#artificial glitter flowers

[eikaebana]

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[inbarfink]

Congratulations! You are now a Magic-User!!

[arjudy224]

Teachers Pet

Intern x Batfamily

Part 2 of Outreach Gala

The bartender flashes me an incredulous glance.

"Is that a no then?" I inquire with a half smile.

Before he can respond, a vine slithers up his leg, immobilizing him. I roll my eyes. Typical. Eyeing Dick's drink, I ask

"You gonna drink that?"

He shakes his head before sliding the drink down the bar.

Preparing to down the glass, I wince a little in preparation. A wave of artificial sweeteners flood my senses, but no alcohol. That bastard... It's Diet Coke.

"You should really get out of here." I whisper in his direction, "Get some help.

When no one responds, I stifle my laughter. I should have known better. From the corner of my eye, I spot Dr. Harris sneaking out the back door to grab reinforcements. His dark brown eyes meet mine. An understanding passes between us. He needs time. I nod in agreement. Marching through the party, I carefully avoid the eager vines trying to wrap around my legs.

The room falls into silence as I stumble past the poor partygoers. Comissioner Gordan's eyes grow wide in warning. I flash him my most reassuring smile.

"Dr. Isley," I call out weaving through the dozens of guests, "It's not very polite to show up two hours into the gala. We've been waiting for you."

Poison Ivy's glowing green eyes regard me curiously.

Before I can react, 4 stray vines wrap around my limbs rendering me motionless. Her eyes narrow in recognition.

"Ms. L/N, you've grown into yourself quite nicely."

I consider our history. 4 years is a considerably long time in adolescence.

"Well, that's a relief. I was afraid that I peaked with braces."

A small forms in response.

"Are you still picking fights with those boneheads in your class?"

I laugh. Some things never change.

"In some ways, "I respond with a grin, "Now, I mostly try to convince them of their errors through diplomacy."

One of the loose hanging vines carefully caresses my cheek. Peeling through my memories, I struggle to remember Dr. Isley as a Professor. Most mornings, I rolled into class like a zombie. Her labs were interesting though. Halfway through the semester, a group of police officers raided the lecture during an exam. I woke up quickly once her vines began strangling the police force.

"The plants speak of your kindness."

A string of followers blossom at my feet. My face gets hot.

"That's nice to hear. I haven't been able to grow anything since moving back to Gotham.” I joke awkwardly, “I was about to sample the water treatment plant again.��

More vines reach my waist. I shift uncomfortably,

"Don’t you see? Kindness isn't enough."

A few manage to wrap around my neck. The slow restriction around my airway causes me to start panicking.

"Dr. Isley...." I choke out, "You are hurting me."

The room starts to spin. Gasping, I struggle pathetically against the brick wall of vegetation.

"You have so much potential,” She mutters in my ear, “I could use someone with your talents.”

Red spots my vision. No. No. No. A pink flower grows out of a vine. A cascade of glittering aerosol sprinkles down from it. For a moment, my body goes limp. A wave of serotonin replaces my panic. She chose me. Imagine the change we could create. I smile- a real genuine smile.

Her hair.... Has it always been this silky? And her eyes... I've never seen that shade of green before. Everything about this woman feels wonderfully comforting and exciting all at once. In the natural world, when things are this potent they usually warn of poison.... but how could something so beautiful be bad?

When she kisses me, I don't protest. My knees go weak. A yearning, unlike anything I've ever felt, courses through my veins. A loud crash echoes across the gala. Dr. Isley pulls away too soon. I collapse in a wave of sorrow. Why would she leave me so soon? The rejection floods back painful memories of past lovers. Several vines hug me in support. Crouching, Pamela brushes my hair back before facing her foe.

"We'll finish this later. The adults are talking."

Tag list- @nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie, @epicyOn, @gaychaosgremlin, @rory-cakes, @luna-zendra-star, @b4tm4nn, @anuttellaa

[sweetiehyuka]

Sweet Creature - Choi Yeonjun

♡

Warnings - sub!yeonjun, gn!reader, dom!reader, sex in the forest/in a field, reader misleads yeonjun a little, light degrading, dacryphillia, penetration without protection mentioned overstimulation, pet names, fluffy ending

wc - 2k

Note - i couldn't resist my beautiful pixie boy in the daydream teaser <3 listen to ceilings by beabadoobee whilst reading this i promise it will be even better if you do

♡

This forest was like your home. Your feet knew this soil better than they knew any tile or carpet, and your skin knew this sunlight better than any artificial lamp or lightbulb. You were familiar with every tree, every flower, every little creature that lived here too.

As you wandered, the smell of dry grass filling your nostrils, you came across a creature that’s rare to spot here. Another human. A boy, to be exact.

When you found him, he was sitting in a patch of grass with his back turned away from you, eyes shut and head tilted up towards the sky. His torso was bare and his blue jeans sat low on his hips, allowing you to eye the curve of his hips and the line of his body perfectly. His skin was tan and looked impossibly soft. Maybe it was just beads of sweat, but you swear you could see specs of glitter sprinkles across his neck and back. He looked delectable.

This happens often. Pretty boys come wandering in here, not realising exactly how big the forest is, and not realising that there’s another, very hungry, person waiting to whisk them away and show them heaven.

As soon as you saw him, you wanted to have him. And have him you would.

♡

When you step towards him, some leaves crunch beneath your feet, startling the boy. 

You just stand there, still, the sun washing over you like a spotlight. You attempt to look demure and innocent, hoping he would trust you enough to talk to you.

The boy stares right back at you, hair fluttering in the breeze, cat-like eyes narrowed and focused.

“Hello?”

So, he speaks. 

As his lips move, you swear you can see sunlight glide across them, the pink of their plush flesh matching the little spots of sunburn dotted around his t zone.

“Hi,” you reply, edging closer to him, smiling. As he watches your lips curl up into a smile, a hint of confusion flashes over his eyes, making him look even more delicious than before. “are you lost?”

You can see the cogs turning in his head as he decides what to say, and you assume he’s deciding whether to be truthful and say he is, or lie to protect himself. After a few seconds, he responds.

“Yeah, kinda…”

You smile softly, hiding your intentions.

“I know my way around here well. I live nearby, so if you’d like, I can help you get out.”

His eyes light up at your offer, and you have to stop yourself from giggling over how cute he is. You hold your hand out to him and he takes it, looking up at you with a sense of fondness. 

This was gonna be easier than you thought.

♡

For about fourty minutes now, you have been leading Yeonjun through the forest. Unbeknownst to him, you had been leading him deeper and deeper inside rather than towards an exit like you had promised, as you had a certain spot in mind you wanted to take him to. It was a small field of daisies situated in a circle of willow trees ; the thought of him on his back beneath you, pretty face headed by a crown of daisies, blades of grass stuck to his soft skin, lit your stomach afire and made your desires grow stronger.

The journey had been mostly made in silence, only a few sentences of small talk and queries about directions struck up now and then. You tried to keep walking one or two steps behind him so you could admire him as he walked.

Finally, you arrive at the field. The boy gasps, tracing his fingers long the leaves of the willow trees as he walks through them, clearly not knowing whether to focus on the beautiful flowers he was walking through or the large, drooping trees that surrounded him.

“Pretty, right?”

He nods, still a little awestruck.

“We can rest here, if you want?” you propose, internally pleading that he’ll take you up on the idea. Without a second thought, he skips out of the shade of the trees and right into the middle of the small field, smiling back at you and holding his arms out . You have the urge to skip too, but you still want to keep up your facade of purity, so you decide to traipse over, wearing a shy smile on your face.

You both take a seat in the grass, and you can’t help but to stare at his lips, only now just noticing exactly how plush and kissable they look…

You can’t wait any longer.

You begin to lean in, parting your lips, but when he flinches away, you immediately pause.

"W-what are you doing?"

Feigning innocence, you shuffle back slightly.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. You just look so pretty-"

"You don't even know my name..."

You cock your head back slightly.

"I don't need to know your name to want to kiss you, angel."

A blush creeps onto his face at your sudden shift in confidence. He can’t hide that you’re exciting him, so you take the hint that it’s most likely fine to continue trying to seduce him.

"Like it when I call you angel, huh?"

He nods, smiling sheepishly. You kiss him on his red cheek, causing him to hide his face in his hands. He's so cute, you feel like you're gonna explode. 

When he looks back up at you, something in the atmosphere shifts. The giddiness in his eyes turns into some kind of longing as they look up and down the line of your body, staying on your lips for a beat too long. This time, he moves in to kiss you, and you happily oblige.

♡

For around fifteen minutes, you make out, and it only takes around two minutes until you start feeling at each others bodies. The boy’s desperation is very clear to you ; from his furrowed brows to his little whines to his growing hard on, his body is giving you many signs that he definitely wants you too. 

“Wanna take this a step further?” you whisper, lips brushing against his ear, his hair tickling your cheek. He nods.

“I-I’d like that…”

You giggle at his cuteness, then instruct him to take off his jeans, and that he does.

Nothing even has to be said to the boy ; he just lays down, already submitting to you before you have to instruct him to do anything. Gazing down at him warmly, you move to straddle his tummy, the squish of your thighs against his slender waist feeling heavenly. As you take in the sight beneath you, your breath hitches. This is exactly what you wanted. The dreamy boy’s skin glows in the sun, almost like a heavenly aura, and the daisies above his head are in the shape of a ring, almost like a halo. Angel really was the right nickname to choose for him, because that’s exactly what he is. A pretty little angel.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

The boy nods eagerly, eyes clouded with lust. You pet his soft hair then lift yourself up onto your knees, shuffling back a little bit in the grass so that you’re hovering over his pretty cock.

Of course, you weren’t going to give him what he wanted that easily.

You reach down and take his cock into your hand. You give it a firm squeeze and he whines, just like you wanted. You jerk it slowly, smirking as he babbles under his breath. 

“Don’ tease me, please…” he whispers, but you just shake your head - a wordless sign that you’re gonna do whatever you damn please, and he’s going to take it.

After a few minutes of teasing the boy with slow strokes and harsh squeezes, you finally lower yourself down onto his tip, grinning wickedly as he arches his back and cries out.

"P-please! More!" He yells, his nails digging into the flesh of your hips. You giggle, gaining great satisfaction when he pouts.

"Don' mock me..." he mumbles, blinking back tears.

"How could I resist?" you say, tone laced with venom. "You're too easy to mock."

Before he can open his mouth to retort, you slam down onto his dick with a feral groan, revelling in the way his eyes squeeze shut and his head curls away from you. You pay no mind to the stretch ; the heat of the sun mixed with the burn in your groin makes you even hornier than you were before. On top of that, the boy looks even prettier than before with tears clumping his long, pretty lashes together. Not hesitating for a second, you grab his face and turn it towards you.

"Look at me,"

The boy whines, not opening his eyes. You grip his cheeks tighter, pushing his lips out into a pout and bringing his blood to the surface of his skin.

"I said look at me, slut."

At the insult, his eyes fly open, and you feel his dick twitch inside you. Chuckling, you let his face go, and his mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

He's about to say something, but then, without warning, you start moving your hips. And fast, too. As expected, he mewls, arms spasming and legs kicking. Between moans, you laugh. He's so fucking pathetic, and pathetic boys are so damn hot. You grind faster, placing your hands on his torso, running them over the expanse of his chest and the pudge of his tummy. As expected, his skin is the softest you’ve ever touched ; you feel like if you prodded it hard enough it would just tear, and the thought of this beautiful boy bruised and broken through the means of your fingertips makes you rut harder, moaning deep and loud. 

♡

Needless to say, you didn’t go easy on the poor boy. By the time you were done with him, he was panting on his back, near passing out from overstimulation and most likely also heat exhaustion.

Now, he was laying in your arms, cuddled into you. The two of you enjoyed your post-orgasm glow in silence, enjoying the peaceful sounds of nature, the heat of the sun, and the warmth of each other's bodies.

After fucking him, you had plucked a few daisies and woven them through his soft-but-sweaty locks, so now you were twirling the petals between your fingers, careful to be gentle so you didn’t accidentally pull a hair and hurt him.

“You’re not just gonna leave me here, are you?” he mumbles. He doesn’t sound too worried ; for some reason, he really does seem to trust you. How adorable.

Usually, you really would just… leave them there. Sometimes you wouldn’t even make the boys cum, you’d just chase your own high then leave them empty handed. But this boy was different. You couldn’t put your finger on why. He just was.

After kissing him on his forehead, you respond,

“No, little angel.” you press another kiss to his forehead. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

“Yay,” he whispers, a hint of giddiness in his voice. Smiling, you squish your cheek into his forehead, the sound of his lazy giggles making your heart warm. 

Maybe, just maybe, you wanna keep this one.

♡

[chiyoso]

HERRSCHER OF DEATH x HSRVerse PART TWO

▶SYPNOSIS. after successfully finding welt yang, as well as dealing with other encounters, you sought out to explore further, hoping to learn and differentiate this universe between being a new reality, or something constructed artificially by the imaginary tree. the xianzhou luofu for example, being one of many stops that you took interest on.

▶CONTENT. crossover, headcannons + combined oneshot, hsr x hi3rd, hi3rd elements, heavy descriptions of fighting, female reader, serious themes, no usage of y/n, flirting, reader's just a tease, heavy topics, dead dove: do not eat.

“You're beautiful.”

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 is perturbed, taken aback by your straightforward, words for him.

You were discovered floating, at least stomach level at one of the balconies where the Jade Gate resided grandiosely behind you, floating and laid comfortably, suggestively against your elegant, divine key—your lance, the very lance which caused attention to artisans within the Luofu.

It was twice the size of you, it was darker than midnight, flowers that patterned on its surfaces were replaced in glittered lines of gold, a more elegant, eerie version of the normal Abyss Flower than that one Schicksal Valkyrie had.

And with that, you held death—it was beneath you, leisurely, awaiting your commands.

You remained motionless on air, gravitating lazily, up and down idle, nonchalant towards the leading looking figure, and the people stood before you under his command.

A ruler? He did look the part, ravishingly at that.

Not caring too much, you just wanted to explore, traversing this bubble universe, all without too much usage of your limbs really.

Since a specific someone, frilly, pink and uplifting, somehow had managed to tire and drain your mentality through rigorous, unrelenting questions about you, your nature, and the relationship you had with the previous Herrscher of Reason—no, he had previously told you to stop addressing him by that title.

The mission in search for the missing Sovereign of Anti-Entropy had reached its peak, the task was completed, you were done.

What was not, was the overwhelming curiousity you harbored towards such a complex, and sturdily built universe. This world—this... bubble universe. Behaving so accordingly, properly. The stability of everything, it was almost anxiety inducing, frighteningly perfect, you were uneasy from how detailed, sentient and alive everything and everyone was.

Perfection is non-existent wherever sentience prevailed, but this... this is truly next, next level.

You're certain that this world wouldn't fall victim to the Sea of Quanta's abyss, not after being birthed with a vast, new whole new star system, ecological ruptures scattered in highs and lows, numerous amounts of advanced technology existing in all kinds of ways and forms, each world having their own ways of tech akin to their aesthetics and traditionalism.

