#dancing lotus breeze

[lovekia]

[mortrichor]

「 ✦ THEIR PLAYLISTS : spotify links ✦ 」

welcome to my ocs’ playlists! i am constantly updating these but here are their links. i actually made them public for this!

☆ QIANZHI.

☆ CHRYSALIS.

☆ OPHELIA.

☆ IZANAMI.

☆ XIAHUI.

☆ NYARAI.

☆ EVANGELINE.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© mortrichor 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my original characters on any form of media.

[persicipen-archive]

𑑛 “OLIVE GARDENS” ﾉ DR. RATIO. HONKAI STAR RAIL. ANTIQUITY AU

fem reader ﾉ words 3.5k ᯽ unspecified romantic relationship. mentions of playful ancient gods lol. oral — character receiving. shamelessly doing it outside and lots of touching (grass). riding him. lotus position (?). cumming inside. protection used in ancient times — silphium (quite valid) and pomegranates (barely valid) ﾉ rewritten ᯽ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ᯽

as the priestess of the temple, your task is to ensure that the gods are praised with gifts. what if there is a scholar that prefers to worship you instead?

The warm breeze tickles your nose as you lie on the soft grass, pleasantly cold compared to the early noon weather. The shade of a large olive tree helps ease you into relaxation after hours spent in the blazing morning sun tending to your everyday tasks around the temple.

You feel him approach the hill long before you actually see him, like a ghost creeping up on you through the golden light shining upon your eyes through the leaves.

It’s expected of him to be here at this hour, next to you. There’s no one else to disturb you two, just lazy birds and the zephyrs dancing in the wind; little spirits weave and swing their arms around your form, ruffling his hair with fresh air, cool against the dew gathered on your forehead.

Veritas Ratio has nothing in his hands to offer, but his presence alone is enough to make the gods jealous; he’s beautiful, matching the divine statues holding the nearby temple tall and mighty on its columns. As if one of said sculptures escaped and turned human, with violet hair like the sweetest grapes and amber eyes like the finest quality copper coins.

With all that adorns him — from jewellery to elegant sandals — his skin glistens more than your own in the sun, the liquid gold of his being that he can offer instead. The sweat shines on the tips of his ears, nose, and cheeks, highlighting each crease with a perfect precision you’d swear is unnatural. Godsent.

“I welcome you again on these sacred grounds,” you whisper with a smile, glancing at him as you finally decide to take your arm from your forehead. The look you exchange makes something stir deep inside you, right between the navel and pubic bone. “Have you come back for some more wine?”

The question doesn’t catch him off guard; you can see in those pretty eyes that he anticipated it. When he doesn’t answer immediately, however, your sight trails down to the lush curve of his lips.

“Indubitably, the wine would be pleasant,” he mutters thoughtfully, already pulling closer. The jangling of metal pieces connecting to his ankles rings along with the crunchy sound of dry grass under his feet. “But I’m sure the gods already have more than enough wine to indulge themselves throughout the entire afternoon.”

“Perhaps. What are you here for, then?”

It’s fun to tease him; it always ends with you having a great time playing around with the words. This also isn’t an exception when he answers with another question.

“And you? Shouldn’t you be waiting in the temple instead of dozing off in the gardens, waiting for some stranger to stir a conversation?”

A weak exhale of laughter leaves your chest at that, prompting him to tilt his head inquisitively. “That depends if the stranger is you or someone else.”

You raise a hand, allowing him to close the last gap between you and bring it to his face to kiss your knuckles softly.

“If it’s you, maybe I wanted to see you sooner,” you add, stretching your neck upwards slightly in search of more touch.

It comes quickly as a brief peck on the lips, chaste and careful — just a greeting as well as a promise of what’s coming. The peachy colour of his cheeks only emphasises his sharp features further when he leans back, though you doubt anyone could ever forget how gorgeous this man is. One of the wonders of the world, with or without the blush.

His clothes slide from his shoulders effortlessly, the flowing linen clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin as he exposes himself to the world. That beautiful hair spreads messily on the ground once he lies down next to you and pats his chest with one arm.

It takes neither hesitation nor further words for you to lay your head in his open embrace, pillowed by his heart beating steadily right under your ear. A pair of strong arms embraces your shoulder soon after, but most importantly, a new shade joins your rest beneath the tree.

Even without having to look at the sky, you know the clouds gathered to dim the sun. The rustling of olive branches in the wind almost completely replaces the sounds of cicadas, gales soaring high in the sky to travel above the hill.

In such peace, the silence feels warm and welcome — as much as his skin brushing against yours does. You sigh deeply when his lips press down onto the top of your head, his breath tickling the roots of your hair, gentle fingers threading through it.

The tone of his humming is content. His hands exploring your back, petting and stroking each little bump of your spine, are the reasons for which you squirm lightly from time to time.

Would be nice to continue and deepen the pleasure, but just resting like that was lovely on its own. Sometimes you simply cannot decide — the kindness of the day enveloping you both is quite compelling too, and you wish to never get up from the lush grass.

That is until you feel his erection stirring, pulsing under your thigh that accidentally landed on top of his robes around the hips. Must be enjoying himself, if you can assume this much, from the hardness growing between your bodies.

Without delay, your lips turn to graze over his neck, where his scent is stronger and fills your nostrils with its sweetness. It’s as if he just dipped in wine and ate some honey; that’s how rich it is — an intoxicating combination to inhale when you let your teeth nibble on the collarbone.

“Are you sure you’re not coming here with different intentions than just offering your praise to the gods?” You purr against his skin, sliding down his torso, taking the folds of his robes with you to uncover more of his muscular body.

His chest is pale compared to the legs he shows during his public appearances, tinted with a golden tan that gradually disappears under loose layers of fabric.

“Depends. If I can praise the gods through my actions, I will gladly show it all to you,” he replies, his voice sultry.

Oh, those gods have definitely been playing with your heart this year, giggling every time they send him here, probably watching from the clouds as the two lovers meet again under the tree.

“As always, I would be pleased to receive the worship in their stead.”

Lazily, you rut your lower body against his leg while your fingers wander under his robes, smoothing up his inner thigh with a light brush, barely ghosting above the skin. He doesn’t let out even the slightest sound of acknowledgement, yet he doesn’t need to — you see his cock twitching.

The moment the pad of your finger touches it, his arms around your shoulder tighten. He shifts, grinding against the sole of your palm.

With a soft laugh, you lean forward to kiss him on the mouth. The groan of excitement you swallow sounds wonderful in your ears, full of longing for fulfilment, yet he couldn’t force you to move any faster, still too deep in his complicated thoughts.

As you feel the slippery tear of precum slide between your fingers, you want to pull the foreskin down, slowly teasing the ridge under the tip. So many possibilities, so many desires.

One more peck lands on your cheekbone as he puts one of his hands down between your legs, parting them carefully; fingertips stroke at your sensitive thighs, barely reaching for your private parts, too shallow to satisfy either of you.

“It’s okay, I can wait. No need to do it at the same time…” You smile at him when he pauses in his motion to study your face, frowning lightly, almost apologetically. “We have lots of time ahead, don’t worry. I’ve been waiting this whole morning, I can spare you another moment or two.”

He hums in agreement, though not without a bitter note of disappointment, probably having more than one idea of how to actually make it work. He could even fuck you right away, with those vast arms keeping your waist in place and those powerful thighs putting all that strength to work. Or turn you around, with your face near his pelvis and your pretty ass above his face, grinding your wetness against his chin. He has said once that he wants to taste you like that, after all.

His hold around your waist is gentle, firm, and tempting — if you were standing, your knees would have given in long ago just from imagining such treatment.

Nonetheless, as you finally unwrap his shaft to see it standing proudly, flushed and hot, glistening at the very tip, you take your chance to play with the foreskin, moving it back and forth with one hand and circling the glans with another.

Losing your head, you place a gentle kiss on the exposed ridge, feeling the slit tremble when more pre slides out and tickles your lip. It tastes slightly salty, sweet on your tongue, and it makes your hunger only worse, eager to open your mouth and lick up the underside.

A hitched breath follows right after when your tongue swipes across the entire length from the balls to the crown; then another, with more power, to let the head rub against the palate and savour the taste that was left there.

Obvious to notice that he enjoys it so much when he reaches for your midsection and grips at it so eagerly, thumbs stroking your tummy.

But before you could lose your mind and ride his thigh again, you feel something pushing your loincloth aside, cold air hitting your intimate parts; the fresh breeze combined with the sweat cooling your skin sends chills down your back. The difference in temperature is enough to make your skin prickle.

He may not reach your pussy, a bit too far away, but his large hand caresses the curve of your ass languidly, drawing patterns of worship all over the skin, massaging it every time your movements falter.

He knows all the right ways to make you melt; even a mere touch like that leaves you purring happily against his shaft. Your thighs tremble when you imagine yourself in some other position — any of those you two have already experienced together.

He must have thought about them too when his other hand presses on the back of your neck, leading your head down again to lick over his cock.

If that’s the direction he wishes to go, then who are you to decline? Especially when your cunt clenches with emptiness, dripping onto the grass already just from this little gesture.

When you take him in your mouth, you hear his low moans, short and satisfied, followed by the thuds of his head hitting the soft ground. Your hands work to cup his balls, tugging lightly to bring the first surge of pleasure to his body, rewarded with a warm shiver rocking his thighs.

He’s so generous today with the sounds of enjoyment, little gasps escaping his pretty lips, mixing with the wet slurping of your tongue; that makes it nearly impossible to contain the blissful laugh building in your chest.

Finally, you can feel his hands travelling back to your legs, spreading your folds, and rubbing in just the right way — longing for more.

“It’s enough. Come here.”

Without a word, you oblige, although it doesn’t keep you from whining loudly, desperately trying to give him the final push. Your kisses trail up his abs to his pecs, then his shoulders and neck, his body rolling beneath you like waves in the ocean.

All the way, his palms stay on your sides, guiding you with a careful but confident grip onto his lap, holding you steady at a good angle when your lips lock again with passion and impatience.

Your cheeks burn at the accidental sight of his cock nestled perfectly between your folds, ready to take in when you roll your hips — so warm against your clit that the heat pooling in your stomach spreads through your limbs, warming them from the inside.

“Look at you, beautiful. Be so generous and sit on me already. I will repay you the other time,” he whispers, leaning for another kiss; the way he bites into your bottom lip tells you he is impatient.

With your hands on his chest for balance, you straddle him comfortably, locking your ankles behind his thighs. He watches, panting and groaning in sync with the movements, eyes hazed and cheeks flustered as you rise on your knees, hissing from the drag of skin against skin.

Slowly, with a measured pace, you sink onto him with a delightful sting, feeling every little detail of his shape as you hold your breath in anticipation.

He doesn’t close his eyes; he doesn’t look anywhere else but at you. The intense gaze on your face makes your insides clench involuntarily, and it takes a moment for you to regain control and continue your progress.

When you’re finally sitting flat on top of him, your head is spinning. Just being connected makes your walls pulsate, and it takes an enormous amount of effort to not succumb to your needs. Your aching core just wants to rut down until the climax.

There’s still so much you want to do before that happens, so much you wish to share, but the syrupy whines just keep spilling from your throat, and the pleasure takes away the control over your muscles.

You have to cling to his wide shoulders when he wraps his fingers around your waist, trailing the sides with the back of his knuckles. The tender caresses send waves of delight up your nape.

“Be still a little longer,” he coos, but his own breath is so laboured that it trembles in his ribcage as well. “You’re enjoying yourself too much just by sitting on me. How will you manage to continue?”

“Please, don’t say anything… mmh—!” You respond, mouth slack to allow the long moan to slip off your tongue.

The high-pitched keens resonate with your hammering heart. You’re the cause for the shameful noises in the gardens, but you couldn’t care less — just as the man beneath you, you know the gods will have no issue with those. They aren’t easily offended, quite the opposite.

Just thinking that they might be watching makes you hiccup, shattering the rhythm of your breaths.

And then the sound changes when he moves. Hips rising off the ground, slamming your ass down hard enough for your spine to arch, yet you find the perfect position and squeeze around his shaft, receiving a hiss for a reward. His cock pulsates as you grind against it, fucking yourself at last — with a tad more pressure and patience, it wouldn’t matter if he moves or not; it could be just as satisfying.

“Oh, if you only knew how it feels when you clench like this,” he groans as you watch his Adam’s apple move with the heavy swallow. “To feel how my seed gathers in my loins, ready to release into your womb.”

“I didn’t take you for a man like that.”

“Only with you.”

It takes an immense effort to tear your eyes from his handsome face, flushed, shiny with sweat, and with a pleasured grimace twisting the corners of his mouth. But the throbbing is too urgent; your orgasm right at the edge.

“Ah! Hmm… I still prefer to eat too many pomegranates, you know.”

“Don’t you store silphium at the temple?”

