#giant dream isn't real

[issylra]

DREAM OF THE ENDLESS | 1.05 “24/7”

[convoloutedinjoke]

Currently writing swap AU where Kim is just himself on hard mode. Like he wakes up in a clean, normal room, puts on the same outfit as always and doesn't tell anyone he's forgotten everything until Harry wheedles it out of him by badgering him for One Singe Secret (he cant remember any).

He then goes outside and points a gun at a civilian over a perceived threat.

[submattsmxmmy]

Dead dove: do not eat 💖 Hiii, it's @ariestrxsh and this is my secondary account. Here is my contribution to kinktober. I know the Ghostface trope has been done so many times, but I figured it would still be a fun little smut to write in honor of Halloween.

👻🎀 content warning: smut, degradation, predator/prey dynamic, restraints, knife play, blood play, ghostface!matt, ghostface!chris, slutty!reader

👻🎀 author's note: idk if this would be considered a dead dove: do not eat fic, but it certainly contains some rather dark material, so i'd rather label it that way to be safe. also, my reader's slutty nun outfit may offend you if you're religious, so please scroll and don't read if it's going to upset you.

👻🎀 summary: you're throwing a halloween party at your house in a remote area. the night becomes like a thrilling, real-life horror movie after your friends, matt and chris both show up dressed as the infamous ghostface.

masquerade

"What are you guys going as tonight?" You asked Nick, Matt, and Chris as the four of you aimlessly wandered around the Halloween store that was littered with all the decor you could dream of for the party you were throwing later. You'd done most of your holiday shopping a few weeks prior, but you just needed a few final touches to complete the vibe you were going for.

"I'm going as Stu Macher," Nick responded, fiddling with some tacky Halloween decoration. "I'm going as Ghostface," Chris confidently replied, and your gaze softened as you pictured him in one of those sexy masks.

"Hey, what the fuck, Chris? I'm going as Ghostface," Matt slugged Chris in the arm. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips fell open as you pictured them both in the Ghostface costume. "Relax. That'll make it more fun. Then no one will know who's who," Chris smirked. "People already have a hard time telling us apart," Matt rolled his eyes.

"What are you going as?" Nick asked you, ignoring his brothers. "Well, I'm going to be the only one out of the four of us who isn't going as a Scream character. But it's going to be a surprise," you told them, wandering over towards a giant cauldron that caught your eye.

"What are you going to use that for?" Matt asked. "Punch bowl! Isn't it perfect?" You asked, picking it up and cradling it in your arms as the four of you continued through the store. "Can you at least give us a hint about what you're going to dress up as?" Chris playfully poked you in the side.

"All I can tell you is, it's gonna be sexy, and you're gonna thank God when you see me in it. I'm trying to get laid tonight," you proudly stated as the four of you headed over to the checkout counter to pay.

Nick, Matt, and Chris dropped you back off at your place, which was out in the middle of nowhere, so you could finish setting up, and so they could change into their costumes. You thought it was fitting you lived in a secluded part of your town's national forest and didn't have any neighbors for miles.

You'd just finished putting out the last of the decorum when people started trickling in. You had fake spiderwebs strewn in every corner, a smoke machine, and a black light.

You were just thinking about how excited you were for the boys to see you in your glowing slutty nun outfit when the doorbell rang, and as you pulled open your creaky front door, you saw Nick covered in fake blood accompanied by a pair of Ghostfaces, the whites of their masks lit up by the black light. "Look at you!" Nick gasped as you gave them a twirl. Chris and Matt's eyes were immediately drawn to your exposed chest and your bare thighs.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface, don't kill me!" You jokingly shrieked, placing your hands on your cheeks and making a fake surprised face. "You look really good," one of them said to you. "So do you guys," you seductively replied, nibbling on your lower lip and looking at the three of them, but especially Matt and Chris. You had a bit of a thing for masked men.

They shuffled into your house, admiring the way you had decorated. More guests started arriving, and the party started to really take off. Nick started hitting it off with a guy you worked with who was dressed as a skeleton, which left you, Matt, and Chris alone.

"You guys wanna scare Nick tonight?" Matt asked menacingly, tilting his head in his ghostface mask, which had no business being as hot as it was. You bit your lip at him.

Chris could tell you were entranced by the costume. "Like the mask, sweetheart?" Chris asked in a deep, menacingly voice that was strikingly familiar to that of the original Ghostface, taking his 'prop' weapon and running the edge along your cheek, but the metal was sharp and cold. "Shut the fuck up. Oh my god, is that a real knife?" You asked him, staring wide-eyed at it.

"Yeah, why does that scare you? Or do you like it?" Chris said in a spooky voice. You narrowed your eyes at him. "Neither. You guys are so immature. Have fun scaring Nick. I'm gonna go enjoy my party and try to find someone to hook up with. Try not to cut anyone with that thing."

You rolled your eyes at them and pushed past them, trying to hide the effect they were having on you. Both sets of eyes traveled to your ass as you walked away. "Why don't we play a prank on her instead?" Matt inquired. "Yeah, she could use a little loosening up," Chris responded.

You couldn't deny that the way Chris had put that blade up to your cheek while he was dressed like that was having a rather strong effect on you, an effect so strong that you desperately wanted to turn back around, grab them by their solid black robes, and beg them both to rail you while they wore their Ghostface attire.

You'd always found them both attractive, but they were your good friends, and most nights that the sexual thoughts about them creeped into your psyche, you were able to will it away, or something you'd never admit out loud to - sometimes you'd just take care of the aching between your legs really quickly, and the thoughts would usually dissipate on their own, but tonight was different.

You could feel a damp warmth between your thighs as you sauntered off in another direction to greet some of your other friends, but even as you asked them how the party was and tried to get your mind off of the Sturniolo boys, you found yourself peeking over your shoulder, stealing glances at them, and losing your inner battle with yourself to fight off your urges.

It had been so long, and you were so horny.

"I think that guy over there is checking you out," your friend who had animals ears on nudged you and glanced off in the direction of the punch bowl you'd bought earlier. Your eye caught a tall man with zombie makeup on that you didn't recognize grabbing himself a cup of spiked punch, his gaze flicking up at you every few seconds. You thought he was kind of cute.

"Go talk to him," your friend urged you, lovingly squeezing your arm. You took one more glance in the direction of where Matt and Chris had been standing just moments ago, seriously considering trying to pursue one of them instead, but when your eyes scanned over the crowd, you didn't see either one of them. You'd missed your chance.

"Okay, fine," you whispered to your friend, rolling your eyes and working up the courage to approach him. You took a deep breath and headed in his direction.

"Hey, do I know you?" You asked, grabbing yourself a red solo cup and serving yourself some alcoholic punch. "You know, some would say your costume is offensive," he said, ignoring your question and motioning towards your exposed breasts in your very ungodly outfit.

"Then why don't you rip it off of me?" You flirtatiously shot back. He looked unamused with you.

"Hey, so, what's the deal with your friend?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink and his gaze looking past you to where you were previously standing. "Oh, my friend," you said in a slightly disappointed tone, realizing you'd just approached and been very forward with a man who had been interested in the girl standing next to you the whole time.

You started back off in the direction you came from, and your friend glanced over at the embarrassment in your expression. "What happened? Was he a dick to you?" She asked, concern in her eyes while she cradled your face. You could understand why he was looking at her instead of you.

"No, nothing like that. If you think he's cute, you should go talk to him. I'll be right back," you responded, feeling your face get hot. You pushed past a crowd of people to get to the bottom of your staircase, and you hurried up the steps before your tears could fall.

It wasn't so much that you were upset about not getting the guy. You weren't even that interested in him. It was a combination of a few things, really.

It was the humiliation of misreading the situation, the insecurity you felt about not being as pretty as your friends, and the constant self-doubt you had about whether you really were a slut like everyone called you and if any guy would ever want you again because of it.

Through your teary vision, your bedroom door caught your eye. You stopped dead in your tracks, sniffling and wiping away your tears as alarm bells went off in your nervous system.

Your bedroom door was wide open, and you swore you'd shut it before the first few guests had arrived. You walked through the door frame cautiously, overwhelmed by a sensation of having eyes on you, studying your surroundings to see if anything else was out of place.

You shrugged off the feeling of being watched, chalking it up to the fact that it was Halloween, and you had been watching a lot of thriller and horror movies in the couple weeks leading up to your party.

You made your way over to the bathroom sink, setting down your red solo cup on the cold countertop and peering at your reflection in the mirror. You didn't want to spend Halloween night sulking in your bathroom while your two hot best friends were downstairs, strutting around in their sexy Ghostface attire and probably finding other girls to sleep with.

You cleaned off the eyeliner that was smudging on your bottom eyelid, glued the corner of your eyelash back down, and readjusted your breasts in your costume.

After fixing the imperfections with your wardrobe, you decided you weren't going to let the night end without taking a stab at trying to have sex with whichever one of the Sturniolo brothers you saw first, excluding Nick of course. You were done pretending like you weren't completely taken with them.

Your gaze flickered over to the reflection of your partially open closet door in the mirror. Again, you could have sworn you'd left it closed. Filled with dread, you slowly tiptoed out of the bathroom, past your bed, and over to your closet. You rested your hand on the round, metal door knob and slowly pushed it shut.

You realized how ridiculous you were being, rolling your eyes at yourself and letting out a sigh at how jumpy you'd been lately. You turned back around and started to head out of your bedroom when all of a sudden, you heard the sound of the closet door creaking open again.

Before you could spin yourself around and identify the threat, you felt a gloved hand cover your mouth and a cold, sharp blade resting against your neck. "What's your favorite scary movie?" The way his voice came through sounding just like Ghostface had you both scared and turned on.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you let out an audible moan against his palm, causing him to pull his hand back. "What was that?" Chris accusingly asked, speaking like himself again. "What the fuck? How do you make your voice sound like that?" You asked in a shaky voice.

He chuckled in your ear, avoiding your inquiry. "Answer me first. What was that sound you just made?" Chris posed the question again. "Nothing. Real funny, Chris. Let me go," you responded.

Another figure appeared in the corner of your eye as Matt walked around in his Ghostface costume, shutting your bedroom door closed. Your heart dropped as you watched him lock it and make his way back over to you. "Let you go? Are you sure you want that?" Matt cooed, running the back of his gloved hand along your cheek and tilting his head down at you. You gulped.

"Is this turning you on?" Chris whispered into your ear. "Gross," you rolled your eyes. "Only one way to find out," Matt menacingly replied. "Why don't you check her, Matt?" Chris smirked under his mask.