And if the imaginary tree can create such complex systems, visuals—just how powerful, potent and complex is it to create godlike beings similar to you that could eradicate any existing molecule if they so wished? All the more reason to explore and gather valuable data for those awaiting you in your original world.

That's speaking if you do manage to find your way back, given the knowledge from Welt Yang that he hasn't found a way yet. Safely at least.

Speaking of perfection.

Golden irises met yours, he studied your intricately and interesting designed eyes, they were different, abnormal, but he was accustomed to concepts such as yours, at least, that's what he'd like to believe.

Northern star shaped pupils, a hollow, gradient iris as its bastion, one of many things he noticed about how ethereal you really were.

To give you a compliment with those words would be an insult, it was an understatement.

You were more than mesmerizing, extraordinary, otherworldly, but one thing was most clear to the General; you were also a threat, a large scale one.

He was no diviner like Fu Xuan, but the premonition of unease settled in, engraved so deeply within his gut.

“Your kind words are received, however,” sharp sounds of armory clinked and shifted, winds being cut forward as the horizontal row of spearsmen that positioned themselves behind the general, weaponry raised—all defensively towards you,

What a predicament you've gotten yourself into.

“What are you, and what do you stand to achieve at this hour of day, my lady?” His unidentifiable gaze remained to your direction, occasionally, subtly glancing down towards the weapon you had displayed under you, and back up to meet your hypnotic eyes.

The commotion from the civilians only grew, be it humans, Foxians, or the Vidyhadras.

Some had caused an uproar from your overly grand appearance, some were whispers, quickly plaguing gossips of you being a high Emanator from the deceased Aeon of Beauty Idrila, and the majority—perceived you to be a threat.

All assumptions based on how their mighty, Arbiter General had his Cloud Knights stationed protectively for them, and with apparent offense towards you.

Even if you were, Jing Yuan remained that positive demeanor, he had to, for the lives that resided in Central Starskiff Haven.

“Your... negative, internal inputs of me are so loud and misplaced, handsome,” you had to deeply inhale back a visible reaction, the way he stiffened when you gave him a nickname was nothing but so utterly, endearing.

“But, to avoid rousing concerns and disputes that you are so desperately trying to avoid,” you exaggerate, musing him with a chesire-like smile.

“I'll lower myself down to your standards, all for you,” your mouth slightly parts into a small grin, taking in that miniscule amount of surprise that showed on his face from the upgrade of handsome to that.

Lovely, just lovely. That twitch in between his brows, the slight pursing of his top lip, kissing it to the bottom, the way he'd raise his head to stand tall, masking whatever emotions that stirred cruelly inside him.

Subtle his reactions may be, his embarassment was present to your keen observations.

Your lance beneath your body dissipates into a golden light, leaving behind particles of particles, your form now straightened again, taking footing on the railing of the balcony, your hands raised to the sides of your head.

To diffuse the intensity of the situation of course, even if you did have to make yourself look weak by a small amount, aware that last time's show of strength towards the Astral Faction did a number of them—mentally anyways.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would push unnecessary thoughts to the back of his head. Unorthodox thoughts related to attraction, ranging from the way your fingers effortlessly be positioned in a way similar to dancers that visit the Luofu, enthralling, captivating, the way your eyes—those eyes, the way those stars would glide, seize him, his knights, and the overall dauntiny situation.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 wasn't one to fear, but you were just haunting, overflowing with elegance, and you were dangerously coy, something that would, at theory, weaken and enable that primal instinct you see in charmed men.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would slightly lower his guard down, signaling his men to lower their weapons, his own right hand moving towards the side of his head, mirroring half of your surrendered gesture.

But alluring your appearances may be.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 will not waver, nor will he allow his self-mastery of calm resolution to be wavered by your antics. To protect the Luofu, he'd add, defensively, even if the very concept of radiance stood confidently, and defiantly before him.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would see you, see past your entity-like behavior, observing how you behave once his golden eyes travel enough, just enough to know you were a work of art underneath the silk you wore.

You were otherworldly, but you were still human.

”My lady...” He took a step to you, eyes never leaving your more visible physiq—your eyes.

He took a few moments to claw at any given thing that would reclaim his previous state of calm again, the silence, accompanied with a light buzzing and bustling commotion, filling his ears, uncertainty dulling his senses for a moment.

Be strong, General. He reaffirms himself, steeling his mind and heart, a noticable shift in his demeanor while you both locked your gazes to one another.

“You... are not a citizen of the Xianzhou Luofu, that much is obvious. Vast, the Astral Express may be, I have not heard word of you having an alliance with the travelers accustomed in traversing within the stars,” Oh, them?

“I have also noticed that you don't bear the crest of the Interastral Peace Corporation,”

Ah, so that's what it means. Previously hearing one, or a hundred continuously yell abbreviations during their chase for you.

For an alliance that wore the word 'peace' proudly in their name, their tactics were sure far from it.

“And the way you appear and hold yourself in such high, confident regards, even in my presence...” Mm?

So there is something special about hi—

“You, are not human, and of this world, are you? At the very least, one of which where the Luofu presides,” the air shifted, Cloud Knights once at ease, now filled with confusion, mixed with an alarm as they hear their General speak out with stern, a tone that can't be differentiated between being a question, or a threat.

Ha.

...

Even that Schicksal maid couldn't discern large, and small scale details that quickly upon just meeting a stranger such a few minutes of close contact.

“...You'd be more than correct.” You attempted to hold yourself and your facial muscles motionless, keeping your hands up to both sides of your head for him. You wouldn't hear the end of it from the trailblazers if you displayed such a disrespectful, unwelcomed, excitement. It was unbefitting of this situation, that much was obvious.

Mmh, but you would digress, for this man was so very, truly fascinating, one that interested you the most. Apart from the blue haired man that craved death in earlier events.

You would assume his abilities, almost purposely rousing him to invoke terrifying reactions you know he's capable of underneath all that reservation and mental fortitude.

His observational skills, overwhelming, giving you a surge that you are being preyed upon on, cat like eyes and reflexes, dilating towards everything subtle you do. That hollow, yet welcoming enough smile that doesn't reach to his pretty eyes, staged for the civilians in confusion, protecting them from feelings of panic and terror.

The highlight in his eyes that would shine brightly as if he just solved every problem there is, the problem being you perhaps, solving you without hints and solutions, guiding him to this battle of composure. A trained body language and demeanor so used to being in regal command.

And a mouth so well versed in literature and strategic prowess, knowing what words to use in all times. you could just...—

“An Emanator, then?”

...

Huh. What did he just call you?

His voice sounded lower than before, almost threatening, the delivery of tone in which you only picked up on since that expression still retained on that pretty face of his.

It may be a pleasant, questionare he'd staged carefully to not alarm his knights and the people present, but to you—you were aware it was only masked hiding the fact that it was an interrogation.

Maybe, a deserved one at that from your sudden appearance within their faction, but since it was a public confrontation, he'd trust your judgements that you wouldn't act so rashly, especially with innocent lives around the luofu were present.

What a bold, bold man.

Already trusting you to the stars with just a few moments of talking, since establishing main key points with you in entirety, of this conversation.

Wait. No, wait a moment.

The young March 7th did ramble to you something about an adventure of theirs not too long ago—containing a word with Emanator, or Lord Ravager within the storyline of hers. Ah.

An emanator. A defeated one. Phantylia, was it?

“Tch,” You didn't like that comparison, assumption it may be, it irked you, especially since encountering a being far greater than her, at least, almost, just barely almost the same level as you being a Herrscher.

You were only nothing but...

“Greater,” you lowered your hands to your sides, standing tall, chin raised with your eyes, fierce and lowered to them—towards him.

“...Greater.” Jing Yuan would repeat, slowly, as if he was relishing the intensity of the meaning behind your answer, the both of you staring each other down, neither side's auras waning down, exceeding amounts of hostility by the second, even if his was misdirected towards you.

He could only assume negatively then, but you were only reciprocating their behavior, after all.

You move both limbs up to your sides once more, a gradiose pose, unphased to the endless sky that accompanied this enormous grand hexafleet that reminded you of the Hyperion of Schicksal.

A step back from the railing would be a mortal man's doom to, perhaps, between, a fate of an endless free fall, suffering from loneliness, with death not being able to cradle and bring you to salvation—or, you would be accompanied with a fear and thoughts of inevitable doom as you fall to something ranging from abominations of the so-called Aeon of Abundance, or.

A simple, boring splat, meeting the ground with a gruesome, inelegant end.

His eyes narrowed with your gesture, finding himself—or the hand behind him subconsciously ready to summon his glaive, a defensive stance so buried deeply into his body that the simple word 'reflex' can't do it justice.

“By 'greater', my lady, you mean you are...—”

Ancient. Everlasting. A covenant.

“Immeasurable, inconceivable, a vessel to humanity's fatal destruction that reached over fifty thousand years ago, a concept humanity has yet to grasp in those countless eras of waste and fruition,”

“An ornament, a paradoxical lament to something greater, far, far greater than destruction itself,”

“I am greater, than those who were labeled the greatest.” It wasn't as if you were trying to appear narcissistic, nor overly confident in your abilities.

But that was only the bigger, and bitter truth.

And it is how Raiden Mei (Herrscher of Origin) would potentially word things given her serious, primordial nature—and your claims of such power, being supported due to the sudden glowing of your eyes.

The sound of cracking, and shattering glass that only you and the General can only hear since he was the closest, sourced from the skin behind your exposed back, a dark mist seeping out of it little by little, along with your Honkai energy levels that were growing simultaneously in an alarming pace.

What's worse—you were unaware of the phenomenon you were displaying right now for it was subconscious, as you revel in the truth of your words with a grin. A misplaced, mistrusting grin you weren't quite aware of you were showing for the General.

Not a Welt Yang within the area right now.

Not a Sovereign, nor a retired Herrscher in your sights to control the situation with knowledge he only held about your kind—your existence.

Not a creature that matched your power and strength, living or not, to stop you in your glory.

The weight of your words manifested into something heavy, full of density, full of dread, it felt awful, sickening, suffocating, his Cloud Knights and those who were near to hear your frightening words of calamity tensed, sweat starting to surface underneath the fabric that hides their terror, their feet glued to the cement as a helplessness guided them to their internal panic, his Cloud Knights in desparate waiting for any sort of order, movement, any syllable from the man before them.

The Jade Gate behind you blocked the brilliant light for the singular, attentive individual that remained tall, a pillar that he had to be for the ones cowering in the heaviness of your words—the Arbitrator Charioteer stands tall, immovable to your claims of calamitous power.

A Lord Ravager, then. The thought internalized inside his mind based on the grevious words, words of grief worthy testaments, laid bare for the citizens to find themselves in a state of fear that doesn't have the need to use any vocal chords.

“A threat,” he voiced, low and firm. His weaponry materializing from the back, the long length of the spear-like weapon, an oriental, traditional looking glaive, finding its solace within his grasp, making him appear complete his weapon apparent.

“You say you are the home to an enemy of humanity, do you acknowledge this, my lady.”

The glaive's tip finds its way towards your direction, the seriousness of the situation finally weighing down as you, your pupils landing on the weaponry pointed at you.

You look to your surroundings beyond the man, arms lowered as your gaze dissects the crowds near you.

Fear, and only fear.

Something you are so accustomed to since bearing the Will of the last Herrscher of Death, and only those who were equally—if not stronger can only ever truly look at you in the eyes, like how this man before you is currently doing.

“You raise a weapon to me.”

“A weapon with intentions to protect those who stand behind me,” his hold tightens around his weapon, his expression mirroring the seriousness of yours, excluding the disbelief you had, mixed with... something else he couldn't discern, at least not yet.

A long, deep inhale. To the point where you exhaust your lungs of air, then exhaling through your teeth, the few last seconds of it being shaky with lips parting slightly, forming into a small, horizontal oval.

They are only fearful. A kind voice reassured in the center of your mind, though it was faint, it was impactful.

That fear being you, you mean. A familiar, malicious one intruded, causing you to bring a hand to your head again, grasping the side as you clicked your tongue.

Even talking about a truth relating to your power, urges the Houkai?

No—illogical, it attacks your mental capacity.

To weaken it. Your emotions, your willpower. You'd long forgotten since then, for it had been quite long ago that anyone, had manage to waver your mental strength.

But you can't help it, you hate being looked at with such genuine fear. You hate it, you really do.

It was unfair, it really was. You only do good.

You've been only good. Only nothing but good.

You breathe unsteadily, giving yourself to the silence to calm yourself for a few, long moments, selective hearing at play.

Something was amiss, the General would observe in his guarded silence, lowering his weapon to his side, vertical, the end of his glaive grounded to the cement. He was to take a step, treading in eggshells, making his way with intentions of closing the gap between you and him.

But a hand, yours, a palm towards him had stopped him dead at his tracks, halting his attempt of a succor—towards you.

You're not one to seek help.

But, stubborn as you are, it would be devastating to put this hyperion like faction to a ruin that you've gotten used to seeing everywhere.

Ah. You, again. Me, again.

And so? You are unwelco—

Being a Herrscher, a catastrophic one, at that.

What is a Herrscher like you blending in with human civilizations, through time and time again?

...Ha. You are weak, I have conquered you, stabilized you—and myself long, long ago.

Yes. Yes, that would be the case right now, wouldn't it, partner of Death.

But recall, where a Herrscher presides—is where my existence remains intact.

For my will... is neverending.

Just like death, infinity and everlasting.

Tch. To choose the unpredictable willingly, that was your forte, to use the unknown in retaliation against the calculative will inside you, to descontruct the threatening finality of your stupor.

It is a new era. This one especially, the world of Pegana, the world that habors no virus that nestle inside you—at least, that's what you believe and have observed in your short time in this 'bubble universe.'

They don't struggle against the Houkai that resided inside you, and that was good, relieving.

Not until traumatic imagery, thoughts of you bringing a fate worse than whatever hell already existed for them, visible, cruel, and horrible.

The fragment of that possibility fine tuning muscles on your face to something sour, having that expression noticed immediately by the General that stood brightly before you.

“You,” you let out a call towards him, similarly to a snarl in your mental discomfort, gaining his attention. You sought out in voice, seeking out warmth, pacing yourself internally, resuming to reassure your will with familiar words that led to alleviate your worries.

“I don't desire to cause harm, and—”

“—And yet, you speak in alarming malice, my lady, such brutal, unfathomable words, coming from that mou-.. from- from the way you speak.”

...What was that pause?

“Listen,” a slight jolt from him, “and listen well,”

You appeared just before him in one step. His fingers twitch, his reflexes, motor skill, practicing heavy, heavy restraint to just have a swing at you.

Time had stood still for him, seeing you closer, you were no taller than him, but you remained intimidating, if anything, the differences made you appear more alluring, accompanied with lucent eyes he only started to focus on once captured by your gaze, an eager eye contact that matched his vigor, that subconscious curiousity and excitement, growing ever so finely, but then.

He remembered those under his command.