“if we haven’t used it all by now before getting a new batch.” You laugh briefly at that.

Your legs open further to lean backwards, hand clasping on his thighs behind your back, giving you better access, and from that view alone, it would be so easy for him to cum on the spot. The pearly sheen of slick running down your thighs makes you quiver and pull away again, no more than an inch, though it leaves your whole body twitching in search of stimulation.

As he realises what you want, one hand lets go of your hips to put itself on the swell of your pussy, right above where your petals spread to embrace him. The delicate touches there, massaging in circles and applying a soft pressure over the protruding pearl hidden among your folds, send the sharp bolts of bliss through your gut.

“Ahh, gods,” you mewl, knees shaking when you try your best not to fall over. His other hand holds your side with strength, securing your trembling figure as you roll yourself against both his fingers and his cock.

Even with all the care to move your hips to get the right angle, your bodies collide forcefully, making your inner walls wail in joy as the nerves in the soft skin catch the last sparks before it all fades. You buckle under the wave of euphoria crashing against you, everything coming at once — the rhythmic contraction, the heat igniting your whole body, and the tears of overstimulation burning your eyes.

Without even trying to open them, you let out a whine, feeling you tighten over him, and legs struggle to not give in, still rocking against his shaft, dragging every second of this godly ecstasy.

Noises of him speaking die down, though, and the pleasure turns sour at the thought you accidentally upset him; maybe your hips jerked too hard against his erection, or you hit his chest a little too harsh.

Then you open your eyes.

He sits up to hold you by your arms, with his length still lodged deep in you, hefty as ever. Yet his features are not scrunched up nor furrowed, not even in the slightest.

He just looks dazed.

“Apologies if I interrupted your preferred rhythm. I lost myself in the pleasure…” His voice is honeyed and so lovely to hear that it seems unreal to experience it just once, even if you’ve already heard it so many times when you embrace together like that, skin to skin. “Come closer. I want you like that… here.”

Your lips find each other in another kiss, slow and sloppy, interspersed with tired licks. It’s such a blessing to see him like that, glowing with peachy blush and with the mix of both yours and his sweat — it’s the thrill of excitement bubbling in your heart that you are the reason behind his satisfaction.

Slightly embarrassed by your previous reaction, you let him move your own body as he wants to, making it feel as if you were one, swaying in a dance of love under the canopy of branches and olives in the warm light of day, basking in the glory of their gifts.

He seems to be thoroughly enjoying the situation, playing with your senses so mercilessly that you have to bite onto your lower lip to suppress another bout of moans — not when you can hear the quiet ones of his own, breaking out with every other breath.

His movements are a tad clumsy and awkward in their attempt to fulfil two roles at the same time. Yet you couldn’t mind the pace, his girth rubbing just the right places and forcing another squelch out of your cunt, drooling shamelessly all over his pelvis.

Still sensitive from the previous peak, it doesn’t take much time before you feel another one building in your lower abdomen. Your legs hug his waist tighter, and you lean your whole body weight against his.

But it’s not your job to move. It’s his, and he does it wonderfully.

Heavens, it feels so good that your throat closes, all your attempts at breathing completely unsuccessful, and he probably sees how your eyes glaze over. Even when your back arches away from him, the intensity of his stare never falters, bringing you the utmost joy, but now his expression changes too.

The words get caught somewhere along the way when your walls spasm and milk him without warning. With the brief gasp, he can’t even tell whether it was intentional or not. His mouth hangs slightly open, letting out silent huffs while his body continues its thrusts, shivering in tandem for the last seconds.

Not once does he tear his gaze away from you as the ecstasy in his stomach snaps — a rush of warmth coating your insides — and slows his pace into shallow rolls. There is something magical in those moments of conclusion — seeing him still holding your frame as if he didn’t just spill all that thick cum into your core.

Gathering strength in your muscles, you straighten up enough to playfully take the tip of his nose between your teeth with a giggle; it doesn’t take long for him to push it up slightly, catching your mouth for a long kiss. With a sigh of satisfaction, he falls back on the grass, taking you with him, still embracing, still connected.

You follow the path his thumb traced down the curve of your cheek, nestling against his chest, and your heart beats alongside his. It’s tempting to let your eyelids close and let the pleasant post-orgasmic sleep claim you.

“Tell me,” he hums, fingers reaching for your head to skim through your hair, untangling sweaty strands. “Is the priestess elated with our leisure? Have I done what I had to do?”

“Perhaps.” You grin at him. “The gods are thankful for your devotion.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i say ‘lowkey’ antiquity au because the setting is only vaguely described and could work if we get dr. ratio’s planet at some point in hsr (i wonder if it is amphoreus??) :3 until then, just imagine it as loosely inspired by ancient greece or rome ﾉ as usual, i’m sorry if i overlooked any mistakes, but i can only endure this much of proofreading before giving up ﾉ also, please don’t believe in ancient protection methods even if they could work lmao — the joke there was that reader and dr. ratio get together so often that they have no more silphium to use and need to resort to other temporary methods before acquiring more for future use hehe

[littlecashmereheart]

oh

that kind of season…

when the lotus blooms, a delicate beauty rising from serene waters

each petal unfolds like a whispered secret, revealing a dance of colors—soft pinks and whites, kissed by the sun

as the warm breeze gently stirs, these flowers become nature's poetry, a reminder of peace and the simple joys of a summer's day

in their presence, time slows, and the world feels at peace, bathed in the gentle glow of their elegance.

🪷

[honeymaki]

𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 .｡.:*･

Warnings: mentions of bodily harm, oral sex (f → receiving), penetrative sex, creampie, unneeded religious themes, mentions of body hair; reader has a hydro vision and is from Inazuma.

Words: 6k

Characters: Cyno; mentions of Tighnari as a reluctant tutor.

→ Notes: this is my first fic in honest to god years, proper thought out all consuming insane in the head fic; and I am proud of this.

The heat of Sumeru was different to the heat of Inazuma, the sweet smelling summers and the cool touch of the vast ocean on your toes were now just memories wisping like the steam that rose from streams, and the breeze that picked up the morning dew drops from leaves larger and thicker than any you had ever seen.

Inazuma summers meant blue ice pops and sweet milk beverages, lounging in you underclothes on the veranda, fanning yourself and whoever was your companion for the day, sucking on juicy melon slices and watching the fishermen bring in their catch of the day down by the shore, the crystal waves just beckoning you in for a much needed swim. The heat there was bearable, almost, with the promise of a fiery red autumn to follow if the sun got high enough and always smelling oh so sweet in the evenings when restaurants and common folk would move their cooking outdoors, smoke from the barbeques dancing in the mellow breeze like rice plumes in their paddy fields, carrying drippings of fat and roasted lavender melons to your nose. If the night was just right, you could just catch the slow baking of Tomoki’s dango, sweet rice cakes lathed with caramel or a soy glaze, both welcomed after hours wandering the slopes beneath Narakumi. 

Sumeru summers, despite only experiencing a few in your recent years, were so stiflingly different and yet, a gentle reminder of what it was like back home. It was definitely - wetter with sweltering days that made it hard to breathe and made way for almost frigid nights, dew settling fat and heavy over the land, clouds gathering to tease a storm but only showering a gentle drizzle. The sprawling fields and jagged islands of Inazuma made way for the jungles and vast forests of Sumeru, sunlight dappled and sparkling no matter the time of day, shining through leaves and spider webs and flowers you had yet to name, catching in the estuaries and ponds snaking across the landscape. And the desert, dry and barren with the formidable beast in the sky baring down at all moments, was teaming with the same greenery as your new residence. You didn’t often venture past Caravan Ribat and the few times you did travel there, the sun was shielded behind great hanging cloths and rugs of immense beauty, some old and worn and some witnessing their first day protecting the residents and travellers of the threshold of the desert. Though the shade and protection of the trees was much more suited to you and your gentle memories of Inazuma, flitting from branch to branch the way you used to with the sea caves and shipwrecks of your home.

Sumeru summers meant ripe Zaytun peaches and crunchy radishes pickled with chilli and mint, sipping on lukewarm water from your pouch but wading through ice cold streams to document new outcrops of lotus’. It meant the constant shout of brightly coloured birds beyond your window, the low hum of traders passing through and offering their wares, the enticing aroma of curries and unleavened breads, both sitting heavy and comfortingly in your belly after every sweltering excursion. 

There were times you missed Inazuma, deeply and painfully, but as it was, fate had called you beyond the services to the Shogunate and beyond the great sea which had previously been barred. The lifting of the decree saw a mass migration of people, some back to their original homes and many off to new, including yourself in the form of a letter from the Akademiya offering to school you in the great city of Sumeru. 

That summer saw your first sea voyage, and your last taste of Inazuman sweetness for many years. The Akademiya was good to you, one of the first Inazumans in an age to study among their natives, bringing your knowledge of Inazuman biology and medicine to their foresight and introducing them to a world of eternity and strange new ways to ferment soybeans. It was difficult to grow accustomed to their culture, their ways and laws, and their itchy uniforms, preferring the loose garb that the forest rangers wore, their bows and their nimble knowledge. Studying under the Amurta discipline was a gentle reminder of home, reading about all sorts from around Teyvat, wishing so dearly to travel even beyond Sumeru to see it all for yourself; sitting at your desk in the early hours of the morning dreaming of the mountains of Liyue and the beauty of the Qingxin that you would find, wondering what it would be like to swim in the waters of Fontain and venture among the ancient forests of Mondstadt. Your love of the forest, of all things green and living and thriving sent you to Gandarva Villa, under the apparently famed and somewhat reluctant mentorage of Tighnari. Reluctant in that upon reading your thesis and realising that you had already submitted your first manuscript, and concluding that he had little idea of the basis of your study and that you had already nearly finished it entirely. 

Inazuma had been closed off, shut to any and all outsiders for a generation, prompting only theories and wild ideas about your archon and her dealings; which lead to a dramatic decline in knowledge flowing from her shores, not only technologically but also botanically. Growing your first successful lavender melon on a rickety trellis in your front garden was talked about for weeks, fuelled only by your multiple displays of how one could cook, eat and utilise it. Food from Inazuma was indeed traded in the cities, but many of the forest rangers rarely ventured into the winding, bustling streets so in between studying and writing up a new version of your manuscript; you took it upon yourself to grow as much as you could from home to share with your new and beloved friends. And the Sumeru summers were the perfect growing conditions to do this, spending your pink and orange evenings pruning the naku weed and spreading straw beneath the amakuno fruits, tending to the delicate blooms of your unsuccessful dendrobiums. 

Which is where you found yourself one calm and thankfully cool evening after feasting with your companions. Knelt on the grass, books and papers surround you and your distinct annoyance, chewing your lip and pondering on the answers you finally found regarding your one nemesis. A single sprout curls and threatens to wither before you, rejecting the sprinkle of water you summon from your palm, looking very sorry for itself; a sad reflection of its carer, 

“I didn’t think I’d have to resort to such sinful methods little one,” you grumble, theory confirmed by the pocketbook of your own writing completed some years ago, “But I promised Tighnari and he looks really silly when he pouts,” as if your words would suddenly spark the sprout into blooming, a crumb of soil instead shuddered and dropped from its crisped leaf in defeat. A creature called out in the distance, wind blew gently through the valley and rustled your papers, concealing the staggering breaths of a person advancing on your delicate little world, and concealing the unsheathing of a small pocket knife. It was clear your intention, fuelled by your field notes and the archived history of Nazuchi Beach, and in a dramatic display; you held your hand out over the sorrowful sprout with the blade kissing your skin. 

A hiss of breath and the nicking pain never came, pressure and a grunt revealed a hand holding your wrist far from the shining lick of the knife. 