Your mouth fell open, and a strangled whimper came through as Matt reached between your legs, lifting up your skirt and slipping his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Immediately, he felt the wetness leak through his glove.

"Oh, she's soaked. Her clit practically has its own heartbeat," Matt relayed to his brother, drawing circles on it with his fingers and talking about you as if you weren't in the room with them. "I bet she'd like it if we took care of that. Don't you think?" Chris wondered, dragging the blade across your collar bone and between your partially exposed breasts.

You couldn't hold back your delighted sounds as they both put their hands on you. It was like a dream come true. Your prayers had been answered. You'd fantasized about them each separately, but the idea of having them both take you on at the same time didn't even seem like an option until now.

"What's turning you on so much? The mask? The knife? The fact that it's me and Matt?" Chris cooed at you, pulling your top down to reveal your tits. He took the knife and started running the sharp edge against your nipples that stiffened at the touch. You immediately shuddered and let out a whimper.

"All of it?" Matt wondered, continuing to play with your pussy that was becoming wetter by the second. "Answer him, slut. What's got you all wet, hmm?" Chris growled into your ear. Of course, it hurt your feelings to be called that, but there was something about the way Chris said it so endearingly that it didn't seem like he was trying to do anything other than turn you on, and it was working.

"Nothing, it's completely unrelated," you lied, biting your lip to hold back another moan, but your attempts failed, and your head fell back against Chris' chest. You felt his hard cock against your backside, and it twitched at the way you struggled to keep yourself composed. "Yeah, mine's unrelated, too," Chris replied sarcastically, staring down at your tits as he continued to tease them with his knife.

You felt Matt's fingers slip into your hole as he started to fuck you with them. "You want us to stop?" Matt asked. You nibbled on your lip and softly shook your head no. "That's what I thought. She's such a little slut," Chris said to his brother. "Don't you know it's always the slut who dies first?" Chris rasped into your ear.

"Oh, she likes that," Matt cooed, feeling your pussy start to throb around his fingers. You tried to hide your reactions, but your body language couldn't keep your secret from the two pairs of Ghostfaces who manhandled you.

"You still never told us your favorite scary movie," Chris pointed out. "Blair Witch Project," you hesitantly answered. "Mmm. That's a scary one. Especially when you live out here," Matt replied. Chris leaned over to Matt and whispered something in his ear that you couldn't quite make out.

"Lay on the fucking bed, slut," Chris responded as they both let you go. "We're gonna go have a little chat in the other room, and you're gonna lay right here and behave," Matt ordered you. "And if you try to run, you're gonna be really sorry," Chris said, waving the knife in your direction.

They both disappeared behind your bathroom door. You heard the sound of Chris and Matt arguing behind the wooden barrier about who was going to have their way with you first, but you had another idea.

When they both emerged from the bathroom, you were gone, and on your nightstand was a note that read: "come find me in the woods, mr. ghostface. xoxo, your prey" with a heart drawn below the lettering.

"Oh, that sneaky bitch thinks she can be in charge of her own fate. We're gonna have fun with her tonight," Chris told Matt as he picked up the note.

They both disappeared out of the room, down the stairs, and out the backdoor towards the dense treeline behind your house with a flashlight Matt had snagged off your kitchen counter.

All they had to do was listen quietly for a few minutes beneath the blanket of stars and clouds, and then they heard you, crushing twigs and leaves under your weight as you tried to stealthily make your way through the forest.

All of a sudden, you were lit up by the flashlight Matt held in hands. "Gotcha," he said in a menacing voice. You froze and stared at them both, unable to move a muscle. "Think you're so slick, huh?" Chris asked in a low, sexy rasp.

"You know what would make this so much more fun? If she had to guess who's who while we take turns fucking her," Matt suggested, taking a few steps towards you. "And if she guesses wrong, we'll make her bleed," Chris laughed, closing in on you as well.

You'd never seen this side of the two brothers, but it excited you more than you were willing to admit.

You started slowly walking backward until you backed into a tree, and you swallowed hard as you felt its rough trunk under your palms, realizing you didn't have anywhere to go.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface. Spare me!" You whined, but you couldn't hold back your smirk as Matt pulled the knife out of his robe and cut your costume from your body. You gasped as the fabric fell the floor in front of your feet. You'd never imagined your night would go like this. In fact, this was hotter than anything you could have ever dreamt up.

"We told you that you'd regret running." It was that same ominous, threatening, and sexy voice that Chris had used earlier in the night, so that must have been him. "I thought we told you to behave," said the other, sounding just like the first one. Fuck, you thought.

You watched as the boy with the knife started to cut a hole in his robe, and your eyes widened, and your jaw fell open as you realized what he was doing. You watched as his dick poked through the black fabric, staring you down. He handed off the knife to his brother.

"Since you like to run, one of us is going to have to hold you still," the second one said pinning your wrists above your head with one hand with the other, he held the blade up in front of your face. You saw yourself in the reflection of the sharp metal accompanied by the man in the Ghostface mask beside you, and it sent goosebumps across your flesh.

He closed the distance between the weapon and your breasts, and he started tracing your nipples again with the knife's edge. Your chest rose and fell as your breath quickened. You peered at the boy who was settling between your legs, grabbing ahold of his big, veiny cock with his gloved hand as he started pumping it back and forth a few times, making sure it had reached its full potential.

He hiked up your leg, wrapped your thigh around his waist, and pulled your panties to the side before sinking it into your heat and stretching you out. "So tight," he groaned deeply, feeling the way you gripped his dick. You let out a few loud moans as you adjusted to his size, taking every inch of him.

"That's it. Take it like the slut you are," he gruffed, picking up the pace and wrapping his gloved fingers around your neck. "Like that?" The boy who was holding your wrists cooed as he dragged the sharp object across to your other peak.

You loved the way both Ghostface masks reflected your fear back at you as well as your pleasure, their empty eyes, and their contorted mouths, taunting you. You glanced back at the brother who was between your legs, focusing on his thrusts. His fast and powerful thrusts.

Every time he bottomed out in you, a desperate mewl escaped your lips, filling the atmosphere. The masked man started to mimick the sounds that poured from your mouth while his brother fucked you, and you adored every second of it.

You loved the way they were feeding your sick fantasies, holding you at knife point, wearing their sexy costumes, and fucking you dumb while they degraded you. Your sounds became louder, more urgent, and less inhibited. You could feel the intensity building.

"Scream for me, bitch," the man between your legs chuckled. His mean words, his hand around your throat, the movement of his hips, and the cold, sharp metal dancing across your skin were enough to cause you to snap.

You hit the point of no return, clenching around the mystery man's rod, sending him to the same fate shortly after. You could feel his twitching cock filling you up as your orgasm took its course, the two of you moaning in unison while you finished together. Your legs grew weak as you came.

"Oh my god, Chris. Matt. Whoever you are," you breathlessly panted. You thought for sure you'd be able to tell them apart by now, but you had no idea, and you found it all the more enticing.

"Such a good girl for me," he cooed, slowing down his thrusts, pulling out, and watching his seed flow out of you. He stared down in awe at the mess he made, taking in the sight and savoring it while his breathing pattern returned to normal.

"I've been waiting for this," the boy to your left said as he switched places with his brother. He took the knife, hooking it into your panties and slicing the delicate material, watching the fabric fall to the ground and revealing your pretty pussy to him.

Then he cut a hole in his robe like his brother had done, and you peered down at his gorgeous cock poking through the tear in the material.

He roughly pried open your legs, guiding them open with the blade. He dug into the inside of your right thigh with his gloved hand and rested the knife on your lower stomach. You couldn't keep yourself from admiring his big, throbbing dick, and you sharply inhaled as you felt him slip his tip into your entrance.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned as he bucked his hips forward, his entire length vanisihing into your tight hole. Your eyes flicked back up to his Ghostface attire, taking in the incredible view of being fucked by a man in such a sexy mask.

The man beside you restrained your wrists, pinning them above your head again. "Alright. Time to guess. Who am I?" The boy beside you asked in his creepy Ghostface voice, tilting his head at you as he tightened his grip. You innocently peered up at his mask, searching for some kind of hint in his demeanor.

"Chris, is that you?" You asked uncertaintly. "Wrong. Remember what happens when you guess wrong?" Matt cooed, running his gloved finger along the underside of your chin. Your eyes were glazing over, your lips fell open, and your cheeks were flushed.

Chris applied more pressure to the knife, running the blade along your lower stomach and drawing blood. You let out a satisfied whine as you felt the release of the knife cutting you. The warm, sticky red fluid glistened in the moonlight as it slowly dripped down your abdomen.

"So pretty," Matt whispered, brushing your messy hair out of your face and his eyes dancing between your desperate expression and the way the blood looked so beautiful on your skin. Moans began pouring from you again as Chris fucked you senseless up against the tree.

"Please, Mr. Ghostface. Harder," you begged, your eyes lazily rolling back into your head as your breasts bounced to the cadence of his thrusts. "Cock dumb little slut," Chris menacingly chuckled at your pathetic pleading, but he still gave you what you so enthusiastically craved, relishing in your desperation for him.

You loved feeling helpless and giving yourself over so willingly to both brothers as they used you for their own pleasure. Your whimpers became louder and fuller as you neared your tipping point again.

"Harder," you cried out again before your orgasm took over. Your gaze danced between both of their masks, and your pussy started rhythmically throbbing around Chris' cock as he delivered a few more monumental strokes. You felt a wonderful, relieved feeling in the pit of your stomach as you came unraveled under the control of both boys.

Your brows pinched together, your knees weakened, and your stare began to lose its focus until you couldn't concentrate on anything except for the pure pleasure and ecstasy coursing through you. You were pumped full of Chris' cum as his cock twitched inside of you, and as you came down from your intense adrenaline rush, you felt all your muscles relax.

Both men chuckled, removing their masks and revealing their identities to you. Sure enough, you had guessed wrong. Chris leaned in and chuckled into your ear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. You may have guessed wrong, but we're going to spare you. You're worth way more to us alive than dead."

[reshinless]

──── seven minutes in heaven (or hell.)

𝜗𝜚 synopsis. your friends play a game, and force you to join, and just so happens the bottle lands on you, and you forget you're playing 7 minutes in heaven with them, and the bottle lands on your dear trailblazing friend too.

𝜗𝜚 pairings. dan heng, caelus, sampo, welt, gepard, jing yuan, blade, arg

𝜗𝜚 director's notice. repost of my best work back on my old blog and the very late pt 2.

