#first fur braid ties

[drystem]

furs are here!!!

(he/him)

[ratigan-in-the-wall]

The identical twins Zinc (left) and Axel (right) and their little sister Elise (middle)! Link to the Picrew I used under the read-more :)

The twins are 100% true lycanthropes of the Red Werefox variety and they were born with partial melanism leaving them with black hair/fur instead of red. The two of them bleach and dye their hair completely in human form due to insecurities regarding how much they stood out in a family full of gingers.

Elise, who is around 80% human , is a dud lycanthrope of the Red Werefox variety and she was born with albinism and she regularly dyes her bangs a lavender/lilac color just for the fun of it. She still displays some outwardly non-human features stemming from what little lycanthropy DNA she carries passively.

[k0k0-library]

MDNI: Your love? Our love, comrade!

Pairing: Il Capitano x F!reader Fandom: Genshin Impact Rating: 18+ Warnings: mature, smut, death, death mentions, corruption kink? or just corruption, power abuse, mentioned necrophilia if you squint your eyes real tight and tilt your head, free use, somnophilia

You are the traveller by the way. And I don't know how to write

Snezhnaya is a frigid and unwelcoming region. Snowstorm after snowstorm, frozen rain after frozen rain... and the enemies you encounter... are far more powerful than anything you faught before. The iced mitachurls from Dragon Spine seem like children or babies in comparison. You missed them, they were easy to overcome. Even the infuriating Capybara Boss from Natlan that could one-shot you was better than Il Capitano. The first of the Fatui Harbingers, the strongest man in the whole of Teyvat, him who destroyed his vision and faught the god of skill for days until he achieved victory was nothing weak. Not in the slightest.

"You were supposed to be so much more powerful, traveller. Such a pitty, really. I was looking forward to fight with you after that stunt you pulled with Mavuika..." The taller man's voice echoed in the icy abis of the forest clearing. The frozen, forest clearing mind you. The ground was slippery and it made you loose balance, whereas he was in his natural habitat. He was used to fighting in the snow. Your trusty companion rushed to your aid.

"But I am no brute, my dear. You are terribly hurt already, rest. If you do not have a place to shelter from the snow, you and Paimon are welcomed to join me at my platoon's main courts."

Was he genuinely being nice, or was this a Fatui Trap-

"We have food there" You weren't even hungry before he mentioned food, but your stomach slightly grumbled. You heard an even louder sound of need. "We are in!" You heard Paimon say rapidly, as she flew closer to the Captain. Sometimes, it was a wonder how she survived until now, so trusting of anyone who offered good food and shelter, a story and companionship... but again, she stuck with you longer than with anyone else. She even gave up food for you, but I digress.

"It seems your friend has made the decision for you. Come, my horse is tied not far from here." Capitano started to walk down a snowy path, his previous footprints still slightly visible. You walked behind him, with Paimon. You slightly nudged the small fairy and whispered in her ear.

"Do you really think we can trust him?" "Stop worrying! Paimon remembers he was very caring with us when we were in Natlan!"

Well she wasn't wrong per se. The first Fatui Harbinger was a cold and calculated man that most time let his blade do the talking; but he was a gentle soul, a true knight that held respect and care for even the tiniest beings in Teyvat. He had honour, that is why he did not let you continue fighting him when he realised you challanged him while still being injured from a snowed-korvin... one of the most brutal enemies in Snezhnaya.

"Paimon, I have a bad feeling about this..." "Paimon will watch him very closely and protect you from the big bad harbinger!"

She emphasised this by flexing her arms through her coat. The captain let out a huff of a chuckle, knowing full well about Paimon's pride without even glancing at her. "Ah, it is most admirable of you, tiny one. But I promise I will behave around your friend." Capitano said as the image of a huge Lavian Horse came in closer.

The Lavian was a horse type specially bread to withstand cold. They were big, emanating heat through their stone-like skin. They had little fur, mostly around their glossy black hoves. Theis blood was like lava, the veins visible from the cracks in the skin. Their manes often composed of fine and long hairs.

Capitano's horse was a particularly warm one, very warm. And its maine and tail were braided short to be easier to move in the snow. "My Kan is very skiddish, try not to move too quickly around him." A scardy horse belonging to such a mean, big-bad Fatui? This was not something you see everyday. But, nevertheless you listened to him and waited patienlty for him to untie Kan, as he called the horse. Capitano got on, helped you up in front of him and Paimon rested in one of the bags wrapped to the saddle, falling asleep almost instantly.

"Your companion seems very tired" You said nothing as he urged the mount to start its slow walk to the camp. "Not much of a talker with me? You can trust me, I do not bite pretty women such as yourself" You cringed a little at his statement. If it weren't for your leg injury, you would've faught and maybe won. Hopefully won... ok no, you would've lost like a child when fighting a tiger.

Your toughts were cut short as one of his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in closer to not fall. "Steady, traveler. The last thing you need is to faceplant in the snow. I don't want you sick on top of being injured. A korvin slashed your leg, as I can tell."

You wanted to pull away from his grasp and take Paimon and leave, but you couldn't. You couldn't fight him off, even when he had an arm lightly wrapped around you. You just realised how strong this man really was. "Yes. I hate them, the korvins"

"Hm... likewise. I once encountered a wild korvin in my youth. I still have the scar, I believe." "Can I see it?"

What were you thinking, asking him to see his scar like that? It was very unusual, he was your enemy. More than a rival, more than a bad guy, more than someone standing in your way to finding your brother. You felt a weird warmth in your stomach as his hand traveled lower and lifted your short coat slightly. "You are going to he ok, I don't sense any poisoning. Meaning it was a raised korvin, not a wild one." Fuck, those big, rough, warm hands of his. They made you think things that you never thought about. Not even with Childe in his Foul Legacy form.

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

You woke up as he nudged you. You had arrived at the camp, but it was very quiet. Too quiet. Where were the others- wait... When did you even fall asleep in his arms? It must've been somewhere around the middle of the journey. You were tired and cold, and in need of so much sleep and rest. "Easy, traveller. You had a bad dream..." He got off Kan and tied him by the stable, then gently scooped you up and held you in his arms close to him for a moment. Like a child.

"Stay close, and do not wonder off in the camp too much. My men must be in a miscellenious arrand for the Tssaritsa at the moment."

He was so gentle while setting you down. His gestures and care made you blush in ways you never thought a man can make you feel. Capitano thengently took Paimon out of the bag. "You too, tiny one. Wake up" He nudged her cheek with his finger but she was snoring deeply. You took her in your arms. "Paimon sleeps like a log, I'll take her"

The First Fatui Harbinger nodded slightly before taking you to his den. It was big enough to fit a makeshift bedding made of an ample collection of soft, feathery pillow and heavy, warm blankets; a chest that kept archon knows what and a small table. "You will be bedded here, both you and Paimon, as you call the little fae. Now as for your wound..." His voice trailed as he moved to the chest and pulled out an oinment and some bandages.

Was he... offering to patch you up for real? No ill intention, no nothing- "Do put Paimon down and lay too. It will be easier for me to tend to your leg. And please... never challange korvins again. They are horrible."

Carring, considerate, concerned. He was actually a nice person. Capitano moved with care in lifting your leg warmer further up ypur thigh, his gloved hands so big and rough in contrast with the way he trailed them. You were staring at this man's hands, like the weirdo you were. He took the gloves off for only a moment to put the oinment on your wound and you saw something peculliar. His skin was darck and ashy, almost black with sploches of fair tones to it and his veins glowing blue.

You saw this before... On Deinslief. His skin was decaying just the same. No... even more. He seemed to be in a more advanced state than Dein, but he did not complain of tiredness or pain like the blone did sometimes. "You need not concern yourself. The rotting of my flesh ceased at some point and it is not contagious, like many believed."

"It's not that-" "Then?" "Why are you helping me...?

Capitano dagged the soothing cream on your wound as he sighed. "You entered battle already wounded and I fear that I cannot fight you wounded. It would be shameful and ungracious of a knight to fight a wounded lady" He tightlighy wrapped your leg with bandages before putting your leg warmer back in place. So he really was just that obsessed aver rightfulness that he would help his adversary? Why was it kinda hot-

"Thank you..." "No need, cara mia"

Paimon finally woke up as Capitano put his gloves back on, grogily and hungry. Your companion noticed you were taken care of and relluctantly thanked the harbinger as well. The two of you were left alone in the den as he went to patrol around the are and see if his men were near. After all, he needed to tell them about your presence beforehand. This way, he will avoid future conflicts, whishfully.

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

Late at night, around a huge bonefire, everyone stood in a circle. Capitano and his small platoon, you Paimon. The fire warmed your heart and danced high in the nightsky. Your eyes were hurting each time you bore into the heat for too long, making you blink long and slow. Capitano noticed and one of his hands gently tipped your head to lean on his side, thinking you were just too tired to wait for the stew to be ready.

In the short distance you heard Paimon talking to the on-duty cook, telling him about the different foods she tried until now, drawing more attention to herself from the gourmands in the team. "You can rest, cara mia. I will wake you when they are finished." You wanted to protest and tell him you were not tired. What the hell, you were no child! You were a very big and independed woman, thank you very much.

Yet you couldn't deny that the fur of his coat was extremely cozy and warm... Or was it his body that was so warm? Maybe not. After all a decaying body should be cold and frigid like the Abyss Monsters and not warm and inviting. Maybe the pile of blankets was not only to keep warm at night, but to keep warm to his heart because he was slowly dying... The thought made you shudder. Seeing you, Capitano's hand moved to caress the small of your back.

"Cold, traveller?" "A little bit... But when I think how cold you must feel, it makes me feel better"

Ah, that didn't sound quite right. That sounded rude. Did he think you're rude? Did you- Your thoughts ware interrupted by a deep, rumbling chuckle of his " You are hillarious, little girl. I don't know what world you come from, but you and your friend do know how to lighten the mood. And for your concern," He leaned closer to your ear "I am not so dead as people might think I am"

You blushed, you didn't know why. Certainly what the first harbinger said was not blush worthy, yet you still did it. Of course, you blamed it on the heat of the fire as soon as he inquier you about it. You were an odd pair, but you did look cute together in situations like this.

The food was finally ready and everyone got a healthy portion of stew with sweet buns on the side, "How can such a tiny fary eat so much?!" You heard some of the poeple say and mutter as they watch Paimon eat her second helping. The cook was just happy to see someone so eager to eat his food and like it so much. And it was Paimon, a very well known picky eater. If his food were to her standards, then he could die happy right now.

After dinner everyone was retrieting to their dens. "Aren't you going to sleep?" You asked Capitano, confused to why he was not coming to the den.

"You go before me. I want to make sure the fire did not attract any wolven giants or other mutts. The Snezhnayan frozen forests are not for the weak, cara mia."

You had to admire his dedication to keeping everyone safe. He was a good captain- no... he was a wonderful man. you slowly went to the den, looking back at him every now as then, your heart skipping abeat whenever you saw his dark silouhette in the glow of the moon. He was beautiful, he was kind to you and Paimon. Deep down, you wanted to hurt yoursself again only to prelong this period of peace and care in your life and postpone your battle with him.

As the night got darker and darker, a snow storm started. You were growing anxious as he did not come back yet. You glanced around the den just to make sure: only Paimon fast asleep and wrapped in a fuzzy blanket like a burrito. You helped her with her 'anti snezhnaya cocoon'. You wanted to laugh really, she was such a pure and fun person... but you were too concerned. What if he's cold, what if something got to him. Just when you made up your mind to leave, he entered the den, snow falling from his coat, helmet and boots.

"I saw the light from outside" he wispered "you did not had to wait for me, you need rest" "I cannot sleep if you are not here, Capitano"

You could swear he was smiling under his helmet. He took off his coat and boots sitting next to you. Almost imediately, you wanted to jump in his arms and feel him closer, cuddle with him. But you didn't want to yet. "Just go to sleep, Y/N. I am not tired yet-" You cut him off, tilting your head enough to allow you to kiss him with his helmet still on. Capitano held your waist tightly with his big hands, holding you closer to him.

"What a good little girl I have...." He muttered as he pulled away. "But I am serious. Go to sleep..."

His voice was always so deep and calm, like a distant rumble in his chest. He was just so- "If you listen to me, I will give you what you want"

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

The morning was a particularly cold one. Paimon woke up first and womdered around the cook to pester him some more, as Capitano waited in the den for you to wake up. Thankfully, he did not had any missions or tasks today, so he could lose it with you. But was it really considered lost time if he loved it? If he loved you? But his patience was not endless, you know? And you looked so beautiful while sleeping, your skin soft and warm under his touch - he needed you. now, right now.

Capitano moved to the enterance of the den, secuting it closed so no one from the outside could open it, say Paimon. Lat thing he needed was that bubbly fae seeing what he will do to you. He gently took off the covers from you, seeing you shivver in your sleep. The den was warm enough, but the overheat that you created by hiding under all those blankets made you accustomed to heat.

"Cara mia... my little treasure you have no idea what you do to me... You make me feral!" He growled lowly, his gloved hand moving to the hem of your pants and slowly pulling them off, making sure you didn't woke up just yet. "So precious, so clueless. You fell in my hands like a little bunny."

He massaged your thighs for a bit, just taking in your body, like he was savouring a rare wine rather than touching the person he loved. He wanted to take his time and make sure he got your body memorised. He wanted to know what made you click, what made you, you. "I will take care of you, I will protect you and I will breed you, my little bunny" He hungrily ripped your panties off you, noticing that even in your sleep you were wet.

Were you such a slut that you had wet dreams about him just as he was touching you? Tsk, tsk, we can't have that. We can't leave out sweet girl alone and frustrated in her sleep now, can we? The harbinger leaned closer to you and looked at the nape of your neck. He didn't dare to mark you just yet, he can't ruin that perfectly soft skin of yours, not without permission from you. One of his gloved hands moved between your legs and settled right on your heated core.

What a hypocrite he was... But he already knew you wanted him, so his sins were going to be forgiven. His thumb roughly pressed against your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. Capitano made you gasp and wake up this way, your spidered view taking in the image before you in haze. "Hush, my love. You just close your eyes and let me take care of you"

He continued to work his way around your clit for a while before prodding your vagina with the pad of his finger. You couldn't, or better said, didn't want to do more than lay there and moan softly as he finally pushed a finger in. Capitano started to finger you softly at first, like it was your first time being touched like this by a man. And even if it wasn't he wanted to make you remember him as being better than anyone else, more caring, more loving of you.

"P-Please, I need you~" "Patience, my little one. I still need to stretch you out-" "Don't care! Need you...." You muttered as you cut him off. So rude, but he couldn't really blame you. He did have an efect on people.

He finally listened to your requests and you saw the harbinger shift his weight off you for a little bit. You were still so tired, your eyelids felt so heavy as you fluttered your eyelashed a bit. You closed your eyes for only a second, you swore! But you quickly opened them and claws at his back as he pushed in you.

He wasn't lying, he was big. Capitano's patience was already thin from waitin gfor you to wake up but he knew better than to start now. His dick touched you in all the right places. You whimpered and moaned for him to move. "Anything my little girl wants~" He growled in your ear and began to slowly pull his hips back and press them against your roughly again.

A hand was on your hip, sqeezing it tightly to emphasize his power over you, as his other arm lightly caressed your hceeck. His eyes bored into your soul, staring down into your core as he continued to make love to you. He felt so warm aginst you, he way right. 'not that dead yet'. His pace quickened, earning more whiny moans from you.

"Capitano, please! Please! I-i need to-" "Shh~ just let me take you"

And take you he did. As you tightened around him and came with a loud moan, he planted himself deep in you and spill his warmth in, painting the walls of your vagina white. Even if he was a fucking decaying corpse, you'd still want him... 'not that dead yet' you kept repeating yourself in your head.

"You are devine, my sweet~" He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, lazily pulling the covers over the both of you. "How about we sleep some more....?"

[backwzzds]

ೃ⁀➷ domesticity, könig

könig got off to watching you be a mother.

könig hated to admit it. the way he inevitably got turned on whenever he came home from long missions. the way whenever he’d walk through the front door of your home, muddy and dirty boots immediately being taken off by the welcome mat so he didn’t stain the innocence of your home with his trauma and duties from work—the bludge in his pants grew at the sight of how you lived such a domestic life.

he was sure his view was a sight that nearly every man wished for at some point in their life. he felt blessed. blessed that no one else at his base had the privilege to come home to this. with you holding a chubby baby full of fiery strawberry blonde curls—undoubtedly belonging to him—on your wide hips, so full from giving birth no more than two years ago.

your daughter was a bit on the paler side despite having beautiful brown skin, and you always wondered if your genes even fucking tried to show out for you when creating her. she looked and acted so much like her father, the only way to probe that she was yours were your shared lips and her having your hair texture. everything else belonged to könig.

“papa wird bald zu hause sein, kleine liebe,” you reassure your daughter of her father’s return home soon as she began to grow cranky, a daily sign of her missing him. you had just finished breastfeeding her, and that was evident in the way the majority of your tits stuck out like a sore thumb from one of your man’s thin wife beater shirts. hey, you were home alone with nothing but pretty trees and bush surrounding you.

könig couldn’t help but smile at the back of your head as you hummed her a little song as you stirred your pot of food. the way your braids were tied down in a bright pink bonnet, the way the fat of your grown woman body hung out of your booty shorts that did nothing to hide the swallow of your ass, and how your white painted toes filled themselves in your fur slippers. the primal hormones in him filled with testosterone practically rushed to the blood of his dick as he watched you dance around the kitchen with your pretty baby.

this how you got pregnant in the first place.

every day he was grateful he decided to snatch you up and take you back to his home country with him. the way you adapted to his culture the way he did yours—you made sure to teach your baby her two native languages, english and german.

no one knew where you were, and könig liked it that way. you three could play house in peace for the next few months, at least until his next deployment. it was the safest option for you. to take you both out the states where his personal life could possibly be exploited.

no one knew where in austria exactly könig was from, making it harder for anyone to possibly track down his pretty little family. you were able to work in peace without having to worry about someone finding about your husband’s real job and eventually figuring out where your daughter went to daycare. it was peaceful for you in austria. as far as the neighbors knew, your husband was in the military occasionally on long deployment missions.

not exactly a lie.

he was never 100% at ease leaving his two girls anywhere, but he knew that if you were at least living in a place that he knew like the back of his fucking hand, his anxiety would calm down just a bit while on missions.

you fall completely deaf to the sound around you as your daughter babbles in your ear while you cooked. the delicious aroma of your wonderful food fills your husband’s nostrils as he finally decides its time for him to finally come out the shadows.

your baby continued to babble things in german-english as you began to plate food only for yourself like you’d done for the past six months, completely unbeknownst to the masculine presence behind you.

“my pretty wife always manages to make such delicious meals,” the hoarse voice manages to startle you to the point where you drop your pot spoon on the floor. “been starved for a plate, lover.”

your daughter turns her head before you do, and immediately fights to be put down from your arms. at the sight of her father, she gives a bright two-toothed grin and opens her arms. “daddy daddy!”

könig wastes no time in ripping off his mask and plastering a big kiss on his baby’s cheeks. “meine hübsche prinzessin,” he greets, engulfing “been a good girl for mommy, yeah?” the ice blue eyes question as they falter over to you. you’re still standing in shock that könig chuckles at the innocence on your face. the same one he’s been in love with for years now.

he didn’t blame you though, you didn’t expect him back for at least another two months.

könig wastes no time in walking over to you, and of course the first place his hands touch are your wide hips. his pink lips smash onto your brown ones and he wastes no time in engulfing all of you into him.

he doesn’t miss the way that small tears fill his shirt. he knows you’ve been alone in a secluded area, in an almost foreign place where you hardly knew anyone. he knew how lonely you must of felt having to do all this by yourself. he was here for you now.

god, he missed you. his good, pretty little wife.

[druidwolf21]

So I have this headcanon that space wolves pack bond whit thralls and or other humans.

With that said, I have this image (and or teeth rotting Fluff fic idea) where a space wolf stubbornly insists in doing one of the thralls in their packs hair.