“What exactly are you doing?” the familiarity of that gruff voice causes a chill to ripple down your spin, hanging your head with heat in your cheeks, “I didn’t know it was Inazuman custom to sacrifice oneself to plants, dead ones at that,”

“I wasn’t going to entirely sacrifice myself, these plants grow only where blood has been spilt and I'm not going to ask someone else to do it for me, or start a war like they did back home so I figured -,” turning to face him, something catches you off guard. It wasn’t unusual for the General Mahamtra to pass through the valley, even stay for a few nights with his fellows, but it was unusual that he seemed - not quite right, despite still gripping you and staring at you with unimpressed judgement. So much so that you abruptly ended your swotty explanation and tried to pull away from him, to no avail,

“Are you okay? You look kind of unwell?” voice gentle and curious, causing Cyno to tighten his grip on your wrist even more, “Ah ! - you’re hurting me,”

“Where is Tighnari? I need to see him, something has happened…I’ve done something regreful,” even though he seemed to have been speaking perfectly fine a few seconds ago, Cyno suddenly sounded a thousand miles away and almost intoxicated. Eyes glancing around furtively, searching for nothing and everything, specifically your reluctant mentor who currently -,

“He’s away right now, Liyue - ow ! - there was a cooking event he wanted to go to and so I asked if he could pick me up some Violetgrass and also some starconches,” you say through your teeth, struggling out of his grasp and rubbing your wrist, squinting at his figure in the doctor-ish way Tighnari taught you. All of a sudden, he didn’t look much like a General Mahamatra, or even a matra; trying desperately to hide the sways in his body and the shaking of this fists held tightly by his side, tongue dipping out of his mouth to lap at the beads of sweat rolling down his upper lip, eyes red and rimmed dark. Words seem to be a loss for him at the news, swallowing thickly and looking down at his feet, toes digging into the carefully curated moss of your garden,

“What did you eat?” your sharp question stuns him out of his stupor for a moment, scrambling to your feet to assess him properly, “Or drink, but I assume it was something edible that has you sweating like the grand sage in a brothel,”

“Don’t - ,” he spits, “Don’t mock me,” you step back, hands up in submission, face shining with the want to help, 

“I wasn’t Cyno, I promise, Tighnari isn’t here right now so I’m going to help you, but I need you to answer my questions so I can do that,” it occurred to you for a moment that as the General, Cyno probably knew about his friend’s little excursion and yet, came straight to you instead of the Akademiya. But a sharp exhale banished that thought from your mind, 

“In the North, near Vanarana, there were Fatui breaking protocol,” at the mention of the mysterious and mostly unmapped region, you usher Cyno into your humble hut, drawing the wicker shutters and lighting a candle in the dwindling dusk, “they had stolen goods - crests from all over Teyvat, mostly food from Inazuma, some kind of mushroom …,” 

“Oh Cyno, we have both told you never to -,”

“Yeah, yeah, never eat something I can’t name, I know; but it looked like a starshroom, it was glowing and I can obviously name that so, I ate it,” sinking into a chair, Cyno suddenly looked pale in the candlelight, wiping sweat from his brow and shifting his hips beneath your scrutinising gaze,

“Did you say it was glowing? You ate a glowing mushroom?” this was hardly the time for jesting but you couldn’t help but grin, vanishing in a second under Cyno’s scowl, “Tighnari is going to be so mad at you, I thought it was obvious not to go around tasting things that glowed! We teach that to children! And newcomers who have never seen anything like it before,” your berating is only half serious, rummaging around you various knapsacks and baskets for the ingredient you needed to ease his pain, handing him a strip of dried something or other with a kind look, “Chew on this, it should stop the pain in a few seconds but just hang tight okay? I’ll take care of you,”

As much of a mother you seemed around those who made mistakes, berating them sharply before showing them the right way or the solution; Cyno almost felt like a lover to you in the way you cupped his jaw to make sure he was indeed chewing on the bark, stroking the tops of his cheekbones and the round of his collar in search of a rash, fingers soft and methodical, loving in a way he was unsure of whether you used towards other patients. He watched you work, content with his stabilising condition and preparing some kind of drink, back facing him and sweetly busy at your workbench. You were so precise and aged in your movements, picking the right herb and concoction without having to think, mixing them perfectly into a hand thrown cup with an extra spoonful of something for good measure,

“Here,” you sat down in the chair next to him, pressing a cool palm to his forehead beneath his headpiece, “I put some sugar in it to make it a little easier to drink, m’fraid I didn’t have any lavender melon syrup left,” the cup is heavy when you push it towards him, eyes curious and ever watchful, “If you need to throw up then warn me first,”

That struck him as odd. “Why didn’t you make me do that as soon as I arrived here? Surely that’s the first protocol in eating something dangerous?” you jerked your head, an indicator for him to drink and truly, the sugar did nothing to hide the foul taste and Cyno couldn’t hold back the winces and the gags as he swallowed,

“You ate fluorescent fungus, probably a rarer sub-specie that is very similar to the starshroom and native to Inazuma, obviously. The spores would have touched your lips first and as it is a very delicate plant -,” you fiddle with a small pocket book left on the table, showing him a beautiful painted depiction of the yellow-ish fungus he ate, “your saliva would have dissolved it before it even hit your stomach so vomiting would not have done much,” he nods, somewhat in defeat, gulping the last of your concoction with a poorly hidden gag, “We can sit until you feel better if you’d like, I’m surprised you didn’t have worse symptoms. Usually people get hallucinations, fainting, loss of limb control; the usual when one eats a poisonous mushroom, but you’re strong I guess,” you steal a glance at his body reclined and tense in the chair, “or just resistant,” Cyno doesn’t reply, tilting his head back and taking a shallow breath, still uncomfortable and unwell, “Just relax, it’ll take effect in a little bit, I’ll take care of you while it does,”

There was that strange feeling that made Cyno want to suck in his cheeks and puff out his chest, but it was not all that unfamiliar. Moments like this were common, more so in the recent visits, the ones where he felt like you could be a little more than the Inazuman who knows surprisingly too much. Sat around the fire in the cool nights, palm held in yours, tracing the deep callouses and lines and pretending to be a mage from your home city, making up some jumbo about his future and him suddenly so wishing you were in it; waving at him from down in the valley, wading with the fishes and the fungi, trousers rolled up to your knees and looking just about the happiest he had ever seen you; listening from the shadows as you animatedly retold stories from travelling around Watatsumi and foraging the pearls hidden beneath the glowing waters, an eagerly fond look twinkling in his eye; slyly asking about you at the Akedamiya, wondering about your studies and pretending to be interested in your thesis when all he could see was your printed name at the top of the manuscript; times when you thought he couldn’t see you looking at him with his headpiece off, a cut on his brow or a set of cards on the table in front of him, noticing your longing gaze and keeping it safe for the lonely nights in the desert. 

You were looking at him now, thinking he was resting, allowing your eyes to trace the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft skin of his stomach and the trunks of his thighs, spread and inviting. It takes all he has not to smirk, or flush, or even move. It’s strange, he thinks, he feels almost uncomfortable in that he desperately wants to do something about it, in an all the more wanton way. Makes him feel wound up, on edge almost, biting his tongue and scrunching his toes in case he might stand up and simply confess. 

“How do I know if I’m hallucinating?” Cyno knows he isn’t, but it fills the heady silence and he hears you readjust yourself, sitting up a little straighter, 

“Well, first of all, you shouldn’t be hallucinating now since the medicine should be working,” there’s concern in your voice, licking like a lover over his ears, feeling you press forward and he feels you caress his closed eyelid, “look at me? Why could you be hallucinating now?” he’s lazy in aiding your poking and prodding, allowing you to remove his headpiece and place it on the table, blinking blearily, “Describe what you are feeling please, and what you’re seeing,” 

“I’m not sure how to describe it,” he grumbles after a moment in gathering his thoughts, struggling in your close proximity, “You’re so close, it’s interfering with my concentration,” you furrow your brows, confused and more than concerned, that same soft scowl of a lover settling on your face at his words, “there, you’re doing things and saying things and making me feel things I’m not accustomed to, it feels wrong; like it and you and all this shouldn’t be here,”

“And so, you think that you’re experiencing a hallucination of what exactly?” you feel for a temperature, sitting back in your chair at his leaning forwards into the touch of your hand, “I’m not sure you’re hallucinating Cyno, your vitals are - ,” precise fingers dig into the doughy, giving skin under his chin to feel for a pulse, finding it strong and fluttering like a small bird, “Let me get you something to drink, water this time I promise,” you’re not angry with his feigning symptoms, or that concerned at his apparent anxiety, not berating him in that motherly way like you usually do and that only causes his pulse to rocket higher and the anxiety creep further into his gut. You’re acting in that way again, sweet eyes and a sweeter voice, like honey, fetching him a cool welcomed cup of water in the way such as after a night of -

You distinctly remember hearing absolute silence in the seconds between you standing to get your guest some water, and then feeling his imposing presence behind you, close enough to feel his breath on the back of your neck. Time stops at the sound of his fists clenching by his side, swallowing thickly at the sight of your inviting skin, physically shaking in his restraint,

“I feel like I’m dreaming, like none of this and none of what I am feeling is real,” you’re silent still, barely breathing in the confined space he’d boxed you into, a small corner of your hut with a sink that provided you some much needed physical support. Psychologically however, you were in turmoil. Cyno, the Great General Mahamtra, felt as if he was having a hallucination or some kind of dream in his apparent romantic or lustful pursuit of you, and the implication of what was standing behind you was suddenly too much to bear. 

“I could - pinch you if you’d like,” the voice that leaves you doesn’t sound like your own, shaky and shy, “Dreams aren’t real, you shouldn’t be able to feel or touch or taste in a dream, if you concentrate hard enough,”

A beat passes, filled with sharp, quiet breaths passing between you and it aches that you cannot see what he’s doing, or what he looks like or how he feels. Your heart flutters like a sakura petal in the spring breeze, mouth dropping open when you feel his hands rest on your hips, burning hot through your clothes. Cyno sucks in a breath, lips dry and cool as they part against your neck, tongue darting out to taste the damp saltiness of your skin, 

“I feel you,” he mumbles into your jugular, thick hair sticking to the side of your face and his nails dig into the cushiony flesh of your hips, “I feel you, and you feel - soft, so soft,” hips press into you, strong and hard and fluid, “And you taste like nectar, like honey and wine and - like a dream,”

“It’s been more than enough time for the medicine to take its full effect, you shouldn’t feel any more side effe…Cyno,” his name comes out a sigh at his attaching his mouth fully to your throat, wet and warm and causing your knees to buckle. He catches you, almost, slinging an around around your middle and hoisting you back against him, panting against the back of your neck, 

“I guess you’re right,” one hand grips your wrist, urging you to put down the cup and Cyno lifts it to his lips, nose running down the pulsing veins as it trying to absorb your scent and the effect he has on your pulse, throbbing beneath the delicate skin, “How could this be a dream, a hallucination if I can feel everything, taste you on my tongue, touch you like this?” 

He’s grinding against you, body writhing in tandem with his in response, mouth open with heady gasps and mewls that remind him over and over that not only did you save him from certain madness, but you also were eagerly reciprocating his equally eager advances. Long fingers unlace the ties of your trousers and dip beneath your waistband, instead dragging up into your shirt, loose and comfortable for your planned evening of study, now easily parting like clouds on a blustery day for him. The first touch against your chest sends you shivering into his grip, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast oh so softly and politely before gripping a little firmer, then altogether greedily. Flesh spilling between his fingers, nipple catching on a callous, rough and a little mean but eliciting such a submissive little reaction that Cyno nearly folds forward against you. 

“Please, please, please,” you’re muttering desperately, sacred like you’re saying a prayer, pushing your chest further into his touch and arching your back, “Touch me please,”

“You’re always so polite,” he isn’t much for words, let alone praises but you’re so dear and so sweet in his arms, shivering like a little lamb and even bleating at the slithering of his other hand into your trousers. With his face still nuzzling into your neck, Cyno is only just able to hide his distinct devastation at how wet you are, positively soaking your underwear and covering his fingers in honeyed slick. He grips your breast harder, plucking at your nipple at the same luxurious pace as his forefingers sliding through your cunt, slipping sloppily over your clit and you all but howl. You aren’t quite sure what to do with your hands, the one he was previously lathing kisses to was now somehow tangled in his hair, holding him in place and it’s grounding, it’s anchoring you to the intense, gooey pleasure coursing through your gut. Your other hand is gripping his forearm, the one deep between your thighs or the one greedily fisting your breasts, you aren’t sure but your nails hurt and you think it’s because you’re holding on too tight, but how can you not when too much is happening all at once? 

Cyno feels your arousal coating his hand, palm sticky and fingers pruning with his assault, languid circles over your clit, following the shivers and writhes of your body with grinds and jerks of his own. Gods, he’s so hard that it hurts, and he knows that you’re so close, so fucking close to cumming but he can’t help but still worry if he’s dreaming, if this is all an after effect of his incident, if you’d neglected to tell him how long something like a hallucination could last. He vaguely hears you howl in agonising dejection when he rips his hand from your trousers, strings of arousal glistening in between his fingers in the light and he’s struck with how you’d much prefer to cry over the loss than watch him lick up the mess you’d made. You only just manage to catch his eyes rolling back at the taste, dripping down his wrist, three fingers shoved into his mouth and positively devouring the essence of you. Tears leak down your cheeks, replacing his fingers with your lips in a whirlwind of need and hard, hot desperation, swallowing his surprised grunt with a whine of your own. Cyno doesn’t respond for a moment, shocked at your display of wantonness, tongue licking inside his mouth in a thinly veiled attempt at tasting your own arousal and his grip on you suddenly becomes all the more fierce. 