𝐈. Dan Heng ꒱

really calm outside, freaking out internally inside. the person he likes, in the same room with him? that was something that already made him have a somewhat red tint on his cheeks,

and his fate slowly being determined, and into a closet with you instead. the person who invited you just had to be the one person who knew he liked you- march 7th.

the scolding later on that he'd give wouldn't out match how much he's feeling right now. march outside the closet lowkey cheering for you two though, because she knows you both like each other back, yet, it seemed like you were blind to it, to his obviousness, it was annoying!!

you both were so obvious with liking each other.. ugh just kiss!

kind of awkward, but trust me he's just really nervous. thinking that the person he loves and admires silently is in a closet with him, the idea isn't something he thought would ever happen (in real life at least, he has dreams about you.) more utc.

while he's there, you probably gotta start the conversation. it's definitely hard to try talking while people are waiting for 7 minutes to be over to see what might've happened to you two. besides everyone already knows you both like each other.

probably really soft lips, they smell like peaches or maple, or both. and honestly and quite literally a great kisser. knows where to put his hands, probably cups your cheek while kissing you, pretty long kiss too, like after him confessing to you, will hold the kiss for pretty long, and maybe into a mini makeout session.

when you both are out of the closet or when they open the door, whether or not you guys are still kissing she'll go eww i hope you both already confessed and kissed!! you both will get angry at her later, but it was definitely a push you both needed. so a small scolding and thanking her is better.

𝐈𝐈. Caelus ꒱

such a gentle giant with you, always making sure you're comfortable with him.

if you look at the replies in game when you use him instead of the female mc aka stelle, he's much more gentle with it. and as someone who picked stelle instead of caelus she's way more reckless with responses..

super passionate about it too. kind of shy when the kiss between you two finally happens. it was also march who set you both up by the way, no shame at all she invited you to play while he was beside her.

'c'mon! live a little! plus you could even get to kiss you know who!' march quoted. a real matchmaker honestly.

like i said he's kind of shy, not awkward at all, he's the first to talk, and started to confess. he didn't care if march was on the other side of the door listening to your conversations.

if he wanted to stop being shy around you and stutter, this is what he had to do.

and who knows, you might like him back! march was sure that you did, because you also told her, and the only person whoever knew about you two. holds your hands in his while he confesses.

all he could do was continue and turn red. after he was finished, you initiated the kiss, one that was both passionate, and definitely awaited.

most likely he took so long saying that he liked you that you guys had less than 2 minutes to finally kiss, march opening the closet, to see you to share what looked like a quick peck, when it's only really you two that really knew what happened there.

as caelus took his seat on the floor back down next to march, while you took the seat next to the opposite side of where caelus was, all could do was laugh and congratulate you both, and continuing the game.

every little glance you both shared, with a smile.

𝐈𝐈𝐈. Sampo ꒱

big tease about it. 'haha we're both here together. <3'

he's had his fair share of kisses in the past, but you're his first actual romantic crush, the first to actually catch his attention, march probably didn't know you liked him and didn't mean to put you in there with someone so... eugh!!!

he's such an ick it's undescribable!! - march, but honestly his slyness and attractiveness wasn't the only thing that caught your eye. inside he's a really genuine guy.

teasingly sweet, that's what made your heart flutter. other than a few obvious red flags, he's a real sweetheart.

and it's okay we're colorblind together. at the very start it's already a makeout session inside that closet. probably moans a bit to piss you off. definitely leaves hickeys on you after every little kiss he gave, now that he knows you're his, you know?

overtly possessive of you too and rightfully so. he may look like a player but in the end he's also really new to all and everything romantic.

march opens the closet, pinching her nose, "ew get out of there!! gosh, i hope you didn't do anything bad to them.." brushing dust particles off your shoulders,

looking up and down for any bruises, and spots the hickeys, "ew.. you both really did more than just talking in that closet.."

she took a breath of relief and sat you down next to her, far from sampo, who kept smirking at you, winking even, all you could do was look away, covering the red on your face.

but march gave a disgusted look in return, mouthing the words "stay away from them!"

𝐈𝐕. Welt ꒱

experienced dilf and great kisser, not shy when confessing. cups your face for you to listen to him,

and okay this time is wasn't march even though it was so obvious that you guys liked each other, it was himeko AND march.

ok it was mostly march but himeko helped convince welt, that's a big part. anyways! such a romantic.

total sweetheart with you, wraps his arms around your waist while you place your arms around his neck like a new years' kiss happening.

remembers when it's time to get out anyway, so makes sure it's just you two who know what went down, but one arm still around your waist, to let march and himeko know their plan was a success, he already knew what they were planning,

he just let it play out, honestly didn't think they had a plan so the bottle would really land on you and him. was it.. really just by chance..?

march is over the moon with himeko celebrating you and him finally being together, honestly the people who cheered you both on the most during your dating phase.

i forgot but his kind of kisses are long lasting, patient, and.. i don't really know how to explain this but just super genuinely passionate. honestly you guys probably went more than just 7 minutes... and maybe more in the bedroom? only if you want of course!!

𝐕. Gepard ꒱

has never kissed anyone before, like other than kisses on the cheek, or forehead, he's never done that stuff.

this time the person who set you two up for this was his dear sister, serval.. plus a bit of march, because march would!! serval asked for her help anyway.. new to kisses, and new to relationships / romantic feelings,

so please guide him, so precious when he does confess, it feels like it's scripted almost honestly. but he's really so genuine with it i promise, probably starts as a kiss on your cheek, and escalates from there.

probably a really messy kiss, but just tell him he did great and that you feel the same, sprinkled with i love you and kisses all over his face, you both end up going out the room holding hands <3

march and serval are the happiest people, like parents really, all in all he's really happy you accepted his confession, serval is so happy, even gepard takes you home after the party finishes up, all that cheesy stuff like a kiss before he goes on the doorstep, <33

𝐕𝐈. Jing Yuan ꒱

who invited this hottie to the party though!!!! anyways, he's so calm and sly with it too..

he the type to put your hair behind your ear and whisper how much he loves you, and joking around on how it took you so long to realize it, then his soft lips crash into yours, aa he's such a hopeless romantic the whole moment felt like a dream <3

has kissed a fairly okay amount of people, he probably smells like strawberries and cherry blossoms. or maybe trees, either of those, and his lips are super soft,

and it's like he's always prepared for a kiss, especially when it's from you, and this time no march didn't plan it, more surprised than you are when she sees the dark hickeys scattered on your neck,

lowkey you started smelling like him too... that's at least what professional matchmaker march 7th said!

𝐕𝐈𝐈. Blade ꒱

it's probably kafka who set you both up instead, she knows blade liked you for longer, can't tell if you feel the same, to be frank, and that's impressive because she can usually read people pretty well. but she thought you both were a match made in heaven!

but it took you so long to see his obvious hints, ever since you joined, you really hadn't realized after the asking of what you love, what flowers you like, what's your favorite food, literally throwing the smoothest pickup lines at you ever?

hell i'm not even that blind and i have glasses (i am that blind)

kafka shoves you both into the closet really fast and waits outside in excitement

"oo i hope they're gonna be together now after the 10 millionth hint <333!!! what do you think silver wolf?!"

"what if they end up having sex what then-" cut to the part where he's pinned you to the wall and making out with you really harshly, probably degrades you a bit,

will leave hickeys, and bites your lip when you guys kiss. lots of tongue action, honestly is not shamed at all, is willing to strip you

like legit is chasing for your lips, bro DOES NOT play.

'till kafka opens the closet doors super happy and giddy

"you guys together now or what??" after pulling you both out of the closet, hickeys painted on your skin, blade's face tinted ruby, and eyes glowing red,

"what if you just left them there in the closet, maybe we would've had a kid on board joining us-"

overall um, kafka and silver wolf are happy (and relieved) you guys are together now plss stop being blind.

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈. Argenti ꒱

i read a little bit on his wiki that he's described as forthright, and forthright implies straightforwardness, honest, direct, and outspoken. so i think while in the confined space you both, he'll get straight to the point about his feelings, maybe a lil blush here n there.

trust me though, when argenti, a literal knight of the knights of beauty, is in love, he's in love. like he means everything he does for you in the best way possible. oh and his love language is definitely words of affirmation, and acts of service.

type of guy to hold your hands and get real close to your face to say all he has to tell you

and you know how it mentions in his story that he's very loyal to the missing aeon of beauty, i know, i just know as soon as he finds the one, he'll stay with them for a long time, even if its just one sided, because he knows that you were the one, even if you didn't think he was for you, he just knows his heart, and his soul (or at least a big part of him) that he belonged to you

kind of similar for the way he feels about the aeon of beauty iykwim. but he definitely is a loyal man, that's all i'll say. ok back to the 7mih stuff

saw the clip of him getting onto the astral ship thingy so i like to think the trailblaze gang made allies with him and like

ok well just go with it, march knows about his lil thingy for you, even if to others (himeko, dan heng, and welt) it seems like he just cares about you a lot, more than others. march just has a sixth sense for love (especially if its mutual pining, which is both of you)

march definitely put a little bit of metal on the bottle and put a little magnet on the floor to the both of you cause that bottle never landed on both of you at the same time sighhh

anyways, like i said, straightforward, and honest confession, just one kiss in that closet though.

actually even if it was only one, if you accepted your confession, expect to receive more later, and in the bedroom.

oh but march is proud, happier than ever

𝐈𝐗. Luocha ꒱

i have a lot to say about this pretty man, very similar to welt + argenti, experienced dilf, great kisser^3!!

its dan heng + sushang as your matchmakers today!! definitely met you while dan heng was looking for the trailblazing gang, sushang js thought you n luocha were cute tbh

the same as argenti, will love you for an eternity, and will stay loyal even after death and in life now.

why.. how.. who convinced bro to play 7 minutes in heaven with these goofballs (astral gang)

it was sushang and dan heng and march btw!

definitely planned this for it to be on midnight in the last days of december............ corny!! ok but to be fair luocha was pretty set on the plan too, just hoped the bottle would land on you when it landed on him.

first 2 minutes in the closet, silence and awkwardness till he speaks up

the way this man confesses..... SO SWEET MY LITTLE BABY UGH,, not necessarily straight to the point, beats around the bush a little, kind of is just like 'so ive been wanting to tell you something for a bit but idk if i should'

'promise you won't be mad?'

once he actually tells you everything, it's kind of like a word puzzle because he's very poetic, he's been preparing for this moment for more than just a few weeks, credits to sushang

asks to ring his arms around your waist while he's behind you in this dark closet

and then asks if he can kiss you while he does

maybe more than just one kiss was shared in there, but 5 minutes wasn't enough for this poetic man's long ass confession and his plans (to make out w u)

sighh

march and sushang would be jumping like the sheep in my dreams jumping over a fence when the lil smirk on luocha's face when you both get out

lol wait sushang as a sheep

i died while redoing some of these

[hotpotatopotat]

Why I don't think Shigaraki or his legacy is over.