“YIELD—yield your weapons,” his free hand simultaneously moves up, open, signaling his Cloud Knights just in time, the muted rustling of equipment now heard, winds that were sliced from their cloud piercers towards you now halted abruptly, and of course, you hadn't wavered one bit. “Wise,” you add, tilting your head up to him.

A vicious, musing smirk, one which of which he couldn't decide to detest it, or to be smitten by it.

At least for right now.

“...If you think and speak of me in such ways, why haven't I brought said ruination into this beautiful, well constructed flagship we currently reside in?”

“Mm,” A great point. He'd look over his shoulder, towards the Cloud Knights coupled defensively, a sum of Xianzhou locals, astral tourists, stilled by fear and unease.

One last deep breath—you straighten your form, the hand from your head moving downwards to your chest, this time inhaling through your teeth. Simultaneously, the glow from your eyes would dull, along with the rejuvenation of your cracked skin, closing up a rift-like wound that was sourced at your spine.

The General sighs, the free hand moving towards his head, now letting frustration that had been tugging at him since this encounter with you.

It was unhealthy to someone imbued with mara.

There were only a few lasting seconds to take a stand, an initative, a singular choice that wouldn't provoke, you—nor worsen what the crowd that flocked together was feeling.

It was truly a taxing, and difficult situation.

Only for him anyways.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 will move with purpose, in every action in his next courses of actions. You would think in his 800 years of loyalty and commitment to the Xianzhou Luofu would easily override his curiousity for you—not at all. Eight centuries of repetitiveness, without the need to indulge in the other mysteries of the universe, and that will also be eight centuries of boredom, perhaps something the discover of your existence can begin to alleviate.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 is a man, an immortal one, the mara that presides within gnaws at his mind, but death isn't able to welcome him just yet, he is unmoving to that concept, but finding himself hesitant, yet feeling that want to play this game of cunning and intelligence against you.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 found eerieness, and a not so welcomed serenity the moment you introduced yourself formally, grand and opening, having you in the center of the divining area within the Divination Commission, wrists, ankles binded separately, ones that held you together, rendering you immobile were something of astral configuration, projection, but some sort of space manipulation, enchantment you can't fanthom, and most importantly—can't get out of.

And 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 would himself revel in that little smidge of discomfort you had, the little creasing between your eyebrows despite the polite and forced smile you had, amused at the way your hands would move, wriggle against the starry chains, and finding himself more impressed once you manage to hold your expression tightly, along with managing to hold back a sound with that pretty, pretty mouth of yours.

Because every time you would try to free yourself, your entire being feels this electrifying, unpleasant burning, it is invasive, mind and emotional means, it runs through your very soul, it tugs at it, warning you, and it behaves similarly like the Houkai within you, and it is sickening.

Sickening to feel something foreign creep up to you again, to try and destroy you from the inside out, what's worse—it had no traces of Houkai Energy, so you weren't able to identify and manipulate it at all, and everytime you would use your own abilities, you would be met with something sharp, a weapon immediately pressed against your nape.

Curiousity had once killed a cat, but what feline is there to be seen, for they have grasped only but a predator.

“You were the one who asked to be binded,”

“To cease any worries, of course,” a half truth. You feign another smile, one that he would mirror with slight amusement. Just where is this confidence he was getting from? You'd think, wincing as soon as your body naturally tries to free itself again, biting your bottom lip to stifle any noise.

“These... binds, they allow you to sense any malicious activity, yes?” The General would let out a musing hum, walking towards you, eyeing you.

“As much as I would love to partake in offering you knowledge,” he looks towards a direction, and you follow his gaze. “Unfortunately, you'll have to relay your questions to the Diviner over there,” A pink colored hair, a hue you wouldn't associate with Ms. March, her demeanor held respectable prowess, something you can admire.

“I see,” you reply, short and neat, sighing.

“Is this necessary, you question.” he narrates for you, taking the words that were already subconsciously forming in the back of your head.

You found it endearing, cocking your head to the side, a genuine smile this time, one that shifted immediately into a smirk. “You'd have to stare at me in long amounts to know what thoughts I currently harbor,” his head returns to your direction, finding those golden eyes gleam along with yours, his lips almost curling upwards.

Almost, but he won't allow it. Not just yet.

“Mm, you would be correct,” So, so dangerous.

“But almost anyone would think that once they know Lady Fu will be invading one of humanities vulnerabilities—the mind, being one of them.”

“Hmp, so much resistance for what...” you mumble softly, complaining about the way he would deflect your advances—he had been since encountering you, especially when you were on the way to the place where you currently are.

“I don't know what you mean,” you were heard. His answer made you look away from him, towards the calm ether, an atmosphere showered with golden leaves, most likely sourcing from the beautifully large scale tree you saw on the way to here, and those golden leaves, caught and nestled within the fabric of your outfit, only enhanced the state you were in—you being flushed, or almost from his comment.

And he'd think and believe, that this current expression suited you far more than the hierarchy fitting description one you masked yourself with.

You sigh, walking a few steps towards him. “As if I would act on malice,” you correct, fatigued, just arriving beside him, knowing he has you in his peripheral. “No, but you are still actively trying to escape, are you not?”

“If there's one thing that would unsettle me, it would be not able to move freely,”

“...Yet, you haven't, not once, have complained during your willing capture, especially when I was proving you immobile.” What are you doing, General. He berates himself internally just after saying that.

“...Your hands did feel better than these things after all,” silence. He answers with silence and three deep breaths, arms closed defensively, your words clearly, clearly affecting him, troubling him.

“Say,” he breaks the silence, and your amused humming. “Are you really fifty-thousand years old? Or did you mean it, harboring something of that age,”

“The latter,” you're quick to answer, now turning heel, moving towards the edge of the platform, eyes squinted nonchalantly. “Are these skies endless as they seem, or is there something that would await you down there?”

“I wouldn't know.” “Why n—”

“Because I haven't indulged myself in a free fall,”

You turn, looking over your shoulder, meeting his golden eyes, unable to choose between annoyance or attraction from his sudden sarcasm.

“General Jing Yuan,” a voice interrupts your reply, your head both turning to the source.

Mm. Jing Yuan, huh.

“Ah, Lady Fu,” he'd acknowledge the pink haired's presence, placing her attention quickly to you, and it only amused you, given how she had this look of disapproval, a twinge of curiousity.

But of course, emotions are more stronger when facing the unknown.

“The Matrix of Prescience is functioning at its finest, any unsealing, rudimentary or advanced would be completely left unscathed, and any type of escape will not be possible for the acting God as per dire request, at least, in 824 possibilities I've calculated f—”

“How accomodating,” you interrupt, shooting the Diviner, and the General an unamused look, a wry smile to hide a slight bitterness that you won't deny within you.

“Only for the best,” He'd add, low, teasing, grasping your attention effortlessly, noticing that slight tensing of your body language, quite liking the effect he had on you currently.

“Only for me, then?” You're quick to retaliate, now striding towards him, smirking and you'd purposely exaggerate your movements, alluring and elegant as you move, catching that miniscule, quick shift in his eyes.

“For the ones unwilling to share their truth,” he looks down as you arrive, indifferent you'd think, but he looked stiff, too professional, unnatural.

“As if your questions wouldn't be answered if you asked in the first place,” you're correct and you know it. “I digress, Lady Herrscher,” the pink is quick to interrupt. “There would be far more possibilities to assess if we were to take that free, unpremeditated route considering your claims of absolute destruction, whether it'd be the escape of your existence, endangering the Luofu, or—”

“That gate, it is acting as a fine line between the stars, and your faction, yes?” you interrupt, liking the slight crease of annoyance between her eyebrows.

“...You would be correct.” Fu Xuan answers, jolting shortly after once your head lowers to her, eyes dark with suspicious amusement.

“Be aware, had your shortly assessed claims prove multiple chances of being true, I would have already done so the moment I stepped foot into what you call the Jade Gate,” you answer with a wry, cold smile, your voice carrying a serious tone this time, along with your expression just like earlier tall, menacing, and haunting.

But still beautiful, the thought nestles comfortably in Jing Yuan's mind, eliciting a heavy exhale through his nose, and you can't identify if it was exhaustion, or frustration, but what you have determined is that he was calm, too calm for someone who is in the presence of a Herrscher.

...Or do the concept of Herrschers not exist in this universe?

“Hm,” the Diviner's eyes narrow, considering, thinking deeply, ignoring the threatening indications in your tone.

“That would... erase 7,254 possibilities of you wreaking havoc, causing no harm and chaos towards the Xianzhou Alliance, as well as having the idealogy, the possibility of you being a Lord Ravager, as well as the part where your loyalties lie for the Aeon of Destructio—”

“Thank you?” “It isn't a co—” the General interrupts by movement, and the action of coughing dryly onto his fist, stepping in between both you, and the Diviner.

“My lady, would you be so kind to indulge and alleviate our worries? It would be of much great help to the Xianzhou's mental fortitude, as well as mine,” he brings out his hand, trained, calloused yet well taken care of, towards the direction of the large, and no doubt advanced technology that was currently up and running, ready for you.

But, if you were to round up the little information you were given based on this sole interaction alone, this astral looking device would, in theory, be able to read, or pry into either your mind.

And that wasn't good for you, neither it is for the Houkai Energy that takes home in your body.

“I have a favor to ask both of you, and the Luofu,” they'd both perk, the word unexpected showing in their expressions to your sudden request.

“Whatever it is that is ongoing, cease everything once you witness something, anything, fluctuate, do everything to render me immobile, unable, or useless,” you'd look to the General for the last part of your sentence, a serious yet silent pleading on those lovely eyes, recognized by him.

He wouldn't need an explanation, he had already witnessed it, the sudden rouses of personality that didn't fit you, the physical and mental discomfort you displayed, grasping your head in earlier events and the radiant glow of your eyes.

“Do you understand, my mighty General?”

But even then, you'd still be able to surprise him, attract him despite being steeled by your vague warning, and that itself was dangerous already.

“I'm starting to destest this... lack of respect, and self preservation in your words and demeano—”

“Let's... start, Lady Fu, let's not keep our guest, waiting,” such strong words, but you'd know that you've only greatly affected him, considering his guarded expression, stoic and stern, but his eyes continue to glue to yours, unidentifiable, but determined, you just don't know if it's something related a positive one or not.

'My' General, you say. He'd pause, attempting to keep composed, giving a subtle, brief squint to you while he played your those lines over and over in his head. "I could wait all the time for you,” you muse with a teasing chuckle, letting him guide you towards the platform of spheres.

Astrological symbols and starry projections, it was pleasing to the eye, but its mechanism were unbefitting of the aesthetics, knowing this enclosure is one that is enable to invade your mind, your memories and your being.

It's funny, you are to stand within something so similar to how you are, it was beautiful, primordial like, and it was also something that people didn't want to associate themselves with. Just like you.

Jing Yuan would hum, mirroring your amused expression, he could only assume what thoughts had presented themselves to you as you gaze towards the Matrix of Prescience.

Fu Xuan's emotions dive into the categories of reminiscence, nostalgia and a twinge of guarded anticipation, you being inside it bringing memories flickering, familiar imagery of cunning, allure and authority flashing your figure.

Kafka. She'd sigh heavily, now attaining suitable form, ready to dive into mysteries that settled surfaced, or deep in your mind.

“Whenever you're ready,”

Whenever they're ready. A crude internal voice slips out, causing you a slight discomfort.

Behave, I believe they have the technology to get rid of you, and they're just unaware of it.

And considering the possibility that without me, you are nothing.

What makes you, yourself—is me.

I don't mind losing you.

You let your face muscles contract into a wicked grin on your face while your head remained low, your breathing intervallic with purpode to concentrate.

I've already found another that has the means and capacity to replace your greatness, if not greater. You look up, now taking witness to the light illuminating the entirety of you, all before placing your gaze at the General that stood with anticipation next to the initiator of this conduct.

You'd give up your divine principles for a nothing but a miniscule speck of human companionship?

Why not? You bore me.

...That is only the result of you not using me to immeasurable extents, destroying a continent, for example.

There are other ways to destroy things. Your chuckle is seen, confusing the Diviner and the Arbiter General, especially one that sounded out with endearment, especially once you bit your lip to the General.

You are all the same. Mm, yes.

I never did claim to abandon my humanity in the first place, no? That's n—

“Oh Miss lovely Diviner,” you call out, shunning the other internal voice out, closing your eyes, bliss and free, despite your restraints.

“You will be dealing with three consciousness,” you open your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stifle laughter from the priceless reactions of disbelief and confusion in both their faces.

“What.” Her eyes leave whatever she was working onto the astral projection, constellations floating adrift within her hands, just like you at the current.

“What do you mean by... three consciousness?”

“Steady, you are unfocused,” you chuckle thereafter, your words only snapping her out of seconds worth of shock, denying to process her emotions of disbelief.

“It is as literal as I can get, three, individual consciousness.” You bite your bottom lip harder, cheeks puffing and just stifling to let a sound of laughter out, your circumstances amusing the General as he crossed his arms, closing his eyes while you mused her with your teasing antics.

“Me, the last successor of the power I hold currently, and the culprit of ruination that I, have mentioned prior my captivity—the lovely General would know what I'm referring to,” you glance briefly at the General, dead in the eyes, admiring him before returning your eyes to the Diviner.

“So tread with utmost care, for once you stray off from mine, you will be dealing with fifty-thousand worth of memories, all filled with inconceivable amounts of terror... and otherworldly struggles.”

The familiar silence again, not including the sounds of stars and shapes moving around you, runes, magic circles appearing and diminishing in tempos. “...Do not take me lightly,” the Diviner refocuses, her attention and concentration towards the particles of light and spacial matter before her sights, and her fingertips.

“Hmhm,” “You need not tease her,” your full attention returns to the General, giving him that coy smile that unsettles and pleases him all in one.

“You'd prefer if I do it to you instead, then?”

“...I said no such thing,” “I don't hear resistance.”

There, that color. It suits him, and he wears the hue so, so well. He'd look away, down to the ground to avoid your smug gaze, arms crossed, as if that defense would stop you from continuing your attacks. “You hold so much beauty, General.”

Says you who continues to be frustratingly magnificent and irresistible. “Focus on the ta—”

“Mm, are you talking to me, or to yourself?” The General takes a deep breath, refusing to meet your gaze, his golden irises tearing away from yours and out towards the other platforms of the Divination Commission.

How long had it been since having himself indulge in interactions such as this? Too long.

You'd expect from the Mighty Arbiter General of the Luofu to not indulge himself in things that will hinder is work, distract him from protecting the Luofu, but you'd be surprise for how long 800 years can really be.

Eons that were accompanied by friends that named themselves longing, loneliness and emptiness, and even faced with emotions he wasn't acquainted with, the emotions being satisfaction, and this warming anticipation...—

He wouldn't, he wouldn't. He would not allow himself, or rather, the Mara wouldn't allow him.

He wouldn't let the one who will enter, capture and steal his heart witness his inevitable fate, one that involved the blossoming of ginkgo leaves, painted with the scarlet red that reeks of a cruel, unhappy death, he would rather just—let no one suffer, he will protect those who need protecting.