“I can’t - I can’t -,” your kisses grow sloppy with your begs, struggling to pull your trousers down, almost losing your balance and it pains Cyno to part from you for even a second to disrobe himself. Red eyes follow your every movement, toeing off your shoes and ungracefully kicking away your trousers, bending over for a moment and it takes everything in him not to cum on the spot. Nestled between your thighs, dripping and plump, the scent of it wounding him to his knees, crawling half dressed over to you,

“Gods - fuck,” eyes fluttering closed at your suprised gasp, tongue darting out to lick gently, lightly like he was licking honey from his finger, catching the leaking drops and feeling his stomach clench, and his cock kick against his thigh. You remain in place, frozen against his curious, pointed licks, flattening his tongue after having his fill and splitting your pussylips with a lewd noise. He could be content between your thighs for the rest of his life, Akademiya be damned, coming home from his duties to this lifeline of saccharine sin that he swallows down greedily and selfishly. The wings of your shirt sit bunched over your hips, sliding low over your ass until he frustratedly fists the cotton against your cheek and spreads you enough to put his whole mouth against you. 

“Cyno! Ah - !” you startle forwards, but he only follows like a worshipper, slurping and swallowing every flutter and every throb of you, fingers digging hard into your thigh and ass to keep himself in place. A tentative hand cards into his hair, a question and his answer was a long, slow moan directly into your cunt, vibrating between your hips and the result was your closeted strength almost shoving him over, nose hitting your clit and causing you to gyrate deliciously. 

That was all he wanted, this drawn out stupor only stabilised by your shuddering grinds against his tongue, palm slapping against the countertop. If you’d allow him, Cyno would do this every day, he’d gladly station himself in the city if he got to taste the heaven between your thighs even for a few seconds in the mornings before he was called in to deal with the country’s worst and the best. It would be a welcome reprieve, one he’d been craving without even knowing it; in the moments alone with you, sacred and secret, soft and sweet and warm. To feel you gushing down his chin, moans reaching their crescendo and legs shaking on your tiptoes, all but sobbing into the crook of your elbow as you cum; it would be worth the sacrifice. 

Cyno felt selfish, detaching himself from your cunt, resting his forehead against the back of your thigh and smoothing his hands over your shuddering calves, down to your ankles and then back up to your ass. 

“Are you okay?” his breath is hot on your skin, and through your gulping pants, you manage to answer with a cracked ‘mhm’. You feel him smile wide and smug, standing and hiccuping at the state of you, slumped against the sink and writhing as if in pain, whole body breathing with your dwindling orgasm, “Come here, I got you,”

Carefully and all too greedily, Cyno scoops your torso against his with his hand angling your jaw, tilting your face up to his. A kiss is pressed to your lips, languid and lazy, a stark contrast to the blunt head of his cock kissing the lips of your cunt. You shudder, unable to return his kisses but trying so desperately to keep his stare, eyes boring into yours as he angles his hips. 

“I got you,” he murmurs a promise, feeling your fingers lace with his over your throat, watching your lids flutter as he presses into you, “Stay with me, I got you I promise, just a little more,” 

Breathy and fleeting, Cyno recites his words like a prayer, thrusting gently and shallowly at your wobbling bottom lip, swallowing your discomforted hiccups. He doesn’t thrust to the hilt like he so dearly wishes to, filling you in one swipe and leaving you reeling - no, he’s slow, methodical, precise and doesn’t break eye contact for even a second. Keeping a firm grip on your jaw, chasing the breaking down of your resolve every inch he slides into you until there’s no more, snug and warm and so fucking wet. He feels you against his pelvis, against his thighs, sticky and warm, shuddering when he kisses you once more, almost like a praise for taking him all the way. 

You’re trying to speak, trying to make any sort of sound but the breath is stolen from your chest when he starts an agonisingly deep grind, up into you, hardly leaving the warmth of your cunt and digging hard into your belly. It feels as though he’s in your throat, eyes never leaving yours and sending you spiralling, gasps turning into whimpers turning into hiccuping sobs of his name with every defying push of his hips. Cyno sees your eyes flutter for a second, lips parted and brushing yours, swallowing every delicious sound you make, responding with grunts of his own in both encouragement and sin. 

“Eyes on me,” he purrs, a crack in his voice at the sudden way you choke him, cunt clenching at the drop in his tone. Cyno shudders, pace slipping and he slides his hand down over the swell of your belly, feeling for the slippery bud of your clit. When he decides to match the slow, heady pushes and pulls of his hips with heavy thrums over your clit, you’re quite unsure of how you manage to stay standing upright. 

“Ah - ! Cyno !” he never falters, not even when you grind back up against him, not even when you try to lick into his mouth for even a semblance of grounding, not even when you cum so hard that fat tears roll down your cheeks, not even when you finally catch your voice and reach back to grip hard at his hair, “Again, make me cum again please,” you beg, “Please Cyno, please - inside, cum inside, make it deep - please,”

Begging didn’t seem to be about your usual person, the one he knew that shared their meals and knowledge with anyone who asked, so to hear it fall from the heaven of your lips was surely his downfall. It was unexpected, it tore a deep and long snarl from his chest, grinds turning into thrusts turning into something damning and gut wrenching. The fingers on your clit were kinder, swift circles to keep you leaking down your thighs but the cock battering your sensitive walls was less so. 

He never stops watching you though, even when you reach a second completion, all the more messier and sloppier than the first, red heavy eyes boring into yours without faltering for even a second. Cyno presses his forehead to yours, the angle causing your neck to ache but it goes unnoticed through the life giving pleasure he brings you, with every greedy slam of his pelvis against your ass. Lips touch yours in the moment he cums, eyes finally snapping shut and you think he looks beautiful through the fog of your orgasm; illuminated by the candle light, sweat flecking his brow, hair mussed and tangled in your fingers. Jaw ticking with every twitch of his cock deep inside of you, warmth spreading through your hips and thighs, feeling his hand flatten over your stomach as a kind of worship, caressing the space he fills so deliciously. 

“I - ,” he swallows heavily, 

“It’s okay,” is the first thing you can think of, “I wanted it too,” Cyno’s eyes open and he searches your face, “For… a while,”

It feels like eternity before he answers, nudging his nose against yours affectionately,

“Would it surprise you to admit I felt the same? That I waited far too long, and chose a rather idiotic time to do it?” the corner of his lips lift in a smirk,

“Honestly and with your track record? Not really, you have a bad habit of keeping things to yourself,” with bated breath you lean to kiss him softly, “But so do I, I guess,”

Cyno clenches his jaw as he pulls away from you, surveying the mess of your coupling before surveying the mess between your thighs. He flushes dark, lust threatening red again at the white threatening to spill to the floor, 

“Here, let me - help you,” he aids in removing your soiled shirt, using that as a rag between your thighs and he hisses along with your protests at the sensitivity, “I’m sorry, I’ll be gentler next time, I promise,” you aren’t shy in your nudity, how could you really? And you turn to Cyno with heated cheeks, 

“Next time? When - urm - when do you plan on having a next time?” Goosebumps flurry over your arms, nipples perking in the coolness of the night and Cyno can’t help but reach out, cupping the weight of your breast and sighing at the feeling, “I can’t, not right now - that’s too soon Cyno! You gotta let me rest! Don’t be so - !”

And he laughs. Full and loud and hearty, gripping you and embracing you and kissing you with laughter wrinkling his face, craning you backwards and swaying you to and fro. You squeal, thighs tacky and sticky but following his movements, allowing him to swing you over to your cot on the far wall. 

“I would never defile you without asking, and not before tasting you thoroughly too,” Cyno kneels before you, a covenant and their disciple, hands tucked together in prayer, “And besides, I’m still questioning whether this is a dream,”

“I could pinch you, again, if you like?” You draw your blanket up around your shoulders, sliding backwards further on to the bed, noticing for the first time that Cyno still had a majority of his upper clothing on and there was something about the exposure of his abdomen, the ripples of his muscles, the thatch of white hair trailing down from his belly button to his cock resting between his thighs that gets you all tingly and warm again. He folds himself into the small space with you, catlike and flexible, kissing your forehead with a hum, 

“Maybe in a few hours, I’ll probably wake up and need a splash of something on my face to remind me I’m not hallucinating,” it takes you a second to catch on, hiding your face in your hands with a mortified groan and Cyno laughs again, gathering you close, keeping your quaint reaction to his terrible joke a secret, a safe little slice of heaven only for him to enjoy. In the back of his mind, he remembers suddenly that out of everyone; you’re the only one who entertained his jokes and silly puns, and the first time you genuinely laughed at one was also probably the first time he decided that he loves you. The word chases tails in his mind as he succumbs to sleep, tucked up against you and keeping his lips firmly pressed to your forehead, an imprint of himself for you to feel even when he wasn’t there.

Copyright of honeymaki. Please do not repost, translate or upload to any other media sites or ai engines.

[ramayantika]

The dance of the devi

Flowers for the goddess 

in my alta-dyed hands,

I offer them at the lotus feet

of the Mother of the Universe.

***

Gentle blues of the skies move out 

And Surya slowly rises from slumber

in its captivating regal glory,

its golden rays adorning

the Devi’s forehead.

***

I behold the golden complexioned goddess

set in stone with a benevolent smile.

My anklets lay at her feet

with turmeric and vermillion coating

some of those melodious bells.

***

A sweet summer breeze blows by.

A bell jingles and a lotus from her garland

falls to the brown earth at my dust laden feet.

A jingle of bangles and anklets,

A low hum of a mysterious yet beautiful tune,

And a voice sings,

A voice that I can recognize anywhere –

The Devi has risen!

***

Draped in silks and gold,

fragrant garlands around her limbs,

She steps outside to my courtyard,

A very humble stage for the one

who is the abode of this entire Universe.

The sun makes her ornaments gleam, 

yet her moon-like face is the brightest.

My anklets are around her feet

But what truly do I own 

in this illusionary world?

What I receive –

Beauty, intelligence, riches and power,

All comes from her.

***

And by the bright yellows of dawn

I see her dance in my courtyard.

Wherever her feet travel, little blooms arise

and where her hands softly touch,

Golden dust flies.

She twirls round and round

And I see the might cosmic Gods

Swirling around her magnificence.

Her veil, the illusionary veil,

which she playfully casts 

around this world

escapes the clutches 

of her beautiful braided hair.

And now I see. Clearly.

***

She leaps into the air,

Resembling a warrior

and a warrior she is,

for she is the Devi,

The ferocious Bhairavi,

The invincible Durga,

the slayer of Mahishasura.

She is the dark one, Kali,

The slayer of Raktabija.

***

Her dance of grace and elegance

transforms to a dance of death and destruction.

She is Shivatrinayani and Maheshwari.

She leaps and twirls with her trident

and her anklets and the temple bells ring 

harmoniously,

Just like the eternal forces of nature.

Devi is Nitya, the eternal one.

***

I, a mere mortal woman, a devotee

akin to the turmeric and vermillion on her feet

watch the goddess dance in all her glory.

I see all the worlds and this vast universe 

dance with her,

And maybe it is really true:

That everything in the world dances.

Laasya performs in every object,

in the largest to the very smallest.

***

And then I see the radiant one

stretch her palm to me.

I see my world in her hand

And clasp her hand tightly.

Which daughter lets go of her mother’s hand?

So we dance.

***

Stars and galaxies, planets and cosmic bodies,

Fire and snow, gods, demons and mortals,

I see her in everything

And this is the Dance of Realisation.

The music, the drums and the bells slowly fade 

But the dancing soul now awakened

dances in ecstasy.

I see, I hear, I dance, I understand everything now.

***

The Devi twirls, spins, sings, smiles and laughs

And finally heads to her abode, to Shiva, her life.

My life, a thread in her hands,

I now submit to her eternal play 

of this Life’s Dance.

***

I haven't written poetry in a while now. Somehow I couldn't capture this in a story format, it felt bland and very large and long. I didn't like it. The poem format perhaps gives me a little peace to form the vision I once had a few years ago while meditating on the goddess. I will obviously edit this later for the book, but for now here's the first draft poem for the book

Tagging: @swayamev @indiansapphic @jukti-torko-golpo (big thank you to you for the devi content!) @navaratna @rhysaka @krishna-priyatama @krsnaradhika @inexhaustible-sources-of-magic @alhad-si-simran @ramcharantitties @kaal-naagin

[jeridandridge]

Tender Charm

Agatha Harkness meets Rio.

No editing. We die like Agatha.

The first time Agatha feels a shift is in the dead of winter. Snow and twigs crunch under her worn boots as she ventures into the forest, a place of solitude and peace for the young woman who so rarely experienced it. The wind bites at pink cheeks as purple magic dances above her palm swirling between her fingers. Agatha doesn’t expect this winter to be any different; cold weather, sickness, nothing out of the ordinary.

Blue eyes shoot up when she hears a twig snap not far off in the distance. Alert as ever, Agatha looks around snuffing out the magic in her palm, eyes slowly tracking through the tree line. As soon as she sees the green cloak between the dead tree branches, she feels as though her power has only heightened.

“Rather cold to be out here is it not?” the strangers voice breaks the silence.

