the remnants of the day’s slaughter, and his spear was an extension of his will. The wind, his constant companion, whipped around him, carrying the scent of blood and the moans of the dying. In the distance, the swarm of TDs—a grotesque, relentless horde—surged like a living nightmare.

With a deep breath, Jiyan summoned his inner strength, feeling the aero energy hum through his veins. He raised his spear to the sky, calling forth the spirit of the teal loong. The air shimmered and twisted, forming the ethereal shape of a dragon, its scales a brilliant, pulsating blue-green.

He plunged into the fray, the loong at his side. His broadblade cleaved through the nearest TD, the creature’s ichor spraying across the dry grass. The loong struck out with its claws and teeth, tearing through the mass of enemies with a grace and power that mirrored Jiyan’s own movements. They fought as one, man and spirit, each bolstering the other’s strength. Jiyan’s spear whirled in a deadly dance, impaling TDs with precision and speed. He could feel the wind responding to his will, sharp gusts slicing through the air and disrupting the enemy’s formations. The loong, too, manipulated the currents, creating vortices that pulled TDs off their feet and hurled them into the sky.

Time lost all meaning in the chaos. Jiyan fought with a single-minded ferocity, every muscle in his body burning with exertion. His mind was a razor’s edge, focused solely on the task at hand. But the TDs were endless, their numbers seeming to multiply with every kill.

....

Jiyan stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving with exertion. The battlefield was eerily silent, the only sounds the rustling of the grass and the distant cries of the wounded. He wiped the sweat and blood from his brow, his eyes scanning the horizon. The TDs were vanquished, but the true cost of the battle was yet to be revealed.

His duty now was to his men. He sheathed his blade and set off across the field, his heart heavy with dread. The dry grass crunched beneath his boots as he moved from body to body, checking for signs of life. Some he found were beyond help, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. Others clung to life, their wounds grievous but not mortal. These he marked for the medics, offering what comfort he could.

Jiyan’s eyes locked onto a lone figure struggling to rise, supported by a woman with horns curving elegantly from her head. The soldier’s uniform marked him as one of Jiyan’s own, his face a mask of pain. Without a moment's hesitation, Jiyan rushed towards them to offer assistance.

#wuthering waves #wuwa rp #wuthering waves rp #🐉 follow the qinglong #jiyan wuthering waves #wuwa jiyan #((AAAAA thank you!!!! Your longform RP scratches my brain /pos and i can't help but indulge in i))

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therosefrontier · 3 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 4

No. 4 - TRUST FALL

“Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

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Genshin Impact | Diluc, Kaeya, and Mondstadt’s resident dragon friend

(crossposted to AO3)

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“Well, what a surprise this is, you asking me for help? You must be really desperate, then.”

“Don’t get any ideas. I’m not asking for your help tonight; I’m only asking for this one favor.”

“So, you play hero and I watch from the sidelines? Hmph, you wound me, Diluc.”

Diluc leveled his eyes at Kaeya with complete lack of amusement. He really didn’t have time for this. He pulled his sort-of brother into the stock room at Angel’s Share this morning with the intention of getting him alone with as little fanfare as possible (he wouldn’t be going to the knights for this, that’s for certain) and in as little time as possible. “I’m serious,” he insisted. “I’m only asking you to do this because you’re the only one who can. I need you to convince Vind to leave her post, just for one night. There’s going to be danger, and I need to ensure her safety. Obviously, I can’t do it myself, as this could reveal me as…well, the rumored vigilante.”

“The Darknight Hero, you mean?” Kaeya supplied with a smirk.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine, fine.” Kaeya shrugged. “I understand; you wish to keep your secret identity a secret. No worries; I have no intention of letting Vind be prey to some Abyss mages tonight. I’ll make an excuse to get her out.”

“Right…wait!” Diluc’s eyes widened at the realization. “I didn’t tell you—!"

“That the Abyss Order was the ‘danger’ described?” Kaeya appeared far too satisfied with himself. “Don’t be so surprised. I have my sources just like you have yours. It is the reason why Sucrose is on her way right now to tell Vind about those strange weather anomalies in Dragonspine that need her attention right now, as they could be the sign of a great storm that the expertise passed down to her through generations might be useful for. Plus, she has the official knightly request signed by yours truly.”

Diluc sighed. “You…already had a plan.” Of course, he did. A very official-sounding one, actually. “Wait, is there actually…?” If this was a lie, there was no way that Sucrose would go with it.

“No, probably not, it’s just a little stretching of the truth. I asked Albedo to hype up the facts for this purpose. But don’t worry, he doesn’t know any details.”

And…he got Albedo in on his scheme as well. “You would think of everything.” He exhaled while rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well, fine then, you do that; I’ll handle the rest.”