I mean the lil humie help braid his hair once it’s finally washed so why shouldn’t he return the favour once in a while? Besides it’s a very good pack bonding experience :))

Eeeek I love this so much!!!!

And it gives me an excuse to write more about my Ulryk!!!

His first story is here

Here's a little rough pic of him here

Some short sweet fluff with a space wolf!

CW:one sexual innuendo, other than that, just a fluffy moment

@beckyninja @lemon-russ @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @yurihasurunbara @0bananadog0

You muttered to yourself as you scrubbed at the Ceremite gauntlet perched between your knees, the dried blood caking the armour stubbornly refusing to move. Groaning in frustration you rolled your aching shoulder and flipped your hair back in annoyance before rubbing the mark with renewed vigour. The bench you sat on wobbling under you as you pushed your weight behind your cleaning.

"bloody great brute making a bloody mess of his bloody armour" you hissed as you managed to swipe the gore away. Leaning back, you smiled as the steel blue colour glinted under the harsh light of the armoury. "Finally!" You rose to your feet, and gripped the gauntlet against your chest as you heaved it back onto the rack before standing back and admiring your work. The armour shone in the florescent glow, blues and silvers ethereal under the stark light, each piece painstakingly scrubbed and polished.

All that was left was the helm.

You spun back to the work bench, tutting as your hair whipped across your face. You reached behind you and yanked the loose hair upwards into a hastily tied bun. "Throne, I swear I'm going to shave this all off at this rate" you grumbled as you stepped up to a large wooden bench and picked up and oiled cloth.

The helmet was stark against the oak, pale bone crested a burnished iron jaw lined with razor teeth. Swirls of blue stained runes tapered across the brow of the skull around the dark eye sockets, blessing gear with fenrisian magic. Your frown softened into a gentle smile as you gently ran the rag across the helmet, easing dirt away with precise touches. You leant over, eyeing a persistent spot of mud you brought the washcloth up to the hinge of the jaw and

Your hair fell across your face.

"That's it! I've had enough"

you tossed the oiled cloth across the room and stormed to the toolbox balancing precariously on the bench and reached in. Pulling out a small jagged knife, you grasped your hair firmly in one hand and swiped the blade towards your locks.

A large hand clasped your wrist, twisting it away as you dropped the dagger in shock. Reeling from the sudden contact, you tripped backwards, your weight being held up only by the hard clasp on your arm. Your eyes darted to the touch, following the muscled arm up to a broad chest layered in thick furs and a scarred and handsome face, framed by a cropped beard. A long blonde braid peppered with fenrisian beads and rings hung over his shoulder and his cerulean eyes burned into yours as he scowled down at you, lifting you off your feet slightly and setting you back down before releasing you.

"Skítja, Ulryk you scared me"

The astartes towered over you, watching you silently as you rubbed at the reddening mark on your wrist, muttering under your breath. "Your armour's not finished yet, I've just got the helmet left." You flipped a finger back at your hair. "I'd be done by now if this would stay up in a ponytail" You bent over and picked up the knife, flipping its hilt into your hand. "I'm just going to chop it off, I don't have to worry about it that way"

His head cocked to the side as you spoke before he lifted a callused hand to your face, rough fingers tracing the line of your cheek before tangling in your hair. A rare smile flashed across his face, creasing the long scar that crested his cheek and you felt butterflies in your stomach. "I like your hair" he shrugged, wrapping a strand around his index finger. "Besides, mine is longer and you don't hear me complaining"

You rolled your eyes and collected your tresses up into a bundle "I don't have a thrall to keep my hair nice and neat like someone does, it's easier to just.." you made a slicing motion with the knife. The man snorted and battered it from your hand before picking you up in a swift movement and standing you in the iron bench, ignoring your squeaks of protests as he did so. "Stop complaining, woman" he growled, facing you away from him as he set you down. You turned to question him, only to find your head roughly pushed back around. "Ulryk what are you"

You paused as you felt a tug on your hair, then another, gentler this time. Back and forth his hands moved, surprisingly softly for a man of his stature. "Are you braiding my hair?" No response as the soft pulling continued. You hummed as he wove your hair, relaxing under his touch and enjoying the comfortable silence. A soft pat on your head signalled he was finished and you turned to face him with a soft blush across your face. You pulled your hair over your shoulder and ran your fingers down the plait. "Thank you, my lord"

The space wolf shrugged, thick fur rolling across his shoulders at the movement. "It's not as good as yours, but then I doubt your little hands could lift a frost blade, drengr"

His response made you smile as you looked down at his handiwork, a clean, simple braid along the length of your hair, tied with a simple thread. Tangled in the locks of the locks was a single silver ring, wrapped carefully into the hair and engraved with a single ruin.

Gmorl

Fate

Your eyes widened in shock as you looked up at him "Ulryk this is yours, I can't keep this" at your words he bent over, face level with yours as he inspected the metal work. His fist suddenly clenched around the hair and he pulled, using his grasp to bring your face to his and placing a firm kiss against your lips. He smelt of smoke and pine forests, his canines nipped into you and your heart hammered in your chest so hard you feared it would leap from your body. He released you and you wobbled, placing a hand against his broad chest to steady yourself.

"it was mine, now it is yours, keep it, so others would know you are mine"

You stared at him with your mouth agape as he lifted you off the bench.

"besides, it gives me something to grab into whilst I..

You slapped his chest. "Ulryk no!"

He laughed, deep and sonorous as he placed a soft pat on your head and turned to leave.

"don't forget to finish that armour, there's no excuse now"

"you are the worst"

He waved his hand over his shoulder as he left, flashing you a sharp toothed grin as he sealed the door behind him.

You sighed, exasperated, before returning your gaze to the iron band in your hair. Twisting the metal between your fingers you allowed yourself a quiet giddy laugh before collecting your discard rag off the floor and heading back to the helmet on the counter.

"nearly done"

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. VI

tags: @beebeechaos @r-3dlips @emery-aka-emmy @watermel0nsugarhigh @hueanhdang @delaynew @purple-1995 @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97 @mandeepandee1997

With the fourth day come and gone with no ground behind them, the little party wasted no time in packing up their belongings and trudging on once again.

Daenys was awoken from a dreamless sleep by a suffocating feeling. She was jerked awake by her own breathlessness, opening her eyes to be met with the brown fur of Dusk, who had grown impaitient with her sleeping in and made her chest his one personal bed. "Off, boy." She grunted, wheezing at the weight. She swore he could rival Morningstar in weight alone.

Cregan, at the opening of the tent and pack over his shoulder, snickered at the sight. He clicked his tongue twice, shooing the direwolf away. He leaned over Daenys, who was rubbing her eyes. Her hair lay around her in long, unruly waves, surely something that her handmaiden back in Dragonstone would have scolded her for. She usually slept in a loose braid but had forgotten her nightly routine in favor of passing out cold.

"Morning, Princess." Cregan greeted softly, watching her groggily wake herself up. He had been ready and packed long-ago, wanting to let Daenys sleep in and not worry about packing her belongings, most of which were tied to Mylo's saddle.

"Good morning," she mumbled back, stretching out under the furs. The scent of him lingered pleasently. She sat up slowly, the cold of the North making her body ache in the mornings more than it ever did in the South.

Daenys' hair fell around her shoulders and back, nearly to her waist. She cursed the fact that she'd have to spend another morning doing the entire thing all by herself, knowing her arms would be aching before she could even mount her horse. Just when she was contemplating chopping it all off, Cregan offered–"Would you like my help with...all that?" The offer was polite, not wanting to push any boundaries that might make the Princess shy away.

A man doing hair? That was almost laughable. If Daemon made the same offer to Rhaenyra, the whole family would be squaking with amused chuckles, knowing he had no clue how to do something as gentle as that. Perhaps that was why he chopped off his own long locks—or so Daenys heard.

"My hair?" Daenys questioned, looking up to him. He nodded, and she took a moment to think. How did he know how to braid? Briefly, she wondered if he had ever courted someone, perhaps in his youth before he was busy in his lordship.

"My sister, she insisted that I learn by practicing on her. Said it would help with my 'husbandly' responsibilities, whatever that means." They both laughed, while she guiltily felt a sense of relief. She rummaged through her bag briefly, searching for her wooden brush.

"Hm, I would have thought you might have a secret Lady Wife hidden away in Winterfell." Daenys mused, turning her back to him and sitting up straight. He sat behind her, taking the brush she had handed him in a big hand. Their hands touched for a moment, his bare hand making contact with hers for her first time. It was warm, though calloused from years of swordtraining, opposite of her own perfectly manicured ones. Had he taken off his gloves for this? It would be easier, she thought.

"Who's to say I don't? And perhaps a few heirs are already running about, playing as squires." When she glanced behind her, brow raised, he only chuckled and guided her head to turn back.

"I jest, of course. If I had a wife, she would be no secret." He said, grabbing small portions of her hair at a time, brushing from ends to scalp. The white mess quickly became calm waves once more with his handywork. Cregan paused a moment, "what braids would you like?"

Giggling, "how many can you do, Lord Stark?"

"You underestimate me. I have had all sorts of requests from Sara. The least I can do is try."

Daenys pondered what might be a quick one for him to do, deciding on her front pieces being pulled back into a crown, braided in a curving line together across the back of her skull. The rest hung down, providing a small shield against the wind on her neck. Cregan's hands worked smoothly, dexterous, and surprisingly gentle. He apologized for every tug, and was done quickly.

🗡

A young Daenys sat in front of Laenor Velayron, both of them on the floor in front of the lit hearth in Rhaenyra's chambers. Rhaenyra had left a few hours ago, leading young Jacaerys to go play with Aegon while she went to spend time with baby Luke in the nursery.

Laenor had some downtime, recently returning from a voyage to Dorne. Even though he rode the loyal Seasmoke, Laenor was a seaman at heart. He never went too long between being on his ship, which was gifted to him by Lord Corlys of Driftmark. After Daenys' fifth nameday, he lovingly allowed her to name the ship Eveningstar to match her dragon's name.

"How does the mighty Princess wish to wear her warrior's braids this morning?" He asked her in a dramatically knightly voice. "I can do anything you command."

"Dragon!" Daenys exclaimed excitedly, wishing for her hair to be done in the shape of her dragon, who was growing like a weed and already not allowed to be in the Red Keep due to terrorizing Alicent Hightower's children.

Laenor paused, brows high on his forehead. "Perhaps...the Princess overestimates this lowly knight's skill. Maybe a simpler design would appease her?"

Straightening up, Daenys glanced back up at him and scrunched her nose playfully. "I thought you said you could do anything."

Her father chuckled nervously, the scrutiny of the young girl reminding him much of Rhaenyra's sharp gaze. Luckily, Daenys' wrath was much more forgiving than her mother's. "I can do anything, within human limits." He mimicked her whining tone.

Daenys sighed loudly, thinking about what she wanted again. "What about the gems? Can you put them into the braid, at least?"

Laenor grunted as he stood up, joints in one place for too long. He rummaged through Rhaenyra's vanity, knowing she wouldn't mind if it was for Daenys. He plucked out some bright blue ones, with small holes carved in the middle for hair to poke through. "Blue?"

Daenys nodded, hair ruffling out of place from the jerking movements. Blue reminded her of the skies, the view she was gifted when she rode through the clouds on Syrax or Seasmoke with her parents. It was also quite like the sea, which she saw often at the docks with Laenor. It was perfect for today.

As Laenor returned to his position, he started his work. Different sized braids adorned the back of her hair, with the front pieces in bubbled loose strands separated in inches by the stones. The rest hung down in its usual waves, more stones hanging down from them. They twinkled when Daenys moved her head side to side.

"All done, my girl." Laenor told her, patting her shoulders.

"Can we go on a boat ride?" She pleaded with her father. She had been wanting to be out on the sea all morning, wishing to spend time with her father in one of their favorite places. Even if it meant dealing with the fishy scent of their catches, she loved the sailor's life and the boisterous people who lived it daily.

"I don't think so, Daenys. Your mother gave me an earful about letting you near the crew, last time." He told her, petting her hair back comfortingly when she frowned.

"Can we swim, then? At the beach?" She changed the question, knowing her mother's word was absolute. 'The Beach' was a little island between Dragonstone and King's Landing, which the dragonriders oft visited because of its seclusion from court and fisherman.

Laenor thought for a moment. Rhaenyra wouldn't be upset about it, surely. "What about your hair? We spent so much time on it."

She shook her head, the stones sparking together in turn. "It will be fine, I won't dive today."

Likely story, Laenor thought, but bit his tongue. "Very well, we'll take Seasmoke to the beach." He gave in, as always. No one could resist the little girl's charms, especially her father.

Daenys thought for a moment to bring along Jace but decided against it. He couldn't yet swim, and would only feel left out on the shore. Ever the jealous boy, Aegon would have to be his company for today.

Laenor took Daenys to the dragonpit, packing a small picnic for two and their swimclothes. The two spent the majority of the sunlight frolicking in the sand and salty water, enjoying small sandwhiches that the maids prepared beforehand.

Upon the Princess and Ser's return, Rhaenyra was gifted with many pretty seashells in a sincere apology for Daenys losing many of the blue gems. A small white sand dollar was placed next to Luke's crib quietly, Daenys knowing better than to place objects on his soft bedding. Jacaerys was given a sturdy red shell, but all-too-quickly returned it to Daenys' sandy hands as a crab popped its little black eyes out of it.

"Father!" Daenys called after Laenor, who was on his way out of the keep and to the docks. "There's a crab in this one. Can we return it to the beach?" She begged, jumping up and down and tugged at his sleeve.

Sighing, Laenor knew it would be a while til he made it to the docks. He couldn't resist that face, after all

🗡

Daenys felt the soft braid with her fingertips, satisfied at the evenness. She looked behind her, a grateful smile meeting his eyes. "Thank you, Cregan. I appreciate it."

He hummed, gathering her bag for her after putting her brush back into it. Cregan parted the tent flaps again, allowing the sunlight to peak through once again. Dusk was sitting outside of the tent, lying on her discarded dress. Whether he or Cregan moved it there was a mystery. They left the tent, Cregan folding it up while Daenys went to Morningstar.

The beast greeted her with a small chuff, though she did not lift her head. "What's the matter, pretty girl?" Daenys asked her lifted a hand to pet her cheek. The dragoness turned her head away, setting it on the clear ground below it. All the snow had long melted away around her in a ring, the dragon's body heat not giving it a chance to return. "Morningstar?"

A huff.

Daenys rolled her eyes at the dragon's brattiness. "I'm sorry, please forgive me. I promise It won't happen again, Cregan has looked after me." She spoke the apology in her mother tongue, sincerely. She never got a chance to last night, falling asleep right after the hunt.

The she-dragon lifted her head, eyeing Cregan as he walked up to them. "I heard my name?" He asked, an amused smirk on his lips.

Morningstar and Daenys turned to him together, four violet eyes squinted at him as if to say, 'stay out of it.' The dragon grumbled, shifting the stand on her wings. Cregan looked to Daenys, wondering why she wasn't happy to see her rider, as she usually was. Daenys opened her mouth to answer, only to be knocked down into the snow by a shove of Morningstar's snout. Confused, Daenys looked up to her, mouth agape. The dragon playfully nudged Cregan, asking for his attention.

Traitors.

Cregan laughed loudly at the display, giving in to the dragon's whims. Not like he had any choice, he feared what an angry dragoness might do to him if he rejected her so rudely.

Dusk sat himself next to Daenys, who had since sat up. The direwolf growled at the affection display, jealous of Cregan giving his attention to another creature, more specifically the dragon who had been hovering their whole trip. She ruffled his thick fur, enjoying the softness compared to Morningstar's smooth scales. Morningstar seemed to eye the two on the floor, grumbling again into Cregan's fur-coated chest.

Cregan helped Daenys up from the snow, letting her brush herself off before they untied the horses. Mylo greeted her with a lick to her palm, happy to see her again. They both sat upon their horses, eyeing the spot where Seamus' tent had been.

"Where's Seamus?" Daenys asked him, in a hushed tone as she leaned toward the man.

He sat up straight, not caring if Seamus overheard his words. "He went ahead when I was waking you. Claimed that he wanted to 'scout' ahead. As if Dusk can not do that." Cregan seemed irritated at the mere mention of the elder, so Daenys chose to nod and drop the topic.

The two horses walked side by side, while Daenys and Cregan idly chattered. "Your sister, Sara, where is she now? I never got to see her at Winterfell."

"She is residing at Mormont Keep now. A good friend of mine, the third son of Lord Grendys Mormont, proposed marriage a year ago. I'm expecting good news from Sara soon." Cregan smiled at the mention of his only living sibling. It had been nearly a year since she'd found her love match and left Winterfell for good.

"Eager for a niece or nephew already?" Daenys asked, corners of her mouth lifting. One day, she hoped for many nieces and nephews to surround herself with if she truly did end up a spinster. If so, she was comforted with the fact that she had only brothers, thus would have all their wives be moved to Dragonstone or the Red Keep to allow everyone to be close together.

"Indeed. It's been a while since Winterfell's keep has been graced with younglings."

Daenys almost snorted at the strange name for children but kept it to herself in hopes of not offending him. Northerners and their strange vocabulary. "I quite agree, it is rather quiet in the Great Keep."

"That is partially my fault, I must admit. My council and bannermen have been urging me to take a wife since I was but three and ten. For heirs, they say. I see it as them anxiously anticipating my early demise." He snorted.

"Perhaps a noble's real duty is to tolerate their council's nagging. I envy your patience, Lord Stark."

He turned his head toward her, a questioning look in his eye. "My patience? I have not seen you pushed to anger once in our time together, Princess."

"Whatever is there to be angry for?" She fired back. She'd never been a snappy person, except perhaps when her brothers stole her desert one too many times, but never was she considered an impaitient person.

Cregan stumbled slightly, trying to find the right words, "nevermind." he mumbled, cheeks pink.

Daenys bit her cheek, holding another laugh. Seeing the young Lord flustered amused her greatly. "Cregan," she began.

Perking up, he tilted his head towards her, "yes, Princess?"

"Do you think we ought to have spotted Seamus by now?"

He hummed, looking forward with careful eyes. "Mayhaps, but I think he is avoiding us purposefully to calm himself. He was quite humiliated last night."

Daenys snickered, remembering the taught look on the older man's face, red all the way to his neck. "Serves him right. Slaughtering an animal is one thing, but dishonoring it entirely is another. It is not right. Any respectable man would have left its head with its body so its soul could rest easy."

Cregan was silent for a few beats after her words. "I agree, the animals killed in defense have as much right to respect as the ones we hunt for food. Is that a Targaryen or a Velayron belief?"

Daenys shifted in the saddle, twitching at the mention of her blood. "Velayrons believe that we shall return to the sea, where we come from. Targaryens burn their dead, in the way of our ancestors."

"Which would you have to honor you after your death?" The question surprised her, seeing Cregan's sincere gaze upon her like a calmness in a storm.

"It's hard to say. My father burned when he died, and we could only lay his ashen bones in the casket that we sent into the sea. He never got a proper Velayron death as he would've wanted." She told him. "Perhaps it would be my fate to die like a Targaryen, on my dragon and being burned by my opponent. I must admit I have always been partial to the sea, though. Or, if the Gods will it, Morningstar and I would fall together. If such a thing does happen, perhaps buried in the crypts alongside her." She rambled on. Faces flashed in her mind. Drunken Aegon, spiteful Aemond, sweet Helena, even young Daeron. All dragonriders on the opposing ride, all her potential killers.

"Do not say such things, Princess. You will live to be an old dame, I am sure." The Northerner said, tapping his foot out of his stirrups to her own booted one.

"Apologies, my Lord. It is an awfully morbid topic for a Lady." She rescinded.

An awkward silence washed over the two, neither knowing if they offended the other nor what to say next. Curse her stupid big mouth. What kind of Princess talks to a man about her own death? Not one that will gain any prospects, surely. Daenys kissed her teeth, biting back a sigh. She wished to withdraw into a tent, or better yet, the skies atop of Morningstar.

It was hours before the two stopped for a break, watering and feeding the horses. Dusk rounded back to them, content with taking a break after his watch. He laid his large head on Daenys' lap, and she struggled not to tense at the reminder.