“The cold is more welcome than other things that lurk in the woods.” Agatha meets the other woman’s gaze, skeptical eyes drawn to soft pink lips that are unaffected by the harsh elements winter offers.

“I suppose that’s true,” The stranger in green hums, “I imagine you can handle yourself against whatever these woods have to offer. Your power cascades off of you like water to the shoreline.”

Agatha schools her features. Another witch, how could she not feel the woman’s energy?

“Mother says I am too rambunctious for my own good.” She rolls her eyes. “I know she fears me.”

“Since the beginning of time there have been women like you, and women like your mother.” The other brunette states, feet moving her closer to Agatha. “Never, ever feel bad about your capabilities as a witch.” Once close enough to see a speck of green in icy blue eyes, she extends her hand palm up producing a violet lotus flower. “You may call me Rio.”

Agatha’s gaze flicks to the flower, fingers taking the delicate piece of nature with softer eyes as she looks at Rio, the only person in the world who’s ever said that to her. “Agatha.”

It happens again in the spring. After months of looking for Rio in town and many days of frustration, Agatha meets her again. As the trees and ground thaw, life comes back to Salem. The woods and nearby meadow begin to make noise again. As the birds chirp Agatha lays in the meadow with her eyes closed and arm behind her head. As the warmth from the sun rays hits her skin, she jolts up when she hears rustling and feels someone next to her out of nowhere. Rio. This time Agatha notes her unusual clothes, trousers that hug her form and a suggestion of a shirt that had Agatha’s heart rate speeding up.

“You.” Agatha sits up meeting Rio’s warm eyes once more, “Where have you been?” She all but demands, drawing a smirk from Rio’s lips.

The witch lays in the grass next to Agatha looking up at her with a smile, watching the breeze move her hair. “Did you miss me?” She teases.

Agatha scoffs lying back down not taking her eyes off of her for a minute afraid she may disappear. “Answer my question first.”

“I make my way around just as the seasons do. Now it is your turn to answer.” She smirks.

The young witch finds her guard slipping, wanting to share herself with the stranger who seemed to understand her. Glancing past the woman she spots a nearby tree with fresh buds emerging from the branches with bright yellow flowers soon following as she looks at it flowing in the breeze.

“I knew it!” She sits up smacking Rios arm, “you’re a green witch.”

Rio sits up, amused smile gracing her lips offering her hand to the woman.

“And you, Agatha, are the strongest spirit witch nature has ever created. Your talent is remarkable.”

Agatha lets out a shaky breath through parted lips taking the woman’s hand. Having never heard a kind work about her powers, she was unsure how to respond. As soon as their hands touch she can feel her power coursing through her veins like a stream of rushing water.

“I still cannot control my powers. Mother says I am dangerous to the coven.”

Rio hums thinking, seeing what’s to come in flashing glimpses as her finger moves in light circles against the woman’s palm. “Soon enough your mother will see just how talented you are. Special. Never be ashamed of such things.”

Agatha smirks, heart pounding in her rib cage at the vibration she feels. If she were alone she would probably cry at the kind words she has never heard before. Rio keeps curious eyes on the young woman. she would never disrupt the order of nature, as much as she wished to help Agatha now. She has to be patient a little longer.

As spring transitions into summer Agatha spends her evenings away from her mother and the coven in her sanctuary of the woods. Over the last few months, Agatha has felt less alone, happy even often being joined by Rio in the beautiful meadow that’s slowly become their shared space. Sunset poking through the tree branches Agatha sits among the flowers, turning with a smile when she sees the woman in green.

Rustling through the tall grass and flowers a barefoot Rio appears. Agatha’s gaze goes right to the brunette, eyes tracing over toned legs and hands that make her think twice. “About time. I was beginning to think you had gone to the church service instead.” She jokes as the cicadas buzz in the distance.

The older witch runs her fingers through the grass as she lays down beside Agatha. “I could not say I would enjoy myself at a sermon.” She all but chuckles at the thought. Agatha lays beside her, leaving enough room for Rio to extend her arm, allowing the young woman to come closer.

Head on Rio’s shoulder Agatha sighs contently rubbing her thumb over the thin fabric of the strange shirt the witch is wearing. “Will you teach me today?” She hums in a soft voice, bright eyes looking to her favorite person with hope and something else Rio has yet to place.

Looking up to the sky Rio threads her fingers through dark brown locks. “Not today, love. Soon.”

Removing herself from Rio’s comfortable hold Agatha looks down to her with a pout. “Do you see me as a danger like mother and the others do?”

“Quite the opposite.” She answers cooly knowing what’s to come for the young woman. When that night did come, Rio would be there to not only collect souls, but to guide the witch she and the universe itself found so incredibly fascinating.

“How do I know you won’t disappear and never come back to teach me as you say you will?” Agatha challenges.

Sitting up, the green witch gently takes Agatha’s hands in her own watching the young woman’s eyes shift between their bodies. “I will be there when you need me, Agatha.” She tells her sincerely. She was already bending the rules of her power, her very existence, by visiting the witch as often as she had. She had ignored floods, fires, and famine to see the powerful woman instead. From what she could read, Agatha did not mind.

Agatha nods placing her hand on Rio’s shoulder to push her down, her head back in its place as she lays there comfortably once more. This was a welcome, secret escape from her daily life she cherished more than anything. There in their own little world Rio’s fingers run through long locks comforting the woman until nightfall comes.

Summer turns to autumn quickly for the green witch. She moves strategically and thoughtfully as the autumn nights grow cold and the harvest moon grows closer. In the brush of woods she’s come to know so well since meeting Agatha she appears in the tree line, just in time to see it. Ready with her torch, she stands watching.

“Please… I can be good.” Agatha pleads.

Rio’s lip snarls at the sight of Evanora Harkness.

“No. You cannot.”

Rio watches the witches blast their powers, trying to kill Agatha. As if they had a chance. Her jaw clenches as she watches Agatha’s eyes squeeze shut in pain, waiting for her to do it. She knows, feels in her soul, that Agatha can do this.

She watches as one hand breaks free of the purple and blue sparks of restraints. Hands moving, chin tipped up, Agatha takes every witches power one by one sending them slumping to the ground.

When it’s Evanora’s time, Agatha pleads again so desperately wanting her mother to understand. To no avail, Rio watches as Agatha kills her mother. The young woman crouches beside her, tears still falling at the sight until she takes a sharp breath snatching the cameo from her mother’s body.

A tree branch breaking sends Agatha into a panic, only calming when spotting the familiar figure in the brush. Gathering her skirts she bunches them in hand with her mother’s cameo and runs through the dirt and the twigs. Rio is almost knocked over by the impact of the hug, her arms tight around her neck. “Rio.” Agatha sniffles through residual tears and anger still flowing through her.

“I am here.” Rio promises, hand rubbing up and down her back, the familiar scent of lavender engulfing her senses standing there for as long as the witch needs. She reasons her actions by telling herself she could deal with Evanora later. The cruel woman could handle purgatory for a while.

Standing in silence Rio holds Agatha, only pulling back once her sniffling had stopped. “Agatha, may I show you why I am here?”

With a quirked brow Agatha keeps her arms loosely wrapped around the witches neck. “You told me you would be here when I needed you. I needed you.” She reasons.

“Yes,” Rio agrees, “However there is something else.” She tips her chin down, lifting her head only when her true form appears. Dark brown eyes watch, hoping she is right about the young witch.

Agatha’s mouth opens slightly, eyes tracing all over her face as skin changes to bone, a skeletal feature taking its place. Slowly removing her arms Agatha glides her her hands to gently cup Rio’s face in awe and wonder. Hands rest on Agatha’s forearms, thumbs brushing against the soft skin of her wrists.

“You’re death. The first green witch.” Agatha whispers in the small space between them, realization coming over her.

Ducking her head again Rio changes her features back licking her lips. “I am. I am meant to take and give to this universe. I am the natural order of all things.”

Hands still cupping her cheeks, Agatha’s eyes scan Rio’s, wonder and lust playing behind blue eyes once more. closing the small gap between them she places a kiss to her lips that lady death herself happily accepts. A simple kiss that says she trusts her. That she would follow her anywhere.

[psycho2-0]

Alex Requests pt. 2:

NikoBran. Niko and Bran slow dancing under the stars after they have left a party.

The distant hum of the party faded as Nikolai and Brandon stepped out onto the sprawling lawn. The night was serene, the sky an expanse of stars shimmering against the velvet darkness. A cool breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint echoes of music from the mansion behind them.

Brandon walked a few steps ahead, his hands tucked into his pockets. His pale blue shirt was slightly rumpled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked over his shoulder, his dark blue eyes soft when they met Nikolai’s.

“You didn’t have to follow me, you know,” Brandon said, his voice quiet.

Nikolai smirked, his long strides quickly closing the distance between them. “Where else would I be? Besides, the party was dull without you.”

Brandon huffed a small laugh, turning his gaze skyward. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am.” Nikolai’s tone was playful, but his eyes carried a tenderness he reserved only for Brandon.

The two stood in comfortable silence, the stars casting a soft glow over them. Brandon crossed his arms, glancing at Nikolai from the corner of his eye. “Do you ever get tired of chasing me out of these things?”

Nikolai stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Never.”

Brandon rolled his eyes but didn’t move as Nikolai reached for his hand, threading their fingers together with ease.

“I have an idea,” Nikolai said, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Brandon raised a brow. “Should I be worried?”

Nikolai tugged him gently, pulling him into an open space where the grass was soft beneath their feet. “Dance with me.”

Brandon blinked, caught off guard. “Dance?”

“Yes, Lotus Flower. Dance,” Nikolai replied, his tone teasing but warm. “It’s not as dangerous as you’re making it sound.”

Brandon hesitated, his gaze flickering between Nikolai and the mansion. “There’s no music.”

“There’s always music,” Nikolai said, drawing him closer.

And then, softly, Nikolai began to hum. The low, soothing melody wrapped around them like a warm blanket, grounding Brandon as Nikolai placed a hand on his waist and entwined their fingers.

Brandon let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, resting his free hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re so beautiful,” Nikolai countered, his blue eyes locking onto Brandon’s.

Brandon’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t look away. Their steps were unhurried, swaying gently to Nikolai’s tune. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them beneath the vast, starlit sky.

“You’re good at this,” Brandon murmured after a while.

Nikolai’s smirk softened into something more genuine. “I have the best partner.”

They danced in silence, the connection between them speaking louder than words. Brandon’s head eventually came to rest against Nikolai’s shoulder, and Nikolai tightened his hold, his thumb brushing small circles against Brandon’s side.

“You’re safe with me,” Nikolai whispered, his voice barely audible above the breeze.

“I know,” Brandon replied, his voice equally soft.

For a moment, everything felt perfect. The stars bore witness as they moved together, their hearts beating in quiet harmony.

Part 1

[thepaperpanda]

Warnings: oral (f receiving), fem!Reader, shibari

Synopsis: Douma initiates you into the world of shibari

Author: @dumadono

A/N: Welcome to another day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration Today's prompt: shibari

Masterlist

Douma's heart is captivated by artistry, and what greater embodiment of artistic expression is there than the ancient Japanese art of bondage, known as shibari or, in its traditional form, kinbaku? 

_________________

That day, he embarks on a journey from mere admiration to active engagement and beyond. This is why the two of you find yourselves strolling along this quiet, desolate dirt path, burdened with an array of tools and paraphernalia, ready to delve into the world of bound passion and creative intimacy.

"Have you ever ventured into the art of shibari?" you inquire, your voice hesitant like a gentle breeze.

"A few times, yet I never fully mastered it, lotus," he responds, his words flowing like a tranquil stream.

"How so, Douma-sama?" you question, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

"Shibari, my little lotus, is an art of intricate knots and delicate ties," he answers, his voice a seductive whisper. "It requires patience, precision, and a deep connection between the one tying and the one being bound. I believe we share such a connection."

You blush at his words.

You now find yourself at a single-room wooden dwelling. Douma has frequented this place, studying its secrets, delivering various items, and readying the weathered edifice you now encounter for its current purpose. For several months, no soul has ventured here, and this aligns perfectly with Douma's intentions. Silence reigns, a tranquility he diligently maintains.

Now that you are both inside, and you undress completely.

In complete silence, Douma's actions speak volumes. His kisses and tender caresses trace your body with affection, focusing on your breasts and ass. As you sit on a small stool, he carefully unravels coils of rope. One end is guided through the first of the eye bolts, draping down to your shoulders. The length is matched with the other end, and a secure knot is tied at the eye bolt. With your arms extended, Douma has you hold a sturdy bamboo rod behind your head, spanning from one hand to the other.