But of five people, four had only paid the price.

And right now, the sight of you, all tied, almost vulnerable, mixing in with the memories of pleasant interactions you and him had since the encounter.

To seek out this vixen of a woman, play her games as she did with his, testing him, observing him in the same manner he would to her.

He would gladly be the last.

How could he resist? His charms, wit, intelligence, it was all mirrored by someone so cunningly attractive, not only in physical but the way you hold yourself, his reflected charms being reciprocated if not better?

It all made him feel good.

So good, and maybe, just maybe, he can finally... at least once more in his immortality, can he finally prioritize something else other than the Luofu, other than—“General! General Jing Yuan!”

Yanqing? Familiar voices snap him out of his deep trance, eyes widened, confused, alarmed at the sight that came to be. Two floating blades of ice, both horizontal to block a large scale whip, it was dark, serpent like, exuding black mists—and it retracts again, golden dust particles trailing off from the direction it had attempted to attack him.

The serpent like whip slithered, back, back and forwards again, moving—“ABOVE!” It attacks again, its speed and velocity unmatched for the ice swords the little commander, the density and strength once it clashes with four, five blades, overruling it, shattering each sword with ease.

“Watc—Tch,” The General immediately acts, lunging and taking hold of the blonde boy to move out of the way, him being caught off guard making Jing Yuan barely dodge out of the way.

“At ease, Yanqing,” Rubbles, dusts, the aftermath of the shock scathed his skin in small cuts and dust, ornamental clothes dirtied.

“S-Sorry General... I was—” The platform gives out an unpleasant noise, one that threatened its unsteadiness as it rumbles.

His balance becomes unaffected once he steels himself, strong legs now bastioned against the floor, an arm wrapped around the blonde boy's torso. “Converge, and awaken!” Strategems of constellations manifest into the reality, its canvas a circular gradient of condensed energy, illustrated as magic circle of spatial patterns.

“Lady Fu—” “In short,” her summonings had fade, rejuvenating the two and those around within the vicinity within the Matrix of Prescience of fatigue and light injuries. The Master Diviner drifts down in glittering elegance, using her omniscial abilities to avoid rubble, footing now obtained, assuming a defensive stance to the omnidirectional moving whip, eyes attentive to any and every movement.

“A memory, one of most grief, it provoked something, triggered something. One moment she was well, infuriating, and what followed af—”

Grief? “Is—Is she... safe?”

“Physically, that would be a given, but in psychological means...” She followed his automatic gaze, up towards where you were continued to reside in. You were still restrained, but there were new details no one would miss, the first of few being your struggle that showed on your face, eyes closed, teeth grinding against each other, beads of sweat trickling along your skin.

Your skin would have these cracks, dark mists with golden particles as rifts this time would be plastered vertically on one half of your face, like train tracks, down and down to your neck, to the fabric of where your chest was located. It was beaming, pulsing, bright, despite the dark mist that shrouded you whole.

A source? Plausible. He'd reaffirm his suspicions, setting down the blonde that continuously squirmed in his arms. “G-General what—”

“Retreat, all of you.” Thank you for your consent.

He referred to your warning of earlier events, to stop you in your tracks, to harm you, to end you.

“B-But—!” “If you will, Lady Fu.” She looks over her shoulder, glaring at him, mumbling 'fool' before encasing herself, Yanqing and those who were valiant in the field, all into her spherical realm of stars, disappearing from the premises of danger. “Now then,” the General resummons his glaive, light manifesting in accordance to his hand movements.

“An attempt of harm towards the Master Diviner, my Cloud Knights, Commander Yanqing, and the Arbiter General,” he bends his knees, hands gripping the length of his weapon.

“Causing public disruption, disturbance and damage within the Divination Commission,” wind pressure forms, circular and forceful around him.

And including... particular indecencies. He adds internally, sighing, blushing, the General lifts his gaze to you, to the troubled you, radiant with no peace, veiled in darkness.

“By order of one of the Seven Arbiter Generals, you are to face judgement through the Ten-Lords Commission,” he lunges, strong and with intense speed, up and above with a grunt escaping him.

“A punishable degree, possible of long time imprisonment within Shackling Pris—” he jolts, offensive form faltering the moment he sees your eyes open slowly. “Welt... Welt Yang,” you mutter, rasp and low, struggling to maintain hold in your consciousness. What? He retracts, stopping the subconscious swing he was about to do, maintaining to float as lightning crackled all over him, keeping him leveled to you.

“Th-The Sovereign...—” You're quite accommodating, keeping this man at bay for me.

The moment your eyes widened in realization to your surroundings, the sight before already had taken a drastic turn, he had barely parried the serpent-like whip with his glaive, his strength barely able to hold against the weight and thickness of the entity like weapon.

Tch. You squirm, struggling, remembering the binds that hold you in place. “General!” You hold out both arms out towards his direction, desparate, giving your wrists out to him.

He sees you from the corners of his eyes, glancing for a second before forcing his focus to the assailant that threatens his life with ease.

Without hesitation, the General uses the weight of the whip, lowering his usage of strength and himself, now using the overwhelming momentum to force it downwards, barely dodging the vertical strike by tilting his side, a sharp air following, grazing his skin.

“Quite contradicting, are you?” His admirable strength and words that followed up bring you a sense of relief, amusement afterwards, as after images of parallel strikes, vertical, horizontal, diagonal free you from your binds.

“You like it,” you don't miss the chance to tease, grinning, moving your wrists to the opposite of each other, now moving with after-image like speed. “Do I distract you that much, General?”

“You-...” Instinct, instinct, instinct. His irises dilate, now sensing, feeling a throbbing dread that put him in a stunloc—“Focus,” you say, clicking your tongue, appearing just right infront of him again.

Your reflexes act, hands moving in elegant patterns, your own abilities manifesting that familiar golden dust-like summons as each particle hardens, coming into contact with multi-shooting, razor sharp attacks, parrying them in unsettling precision.

I truly don't understand the need to protect such selfish, greedy, imperfect anthropoids.

Cease your pet, I don't like how it uses my body to fuels itself.

Hmhm, you carry me most of your life, what's the difference of another presence?

It invades and drains me continuously, in a disgusting, putrid way most possible. Unlike you.

Flattering, somewhat, but no. Sounds of cracking could be heard, but you wouldn't hesitate to reinforce, the space all around you and the General filled with aerial destruction and explosions with each attack and defense.

You multitask, sighing, a hand moving lazily, snapping your fingers to the air beneath the two of you, setting up a barrier to protect those that remain on the Divination platform, and the whole floating structure itself.

You didn't have to protect, but you did. The natural reaction—no, reflex, for you being another surprise to the General, his eyes lowered to the see through glass-like barrier, protected from debris and the individual entity that caused the mayhem in the first place.

Then again, it did still stem from you, no?

The General glances back up to you, now standing idle, strucked with disorientation, his thoughts clashing with one another, like what you were currently doing right now.

No, you were performing, this was just another day for you, another day of familiarity. Just how much did you lose, endure in order to reach this state of almost Aeon-like advancements?

How... exhausted were you despite the strength you held? Those eyes, not once have they glimmered like in earlier events as you fend off the stray that came from you, or wherever else it came from. The radiance in your eyes, dulling, bored as it dilates to every precise attack it brings you, pinpointing its contact points with precision.

Not even Phantylia reached one-tenth of your speed and summoning.

“Sorry,” you mutter under your breath, only once had the sounds of explosions cease briefly, your unexpected apology heard and snapping Jing Yuan out of his thoughts. “I'm horrible,” you add, weak and nonchalant, but that undertone of bitterness was clear. To him only anyways.

He straightens, glancing between you, and what you had graced the ether with. A blazing, field of gold, mixed with a flashing images of the thick, dark colored serpentine that continued its relentless attacks, and you were still protecting not only him, but the whole Divination Commission space.

You were one to erase stars, your history of destruction painting over the world with your own light. Only to realize, in that self-made darkness, you were left alone time after time, surrounded by the Houkai you left behind. Huh? What?

...Don't mix your cognitive fragments with mine.

As if I could help it? You click your tongue in annoyance, deciding this situation was far too unnecessary, prolonged. You raise your hand, two fingers targeting the fast moving serpent, an orb that simulated a black hole, materializing, pulsing at the tip of your middle finger, the difference to it would be the color and how it works—it being made something of purity, transparency, visible-esqué sound waves, the closest you could describe it with, silly it may sound.

Hmph, you were experimenting with me.

A warning, actually. It surges, the orb sending off towards what your other conscience had manifested in speed even you can't quite grasp.

A low buzz it emanated, it was invisible to the naked eye, but not the sharp splitting of the clouds, Jing Yuan unable to process the severity of your strength as the clouds separate in a visible, razor sharp line. It was booming once it claimed impact, and you were unphased at the sound of a high frequency sounding explosion, once the serpentine expands in a gruesome way, withered and dissolving in its next sequences of death. It was just another day for you, but you can't say the same for the General.

Even in his 800 year long longevity.

He sighs, heavy. It's over. “...And you call you self horrible, after such a commendable, otherwordly feat?” The small frown that didn't suit your face goes unnoticed, right as you safely lower yourself and the General, drifting towards safety and back to the land. Minimal damage, in your eyes, but it was still damage, one that you had caused inevitably.

“What's commendable about all this, General?”

Rubble, cracks. Disorder, panic and peril. All in deafening, hollow silence. You'd see some people in the other platforms, safe, distanced yet disoriented, and their slowly increasing panic will become so much more once they will come to a realization that someone foreign to the Luofu had caused something so terrible.

Since visitation, of this grand hexafleet, whether it was brief or not, you would notice a troubling aura in the air, and beautiful—the skies, covered in raining gold, each leaf that welcomed themselves everywhere felt malicious, and the thought of causing destruction, hidden in beauty, hidden in aesthetics, it had set something so primal within you, it sickened you, disgusted you.

Given the chance, you would want to shrivel up in agony, processing the fact that these people's higher entities, hide their indefinite strength of terror behind something, masked in something.

They hide behind their emanators, commanding them, upholding their bidding, bestow them with a piece of their strength, and give those who choose and preside their path an even smaller fragment—all for what, exactly?

Lazy, prideful, lawless and with no purpose. They make factions based on their powers, limit those who follow their path with one or a few goals, dedicated to benefitting their Aeons wishes.

A few words out of many that you would describe how Aeons are really are. Then there's you, a Herrscher, one from a world that wasn't theirs, a concept they cannot understand, but it is human nature that they will try to do so—and it was human nature to take control of what threatens their species. Unknown specimens like you.

“...The IPC, as well as the Intelligencia Guild will certainly take interest in you, Miss Herrscher,” he breaks the silence, snapping you out from your heavy thoughts. He stood beside, staring with you onto the unpleasant sight. “They already have,” you add, moving your head to his direction, meeting his eyes, eyes that held softness.

“Just like me then,” you squint, processing his words. “You look at me as if I didn't just almost destroy a bit of architecture within the faction you lead, General.” You both fight back grinning, stifling the sly corners of your lips.

“And you certainly berate yourself like you just didn't protect the Divination Commission,” you clench your fist. This was protection? You tear away from his gaze again, letting the guilt overtake your amusement instantly, viewing the destructive sight you created. “You attempted to minimize the damage with the barrier, you kept your defenses purposeful, accurate, precise,”

He turns fully towards you, taking your attention with no effort, his words casually welcoming that swelling, warm feeling inside you again.

“You haven't attacked, not once during when my soldie—when I, encountered you,” what. The said heat only creeps up, up and up, grounded all over your face, spread to your ears. He was knelt on one knee, a hand placed over his chest, and all you could do was stare and still, trying to gain control over your facial muscles.

“Only until the last second, where you claimed victor against what threatened the Luofu, attacking only once, and it wasn't against our faction,” he looks up, assuming that charming smile, shifting even more into amusement once he took witness to your cute, confused expression, painted in flustered red.

“I didn't do—” “You did more than what I could,”

It really wasn't much. You purse your lips, not expecting him to interrupt and retaliate immediately. “I don't know how many more favors the Xianzhou Alliance will continue to owe, but with defending a part of our faction,” he lowers his head, bowing down.

“The Arbiter General will personally see to it that what you have caused within the Divination Commission would be sentenced to something more... forgiving.” Oh. That was funny. The audible exhale catches his attention, now rising his head to see you smiling widely, fighting back to laugh. “I was going to say... it would be very unsettling if I were somehow left unpunished,”

He'd mirror your expression, now pushing on his knee to stand, your gaze following his height as he stood tall, ravishing, and amused to your antics. “Mm, perhaps it would also be a chance to lengthen your stay, at least for a bit longer,”

“Missing me at the thought of my departure already, General Jing Yuan?” You'd see him freeze, his breathing paused, but his eyes would not dare to leave yours. If only you knew how deeply affected he was by you addressing him with his name the first time since the entirety of this.

“...You're dangerous,” he tilts his chin up, golden irises darkening with a certain glint.

“I did warn you,” you reply in the same tone, taking a step, closing the two-hand inch gap by one, your womanly instincts having a chance to let loose as your eyes mirrors his glint, seducing, alluring, and the cherry on top being that chesire-like grin, captivating him further.

And you knew he referred not with your strength, but the way you kept him provoked, challenged, on his toes, teasing and testing this generous, fine line between professionalism and another.

Your eyes shift instantly, a reflex as you see movement from him, his hands near reaching for your wais—“THERE YOU ARE!” A high pitched voice, all so familiar, jolts the both of you in place.

“Ah, it's Mar-... Wh—”This pink fool. Your foot rotates to her direction with dark prism-like barriers, quickly materializeling and sequenced like dominos towards her direction as she takes her rough landing with an 'oomph'.

“HAhua! See Mr. Yang? I told you she'd be fast enough to catch me!” Yang? Ah. You cock your head to the side, seeing past march to see a few others following her direction, towards you.

“That—that was still reckless March,” The Vidyhadra groans disapprovingly, only to have March laughing wryly while she rubbed the back of her head. “I'll... have to agree with Dan Heng, even I couldn't have done anything if something were to go wrong.” Welt adds, moving along with Dan Heng, two twins following along behind, only for one to shove past between her twin and the Vidyhadra, running—no, sprinting with emergency towards March, tackling her.

“Mm,” the whole spectacle leaves you dumbfounded, yet nostalgic in silence, all while familiar individuals gather and move towards you and the General. You assume they were called for assistance, but Welt would already assess that everything was already over, despite the disorder.

“...Whatever it is waiting for me,” you take the chance to break off the confusion, having a limited amount of privacy with the General left.

“I wouldn't mind being imprisoned again if it means keeping myself under your gaze, my General,” you return your sly, confident gaze to him, only for that to crumble, not having enough time to react and process as he leaned towards you swiftly.

“Then,” you let him lower your guard, letting him make you feel vulnerable, small yet womanly, letting that hand of his, opposite from the nearing group, slither from your hips, up towards your waist, seducing and with purpose, gripping your curve firmly as your cheeks brush against each other.