I don't normally do canon delves but I am compelled as a Tomura fan to dissect the final battle. This isn't a post on whether it's good or bad, but observations on what's been told.

Shigaraki's crux has always been that he feels like no one can possibly understand what he is trying to accomplish, that his message and suffering is pushed under the rug, and that society is so rotten there's nothing to be done. Deku's goal is to try and understand this.

When Deku breaks through in mha417, Tomura challenges him on this. What would even change if you saw what happened to me? What would you even DO about it? Deku declares to the one person that needs it most: To reach out and give you peace, and "that is why...I am here"

But... When given the chance to go back to a time when he was happy, Tenko chooses not to. "Nah." he says. I think this is often overlooked, but Tomura didn't WANT to leave behind everything he's done.

Tomura says, even if you got rid of my hatred, even if you succeed in "saving me", it doesn't change the fact that I still believe in the future I'm fighting for, to destroy. The villains need a hero, the suffering needs to end, and things need to change.

Hang on to that for a moment. All for One shows up. He mocks him, his dream, his goals, claiming that they weren't real, that they weren't his, that his heart doesn't matter, that none of it does. He's evil.

All for One does kill Tomura here... or at least he would have....

With Deku's final blow, he ignites any remaining embers, Shigaraki, included. They land the final blow to All for One. Without that spark, and without Nana having saved Tomura from fading away, he wouldn't have been able to do this. Tomura would have died before.

Tomura's vestige is still decaying away, and he laments the fact that maybe...he wasn't more than the crying kid Deku said he was. He couldn't do anything. He didn't even destroy Deku's hands. His dreams are over.

Izuku says that he wanted to stop the cycle of grief and suffering. Tomura gives him a soft "hah..." This is such a cathartic moment for them, because I believe that Tomura finally feels understood. He's actually quite relieved.

Strangely, Tomura is soft here. He's not decaying away anymore, he's solid, he's wearing his old shirt. He's NOT the same. He declares how he wants to be remembered, as the one who never stopped fighting to change the world. Izuku says, it's already been...but...

In mha424, Tomura instantly challenges this. With a giant smirk, he tells Deku that he better do his damn best to make sure that things change. It depends on the choices that he continues to make, not the conclusion of one battle.

424 feels like a giant wink wink nudge nudge for the reader. Deku is dissatisfied with not getting that instant gratification of "saving" Tenko, just like after a final battle, he won't get the instant gratification of changing the world. We don't get the gratification either.

But honestly, I really do believe that Deku will carry on Shigaraki's legacy and internalize it just like All Might's.

One final thing... You see his hair change textures. Left to right, It's decaying like in the final form, it's defined and stringy like in his early days, and it's airy and blocked like in his liberation days. This is such guardian angel energy, I swear.

I don't think this is the last we will see of him. And if it is, at least physically the last we see of him, I'm happy Deku will carry on what was truly in Tomura's heart.

[asunflowerana]

𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐦?

summary: their sister got a new boyfriend, and unfortunately for them, they already know the guy.

with: teiko team and Kagami.

n: remastered prompt, with a brother x boyfriend model (which i thought was really fun to do it haha). Let me know if you guys liked it, hope you all enjoy it!

⊛ akashi seijuro x midorima shintaro

Seijuro’s actually pleased by the surprise. He knows his former teammate pretty well, so he won't have problems trusting him to take care of you and treat you well, as you deserve.

Not only he found it pleasing, but also amusing. It's not every day that your sister decides to date such a confident, stubborn guy, which makes things a bit more interesting for him as the big brother.

“Midorima-kun. What a nice surprise.” The red-haired cordially extends his hand to the new family's addition, wearing a subtle smirk while gazing at him with his piercing, red pupils. Midorima isn't a fool to trust these eyes. “I have a feeling we’ll have a good time together, won't we?

⊛ aomine daiki x kagami taiga

“You've got to be kidding...” It’s the first thing that comes out of Daiki's mouth, looking at your new, moron boyfriend. As if it isn't good enough to deal with him at the championships, now in his personal life too? With his sister? Alright, where're the cameras? 'Cause he's having no fun with this prank.

let's face it, Aomine will make Taiga's life very difficult from now on: expect a lot of bickering and growling at each other every time they're together. However, if he's being honest, Daiki’s actually relieved that your new boyfriend is someone as upstanding and honorable as Taiga; he wouldn’t want you to date someone who doesn't treat you well. So, even though he’s an imbecile (which, yes, he is, and a lot), he's also kinda... trusty. He won't ever say that out loud, though.

“Okay, fine... I can accept this." He points at you both, discontent but not wanting you sad for not having his support. "but you better leave me out of the sappy romance of yours. Too much to sleep at night."

⊛ midorima shintaro x kise ryota

Midorima's already someone difficult to win, especially to a guy who wants to date his sister. So regardless of their past, with Kise it won't be any different; in fact, it'll be worse, due to Kise’s cocky and overly charming personality, unpleasant to the green-haired boy.

Kise isn’t so bad as a person, thoug. Smug, overwhelming, sometimes futile? yes. But he can't deny he also has a good heart. For your happiness, he'll make an effort. The blonde better be prepared for what comes for him, though.

“You really have a bad taste in men.” He bluntly tells you, quickly getting on Kise's nerves, to his delight. Before any of you can protest, he continues. “But he’s not as dumb as the others, so I can deal with him. For now.”

⊛ kise ryota x murasakibara atsushi

“You're kidding, right?” Kise can't help but cackle, bewildered by the news. Not even in his wildest dream did he see something like that happening. You, his baby sister, dating this giant child? It's too much to actually be real. “Murasakibara-chi, you spend all your money on candy, how will you treat my sister that way?”

He honestly doesn’t get what you saw in Murasaki. The lad is lazy, whine at everything, gets easily bored, and probably has more cavities in his teeth than fingers. How can that be attractive?

It'll take a while, but Kise'll eventually notice Atsushi's qualities as a boyfriend. Definitely, he isn't the ideal guy he was planning for you, but you're his world, and that's what matters in the end for Kise.

⊛ murasakibara atsushi x akashi seijuro

Atsushi's fine with the news. He actually noticed the way you and Akashi slowly grew close to each other. He has a lot of respect for him, confident that he’s the best person to take care of his sister and give her a good future. If it were up to him, you might even marry sooner than planned.

“Seijuro-kun, you're _____'s new boyfriend?” He rewinds, asking no one in specific. Akashi offers him a nod, with a small smile on his face while holding your hand. The purple-haired boy scratches his chin, unfazed but internally pleased. “Well, I think this is good news.”

⊛ kagami taiga x aomine daiki

“Please tell me this is a joke.” Kagami practically begs you, hating the teasing smirk Daiki wears on his face, bothering his future brother-in-law. You shake your head, and Kagami loses his freaking mind. “Of so many people in the world, why him? Like, there's our neighbor Koshi that helps you with groceries when I'm out, or that nice barista that gives you heart eyes everytime we're there. Heck, you could even date a mobster, for good's sake, just not him! What is so attractive about him? No, actually, I don’t want to know. I need to keep the rest of my sanity intact.”

As you can notice, Kagami was quite affected by your new relationship. And with Aomine nagging him constantly, it got even harder for him not to just jump in Daiki's throat. But with time, the two will learn how to deal with each other, especially since Aomine’s clearly making you happy. He can be a moron, but at least he’s doing his job right.

reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated. 💕

© asunflowerana 2024 — all rights reserved.

[vxn3lla]

Masterlist🍒💋

Law of Assumption

Reality is Yours

Ignore the 3d

Some things aren't necessary

EIYPO

Self Concept and Living in the End

Challenge Step One

Challenge Step Two

Challenge Step Three

Challenge Step Four

Challenge Step Five

Do it Yourself

Manifesting through "Lack"

Imagination

Your one affirmation

Get it Right

On doubts, "lying to yourself", and electronics

Why being "delulu" isn't the "solulu"

Law of Assumption ALWAYS works

Limiting Beliefs Rant

Giving things outside of you power-my take on the lions gate portal

Letting go vs Focusing

There is no right or wrong way to manifest

Taking action and why it can be a good thing (after all the other steps)

Techniques

0.0035%

Notion Template for manifesting

The only “time” is now

New Years Eve Challenge

Fun manifestation idea

you are the creator

Stop settling

important

“purging” and persisting (if you truly had a good self concept the idea of purging shouldn’t bother you whether it’s real or not

Stop giving the 3d power

your desires are meant for you

Void State

Some things on necessary (void state reblog)

I am vs void state

Putting the void state on a pedestal

Your are the void state

Cramps

Success Stories

adambja tapes

nyc trip

Your one affirmation successes

more success stories

gotta keep persisting

Affirmations and Vaunts and Subs

Self concept/dream life affs

Void state vaunt

Giant subliminal

Subliminal requests

nothing left to manifest ryuu

ryuu bundle

YouTube

"About Me" (just posts related to me/"daily" blog)

Celebrity "Look-Alike" not really face reveal but kinda

personal blog

Code word

mom manifesting?

[tangerinelovez]

How do you think OT7 Dream would comfort you after a bad day?

Mark: When Mark comes home from a day of work and sees you on the couch sad and quiet, not at all like your normal self, his face quirks up in shock. Your eyes are on him as he awkwardly looks around the room, rubbing his arm, looking as if he’s unsure what to do. After a few beats of silence, he meets your eyes and sits down next to you.

“How was your day?” He asks, looking at you with soft brown eyes. He listens intently and offers emotional support for a few minutes before diving into some solutions and advice. You notice his sentences are a little disjointed or rambling, but he definitely got some good points across and brought up new perspectives you hadn't considered.