Methodically, deliberately, and with deep affection, Douma begins to weave the ropes around you, starting at your underarms and winding them around until they reach your hands. Ornamental knots adorn each hand, and then the ropes are guided back up, securing them to the same eye bolt. Your upper body is now firmly bound, your arms suspended about three feet above the floor. Despite only four points of suspension, the bamboo and the rope's intricate threading ensure your weight is evenly distributed.

Next, another rope passes through the far eye bolt, and it's employed to secure your ankles to another bamboo rod intended to maintain your legs apart. A third rope descends, slipping beneath the small of your back, alleviating most of the weight from your ankle restraints. Two additional ropes loop under your back, the first just below your breasts, and the second halfway between the first and the rope near your hips. All of this consumes a substantial amount of time due to the meticulous knot work being executed.

At this juncture, you are suspended from the eye bolts with only your head left unsupported. Douma brushes your hair, "You're such a good lotus, so obedient to me."

You're now completely bound. 

“How are you feeling, my precious lotus?” Douma asks, his tone lacing with sweetness.

“I’m good, master,” you reply, offering him a smile. “Keep going.”

Removing the stool, Douma stands back to assess his handiwork. To a casual observer, it might appear as if you are being tortured, but the reality is quite the opposite. In truth, you are utterly comfortable and at peace. You feel more liberated than you have ever felt before. You have surrendered yourself completely to Douma and have no decisions to worry about.

The height at which you are suspended is carefully selected to grant Douma ideal access to your pussy while he occupies the stool. His eyes remain closed as he skillfully employs his mouth and tongue, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm while you hover weightlessly in the air. He possesses an innate sense of timing, allowing just enough respite before resuming his attention. Overwhelmed by ecstasy and a profound sensation of boundless pleasure, your passionate cries fill the space. This experience is unlike any you've ever encountered, an unprecedented expression of love and desire.

Douma's skilled tongue dances slowly on your clitoris, occasionally gliding down the slit to your sweet entrance, which emits juices he adores so much. He places tender licks here and there, occasionally applying a gentle suction to your lips, all while humming with delight.

You inquire about him, expressing your desire to please him in return.

Douma responds, breaking his silence for the first time since your arrival, stating that this experience is for your satisfaction, and you need not worry about his release at this moment. It's also unlikely that you'd be in a condition to attend to his needs after this intense scene.

After a few hours, you are lowered from your suspended position. You're tired. Exhaustion has taken its toll, and Douma gently carries you along the deserted dirt road back to his shrine while weariness overcomes you, and you eventually fall asleep in his comforting embrace.

"I love you so much, little lotus," Douma whispers, placing a tiny kiss on your temple.

[kaynanarie]

JourneyTober! Day 5 - Lotus

            Through the heart of the forest, a gentle brook weaved its way between tree roots and stubborn stone. Sunlight danced along the surface of the crystal-clear water, the current slow but deep. Speckled rocks and flittering fish could be seen all the way down to the bottom. It flowed over a rocky outcrop and into a tinkling waterfall before continuing its leisurely journey.

            “This is the perfect place to rest!” Jen declared. She dropped her backpack and perched on a nearby boulder to admire the scenery. Behind her, Monkey huffed but accepted the impromptu break. “It’s so peaceful. And look at all the flowers!”

            Decorating the side of the waterfall, lotuses were growing out of the craggy surface, delicate pink blossoms swaying against dark stone.

            “They’re so lovely; too bad they’re way up there. They must be pretty tough to grow so high up.”

            Jen dug around in her pack, handing Monkey her calabash. He took both gourds to fill with water while Jen laid out some fruit to snack on. Instead of the usual creek-side refill, Jen turned to find Monkey scaled halfway up the cliff face, already filling the second calabash directly from the waterfall. Jen just shrugged it off, leaving him to his business and munched on a handful of slightly squished berries.

            Despite the warm day, the shade was cool and the brook’s mist on the breeze was refreshing. Taking a deep breath, Jen closed her eyes to enjoy the serenity of the forest. Birds twittered in the air overhead. Leaves rustled and whispered from their branches. The gentle babbling of the brook blended into the soothing ambiance.

            Then the tranquility was shattered by a surprised yelp and loud splash.  

            Whirling around, Jen found Monkey in the pool at the base of the waterfall. He waded back to shore, his clothes and fur soaking wet. Even his poor tail was flattened and dripping water.

            “Oh my god, what happened?” Jen asked, yanking a blanket from her backpack and hurrying to him. Monkey didn't answer, face flushed and eyes averted in embarrassment. “Are you okay? Here, use this to dry off.”

            Jen tried to hand him the blanket but both his hands were full. One was still clutching the ties of the gourds. The other was holding something new. When Monkey noticed Jen’s gaze, his face burned brighter red and his tail lashed anxiously behind him. Before she could figure out what it was, the object was practically shoved in her face.

            It was one of the lotuses, freshly plucked from the waterfall. It’s delicate, pink petals were still sparkling with water droplets. The full bloom was wider than her palm and soft to the touch. She gently took the flower from Monkey’s grasp, eyes wide as she glanced from the gift back to him.

            “Did you pick this for me?” Jen asked, her cheeks turning a rosy hue.

            Monkey gave a curt nod, shuffling nervously in place. He still refused to look up, studying the patterns of water dripping off his frame. As touching as the gift was, seeing her monkey so miserable was too much for Jen to bear.

            “Why don’t we just camp here for the night? I’ll get some firewood and we can get you dried off, okay?”

            Again, Monkey only nodded but relaxed a bit at the suggestion. Tucking the lotus behind one ear, Jen unfolded the blanket and leaned in close to wrap it around his tall figure.

            “Thank you for the flower, it’s beautiful,” she whispered by his ear before pressing a soft kiss to his furred cheek.

            Monkey froze; eyes wide, wet fur puffed out, his tail stock-still. A surprised little chirrup rumbled from his chest when Jen pulled back with a giggle. By the time his senses returned to him, Jen had already skipped out of the clearing for firewood, leaving Monkey to ponder the all-too-brief kiss.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------(It shouldn't have taken me all day to write this and yet.)

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

Journeytober Master List

[hum-suffer]

Every time there is a breath of music, I think it's you.

I remember the way you swayed with me in the dark,

Your eyes sparkled under the moon and

Under your gaze, my breath was stuck in my heart

Every time there is a breath of music, I think it's you.

I remember the moist soil clinging to our feet,

My anklets were loud in the forest

And the curve of your smile matched exactly

With the arc of my spine as I danced

Every time there is a breath of music, I think it's you.

The hour struck midnight, and the village was asleep

The only ones awake remained to be us, and those who steal

But are you but a thief too, of my heart and soul?

Am I not a thief too, of time and trust?

Every time there is a breath of music, I think it's you.

With your lips pressed to your flute,

My hands pressed on your torso

You were the anchor that I trusted myself to

The breeze passes by from my ears now,

Whispers of a man, a god— gone— to never return in my arms

The wind whispers in my ears like

The smell of Tulsi and Lotus in your hair

And it whispers something that leaves me breathless, again,

Every time there is a breath of music, I think it's you

[whispersofwishes]

Under the fading hues of twilight, Nikki stepped into the water , her skirt trailing in gentle ripples. The lotus lanterns floated beside her, their warm glow reflecting in the tranquil surface. Tonight was special- she had a wish to make.

Legends spoke of river spirits, granting the desires of those pure of heart. Nikki closed her eyes, extended her hand and as golden fireflies danced around her. She whispered her wish- a hope for happiness, for love, for peace.

As the last word left her lips, the lanterns flickered, and a soft breeze carried her voice into the night. In that moment , she felt it- a warmth, a presence, an unseen promise that her wish had been heard.

Smiling, she turned back to shore, leaving behind only the rivers quiet sigh and the glow of floating dreams.

[venture-through-the-mist]

I’ve been listening to ‘Somewhere Only We Know’ by Keane (specifically Lily Allen’s cover…this is not a post supporting her as an artist/person, this is just me enjoying this particular cover of this particular song) and just…all I can think of is Margulis. I can’t even find the words to properly articulate why. It’s just so gentle and sad and all I can think of is Margulis dragging Lotus and Natah away from their work, away from all that stress, bringing them all to Earth, to the Drifter’s camp. Leading them to that one cave with the glowing moss—she knows it’s still there, knows the rocky, nearly overgrown path almost as well as she knows herself.

Feeling the rippling river under her—their—feet, hearing the faint roar of the waterfall, the chirps of the birds, the tiny ‘peeps’ of some tiny amphibian, it all brings her back to a time where everything was so much simpler. So she shows the others. She leans against the wall of the cave, feeling how the rocks have been worn smooth from the river’s movement.

She notices their mind quiet.

Their fingers grow warm as Lotus conjures tiny sparks, and although Margulis cannot see them, she imagines them dancing through the cave, their light melding with that of the moss, bathing them in a gentle periwinkle glow. She doesn’t miss the flicker of (almost child-like) joy bleeding into their thoughts, and she feels only warmth, knowing that her plan had worked. Natah is silent, but Margulis catches a soft fascination from her.

The Archimedean’s silent vow hangs in their mind, as the gentle waves lap at their feet, as the quiet breeze brushes against their skin.

Whatever comes next, we can rely on each other.

[starrysnowdrop]

Hali Aloke

Just the Basics

B A S I C S

Name: Hali Aloke

Nicknames: Little Star (Her family’s pet name for her) and Snowdrop (Aymeric’s pet name for her)

Age: 29 as of beginning of Dawntrail

Nameday: 31st Sun of the 2nd Umbral Moon (April 29th)

Race: 3/4 Lalafell, 1/4 Hyur; Appears Dunesfolk, but has both Plainsfolk and Dunesfolk blood, along with 1/4 Midlander Hyuran ancestry

Gender: Female, Cis

Orientation: Bisexual/Biromantic, Male Leaning

Profession: Adventurer and Scion of the Seventh Dawn

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Bright, rose pink in color, straight, usually looks somewhat messy in a wide variety of hairstyles

Eyes: Large, wide, expressive seafoam green eyes that shine in the light; glass-like Dunesfolk eyes

Skin: Fair, and absolutely will burn with direct sun exposure for long periods of time

Tattoos/scars: No tattoos; For scars, just small ones here and there over the years from battle

F A M I L Y

Parents: Father is Taito Aloke, a Plainsfolk lalafell aged 50 in ARR, and Mother is Lalani Lani, a 1/2 Dunesfolk lalafell 1/2 Midlander Hyur aged 48 in ARR. Both Taito and Lalani are researchers in Labyrinthos and members of the Sharlayan Forum.

Siblings: None

Grandparents: Nanani Nani, Maternal Grandmother, a Dunesfolk lalafell aged 75 in ARR and Jovian Carraway, Maternal Grandfather, a Midlander Hyur, deceased by ARR. Nanani is a retired Gleaner living in Old Sharlayan and is a widow to Jovian, who was an Astrology Professor at the Studium.

In-laws and Other: All in-laws deceased; Hali has distant relatives in Thanalan that have no current contact with Hali’s close family

Children: None; Will have three children with Aymeric in the distant future

Pets: An alligator named Boudreaux who also serves as Hali’s mount, a crab named Beignet, and Aymeric’s black cat named BonBon.

S K I L L S

Abilities: Astromancy, Divination, Dancing, Singing, Cooking, Fishing, and Botany

Hobbies: Cooking, Fishing, Botany, Swimming, Ice Skating, Going to the Theater, Attending Balls, Dancing, Singing, Reading fairytales and adventure books, and Playing card games

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Hali is hope incarnate. No matter how grim a situation might seem, she wholeheartedly believes that things will get better. She tries to have a smile on her face and spread her positive outlook on life wherever she goes. Hali thinks that her hope is probably the only reason she’s still alive after so many years on the battlefield.

Most Negative Trait: Hali sees the best in everyone except for herself. She’s very insecure about herself, especially in terms of her appearance and her self worth. She doesn’t see that Aymeric could ever possibly love her the way that she loves him, and she doesn’t think she could ever be good enough for him. Even after they are officially together, Hali still struggles with being kind to herself.

L I K E S

Colors: Midnight Blue, Lotus Pink, Pure White, Celeste Green, and Lavender Purple

Smells: Ocean breezes, salty sea air, scent of fresh fallen rain, flowers of any kind, and musky cologne

Textures: Rain and/or snow falling on her skin, warm water, fluffy pillows, warm blankets, soft plushies, and Aymeric’s hands and/or mouth on her skin

Drinks: Strawberry Lemonade, Fruit Smoothies, Boba Tea, Pink Drink, Hot or Iced Chai, Hot Chocolate with lots of marshmallows

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Never

Drinks: Only drinks wine and certain kinds of cocktails, but tries to only drink when she’s not busy with her Scion duties the next day, as she is a lightweight and gets drunk easily.

Drugs: Never

Mount Issuance: Hali was never given a chocobo, because she said she didn’t need one! She always used a magical umbrella that allowed her to float above the ground and fly her to wherever she needed to go. Later on, Hali found her pet alligator Boudreaux on her Island Sanctuary and she rides him most of the time now.