“Shall I bring further judgement to increase your punishment, Miss Herrscher?”

reblogs boost my audience reach, thank you.

[xxdemonicheartxx]

Most common funerary burials by flight:

Putting this one below the cut due to death mentions and burial descriptions I understand this can be a topic of discomfort no matter how vague one is when speaking on it <3

Arcane: opalization, the body is taken and layed in the shallows of intensely magic rich pools in a resting position, where it will rapidly opalize in a matter of weeks or months due to the volitile arcane energy of the land, sometimes individual scales are opalized instead and the rest of the body is cremated to be scattered amid their favorite place of study

Earth: mummification, the body is taken and embalmed, richly doused in spices, oils, and linen wraps, the organs removed are in canopic jars that resemble the dragon's own visage. Some earth mages practice petrification of the body as well upon request. Another practice is glass blowing cremated remains into colorful works of art, often colorful globes of glittering glass or glass sculptures of the deceased's visage

Shadow: the body is often cremated and the ashes greatly compressed into logs or bricks, before being soaked in spores and water to allow the mushrooms the the tangled wood to reclaim them and take them home. Other practices include burials or creating wrought iron burial markers. Celebrations of life are held around these burial sites

Light: due to the.... emperor problem.... graveyards have rapidly been destroyed and the fear of merging with Luminax sits like a stone in the heart of every imperial. Cremation is the most common practice as of now but celestial burials used to be common practice where the sun would always be able to touch you even in death (also known as sky burials) a new practice adopted from the earth flight includes taking these cremated remains and turning them into glass suncatchers

Plague: plague dragons believe that returning to the land you've survived is a must, dying of old age is a great achievement!! Often the body is returned to the land, buried or laid to be reclaimed by the ecosystem. Some more sentimental dragons or close loved ones will save scales or tan parts of wing membrane to carry close to their heart

Nature: burials are the most common practice, continuing to feed the shrieking wilds, some pathways have small markers or idols where loved ones frequent so that they can continue to pay homage in the labyrinthian jungle

Ice: ice dragons actually do not freeze their deceased, instead they take parts of membranes and tan them before tattooing a depiction of their loved one into their own hide, complete with a name, date of birth and date of death, its too cold to dig in this land so they cremate the remains and scatter them amid the tundra so in spring they can help the flowers return. The tanned memento is kept with a clan's priest, shaman, or spiritual leader with the rest of them, under expert care

Fire: forge pyres, often when fire dragons die their own heat resistance can make cremation a difficult process. So their remains are given to forge masters who are capable of reaching intense heat, working bellows and feeding the flames until the body is reclaimed by the flames. Other practices include caldera funerals, where the body is taken to be sunk in the lava of volcanoes or lava floes. Sometimes blackened skeletons can be reclaimed by loved ones in doing this

Wind: sky burials. The body is taken high up and laid under open sky for the sun and the wind to reclaim, it is believed that in doing this their spirit may continue to soar. Also refered to as celestial burials

Water: sinking of the body in designated graveyards is a common practice, often referred to as a burial at sea. Tiny tiny fragments of the dragon are often kept to be artificially put into oysters so that a pearl can be formed from their loved one's remains. Another practice is water cremation or Alkaline hydrolysis is another practice that is starting to gain traction

Lightning: the desert sand is not suitable for proper burials and grave markers aren't reliable in the shifting expanse, often the body is dehydrated first before undergoing electrical cremation, with no fluid the body will burn rapidly, the ashes then mixed with sand are placed amid one of hundreds of electrical storms with a tall metal rod in the center of the remains. To be struck by lightning turning them into "fulgurites" or "fossilized lightning" these unique and intimate structures are then returned to loved ones to be kept similarly to an urn

There are always exceptions to funeral practices. Dragons like obelisks and imperials often require additional care in the event the obelisk returns to stone or cremation is not an option for the imperial but these are the common or most popular practices in each region (non cannon)

As always I'd love to hear your own headcannons and takes too!!

[prince-liest]

I am so freaking feral about orchids, you guys, please help. QQ It's becoming a problem. Anyway, meet my orchids:

This is my favorite phalaenopsis orchid in terms of color! I just really love the wine-red splotches on a white flower. Apparently this particular sort is a very prolific bloomer and is always shooting up spikes. I've only had her for a week or so and just repotted her recently, so I look forward to finding out!

This is my most recent acquisition - I got her for a measly $7 (pot included) at Lowes because the entire spike except for this very very bottom flower had been snapped off at some point! I've good luck re-blooming phals and I really love the soft violet and orange color combination, so I had to nab her.

THIS orchid, on the other hand, I have had since last November, and she is still holding onto the same flowers, which seems absolutely insane to me. In fact, I'm pretty convinced that the flowers that she did drop, she would still have if I hadn't given faulty instructions to my plant-sitter, which led to her and another orchid getting dehydrated and dropping half their blooms. Eight months of blooms! And no signs of stopping! And she's growing plenty of healthy new roots AND a new leaf!! I love her and I love how bright and cheery her flowers are.

These are my last two phalaenopsis orchids. The one on the left is a miniature that blooms purple. She's bloomed twice for me, but she was double-potted with a second orchid, and I was inexperienced and killed a lot of her roots while repotting her, so she's been recovering from that for like half a year. If you look closely, you can see that she's actually just started growing a new leaf, which I'm really excited for!

On the right is a very classic white phal that my mom gifted me. She's also bloomed twice for me, and is also in the middle of growing a new leaf. :)

These are my two oncidium orchids, which have since been repotted and mostly lost their blooms! I got the one on the left also heavily discounted because her blooms were already falling, but as you can see in the photo, she's literally in the middle of growing a new flower spike, haha. The one on the right is currently almost done blooming, and she might be my favorite of all because she's SUPER fragrant and smells amazing!

This is my Ludisia discolor, a terrestrial jewel orchid that I'm really excited to see unfurl her new leaf! She's in a lower-light area of my house and I'm hoping she does well there. If not, I have a different shelf I can move her to later with artificial lights.

And these are some baby Macodes petola cuttings I bought, lightning jewel orchids! The reason people grow them for their foliage is a little more visible in photos than it is with Ludisias, but still not true to real life - the white patterns on both actively sparkle under light! It honestly looks like they've been doused in glitter. These guys are all in sphagnum moss in hopes of rooting them. The cuttings were honestly much smaller than I thought they'd be when I bought them, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. I'm keeping them under a glass cloche for humidity as well!

And that's it! Just wait until my violets and streptocarpus start blooming, though, haha. I just. Really love plants.

[scrollonso]

It Makes Sense — 2 (out of 2) (prev)

The wedding was set for July 20th, and the sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the venue. Pecco and Domizia’s wedding was nothing short of enchanting. The venue was adorned with elegant decorations: white and blush flowers intertwined with shimmering lights, delicate linens draped over tables, and candles flickering softly in the summer breeze. Guests mingled and laughed, their glasses clinking in toasts of celebration, as the couple's love was honoured and admired.

Yet, amidst the vibrant festivity and the joyful faces of friends and family, Pecco felt a familiar knot in his chest. The sensation was heavy, a constant thrum of unease that had been growing ever since he had proposed to Domizia nearly four years ago. It was as if the elaborate celebration unfolding around him was a beautiful facade, masking an internal conflict that refused to be silenced. Every laugh, every smile, every congratulatory remark seemed to amplify the tension inside him, pulling him further from the contentment he was supposed to feel on this momentous day.

The ceremony had been flawless, with Domizia walking down the aisle in a stunning gown that took Pecco's breath away, her grace and beauty overwhelming. Yet, as he stood there exchanging vows, his mind wandered, reflecting on the years of preparation, the promises made, and the profound decision he was about to seal with a ring. The happiness of the occasion clashed with the turbulent thoughts swirling in his mind, making the day feel both perfect and painfully complicated.

Later, after the ceremony, Pecco found himself slipping away from the crowded reception, seeking solace in a quiet corner of the venue. The lively sounds of the celebration — the clinking of glasses, the hum of cheerful conversations, and the strains of romantic music — seemed to blur into the background. As he walked through the opulently decorated rooms and hallways, he felt as though he were moving through a dreamscape, the joy and laughter around him gradually fading into a distant echo.

Finally, he reached a secluded spot, a serene alcove nestled away from the main event. Here, the noise of the festivities was a faint murmur, replaced by a gentle stillness. Pecco leaned against a cool, stone wall, the texture rough against his back. The stone's solidity provided a momentary sense of grounding amidst the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

This was the moment he had anticipated — a brief escape from the overwhelming spectacle of the day. The perfect event, with its elaborate decorations and orchestrated joy, now felt like an artificial veneer over the deeper, more troubling reality he faced. He had spent countless hours envisioning this day, imagining how it would unfold, but the reality of what he had committed to was sinking in, heavy and inescapable. In this quiet corner, away from prying eyes and the pretense of celebration, he allowed himself a rare moment of introspection. This was his chance to confront the internal conflict that had been building ever since he first proposed to Domizia, a conflict that seemed to loom larger with every passing second.

Just then, the door opened and Marco stepped through, his figure emerging abruptly from the blinding light of the reception into the darker, more isolated space of the garden. He wasn’t supposed to be here. His presence felt like a disturbance, a crack in the fragile, carefully constructed facade of Pecco’s day. Months of unresolved tension and silence stretched taut between them, making the moment feel heavy, suffocating even, in a way Pecco hadn’t expected or prepared for.

Marco’s eyes immediately found Pecco’s, and for a tense, suspended moment, neither moved nor spoke. The world around them dimmed, leaving only the bitter taste of their shared history between them. Marco’s arrival was an intrusion on the glittering celebration inside — a harsh, uninvited reminder of something Pecco had buried deep, though never quite deep enough. The silence between them grew oppressive, filled with things neither wanted to say but couldn’t ignore, a bridge of resentment and regret that tied their past to this uneasy present.

In the hushed quiet of the garden, the wedding seemed distant, irrelevant. The weight of their unresolved issues overshadowed everything. Pecco could feel the pressure building in his chest, knowing this confrontation could unravel everything he was desperately trying to hold together, not just for himself, but for Domizia too.

Finally, Marco broke the silence, his voice low, carrying an edge Pecco recognized all too well. “You look like you need some air.”

Pecco nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, I guess.”

They stepped further into the garden, the cool air offering no real relief from the tension knotting in Pecco’s stomach. Marco followed close behind, no longer the confident figure Pecco once knew, but something more calculating, darker. They stopped beneath the large oak tree, its branches casting jagged shadows over the ground, the dappled light only highlighting the unease between them.

Marco's voice broke the silence again, this time harsher, more direct. “So, how are you, really?”

Pecco let out a harsh breath, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s all wrong. I’m trying to pretend everything’s fine, but it’s not. Nothing is right.”

Marco studied him, his gaze hard, not searching for understanding but pushing for something else. “Because of us?”

Pecco froze at the bluntness of the question. He hesitated, but there was no point in lying. “No- Yes. I just- I thought I could move past it, but it’s still there. Always there.”

Marco took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, but it was laced with something dangerous, something manipulative. “I never wanted to be just a phase, Pecco. We could’ve had something real. But you’re still running from it, aren’t you?”

Pecco’s throat tightened, his emotions churning between anger and a sick sense of longing. “I don’t know what to do. I’m starting something new, something better, but it doesn’t feel right. It’s like I’m leaving part of myself behind, but maybe that’s what I should do. I can't- I can't just go back and say no and stop the wedding, I'm a married man, Bez.”

Marco's eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with a mix of bitterness and temptation. “Maybe you should’ve listened to yourself instead of playing it safe. You’re just lying to yourself, Pecco. Domizia isn’t what you want. She never was.”

The truth in his words cut deeper than Pecco wanted to admit. Domizia wasn’t what he truly wanted, and hearing it aloud made it impossible to ignore. But it was too late, wasn’t it? The air between them felt electric, charged with all the wrong reasons, a dangerous pull that neither of them could resist.

Without thinking, driven by anger, confusion, and a twisted sense of inevitability, Pecco closed the distance between them. His hands grabbed Marco’s face roughly, not with tenderness, never with tenderness, but with desperation. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before Pecco crushed their lips together in a kiss that was far from gentle. It was frantic, fueled by unresolved desire and frustration, a collision of need and resentment.

Marco responded instantly, pulling Pecco closer, his hands gripping him with an intensity that bordered on possessive. The kiss was raw, almost violent in its urgency, as if they were trying to reclaim something they’d lost or destroy it altogether. There was no tenderness here, only a desperate need to feel something, anything, even if it hurt.

Pecco’s fingers tangled roughly in Marco’s hair, pulling him closer, and Marco answered with equal force, their bodies pressing together in a way that felt less like a reunion and more like a battle. Every touch, every caress, was a challenge, a test of who could push harder, hold on longer, and neither of them was willing to back down.

The kiss became a way to drown out everything else — the wedding, Domizia, the future. All that mattered was the now, the raw, unfiltered chaos of their connection. Pecco’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind spinning as they kissed with a desperation that felt like it was tearing them apart even as it brought them closer.

But it wasn’t healing anything. It was just a momentary escape, a brief detour into something darker, something that couldn’t last. And Pecco knew, deep down, that once the moment ended, all that would be left was the wreckage they had created together, and the inevitable fallout waiting ahead.

“I’m sorry,” Pecco whispered, pulling away from Marco.

“You're always sorry, amore.” Marco took a few steps forward, backing Pecco into the wall and then there was a hand hooking under his chin, forcing his face up. “The problem is you’re never sorry enough to actually make any changes.”

He tried. God as his witness, he swore he tried. The expectations of him just always seemed to change, they constantly moved the goal posts and he couldn’t keep up. He swore they didn’t seem to do this with anyone but him. They’d already decided he was a failure, a coward, and they were determined to make that a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“I know. I’ll do better. I will.” He knew that he couldn’t. He would never be better, and they’d never accept he was even trying to be better. But if saying it would placate Marco, it was worth lying his ass off about.

Marco didn’t reply, just pulled away with an annoyed sigh. Thankfully Pecco was well versed at this point in distracting Marco from his anger. He knew exactly what would turn this situation around.

He pushed off the wall, allowing himself to kneel on the pavement before Marco. His hands reached to Marco's hips, loosely clinging to his belt.

“Let me make it up to you,” Pecco purred, carefully tugging on Marco's trousers.

Marco huffed, reaching down to slap Pecco's hand away. Initially, Pecco assumed his advances were being rejected, until Marco hissed at him “hands behind your back.”

Pecco gave a relieved sigh, putting his hands behind his back like he was told. As he did so, Marco reached for his belt, undoing it and moving the fabric of his trousers down just enough for his cock to spring free. He was already half hard, clearly Pecco had began to get him fired up. Typical.

“Open your mouth,” Marco ordered, reaching one hand to stroke his cock slightly, trying to coax it to further harden. Pecco did as he was told, letting his mouth hang open, ready and waiting for what Marco intended to give him. Pecco tutted. “Of course you're still so good at doing what you're told, whore.”