Cregan stole many discreet glances at her as she stretched out under a large tree. Her silence had worried him greatly, and the Lord feared that she would tuck herself back into her deep shell. Maybe literally, with all those coats over her shoulders. The roots were robust, sticking out of the ground and study enough to sit herself on.

He approached her after allowing her some minutes of respite. Offering his hand, Cregan lifted her to her feet, though he did not let go of her hand. Daenys stilled, wondering what he wanted.

"Do you have the dagger on you?" He asked.

Daenys nodded, "are we going hunting?"

He shook his head, backing away a step from her. "We have the spare rabbits still. Grab it." Suddenly, his voice seemed to change from his gentle one to a more firm one. Like the one he used for his men rather than for Daenys.

Bemused, she grabbed the dagger from under her skirts—she had decided that the belt of her garters would make a fine shealth. Cregan's gaze flittered to her exposed legs for only a moment before he forced it back to her face. Holding it out for him to take, she was surprised when he closed it back around her fist.

"It is still yours. I want you to attack me."

"Attack you?!" Daenys exclaimed, clutching the dagger toward her chest. "I will not do such a thing."

Cregan chuckled shortly, shifting on his feet. "I am asking you to, Princess. You will not hurt me, I assure you."

"I am well confident in your skills, my Lord. But, anything could happen, even accidentally. A Lady does not wield weapons against her own bannermen–or at all." Daenys stammered out.

Even Rhaenyra, who was made heir for the throne at seven and ten, was not made to learn the ways of weaponry. She had her loyal guards to protect her at all times, and that's not to mention Daemon, who is one of the best swordsmen Westeros had to offer.

He sighed at her stubbornness. "Humor me, just this once. I want to show you how to wield it without losing your grip, at least. As long as your weapon stays in your hand, you are still in the fight."

"I have my dragon." She insisted, sniffing.

"And where was she when you were wandering the woods, Princess?"

Daenys clenched her teeth, knowing she couldn't argue with his bite. Morningstar couldn't always be there to help her, something that she learned the hard way. In the woods, indoors, underground: all places that her dragon could not defend her in unless she wished to burn with the enemy.

"Come on, my Lady. This is what is best for you. I wager you will need to use such skills against an opponent some day soon, without the shield of Morningstar." He seemed tense, similar to his state when first coming across Seamus Knott.

"Cregan..." She pleaded, looking up at him with her dagger limply hung at her hip.

"Daenys." He was unmoved, though his eyes flashed with a unique softness briefly. Daenys' name coming from his lips made her belly fill with butterflies, a warmth spreading throughout her at his low tone.

She sighed, giving in to him. How could she not, when he looked at her like that? Every bit the ruggedly gentle Northern man she had grown to know well.

She shifted her stance, pulling the hand holding the dagger in front of her face, eyeing him over it. He had not moved, only observing her carefully, noting every breath she took.

Daenys stepped forward, swiping the knife towards his chestpiece, the safest option, only to stumble on her feet when Cregan grabbed her wrist and tugged her into his chest. "You were staring at my chest the whole time. Don't make it so obvious where you want to strike."

He kept her tight in his grip, the other hand on her back firmly. "I shouldn't be able to pull you off your feet so easily. If I can simply hold you like this so easily, imagine what a lesser man could do without breaking a sweat."

Daenys flushed at the implication, face warm with embarrassment. He paid no mind to it, releasing his grip and allowing her to stand straight again. Cregan shifted behind her, breath hot against her ear. "Stand lower, center yourself so you can not be felled so easily." He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing down gently until her knees bent slightly. He pushed her with one hand, appeased when she only bent instead of falling into the snow. Cregan traced a hand down the expanse of her arm, reaching her hand and taking it in his own. He adjusted her grip on it, folding his larger hand around hers, "hold it like this if you wish to swipe instead of stab, like you intended."

When she obeyed, he nodded satisfactorily. He backed away again, standing in front of her. "Again." His voice was hard, rougher than he perhaps knew.

Daenys gritted her teeth, frustrated at his attitude. Was he angry with her for being so green with a weapon? Did most Northern ladies know all this stuff by the time they could walk? She hated the way he looked down at her, as if she was one of his soldiers instead of just Daenys.

Hours passed, with Daenys panting and exhausted from her exertions and Cregan perfectly unharmed in front of her. Daenys improved slightly after every attempt, much to Cregan's approval. They had lost track of time, well into the afternoon before they had eaten and set off riding again. They rode in a deafening silence, the only sounds being the horses' clompering steps. She wished to speak with him to understand why he suddenly was so stressed for her safety. He had promised to stay by her side. Why would she need to protect herself unless he was planning on leaving her?

He hadn't humored any of her longing glances, gaze as straight as his regal posture. In the sunset's glowing light, he looked quite like a Northern Prince sat upon his steed. She wondered if she looked the part of a Princess on her own, or ever. If she didn't have the signature Targaryen white hair or purple eyes, would anyone guess what she was? Jacaerys was always recognized, even without the sigil on his tunics. He always fit his role as heir perfectly. If she had shared his plain features, Daenys guessed that she would be mistaken for a random noblelady of a forgotten house. Her face familiar but none quite able to recall her name.

The two settled in a small clearing, the biggest they had been able to find for hours. Morningstar hovered for a bit before settled down in their find. She had been gone for the entirety of their little training session, most likely to hunt her own meal in the pause. The dragon curled up near the tent, already melting the surrounded area. Maybe the tent would be warmer tonight thanks to her.

Cregan and Daenys sat in front of the fire, roasting the skinned rabbit. Daenys glanced at him several times over the flames, only to be pointedly ignored. She sighed, standing to her feet. "I'll be back." She told him, getting a small hum in return. He assumed she was using the bathroom, so he made no move to stop her. Daenys wandered slightly in the wood, stretching her legs and enjoying her moment of peace. Whilst she was plotting her next words to Cregan concerning his silent attitude, she was stopped by Seamus, standing imposingly in her path.

"You've been gone quite a while." Daenys greeted with a short nod, shifting uncomfortably. He only stared back. "Are you going to set your tent up with ours?"

More silence. He didn't seem to have his pack on his back anymore, only his sword on his belt and a dagger's shealth on the other side to mirror it. She tensed, mouth drying up. Whatever his intentions might have been, none were good.

"Princess Daenys." He started, voice dark with spite. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for an opportunity like this. For twenty long and painful years, I served the Watch. Patient, biding my time until I can be restored to my rightful place as Lord Knott."

Daenys stepped back, reaching slowly to bunch up her skirt, trying to reach her knife without drawing much attention to it.

He mirrored her step. "I won't let that little brat take his place as pretender any longer. Because I have you, now." He grinned, baring his teeth down at her. His black beard was a stark contrast to his shining teeth, saliva parting at his lips. He reminded her of a rabid dog, slobbering and desperate to bite down on anything to relieve its own pain. He slowly unsheathed his dagger, pointing it at her from his spot yards away. "If I take you to the King, I will be bestowed with riches and titles above anyone. He will have to make me Hand in exchange for giving up the usurper's daughter!"

Seamus laughed at his own proclamation. It was a good plan, she admitted. Aegon would be generous enough to give him back his seat at House Knott. Daenys shook her head, taking more slow steps back. When she was about to attempt to reason with him, he lunged. Seamus wasted no time pinning her to the floor, covering her mouth with a dirty hand. "Oh no, Princess. Can't have that little brat ruining this for me. Just like his damned father."

She thrashed, kicking and clawing at his face. Even with the small lines of blood dripping from his face, he never faultered. He placed the dagger at her throat, pulling her roughly to her feet.

He pushed her in front of him all the way to the campsite, where Cregan was already looking to the treeline to spot her return. He stood immediately when Daenys came back, steel placed deadly close to her neck. He drew Ice to his hand, pointing it at the older man.

"Release the Princess, Knott." He growled.

The man chortled behind Daenys, hot breath on her neck, making gooseflesh rise to her arms uncomfortably. "Put that down, boy. You know you cannot harm me without hurting the little lass."

Cregan grit his teeth harshly, jaw ticking. He glanced to Daenys, who guiltily blinked up at him. Sorry, she seemed to say. For wandering off stupidly once again.

Dusk was gone, hunting his own dinner for the night. How convenient for the kinslayer.

Seamus slowly walked to the dragon, who had long since awoken when she spotted Daenys at the mercy of her aggressor. The dragon roared when he approached, hot breath washing over them both and the wind strong enough to make him stumble back slightly. "Command your beast to obey, or she will not have a rider to listen to anymore. Remember, Princess, I need you alive, not unharmed." He sneered.

"I will find you, Daenys." Cregan spoke firmly, standing at the base of Morningstar's wing.

Daenys, with the steel still cold at her neck, commanded Morningstar shakily. "Lykiri, Morningstar. Rual īlva naejot kipagon." She nodded stiffly when the white dragon whined, distressed at what she was being forced to do.

Reluctantly, the dragon lowered its wing to allow both onto her saddle, Daenys still sitting in front of him. He pressed himself tight against her back, one hand squeezing her waist in an almost choking manner. She felt nauseous, glancing to Cregan for reassurance. For the first time, the man looked helpless. Ice was discarded onto the snow, and his throat bobbed with tension.

"Fly, girl!" The man snarled, making Daenys flinch at the loudness. Cursing, she commanded Morningstar to lift off. "You will take us to King's Landing. Anywhere off course, and you will lose your little fingers one by one."

Daenys nodded, gaze straight at the dark sky, the blackness of the night providing her a lonely comfort. She knew Cregan was watching her disappear into the cloud's cover, not being able to do a thing.

Morningstar furiously roared and growled and cried out into the skies, helpless once again to help her rider.

Daenys patted her scales softly in a comforting motion, whispering to the dragon, "īlon jāhor ērinagon."

🗡

Rual īlva naejot kipagon - allow us to ride

Lykiri- Calm

īlon jāhor ērinagon - we will/shall win

Cregan's guilt for not being there for Daenys is eating at him 🙂‍↔️ and coming off all wrong. Whatever shall the young lovebirds do?

what is it that one post said a few weeks back, "paws that he calls hands"? I always think of that when writing about his hands its suck in my head

I should probably establish ages. With Laenor's flashback, its kinda wonky. Joff and Rhae + Daemon's youngest kids' age don't matter because they will have no importance to the story sorry not sorry

Cregan - 21

Daenys- 20

Jace - 18

Luke - 14

Joffrey - 5-7

Aegon and Viserys - Under 5

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Any chance of getting something fluffy/romantic with Thorin or Fili (reader could be a Mirkwood elf or a human from Dale). You are the best!

I'm working on finishing Across Time right now, so this one is short and sweet!

Public Relations(hips)

The cobblestones of Erebor’s great halls glisten beneath your boots as if polished with starlight, the golden veins threading the stone catching the glow of the many torches lining the walls. Though you’ve walked these halls before, the grandeur never fails to strike you silent. Yet today, your focus is elsewhere.

Thorin Oakenshield walks beside you, his steps measured and steady, though you can tell by the occasional glance he casts your way that his mind is not entirely on the path ahead. His dark hair is pulled back in braids that frame his face, and the weight of his heritage rests as visibly on his shoulders as the fur-lined mantle he wears.

It had started innocently enough—a visit to Erebor to strengthen ties between Dale and the Kingdom under the Mountain. As the daughter of a merchant and one of Dale’s most skilled negotiators, you had been tasked with representing your city’s interests. Thorin had been polite, if a little reserved, during your first few meetings. But somewhere along the line, formality had softened into shared glances, late-night conversations, and an unexpected companionship that warmed your heart.

Now, Thorin seems more hesitant than usual, as though weighing his words. His deep voice finally breaks the silence.

“You seem quieter today,” he says, his tone softer than the stone walls around you. “Is Erebor proving too overwhelming for you, Lady of Dale?”

You smile, catching the teasing glint in his eyes. “Not overwhelming,” you reply, your voice light. “Merely... awe-inspiring. It’s hard not to feel dwarfed by all this splendor.”

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. “Aye, it has a way of humbling even the proudest hearts.” He pauses, his gaze flickering to you. “But you seem to hold your own well enough.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression—an unspoken thought he’s debating sharing. You don’t press him, instead letting your steps slow as you approach a balcony overlooking one of Erebor’s vast forges. Below, dwarves toil with practiced precision, the sound of hammers and the glow of molten metal creating an almost hypnotic rhythm.

Thorin joins you at the railing, his hands clasped in front of him. “You have a gift, you know,” he says quietly.

“A gift?” you repeat, turning to him.

“For seeing beauty where others might only see stone and shadow,” he explains. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to the space between you. “It’s rare to find someone who can look at Erebor as it is and still see what it could be.”

His words catch you off guard, but before you can respond, Thorin continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“Your presence here has brought something... unexpected into my life.” He hesitates, then takes a breath as though steeling himself. “I’ve known duty and responsibility all my days, but you’ve reminded me that there is still room for joy—for warmth.”

You feel your cheeks heat under his steady gaze, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his words. “Thorin...” you begin, unsure of how to respond.

“I know I am no easy companion,” he says, cutting you off gently. “I am stubborn, often too set in my ways, and my path is not one that promises ease. But if you would consider walking it with me...” His voice falters, a rare vulnerability showing through.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, this proud and noble dwarf who stands before you, offering something he guards so fiercely—his heart.

Reaching out, you place a hand over his where it rests on the railing. “Thorin,” you say, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you, “there is no path I would rather walk than one by your side.”

The relief and happiness that flicker across his face are enough to make you feel as though the weight of the entire mountain has lifted. He covers your hand with his other, his grip firm yet gentle, as though afraid you might vanish if he holds too tightly.

“I will not let you regret this,” he promises, his voice a low rumble.

You smile, the warmth in your chest blooming as brightly as the forges below. “I have no doubt.”

And as the sounds of Erebor hum around you, you know that this moment marks the beginning of a new journey—one you will take together.

[c-kiddo]

headcanon list of clay family wildmother rituals/sacred things that they wear casually and maybe somethings for special occasions:

little braids in their hair, not too many, and they're behind or in front of ears. perhaps the two braids that cornelius has with all the jewellery on them is because of his age or something could be nice like that

the spiral undercut patterns of course. cad has this, constance also seems to have parts of her head shaved too, so i think she'd also have the spirals.

their earrings of course. but a lot of hand carved wooden items like that, beads and bracelets things

braided bracelets with things tied into them, like their hair

beads made from clay, because they are clays too

and the spiral patterns on their clothes (caduceus' trousers in his first outfit for instance)

dye made from plants in the grove thats used for special occasions to stain symbols onto their palms or fur

the lichen of course

(meaning of the spirals they wear in relation to the wildmother: cyclical nature of life and death. you are born -> you live and eat the plants -> you die -> the plants and fungi and insects eat you, over and over for forever and ever)

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

You cut quite a fine figure. I can just imagine leading you with an entire ballroom watching.

I've posted this piece before, but there were some parts I really wanted to edit slightly so! Tweaked this piece and here's another post of it. Three cheers to the best dressed couple in Baldur's Gate, and to Majexatli's native swag.

[Image description:

The first image is a digital illustration of Wyll from Baldur's Gate 3 dancing with an original character, Majexatli.

Majexatli is a medium brown skinned freckled tiefling with brown rams horns greying black hair tied in a long braid that hangs past their waist. Half their face and the ends of their horns are painted dark teal. They are wearing a blouse with dark teal indigenous mexican embroidery. Draped over one hip, shoulder, and arm is a dark teal serape. Over their blouse and serape, they have a brown fur cape hanging over their shoulders. They are wearing a loin cloth over brown leggings, the loin cloth has an 8 pointed star and red and teal geometric patterns and indigenous embroidery. Their body facing forward as they to the left at Wyll. Behind their head is a turquoise halo of geometric and indigenous patterns.

Wyll is a dark brown skinned tiefling with black horns and long black locs tied into a ponytail with gold beads. His eyes are closed and he is wearing gold eyeliner and gold earrings. He wears an ornately patterned long orange coat with gold accents, and brown pants. Over his left shoulder is a maroon cape with a peacock pattern. His back is to the viewer and he is facing to the right at Majexatli. Behind his head is a gold halo and ring of stars.

The artwork contains a signature of the artist's name, Salamatullah.

The following two images are close ups of Wyll and Majexatli respectively.]

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.1k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ SFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, established relationship (married), major character death, canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ The canon will begin to matter less and less as this story goes on it seems, but it will all make sense I swear!

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

There are two bodies to burn. The sparse tinder is laid by careful hands. In the deep cold of winter the earth has so few things to spare, only the thin branches of a fledgling tree bowed over by the blistering wind. The wood is dead and brittle, splintering like breaking bones where it’s been bent into curving shapes. Tied with twine in a braided wreath of ashen wood to surround First Mistress’ body. She’s laid over a fine fur in her most sumptuous clothes and most lustrous jewels, the broken parts of her carefully placed where they’re meant to be attached to her body. Beneath her clothes, parts of Jurina are missing. A bit of flesh flayed from her ribs, a gouge taken out of her thigh. There’s a thin square of white silk laid over her face, hiding the claw masks and the fissure where her head was nearly torn from her body. The wound flutters in and out of sight as the wind stirs the edge of the white sheet, flashing the curving groove where Lord Sukuna fit his teeth into her flesh and tore. 

The fire catches quickly after the priests say their rites, burrowing like red mice through the wood. Burning tongues leapt from wood to fabric, outfitting Jurina’s body in a brilliant, golden shroud for only a moment before her clothes are burning away and the fire takes to skin. The perfumed wood dampens the scent of burning flesh but it will soon become overpowering as the small crowd gathers to pay their respects before the pyre. There’s weeping for mistress and servant alike as Jurina’s personal maid chose to continue serving her in the afterlife. There was little attention given to her body. She’s simply laid beside Jurina with her collar of bruises from the white silk that had choked the life from her throat. Her name escapes you and you wonder if she has a family that needs to be informed of their loss. A raven was already sent out by Uraume to inform Jurina’s clan of her demise at the hands of the King of Curses. 

It’s your hope that Uraume elected to omit the extent of the damage done to Jurina’s body so that her family might have some peace in their ignorance. The winter winds snuff out lives like blowing out candles, ravaging weaker bodies with boiling fevers and gasping coughs that never seem to pass. It’s just the right season for pneumonia and illnesses of that ilk. Let them think that she went with some semblance of peace. It’s a selfish sort of wish as you watch the snow hiss and turn to steam over Jurina’s funeral pyre. It would absolve you of blame, remove the hand you had in her death with your careless words. Poisonous tongue spelling out her death. She’d been staring at you when she died, or perhaps she was dead before her glassy eyes rolled towards you standing at the edge of the engawa, snow dotting your lashes and melting into moisture when the tears wouldn’t come. You hadn’t wanted her death but you can’t find it in yourself to be saddened by the loss. 

Even so, you clasp your hands in prayer along with the remaining Mistresses. Still three despite Fourth Mistress’ arrival. Now Second Mistress is the wife with the most seniority and yet she stands to your right, a subtle show of deference that hadn’t been there only so many hours before. The night has stretched on for a small eternity, bleeding into daylight without reprieve as the household scrambled to deal with Jurina’s death. Messengers were sent out in the waning storm to fetch priests from the village, servants were dispatched to clean Jurina’s chamber and erect a platform for her to be burned upon. Tatami mats were changed and floors were scrubbed. The blood soaked courtyard has been renewed with another layer of downy snow to cover the splatters of blood where Lord Sukuna dragged Jurina outside to make a spectacle of her death. He tore at her with a deranged sort of satisfaction, grinning when he saw you watching, as if he’d only been waiting for a moment to tear her apart. She burst open between his teeth and claws like a ripe fruit, spilling across the snow in a brilliant spray of crimson. And all you did was watch, trying to remind yourself that Jurina wasn’t like you. She was still human in a way that you weren’t. 