"No, yeah, like, she was totally... uh... over the line for asking you to stay late to finish that report... like, she totally put you in a weird spot, y'know, given the fact she asked if you'd do it in front of so many people, you know? you don't... you can't deal with that kinda thing." You nod, feeling your frustrations dissipate as he continues to be the picture perfect supportive boyfriend… albeit a bit rambly. His talents definitely lie in making sure you feel heard, and like all of your concerns are so valid. He's an amazing listener who reassuringly holds your hand and gently strokes your thumb with his own as you talk and he offers his best reassuring words. Even if he somehow loses his train of thought along the way, he always brings it back home. He's the sweetest boyfriend you could ever ask for and you love the way he takes your mind off things... when he offers to get you your favorite takeout, you squeak out a "No, it's ok, I'm fine. We have leftovers."

He calls you from the restaurant to ask what exactly it is you like from their menu because he just wants to be 100% sure he gets your order right (and that they don't forget your sauces...) Would totally be the type to bring home way too much food, sheepishly saying, "Hey, you deserve it.... it's been a long day for you... not that you have to have a bad day to like, get good food, but i'm seizing this opportunity to make my girlfriend smile."

Yes, he did scrunch up his free hand that isn't holding copious bags of take-out while saying that sentence... and yes, you do laugh. When he sits back down on the couch next to you, you can't help but smile over how he instantly puts on some cheesy show for you both to watch while you eat your giant meals. "Mark... we're going to be eating these leftovers for days..." You say, but even as you say it, you're a bit shocked to realize nearly all the fries are gone.

Your eyes meet in shock, and you double over in laughter over the fact you both have been so absorbed in the stupid happenings of the reality TV show... you just kept eating.

With full bellies, you'd lay down on the couch and cuddle... laughing over the fact at least your problems aren't as bad as the poor girls on the crappy reality TV show... and you're lucky enough to have an amazing boyfriend who'd do anything to make you feel loved <3

Haechan: When you'd text him to let him know your day isn't going that well, Haechan would be the type to immediately get mad on your behalf as if someone had insulted his honor to the highest degree. Like... if you're having a bad day because of something somebody said to you or did to you, best believe you'd have to pull him back from confronting that person. His chaotic and over-the-top insistence on getting as involved as possible makes you feel really loved... Although he is a bit dramatic, you have to admit it's a nice change from the previous nonchalant busters you had dated who had no real interest in protecting your wellbeing. This man would spam your phone with stupid Instagram reels and bad puns in hopes your mood would improve slightly.

When he's finally with you in person, it would take a natural disaster to get him off of you. He would douse you in kisses and nearly crush your ribcage with a tight hug. He'd totally be the type to dramatically look out the window and declare you're letting those bitches win if you don't make the best of the rest of the day. he'd walk you around the neighborhood for a bit, an arm slung over your shoulder, and would just take in the scenery with you, feeling that your quietness was more out of contentedness than anything else.

Although he can sometimes be a lot, he has a huge heart and will always do his best to read the room and figure out what you need... while still encouraging you to sometimes do things that make you a bit uncomfortable... Hey, he was right about how good a walk outside can be for mental health and gaining perspective! you should trust him.

he'd claim he had no real route in mind for your neighborhood walk, and yet, you'd somehow conveniently end up at your favorite mom-and-pop restaurant. he'd feign shock, looking between you and the restaurant a few times before saying, "Destiny led us here... come on, the universe is saying your boyfriend needs to buy you a couple pan-fried dumplings. Who are we to say no?"

Once you're sitting down at the restaurant, you'd finally begin spilling more details about what was bothering you, and to his credit, he would listen quite well, only interrupting a few times to express his annoyance with your classmates over not carrying their weight on the project. With a belly of pan-fried dumplings and noodles, you walk back to your apartment with Haechan, grateful to have a boyfriend who lets you vent at your own pace, and doesn't force you to share ... even if it sometimes kills him to wait to hear who is at fault Renjun: Renjun is the type to immediately discern when something is wrong with you, even if you try your very best to hide it. As soon as he'd come home and lay eyes on you, staring straight ahead on the couch in the living room, his gaze would soften and he'd say, "hey sweetheart... you okay?" to which you'd nod before tears would suddenly well up, causing him to drop everything in his hands and rush over to you.

He'd sit next to you on the couch and pull you close to his side, wrapping both arms around you and rocking you gently as you cry. He'd sit there with you quietly for as long as it would take for you to calm down, quietly humming as the two of you sway slightly, his hand softly combing through your hair. Eventually, you'd shakily exhale and lift your head from his shoulder, maneuvering yourself on the couch to face him. He'd shift slightly, as well, ensuring that you could see his full attention is on you. He'd listen intently as the words suddenly come spilling forth. After telling him all about your bad day and what has been bothering you, you can count on Renjun to get right down to solutions. Though he's a super caring boyfriend, the man would believe that the way to truly help you feel better would be to attack the issues head-on rather than just offering you emotional support. However, he always speaks to you very calmly and sweetly, never talking over you. After discussing possible solutions for a while, I think he'd be the type to say, "Well, there's not much else we can do right now, so maybe let's just take your mind off of all that for tonight? And tomorrow, you can talk to your friend about some of your concerns." You love the way he makes big, all-consuming feelings and events feel smaller by breaking it down piece-by-piece and ensuring you never feel like these issues are yours to bear alone.

He'd totally be the type to say something cheesy like "the first duty of love is to listen" He'd be so honored that you shared your troubles with him and trust his advice so much, would instantly shush you if you tried to apologize for crying and ruining your night together.

"Your worries are my worries... I swear sometimes you worry me with how low your bar is for treatment from others... but hopefully it's raising everyday we're together." After all that talking... and crying... and laughing, he'd make some popcorn, crack open your favorite soda, and put on the one movie you've watched every time you've been sad. And he wouldn't even make fun of you when you'd recite all the lines along with the characters dutifully. Jeno: When you come back from school, overwhelmed by the workload of your graduate-level courses, Jeno would listen intently to all your issues, nodding and sighing at the appropriate times, making you start to find amusement in his display of active listening. This man would definitely take all his cues from you and adapt appropriately. If you're angry... then he is boiling mad, too. Madder than you are, actually. If you just don't want to talk about it any more, he would definitely respect that, and start cycling through your favorite topics to try and boost your mood.

No matter what, he would insist on being by your side and doing whatever it is that you want to do, repetitively asking if there's anything else he can do for you. He'd shyly pepper your hairline and temple with kisses, smiling against your head softly when he'd feel you laugh. He'd definitely be all over you, cuddling you on the bed to the best of his ability as he throws out different activities you could do to feel better. "Do you want to paint something?" A slight head shake from you tells him you're not really in the mood for anything crafty... but maybe you could be convinced. "Hmm... would you wanna go out for dinner, baby?" It's silent for a few seconds before you say, "Hmm... maybe...."

The arm he has around your neck is comforting, but as he moves it to scratch his chest absentmindedly, you feel like the comforting embrace is slightly choking.

Thankfully, he stops his scratching and sighs, staring at the ceiling before he tosses out his next suggestion. "Okay... how about... we go to that one grocery store you really love, get all the ingredients for homemade pizza... AND any other snacks you want? and your loyal samoyed will happily buy them all for you?"

suddenly feeling a burst of energy over the prospect of wandering the aisles of your favorite fancy grocery store and being silly and creative in the kitchen with Jeno, before relaxing on the couch together to laugh over some stupid movie, you curl into his side excitedly.

"Yeah, that sounds amazing..." Now you're the one peppering him with kisses, from the mole below his eye to the tip of his nose, feeling so happy that you have such a patient and sweet man who shows you how he cares through actions. "You can just wear my sweatshirt, too. No need to change." Is it possible to be any more in love? I guess you'll find out when the night's over.

Jaemin: Jaemin runs an aggressive campaign in turning your frown upside down. "Baby.... what's wrong...?" Jaemin's deep voice would warble out of the phone as you try to steady yourself in the bathroom at work.

"Ugh, it's... it's nothing. I'm just frustrated. I shouldn't have called, I know you're busy..."

He'd huff, the pfft somehow coming through the speaker with just as much sass as it would in person. "What is it I always say when you start pulling this nonsense?"

You exhale, glad there is no chance anyone can come in the single-occupancy restroom and hear your boyfriend giving you a pep talk over the phone.

"'You're wasting both of our times because I'm not going anywhere until you talk?"'

Jaemin's tinny voice exclaims in frustration over the phone. "Baby, no, the other thing."

You hum in understanding. "'Tough times don't last but you will?'"

He groans again. "Damn, I say way too many things, all so wise and encouraging. No, baby, 'a problem shared is a problem halved.' That's what I always so wisely say to encourage you."

You'd nod, finding amusement in just how many idioms seem to come spewing out of him. After talking to him on the phone for a bit, you'd find the strength to leave the bathroom and finish your day at work. When you finally make it home, Jaemin would hug you at the door, and gently ask how the rest of the day went, offering emotional support and advice as you saw fit. However... his biggest way of making you smile after a hard day would definitely be taking you to a late night movie and stuffing his cargo pants and hoodie with all the snacks you could ever want. He'd even go as far as to throw some cans of soda into a blanket before excitedly tucking it under his arm, urging you to get in the car so you can go snuggle at the theater with all the smuggled snacks you could ever desire. You'd cuddle up to each other, grateful it was a reclining seat theater, and that nobody else seemed to want to see this weeks-old movie at 11:00 pm on a Wednesday other than the two of you. After the movie, he'd take you on a drive around the city, playing your favorite music lowly, his hand on your thigh, allowing you to talk as you saw fit, but mostly just content with the silence, knowing the soft smile on your face was genuine. And when you fall asleep in the car? he'd drive around for a few more minutes, softly singing along to the music and gently stroking your leg as he did so.

And yeah... he'd carry you inside and shush all the cats before they'd even get a chance to meow.

And when you wake up the next day, terrified you're gonna be late for work? He's already awake, cooking breakfast :) best boyfriend in the world award loading... Chenle: Chenle is a straight-forward man. When he realized you were answering his texts after several hours with short replies, he knew action needed to be taken.

He'd call you, and after your sniffly "hullo?" would know all he needs to. Nothing would stop that man from instantly booking it to your location, which just so happened to be the parking lot of your job.

He'd park right next to your car, and tap on the passenger window gently, prompting you to unlock the door for him.

"(Y/N), what's wrong? Was it that one girl from yoga? The stupid ass girl in HR? Tell me," He'd say, taking his hands in yours, causing you to shift in your seat slightly and face him.

"I-I don't even know, Chenle. It's just everything today... one thing after the other." After showing him your cracked phone screen and broken nail, he examines your hand more carefully, turning it over with great scrutiny. 

"Um... what, Chenle?" “This color was ugly anyways…” He mutters before looking up at you. “Get in my car, we have to go.”