Before Pecco could do or say anything in retaliation, Marco surged forward, lining his cock up with his open mouth and thrusting in. With one swift motion, Marco's cock hit the back of his throat, causing Pecco to gag.

There was very little ceremony and certainly no foreplay. Marco grabbed the back of Pecco's head, using his neatly styled curls as an anchor. The thrusts were fast and rough, barely giving Pecco a chance to prepare for the onslaught. He gagged a few more times, needing to get used to having a cock in his mouth after four years without it.

Marco didn’t pause, and Pecco was okay with that. He could handle it, actually he rather enjoyed it. Being dominated, being subservient and submissive. It excited him in ways it probably shouldn’t. The fact his own cock was stirring in his pants was a testament to that.

“Fuck. At least there’s one thing you’re good at,” Marco growled, throwing his head back and shoving himself in as far as he could.

Something about that made Pecco happy. It wasn’t exactly praise, but it was the closest to it he’d gotten from Marco in a long time. He purred around his cock, pushing the flat of his tongue against the length as Marco continued to thrust in and out. The loud groan told Pecco his efforts were appreciated. With Marco setting the pace so thoroughly, it was the only way he could really contribute.

He wasn’t sure how long they were there for, time seemed to mean nothing when he could feel his knees start to ache from where they rubbed against the stone floor. His jaw painfully locked in place as Marco used his mouth. The taste of precum smearing across his tongue with every thrust. Pecco desperately kept his hands clasped together, nails digging into the opposite hand in an attempt to stop himself from reaching down for his own cock. He hadn’t been given permission yet, and he knew Marco would be more than displeased if he disobeyed now.

Suddenly, Marco pulled Pecco forwards, until his nose was touching Marco's pelvis. Hands kept him still in place, as his mouth was filled with cum. The salty taste hit his tongue and the back of his throat immediately. Marco rocked his hips back and forth a couple of more times, before finally pulling out with a wet pop. Pecco closed his eyes and swallowed, hearing the unmistakable sound of fabric.

When Pecco reopened his eyes, Marco was turned away, fiddling with his clothing, replacing his cock in his pants. Pecco gave a happy sigh, and whispered “Ti amo.”

Marco stilled, going completely rigid for a few seconds. He then continued to put himself back into place, completely ignoring what Pecco had just said. It wasn't always like this, but that was okay. Marco didn’t have to say it back, Pecco could vocalise it for the both of them.

“I need to go talk to Vale, give some lame ass excuse as to why we'll be gone a while longer,” Marco snarled, finally turning back to Pecco and pointing at his face. “You will go to the grooms room and wait for me to return. I am not done with you. If I find out you have left at any point, you will regret it.”

Pecco took the hand in front of him, pulling it to his mouth as he kissed Marco's knuckles. “I’ll wait for you.”

Marco gave a cruel laugh, the sort where it was clear that Pecco was exactly where the other man wanted him. He patted Pecco's face a couple of times, the man leaning into it, begging for more, before straightening himself out, and striding towards the door.

With a slam of the door, Marco was back inside, and Pecco was left still kneeling on the floor, waiting a second before rushing to where he'd been told to wait.

He smiled to himself, letting himself lean back against the back of the sofa. He held his hands to his chest, as if his feelings were so large they were about to burst out, and this was the only way to keep them contained.

But… there were no feelings.

There were no butterflies, no heart palpitations, no feelings of breathlessness. All he felt was a deep sinking emptiness. Like his chest was completely void, his entire soul having been carved out of his body. His hand curled up into a fist, taking a deep breath to try and ground himself.

This was fine. Everything was fine. This was just how he felt after every encounter they had, he was used to it by now. He’d wanted it this way. Sure, Marco wouldn’t say those three simple words back to him anymore, but that was just what Marco was like. He couldn’t say them, he couldn’t show affection because if anyone found out it would be seen as a weakness. Right? People change in four years. It's possible he just doesn't like physical touch anymore. That would explain everything.

Yet Pecco could not deny that he craved it. He craved Marco telling him he loved him. He craved soft touches and lazy mornings. Just the two of them holding each other close. Maybe if he was lucky, when Domizia was away, he’d get what he wanted.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the hollowness and the tears that rolled down his cheeks, and imagined a future where he and Marco did not have to hide anymore, one where he manned up and proposed to Marco. One where he didn't just promise his life to a lie.

“Do you, Francesco Bagnaia take Domizia Castagnini to be your lawfully wedded wife.”

No. That's what he should've said. That was the one word he needed to utter to be free. He swallowed it.

But what could he say? He couldn’t voice displeasure at the idea, that would just earn him even more trouble. He's the one that proposed. Even if he only asked for Domizia's hand in marriage out of fear, it was now his life and he'd have to suck it up.

And really, he should be thankful that Marco had kept quiet all these years. As in love as he was with Marco, sometimes the way the man made every action he took towards Pecco into some weird power play made Pecco's skin crawl. So, at the very least, for now Marco didn’t have that kind of control over his life.

New Years Eve, 2020. He spent the first 45 minutes of the last hour of the year in some disgusting motel room by the bar every one of his friends had gathered at.

“Fucking take it, you slut!”

Pecco hissed as the man thrust inside him with speed and power. The man was holding Pecco's wrists above his head with one hand, the other being used to occasionally grope and slap various parts of Pecco's body. The problem was this man was obviously still holding back somewhat, and Pecco did not want that. He wanted to be absolutely ruined by this man. He needed it. One last time. If he couldn't have Marco he needed someone to be at least half as cruel as him.

He didn’t know the man’s name. He never knew the names of anyone he slept with, besides Marco, and he was just fine with that. In turn, they never knew his name either, in this setting he was exclusively known as either slut, or whore, or bitch. He made sure to find men who just wanted one night of rough no-holds-barred sex. One night where they could be as degrading as they wanted to be, because that’s exactly what Francesco Bagnaia desired. He was tough enough to take anything they could throw at him.

Which is why it was annoying to him that this man was clearly holding back.

“Is this all you’ve got?” Pecco taunted, rolling his hips in time to the man’s thrust. When he saw the way the man’s face warped into displeasure, he knew he was about to get the reaction he wanted. “I can barely feel anything.”

The man responded by slamming the palm on his hand against Pecco's face, hard enough to make Pecco's head snap to one side. Marco hit harder.

Pecco laughed, “that’s more like it.”

“Fuck, you’re disgusting,” the man groaned, grabbing Pecco's chin and forcing him to look at him again. “You really just want to be used as an object, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Pecco replied with a dreamy sigh, a lewd moan escaping his lips as the man's cock hit his prostate. God he was so close, he just needed a little more.

The man pressed Pecco's wrists harder against the mattress, free hand roaming Pecco's body, now with renewed purpose. Feeling at Pecco's pecs, the touch was far more demanding, hard enough that it could possibly leave marks or bruises. Plucking at Pecco's nipples and stretching them far longer than he should have. Running his nails down his sides, hard enough that Pecco could feel blood bead from where the skin split. Occasionally returning to Pecco's face to slap him again.

This is what he needed. This is what he deserved.

All it took was one more hard thrust and Pecco was coming. He arched his back off the bed and groaned. The man didn’t stop though, just kept thrusting and chasing his own pleasure. It was only when he gave a loud groan that Pecco knew he’d also reached orgasm. There was no feeling of being filled, the condom made sure of that. He would forever be thankful to Vale for pulling him aside as a teenager and teaching him of the dangers sex could present. No one else would have done so.

The man jerked his hips back and forth a couple more times, Pecco could feel him growing soft inside him. Eventually, he released Pecco's wrists, pulling out and away.

Pecco lowered his arms to cover his face, making a satisfied noise. It had taken some provoking, but he’d gotten what he wanted in the end. He smiled to himself, panting and really soaking in the afterglow. The pleasure was still there, deep in his stomach, even as various parts of him began to ache from the rough treatment. That just amplified the bliss for him.

He was brought out of his stupor when he heard the sound of fabric rustling. He brought his arms down and shifted onto his side, watching as the man collected his clothes off the floor and began to put them back on. Pecco pouted slightly.

“Not going to stay for a second round?” Pecco questioned, resting his head on his hand and giving the most smolderingly lustful look he could give at that moment.

The man gave a tut and replied with “fucking hell, a bit insatiable, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told.” And he had. By many of the men he’d spent a night with. Thankfully a lot of them were as sexually hungry as he was, and were more than willing to go all night until Pecco just couldn’t physically handle any more.

“I have work in the morning,” the man explained, and Pecco couldn’t help but feel it was a weak excuse. Who goes out to a bar on a night they have to go to work? “So… Yeah.”

“Right. That's… fine.” He tried not to sound disappointed. He was, but he didn’t want it to show. It’d been a while since he found someone up for an all nighter, and he’d hoped this would be one. But hey. When exactly did Pecco ever get what he wanted? “Thanks for the night.”

“Uh. Yeah, you too.” The man finished putting his clothes on, doing an awkward half bow and half wave as he turned to leave out the door. Pecco watched him go, no point in chasing after someone who didn’t want to be there, especially someone Pecco had no intent on ever seeing again after that night.

But now, he was left alone in his room with only his thoughts for company.

And quite frankly, they tended to be fucking awful company.

His breathing hitched and his eyes began to sting. When he blinked to clear his eyes, he felt tears rolling down his face. This was so pathetic. He was a grown man crying over the fact that he was alone.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he muttered to himself, placing his palm against his forehead. “So stupid.”

He closed his eyes, chanting the words so stupid to himself like a fucked up lullaby, waiting for sleep to claim him so that maybe in the morning he wouldn’t feel like such a piece of shit.

Suddenly Marco was behind him, pulling him out of his thoughts as he began holding his waist and resting his mouth near his ear, huffing softly before licking the lobe and nibbling. Every time his teeth scrape against skin, his mind flourishes like a flower finding the sun.

Pecco would look nice strung up with cords or ribbon or wire.

Body jittering as he struggles to breathe.

Skin would split and the sharp smell of iron would spill out, intermingling with the sticky perfume of cum and spit. He's pretty when he cries, so damn pretty — tears spilling over flushed cheeks, pouty lips quivering and glistening while he gasps for mercy, gasps for kindness, and then Marco will sink his fingers into his hips and fucks him so hard all he can do is scream and sob—

Pecco blinks, returning to himself as he hears the younger man speak up. "Missed me?"

Pecco's gone quiet, subdued in a way that makes his blood rush to his cock. "Yeah."

"I missed you," He repeats hoarsely, shifting so he was in Marco's lap in a manner he's come to understand as 'fuck me.'"Can we—I want—"

He has this problem where words seem to escape him whenever he's horny. Not that he needs any, honestly. Marco can tell exactly what he wants without needing a single word. He can always tell.

Still. It would help. Just a little. Or maybe he just wants to hear Pecco ask for it. It could go either way.

"Use your words," Marco says quietly, turning his head to suck on Pecco's neck. Pecco shivers, arms looping around his shoulders and yanking him closer, panting into his ear and clutching tightly.

"Bez, c'mon," He rasps, humping his leg, already so worked up even though all Marco's done is suck his neck. He grinds his clothed cock against Marco's thigh as hard as he can, to the point where starbursts of pain scatter across the nerve endings of his lower body because Pecco has always liked it best when it burned, just a little. He gasps, muscles straining as he works. "Please."

Marco's gaze is coolly appraising. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Marco had forgotten how to speak, all higher thinking taking a backseat. It makes Pecco shudder to be seen like that. Taken apart, skin and blood and gore strewn across the table. An animal on display.

And then, a gentle hand slides down, past the hem of his pants and into his underwear, squeezing his cock. Squeezes and squeezes till Pecco's yelping and whimpering like a trembling, bleeding little thing. And still, he doesn't pull away — legs shaking, eyes watering, cock throbbing, and he doesn't pull away. Stupid, foolish boy.

"Is this what you want?" Marco asks, a little softer. When he strokes, Pecco almost crumples, folding onto himself and pressing his forehead against Marco's nape.

There's an almost soundless cry of relief. He sounds like a wounded animal. Marco presses closer, wrapping his free arm around Pecco waist and nosing his jaw.

"Bez," Pecco says, like a curse, like a prayer, like it's the only thing he knows and it might as well be, "Marco, Marco, Ma—" His hips buck up into the tightness of Marco's fist. No need for lube. Pecco leaks enough to make the glide easier. Wet as a girl, dripping everywhere.

"Cum for me," Marco whispers in Pecco's ear, rubbing his erection against Pecco's ass and exhaling sharply. "And I'll fuck you. You want that? You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," Pecco moans, tossing his head back when Marco thumbs the slit. "Sì, sì, yes, Marco, please, please—" He digs his nails into Marco's arms, wailing as he cums, his release painting Marco's hand in a pretty, pearly white. He slumps and keens, babbling incoherently into Marco's shoulder, pawing weakly at him. "Please, fuck me. Please. It hurts. I can't, I can't, please—"

Inhale.

Exhale.

And then he's picking Pecco up, gripping the back of the sofa and forcing his back into an arch before bending over and pressing his hand against Pecco's neck, growling, biting back a groan when Pecco struggles fruitlessly beneath him, crying and squirming. There's an odd thoughtfulness within this mindless, instinctual brutality.

He ruts against his ass, purring, burying his face in his neck. He drags his hand lower, below his waist, and shoves down Pecco's dress pants and underwear so it's hooked in between his ankles, watching dispassionately as his skin jumps, muscle twitching.

Pecco looks over his shoulder, dark pupils swallowing the usual warm brown. There's a shine in those eyes, along with the glistening of tears. A bratty sort of light, daring Marco to do his worst.

Ah, his hands twitch, already knowing the right placement. The right angle.

His cock is thick and heavy and drools a decent amount. He inspects Pecco's hole, thumbing the rim. It’s slick, a bit loose. Pecco fingerfucked himself earlier.

Good.

He slams inside with no warning and doesn't stop till he bottoms out, filling him to the brim. It's tight and a little dry but Marco merely spits on his fluttering hole, rocking in deeper, as though he wants to carve out a space in Pecco's insides, made solely for him.

Pecco's legs tremble and kick out, catching in his restrained clothes, wriggling to find an escape, but there's none, and he only ends up sliding down to the floor, caught on the sofa.

Pecco shrieks, the noise tearing through his throat and reverberating off the walls. His hole spasms, attempting to reject the foreign object, but Marco forces himself inside, deeper, till there's no space between them, till Marco is balls-deep in Pecco's guts, panting into his nape.

"Always so fuckin' tight," He hisses out through his teeth, looking down to spread Pecco's cheeks, watching his hole clench around the length of Marco's cock.

"Hurts," Pecco cries, tears and spit and sweat, and then he's clawing at the sofa, fingers curling and nails scraping as Marco thrusts into him, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "I can't, I can't, I can't—"

"You can," Marco breathes, pulling out and pushing in, grunting with the effort, and Pecco sobs, body jerking like a puppet on strings, unable to do anything but lie there and take it. Marco coos at him then, hands sliding up Pecco's shirt and tugging on his nipples, rolling and pinching, forcing him up so that Pecco's head rests on his shoulder, mouth wide open and eyes rolled into the back of his head, whining. "Pretty baby, pretty puppy—"

"All you want is my cock, eh?" Marco whispers in his ear, so achingly venomous that it's hard to believe he has even a shred of humanity in him. "Just a hole for me to fuck? For me to breed? Is that what you want, amore? Hm?" He sneaks a hand to Pecco's cock, tugging on it firmly, reveling in the sounds Pecco makes, pathetic and high and distraught. "Answer me."