Her dedication was to herself above all else, perhaps her clan came second. Lord Sukuna wasn’t a priority in her mind. Her world was vast, reaching far beyond the bounds of the Ryomen estate. During meals she would tut over letters she received from her clan, bemoaning the poor marriage of a cousin or cooing over the news of a new baby. She needled the servants for gossip whenever they returned from an errand outside the estate. Jurina was just a woman and she died as a woman would at the hands of a being like Lord Sukuna; screaming. She’ll be happy to know that he isn’t in attendance to watch her flesh and bones be rendered to ash, her favorite maid beside her. When the smoke clears they’ll be swept into urns or perhaps tossed out with the dirt swept off the engawa. It’s your hope that she’ll be sent home. It’s clear she never belonged here and it would be cruel for this forbidden corner of the world to be her final resting place. 

There’s also a piece of you that thinks she doesn’t deserve the honor of being laid to rest here. Though you suppose decisions like this will be left up to you now that there is no First Mistress to lead the household. Lord Sukuna has made it plainly clear that those responsibilities and honors are now yours. So when a servant comes to ask what should be done when the fire is quelled you send them to find some proper urns of expensive material for Jurina and her maid to be gathered in before being sent off. It doesn’t escape your notice that the servant stopped quite a ways away from you. In fact everyone seems to be giving you a breadth that borders on excessive. As if so much as breathing a breath of air that passed through your lungs will have their body burning next. Everyone that already treated you like a piece of glass is suddenly too fearful to even raise their head in your presence. It’s only Uraume that speaks to you as they had hours ago, entering your chamber with only the lightest knock on the shoji. They find you plucking tunelessly at the strings of your koto with only candlelight as your company. 

The midday sky is gray and dim, still choked with the clouds of the breaking storm. Dull light bleeds through the thick paper of the shoji leading outside. The faintest firelight as Jurina continues to burn. 

“Have you slept?” Uraume asks, coming to sit beside you. You haven’t. There’d been no time to sleep. Hours have passed since Lord Sukuna returned home, since he took you in the bathhouse, since he tore Jurina apart. Hours spent making arrangements and delegating tasks so that this funeral could be held in a timely manner. It’s doubtless that if Lord Sukuna had presided over the proceedings he would’ve simply sent Jurina to the kitchen and used her bones to pick his teeth when he was through with the meal. It would’ve been an honor to be so wholly consumed by her husband but Jurina likely wouldn’t have seen it as the blessing it was. To be so desired that Lord Sukuna wanted to devour every bit of her. To use her body as a means to bolster his own. A shiver trickles down your back as Uraume gathers your hair to comb, the chill of their skin cutting deep. 

“The raven you sent to her family… Did you say how she died?” You ask carefully. 

“She died serving her king.” They say evenly. Of all the people bowing to your lord husband, it is only Uraume that understands you completely. The servants were wailing and whispering about the cruelty of their lord but what cruelty was there? A doll doesn’t despair when the owner breaks it. Jurina’s porcelain face was cracked and her straw body torn open, but what higher purpose is there than to serve the whims of something greater than yourself? Jurina was ill fit to be Lord Sukuna’s wife. She didn’t understand duty or sacrifice. She didn’t understand her place beneath him. Not in the way that you did. A flower doesn’t question the might of a tree nor the warmth of the sun. 

“How do you feel?” Uraume asks, leaning closer than any servant would dare. If they were anyone else, you might stifle at the audacity, but it feels as though the two of you are cut from the same cloth. As Lord Sukuna’s wife, you are an extension of his being. And no one would dare to touch him so intimately without permission. No one except Uraume. They chuckle and ask, “Are you happy?”

“I’m happy. Always.” The feeling is innate. Whether Jurina lived or died, your happiness would remain the same. There’s no great pleasure taken in her demise, nor is there the pang of loss. It feels like something akin to relief. A thorn finally removed from your skin. The itching, burning sting of her presence has been removed at last and you’ll only be strengthened by it. It’s already begun. The servants had come to you for guidance once the house physician had declared Jurina dead. There was no need for the commotion of an official declaration. She looked like a butchered animal by the end. And when the fire dies, nothing will be left of her but ash and memories. She’ll be swept up and sent away, forgotten with the melting snow. 

“Did Jurina serve her purpose? Truly?” 

“No,” Uraume answers without hesitation. “I don’t think any of Lord Sukuna’s wives have served their purpose. Certainly none more so than you, sweet girl.” There were never any honorifics between you and Uraume, at least not in private. They saw you as an equal, perfectly matched in your standing with Lord Sukuna. 

It feels like an honor you’ve yet to earn. Uraume would wage war for your lord husband. You could do no such thing. Even with your cursed technique, you’d be useless in battle. Uraume was lethal, a blade in Lord Sukuna’s hand where you were simply a plucked flower. A blade can be sharpened and polished, but sooner or later a flower would wilt and wither, and your time as a person of importance would pass. Whether it be by death or age, you’d soon be without purpose and Lord Sukuna would likely do away with you as he had Jurina. You can only hope he’ll honor you with consumption. To know that, even in death, you’d been of some minuscule use would soothe your soul. 

Sometimes you find yourself wondering if you’d become a curse, though the only thing worth cursing in this life would be Lord Sukuna. It wouldn’t be so unimaginable that you’d cling to your lord husband even after death. You pledged yourself to him in this life and the next. To go to a place where he cannot follow would be to abandon your vows. And you’d loath to be an unfaithful wife. 

“You’re tired,” Uraume said, though you hadn’t acknowledged the lethargy yourself. They finish the careful task of combing through the last section of your hair before urging you to lay down. 

“Shall I prepare your tea?” You shake your head. It’s become a nightly ritual to have tea before you sleep, but there is no strength left in your body to wait for Uraume to prepare it. Usually the task was left to your personal maid but she is nowhere to be found. Uraume has made the offer but you imagine it to be a simple courtesy rather than a genuine offer. They aren’t your servant to be ordering about. That honor is reserved solely for your lord husband no matter if they offered the service themselves. 

“Sleep for now,” they hum, “I’ll wake you if there is a need for your presence.” Which is to say, if Lord Sukuna calls for you. No other task would be worthy of rousing you from your rest. They tuck you into your futon and blow out each candle before leaving you alone in the darkness. There’s still the faint flickering of the pyre crackling in the courtyard, but it’s easily ignored as fatigue settles over you. 

It seems as though no time has passed at all when you rouse to wakefulness, yet you feel perfectly rested. The light slipping in from outside is that same pale orange glow that sent you to sleep; reminiscent of firelight, yet there is no crackling of burning wood and smoldering flesh. Instead there’s the faint whistling call of the wind and the strangest sound of scratching. At first you imagine it to be a wayward branch scraping against the eaves or the sound of geta scuffing against the wooden walkway. But the sound is too close, too concise to be an untrimmed tree or heavy-footed servant. It was closer to the sound of woodwork. The same noise that preceded Jurina’s pyre as branches were cut and stripped of the snow-sodden bark so the fire would not pittle and hiss over damp wood. The faint whittling noise comes from outside. The sound of scratching sounds nearer still. 

In the gray-gold light, you see the edge of something shift like a shadow dancing between flickering candlelight. But there are no candles burning. No shadows dancing. The shape in the corner of your room seems far more tangible than any trick of the light. It twitches and writhes like an overturned beetle, wriggling between the seam of the adjacent walls like water leaking through a crack. 

Waves of cursed energy surge from the corner like miasma, permeating the room. The scent of it stings your nose and clings to your tongue with the acidity of poison. The curse moans deep and haunting. An almost lyrical sound, as if a dozen voices are folding over each other, like plucking every string of a koto at once. A discordant whimpering undercut by the sound of digging and clawing as it peels away the planks of wood to make space for itself. The walls begin to squeal and splinter, tearing away to allow the winter morning and the curse inside. 

Its bulging eyes wriggle, protruding like those of a frog, and twitching as though it’s a hardship to focus them both so singularly on something. One arm falls away from its scratching and three more follow. The weight of each limb hitting the floor sounds much like a bag of peaches tumbling in a cart. It twitches, body contacting inward until it’s a thick bulging ball of pale flesh before it flattens and drags itself forward on its four arms. It moans again, bearing its long, blunt teeth. Again, it moans, and you think you hear the number three. Then again with more clarity,

“Three, three, three.” It whimpers ceaselessly as it drags its bulging body towards you. Its skin is shapeless and loose like a boiled dumpling, contracting into a thick mass before stretching thin as it drags itself towards you with the agility of a caterpillar. Its face is snow white with red horns peeking out from beneath a hood of pale flesh. For a moment, you consider a monster trying to hide its true face, laughing at the absurdity of it. The sound of hysteria bubbles from your lips louder than any other had, and it only seemed to incense the creature. It dragged itself closer with more ferocity. The moaning chant of “three, three, three,” only gets louder. 

When it’s close enough, it slashes at you, slow and clumsy like a child playing swords with a stick. The morning chill overtakes you as you leap from the futon in a cloud of silk and fur. The curse hisses, then tries again, and when it misses once more the noise it makes is something like a wail. It sounds far too anguished, far too human. The sound sinks beneath your skin, deep enough to rattle your heart and you shiver in your hakama. Your own voice is lost somewhere in your throat, tangled between your quickened breaths and thundering heartbeat. 

Curses aren’t meant to speak, they’re incapable of it. And yet this one reaches towards you with taloned fingers, groaning “three, three, three.” 

It lumbers through the room, weight knocking over side tables. It swings its thick arms, claws grasping to rend your flesh from your bone as it chases you. Needles prick at the soles of your feet as you stumble through the hole torn through the wall, splinters of wood stippling through your socks as the curse herds you onto the engawa. The prickling of wood shards gives way to something wet, though far too warm to be ice melting off the eaves. Your eyes are far too intent on the creature dragging itself out of the hole it burrowed into your room to spare a glance at the ground, and you go from staring at the pale creature to looking up at the light sky. 

The cold is immediately, stabbing into you like a dozen blades as snow clouds your lashes. A cloud of it drifts down around you, stirred through the air as you land. Gray clouds roll by overhead as you make a wheezing noise. The air rattle inside your lungs as you try to regain the breath that had been knocked from your chest in the fall from the engawa. It hadn’t been a far drop but you hardly had breath in your lungs to start, too startled to take more than shallow gasps of air. The curse comes poking over the edge of the walkway, tossing itself into the snow beside you. 

“Get back.” Your voice is as thin as the wind whistling through the courtyard. “Stay away from me.” The curse wails again. Deeper as if it meant to give the toneless sound meaning. “Three, three, THREE!” It says it as if it’s your name, reaching towards you through the snow. Belatedly, you realize that it is your name. You are Third Mistress. Third, Three. The curse bellows the word again, moving like a slug through mud as it drags its malformed body through the bank of snow. Still on your back, steeped in the chill seeping through your thin robe, you watch as the curse reaches towards you with grasping claws. There’s a pondering to your gaze as your eyes watch the dull glint of the morning light wink off the edge of its claws. Jurina had always been so preoccupied with her perfect nails. A talon finds your cheek, scratching a burning line across your face before the connected limb bursts like a crushed melon. 

Hot viscera replaces the frigid kiss of the wind as bright purple blood and bits of white flesh rain down over your face. It’s nearly warm enough to scald, made worse by the shrieks of pain ringing in your ears as the curse writhes in the snow. Clouds of frost dance around its wriggling body though it doesn’t seem to move far. With muscles tensed and shivering, you shove yourself onto your elbows to see over the veil of churning snow. The curse is pinned to the ground with spears of ice. Wailing and thrashing to be free. The stump of its arm still reaches for you, joined by the three that remain. You find your knees, then slowly your feet, only to be knocked into the snow once more as a pillar of ice shatters and a flailing hand reaches towards you in another spray of violet blood. The feeling burns hot as fire, spreading through your body like sparks through a dry brush. Warmth blooms through your side, seeping over your hip and down the length of your thigh as blood weeps from the wound torn through your side. 

The feeling of warmth blooms between your fingers as you press your hands against the gouge taken from your torso. It’s a strange, hollow feeling. As if your body has yet to accept the prospect of pain just yet. It comes in waves, lapping over you in an ebb and flow as your vision begins to swim. Everything is hot as fire and cold as ice. The world looks as though you’re seeing it through a cloud of steam, rippling and fading as you blink through the blood loss. This feeling isn’t new and yet the feeling hasn’t lessened in its intensity. There’s a sound that you find familiar. Frantic and sharp as a bird chirping at the rising sun. It grows colder still, though there’s comfort in the chill as you recognize the shape of arms wrapping around you. It hurts as they squeeze at the hole gaping in your side, still weeping red tears of blood through the silk of your hakama. The chirping turns to feral growls, a wolf bearing its teeth, and the curse wails anew. It sounds like Jurina if only vaguely. Shrill and bitter. The ground had only just been dusted with a cover of snow, hiding the place her blood had been spilled. Now it was your turn. 

Dazedly, you blink up towards the sky, lashes shining with tears or melting snowflakes as a face swims through your periphery. The soft chirping returns and you try to piece together the sounds over the weeping curse. A voice that you recognize. It soothes your fluttering heart, lessens the flames still burning where part of your body is missing, and more is still spilling onto the snow. A red puddle blooming over a sea of white. It reminds you of Uraume’s hair, and reminds you that their voice has always been melodic like birdsong. It must be them holding you so gently, speaking soft words to you though your hearing has faded to the sound of your blood and breath, like hiding your head beneath a pillow. Something cold and soft brushes over your face and you imagine it might be the gentle fingers of your protector, but your eyes can’t find anything other than the vaguest shapes. 

Everything has melded into a light wash. Gray sky, white snow, ivory-skinned curse. Everything is white until it isn’t. A sudden burst of color as a shade of sunset pink appears overhead. So far above that, for a moment, you truly think it to be the sun. But the sun has no teeth to bare, no eyes to watch those beneath its shining face. But, perhaps, he can be considered your sun as Lord Sukuna sneers at the curse still sniveling a few paces ahead. It’s pinned and bleeding. Pierced with long shards of Uraume’s ice formation. Lord Sukuna’s towering form stoops to look at the creature before his sights are set on you. He reaches out and for a moment you expect the gentility of a caress against your frigid cheek. Instead his hand closes around your neck, choking the last dregs of air from your lungs as he lifts you from Uraume’s arms. His height leaves you dangling far above the ground, legs too numb to kick though you have no reason to protest such rough treatment. Punishment is in order. 

How shameful you are. The daughter of an unimpeachable sorcerer clan unable to defend herself. The wife of the King of Curses being maimed by the hands of another. Your life was not for anyone but your lord husband’s to take and yet you feel the familiar feeling of your body giving out. Made worse by the way Lord Sukuna’s fist is closed tight around your throat. Your head feels swollen, vision darkened as the pressure bursts the capillaries in your eyes. Lord Sukuna regards you with vague interests. His four eyes dance over your face, likely taking in the way your lips must be deepening to an asphyxiated blue as the veins in your face lift to the surface of your skin. You can’t bring yourself to fight against him, hands doing little more than holding his wrist as he keeps you aloft with one hand. Another comes to stroke against the wound in your side, claws raking over the ragged flesh. It feels more like pressure than pain as the feeling fades from your body. Lord Sukuna says something but it’s only a dull rumble in your uncomprehending ears. All that’s left is a ringing, then a sound like a branch being torn from a tree. Then nothing. 

A lingering hollowness haunts the light floating before your eyes in clouds of flickering red. It burns through your eyelids as your lashes flutter, eyes disobeying your intentions to open them. It feels like pulling a string with no tension and expecting the puppet to move even still. No part of your body wishes to do more than twitch as you claw towards consciousness like climbing a mountain. First your toes begin to move as intended, then your fingers. It feels like filling an empty cup, bit by bit the water rises until it’s spilling over the brim and your eyes flutter open at last. 

The warmth of wakefulness is nearly overwhelming. Hot as the stifling heat at the height of summer as your eyes watch the glow of the braziers flickering across the walls. Sweat trickles over your skin beneath the layers of bedding pulled up to your chin, gathering between your breasts and at the nape of your neck. It’s made worse by the tackiness in your throat. It’s hard to swallow as you shift in your nest of blankets, moving with the grace of a newborn fawn. This isn’t the rising from a fitful sleep but the emergence of a newly formed butterfly escaping its cocoon. You move with a practiced delicacy, wings still soft against your back as you strip the layers away from your sweltering skin. How long have you been asleep? 

The light blooming outside the shoji gives nothing away. It could be early morning or midday and the faint glow of the winter sun remains the same. You turn away from the doors leading outside and regard the inner shoji with vague interest. There’s faint hints of knowledge in your mind. It drifts just beyond comprehension like fish dancing just below the surface of a pond, bright and fleeting as you try to grasp at the thought that won’t form. The walls around you are unfamiliar yet you can’t be certain of why. The scent in the air is foreign in a way you can’t place. Everything is wrong. A frightening sort of foreignness as you try to rattle any modicum of knowledge loose from the haze of unconsciousness. The tatami is cold underfoot, your bare toes pressing into the woven mats as you wobble towards the door on the tips of your toes. This much you know. 

There’s the broadest strokes of understanding. The door slides open when you pull, red light giving way to darkness as the halls stretch out in either direction almost endlessly. The embers burning in the braziers only reach so far into the yawning blackness so you set forward blindly. One hand trails along the left wall, fingertips grazing along the screens painted with falling leaves. The halls twist and turn, darkness fading to gray as your eyes adjust to the sinuous corridors. At each corner you turn left with the vague knowledge that it will eventually lead you somewhere. The last hallway doesn’t end so much as an obstacle appears in your path. A slim figure cuts across your vision, a burning stroke of white standing out in the dimness. Their face is familiar as is the word they whisper into the darkness. The dulcet sound knocks something loose in your head. Your name. As if you’d been underwater since your eyes opened, the broad strokes of knowledge rattling about in your head are slowly refined. Returning to life is always jarring. Without guidance it takes some time for you to realize yourself, to reclaim your memories and mannerisms. Your mother had said you were like a puppet brought to life before your mind returned, always the last thing to heal from the ordeal of death. 

“Lord Sukuna will be glad to hear you’ve awakened.”

“How long was I asleep?” A gentle way to ask for how long your body had been dead. Faintly, you remember the wound in your side, Lord Sukuna’s hand about your delicate throat. From the inside of your body, breaking your neck always sounds like a tree being cleaved in two. A thick tearing noise that echoes dully in your ears before the unknown sound of death swallows you. That you never remember. A small miracle considering how often you’ve found yourself being relieved of your life. Drowning, choking, burning. And yet your body mends itself without fail, becoming stronger for the pain you endured. You touch your side and wonder what it will take to pierce the skin there in this lifetime; because there have already been so many. 

“A fortnight.” Uraume tells you. Usually a broken neck would not take so long to heal. But the damage is rarely paired with the viscera of a curse attack. It had been a lucky thing that Lord Sukuna had honored you with death at his hands. The first since you’ve entered his household as his third wife. If the curse had taken your life, you imagine there might not have been another life to live. No death had ever come at the hands of a curse or anything imbued with cursed energy. If it can keep a sorcerer from becoming a curse, it can likely keep you from reviving with more strength than before. It would’ve been a great shame to have been killed by a curse when your lord husband was so near. An insult to allow anyone other than him to determine what happens to his wife. His third wife. His favorite wife. 

Uraume leads without much grandeur, simply walking a few steps ahead of you. The path becomes clearer now. Still dark and unlit but there’s a familiarity to it that hadn’t been there only moments ago. The air is chilling as Uraume leads the way outside, meandering along the engawa until they jump from the edge, their landing softened by the clouds of snow still blanketing the ground. It seems less than it had been when your eyes had last opened, as if it hadn’t snowed heavily since the night of Jurina’s death. Yet it was still winter and you clutch the folds of your hakama closer around your shoulders as Uraume trails ahead. Clouds like wisps of smoke puff from between your lips as shivers tremble through your renewed body. If they feel the cold, Uraume doesn’t acknowledge it. The cold is something intrinsic to your lord husband’s most favored servant. Even in the height of summer there’s a slight chill to their presence. Likely a consequence of their cursed technique. 