Been Arrested: Yes, Hali was arrested for being a fugitive that snuck back into Old Sharlayan after being banished for helping to bring Sharlayan Astromancy to the Eorzeans. She was found sneaking around Labyrinthos in order to discover the secret project that her parents were hiding from the public at large.

Tagged by: @eriyu @paintedscales @elliewiltarwyn @amalthea-felsblood and @zerelth Thank you all so much for thinking of me!! I apologize for taking so long in responding! 🥰

Tagging: @meepsthemiqo @traveler-of-light @reikatsukihana @mimble-sparklepudding @faerieearthangel and anyone else who hasn’t been tagged yet that would like to fill this out! Please tag me so I can read about your OCs!! 💖

[lephamquynhnhu]

Panacea

Chapter 2: Storm before the Blushing Morn

Dan Feng x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS/ TAGS: The reader has a default name, OOC, mentioned of blood. (This is a work of fanfiction, events are not aligned or relevant to the original work)

Word count: ~2k

Summary: He met you on a drizzling day when hydrangea fully bloomed on its field. Amidst the sea of mild pastel petals, Dan Feng never thought the flowery domain that intertwined your fate was the precise thing withered with you. They said he was a dragon, a hero, a sinner, but never a person with love, hatred, sorrow, or joy like everyone else in this world. However, it was a demi-truth. He committed the cardinal sin because of you.

Note: Do you like...pain?

He revisited on a sprinkle day, his signature ambergris aroma mixed with the freshness of humid forest note. You did not know why, but the High Elder seemed to be into rainy days because every time he came, water definitely showered outside. It has been weeks since you met him for the first time, and thanks to the frequency of his visits, you learn that the nonchalant Imbibitor Lunae gradually displays the other side. Although Dan Feng never clearly shows his emotion, you can tell his mood through the draconic tail. When he feels happy, his tail swings side to side and stands still as its owner is interested in or concentrates on whatever your information. In addition to your surprise, he sometimes even punchlines on your venting stories.  

Under the Mulan's foliage, you slowly gaze at the kaleidoscope sky after rain. A mid-summer breeze that carries the scent of white flowers softly blows through, driving the ripples to gleam on the water's surface. 

Immersing in your haze, you forget what was going to do until the Long Scion gives out his curiousness about the bush of Datura Metel in a corner garden. 

"I have studied an organic pesticide which extracts from their active agents." - The elegant smell of lotus still glistens in the morning dew perfumes in your lungs when nudging into them. Suddenly, you shove the flower cart into his arms and tell him to wait for you at a nearby wooden bench. Dan Feng thinks eternal Spring never leaves this sunlit Shangri-La as he wipes the Mulan's petals out of the seat because the flora seems to blossom in four seasons. 

While idly watching Koi fish under silky leafages, the High Elder does not notice you snicker behind. A forgotten raindrop stagnates on the lotus leaf trail like a lost pearl, arousing the quiet pond like his emerald orbs rising in astonishment. Amid the multi-colored palette, Dan Feng finds your smile is the most gorgeous flower when you abruptly pop up with a posy of Emperical Peony. The beam you flashed him still lingering in his mind as Dan Feng reluctantly takes the gift. Your hands lightly brush together via the exchange, reminding him of the existence of those black gloves since he has not seen you take them off once. Nevertheless, he lets it pass and dances his slender finger around the ombre corolla instead.  

"Thank you, Yi Ting." - Imbibitor Lunae softly mutters under his breath, and as the lost ray shines through frost winter, a faint smile stretches on his usually glacial face. 

On that day in the summer season, Dan Feng realizes that he does not return to your place because of its spectacular. He wants to revisit the Shangri-La because he likes spending time with you.

On an Autumn afternoon painted in a burnt orange hue and wafting with a ripe persimmon scent, you are leisurely proceeding to the Dan Feng's residence while absentmindedly grazing a bunch of white chrysanthemums in hand. Looking at the High Elder Statue at the Dragonvista Rain Hall, your mind winds up reminiscing about the previous conversation.

"Yes?" - Transfering your focus toward his position, you represented the confusion as if hearing him wrong. The quiet Long Scion might befriend you and be your custom guest, but it was an extraordinary phenomenon since Dan Feng has not asked you to deliver flowers to his estate before. He patiently repeated the order while reading his scroll in one hand, and the other halfway was lifting the teacup with expressionless features. Looking at his relaxing manner, you unknowingly realize this house became Imbibitor Lunae's office. 

When immersing thought in the past, you are suddenly pulled back to the present by a low thud of a light collision with a follow-up painful cry. Tears are bubbling in the Vidyadhara child's doe eyes as she feels the pain. You swiftly support her to stand up and inspect the body while trying to comfort the child, which results in two news in this situation. A good one is a scratch, and the bad is her cry getting louder even though you used up all your tricks. 

"Pain, Pain goes away!" - You singsong to conjure an apple lollipop appearing in hand, and tears stop falling as she eyes your apologetic smile with compensation. When you clean the last drop of trail wet on her chubby cheekbones and apologize with head patting, other Vidyadhara children circle you to admire the little show. A defeated sigh escapes your breath as you look at their twinkle glims and secretly count the remaining candy's quantity. Unfortunately, in addition to your trouble, with an invitation from a brunette-haired boy, the group of children tugs your sleeves to play blind man's buff with their puppy eyes. 

"Alright, but I won't be lenient." - You confidently state when settling the bouquet on a stone bench. And you keep your line.

Once darkness invades the vision, you start to track down the children. By listening to their footsteps and sensing the airflow, you catch all of them except Ma Tian, the boy with sheen eyes who cleverly outclasses your skill. Finally, thanks to your florist's exceptional technique, you discreetly declare the endgame while detecting his fabric detergent in the wind's stream. 

"Catch ya, little brat!" - You happily exclaim your victory when circling your arms around Ma Tian's figure. However, you immediately realize something is wrong as a familiar ambergris cologne lingers on your nose, and you are hugging a lean body. Hurriedly removing the blindfold, you see Dan Feng mimic your shocked expression while Ma Tian lolls out his head behind the Long Scion. 

"How long do you intend to embrace me?" - The High Elder clears his throat with a light reprimand nuance laces in but does not seem annoyed. If there is anything you would admire about Imbibitor Lunae besides his glorious feats, the quick recovery from an embarrassing situation is one of them. As soon as you two detach, Dan Feng grabs the bouquet and leads you out of the Scalegorge Waterscape, leaving the cheerful goodbyes of those children behind. You do not understand why Dan Feng is rushing in his strides until you see a pink tint on his tip ears. 

When the sunset light turns golden on the greenery beneath, which gets everything basked in the look of burnished copper, you two arrive at the military memorial area where illustrious warriors rest in peace. Passing through hundreds of black marble graves glides their name, Dan Feng unravels your holding hands as he crunches down to place the chrysanthemum bouquet in front of a stone-carved Bai Heng. 

You know that name. She was once a High-Cloud quintet member and a gifted pilot who sacrificed in the third Denizen of Abundance. People say Imbibitor Lunae is never a person with love, hatred, sorrow, or joy like everyone else in this world, but now you can shout out they are all wrong because of the unfathomable somber besieges in his orbs.

"Life is so short when it comes to mortal organisms'' - He mouths in a calm and unwavering tone after a long silence - "No matter what you do, they definitely die." With his back turned to you, it is challenging to figure out its meaning, yet you can degust a longing taste entangled in that clause. Forgotten fragments of sunlight slowly die on your heels while trekking to the way out, and the crescent vaguely takes place in the saturated navy sky. Although the High Elder rarely shared his thoughts with someone else, you hardly agree with this viewpoint.

 "Even if it is short-lived, even if fate sometimes turns tragic, limited longevity creates the beauty of lives and valuableness because we learn to cherish life, and not all farewells are regretful. Sometimes, death is also an extrication, and I believe we will rendezvous on another horizon." 

Dan Feng follows your graze to the glitter crepuscule, causing the mellow ray to cradle his features. - "Someday, you also turn into ashes?" - A sliver of bitterness in the question soon morphed into those cyan irises as you confirmed with your bright smile. When the two of you pass through the gate, Imbibitor Lunae abruptly informs you of his next arrival with special requests that combine with osmanthus cake and jasmine tea. It is the first time he proactively reserves in advance because Dan Feng neither notices his attendance nor does he appear on sunny days.  

"Do I have to wait for the rain to meet you?" - Only one sentence, it has changed your relationship ever since. You guess that might be the way he expresses his feelings. 

In a dream, I see myself in my childhood state with a bouquet of blue hydrangeas. Strolling by the seashore, the shells confound in golden sand rustles underneath my bare feet as I search for someone. End then, an abnormal bloodred butterfly hovers around to lead me toward that person; we have passed zillions of landscapes and territories, from glacial rivers where white snow permanently coats mounts to the vast rug crafted by countless vivid blossoms. From the nameless barren deserts with magnificent starry nights crown aloft to the rich prairie possesses coast breezes. I keep going, going.

"Hydrangeas is the soulmate of rains." A distant voice echoes from those feeble wings in the entire journey. It feels like Amber Periods have flown until we reach a field with full-bloom hydrangeas that unfold our presence. Suddenly, my companion disappears into thin air, and I notice a nostalgic glimpse waving his hand from afar as if he has been waiting for me for an astronomical long time. 

"You got my wish fulfilled... Thank you, my comrade." - The boy says in a gentle demeanor. His blue eyes shine brighter than any stars I have ever known, and he also disappears like the bloodred butterfly. His silhouette dissipates into thousands of flower petals as he flashes a warm smile toward me. 

"Wait, H...H..." - A tsunami of impuissant waves brews into my heart when I try to call his name, but none of the syllables come out, and tears continuously cascade from my eyes while I witness the lost world fading.

You wake up from a soothing noise of hot steam oozing out of your old kettle and forget the dream cleanly. "You had a fever." - A low tone voice diagnoses as soon as Dan Feng senses your consciousness. Slightly lifting the heavy eyelids, you see him situating beside your headboard with a botanical book in hand. The glorious sun is far high hanging in the sky to pour its honeyed light through your window, which informs you to oversleep impliedly. You do not notice tears rolling down until the Long Scion points out in skimming your complexion and uses his thumb to caress the trail wetness. Sensing no engagement in conversation, Dan Feng shifts his hand to cover your eyesight and tenderly leans forward.

You only feel a pillowy touch on your forehead afterward. 

"Please do not leave the bed today, and take the medicine on time because this is a prescription from the High Elder." - He faux-orders when rendering your vision. Astoundedly grazing the lingering sensation, you did not know that Imbibitor Lunae has a bizarre way of assessing the temperature. 

Winter at Shangri-La never experiences snow, yet it takes some seasonal features such as the gloomy weather all day with northeast wind seething through every direction. Inspecting the murky clouded skyward, you tug the scarf closer when your breaths dimly turn into silver smoke. As soon as you attempt to lift the white lily cart, a hot stream of fluid smelling like rusty iron runs down your chin, which the soil absorbs its falling drops. When you bring your hand to clean the water, it takes a moment to process it is blood. Your irises squeeze as you dumbfoundedly stare at the ivory gloves tainted with the crimson hue. Just as you intend to step forward, the surrounding spins around as though Earth and Heaven are twitching position, and you kneel only to cough out blood that permeates the fabric. The pollen sparkles in the ether after the collapse, and the shivering lily's petals in chilly winds are the last things in your blurring vision.

[krishna-sangini]

The Sakha

You are walking in a grass meadow. You are on a trip to Vrindavan with your family, but your smart-ass self decided to trail off a bit and got lost. You are, thus, walking in a grass meadow now with the fact that today is your last day in the adobe of the Makhan Chor. You are lost, alone, and with no cell phone network, but you aren’t scared. You keep wandering, looking for a house to get help. Before you know it, the sun is at the horizon. This is when you start panicking as it sets in that you are ­alone with no cell phone service.

You start hearing an unfamiliar yet homely tune out of the blue. It is that of a flute. Your tensed muscles immediately relax and you feel the distress draining out of your body. Like in a trance, you begin following the melody hoping to find its source. Your legs carry you to a huge kadamba tree; its trunk is dark and gigantic, and its branches are sleek, swaying in the cool breeze as if welcoming you home. The flute tune is coming from behind the tree. You go around it slowly, not knowing what to expect.