You look at him in shock, still a little annoyed and frustrated. “What?”

He huffs, voice unwavering and face firm. “Get. In. The. Car.” 

Suddenly he beams. “I’m taking you to get your nails redone. And in a cuter color…”

You feel a blush coming on over his insistence. “Oh, no, Chenle, it’s fine, really–”

“Stop. It’s already done. And I need you to get moving. While you’re getting your nails done, I have to make it to this appointment… you like silver, right?”

Your eyes widen in shock as you sit down in the passenger seat of Chenle’s car. “Chenle, you’re not getting me a new phone.”

Chenle laughs, shaking his head slightly. “Nobody said anything about getting you a new phone…you materialistic woman…” 

When you get picked up from your nail appointment, (which Chenle Zelle’d you the money for, plus a little extra because of “girlfriend tax”), you not only have a new latest-model silver iPhone but also a new pair of silver hoops.

You just love the way he spoils you while simultaneously keeping you on your toes. Life is never boring with him, and he never hesitates to make you feel special in his own way. 

Would definitely finish the day off by dramatically performing all of your favorite songs he normally finds really cheesy and annoying (he wants to put a smile on your face today, okay? Don’t get used to it) 

Jisung: He knows you sometimes need your space, so he’d want to feel out what the right move is. When he feels like you’re having a bad day, Jisung would first talk to you about all of your favorite topics enthusiastically, hoping it would pique your interest and cheer you up… if that was unsuccessful… he would dive deep into his trove of secrets and tell you about embarrassing things he’s done that he’s forced the other boys to hide from you (which is no easy feat seeing as they love to tell you about dumb things he has done).

“So… you just… ran away?” You say, your chest feeling lighter as you laugh.

“Well… I just felt so awkward… my voice crack echoed around the room so loudly…I knew that Haechan would be talking about it for the rest of the week.”

You laugh some more, thinking of how he must have had that cute embarrassed look on his face when it happened.

“Honestly, probably the rest of my life.” 

A cute blush would appear on his features, making you feel compelled to snuggle even closer to him, the scent of his soft hoodie doing wonders in improving your mood.

You would quietly talk on the couch for a while before Jisung would start showering you in shy compliments, telling you how much he loves your hair and your outfit, before finally asking how you could have possibly had a bad day when you look this good.

Now you’d blush, hiding your face in his hands when he looks at you with his sparkly eyes. 

“Don’t you have rehearsal now?” You’d ask and he’d shrug, looking at the time quickly before looking back at you.

“I can be late. I don’t want to go just yet.”

You’d snuggle in deeper and feel 1000x better knowing he’ll always be there when you’re feeling down.

[n3ptoonz]

Hi I’m a bit embarrassed to say this lol, that’s why I’m anonymous. Can you please write headcanons for Bi Han, Liu Lang, Geras, Tomas and Raiden with someone who uh, really really likes to suck their cockk 🫣

😳

i sure as hell can anon🫦

Sub-Zero

knowing bi han stubborn ass he's gonna claim it gets in the way whenever you ask more often than not, but as soon as he picks up on your fixation...you can literally do no wrong

most times he takes control, other times the dome is so overwhelmingly good he grunts constantly and gets lightheaded, but don't tell nobody 🤫

you'd be surprised with the amount of praise he gives you. it would even go to point of him noticing differences and similarities between present and past with how skilled you were. leave it up to him to make everything into fighting terms (he doesn't know how to express his emotions give him a moment😹)

Liu Kang

at a loss for words tbh. he knew you loved getting intimate with him but specifically giving him oral caught him off guard. this is only bc he's used to being dominant and making sure your pleasure comes first that he's like woah, you're quite eager there 😲

he wouldn't be one to deny you though. in a way he's still prioritizing your pleasure since you are indeed receiving it from giving him head, and was not one to ever complain!

he's not one to have or show his ego, but damn, the lewd sounds that come from your mouth and the sight of you clearly enjoying yourself does make him feel like the luckiest god there is. to have you all to himself in this portion of his lifetime is the absolute highlight and he'll never forget it

Geras

ik geras isn't some giant monster man but he absolutely has a giant monster co-

you can barely even reach past the middle, and you want to keep doing that? okay, he thinks, by all means do what makes you both happy in the end

secretly worried for your jaws and sometimes your throat. he's gonna keep asking if you're okay and would prob be very confused/concerned if tears started falling from trying to take all of him. you gotta explain it's all part of the process and you enjoy it. he might not ever understand everything about mortals, but he sure loves the pleasure while he learns

Smoke

i 1000% believe that tomas is super sensitive around his dick. like, regular sex is already one thing. but...superb head from you? he MIGHT just die

theoretically speaking you wouldn't be able to pin him down while you suck him off but a girl can dream, let's throw logic out the window real quick. he'd lose his fucking mind and start muttering praises in czech

he does prefer to pleasure you BUT who would he be to say no to you?? he gets bomb head on a regular basis and a hot partner to do it. he wouldn't even have time to ask you for it because you keep telling him you will/you want to. if you really bout it, you'll discover he'd definitely be into getting oral in a secluded public space like the bathroom or training room

Raiden

like i always say, he may come off as a shy cutie (which he is) BUT when that dark side comes out it's over

i feel like he's a switch. so, whenever you ask if you can do a lil vacuum action it always starts the same way, but never ends the same way

it starts with him shyly agreeing letting you do your thing then bam, he either starts pushing your head down more and makes you go at the pace he wants OR you're just too good and make him squirm, buck, whine, and tremble. it's always a gamble but hey, i like these odds, don't you? you two equally go back and forth with pleasuring each other and he even worries he'd get selfish but like who cares mf im tryna hear you 😮‍💨

[i-smoke-chapstick]

Okay so like as I’m writing this, tomorrow is my birthday (I’m gonna be 19 😭) and I was wondering if I could get some birthday headcanons with the legion of horribles (poly but platonic) + (separately) zsasz?🥺

You don’t have to finish this on my birthday so I understand if it will take time but if you can do it that would be wonderful! Don’t feel pressured though!

Thank you so much Cupid!^^🫂

'400 LUX,

-GOTHAM!VILLIANS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Oswald Cobblepot, Jerome Valeska, Bridgit Pike, Jervis Tetch, Jonathan Crane, Victor Fries, Victor Zsasz

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; Birthday HCs with the Legion of Horribles! (+ romantic zsasz)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!villains x female reader. PURE FLUFF! They adore reader so so so much! Reader turning 19 :> Age gap for Zsasz! All seven of these idiots. Good luck reader, you will need it!! Suggestive parts in Zsasz's. Reader probably drinking too much tea to be healthy. Also sorry I'm a little late with this, hectic week but happy late bday adal <3 love ya!

𝛰𝑆𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐷 𝐶𝛰𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸𝑃𝛰𝑇

♫ “We're never done with killing time, can I kill it with you?” 400 Lux by Lorde

Number one spoiler!

No seriously, good luck. You are basically Martin #2. He's buying the most extravagant gifts, and hosting the birthday party. He's getting mad at Jervis and Jerome (anyone who can't keep there mouth shut for the surprise.)

Hectically organizing this whole mess. To his best ability. Eventually he gives up under the stress and you'll notice. Just have a little sit down with him, and he'll HAPPILY celebrate your birthday far away from everyone else.

Once you two have a minute alone, he's making you his mothers tea, telling you all about his birthdays and how she used to celebrate them with him. He really just wants to make this the best day for you possible.

Have a small little laugh with him on the couch, look at baby pictures of him around the mansion, watch him get red in the face and scowl just a teeny tiny bit.

He'll also scroll through your phone (he's horrible with technology) and look at your baby pictures too. You two end up having a good laugh and a semi-serious talk about childhood memories <3

He'll end up giving you his most personal gift when you two are alone, away from the "cretins outside" in his words.

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝛰𝑀𝐸 𝑉𝐴𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐾𝐴

♫ “We might be hollow but we're brave.” 400 Lux by Lorde

The only time he's 100 percent serious is when he's busy with the sheer EFFORT he's putting into this celebration.

Him and Oswald have conflicting ideas. Oswald wants something extravagant, royal, fit for you, like a coming of age. Jerome still wants to throw you a ball, but more like a child's dream chucky-cheese type birthday.

What do you mean he can't get a bunch of arcade machines and a ball pit delivered to the mansion? He's pouting.

He'll be DAMNED if he doesn't book the entertainment and a GIANT cake, though.

Will get Jervis to hypnotize some poor sap to dance for you. You know, if you're into that. Might kill him too if you're a little evil like him. If you aren't into that, he'll let him live. That's your gift :>

Did i say a GIANT cake? Yeah. It's massive. FUCKING MASSIVE. He probably ends up eating more of it then you guys, to be honest.

Makes sure it's your favorite flavor too.

Makes everyone sit down when it's time for cake and candles, if anyone tries to get up he's screaming at the top of his lungs.

Remember that "USE THE TONGS, CARL!" Yeah, he's channeling that energy to the hypnotized people cutting the cake and setting the table.

Fully looks at you like a successor (and like, his only real friend) so he's a bit pushy for this to go well. Not as much as Oswald, but still set on making this a good day for you. He just isn't as overt.

𝐵𝑅𝐼𝐷𝐺𝐼𝑇 𝑃𝐼𝐾𝐸

♫ “And the heating comes on.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Poor baby has never seen, attended, or had a birthday party in her life. It's new for her, it's intriguing. She loves this little strange family you guys have created.

You are LITERALLY her little sister, the only sibling she truly sees as her own!

It's obligatory for her to light the birthday candles (and almost burn the mansion down, chaos ensues)

Similar to Oswald, she gives you one intimate gift. Something she knows you'll love, something personal. You're favorite flowers, gems, or even a nod to an inside joke.

Arguing with Victor (Fries) about who has the better gift and who you like more.

When the day is nearing it's end, she volunteers to clean up to have some time alone with you. Everyone else is winding down, but you and her will get to talk like two best friends.

It's the only time she feels like a normal teenage girl. Just gossiping with you while putting Jerome's confetti in trash bags.

You'll probably have a little slumber party with her in the living room, eating left-over snacks and watching TV, throwing popcorn at each other. Speaking of popcorn....

"Hey, watch this!" She's nudging you, getting you to watch her make her own popcorn kernels with her flamethrower, signature smile on her face :>

𝐽𝐸𝑅𝑉𝐼𝑆 𝑇𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻

♫ “You drape your wrists over the steering wheel.” 400 Lux by Lorde

He was fighting tooth and nail for this to be a tea party. Still upset it's not. Ended up still hypnotizing someone to make tea for you all. Ah, Small victories.