Uraume leads the way past the unattached buildings that are only frequented by servants, towards the far bounds of the estate. There’s never been any reason for you to be this far from the main house. You imagine these are places where things you never think of are stored, preserved foods and wagons for trips into town. The armory is the only building you recognize. A haze of cursed energy looms over the building like a shroud. It’s the same for the building that Uraume seems to be leading you towards. The air around it is thick with the presence of great power. Both auras are familiar in different ways. Just as each person seems to carry their own distinct scent, cursed energy has an element of individuality. Even with your eyes closed and ears plugged, you’d know the approach of your lord husband by his cursed energy alone. He is inside. As is another being that you imagine must be the curse that had attacked you. Their energy is recognizable in a fractured way. Like a dream slipping away as soon as you wake. 

Uraume announces your arrival as they open the door. The room is bathed in gold, lit by dozens of lanterns all flickering in tandem. The room is modest in size and made smaller by what must be hundreds–if not thousands–of talismans hanging from the walls and ceiling. All in various sizes and written in different hands. Some of the ink has the neatness of a learned scholar while others have the shakiness of illiteracy, though the quality of the script hardly matters to what is written. Each tag holds the power to bind. As do the thickly woven ropes wrapped right around the pale curse that attacked you all those days ago. It gurgles and strains within the ropes hung with more binding talismans, bulging eyes bobbing in its head as it tries to fix its gaze towards the sound of your approach. You hardly notice, eyes fixed on the vision of your lord husband standing over the creature with his spear in hand. 

Lord Sukuna takes over your vision, eclipsing everything with his daunting figure. He takes his eyes away from the curse bound at his feet with an unhurried sort of interest, and the weight of his gaze makes you bloom like a flower beneath the kiss of the sun. Red eyes piercing as burning iron stab through you, pinning you in place so absolutely that your knees buckle. He sees the weakness before you can fall and catches you by the waist, pulling you against him. Your eyes fall away from his face, head bowing as you try to find the words to apologize for your mistake; your death. He silences you before you can find enough words to express the deep rooted feeling of inadequacy. 

“The misstep has already been punished.” When you dare to look up, Lord Sukuna is looking towards Uraume. With a sharp nod of his head he dismisses his right hand attendant to leave the two of you alone with the curse that tried to take your life, tried to claim something that belongs to your lord husband alone. Not even you have such control of your life. You’ve heard tales of unhappy concubines seeking death in the face of neglect and mistreatment. Though you’ve always found yourself spoiled in your marriage, you can’t imagine that you could ever take your own life even if you were set aside and forgotten. Lord Sukuna will always be your world. The sun doesn’t cease to exist simply because it has set. The darkness of night must be endured to enjoy the light of day. You’ll suffer anything at the hands of your lord husband if it pleases him. Your life is his to manage as he sees fit. 

“My Lord,” you try to speak, but you’re silenced once more. 

“Don’t start. I’ve already told you you’re forgiven. Besides, words are useless without action. If you truly seek forgiveness then prove it.” He takes his hand away from you and nods towards the curse still squirming in its bonds. Its eyes wheel this way and that until one finally finds its way into a position to see you. The aborted struggles seem to renew with the vigor you’d seen upon its arrival into your chamber. The ropes burn red welts into its pale skin where it writhes and strains, spittle dribbling from its mouth as its empty whining turns to hissing yowls. 

“Three, three, three.” The creature spits, straining towards you with the singularity of an arrow launched from a bow. Lord Sukuna stands behind you, a pillar of strength and a post keeping you from turning away. One of his hands finds yours, pressing his spear against your palm. It’s heavy and your arm trembles with the strength it takes to hold it. His intentions are clear. Kill the curse. It takes great strength and both arms to lift Lord Sukuna’s spear. All of your weight pitches forward as you drive the three-pronged blade through the curse’s head. Blood sprouts like a fountain as the creature screams. The sound pierces through your ears, ringing in your head as you drive the weapon further through its head in a rush to silence the noise. It chuffs and squeals, thrashing against the ropes with slowly waning strength until, at last, it goes still and silent. 

For a moment the pale lump of bleeding, bulging flesh takes on a shimmery red glow like flames burning within ash and ember. It grows then fades as the creature sags in a haze of dissipating cursed energy. The only movement left is the blood dripping from the spear still lodged in its head, forming a puddle on the dirt floor. Perhaps a flower will sprout from the soil wetted with purple blood though you doubt something so delicate could spring from the death of such a violent creature. Kneeling next to the puddle you touch the spot of dampness and ask the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue since the curse first spoke. 

“Was this First Mistress Jurina?” It had to be. It would explain the vague familiarity about the curse’s energy. Like the scent of someone lingering in their clothes after they’ve worn them, Jurina’s cursed energy tainted the new signature of the cursed spirit. Lord Sukuna barks out a laugh. 

“There’s no need to be so respectful of the dead. Jurina is no longer my wife, nor was she ever worth your deference.”

“She was your first wife,” you mumble, lowering your head against the admonishment you expect to meet your stubbornness. It doesn’t come. 

“They are wives in name only. Perhaps I laid with them, but there has been no woman above you since we wed.” 

The wedding had been something of a formality performed in the absence of your lord husband. The vows had been spoken before your family and the deed was done long before you completed the arduous journey from your home to Lord Sukuna’s estate. You were his wife for some time before you met and, truly, you will be his wife forever. Not even death could sever your allegiance. It makes you wonder if one day you’ll become a curse too. Some amalgamation of your grief and anguish. The dark, rotted feeling of failure as you abandon your lord husband in death. It’s unthinkable when your body has been blessed with such resilience and yet you know that there may come a day when death is no longer like sleep, your eyes will close forever, the butterfly dead at last. It brings a mournful feeling to your heart. 

“Would you let me curse you, my lord?” Jurina had become a vengeful spirit fueled by her hatred of you. She’d cursed you in her death and you can only hope to be so attached to your lord husband, even in death. It’s the dividing line between you, the gate guarding you from the rest. In her last moments, Jurina hadn’t been thinking of Lord Sukuna. Her husband, her murderer. Instead he eyes had looked to you and her soul had screamed to tear at you the way Lord Sukuna had shredded through her body. It was with no small amount of pain that Jurina had lost her life and even in the midst of death she had found it in herself to hate you with such passion that it burned even after she died. If she had hatred you wished to burn with love in your afterlife, to be so consumed by the flames of your desire that your essence will cling to Lord Sukuna even in death. 

“Would you curse me?” He asks sardonically. 

“I think I would.” There’s a bashfulness to your voice as your eyes stay towards the ground, watching Jurina’s purple blood seep into the soil. Lord Sukuna places a finger under your chin, sharpened nail digging into the soft skin beneath your jaw. When your eyes lift towards his face he’s smiling, a stark baring of fanged teeth. He smiles like a wolf and you’re the rabbit a hair’s breadth away from being bitten. 

“You’ll have to die first.” His tone is peculiar. There’s a hint of humor though it’s colored with something darker, as if Lord Sukuna is angered by the prospect of you abandoning him in such a way. 

“I will someday.” You remind him. Your Chrysalis technique may revive you from traumatic deaths, but a gentle departure, a final breath gasped in the night, is likely to go unrenewed. A winter frost through which no spring flowers will bloom. Nature cannot be denied and to live is to die. 

Lord Sukuna cups your face in his hand, clawed fingers digging into your cheeks. “How little you know, woman.” 

He says no more and you decide that he must know something that you don’t. He is leagues more worldly and likely does know things beyond your understanding. It isn’t your place to pry if he won’t tell you freely. He must see a thousand questions behind your eyes but he neglects to answer any of them. Instead he pulls his hand away from your face and the warmth of his skin against yours is replaced by the winter cold. There are no burning coals in this room. A shiver snakes through your body, and that Lord Sukuna acknowledges. He removes his outer robe and drapes it around your shoulder. Immediately you’re drowning in the warmth of his body still lingering in the silk. It’s far too long for you and you gather the massive swathe of fabric into your arms to keep it from dirtying on the ground. Lord Sukuna tuts and picks you up, easily keeping his clothes from dragging along the dirt. Cradling you in one arm he pulls his spear from Jurina’s second corpse with another. It comes loose with a sound that reminds you of chopping vegetables. 

Lord Sukuna calls for Uraume and they appear in an instant as if they had been by his side all along. There’s an unspoken order that passes between them and your lord husband’s servant accepts it with a resolute nod. Then he says, “come, woman,” as though you could go anywhere else while still held aloft in his arms. It’s so different from the last time he held you, his fist locked around your delicate throat. Now his arms cradle beneath your knees and across your back as you lean against the warmth of his chest. The light of the sun is a bright wash of hazy white after spending some time in the dimness of the talisman room. You expect that Lord Sukuna will take you back to the main house, but he continues off in the direction nearing the furthermost bounds of the estate. 

“What will happen to Jurina now?” You dare to ask. Her human form had already been burned, but you weren’t sure what would become of her cursed form. It would be cruel to send it back to her family and burning wasn’t meant for curses. A human body could be purified in flames in preparation for the next life, but a curse could not shed the truth of its nature even in death. 

“I’ll show you,” Lord Sukuna said cryptically, still walking towards the building that stood alone on the outer reaches of the estate. Like the talisman room and the armory, there was a heady cloud of cursed energy blanketing the structure, though it was far more potent than anything you’d ever encountered aside from Lord Sukuna. His cursed energy seemed as deep and unending as the ocean and this strange building was just as unfathomably thick with traces of cursed energy. It was nearly overwhelming despite your constant exposure to your lord husband. It was ominous. Terrifying in its foreignness. Were you not held by Lord Sukuna, you might’ve run from this place. But there is an inherent safety in his arm. Your lord husband wouldn’t take you to a place that he could not protect you. 

“What is this place?” You ask quietly, as if speaking too loudly would rouse something from the aura of darkness. 

“An onsen of sorts.” It had the warmth of a bathhouse though the sound of babbling water was traded for that of rain, like a rushing waterfall as Lord Sukuna opened the door. It seemed just like the onsen of the main house. Stone floors around a deep pool, yet there was no water here. Instead the pit where a hot spring might’ve been was filled with something black and vicious. The dripping sound came from the strange hammock hung far above the pool. That same dark liquid seeping through the large patchwork of fabric. And when you look closer, there are those same talisman symbols painted on the bulging material. 

“This is where Jurina will be taken,” Lord Sukuna told you, “so that she might finally be of use.” Just as Uraume said, none of his wives have served their purpose. It makes you wonder what purpose Lord Sukuna would have you serve. You dare to ask. 

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” he says vaguely. “You’re my wife, and I expect that you’ll serve me as a wife should.” 

His words send a shock down your spine. What task have you been neglecting? You were raised in an affluent household as the daughter of a large and prosperous clan. The ways of womanhood have been stitched into your brain from the moment you were born. The proper way to act and speak, the things a wife must pay heed to if she wishes to keep a well run household. Though you’re only the third in line of authority–second, now–you’ve taken up most tasks to do with the household. Jurina hadn’t the patience and Second Mistress was always sequestered in her room. Such a sad girl like a flower wilting at the height of spring. She cried at Jurina’s funeral where few others could find the fondness for it. It was you that the head household maid reported to and the cooks asked about which meals should be prepared on which days. At first, you simply thought it was the convenience of receiving prompt answers, but now you know that it was simply expected. You were the favorite, the de facto lady of the house. So what could there be that you weren’t doing to your lord husband’s standards?

“My apologies, my lord. Whatever I’ve been lacking I will–” His hand covers your mouth, ear to ear. 

“Enough,” he groans. Then he says, “Children. A wife should give her husband children. You’ll serve this purpose for me.” There’s a fleeting hint of fondness in his voice that sends a twinge through your heart. Lord Sukuna is asking you to bear his children. You weren’t married into the household as his main wife and yet he’s given you the highest honor of being the mother of his heirs. A warmth blooms across your cheeks and down your neck, a flush of excitement igniting through your body. 

“As many as you’d like, my lord.” It’s what’s expected of you though you; an expectation rather than a choice, but you’re excited to fulfill the role even still. Though, part of you had considered it an impossibility. Lord Sukuna had been human once but something in him had changed, gone beyond that of an ordinary man. But he is a man even still. Desiring progeny, a legacy beyond his own being. To know that he wants to use your body for such an honorable purpose washes you in a great sense of pride. It will be your womb that births the King of Curses his heirs. Little pink haired babies with your nose and their father’s four eyes. But pride slowly turns to contemplative anguish. 

If you were meant to give Lord Sukuna his children, it is nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t conceived in the year that you’ve been married. Lord Sukuna did nothing sparingly. He indulged to his heart’s content. In blood and carnage, in food, and in bed. He laid with you often enough that a child should’ve come long ago and yet you’ve yet to feel the stirring of a baby quickening within you. 

The room dips and swoops around you as your eyes lose focus, lost in thought. What was wrong with you that you hadn’t yet fallen pregnant? Your hands clutch at your stomach, empty beneath the layers of your clothes. A hidden fragment of your heart wonders if it’s truly your fault at all. Lord Sukuna had three wives, and while you were most favored there were times when he took the others to bed, a time before you entered his household. And yet the estate remains empty of heirs. Though you don’t dare to entertain the thought longer than a moment, it flashes through your mind as quick as an arrow. Perhaps it was Lord Sukuna that was obstructing the blessing of a child. Still, your hands remain on your stomach, caressing the place meant to bear the fruits of life. Since birth you were told it would be your only honor in this life. To give a man a son to further his glory and continue his legacy. Lord Sukuna isn’t in need of such a successor, yet he’s asked for them even still.  

“You are truly too valuable to die,” Lord Sukuna says, lifting your eyes towards his. They’re piercing as red flames, burning into your face with such intensity that it makes you want to wither in his arms, like a flower left with no water. “Jurina was poisoning you. Every night. And yet your body was kind enough to preserve itself for me.” Because what other reason would you have to defy death so vehemently? If Lord Sukuna says the purpose of your cursed technique is to keep you by his side, then who are you to deny it?

“You like tea.” Lord Sukuna says, passing the pad of his thumb over your lips. “Dark tea. Dark enough to mask the color of anything added to it. Jurina was bribing your little maid to slip poison into your tea every night before bed. Nothing lethal. She meant to poison your womb and purge any seed I might’ve planted inside you.” He laughs scornfully, “I thought it was jealousy, at first, but she was drinking it, too, and feeding it to the second one. Likely the work of her family urging her to cripple my reign by blocking the chances of an heir.” 

Another hand brushes against your stomach, sweeping away your desperate grasping. 

“I chose you well, woman. Though the poison did as it was made to and purged your body of any child that might’ve grown, you healed. What made Jurina and the other barren hardly touched you. As soon as you closed your eyes your body repaired itself. Uraume thinks you might be close to building a tolerance for it since your technique heals as well as strengthens. I might start feeding you poisons to fortify you against future attacks.” It was so terribly wonderful that you knew as soon as he said it that you’d gladly eat anything your lord husband asked without question. The poison might even taste sweet on your tongue if it was prepared by him. 

“Things will be different now. You will give me children. Strong children.” He says it with an air of finality, as if you’d ever deny him anything, though you’re uncertain of how strong any child of yours will be. Of course, your maiden clan is a powerful one, but you’re hardly a descendant of the three elite sorcerer clans. Jurina had been a Zenin. Her blood would’ve given him strong children. Second Mistress is a Kamo and her children would carry that superiority in their blood. As a humble Hoga, you were the least desirable of his brides to have his children with. Unless Fourth Mistress was of a lower clan than even you. 

“If I may, my lord,” he grunts his annoyance but allows you to continue. “If you want children, why did you not have them with Jurina? Certainly a Zenin would be better suited to creating a powerful heir. My cursed technique is unheard of even within my own clan.” You remind him. It would break your heart to disappoint him with a child that couldn’t even do you the service of inheriting your technique. And there likely would be no second chance to amend the error. 

“I don’t want your technique, woman, though it would surely be of great use. That’s what this place is for.” He sweeps his arm towards the pool of darkness gathered in the center of the room. The longer you look the more it begins to turn from black to deep purple. Slowly, the immense level of cursed energy sufficing the air begins to make sense. The staccato waves that don’t seem to match any singular signature aside from Lord Sukuna’s. It is blood. The blood of curses. And Lord Sukuna had called it an onsen of sorts. Did he mean to bathe you in the blood of those he’d slain? To give your child over to these tainted waters to imbue them with its power? 

It made you fear for the child that had yet to be made. Of course, their purpose in life would be an extension of your own. To serve their lord father in any way that he asked, yet they’d still be a piece of you. A terrible selfish piece of your heart began to crack and splinter, breaking away in revolt of turning your baby into a monster. But what was Lord Sukuna if not a monster? Adoration did little to cleanse the crimes of the King of Curses. Any child you gave him would be heir to that title. With a few measured breaths, you resigned yourself to it. Your child would know no other way of life and you would love them as proudly as a mother could. They would always be a manifestation of the love you bear for your lord husband. His flesh and blood joined with yours to create a life. It felt like a privilege to even consider the thought. 

[passionateseadruid]

Snake King's Bride 12

The one with the bird

Content Warning: No this has nothing to do with friends. Also there will be some mentions off all the shit Lucifer has put the reader through (as well as some Lilith criticism).

"Same time, next week?" The therapist ushered you out. She was a infestor/candle-head hybrid. Her blue hair bobbed in the long fishtail braid she had it in. Part of it was tied into two cat buns as her bangs swept around to the side of her head. Her "candle" was a little anglerfish antenna with a bright purple flame at the end of it. She wore a long, black and white, tartan patterned dress with a white shirt underneath. Her hooves here a deep, rich blue and her pastel blue eyes had horizontal pupils.

"Yes... that would be nice..." Your speech was monotone as you stepped toward the limo. Styx drove you here for your first ever therapy session with Dr. Lumine. You spent the entire hour just trying to get to know the nice lady. The people in the sloth ring were far often nicer than any other ring you found.

The pastel pink sky should have felt like a cozy blanket wrapping you in content, it's what everyone would expect, but instead it was a cruel reminder of the golden cage you'd be headed back to. It felt like a steak through the heart. Everything around made you feel melancholic. The floating islands were a far cry from the industrial skylines of the pride ring; the waterfalls flowing from the sky were whimsical and charming unlike the more gritty and realistic circles of hell; the further away you were the more the inevitability of your return loomed over your head.

You slipped into the back of the limo and curled into the ball. Her pastel yellow, lace up shorts hung low on her waist and shifted against her white denim bodice. She had no idea why Lucifer insisted on dressing her up like a duck every day or almost every day. Wearing white became a more common occurrence for you ever since Fenrir came into your life. You didn't know if Lucifer's latest obsession was triggered by the encroaching date of your wedding or if he just liked to dress you and Fenrir as a mother and baby duck. Maybe it was a bit of both.

You looked up at Styx. You felt so compelled to ask them to drive you somewhere. This might have been your only chance. They would take you... they had to understand what you were going through! They literally showed you the horrors of the extermination despite Lucifer's clear instructions.

"Styx...?" Your voice shook. Your heart raced and you clenched your shorts in your fists. What if they refused.

"Yes?" They responded quickly.

"I have somewhere I want you to take me..." You recited the address. "...Will you take me, there?" You asked warily. 

The car sat in an uncomfortable silence for so long. It didn't move from the curb where they had parked over an hour ago. The sleek red exterior drew in a lot of attention from the Hellborn.

You shifted slightly. You felt yourself becoming acutely aware of the attention being drawn to you. "You know what? Forget it. Let's just go ho-"

They cute you off coldly. "I'll take you." They started up the car and you drove off. Styx tuned the radio trying to alleviate the tension wafting through the car.

The car was filled with a familiar melodic voice... "Inside of every demon is a rainbow..."

Styx grumbled something along the lines of "They need to stop replaying this to embarrass the princess."

You weren't paying that much attention as you drifted off into a nap.

////////////////////////////////////////

It was the 28th of November. You had been given one day to yourself in exchange for a date with Lucifer.

You and Nina walked into a building housing many freelance businesses. You went up to the fifth floor and walked into the office of the Immediate Murder Professionals.

"Hello? Hello…" You spoke cautiously.

"Who the fuck are you?" A Hell hound asked. She had long silver hair parting at one side and flopping over snow white fur. She seemed like a husky. Her right ear was cut in a few placed and her left was pierced. She wore an off the shoulder dark grayish-blue crop top.