“Keshav! I really need you to come see me now. Please, come visit me just once. Come visit me in the roop that you showed your sakhis. You asked me to come to see you at your home; I came. Look, Keshav! I’m right here. I came as promised. Now it’s your turn to keep your promise. Come see me, Keshav. Please…”

The words that you uttered in front of the Krishna murti in Prem Mandir echo in your mind. Just then, as you go around the tree to the other side, you see a boy sitting under it. He seems a couple of years older than you; dark-skinned, draped in yellow garments, adorned with golden armlets and a pearl necklace which you are shocked to see, and a peacock feather in His yellow headband. His lotus-like feet are decorated with alta and His lips rest on a magnificent flute. As He blows into the instrument, the enchanting music embraces you soothingly. Your eyes well up as you clutch your dupatta over your heart. You aren’t the least bit curious about how your pair of black jeans and oversized hoodie transformed into an elegant peacock blue lehenga. You don’t know when you raised your hands and twirled with the tunes of the flute. You have no idea when you started dancing with the kadamba tree's branches to the flute's tunes.

Your senses return to you when the flute melody fades away. You abruptly stop dancing, looking around with a baffled expression. Your eyes fall on the beautiful flute boy staring at you with adoring eyes. You feel your cheeks burning as you bring down your hands and start playing with your fingers nervously with an embarrassed smile. "You dance really well, sakhi!" He says as He tucks his flute into His waistband. His deep soothing voice causes your dammed tears to spill out of your eyes as your legs start shaking. It is then that it struck you. ‘No, it can’t be. He is probably just a cosplayer. I hope he isn’t though…’ You say to yourself as you wipe your tears hastily. “Well, is that who you think I am?” says the boy again, chuckling as He stretches His arms and gets up, “Too bad; guess I haven’t charmed you enough.”

You stand rooted to your spot. You look at your hands grabbing your lehenga. You look at your sparkling blue bangles which you definitely didn’t put on. You look at the jingling anklets adorning your feet which you definitely didn’t buy. Your words from Prem Mandir echo in your mind once again. Your eyes widen as you look into the boy’s eyes.

“Keshav…” you mutter, tears pooling in your eyes yet again as your legs give out. But you didn’t crash onto the hard ground; a pair of strong arms caught you gently. You open your eyes to see Him staring at you with the same doting eyes. “Kanha…” you whisper once again as you raise your hand to touch His face, to make sure you aren’t dreaming. He is real, He is right there; your fingers brush against His tender skin as His smile grows wider.

“Yes, sakhi. It’s me. You called for me. You asked me to come see you and I came. I’m finally here, sakhi,” He says, carrying you to the kadamba tree and propping you up against its trunk. He then settles beside you.   You’re still in disbelief, but a sudden wave of euphoria washes over you as you let out a cry and fall at His feet. You are now a crying mess, wiping your tears hastily with one hand and resting your other hand on His lotus-like feet. In between your sobs, you manage to mutter, “Keshav… You really came… Thank you… Thank you, my Lord!”

He smiles a genuine and divine smile. Then, with one hand He takes yours from His feet, and with the other hand, He gently lifts your chin to make you look at Him. He then wipes your tears and says, “No, sakhi. Don’t cry. Don’t cry for me. I don’t want any of my sakhis to cry for me anymore. I’ve already done enough.”

A hint of sadness crosses his face, but He quickly regains composure and looks at you with those same fond eyes. Your eyes well up yet again as you stare into His deep brown orbs with a smile. You then lower your head with a chuckle as you blink away the tears. You look up again at Him and then shift your gaze to your intertwined hands. He follows your gaze and tightens His grip on your hand as He pulls you closer to Him. “Sakhi?” called your Keshav. “Yes, Keshav?” you reply.

"Uh-huh. Call me sakha. Just the way you love it when I call you ‘sakhi’, I too love it when you call me ‘sakha’.” You hesitate. Yes, you did call Him ‘sakha’ sometimes while talking to His charming idol back in your room every single day. But here He is for real now. You are afraid that you’ll sin for thinking of yourself to be able enough to make Him your sakha, your friend. “He is the supreme God, Baanhi, not your friend. You can’t talk to Him like that.”

Your mother’s disapproving words flash in your mind as fear starts consuming you. You attempt to withdraw your hand from His grasp but He tightens His grip further while laughing. “Arrey, sakhi!” He says as He puts your hand over His heart, “Do you feel it? Do you feel my heart beating?” You relax as you feel the vibrations from His heart rejuvenating your body. “Yes, Keshav. I do,” you reply, leaning slightly on the tree trunk. The Manmohan then takes your other hand and places it over your heart.

“Now, can you feel your heart beating?” He questions, the loving smile never leaving His face. You close your eyes for a moment as you think “For you and because of you…” “Yes, Keshav,” you say aloud. He chuckles before saying, “Aww, you’re distracting me with your sweet words, sakhi!” You lower your gaze and blush knowing very well that He’s listening to all your thoughts. “Now,” He starts again, “do you feel our heart beating?”

You do. Your heartbeat seems to merge into His; both your hearts beat as one. “Yes, sakhi. Our hearts beat as one. I am you. You are me. Your maiyaa is right to some extent. I am the Almighty, yes. But I am also your friend, your sakha,” said the Giridhar as He took both your hands in His and turned to face you, causing you to face Him as well.

“Call me, sakhi,” He says, gazing deep into your eyes.

“Keshav?” you say, sounding uncertain. He tsk-tsked and says “Nooo! What did I ask you to call me earlier?”

You hesitate again for a moment, but you say it this time, "Sakha..."

He closes His eyes and lets out a sigh. A smile of contentment spreads on His lips. He lets go of your right hand and turns to lean on the tree’s huge trunk, His hand still holding your other one. You too lean on the tree trunk. Your mind is at peace; the only thought filled in there is of the Natnaagar sitting beside you. “Why do you love me so much, sakhi?” asked your sakha, turning His head to look at you. No words leave your mouth as you try to figure out the answer to His question. You just look at His charming face as thoughts start clouding your mind.

Why do you love Him, again? You don’t even know it yourself. You just love Him. You never needed a reason to love Him or never found a reason to not love Him. So, you just loved Him. You love Him for His divinity, His charisma, His supremacy, and His valor. You love Him for His love, His affection, His smile, and His laughter. You also love Him for His naughtiness, His childish self, His carefreeness, and His innocent love. You can’t point out a single reason for loving Him, and can’t mention all of them too. You look away, unable to find a particular answer to the question posed by your Keshav.

After a while, you sense His gaze on you. So you turn to your left only to find Him staring at you with innocent overwhelmed eyes. You feel tears pooling in your eyes; His eyes glaze over too.

“I don’t deserve this, sakhi… I don’t deserve all this love. Not after what I did to them… Not after how I left them-” His words are cut short as you put your free hand over His lips. His eyes widen a bit from your sudden action as you say, “Don’t you dare, Keshav... Don’t. You. Dare speak like that about my sakha.”

He gently takes your hand from over His lips revealing a sad smile. He then looks into your eyes as He says, “You don’t know me, sakhi. No one does…”

“Well, I know you enough. Enough to know that you pained yourself a lot more for hurting your sakhis. You tortured yourself every single day while showing your mohak smile to the world. You could’ve said one last goodbye, but you didn’t. And I know you enough to know that it must’ve freaking hurt. You hurt yourself knowingly. I’m a mere human so I don’t want to know the reason behind this; it must have been for the greater good which I will never be able to comprehend. But you hurt them, Keshav! You hurt yourself!” Your words fade into silent sobs as you free both your hands from His grasp. You turn away, your back to Him, as you clutch your knees close to your chest and rest your head on them while crying silently.

“You’re so mean, Keshav… So mean… I hate you for that… I hate you for hurting yourself… So mean…” you mutter in between your sobs.

A few moments pass by in silence. You hear sniffles behind you before feeling a pair of arms turning you to face your back to the tree trunk again. You feel Him removing your knees from the grasp of your hands and setting your feet straight out in front of you. You quickly wipe your tears with your hands and look straight, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Are you mad at me, sakhi?” He asks, attempting to take your hand in His. You let Him but still don't look at Him. He intertwines His fingers with yours and squeezes your hand softly.

“Take a guess,” you say, squeezing back His hand and leaning your head on His shoulder. He smiles and rests His head on top of yours. “Yes, very much. You’re burning with rage now. I could turn to ashes because of that heat!” He says with a dramatic gasp. Both of you burst into laughter. Your sakha takes His peacock feather from His headband and puts it on your palm. You look at Him with questioning eyes.

“Consider this a return gift, sakhi. For these,” He says, pointing at His pearl necklace. That is the one that you offered to His murti in Prem Mandir. “Are we trading here?” you say with mock anger. “Arrey baba, okay. Keep it as a token of my love,” He says with a chuckle. “Now that is better,” you smile, taking the elegant feather to your lips and kissing it. His smile grows wider at your action.

“Keshav?” you call. “Hmm?” comes his reply. “Promise that you’ll never leave me…’’ you say, tightening your grip on His hand. He does the same before saying, “Sakhi, I’ve never left you, nor do I ever intend to do so.” You sigh as your body relaxes. All of this feels like a dream, too beautiful to be true. “This isn’t a dream, sakhi!” said Shyam with mock anger. Even if this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up; you would rather dream all your life. You don’t want this moment to end; you want to live in it forever. “That’s not possible, priye. What has started is bound to have an end someday,” the Murari beside you says as He, out of the blue, gently pulls you into a hug.

You are suddenly drowned by a mammoth wave of supreme bliss. Tears flood your eyes, every single worry leaves your mind, and you feel like the happiest person in the world. You wrap your arms tightly around His muscular frame, crying into His chest. He gently strokes your hair, not minding the tiniest bit about your tears drenching His pitamber.

“I love you, sakha…” you whisper, still not letting go. “I love you more, sakhi,” He replies, tightening His arms around you. “No, you don’t!” You exclaim, breaking the hug abruptly. Your unexpected action causes the Banwari to flinch.

“I’ll always love you more than you love me. You are omnipresent, omnipotent, and the omniscient Parmatma, yes. But I’m your sakhi. So, you can never love me more than I love you, okay?” You say, ending your words with a chuckle. “You are so unpredictable, priye,” says your Kanha, laughing as He puts his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to Him.

Suddenly, you hear a distant familiar voice calling you, “Baanhi! Aye Baanhi!” You furrow your eyebrows as you jerk your head to look at your Madhav. “What is this, Keshav?” you question, beginning to panic. The Manohar gives you a sad smile as He speaks, “It’s time to part for now, sakhi.” Your eyes widen at His words as you grab His hand, “N-no, Keshav! You can’t leave me yet! You promised you would never leave me! We just met! We haven’t even talked properly yet! You can’t leave me, Keshav!”

Tears run down your cheeks for the umpteenth time as you grab His other hand too and look into His desolate yet charming eyes. “It’s not like we’re never meeting again, sakhi. I’ll see you soon again, I promise. Very soon…” He says, His eyes on the peacock feather lying on your lap. “Baanhi beti, wake up!” You hear the voice getting louder.

“NO!” You scream. Your eyes peel open as you sit up with a start. You are in your room, lying on your bed in the same peacock blue lehenga that you had gotten hand-stitched from a cloth piece that had mysteriously landed on your doorstep labelled as ‘A special something for Baanhi’. It wasn’t suspicious when the package arrived; your family has been celebrating your CUET result for a fortnight now. So, naturally, you had thought that the package was a gift from one of your relatives. Back in the present, your mother is beside your bed, looking at you with worried eyes as she speaks, “What’s the matter, beti? You fell asleep a few moments after putting on your new lehenga. Did you have a nightmare?”

You regain your senses. Your face is tear-stricken, and your eyes are red. You recall everything that had happened to you in the past moments.

Tears pool in your eyes again as you reply to your mother, “No, mama. It was the opposite. I had a really beautiful dream. Now can you please move out of the room so I can change out of this?”

Your mother patted your head and exited your room. You finally set free those tears of frustration as you let out a bitter laugh, saying, “That liar! So this was a dream, after all. Huh! What was I even expecting?”

You wipe your tears with annoyance before getting out of bed. Suddenly, you feel something brush against your feet. You look down to see a peacock feather lying on the floor. Your heart skips a beat as you freeze on your spot.

It’s the same one… But you aren’t ready to listen to yourself. Not after what happened. So, you pick it up and rush out of your room to your mother. “Mama!” you call. “Yeees?” comes your mother’s reply from the living room couch. “Did you keep this peacock feather on my bed?” you ask urgently, showing her the feather. “Umm… no? I don’t remember doing that...” says your mom after examining the feather.  

Your mind goes blank for a second, and the next moment, it’s filled with unprecedented joy. You don’t care if you’re hallucinating or just being delusional; your sakha actually visited you!

“Also, Baanhi, I have really good news,” says your mother with a playful tone. “What is that?” you ask, unable to stop smiling. “We’re going to Vrindavan!!!” exclaims your mother, sitting straight on the couch. Your eyes widen, and your heart starts beating faster. A gasp leaves your mouth as you cover it with both your hands. Your eyes glaze over as you run into your mother’s arms. “Thank you, mama! Thank you so very much!” You cry, hugging her tighter. Your mother simply smiles, stroking your hair.

“See you again in a little while, sakha…”