It really wasn’t that much of a surprise to him that Kaeya would show up anyways. And, if he was being honest, it wasn’t unwelcome. Especially considering his timing.

Diluc struggled to regain his footing quickly, use the flat side of his claymore as a shield when another barrage of cryo icicles came his way. The cryo still caused a melt reaction on the flaming bush in front of him that made the fire burst in his face and deal yet another painful shot of damage. He inhaled a sharp breath and responded with launching himself at the cryo abyss mage with a flaming sword. He then unleashed his flaming phoenix on the hoard—half of Stormbreaker Point was already on fire, so it really wouldn’t matter if he added more flames to the mix.

A wound on Diluc’s arm was bleeding heavily, and he reached up to touch his face to confirm that there was blood there, too. Before him, a large group of abyss mages and Hilichurls made a blockade stretching across the clifftop and around the watchtower, and behind them, four Ruin Guards stood as support. The grass and trees around them had caught on fire, making a beacon in the pitch-black night sky. Behind Diluc, there was the edge of Stormbreaker Point and the long drop to the ocean. And beside him, there was Kaeya.

Diluc did not expect the fight to be as intense as it was. He knew that the Order was planning some raid because they got it in their heads that the tower at Stormbreaker Point must have something vitally important in it, and that Vind was some kind of powerful, mystical protector of it. Hilichurls hung around the tower a lot, so maybe they…communicated, somehow? Either way, Diluc planned to put a stop to it. However, he wasn’t planning on this much resistance…maybe they learned of his involvement?

Or maybe, that one Abyss mage in the middle, the cackling pyro one, was just a cut smarter than the rest. It made a point to sneer at the “Darknight Hero” upon Diluc’s arrival, and when Kaeya came in from nowhere to bowl through the line and take his place by Diluc’s side, it sneered at him, too.

“Well, if it isn’t the great cavalry captain of the Knights of Favonius? Such a…wonderfully unique star in your eye, isn’t it?”

Diluc felt Kaeya tense by his side.

“Hehehe, what’s the matter? Worried about your precious Darknight Hero? Or your precious secrets?”

Kaeya didn’t respond to the taunt. He kept his stance steady, his sword angled towards the hoard. His one visible eye didn’t lose sight of the sword’s target. “They’re coming,” Kaeya spoke in a whisper that only Diluc could hear. “Our reinforcements.”

So Kaeya knew, coming here, that the battle was bad enough that they would need help.

“What’s that, oh great knightly captain?”

Most of the mages didn’t talk that much. Diluc wasn’t sure they even knew much, or if they remembered things. They ran on their one-track goal against humanity, and they plotted and schemed to meet that goal. It was enough of a reason to destroy every one of their ilk Diluc saw.

(He tried not to think much about what Kaeya told him that day, about the truth. He didn’t know what to do with that truth. He couldn’t protect Mondstadt if he doubted what he should do about it, so he didn’t. Whatever those mages used to be, they were only monsters now.)

Kaeya unleashed a blast of cryo in front of him, and Diluc followed by running into the fray of fighting renewed, taking out every creature he saw. In his distraction, he almost missed that he had been targeted by a Ruin Guard’s missile, and he stumbled to the ground in a desperate last-minute attempt to dodge. A Mitachurl tried to capitalize on that moment of weakness and bring down its giant flaming axe on him, but Kaeya in that moment dove in and struck the monster deep in the side. He then grabbed Diluc and they dodged backwards.

They were going back too far. Little by little, they were losing ground, to the point that their feet neared the edge of the precipice. Still, they fought. It hadn’t been so long for them that Diluc’s fighting by Kaeya’s side felt unnatural…although it was odd. Because, they were older now. Kaeya had a Cryo vision now. Everything was…different, but every now and again, they’d still end up doing something together anyways.

Diluc breathed heavily, his hands around his claymore sweating underneath the gloves. He pushed whatever pain he felt from his injuries somewhere deep, deep in the back of his mind. He needed—they needed to push through the line. He wasn’t confident in the state of his glider after getting himself roughed up and singed so much or in their ability to avoid further attacks during their descent.

“Kaeya, we need to—”

“Diluc, do you trust me?”

Diluc’s eyes darted over to him, taken aback by the gravity in Kaeya’s softly-spoken question. “What kind of question is that?”

“Well, do you?”

As if he could answer that in one sentence or less. He trusted him…in some ways, he guessed. He trusted him in battle. He trusted him…with Mondstadt, yes. Just…well…that was all very besides the point and this was really not the time. “Yes, sure,” he huffed.

“Excellent.” Kaeya smiled.

What was he—?

Then, Kaeya laughed, loudly and triumphantly, a wild look in his eye and he reached out for Diluc’s collar and grabbed it tight. His soft voice had turned into a shouting, mocking one. “Hahaha, end of the line, Darknight Hero! The Knights have no need of meddlers like you!”