"Oh shit! SIR! We have a client!" A small imp with a squeaky voice called into the room in the back. He had thick white and black strips on his jagged horns. His hair was a powder white, and his clothes resembled an opera conductor (or maybe a little butler). His legs were crooked like his horns and you felt much sympathy for the poor little guy.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PROFESSIONALISM MOXXIE!!" A taller man(imp) yelled. He had red skin like the smaller imp "Moxxie", and the same thick strips. Though his started with black instead of white. His large horns curled back and you couldn't help but notice the strange heart on his forehead. His suit jacket had puffs on the side and he wore strange gauntlets on his wrists. "Afternoon Ma'am, my name is Blitzo the o is silent."

You tilted your head. "O?"

"Well sure it is! It's my name after all; I think out of anyone I'd know." He attempted to wrap his arm around you but Nina grabbed it and twisted it around. "OW OW OW!! CALL OF THE HUMPY GUARD DOG, BITCH!" He cried out.

Nina scowled. "Filthy imps like you give your people a bad name."

You intervened. "Nina, please let him go." You smiled pleadingly at her. She rolled her eyes and pushed Blitzo away. "I'm sorry about that Mr. Blitzo. My um... Fiance is rather protective of me, and he's the one who pays her bills so she goes by his orders."

"Fiance? Wait a minute... You're the kings new toy- I mean bitch- I mean... please don't hurt me." Blitzo's smile was tense as his eye twitched slightly.

You gave me a reassuring look. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He lead you to his office. Nina stood outside the door the whole time as you sat across from the 5'2" imp. "S-so what do you need miss?"

"No need for the formalities. I don't plan on sticking around for very long." You explained as you set the briefcase on your lap and started to fiddle with the lock.

He gave you a surprised look. "You... you don't?"

You scoffed. "Why would I? Nothing is binding me to this dump. The second you get me what I need the second I'm outta here!"

He looked at you like you'd grown a second head. "Look lady... I don't know how to tell you this but... once you die, you're stuck here. Forever. Not just here in Hell but the Pride Ring."

You rolled your eyes. "I know. I've heard. I think you'll be changing your tune in well... however long it takes you to find my guy."

"Don't worry we're professionals! But tracking will cost you extra cause we have to send our little Loonie out into the field. But rest assured we'll have him killed in a week tops." He boasted.

"I think you've misunderstood. I don't want you to kill anyone-" He cut you off.

"Lady, we're assassins. The Immediate Murder Professionals. That's our whole thing. We kill any asshole that's wronged you in life." He deadpanned.

You mirrored his expression with your own. "I don't need someone dead. I need someone found. I heard you were freelancers."

He shrugged casually. "We can but it'll cost you-" You opened the briefcase and showed him the fat stacks of cash. His face lit up like a christmas tree. "WELL BEND ME OVER AND FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!!" Just as soon as the smile appeared, it fell into a scowl. "Don't actually try that. I have enough trouble keeping a 9 foot perverted bird off my sweet ass I don't need to used the Horny client Help button under my desk today!"

"Wha-" You looked at him in a mixture of shock, disgust, and confusion.

"Nevermind. Lady, you got yourself a Deal!" He took your hand and shook it.

"Okay. I need you to find me someone named Apollyon." You handed him the briefcase full of money. "And I'd like it done before the wedding."

Blitzo eagerly took the case. "Right right we got it!" He said as he shooed you out the door. You and Nina headed back to the car in a stiff silence. The air was suffocating. The tight walls of the elevator were closing in around you two. You had to ask... you had to know...

"Why don't you like him?" You peered over at her as she avoided your gaze at all costs.

"Because instead of treating all of the other hellborn as equals he's continuing to perpetuate harmful behavior against other hellborn races. Sometimes it feels like Ness and I are the only ones who actually want anything to get better." She vented her frustrations. "I get that imps are treated as the lowest of the low but if they are going to continue to traduce Succubi like that then relations between our kind are going to continue to get worse..."

"You know if you want to tell me anything-"

"I'll tell you everything when I'm ready."

You nodded. "Okay... You know, it takes a lot of bravery to open up like that. I'm proud of you for getting that out."

////////////////////////////////////////

The memory permeated your mind as Styx drove you deeper into the sloth ring. At least you knew they weren't taking you back to the Pride ring. Unless there was some other way up that you didn't know about. That was entirely possible, you suppose. Afterall, you had no idea just 4 months ago that the big bad devil was a 5'4" twink, or that the antichrist wanted to get sinners into heaven, or that Angels were being sent to massacre the lost souls. Everything you'd ever known was flipped on it's head and you had no idea what to do about it. You felt... lost... and alone...

Eventually they stopped at an old and spooky cottage on the outskirts of the ring. It was near a cliffside, where the grass had turned bronze and the sky was filled with black. Styx got out and you noticed that they hadn't turned the cars radio off... nor did they use the GPS...

You got out and decided to have a little look around. Over the edge of the cliff and beneath you there was just a void of darkness; no soul could survive in those mirky depths alone. You looked back up at the cabin; it was old and falling apart, but the place was kind of lovely in a gothic way. All the trees around the place were dead or wilting but the vines and thorny bushes that grew around it were plump and livelier than any other plant you'd ever seen before. They were shades of green you didn't think existed in nature. The main walls of the house were a faded yellow, while the accents like the roof shingles, the door, and the window frames were a dark chestnut color.

Styx grabbed your hand and walked you to the front door. They brought their hand up and slowly curled their fingers into a fist. Sweat beaded down their neck as they stood there for a few moments before knocking. It was silent after that... You looked around... wondering if you had the wrong address or worrying if you'd been scammed.

BANG!

The door flew open and there stood a 9'8" foot tall raven... man? His head was that of a raven and his limbs were talons but he stood like a man, he dressed like a man, he acted like a man. He sported a deep purple robe around his shoulders and an off white, deep-cut, silk blouse that ruffled just above his tight black pants that held buttons running down the sides of his calves. He gasped when he saw the two of you and you noticed how his feathers puffed out the opening of his shirt as if they were trying to gasp for air themselves.

Before you could do or say anything the raven scooped up Styx into his arms and held them against his chest. "Oh, my child has finally come home!" He cried out.

"Hi dad..." They squeaked out, clearly wanting to be let go.

"WHAT?!" You stepped back in surprise.

Styx pulled themselves out of the raven's grip and turns to me. "My lady. This is Apollyon Avyssos, My father, and the traitor of the Ars Goetia."

"Okay... I was not expecting that. Wait was that why you were so weird about Renesmee, Nina, and me researching the Ars Goetia? And is that why Lucifer took you in? And is that why you're just... so different from other Imps that you literally give off this... this aura!?" Your eyes widened in realization.

They looked down sheepishly. "Yeah... I'm sorry to have kept this from you."

"I'm... I'm fine. You didn't need to tell me... this is just a lot to take in. And Mr. Avyssos, I need you help." You looked up at him pleadingly.

"Of course, little lady." He grabbed your hand and kissed it.

You felt your face flush as you pulled your hand away. "Um... yes well we should get inside and talk."

He brought you two in and settled you both on the couch. His home was filled with books. Every wall was a bookshelf in this little one room cottage. on the left was a small kitchenette with some herbs hanging in the window. His bedroom was on the right with a very long, very thin bed with a door you assumed to be the bathroom connected at the foot of the bed. In the middle held an old, blue, fabric couch with a design a grandma would have in her house. Next to an old brick fireplace was a similar looking recliner.

"So what do you need, little lady?" Apollyon asked you in a charming voice as he sat down in the recliner.

You took a breath and then spilled your guts. "I need you to help me run away from Lucifer. He kidnapped me, is forcing me to marry him, tried to force me to love him and broke down into tear when he realized he went to far, threatened my entire family, and is constantly touching me without my consent! And all because I put on this stupid ring!"

Apollyon looked at you in shock. Then out of nowhere he knelt in front of you and grabbed your hand to start examining the ring. "This ring?"

"Yeah!" You continued on your tirade. "And the worst part is the fact that he is constantly comparing me to Lilith! It's almost as if he's trying to turn me into her! I don't want to be used as some freaky sex puppet to live out his weird desires with!"

"Little lady, I think there's some things you need to know..." Apollyon stood up and grabbed a book from the mantel. It had dozens on news paper articles about the difference that your deal with Lucifer in fixing up the Rings off Hell had been going. Asmodeus and Bee had already done a lot to try to improve Lust and Gluttony from the suggestions that you had made and the other sins had at least on the surface started to treat hellborn better. It caught you off guard. You had no idea that you could have this much impact in just a few months. "Little lady, you have an enormous impact on the system of hell. Thousands of people are counting on you. If Lucifer and the other Sins were acting like this when I was your age... well... maybe I wouldn't be where I am now."

"What do you mean?" You looked up at him with big, sad eyes.

"When I was your age I was tasked with guarding any and all artifacts that could open portals into the living world. See, back in my day you couldn't just flutter your eyes at Asmodeus and get a crystal to take you to Earth. You had to either be summoned or you had to send an official report to Lilith to have it approved. Lilith didn't like the hellborn, though. Every single attempt of theirs that didn't come with a recommendation from one of the Sins—or even more rare as a direct order from the big boss of Hell himself—Lilith vetoed. I believe she even set up the current system as it is today... or at the very least she didn't do anything to stop it. I haven't the foggiest idea why she seems to despise those creatures so much but she does." He looked away trying to wrap his head around it but he merely sighed, she could feel the weight of this unanswered problem finally starting to crack and wear the poor man down.

He continued with his story. "Anyway, so when I was about your age there was this beautiful imp woman who dreamed to go to the human world. She wasn't the strongest, and she had a weak tolerance for pain, so her only hope was to prove that she could serve Lilith's cause of smiting Adam's kin. However, all her attempts were vetoed. It got to the point she came to me directly." His smile was strained but overflowing with love. "You would have loved her. She was the cutest little thing I've ever met. Her long, shabby black hair tied into a pretty braid that just barely swept the floor as she walked... her ruby red skin... her beautiful little horns that looked exactly like our child's... Oh and her adorably little navy blue sundress she wore when we first met... her big teary eyes as she pleaded with me." His face grew a darker hew as he talked about the woman he once loved, almost as if he was blushing.

He cleared his throat and continued. "Well anyway, when she came to me I felt compelled to help her, so I brought her to earth despite knowing the consequences. She adored the place. She frolicked through the grass and the river. She played with butterflies and birds and... she no longer wanted to live by Lilith's rules, and frankly neither did I. We decided to keep meeting up and exploring the world of man together. We fell in love during the course of our dates and we decided to get married. However, this is when the Goetia and the Royal family discovered our little secret. They were going to banish me to earth but Lilith wanted to make an example out of me. My love, Anastasi, well... she wasn't about to let me go so easily so she decided to run away with me. Our love transcended the bounds of class and nobility and our roles in society. She wasn't a tough soldier and I wasn't an impartial guard. If we had someone to fight for us and our love... well maybe things could have been different."

...

This was so much to take in. "I... I have no idea what to say." You said as you sat there motionless.

He looked you in the eyes as he told you this next part. "I understand the desire to leave. And... maybe it is the morally right thing to do... see as someone who worked for Lilith for a long time I know her magic anywhere. She put a curse on that ring you're wearing right now. It's making Lucifer go insane with love for you. His actions are his own and they are reprehensible, but he wouldn't be doing this if he didn't have her curse over him."

You were stunned. This both made sense and was totally ludicrous. "But... why? Why would she do that?"

"I assume she was jealous and thought Lucifer was trying to replace her. I mean... he was going to give another girl a ring. Even if he meant it as completely platonic it is still cause for worry."

You looked at him skeptically. "And how exactly do you know all this?"

"I... may have accidentally given the man who stuck the deal with Lucifer the idea in the first place... Look he saw me eating a man who was disemboweling children and he got it in his head to summon the Devil. It could have happened to anyone!" He defended himself. He then gives her a box. "I did think something bad would happen so I created this pendant to counteract any negative effects the ring might bring you. This should bring him down to a normal state or as normal as Lucifer can be. However, you could get him to remove the ring and lift the spell entirely."

You opened the box and saw that inside was a locket with a raven carved into the front. "So... either I can stay here and help the hellborn at the cost of Lucifer's autonomy... or I can give him back his personhood... but he might cast me out in shame of what he's done."

Apollyon looked at you sympathetically. "Well, yes... I'm sorry to put you in this situation."

Styx finally piped up. "What are you going to do? The choice is yours..."

[fresh-new-yoik-watah]

DUPLICITY :

chapter 2 – Where Am I?

“There are two ways to be fooled; one is to believe what isn’t true, the other is to refuse to believe what is”

author's note : revised chapter two is here!! pairing : Hiccup x Aja (OC) warnings :  descriptions of panicking word count :  2.5k masterlist

Pain.

Immense, immeasurable pain.

It scorched through, overwhelming her senses and consumed her entirely. Her head felt as if it were splitting open, the sensation raw and jagged, like her very being was being torn apart, limb from limb. She couldn’t tell where parts of her body ended and began—arm, leg, face—it was all fire, a searing, unrelenting inferno.

Aja pried her eyelids apart with extreme effort, sticky, like peeling apart parchment left out in the rain. Her vision swam, shifting in and out of focus as though she were submerged in a pool of paint, shapes blurring and colors bleeding together, muted and formless.

She blinked furiously, ignoring the pulse of pain that flared each time her eyelids met, urging the haze to lift. Shadows slowly sharpened into lines, and she made out the details of a low wooden ceiling, weathered and cracked, and a flicker of firelight somewhere, casting shadows across the rough walls. She inhaled shakily, a thick scent of smoke, and somewhere, faintly, herbs.

Where was she?

Fragmented memories surged forward unbidden, like waves craves crashing against jagged rocks—flames, darkness, icy cold dragging her down into ocean depths. She squeezed her eyes shut again, as though she could force the memories away, but they lingered, relentless. Her hands curled into fists, the bit of movement sending bolts of white-hot pain through her side, like her veins had been electrified.

Her breath came in short, sharp bursts as she forced her eyes open once more, now noticing she was lying on a bed, or something close to it, her torso wrapped tightly in linen bandages, reeking of blood and something sour.

Her gaze darted around the room, her vision finally clearing. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with jars filled with unidentifiable slosh, dried plants tied in bundles, and trinkets she couldn’t quite identify, and in the center of the room was the source of the firelight, a cauldron bubbling over a flame, releasing thin trails of steam.

Then she saw them.

Two figures standing by the door, their backs turned to her. One tall, lean, with long auburn hair braided into thick, rope-like plaits that cascaded down their back like coiled vines; the other shorter and a bit more broad, having loose, wheat-like hair that covered a fur hood. Aja’s heart thudded hard against her ribs, and she forced her breaths to remain shallow, attempting to avoid aggravating the pain in her side.

Her fingers twitched toward her waist, seeking the familiar weight of her knives that would’ve been there—strapped securely to her belt, within easy reach—they had to be, her only chance was to be ready to fight, to defend herself.

But the tip of her middle finger met bare hipbone, her belt—her knives—weren’t there.

Without thinking, she tried to move to look down, and her body protested violently, sending fiery waves of pain that ripped through her limbs, and before she could stop it, a gasp escaped from her mouth, raw and involuntary, and loud enough that the two women at the door turned sharply toward her.

She froze, her wide blue eyes locking onto theirs. She felt like prey caught in the sightlines of hunters, and how ironic, as she was usually the hunter. Her muscles coiled instinctively despite the agony that screamed against them, every fiber of her telling her to be ready to flee, but her injuries trapped her, her own body betraying her.

The taller woman moved first, green eyes locked onto Aja, her expression held somewhere between concern and curiosity. Aja’s heart pounded harder as the woman moved closer, she wanted to shrink into herself, hide away.

The woman crouched beside her bed, close but not too imposing, as though trying not to startle her. She turned her head slightly toward the blonde, murmuring quietly, “Get Hiccup.”

The other woman hesitated, her own eyes lingering on Aja for a brief moment. Then, without a word, she slipped out of the room, the door creaking as it closed behind her.

The woman’s focus shifted back to Aja. She didn’t reach out, didn’t touch her—simply watched, as though gauging whether she might bolt like a frightened animal.

“You’re alright,” she said, her voice warm, like a blanket on a cold night that had been heated by a hot brick.

The reassurance did nothing to abate the tension in Aja’s shoulders, her muscles remaining taut, ready to spring into motion should her body allow it, but something in the woman’s demeanor did give her pause; there was no malice in her gaze, only concern. Aja studied her more closely, noting the soft lines etched into the skin at the corners of her eyes and mouth, a few faint creases on her forehead, she seemed close to the age her mother might have been—had she lived.

“Can you understand me?” the woman asked gently, tilting her head slightly.

Aja hesitated, her throat dry and tight as she weighed whether to respond. She managed a small, tentative nod.

The woman’s thin lips curved into a faint smile. “Good.“

Her hand reached for something on a nearby table, returning with a small wooden cup that looked polished smooth from frequent use. “Here,” she held it out. “Drink.”

Aja glanced at the cup, her instincts warring with her thirst, whether or not she could trust this stranger—if she had a choice but to. The woman remained patient, calm, continuing to hold the cup, and eventually, Aja relented.

She raised a trembling hand, wincing from the sting that accompanied, and took it, bringing it up to her cracked lips and taking a small, tentative sip. It was just water, but it felt heavenly as it trickled down her throat, cooling her insides, soothing the flame, and she drank the rest greedily, emptying as though it might’ve vanished if she didn’t.

The woman spoke again, her voice now probing with curiosity. “The chief found you,” she said. “You were quite injured.

Aja stilled, her grip tightening, as the woman continued. “Do you remember what happened?”

Floods of fire, screams, oranges and black, clawed their way to the forefront of her mind, tearing past whatever barrier her brain had built in an attempt to protect her. Her breathing quickened, each inhale shorter and sharper than the last, and the walls seemed to be closing in around her, the flickering fire from the cauldron warping into the flames of the ship in her mind’s eye. Her fingers dug into the thin blanket beneath her as she shook her head violently, as though she could force the memories back into the recesses of her mind.

“I—I have to go,” she stammered, her voice rising in pitch, trembling with desperation. “I have—”

A flash of her fathers face, the moment his eyes widened with something unrecognizable, as if he had forgotten who she was or that she was there.

Was he alive?

Was anyone else alive?

She tried to sit up, the need to escape overwhelming all else, but another sear of pain ripped through her ribs, stealing her breath as the cup slipped out of her hand and clattered against the floor.

“My fath—” Aja gasped, her voice cracking. “I have to—!”

Thin hands reached for hers, their touch steady, brushing against her trembling knuckles softly back and forth. “Breath child, you’re safe here,” the woman whispered, voice carrying the same steady cadence as the tide lapping against the shore.

But Aja barely registered her words, breaths coming in more erratic. She felt as though an iron band had coiled around her ribs, constricting tighter, refusing to let her lungs expand.

Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for something—anything—familiar to ground her.

A sharp creak cut through the storm in her mind, like a crack of thunder, stilling her through sheer unexpectedness. Her head snapped toward the source, her body still trembling but held in place.

The first thing she saw was green.

Eyes. Not the vibrant, crystalline green of precious stones, but softer, earthy—moss-like, as if they belonged to someone molded by the soil, incredibly disarming even as her instincts screamed to stay on guard.

The rest of a face came into focus, features slowly being unearthed like pieces of a hidden treasure. Speckles and blotches dotted his face—freckles, most likely—but they mingled with smudges of dirt and soot, blurring the line between where nature had marked him and where human began.

He was a boy.

Well, not a boy, but it had felt wrong to call him man. Youthful, was a better word. He had a wiry, lean frame, and his brown hair was tousled, sticking up in uneven tufts as thought he’d run his hands through it far too many times.

He moved with a slight hitch in his stride, unevenness so subtle that it might have gone unnoticed if not for the soft squeak that accompanied each of his steps. Aja’s eyes dropped, following the song and landing on his foot—or rather, the metal prosthetic that replaced it. It sprung and moved with the weight of his body, as though mimicking an actual limb. Under different circumstances, she would have marveled at it.