He smacks a hand against Pecco's ass. Once, twice, until he's choking, until his words are a stammered mess, unable to tell fantasy and reality apart. His eyes are glassy and wide, lips spit-slicked and tongue lolling out. He struggles to reply, sounds only barely discernable.

Marco slams his head onto the back of the sofa and continues fucking like a machine, uncaring for the way Pecco shakes and squeals, his stomach swollen and abdomen bulging from the outline of Marco's dick. They both know what he's doing and that makes it worse because they’re both letting it happen. "Or is this good enough? You think you deserve this much attention?"

His nails dig into the skin of Pecco's thigh and pulls, leaving behind scratches that'll probably scab over in a few days or so — until they're torn again by another violent fuckfest when the older man inevitably comes crawling back because fucking Domi doesn't get him off this much. "You think you're fucking special? Huh, puppy?"

"M'sorry," Pecco manages to slur, seeking warmth while the rest of his world catches fire. "Sorry, sorry, 'm sorr— ungh—"

"You wanna be stuffed, huh?" Marco's grip on the base of Pecco's neck tightens, to the point where he can't breathe, and whatever coherency he had left flies straight out the window and into the well. "Bet I could put a few pups in here. You'd be a good mama, right? Then every time I miss you, I'd knock you up, stuff your hole full of my cum and you wouldn't be able to get away. How about that? You'd like that wouldn't you, slut?"

Pecco wheezes, cum dribbling out of his spent cock, coating Marco's hand and the material under him. There's an embarrassing, hysterical tinge to his tone, a shrill screech in the background.

He howls, shuddering. "Yes, yes, please, wanna be full— m'sorry, sorry, m'so empty, wanna be full, wanna be a m-mama, please, please—"

Oh? Well, that's new. And interesting. And so fucking hot that Marco nearly cums. But they can't have that, no, no. Pecco doesn't deserve it just yet. He's gotta have his brains fucked out first.

"Don't worry," He slows his pace so his words are clear and precise, even and calm, punctuating each word with a thrust, "I'll fix it. I’ll help you."

Pecco's noises dissolve into garbled sounds and quiet whines. It's cute when he gets like this. Incapable of speech, babbling, and warbling.

Marco wishes he had a camera. Would film this so he could replay it every fucking day and feel it all over again. Take pictures and frame them on the goddamn walls because Pecco may be a goddamn nightmare but he's so perfect that it hurts.

"You'd make a good mama, yeah?" Marco sighs, watching his cock sink into Pecco's ass, languid and easy. His orgasm's close, just barely out of reach. Pecco seems to feel it too, if the way he clenches down eagerly means anything. Such a sweet little thing. Marco needs to stop him before he goes and spoils it all. "Yeah, so fuckin' pretty, you'd be all mine then. Domizia wouldn't want anything to do with you if she knew how much you love being bitched and bred by me."

"Please," He croaks.

And maybe it's the way his hole flutters. Maybe it's the quiet plea. Maybe it's the way Pecco just exists for him. Whatever it is sends Marco over the edge, groaning a guttural sound, pressing his cock deep inside, hips twitching as he cums. Pecco shouts and weeps and claws at whatever's in reach, blissed out at the feeling of being filled and warm for what feels like the first time in forever.

Marco only indulges him once, petting his sweaty hair as he pulls out. Cum drips out of Pecco's hole, gaping and swollen. Marco thinks he looks best like this. Helpless. Legs spread. Full.

After that, he pulls Pecco over his lap, tapping his fingers against his quivering back to gain his attention. Pecco lifts his head and eyes Marco's fingers, licking his bitten, bloody lips. There's drool running down the side of his mouth and the only indication that he's alive are the short pants leaving his lungs, small and mouselike.

He reaches out, begging for Marco's fingers, swiping against his skin and watching, intrigued.

"Open up."

Pecco parts his mouth, allowing two fingers to be pressed onto his tongue, obedient and pliant. Marco smiles at him like one would smile at an infant. He wipes the excess spit and cum from his hole, smearing them around before inserting his now spit soaked fingers and making sure the rest of his cum stays in. He helps Marco onto his side, kissing his flushed cheek and the corner of his lips.

"Good boy," He murmurs, eyes shut as he breathes him in, fruity and sweet. He smells like ambrosia. Tastes like divinity. All you have to do is sink your teeth in deep enough to reach the center. Pecco turns his head so that his nose skates against his stubbly jaw, keening. This is the closest someone can be to a god. A filthy sort of holiness. "So fucking good."

Pecco hums happily in response, eyes closing. He's asleep the second Marco begins to run his fingers through his hair. The exhaustion begins to creep up on him too and he finds himself dead to the world soon after.

When he wakes, he's lying on the couch with his arm numb and Pecco curled up between his legs, cheek pressed to his chest. He grimaces at the sensation of pins and needles flittering up and down the length of his arm but doesn't move.

It feels oddly domestic. It makes him think of having children, and that's the kind of future that no longer works. He can't have a wife and a white-picket fence when he dreams of violence and sex and fucking Pecco till he breaks. He can't have any of it. He'll never understand how easy it is for Pecco to live a lie.

But when Pecco blinks dazedly and turns his face up, sleepy and smiling — when he greets Marco with a shy, "Hi," Marco almost wishes he could.

Instead, Marco forces a smile, ignoring the twist in his gut. "You’ve got ten minutes until the reception starts. Better get dressed."

Pecco blinks again, confusion clouding his expression for a moment before realization hits. He sits up quickly, disentangling himself from Marco, the warmth of his body abruptly gone as he rubs his eyes. "Shit. Ten minutes? I’ve got to—" He stumbles off the couch, glancing around the room for his change of clothes, panic flashing in his eyes. He throws on his shirt hastily, his movements frantic.

As he fumbles with the buttons, Pecco glances back at Marco, a question lingering in the air before he finally asks, "Are you… coming?"

Marco shakes his head, standing up and stretching out his stiff limbs. "No. I’m leaving now."

The words hang in the air, and Pecco freezes mid-button, his expression faltering. "You’re… leaving?"

Marco nods, avoiding Pecco’s gaze as he moves to the door, pulling on his jacket. "This isn’t my scene, Pecco. Never was." His tone is clipped, final, as if there’s nothing more to say.

Pecco watches him for a moment, uncertainty and hurt flashing across his face before he swallows it down. He nods slowly, turning his attention back to the buttons on his shirt, his movements slower, more deliberate now. "Right. I guess… I’ll see you around then."

Marco pauses at the door, his hand on the handle. He looks back at Pecco, still struggling with the last few buttons. For a moment, he considers staying, considers following Pecco back to the reception and pretending that any of this could ever be normal. But he knows better. They both do.

"Yeah," Marco says quietly. "See you around."

And with that, he walks out, leaving Pecco alone to face the lie he’s chosen to live.

Marco walks down the hallway, the sounds of the wedding reception muted behind him as the door closes. His footsteps echo in the empty corridor, each step taking him farther away from Pecco and the tangled mess they’ve made of everything. He doesn’t look back. He knows if he does, he might not be able to keep walking.

Outside, the night air hits him like a slap, cold and bracing. The sky is clear, stars scattered across the darkness, indifferent to the chaos that churns inside him. Marco lights a cigarette. He doesn't smoke, he's always thought it was stupid. He bought the pack as a joke at least a month ago. He never thought he'd resort to actually smoking one of thesr disgusting things. Either way, the sharp inhale grounded him momentarily. He stood there, letting the smoke fill his lungs, trying to focus on anything but the weight pressing down on his chest.

The wedding. The lie. The life Pecco is so desperate to live, even though Marco knows it’s all wrong. He flicks the cigarette away, watching as the tiny ember burns out in the gravel. He feels like that too — something small and burning out, insignificant against the bigger picture.

But it doesn’t stop the anger, the resentment that’s simmering beneath the surface. How can Pecco just… pretend? How can he lie to himself and to everyone else? Marco grits his teeth, shoving his hands into his pockets as he starts walking again, each step feeling heavier than the last.

In the distance, he can hear the faint sound of music drifting from the reception. Laughter, clinking glasses, the celebration of something Marco can’t even begin to comprehend. Pecco’s world, all wrapped up in neat little boxes, while Marco’s is chaos, fire, and everything that doesn’t fit.

He knows he should leave, disappear into the night and let Pecco deal with the mess he’s made. But a part of him — the part that’s still raw and aching — wants to turn around, wants to grab Pecco and make him see that this isn’t the life he should be living. That their fucked-up connection, as disgusting as it is, is more real than anything Pecco has with Domizia.

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, because he knows this isn’t a fight he can win. Pecco has already made his choice. Already said I do. And Marco… Marco is just a reminder of everything Pecco is trying to forget.

By the time Marco reaches his car, his hands are shaking. He pulls the keys from his pocket, cursing under his breath as they slip from his grip. He bends down to pick them up, taking a deep breath to steady himself before unlocking the door and sliding into the driver’s seat.

As he sits there, the quiet settling around him, Marco realizes something. It’s not just that Pecco is lying to himself. It’s that Marco wanted to believe the lie too. He wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could have something normal. That they could be something other than this toxic mess they’ve always been.

But that’s not who they are. And no matter how much Marco wants it to be different, it never will be.

With a sigh, Marco starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. He doesn’t look back as

[resplendentoutfit]

Festooned in Flowers: A Victorian Fashion Trend of the 1870s and 1880s

Artificial flowers are much used both for hair ornaments and as trimming on the gown – the largest size roses possible made of silk or velvet in black, white, or different colors with the dewdrop effect of rhinestones or diamonds. – Vogue, 1901

Some dresses, such as the gown below, were trimmed with elaborate garlands of flowers.

Right: Gustave Boulanger (French, Portrait de Madame Lambinet, née Nathalie Sinclair • 1887 • Musée Lambinet, Versailles

Left: Rogelio de Egusquiza y Barrena (Spanish, 1845-1915) • The End of the Ball • 1879

Flower garlands appeared draped over the entire gown, or just the skirt of a gown. Flower clusters were also popular on the shoulder, the middle of the neckline, and on a strategic placement where the fabric was gathered. Sometimes it seems they were used everywhere at once.

The Art of Dressing Well. A Complete Guide to Economy, Style and Propriety, published in 1870 advises: 

“Yet, even in the full dress requisite for evening parties, the rule should be to dress well, becomingly, and appropriately, but not obtrusive, and above all, not gaudily, or too much. It is a crime against good taste to be too much in excess of the company, yet care must be bestowed upon the costume, the hostess expects it, and the guests observe its neglect. It is the test of good taste to be in the foremost rank of guests for appropriate dress, but never in advance of others." 

Hmmm...it seems to me through today's lens that the antique gown in the photo above is "too much".

Short, or what we now call cap sleeves, were essential for formal evening wear in any season, as were sleeveless dresses. Off-the-shoulder and low-necklines were also very popular.

Glittering jewelry was often worn – necklaces in double-strands, dangle earrings, bracelets, and pearls. Some fashion plates and gowns in museums show women wearing a thin velvet ribbon around the neck.

Long gloves were a must. Hats were not considered appropriate in formal wear but fancy comb and pins were. As stated above, fabric flowers were also often used to decorate hairstyles that were mostly up-dos. Feathers were sometimes also tucked into the hair. Some hairstyles were very elaborate. And then there is the ubiquitous fan; either held closed or open to show off a special design.

[french-unknown]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟕𝟓𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 (𝟏) | 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫

finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: As a Victor from District 11, (Y/N) was close to the Victor of District 4 but the 75th Hunger Games turned everything upside down.

warning: none ?

word count: 971 words

author's note: Hi! English isn't my native language and, even if I can read English text, I have practically never written in this language. So you will be my English practice lesson! Be indulgent, thanks ~

[ masterlist ] - [ next chapter ]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝟕𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐕𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐫

While the festivities of the end of the Victory Tour of the 73rd Hunger Games were at their greatest, (Y/N) stayed quitely next to the buffet to eat some weird, colorful, but surprisingly tasty hors d’oeuvres. Bored to death, she observed the place teeming with people dancing, chatting, eating, and laughing as hard as they could.

Even if it wasn’t the first time she found herself in this kind of situation, she was still stunned.

Everything around her looked so surreal. From the blue and pink neons, which irradiated the room with a cold tone and made everybody's skin seem so pale that they looked as cadaveric as ghosts, to the huge interior fontains with lion heads sculted in the marble, which were spitting some shining water glittering with a thousand lights. Not to be outdone, the gargantuan buffet was drowning under all the victuailles stacked in each corner: explosions of colors, heights, textures, and tastes fighting one against the other for every little space unoccupied. A heavy scent of flowers was also perfuming the room.

But all of this was practically nothing compared to the real show: the Capitol people.

All crowded together on the dance floor to the sound of the violins, they seemed to be aliens with their extravagant wigs and outfits, which were as creative as their neighbors'. A woman walked in front of her eyes while wearing a candy pink wig styled in a complex knot of curls and a dress whose rustlings were going all over the place. (Y/N) squinted and despite the artificial lights, she could still distinguish some tiny whiskers on her cheeks.

Maybe the last trend in the Capitol...

However, this magical moment was broken when the announcements of the president's arrival resonated all over the room. All those people then gathered in front of Snow's mansion and, less than a minute later, the President appeared on the balcony.

While he was standing there in a velvet suit, which she suspected to be insanely expensive, she felt a thrill going down her spine at the moment he stared to speak. She stayed there, frozen, because of the voice of the old man. She was incapable of breathing until a multitude of glasses filled with different kinds of drinks rose to the sky and a toast was made in honor of the new victor.

"Move." said a voice at her right.

(Y/N) erupted from her slump and turned to the speaker, who was nobody else than Johanna Mason. She immediately felt calmer while the newcomer crossed in front of her to the garden with a firm walk.

Relieved by this meeting, she followed her.

It was until they came across a strange-prunded bush. They stopped and looked attentively at each other.

"Did your stylist think it was a costume party?" Started the District 7 Victor, pointing at the other girl's outfit. Her stripted corset and the combination of the skirt and sleeves in a butterfly shape actually made her look like this animal.

(Y/N) cheerfully answered.

"Did you even see your face? It looks like a kid confused it with a coloring book."

Both of them chuckled, and, even if they were surrounded by hundreds of Capitol guests, an intimate bubble seemed to appear around them.

"Sorry about your tributs." Initiate the (H/C) one because it was the first time she saw the dark-haired girl since they went back to their respective districts, 7 and 11.

"Same for yours." she responds more quietly. "How was it this time?"

After a deep sigh, (Y/N) makes whirling the alcohol she was holding since the previous taost.