What the fu—

He pushed him. Before Diluc knew what was happening, he felt his body succumbing to gravity, his feet losing their hold on the stone of Stormbreaker Point’s edge and following the rest of his body into the open air, suddenly void of every handhold or foothold within reach.

Kaeya fucking pushed him.

Diluc had to open his glider—fast. It wasn’t working. The hell was Kaeya thinking he couldn’t open it in time he was going to—

And then, he landed on something with a thud, much sooner than he should have. The surface uneven and scaly and distinctly familiar, it didn’t take him long to realize that it was a someone. Was that—?

Dvalin arced into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings, looping back around to the space underneath the cliff, coming in close at the moment Kaeya jumped off the edge as well. Diluc repositioned himself on Dvalin’s back to a place of more stability astride his spine and watched Kaeya make a much more graceful (much better prepared, that is) landing than he did.

Diluc’s first thought was that he was relieved to see Kaeya in one piece. His second was that it was time to demand an explanation. “What was that about?”

“Clever, wasn’t it?”

“You could have told me something!”

“But would it have believable to the mages if I did? You’re not that great of an actor, Diluc.”

“Your theatrics are utterly pointless,” Diluc huffed. “And now that we’re both gone, who’s going to stop them?”

“Well, look down,” Kaeya directed.

Dvalin had flown back up into the sky, well above the surface of the cliff but low enough that one could see exactly what was going on. Diluc looked down and saw, sure enough, some familiar forms attacking the small army on the cliff, now at the perfect position to pin them against the edge. He saw Jean herself, along with Amber, the Traveler, Eula, and a number of other knights as backup. Diluc had almost forgotten that Kaeya did tell him about the reinforcements. Looking again, he noticed even Venti hanging in the back, acting as if he were there for mild support and not the actual anemo archon. Dvalin’s presence was probably his doing. Wait, Kaeya didn’t know about Venti, did he…?

“Since we had discovered during our Golden Apple Archipelago adventure that our very curious bard friend is a good friend of our resident dragon, I thought I’d ask him for his assistance. Sure, there’s other ways we could have gone about this, but sometimes, striking fear into the hearts of your enemy is very much a job for ‘theatrics,’ as you called them.”

Well, it did make some sense, Diluc guessed. He was just relieved to see that the reinforcements in question were having little trouble that hoard which had given him such a difficult time solo. Still, the relief didn’t quite keep all the lingering irritation from his voice. “You really called in the knights.”

“Well, this may come as a surprise, but that is their job.”

“Hmph,” Diluc grunted. “You say that like it would have been easy to get the bureaucracy to trust an anonymous source about the attack happening in the first place. They’re consistently useless on matters like this.”

“So you still don’t trust them.”

“No.” He’s established this already.

“All of them?”

“I trust Jean,” Diluc clarified.

Although, he supposed she might not be the only one on the list. There were…some knights who knew what they were doing, mostly. And, he had respect for the Honorary Knight, not that they really counted as a “knight” in an institutional sense.

“Well, that’s a start.” Kaeya shook his head with a smile. “I’d be worried if you threw even her under the bus for doing nothing wrong at all.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Is it, now?”

“Kaeya, what are you even talking about?”

“Well, maybe I could bring to your recollection that because of your insistence on working alone, you walked into a rather significant ambush today, facing a threat to Mondstadt without bothering to communicate to the people of Mondstadt, and also sending poor Vind all the way to Dragonspine because you couldn’t be forthright on the potential danger to her life.”

“You know that last part was specifically your plan, right?”

“But you were the one who wanted me to make up an excuse.”

“You literally already had your plan in motion while I was talking to you this morning!”

“Are you two quite finished?” Dvalin’s booming voice rattled through their ribs, his point made quite loud and clear.

“Right, understood,” Kaeya agreed. “So, Diluc, ready to head back and get someone to look at that arm of yours?”

“I can still fight, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I do not think that would be necessary. They’ll be fine, and besides, I can always return to provide backup.”

“No,” Diluc refused. “If I’m seeing a healer, so are you.”

“So you’re fine with that, then?”

Dvalin was already ending his circling to start heading towards the city of Mondstadt, but Diluc could still look back and see the clashing forces on the cliff, now with two Ruin Guards down and many more mages extinguished or thrown off the edge. It was clear to see who the winning side was, now.

“It’s fine,” Diluc finally conceded with a steady exhale. “I trust them.”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #do you trust me?#pushed #fandom #fic #genshin impact #diluc (genshin impact)#kaeya (genshin impact)#more fluff than whump ngl #i mean...pain is involved still #abyss order shenanigans #the ragnvindr brothers being their dense chaotic selves

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