He hovered just in front of the door, as though unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat. “Hello,” he said. His voice was quiet—nasally, even—but not timid.

She didn’t respond—if he was expecting her to—her heart still racing. She watched him, fight-or-flight gripping her like a second skin, ready to spring if he moved too suddenly.

He took a few cautious steps forward, the soft squeak of his prosthetic filling the silence. His gaze swept over. “How do you feel?” he asked after a pause.

She almost laughed. How did he think she felt? She was battered and broken, swaddled in bandages, stranded in an unfamiliar place, her mind still swimming in saltwater.

“In pain,” she replied, flat and gold, devoid of the humor she didn’t have the strange to summon.

A wince flashed across his face, his eyes darting downard for a split second before meeting hers again. “Right,” he murmured under his breath.

As if realizing how he might appear looming over, he stepped to the side and grabbed a wooden chair, its legs scraping against the floor as he dragged it closer to the bed. He sat down slowly, placing himself at eye level with her, as though he were trying to put her at ease—or at least not to make things worse.

He cleared his throat again. “Do you know where you are?” he asked, studying her.

Aja shook her head, “No.”

“You’re on Berk.”

Berk.

Of all the islands in the Archipelago, of all the beaches she could’ve washed up on. Her stomach churned, feeling as if she might throw up. It was some cruel joke, some sick, karmic punishment for her father’s sins, ending up exactly where they had been trying to go. The gods themselves must have laughed as they casted her ashore. Maybe it would’ve been better if she had drowned, maybe then she could’ve pleaded with them, begged for clemency directly.

She needed to leave, to get far away.

The man shifted in his chair, adjusting his leg. “I’m chief Hiccup,” he added, his voice uneven, the word chief dipping ever so slightly in pitch, as though it were still foreign on his tongue. She noticed the hesitation, he didn’t wear it like a badge of honor, rather like a new cloak, too stiff and not yet broken in.

And she then realized, he was who had found her, had brought her here. She would’ve been dead if not for him, rotting in the sand, cold and lifeless.

He had saved her life. She owed a debt.

His eyes lingered on her expectantly, waiting.

“And you’re…?” he prompted when the silence stretched a moment too long.

She blinked, realizing he had wanted her name. She considered lying, but she hadn’t planned on needing a pseudonym, and now she had already hesitated too long.

“Aja,” she answered finally.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked, repeating the woman’s earlier question—who had at some point moved to stir the cauldron at the center of the room. “What did this?” He gestured faintly toward Aja’s bandaged torso.

How much should she tell him? How much could she tell him?

As far as she understood, Berk didn’t know of her clan, or her father and his reputation; three weeks prior, she hadn’t even heard of Berk. She would need to tread carefully, withholding just the right amount without being suspicious, if she wanted any hope of leaving the island intact.

“I don’t know,” she said, forcing the words through her still raw throat and dull throb in her head. “I was sailing with my father and our crew, and then…” Her voice cracked and faltered, her breath hitching, as she blinked rapidly, forcing away the forming tears. “Our ship went up in flames,” she continued. “I went overboard. I wanted to get back to the ship, to get back to him…”

Hiccup leaned back in the chair, eyes widening just a bit, like a sort of realization, before he exhaled slowly. “Gothi’s our healer,” he said, softer, less formal. “I’ll send her in to change your bandages. Just… rest for now. I’ll be back, then we’ll talk more.”

His leg squeaked as he stood, and whatever calm he had managed to provide seemed to lift with him, Aja feeling her insides sink like a heavy stone in water.

He turned toward the door, leaving the bedside, and the woman followed behind him, but before stepping through the door, she cast one last glance at Aja, lingering on her for a brief moment. Then she shut it behind her.

The room was completely still, save for the sound of the crackling fire. Aja stared at the empty chair the man had left behind, her thoughts a tangled, knotted mess that couldn’t be unraveled, every thread she tugged only tightening the bundle.

The dam broke.

Her chest heaved, a sob tearing from her throat, shattering the quiet like a crack of a whip, starling even herself. She clamped a hand over her mouth, as though she could control and shove the grief back down, but another sob followed, and then another, until tears began spilling down her cheeks in hot streams.

She curled her knees to her chest, wincing as a fresh pulse of pain shot from her side, but she didn’t stop, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs as though she could hold herself together, that the physical act might keep her from falling apart.

Her forehead pressed against her knees, the skin digging into the coarse blanket that draped over them, tears soaking the fabric. She hated how weak she felt, how powerless.

This couldn’t be her life? Her world couldn’t have fractured so drastically so suddenly?

She sat like that for what felt like hours, until her tears gradually subsided into quiet sniffles. Her body trembled, exhausted from the effort of holding her body up, but she didn’t dare lie down, sleep feeling too much of a luxury, that it just meant to tempt her.

She allowed her head to rest against the rough wall behind her, her bloodshot eyes flicking toward the door. She supposed she’d wait for the supposed healer.

She was alone, completely, utterly alone, but she was a survivor.

Whatever it took, she’d keep herself alive. And she would find her way home, to her people.

[qtt-art]

A Beowulf (she/her) and Sanjay (they/them) from Patreon a while back ^__^

Image description: 2 digital drawings. The first is of a non-human woman with charcoal coloured fur and sharp teeth wearing a white crop-top. The second is of a person with intricate arm tattoos and white hair tied in a long braid that wraps around their neck.

[flurry-of-stars]

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝒶 𝑀𝒾𝒶

Pairing: Dad Sigma x (Fem)Reader Genre: Fluff, OC kids, No Abilities AU (Sigma is still the general manager of the Sky Casino however) Summary: After a difficult day, your husband goes above and beyond just to see you smile again. Word count: 5.8k (A/N: I was inspired by a TikTok I saw hsdfsdfiajs. It was cute and I instantly thought of Sigma doing this for his wife and kids.) *＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

A gentle sigh escapes the young father’s lips as he finally leaves the nursery of his eight-month-old son, leaving the door slightly ajar just in case he wakes up and starts fussing again. Fixing his thick braid, he moves towards the kitchen to finish preparing his daughter’s lunch for school and dinner for himself and his dear wife.

Sigma moves with a silent air of elegance and the memorization of routine. He grabs Lucia’s beloved duck-themed lunchbox as he moves into the kitchen, stirring the creamy sauce for the dinner he was preparing for your return before moving towards the wooden cutting board.

Right as he starts preparing Lucia’s lunch, he hears the familiar jingle of the bell on your keys, noting with familiarity the way you twist the key the wrong way first before finally turning it the right way. The door clicks open, slowly creaking open as you step inside. All at once, Sigma stops what he’s doing to look at you.

You look exhausted. Your hair, which he had lovingly tied back for you this morning into a French braid, was loose and hanging over your shoulders messily. You drag your handbag in, as if it weighed as much as a bowling ball, finally giving up on it as it drops to the floor. Your make-up looks like it's been running…

“Darling? Are you okay?” Sigma calls out softly, placing star-cut strawberries into your daughter’s lunch box. He wipes his hands on his apron, turning to give you his full attention. His grey eyes fill with sympathy as he steps over to you, arms outstretched. You groan loudly, practically collapsing into his arms. He holds you, heading resting over his heart as he runs a hand soothingly through your hair. “Love?” He asks once more, more softly this time.

You grumble and groan into his chest, a wisp of a sob on your lips as you mumble, “Today was like a nightmare. Everything I did was wrong and I just–” You start getting worked up again, sounding both irritated and like you’re about to cry. You can feel the mix of emotions bubbling up inside you, then escape as a shaky groan. Hand gently caressing your back, Sigma gives you a worried frown and nods.

“Go and get settled on the sofa. I’ll bring you your dinner and you can tell me all about it.” Slowly, he lets you go as if he’s terrified to even just let you go two steps away from him while you’re like this. You pull away, a bit begrudgingly as well, as you move towards the little lounge room. You notice the toddler toys scattered all over the floor and smile fondly. Despite how bad of a day you’d had, you kneel, picking up Gabriel’s favourite plush toy. A white teddy bear you and Sigma had bought for him with his name engraved on the chest.

You sit on the sofa, rubbing the plush toy’s soft fur as you listen to Sigma working away in the kitchen. You look over, watching as your dear husband and father to your two children, works diligently. He goes from checking the taste of the sauce in the frying pan one more time, while cutting up Lucia’s sandwich, to putting her lunchbox in the fridge for tomorrow and pouring you a glass of your favourite wine.

In just a matter of minutes, Sigma was returning to your side, placing your dinner plate in front of you- which seemed to be chicken and gnocchi in a deliciously creamy sauce- and your glass of wine as you placed the stuffed toy on the coffee table. Rather than retrieving his plate, he came to sit beside you, hands going to your shoulders to massage them gently, to undo the day's stress that was knotted away in your shoulders. “There you are, my darling. Be careful, it’s still hot.”

Smiling softly at your husband, you lean closer to him, kissing his cheek softly as you murmur, “You’re too good to me…” With that, you begin eating the meal Sigma made for you both. It’s delicious, of course. ‘When isn’t it?’ you think to yourself as you savour another bite. Then, at last, Sigma gently breaks the silence.

“So…what happened at work today, dear?” That was all you needed to hear. With a heavy sigh, you began lamenting your exhausting, horrible day to your husband. From grabbing a coffee that wasn’t the one you ordered in a rush, to said person who ordered it screaming at you, despite your apologies. From your computer freezing and losing important documents your boss needed for an upcoming court case, to dealing with that one man who wanted one of the lawyers in the organisation where you worked to represent him while treating you like less than dirt in the process.

But the final straw for you was the email you had received regarding your dinner reservation on Saturday night. It was a new, romantic restaurant you had been dreaming of going to with Sigma for the past few months. “But they called to say the restaurant is undergoing urgent repairs and won’t be open for the next few weeks.” It was such a silly thing to get upset over, but after the day you’d had, it had reduced you to tears.

Pulling you closer to his chest, Sigma runs a hand through her hair soothingly, giving your back a sympathetic caress, “You were really looking forward to it, huh?” You nod shakily, a sob almost threatening to leave your lips again. He feels his heart aching as he gazes down at you, beginning to tear up again. He hated seeing you upset like this.

“It’s silly…” You begin before you pause, catching a heavy breath in your throat. You sigh heavily, raising a hand to wipe your tears away before you can begin sobbing again. “But I was looking forward to all of it. The experience, the food, having a reason to dress up.” You shake your head. “They said they’ll move our reservation back but we won’t be able to get in for another month or so.”

You lay your head against Sigma’s chest, mumbling into his apron, “You must think I’m childish to get upset over something so silly.”

Giving you a small amused smile, Sigma pulls you closer, nuzzling the top of your head affectionately as he softly whispers, “Not at all, my darling. I know how much this meant to you after all. It’s saddening that we’ll have to wait even longer to experience it, but at least they didn’t cancel our reservation altogether.”

He can tell by your grumble that perhaps that hadn’t been the right thing to say. You knew he was just trying to be positive and show you the bright side but you didn’t want to see the bright side right now. It was great that you still had a reservation, but as you should after how much you paid to reserve a table there.

Before the discussion can continue, a soft cry comes from the nursery. You sigh as you push yourself up, rising to your feet, “I’ll go check on Gabe. I could do with some toddler cuddles after today.” With a small smile, you excuse yourself from the living room, heading down the hallway and leaving Sigma alone. He frowns deeply, contemplating what he could do to cheer you up. His thumb rubs his wedding band in an almost familiar, repetitive action as he thinks.

His gaze wanders to your half-eaten dinner. He rises to his feet, picking up the plate as he prepares to put it in the oven to keep it warm when it hits him. He stares down at the plate of food, his body tingling as the idea rushes through his veins. Yes…yes, this could work! Hurrying into the kitchen, he places both yours and his plate into the oven before he hurries towards his laptop. He could make this work.

♡ “--And then I wanna go and get one of those sprinkle doughnuts from that fancy place and then–!” Lucia chatters happily as Sigma ties her hair back into a ponytail with an adorable rainbow ribbon as she bounces in place. The seven-year-old was always so full of energy, but today especially so. She was going out for a mommy-daughter day with you. You hadn’t gone out together for such a day since you fell pregnant with Gabriel.

But there was another reason for this. As Sigma finishes tying Lucia’s hair back, he speaks up in a warm, fatherly voice. He keeps his voice hushed, as you are in the next room over, dressing Gabriel, “You certainly have a lot of plans for today, little Lucia. But don’t forget. You need to make sure mommy finds a really pretty dress to come home in, okay? Can you promise me that?”

“Yes, papa!” Lucia happily replies, with a wide, bright smile on her face as she turns to face her father. Sigma gives her an affectionate smile as he begins fixing the ruffles of her dress slightly. “But do you promise I can get the sprinkle doughnut and the mermaid doll and–”

“My, my, it sounds like you have our entire day planned, don’t you Lucia?” Sigma looks up as you step into the room. Even in just a simple floral dress, you looked as radiant to him as the day he first laid eyes on you. You smile sweetly as you walk over to Sigma, passing Gabriel to him, who you’ve dressed in his favourite fox overalls. He squeals with excitement as Lucia hurries over to you excitedly.

As she begins chattering away about her plans, Sigma holds his son close, his mind wandering to his plans. His gaze trails to the cute unicorn alarm clock on Lucia’s bedside table. 10 am. That gave him at least seven hours to prepare everything. He could manage that.

He walks you and Lucia to the front door of the apartment, Gabriel on his hip and your handbag in his other hand. He passes it over to you as he speaks in a warm, though slightly playful voice, “Now I’m not going to give you a spending limit with my card, but at least try and keep it under the down payment for a new home.”

You giggle, nudging your husband softly. His smile sweetens as he leans down, kissing you softly on the lips. You return the kiss, mumbling, “We’ll be back before sunset. I love you.”

“Love you too, my darling,” Sigma softly replies, looking over as Lucia excitedly rushes towards the elevator. He chuckles as he sees her pressing the buttons over and over again, “You might want to catch up before Lucia goes shopping without you.”

You turn, sighing with amusement as you follow after your daughter. After saying farewell, Sigma closes and locks the door. With a determined look, he hurries over to his laptop, picking it up with his free hand and bringing it into the kitchen. He places Gabriel down in his high chair, a smile on his face as he opens his laptop, pulling up the documents he needs.

“Do you know what we’re doing today, Gabe?” He asks the toddler. He makes a few sounds as he slams his hands on his tray. Sigma reaches out to the toys he’d already prepared in a basket on the countertop, passing them over to his son as he speaks, “Mommy was upset because our reservation was pushed back.”

He clicks away on his laptop for a few seconds before a few videos, recipe cards and instructions show up on his screen. He had everything organised, bookmarked and ready to go. He keeps speaking as Gabriel throws a few plastic blocks onto the floor, “So I decided to look up the meals your mommy was excited to try the most and recreate them at home.” He walks over to Gabriel, picking up the blocks off the floor and returning them to his tray. He affectionately rubs his cheek, making him squeal.

“We’re going to spoil your mommy. She deserves it after all her hard work, don’t you think?”

“Maa!” Gabriel excitedly replies, bouncing in his high chair. Sigma chuckles, patting his son’s head. Yes, this was going to be perfect. He had a lot he wanted to get done before you got home but seven hours was plenty of time! He was going to start with the dessert first. A hazelnut tiramisu. It would need to sit and chill for eight hours after all, and besides, baking was like second nature to Sigma! It would be the easiest part of the entire menu.

Or so he had thought. He hadn’t factored in looking after a toddler while trying to multitask baking. As he was in the middle of creating the caramel for the tiramisu, Gabriel seemed to grow bored of sitting in his high chair. He starts sobbing, throwing all of his toys off of the tray, kicking his little feet. With his fatherly instincts kicking in, Sigma leaves the caramel for just a moment. “Shh, shh Gabe, come here…”

He picks his son up, cradling him close to his chest and patting him on the back. He’s just about to reach over and grab his pacifier from the countertop when the smell of burning hits his nose. Grey eyes widening, he turns to see black smoke already rising from the saucepan. He had only left it for two seconds!

He rushes over, grabbing it off the stovetop, a small, panicked sound escaping him. He was usually more careful than this! With Gabriel still on his hip, he rushes the saucepan over to the sink, filling it with water with a heavy sigh. Well, that was okay. He would just have to start over from scratch. It would only take him six minutes to make the caramel.

“Baba!” Gabriel babbles, patting his tiny belly. Well…perhaps he could get started on it after feeding Gabriel an early lunch.

･ﾟ✧

Now with Gabriel on his hip, Sigma begins preparing the seasonings for the slow-cooked chicken dish he’d heard you talking about. It was the one meal he knew you were looking forward to. ‘They say the chicken falls apart in your mouth!’ You’d gushed so many times with a hunger in your eyes. He had to make sure this dish was perfect.

As he scatters one herb inside the pot, he double-checks his recipe as Gabriel gnaws on his plastic spoon. He makes a loud sound as he cries out, holding it out as if asking for more. With a smile, Sigma takes it, scoops up another spoonful of Greek yoghurt and feeds it to his son. He giggles, taking the spoon back and licking it hungrily, while Sigma adds the broth to the slow cooker. Now all he needed was a dash of pepper.

At the moment that Sigma turns to grab the ground black pepper, Gabriel lets out a squeal as he throws his plastic spoon, the bright blue projectile aiming right for the slow cooker. With a gasp, Sigma reaches out, grabbing the spoon…or so he thinks. With the pepper in hand, he smacks the spoon, sending it in another direction, away from the slow cooker.

What remains of the Greek yoghurt still on the spoon splatters across the countertop and splats on the floor while Gabriel giggles, a large dust cloud of pepper gusting up in their faces. Gabriel is the first to start sneezing up a storm, before moments later, Sigma joins him in the sneeze fest. He could feel the pepper tickling his nose and the back of his throat as he sneezes multiple times in a row, holding Gabriel as he moves away from the kitchen.

It’s a good thing he does too. After one particularly bad sneeze, Gabriel decides to pay his father back for knocking his well-aimed plastic projectile away from the slow cooker. Greek yoghurt and this morning’s breakfast end up all over Sigma’s apron and shirt, a loud sigh escaping him before he sneezes again, “Alright you…it's time for a bath…”

･ﾟ✧ With Gabriel bathed, fed and now taking a nap in the lounge room, Sigma finally gets the chance to busy himself in the kitchen. The chicken is in the slow cooker, an aromatic smell filling the apartment as he puts the finishing touches on the tiramisu at last, storing it carefully in the fridge. He looks at the time. 1 pm. He’s making good time. He still has plenty of time to prepare the homemade bread buns and prepare the dining room for your and Lucia’s return.

He breathes a sigh of relief as he leans against the kitchen counter, a warm cup of tea resting between his palms. He smiles softly to himself. He was already beginning to imagine your reaction when you walked into the apartment. The surprise in your eyes. The joy. The way you would finally smile that large, beautiful smile of yours. The one he hadn’t seen properly since your terrible day earlier in the week.

At the end of the day, Sigma didn’t mind if he had to cook one meal, ten or a hundred. He would go to hell and back for you, just to see you and his children smiling. After all, you were the one to finally grant him the one thing he dreamed of most. A home. A place he could call his own. Beyond that, you’d even given him a family. Ever since the day you accepted him as a boyfriend and eventually accepted his hand in marriage, Sigma had felt like his life had become a beautiful dream he never wanted to wake up from.

You had been like a tiny flame in the darkness when you appeared in the casino that night. Life was looking more and more like a living hell to Sigma at the time, his dreams seeming to be growing further away from his touch. He had grown to find his dream foolish, unobtainable. But there you were, dancing by his fingertips, as if encouraging him to hope a little harder, your light illuminating not just his whole world, but deep into his hopeless, sorrowful soul.

You were his light, his love. His everything. He owed you so much. The least he could do was spoil you like you, his darling, truly deserved. He just hoped it would be enough. He looks over at the slow cooker, at the oven heating up in preparation for the buns he had yet to make. He frowns worriedly. Could his cooking truly compare to restaurant-quality food?

His thoughts are disrupted by the buzzing of his phone. He reaches out, grabbing it to check who it is, though he already knows it’s you. He smiles sweetly as he sees your message.