"The boy got killed at the Cornucopia bloodbath by the District 1 dumbass with the axe, and the girl was found by some spider mutts on the third day."

"At least this axe stayed a long time in the game this year." sneered Johanna before frowning under her friend's black look. "None of mine escaped the first hours. She was such a lucky girl!"

They took a shot of alcohol from one of the avox nearby and continued their conversation on easier subjects, such as the news in their districts. Not without playfully taking digs at each other from time to time.

Sadly, their peaceful bubble exploded when a grizzled man interrupted them with a friendly smile, his hand tending toward the District 11 girl.

"I saw you from the other part of the garden, and I was directly amazed by your beauty. May I have this dance?" Did he ask politely.

(Y/N) was going to refuse because she wanted to enjoy her reunion with her friend for a longer time, but her words got stifled in her throat when she noticed the white rose on the man's lapel. And, even if the presence of the flower could look innocent, the girl got the feeling of being taunted.

She forced a smile on her face.

"Such a sweet-talker!" She laughed despite the discomfort tightening her heart. "It will be with pleasure."

She carefully avoided eyeing her friend while she delicately placed her hand in the man’s and let herself be drawn on the dance floor. Then he put his hand on her waist and she posed hers on his shoulder before they began whirling among the crowd.

A weight grew little by little in her stomach but she continued to entertain the unknown man by smoothly talking and laughing. However, she persistently kept her eyes on the shoulder of her dance partner. She kind of slipped into autopilot, her body took the relay, and left the man to guide their dancing.

This weight finally stopped growing later this night when she left that man's bedroom with an impressive brand new set of diamonds around her face. Bearing this weight inside of her, she got away in the dark corridor.

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

Personal QSMP design hcs and interpretations (PART 2)

9. q!Maximus

human. probably.

more or less the CC in the blockman-cubito's clothes

Ordo Theoritas symbol is on his headband he usually wears

a friend and follower of Sapo Peta, through him learning the ability to charm people into perceiving him differently (Biden) as well as perform minor shapeshifting (Valentina). This comes with the price of occasional possession by Sapo Peta himself (see JuanaFlippa trial)

has tattoos that mark this connection that glow whenever he exerts significant stress. can only otherwise be seen under blacklight (like in Las Casualonas!)

Max paints matching markings on Trump everytime they see each other to bless his son with protection. After Trump's death, he permanently marked his son's gravesite.

Actually he has a habit of doing this to things dear to him. He has debated placing said markings on SOFIA but decided against it just in case

keeps dandelions in his pockets in honor of Trump

Has sustained scars after being attacked by the binary entity

10. q!Philza

quite literally an angel of death. one of Goddess Misstrixin's many dedicated servants. in this universe they're in an open marriage

winged humanoid. has pointed ears, kaleidoscope irises, and a voice he can magically augment and shift to his will (speak w/ increased reverb)

he wears those beachy, vacation silk kimonos in his signature dark mint green color, alongside a matching bucket hat. under that is a sleeveless black swim suit with enchanting table embroidery

his wings are bird-like, black with a few iridescent feathers that glow red when he goes full angel. he's had carved emerald piercings placed on them for decoration and tribute to a friend long gone after getting clipped. if he cant properly fly for now, he might as well indulge a little

magical carved rubies are all over his person, shaped to resemble hardcore hearts. these glow when he fights or is about to do something powerful

Chayanne has one of these hardcore heart rubies and has incorporated it in his wear to match his papa

11. q!Forever

humanoid of unidentifiable species. perceived as human

Looks human minus the pointy ears and visible canines. Also demonstrates superhuman stamina and endurance, so uh

Dyed his hair blonde for the cosplay, with brunette roots showing

He has a rainbow of beach shorts and casual slippers to wear

very hairy man, refuses to shave

has an organic and extensive skin care routine; Richas likes the hugs from his soft skin

his tears are full of glitter and taste like soda pop

12. q!Baghera

anthromorphic duck person; the vibes are disney ducks crossed with big bird from seasame street

has a large messy feathery floof on her head stylized to resemble the CC's own hair

MC skin's hat + matching athleisure fashion. she is always drippy

some of her feathers are dyed to match the colors of her hat as accents

smells like the artificial fruit smells found in candy

Gave one of her feathers to Pomme as a token of remembrance

13. q!Missa

player equivalent to a skeleton. is a mismatched arrangement of regular bones and wither skeleton bones.

the mismatch is why he can be quite clumsy

under those robes, he is being held together by raw magic and wither rose vines. he has short black hair.

his bones have flower and butterfly engraving that glow aurora borealis colors under blacklight or when he's about to fight

fond of somewhat street hoodies and sweaters over draping robes.

there are sneakers under those robes, wander over yonder style

a lot of the drapery is held together by armor, an aesthetic Chayanne picked up for his own wear

the spaces between the bones double as extensions of his natural inventory space; they make good spots for hiding secret weapons!

14. q!Fit

human man who has seen it all. a mortal with the soul of an immortal

he is covered in scars from his previous adventures in 2b2t

currently in his clean shaven era, which includes not only being bald but shaving the most of his body hair to the point where his muscles sparkle like his head

A practical dresser but is a slut for fancy animal furs. Ramón shares this love for furs as well

Works out in his gym and is visibly getting more swole by the day

Loves showing off, especially if it involves Ramón's own work

15-16. q!Tazercraft (q!Pac & q!Mike)

Both human. Do not separate!

Pac and Mike are soul-bonded but they forgot they about it upon coming onto the island. (they also forgot the magical perks that come with that) This doesn't negate their package-deal relationship in anyway

Experimentation in the QSMP Chume Labs has made them increasingly susseptible to Murphy's Law for some reason. The island itself is not helping either

Pac likes to dress up while Mike will literally pick up the nearest piece of clothing. On occasion they will swap clothes

Despite the above, Mike is usually in safety gear more often than Pac during labwork, especially after the sting of Richarlyson's first life loss

They both have a picture of Richas in their pockets to look at whenever they're at work

They have telepathic communication powers but only with each other. Sometimes they can be caught just staring at each other when they are really arguing in each other's heads

17. q!Etoiles

anthromorphic cucumber!

the pattern of green on his body is composed of tiny little stars that are galaxy-like

has hair, a beard and glasses cartoon character style. He also has rubberhose limbs that can muscle up when he's fighting

under the glasses, his eyes are smudged over with a smoky powder that extends to resemble a blind-fold bandana mask thing. The eyes glow white during fights

wears the clothes of the blockman-cubito + armor

His armor is engraved with star shapes and space imagery

While in love with the thrill of adventure, he loves talking culture with Pomme just as much

part 1!

[eikaebana]

Explore our delightful selection of Artificial Glitter Flower bunches, available in a variety of vibrant colors, all priced affordably. Shop now and add charm to your decor!

[ao3cynocism]

cynocism's m.list

one-shots

HSR. . .

spin cycle | 5k words | rated: e

“Say. . . why don’t you just sit down? Wouldn’t that make it easier to keep the machine from rattling around so much?”

Dan Heng swallows. He’s been hoping to avoid that question altogether. He shifts awkwardly, trying to shrug with his hands still at his sides, pressed to the edge of the washing machine. It’s true that his arms are starting to strain a little under the force he’s using to keep the machine in place, but he can’t possibly risk sitting down and. . . having his body react the way it normally does.

“Dan Heng,” he calls, voice quiet but resoundingly deep, an unmistakable teasing lilt to his tone. “Why are you blushing?”

tags; pwp, college au, public bjs

lightbringer | 2k words | rated: g

Now, he is nothing but a man returning home.

He almost smiles at the palpable relief that sentiment brings, but it doesn’t quite take shape. The day is plagued by gloom, the ship’s artificial sky veiled by grey clouds. The air around him hangs heavy with the promise of rain.

Dan Heng looks out at the harbour for any trace of a familiar silhouette, heart foolishly clinging to a feeble hope he can’t seem to extinguish. His throat clicks as he swallows, his next breath weighted.

tags; mcd, hurt/no comfort, grief

save a horse, ride a what!? | 4k words | rated: e

The Luofu's Arbiter-General and a Galaxy Ranger walk into a bar. . .

Or;

Jing Yuan's looking for an escape from his responsibilities as General, a reprieve from the knowledge of his own end that hangs above his head like an executioner's blade. He hides away at the Reverie Hotel to do just that, but he doesn't expect to have company when he does. Much less that of a famed Ranger.

tags; pwp, robot sex, cowgirl position

come rest your weary bones | 8k words | rated: e

Dan Heng doesn't mean anything by it when he tucks the sun-yellow flower behind Jing Yuan's ear, doesn't think twice before he cuts Jing Yuan off by calling him 'pretty'. But as he watches Jing Yuan flounder before him, cheeks rosy and eyes dazed, he suddenly feels he's had a revelation.

Of course, being the analyst that he is, he has to investigate.

tags; smut and fluff, shibari, kink exploration

wilted flower, bloom for me | 21k words | rated: e

Forced to retire early from the military after a bullet to the hip leaves him unfit for duty, Jing Yuan has to relearn his way around civilian life. Along with the change in rhythm, he finds himself thinking about things he'd long since thought dead and buried; like having a family, kids of his own. . .

But all this seems a distant dream, meant for someone younger, softer, someone who isn't battle-worn and weary like him. That is, until a familiar face from his past returns to shine a kinder light on Jing Yuan's future.

tags; omegaverse, pining, mpreg

a fight of feathers | 4k words | rated: e

Aventurine knows what it’s like to be broken. He’s been shattered, split apart into a million shards. But a broken gem still glitters under the light, and Aventurine had known his value even then, when Jade had picked him, nails sharpened like claws as she welcomed him into her clutches. His saviour.

Sunday, however, is no precious stone.

tags; non-con, dubious morality, dark themes

GI. . .

golden hour | 2k words | rated: t

Al-Haitham recieves a research proposal that plunges him into the depths of the Akademiya's most guarded files and, driven by the scholarly impulse to know, finds out more than he meant to. It leaves him shaken, tipped off his usually steady balance. Luckily, Cyno is there to assuage his worries.

tags; established relationship, light angst, past abuse

all hands on deck | 6k words | rated: e

Kaveh has a series of bad days that leave him feeling down in the dumps. His partners take care of him.

tags; polyamory, 4ggravate, omegaverse, smut and fluff

gay panic: hot delivery girl edition! | 5k words | rated: e

When Kaveh orders them pizza for their weekly "girls' night", Al-Haitham opens the door expecting one of the typical acne-prone, shaggy haired, weed smoking delivery guys that usually come. Instead, she finds a girl. A very pretty, very hot girl at that.

Her subsequent desire to keep ordering pizza every week is in no way correlated to this instance of course. In no way whatsoever.

tags; fem!haino, college au, gay panic

bumpin' that | 10k words | rated: e

Al-Haitham doesn't much care for his summer vacation to a beachfront resort. It's too hot and too loud, sand clinging to every crevice of his body with a nasty vengeance. He'd much rather be back at home where he can read his books in peace without suffering the sun's glare and the shriek of rowdy children.

That is, until an attractive lifeguard catches his eye, and his holiday suddenly gets a lot more interesting.

tags; beach holidays, lifeguard cyno, one-night stands

[peabah]

Amy Yao

Untitled, 2023

Artificial flowers, plexiglass, steel, epoxy and glitter 150 × 75 × 11 cm (59 × 29 1/2 × 4 3/8 inches)

[mysticdragon3art]

Happy belated Ace Week and Halloween from witch Elsa. 🧙‍♀️

10/29/2023.

FIGURES: Nendoroid Elsa

SUBJECT(S): Halloween season AND Ace Week (10/22-28/2023) photoshoot. Sometimes I like to headcanon Elsa as asexual.

PROPS: Artificial flowers. Scrapbook paper backdrop. Glitter foam sheet grounding. DIY witch hat. DIY broomstrick. DIY black cape, per Hinata Shoyo's king cape. DIY asexuality flag.

[liars-archive]

I want some people to read the start of my little story before putting it anywhere so I just… yeah… I don’t think anyone will read it here but well… Copied from my notes lol

The soft, twinkling lights bathed the entire ballroom as the guests drank from their glasses all kinds of drinks.

The ballroom basked in the soft taps of the duets that were dancing as the Waltz went on, while the beautiful arches that decored the whole place shone as the glistening lights reflected in the gold of the architecture. Intricate designs that seemed almost if telling a story to him were placed over the pillars that he recognized from old records and books. He glanced as he took in the sight.

Rich and poor, young and old, new people and those who have experienced the beauty of the countrary. All united under the beautifully complex light of the magical stones that made up the chandeliers, setting up the mood to be in a night that you will remember all your life.

After all, this is when your destiny is set in stone. His mind reminded him softly, whispery, phantom reminder.

His soft, elegant white clothes matched the grandeur of the ballroom as he carefully walked towards the center of the Waltz circle, gold chains and details tingling as his boots made slight noises when his feet met the floor, his blond hair neatly tied in a small low ponytail with a beautiful lily adorning it.

This is where I belong, it must be.

Proudly the blond walked, basking in the shimmer of the fancy lighting of the chandelier, ready to start a formal talk with other guests or newcomers to his brand new destiny, as old couples danced under the glittering diamonds and warmth of the artificial light.

But his eye caught a glimpse of something his brain couldn’t let go of, quickly and carefully setting as a roaming thought in his head.

Something in his own soul was screaming to turn around.

He saw someone.

Blue and purple hair slightly long, topped off with a big top hat covered in black flowers. His figure was framed by a long, black coat with silver details, yet the blond wasn’t able to notice anything else. Why was he so attracted, enchanted, by the other? Why does he feel like he knows him?

☆彡

“A new birth, a new soul is born.

It irradiates light, warmth, and hope. The essence of the day, the sun. Yet it misses to realize that its own light casts a shadow that it has to be aware of.

And then, another birth, yet this soul is far from the same as the first one. This one is cold, mysterious and lonely in nature. The essence of the night, the moon. It seems to carry more flaws than the first, but it's the same flaws that hide its biggest strength that it must learn to control.

These souls meet, they see each other. They seek each other.

Slowly, they approach. Slowly, they get nearer.

Until they connect, they bond. They’re meant to complement each other, complete each other. A bond that will be eternal, way farther than what the concept of time is about. A connection that will never falter, that will never break.

This is how soulmates are made, how souls then seek each other.

The link between them may be strengthened or weakened, it depends on the relationship that the soulmates have, yet the link between them may never fade away.

Some soulmates in their terrenal life have fraternal relationships, others have friendships, very few have a romantic partnership… But some have relationships based on hate, others are enemies.

But those who once were the believers that out there in the world their soulmate was waiting for them, became the ones that now only trust science and magic to prove their point.

Nowadays, the bond between soulmates is almost imperceptible, completely depending on the relationship that the two souls hold. But even like that, people now don’t believe in soulmates.

Poor creatures in need of concrete evidence to prove the phenomenon that they can see with their own eyes. And those who believe, the true genius and the truly capable, get called either crazy or childish.

But in the eyes of society, that’s understandable, after all, who believes in an old legend?”

☆彡