Also? We saw him in that chauffer outfit. He will gladly be the designated driver.

Similar to the rest of them, he wants some time alone with you. So, he's hypnotizing a limo and pulling up and practically stealing you away.

Takes you on a little shopping spree. Anywhere you want to go, he'll take you there! Even if he doesn't particularly enjoy it. (cough cough, convince stores, cough cough)

Wants to take you to the tea shoppes and bakeries.

He is LITERALLY the most BUSY bee out of EVERYONE. Everyone is so obsessed with planning and whatnot, but he actually has to do EVERYTHING by himself.

Whose hypnotizing the cake maker, the gifts, the decorations, the people, the waiters? Ah, the list goes on and on. He's a bit tuckered out by the time you too are done shopping and he's off his list of errands.

Have a cup of tea with him after <3 he will be infinitely grateful to wind down with you if you find the time during the day.

Sings happy birthday obnoxiously loud for you. He also insists everyone has perfect table manners and etiquette. (Looking at you, Jerome.)

𝐽𝛰𝑁𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑁 𝐶𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I can tell that you're tired.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Silent, for the most part. Will refuse to sing happy birthday, and will truly only participate if it's the two of you alone. He...doesn't work well in groups.

He's getting a slap on the wrist from everyone because of it.

He'd MUCH rather steal you away periodically through the day, to just talk to you about your childhood. Congratulate you. He's happy for you, but he's a little scared you're getting older.

Very protective. Always. No matter what.

You might hear him laugh a bit, joke around with you, just simply checking the surroundings and chaos from Jerome.

If you are someone who prefers things more lowkey, you'll find yourself spending the majority of the day with Jonathan. Eventually you two will just pass by each other every now and then, and share a brief respite from the bustling outside.

You are TRULY his best friend. He wants to make this day as good for you as everyone else does. He just doesn't know where to start.

He'll probably end up giving you your favorite gift out of EVERYONE.

Doesn't matter what it is. He'll know. It will be intimate, genuine, and a very heartfelt message on the bottom of a card attached.

"Love you, Y/N." -Jonathan

Okay, not SUPER heartfelt at first look, but for him? It's as close as you'll get to him being vulnerable.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝐹𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆

♫ “We're getting good at this.” 400 Lux by Lorde

Jerome puts him on ice-cream duty and he's reasonably grumpy.

No, but genuinely, this is a VERY special day for him. He's a VERY proud dad!

Always wanted to have kids with Nora. Never got a chance. You really are his second chance at happiness, and he loves you so much. He gets to live out everything he thought he'd never be able too.

Wants to get more involved, but gets a little pushed out between Jerome and Oz.

Jerome probably makes him make ice sculptures. Or Ozzie asks him to freeze the body of your enemies. Perfect gift!

Similar to Jonathan, likes to keep things more lowkey. He'll sneak in a pseudo father daughter bonding moment, even if you don't know.

"So, uh, you're staying out trouble, right?"

He's asking, nudging you when you two finally get a moment alone. His voice comes out in a mumble, obviously not very experienced in this role of being a father. But he can't help it.

Overprotective dad scowling at Zsasz, you know, to get the point across. Zsasz staring riiiiiiight back.

"Just so you know...if you break her heart, I'm freezing yours." Victor #1 says, with a clicking sound, and a raise of his gun.

Victor #2 raises a non-existent eyebrow, and lifts his own gun in return. "Of course..." He drawls. The idle threats are there.

𝑉𝐼𝐶𝑇𝛰𝑅 𝑍𝑆𝐴𝑆𝑍

♫ “You pick me up and take me home again / We're hollow like the bottles that we drain.” 400 Lux by Lorde

He's a loving boyfriend, you just have to get through his layers throughout the day!

Of course, he's your ride to and from the mansion. Driving with him, his hand on your thigh, disco music. Waking you up with kisses and birthday sex

He's grumbling just a bit everyone else wants to steal you away. Que him being a sassy boyfriend, rolling his eyes.

He ends up just standing around the mansion most of the day, sneaking bites of pastries or making idle conversation with the terrified waiters, while you are out with Jervis. He doesn't mind. It's your day. He is more then happy, this is his element. A whole day dedicated to his girl, and free food? Sign him up.

In contrast to everyone, he's the only person to give you a gag gift. Surprisingly, Jerome takes this too seriously to give you one. Victor doesn't, though. He'll give you a whole bunch of small gag gifts, just to see that beautiful smile on your face.

He'll end up getting you a real gift though. Something precious, gorgeous, elegant. Something absolutely killer. Black onyx necklace? Yes. You'll feel the leather of his gloves on your neck while he puts it on you.

Doesn't care if ANYONE looks at the two of you weirdly for the age gap. In fact, he'll become even MORE affectionate. Y'know, just to piss people off.

Speaking of age, he doesn't care you aren't 21 just yet. He's 100% sneaking the two of you some alcohol to drink. (Not without teasing you, of course, for being a downright horrible criminal!)

Oswald, Victor Fries, and Jervis don't appreciate you drinking. They are too protective. But Zsasz doesn't gaf what they say :>

[kr-starz]

Hi, ever though of what would have happened if the other ekko had also changed bodies with firelight ekko while he was in the au timeline? the man goes to seek powder for help only to meet jinx and get tied up to a chair and interrogated :3

Oh my GOD! Is this a fun fun fun idea I love ur creative little head anon !!

I imagine these events would happen after act 1 but before act 2, that little span of time where Jinx is know as a rebel symbol of Zaun!

But we know soso very little about AU Ekko so some of my character building for him is gonna be real messy but if I remember where Ekko left off was actually IN Piltover where the anomaly was triggered. I lowkey imagine Ekko wakes up on the cold hard floor of the hexgate.

He's half awake, and a raging headache floods his mind. He was just standing up, did he collapse? He swishes his head around, and this isn't a room or a place he recognizes. He feels around, he wasn't wearing a giant graffitied jacket before. And he has a strange, board-like thing on his back? Okay this is really freaking him out, he needs to find Benzo- or Powder, they would know what's going on.

He gets up, something weird is going on and he doesn't know what. This has to be some strange dream, or a prank? Some weirdly detailed and composed plan to mess with him. Ekko has zero idea why, but he's pretty sure he's not supposed to even be in the building he's in. It's extravagant, too extravagant. His headache urges him to not be seen, so he tries to find himself a passageway that's inconspicuous enough for him to get out quietly.

Ekko makes it out of the building, Ekko's determined, that maybe this isn't a dream. His dreams have never been so, realistic? But this is just wrong. He's staring at the dilapidated state of Zaun, smoke streaming up from the under-city; whilst Piltover towers over the measly little nation. Ekko has to get back home, is everyone okay in this strange dystopian reality? They have to be.

The last thing Ekko knew was that he was in the back of Benzos brainstorming with Powder, now he's stepping into the empty lot of blisters and bedrock, he cautiously walks around. For some reason the lanes seem to give him a bad chill, the tech for people limbs seem so much advanced? There was an unfamiliar substance that stuck to the air.

Walking to the second floor of the unaccompanied space, he hears some creaking. No, talking. A familiar voice behind a door, Powder. Wasting no time Ekko barges into the office, he's met with pink tired eyes, shooting daggers at him.

"Powder-" He yells instinctively, before backtracking to look over her new appearance. She's sitting on a desk rocking a chair back and forth but it doesn't seem like she's willing to sit on it, she's got long braids that seem to go on forever, she's skinnier, and she's got these glowing pink eyes.

Before Ekko has the chance to even do or say anything Jinx has a gun drawn, a bullet already shoots right past him intentionally missing, "What're you doing here boy saviour." She's got a sting in her voice ready to kill, she's standing now and looking to avoid getting close to him.

"Powder- If we could just put that down-" He stutters out, referring to the real gun that she has pointed directly at his head. Ekko was SO ready to run but he felt like if he did she would be hunting him down.

Jinx clicks her teeth, "Don't go calling me that, Ekko." she says his name with so much disdain he's really wondering if he's done something majorly wrong.

Okay, don't call her Powder? He's willing to do a lot if he's held at gunpoint. His heart is pacing out of his chest, but he needs to know what's going on. And what's stopping that right now, is the fact that Powder is holding him at gunpoint.

So disarm her, right? Ekko shuffles a bit forward, which he hears Jinx tightening her grip on the gun. Ekko knows how to fight, it's hard to be in Zaun and not know how to defend yourself. But has he ever gone 1 on 1 with his girlfriend? No! They've trained together and play fought but a legitimate fight? In a strange dystopian world where he suddenly woke up in.

Disarm Powder.

He pushes a foot forward, sprint and ducks towards her.

She shoots, and misses.

Ekko grabs the ashtray off the desk, throwing it at her.

She dodges, and shoots at him.

Ekko barely dodges the bullet, he dashes towards her attempting to tackle her.

Before Ekko could even react, Jinx is behind him, and he blacks out.

Hazy but familiar, he wakes up to a cloth over his eyes, and tape over his mouth. Jinxes humming. So similar yet, it's slightly off. Ekko attempts to speak but what comes out is a muffled groans of discomfort. His arms are tied together, and his legs at tied to the chair he's sitting in.

He feels as Jinx comes to untie his blindfold.

"You ain't my Ekko." Jinx states plainly, gun still in her hand, she's spinning it around like a toy. Ekko furrows a brow, curious about what exactly she means by that.

Running the head of the gun down the side of Ekko's head, "you don't fight like he does. You're sloppy, slow. You don't think like he does, didn't bring your little crew, didn't use your little board." She says, almost mocking him.

The gun to his head makes Ekko feel almost claustrophobic, his heart racing at the threat.

"So who're you. Don't lie now." Jinx asks, her pink shimmery eyes staring at him. Her gun dragged underneath his chin, pointing his head up to look at her.

Jinx rips off the tape enclosing his lips. Ekko heaves as he's released, "you're not my Powder." his eyes flicker over to hers, scanning over her features.

"Damn right I ain't, my names Jinx. Call me Powder one more time and it's off with your head." She holds her empty hands fingers into a gun. imitating shooting off his head as she's talking with her hands.

Ekko swallows, "Jinx," he whispers softly. Confused and honestly a bit scared, Ekko gathers that the girl in front of him, is still Powder and he just needs to get closer to her.

-

Ahgbdbuh this one might be a bit messy but it's a very fun concept and I'd love to talk more about it !!