Cara Mia [1:05pm]: Sigma, why is Lucia insisting I buy this two thousand dollar dress? She wants me to wear it home too. Cara Mia [1:06pm]: She says ‘daddy said to.’ Sigma….what’s going on? Sigma winces; well, at least it didn’t seem like Lucia had told you the reason behind buying the dress. He felt bad about lying to you but it was all for a good reason. Besides, he wasn’t technically lying, he supposed. His fingers type quickly as he replies; Me [1:08pm]: Ah, sorry my love. I didn’t get the chance to mention it.

Me [1:09pm]: I have some VIPs coming for a surprise visit for dinner tonight, so I need you to look your best.

Me [1:10pm]: I’m so sorry for the short notice, but I promise to make it up to you. I love you.

Cara Mia [1:13pm]: So suddenly? You’re usually so much more prepared for the VIPs.

Cara Mia: [1:14pm]: Well…alright. But I’m not spending two grand on a dress. And you’ll owe me.

Cara Mia [1:15pm]: You know how ; ) Love you too <3

Sigma feels a shiver run through him as he reads that, his cheeks suddenly heating a little. He still hadn’t adapted to your forwardness when flirting even after marrying and having two children with you. Though he was certain he wouldn’t owe you after you saw his surprise.

But he was more than happy to spoil you in more than one way tonight.

♡ It was almost showtime. With Gabriel back in his high chair, babbling and cooing loudly, Sigma prepares the dining room to look like a five-star restaurant. Using what he has on hand, he’s placed a beautiful white tablecloth over the dining table that is usually reserved for birthdays and holidays. However, he wasn’t sure where you had stored the table runners, so he was resourceful by using a black cheesecloth he had found in the kitchen. He truly hoped you didn’t notice what it actually was.

Setting up the placemats, cups and plates, he begins lighting the candles, much to Gabriel’s delight. He squeals, becoming more excited as he reaches towards the flames that are, thankfully, far from his grasp. He smiles at his son, chuckling as he sees how adorable he looks in the little tuxedo he managed to get on him. He would have to take a photo later of you, Gabriel and Lucia together.

Sigma had also dressed up as well in a white shirt, black slacks and vest, with a small cute bow tie around his neck. His hair was tied back to prevent it from getting anywhere near the food when the time came to serve it. He looks up from the table to check the time; 5 pm. You and Lucia would be here any minute.

Rushing to put on some soft, classical music on a low volume, Sigma dimmed the lights. He had everything prepared and ready to go as he waits patiently to hear those sounds he’d memorised so well. First, before anything else, he hears the excited giggles of his daughter. The warm voice of his love as well, though muffled. The soft click of high heels on the tiled floor outside the apartment.

Then he hears the familiar jingle, the small golden bell on your keys jingling loudly as you insert it into the lock. Twisting once in the wrong direction, he hears Lucia playfully reminding her mother “Not that way! The other way, mama!” Then, the satisfying click! As you unlock the apartment door. All at once, Sigma stops as his breath hitches in his throat.

To say you looked beautiful was an understatement. To Sigma, you had always looked heavenly enough to make angels blush. But right now, you stood before him in a pastel purple sweetheart dress with the same accessories you had worn out this morning alongside your dear daughter, who was wearing a puffy, baby blue princess-style dress with shimmering silver stars adorning the fabric. You’d even gotten her a plastic tiara, it seemed.  Your white high heels click on the wooden flooring as you and Lucia enter.

Sigma shakes his head, ignoring the heat rising in his cheeks as he approaches you and Lucia, bowing politely. You’re taken off guard for a moment as you give your husband a curious smile. He usually went the extra mile for VIPs, but he'd never done this before, “Sigma? What is all this?”

Standing up straight, Sigma puts on an all too familiar warm smile. The smile that drew you to him when you first encountered him at the Sky Casino all those years ago, “Good evening, my dear guests. It’s a pleasure to have you dining here with us tonight. Will a table for three be alright?”

You look at your husband in confusion for a few seconds before you suddenly break out with an amused grin. You cover your mouth, taking a step back and shaking your head, “Sigma…you didn't–”

With a sweet smile, Sigma ushers you and Lucia towards the table where Gabriel is still happily sitting in his high chair, babbling away. Your eyes fall on him, a soft laugh escaping you as you see the tuxedo he’s dressed in. Instantly, he coos happily, holding his hands out to you, “Mama!”

Picking Gabriel up out of his high chair and sitting him on your lap as Lucia comes to sit beside you, Sigma approaches, handing both you and Lucia a menu he made by hand, passing a baby-proof menu to Gabriel. You giggle as you open Gabriel’s menu for him, the excited toddler smacking the photo of what looks like pumpkin purée. Sigma steps over, nodding in approval.

“Ah, I see. The young master would like slow roast pumpkin purée for his main?” He smiles at both you and his son, your sweet giggles of amusement filling his heart with warmth. Gabriel squeals and slaps the photo again before you put the menu aside with a nod. You open your own and almost instantly, your heart feels like it’s about to burst with affection.

“Sigma..” You sound so utterly touched and for a moment, Sigma thinks you might tear up. You look up at him as you huddle Gabriel close, your lip quivering. His smile grows sweeter, a faint pink colour rising on his cheeks. But he decides to keep his act up for the moment.

“Would you like to order, my darling?”

“I want the chicken!” Lucia suddenly perks up excitedly as she tugs on her father’s sleeve. As he turns to her, she grins warmly, “Can I have an apple juice too?”

He repeats her words for her, trying to encourage her to use her manners, “Can I have an apple juice…?” Lucia nods warmly, smiling happily. With a sigh, he pats her head, “Please.”

“So can I?” She asks again, making Sigma huff softly. He can hear you giggling in amusement as he turns to you, putting his hands together.

“Alright, so the young master will be having our slow-roasted pumpkin purée, and the young lady will be having the balsamic cranberry roast chicken with a glass of apple juice. Can I get you the same, my darling? Although perhaps you’d prefer a glass of wine? We have a fine bottle of chateau angelus if you would fancy a glass?”

Your eyes widen. It was moments like these that you were reminded just who you had married. Normally you would turn down such a luxury outside of special occasions but just this once, you nod as you had your menu back to your husband, “Yes. That would be wonderful.”

With a nod, Sigma exits the dining room, heading into the kitchen to plate up the meals. In just a matter of minutes, he returns with the pumpkin purée. You stifle a giggle, noticing that it’s the same pumpkin purée you had made the night before for Gabriel’s dinner tonight. Placing the plastic bowl in front of you, Sigma nods, “Here is the slow-roasted pumpkin purée for the young master. It’s one of our best-selling meals.”

“Talk about fast service,” you joke, noticing the steaming, hot dinner rolls Sigma places on the table as well. You breathe in their smell, being able to tell from smell alone that they were made from scratch. You pick up the spoon and begin feeding Gabriel while Sigma returns to plating the main course.

“Mommy, can I have one of the buns?” Lucia asks, sitting on her knees in her chair. She tries to reach across to grab one as you gently touch her hand.

“Not yet, sweetie. They’re still too hot. Please sit down properly, dear.” You resume feeding Gabriel. Although, judging from the puréed pumpkin dribbling down his chin, his meal wouldn’t last much longer. You gently rub his back, “Come on Gabe, you love pumpkin.”

Whining softly, Gabriel tries to shove the little plastic spoon out of your hand, swatting at it with his hands. You sigh, putting the spoon back into the bowl as Sigma returns, serving Lucia her plate first, then yours. You can’t help but hum in delight at the alluring smell of the home-cooked meal being served to you. Looking down, it looks so close to the photos you’d seen online.

“Here we are, two servings of balsamic cranberry roast chicken, with the chicken pre-cut for the young lady.” As he says this, he places Lucia’s apple juice down near the top of her plate. With a grin, Lucia squirms in her chair.

“Papa, can I have one of the buns?” She asks, earning a sigh from you. Sigma nods, reaching over and picking up one of the buns while sliding the plate over so it’s placed more between you and your daughter. He cuts it open with the knife next to your plate, buttering it before giving it to Lucia.

“Be careful, it’s hot.” He warns her gently before he stands up, touching your shoulder as he adds, “I’ll be right back with your wine, my darling.”

You smile sweetly as you look down at your plate, a sharp gasp escaping you as you see Gabriel already shoving his tiny hands into the mashed potato on your plate, “Gabriel!” You pull him back as he whines, threatening to cry. Grabbing a napkin, you begin to wipe one of his hands as he sticks the other in his mouth, enjoying the taste of the mashed potatoes. You sigh a little, rubbing his back softly, “Why don’t we share, Gabe? Here, look.”

You move to pick up the spoon in his pumpkin purée, preparing to wipe it down before feeding your son. But the moment he sees the spoon, he whines, as if expecting you to start feeding him the purée again. He waves his clean hand, smacking it down on the table, snagging the lip of the bowl. You cry out as thick, pumpkin purée splatters all over your dress, staining the gorgeous fabric a vibrant orange.

At the same moment, Lucia pushes her plate away, completely untouched after finishing her apple juice along with the entire plate of bread rolls, a huge smile on her face, “I’m finished with dinner, Mommy!”

It’s safe to say that your husband wasn’t expecting this much chaos to unfold within the thirty seconds it took him to return with your wine.

♡ You sigh heavily, dropping down onto the couch wearing just a fluffy white robe as you begin drying your hair with a towel. You already left your new dress to soak in the laundry while Sigma put the kids to bed. You breathe in deeply, noticing the smell of cranberry in the air and smile softly. You think he must have put my serving in the oven to keep it warm. Sigma was always so thoughtful and caring. Not just with you but with everyone. But tonight, he truly went above and beyond for you.

You stand up, moving silently towards the hallway. You quietly sneak towards Lucia’s room, the door slightly ajar, soft, yellowish-orange light seeping out into the hallway from her bedside lamp. You can hear her beloved music box playing a soft melody, while Sigma reads to her.

“--And at that point, my big old dream, which was once in a drawer, shook and climbed, took to the sky and soared…and soared…and soared…” He softly reads the last line, noticing that Lucia is already starting to drift off to sleep in her bed. He smiles affectionately, leaning in to kiss her forehead. He turns off the bedside lamp as he murmurs, “Good night, my little Princess. Pleasant dreams.”

With a tender touch, he runs a hand over her head. Then he gets up, looking up at you as he heads for the doorway, the affection in his smile bursting with warmth as he approaches you. You step back as he steps out, closing the door with a gentle click. He speaks in a hushed voice to not disturb the children, “Both Gabe and Lucia are asleep. I’m going to reach out to an old patron of the casino in the morning who’ll know how to get that stain out of your dress.”

His arm wraps around your waist as he pulls you in. Your arms instinctively find their way around his shoulders, pulling him closer as his face presses against the soft, fluffy fabric of your robe, “I’m sorry, my darling. It seems my surprise didn’t go quite as I had planned it to.”

Your hands move from his shoulders to tenderly cup his cheeks, turning his face towards you. You smile lovingly at your husband, leaning in to kiss him on the lips. A small, faintly surprised look crosses his features before he melts into your soft kiss, his hands gently caressing your waist for a heartbeat before you pull back.

“Oh love. Just because it didn’t go to plan doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me,” you whisper, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs, feeling as they faintly start to heat up. “I can’t believe you went through all the trouble of looking these recipes up, just for me.”

Sigma’s hands lift, tenderly taking hold of your hands. He intertwines his hands with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand, his grey eyes, full of devotion and love gazing deeply into your own. His voice is full of unshakable devotion as he whispers, “My darling, I would move heaven and earth just to see you smile for a moment. Researching and recreating these recipes is the least I could do for you.”

He pulls you in once more, hand rising to caress the back of your head, his fingers running through your hair. He kisses the top of your head, murmuring, “Your happiness and well-being along with our children’s is the most important thing in the world to me. I love you, Cara Mia.”

“I love you too…” You whisper back as you feel him pressing another kiss to the top of your head, the heat in your cheeks growing. As you gaze affectionately up at your husband, he gazes down at you. His heart swells as he sees it. The way your lips quirk up slowly. The radiant glimmer in your eyes. The way his heart fills with warmth that slowly seeps into his entire body. Yes...that's the smile he wanted to see. The one that was on your beautiful face the first day you'd met each other. You go quiet for a moment, your fingers gently tapping the back of one of his hands as you ask in a playful voice, “Soo…I don’t suppose you also made their famous tiramisu as well…~?”

Sigma blinks a few times, then with a chuckle, he smirks at you. Sliding his hand around your waist, he begins to guide you back towards the kitchen, “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. And don’t think I’ve forgotten what I still owe you. Tonight is your night, my darling. And I plan to spoil you in more ways than one." *＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊**＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

[anteaterisland]

Image description: Three images. The first is a digital painting of a gw2 charr (a cat woman with horns). The background is a screenshot of Rata Sum from Guild Wars 2. The figure is white furred with grey spots, her dark horns curl upwards. She has a blue and pink dress. She wears a silk kerchief tucked into a lace bertha collar. Her sleeves are elbow length with pink bows and lace trim. The blue skirt is an open robe over an underskirt of dusty pink ruffles. The figure is lifting her skirts delicately with clawed hands as she steps up a staircase. Her tail peaks out from beneath her dress, it is long and fluffy.

The second image is a close up of the figure’s face against the soft orange sky. She is smiling, with blue eyes and a pink heart-shaped nose. Her whiskers are curled. Two braids frame her face, tied with pink bows. Her four ears are pink inside. Her hair is in a pouffe style popularized by Marie Antoinette. The pouffe is decorated with two braids on the side and a ponytail in the back.

The third image is of a screenshot of the same staircase in Rata Sum, with the in-game character model of Marrow Antoinette the Charr. The figure resembles the painting closely in physical appearance, but notably is wearing pants, with a waistcoat and filigreed jacket. End description.

—

Anet give me more dresses for my charr challenge.

This is my least on-model Toon, Marrow Antoinette. I love her. Big fancy lady cat. Very gentle. Such elegance.

This took me all day yesterday but i had a pleasant time. Look at her big floofy tail. I command you.

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac # 46 : Monkey date

The monkeys goes on a date and the pilgrims are on babysitting duty

Wukong was leaning over the cubs’ crib, playing with the pups. Savage was looking up at him with excitement, pawing at his huge fingers in glee. Rumble was clutching his Wukong doll tighter, sometimes leaning in the soft touches of his Pa, rubbing against the pad of his fingers to have more pets.

“Come on, buds. Repeat after me, Pa.” Cooed Wukong, trying to coax his babies. It was his new pastime. He wanted more than anything to hear his pups’ first words.

“Aaaa.” Babled Savage.

“Pa.” Corrected Wukong as he booped his lil firecracker.

“Aaa!” She repeated with a lil blep.

“Pa, busy bee, Paaaaaa.”

“Aaaaaa.” Giggled Savage as she began to chew on his finger. Wukong sighed in fondness and let her do as she pleased. He then turned towards Rumble. It was always more difficult to make him blabber. He usually stuck to his mrrps langage. But the great sage learned that if he drowned his son in pets and snuggles the lil guy would be more willing to indulge him.

“Come on, puss-pouts, do it for me, say Pa.” Cooed Wukong as he petted the lil guy. Rumble slowly blinked up at him, he yawned, still drowsy from his nap.

“Aa.” Muttered Rumble.

“Pa.” Repeated Wukong.

“Wa.” Chirped Rumble, he then buried himself in his doll. Tired after so much effort.

“You're still trying to make them talk?” Chuckled Macaque. He was not far from the crib, crushing leaves to replenish his vials in different powder and medicine.

“It's a lost cause.” Snorted Bajie, he was reclining on the grass, arms crossed behind his head. Wukong huffed, he threw a glare at the pig demon.

“Well, I believe in them.” Replied the great sage as he got back to his cooing.

“We'll resume the journey tomorrow morning.” Informed Sanzang, he was dutifully polishing his staff with a wet cloth.

“I'll take the first watch tonight.” Hummed Wukong, he was not feeling very sleepy anyway.

“Actually, why don't you go out with Macaque for the evening? You guys are new mates and you don't have much time alone together.” Proposed Wujing. Bajie, Sanzang and Ao Lie perked up at the proposition. Both monkeys had been very… insistent in their courting as of late and it was becoming bothersome, for the lack of other terms.

Bajie still remembered the time Wukong brought back an outrageous amount of fruits only to impress his mate. It was hell to cook.

Wujing remembered when he got slapped by a demon's weapon because Wukong wasn't paying attention to the fight going on, instead looking back at Macaque every minute.

Ao Lie remembered when Macaque messed up the braid he was weaving in his hair because he was distracted by Wukong cooing at the cubs.

Sanzang remembered the night he stayed awake because of the two monkeys giggling and whispering sweet nothing to the other, believing no other heard them.

Gods, if those two could calm down their courting after one date, it would be great.

“What about the cubs?” Asked Wukong. He wasn't against spending time with Macaque but leaving the cubs didn't seem right.

“We'll babysit!” Replied Sanzang.

“You're sure?” Asked Macaque, he knew how tiresome his babies could be, especially Savage.

“We've never been surer.” Assured Ao Lie. Wukong considered the proposition. If he was honest, spending alone time with Macaque sounded great. Not that he didn't like his pups or his brothers. But… it would be great to have some quality time with his new mate.

“W-well, we could if you want to?” Tentatively asked Wukong as he glanced at the black-furred monkey. Macaque stopped grinding his leaves and nervously scratched his neck.

“Why not?” Replied Macaque. Wukong's tail wagged without his consent, the sage cursed and tied the unruly limb to his hips. Macaque snorted, he found it cute.

The great sage summoned his cloud with a flick of wrist, Macaque climbed on it and settled comfortably. Both monkeys left following the winds.

“Now we gotta be careful with the cubs. Especially Savage, she's slippery.” Warned Sanzang, he knew this from experience.

“How hard is it gonna be to babysit two brats?” Scoffed Bajie.

Ao Lie leaned over the cribs and winced. “There is only one in there.” All the pilgrims turned towards the crib and face-palmed. Rumble looked up at them innocently, as if his sister wasn't missing.

“This is gonna be a long night.” Sighed Wujing.

Meanwhile, both monkeys were admiring the starry sky. Macaque was sprawled on Wukong's chest, nibbling on the fruits the sage passed along to him. Perhaps it wasn't as romantic as it could be, but it was nice. They talked about silly things. Indulging in their more cheesy side now that they were alone.

“You know, your eyes are like rubies.” Mumbled Macaque as he looked up at the sage. Wukong snorted.

“You always become more cheesy when no-one is watching.”

“It's not my fault. You should stop being so cheesy-worthy.” Playfully huffed Macaque.

“Oh it's my fault now?” Smiled the golden monkey.

“It's always your fault.” Teased Macaque as he stuck his tongue out.

“You lil gremlin!” Chuckled Wukong, he took Macaque in his hands and began to tickle him. Macaque shrieked with laughter. Trying to wiggle out of Wukong's fingers in vain.

Wukong took pity on Macaque after a few minutes and stopped tickling him, instead he patted him on the head. Macaque smirked and kissed the tip of Wukong's fingers. The great sage flushed and glared at his mate. “You-” Grumbled the sage but he stopped himself. He got a devilish idea. The golden monkey brought Macaque closer to his face and smooched his head.

Macaque yelped and fluffed up, caught off guard by the affectionate gesture. “That was foul play.” Grumbled Macaque.

“Everything is fair in love and war.” Hummed Wukong.

They spend the rest of the night playing and talking. Basking in the other presence. When they got back to the camp, they found the pilgrims in a pitiful state. Sanzang was covered in mud, Wujing was removing twigs stuck in Ao Lie's hair and Bajie was on the floor, dead to the world around him.

Savage and Rumble were in their crib, peacefully sleeping, looking like angels.

“I don't think I even want to know.” Snorted Wukong.

+ cut scenes

Bajie *when Savage disappeared* : Where is she!? How is she so fast? 😧

Savage *hiding in the dark. Preparing to jump on one of them* : 😂🤭🤭

Sanzang : I didn't think baby monkey laughter could sound so ominous, but here we are. 😅

Ao Lie : ack! She jumped on me! 😣

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