[witchthewriter]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈𝐟: 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 & 𝐀𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧?

The King and Queen of Westeros had 13 children altogether. Not all lived, well in the end ... none of them did except Vaegon and Saera. Jaehaerys ended up being the last person in his family to die. But what would have happened if everyone were given a dragon egg at birth or got the chance to bond with one? . ˚˖𓍢ִ໋₊˚ 🪷 ₊˚⋆.˚ 𖣂🌷⋆.˚

I'm only going to do this for those who lived into childhood. I'm also not using dragons from the future. I will create new dragons or use existing ones from this time. Also, I'm not going to mention those who already have a dragon... ⋆.°🦋༘⋆

We all know Jaehaerys had Vermithor, Alyssane with Silverwing, Aemon was bonded with Caraxes, Balerion with Vhagar and Alyssa with Meleys. This will not be changed.

𝑫𝒂𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒔

Second born child, their first girl. Named "the Darling of the Realm," she was curious, fearless, high-spirited and very adventurous. She was often covered in mud and grass-stained. She died young due to a fever. It killed many, many people; both young and old.

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲:

Daenerys would have a cradle egg. Placed in there by her Aunt Rhaena. Her parents weren't too happy about it, but Rhaena reminded them that she did it for them both when they were babies.

The little princess named her 'Goldwing,' after ... well the dragons' golden colouring. The first time Dany hopped on her dragon's back was when she was ten. The two didn't go far, but they both loved it.

She's a she-dragon because she's laid a few clutches but only one hatched. One out of ten.

I think that there's a possibility that bonding with a dragon could have made her stronger. And the sickness might have caused other problems, but she wouldn't have died.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈:

⋆ INFP ⋆ Gryffindor ⋆ Aquarius Sun, Pisces Moon, Leo Rising

You can tell when Goldwing likes something; she makes these chirping noises and flaps her wings like a lil biridie

As soon as Goldwing hatched, she never left little Dany's side. At night she curled around her head, falling asleep with ease

Through the day the Gold dragon wraps itself around the princesses shoulders. Almost like a necklace when the dragon was younger

As they grew together, Dany preferred to be in the air rather than anywhere else.

It was almost like the pair could read each other's minds

Sneezes on people she doesn't like

art credit: @lowrifaberart on insta

𝑴𝒂𝒆𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆

Sixth born child, third daughter. In my opinion, I think she was given to the Septas to keep the peace. But it took away her ... life. Maegelle had a compassionate heart; she was gentle, caring, quiet and highly intelligent. She had a real gift for healing.

Whenever her parents fought, it was most likely Maegelle who would be the peace-maker. The one to help them see reason.

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲:

Maegelle bonded with Balerion.

It was a shock to everyone. Someone so kind-hearted bonded with a giant called 'the Black Dread.' A conquorer's dragon.

But people tend to forget that his first rider was Daenys the Dreamer. She wasn't violent - she could dragon dream and ended up saving House Targaryen.

With this new power, Maegelle realised she wasn't under anyone's foot. She could make her own decisions, and they would be backed up by Balerion...who breathed fire. And so, Maegelle did not want to become a Septa. She didn't want it. Even though she was promised to them by her parents.

But Balerion put a stop to it. Maegelle did not run away, she only brought Balerion to the Red Keep and reminded her parents that she was her own person now.

Balerion isn't what people normally think. He isn't a raging beast. Balerion doesn't thirst for blood. He does as his rider says. And with Maegelle, he has peace.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑩𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏:

⋆ ENTJ ⋆ Slytherin ⋆ Aries Sun, Capricorn Moon, Scorpio Rising

Loves sleeping in the sun

Way too big for the dragon pit, but Maegelle wouldn't force him in there anywhere

Maegelle's confidence grew exceptionally when she bonded with Balerion. She no longer felt meek nor mild.

The princess didn't hide her opinions anymore either. As she had the most legendary dragon; she would never say it out loud, but she felt invincible.

𝑽𝒂𝒆𝒈𝒐𝒏

Seventh born child, fourth son. Named, "Vaegon the Dragonless," he preferred the library and to read above anything else. Some say he's sour, though he never meant to be rude. He performed his duties but no more than he had to. He became an Archmaester and as such he held the ring, rod, and mask of yellow gold.

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲:

Vaegon would be given countless chances to bond with a dragon. No interest in it. Eventually, one of the other dragons would lay a clutch of eggs and while studying, there'd be a pull. He went to see the lone dragon of Goldwing, his older sister's dragon.

He never got to see his dragon's egg. But looking at the youngling, Vaegon knew it was gorgeous. The look it gave him was unlike any other.

Vaegon decided on the name Tembyra (high valyrian for 'book'). He was about 17 when he first mounted his dragon. Green Tembrya was about 22 at the time, large enough to go far distances.

The joy Vaegon felt...

He understood.

Vaegon finally understood his Valyrian blood. So, his favourite things were reading, writing, studying, learning and flying.

Tembyra has a unique flame. Almost looks like a rainbow; red, orange, yellow, green. There hasn't been reports of dragons having a continuous colouring that blumes in the same succession as Tembyra.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑻𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒚𝒓𝒂:

⋆ ISFP ⋆ Slytherin ⋆ Cancer Sun, Aquarius Moon, Pisces Rising

Has a temper, and doesn't like many people.

Favourite being besides Vaegon is Goldwing and Gael.

Likes to swim; well likes water overall. Whenever there's an open body of water, it takes everything in Tem not to nose-dive when Vaegon is on his back.

Likes to listen to Vaegon read

Doesn't like the dragonpit; feels too lonely. Just because someone likes to be alone, doesn't mean they don't get lonely.

His roar is a mix of Caraxes and Syrax's. It's unique and off-putting.

His mate is Gael's Sonessa. They coil their tails around one another when sleeping.

art credit: Volvokun

𝑫𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂

Eighth born child, fourth daughter. There was a childish aspect about Daella; her physical appearance aided to that as well as she was only 5'2 as an adult. Timid, sweet, kind, and gentle, with a tender heart. Yet, she was also a delicate and shy, tongue-tied girl, who was easily frightened and quick to cry. Known "to be terrified of dragons," she went and married Lord Rodrik Arryn, had one daughter: Aemma (Rhaenyra's mother) and died in childbirth.

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲:

Daella would have a cradle egg (if she had to go up and bond with a dragon then she would be terrified.) But when she was born, Alyssa put an egg in her crib. The colours: white and blue. When it hatched, Daella was 3 months old.

She named her dragon 'Adema' (high valyrian for fulfilment). A resplendent dragon with light blue scales, white accents and light purple eyes. Adema is a she-dragon as she has laid a few clutches of eggs.

The first time Daella mounted her dragon, she was 12. Adema was a more kinder dragon than the rest. But no less protective of her rider. Possible even moreso since they share energy with one another.

With her dragon, Daella became more courageous. Still kind and gentle, Daella grew into a woman with a large shadow; one she knew would have her back.

She would still marry Rodrik Arryn, but not so early in her life. And maybe she wouldn't have died after giving birth.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑨𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒂:

⋆ ESFJ ⋆ Ravenclaw ⋆ Taurus Sun, Libra Moon, Aquiarius Rising

Daella takes Aemma up on Adema when she's old enough to walk. The little girl squeaks and giggles as they gently fly around their home.

Adema knows how to be gentle, she's been like that with Aemma ever since she was born. When Daella was pregnant with little Aemma, Adema was overprotective of Daella - even more than she usually is.

What was so special about this three-way bond, was that Aemma would also get a cradle egg (my headcanon) from Adema's clutch.

art credit: @ironlily on Tumblr

𝑺𝒂𝒆𝒓𝒂

Ninth born child, fifth daughter. Saera was a courageous and clever, girl, in her own way as clever as her brother Vaegon. She was just as strong, quick and spirited as her sister Alyssa. The Princess was tempestuous, demanding, and disobedient. Her first word was "no." A mischief-maker, when her father found out about her lovers, Saera declared she would be married, but that she could not decide which one of the three would be the best choice. When she suggested marrying all three of them, she compared herself to Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel. 

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲:

Her actions and decisions with men would be wiped clean when she had a dragon. Jaehaerys would definitely think Saera would get her dragon involved if she didn't get her way. And if she was to be sent away, her dragon is coming with her!

Saera would bond with a dragon easily. With her courageous spirit, she'd actually be a good ... candidate. Given a cradle egg that never hatched, she was completely torn to bits.

But a clutch that her Aunt Rhaena had hidden on Dragonstone, had hatched years ago and four adult dragons were living in the caverns of the castle.

When Saera had visited Dragonstone in her early teens, she went to the caverns and found something glorious.

Not letting the chance go by, she stalked straight to the one she wanted. And she mounted the she-dragon that very night.

Valoris (means "to be brave"). She's a stunning dragon with magenta flames, intense pink eyes, black accents; her body is half pink/magenta and black.

Her body type is quite birdlike, which hasn't been seen since the days of Valyria. With two large protruding horns and almost like smaller wings around her neck, she is quite the opponent in a battle.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒔:

⋆ ENFJ ⋆ Slytherin ⋆ Aries Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Taurus Rising

Valoris, is just like her owner. In everyway.

Very fertile... she has laid many clutches but only 50% end up with hatchlings

Saera absolutely SPOILS Valoris; food, cute decor for the saddle, and absolutely NO WAY is she staying in the dragonpit. Special quarters would be made for the beautiful yet intimidating dragon.

Likes to be brushed and washed every day. Not very dragonlike.

Would rather be flying than sleeping. But is easily pissed off and will react. Not like Saera cares...

𝑽𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂

Tenth born child, sixth daughter. Viserra was the most beautiful out of the daughters and she knew it.  Viserra was a wild, high-spirited girl. It was said she wanted to become THE queen, so she tried to seduce Baelon who was 14 years older than her. One night, she slipped past Baelon's guards and climbed naked into his bed, but Baelon sent the drunk girl away when he arrived. After the incident, she was to be sent away to White Harbour to be married to an old man who had four wives; one after the other. And many say the death of his wives were mysterious... So Viserra slipped passed the guards, met up with her friends and had one last night of freedom. At the foot of Aegon's High Hill, Viserra's horse collided with the mare of one of her companions. Viserra was thrown from her saddle into a wall, and she died of a broken neck at the age of fifteen.

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲:

A cradle egg, placed there by Saera, who adored her new little sister. It wasn't one of her dragon's eggs though. It was Daella's. Her dragon was highly fertile.

Viserra named her dragon: Demalys (high valyrian for throne) aka whenever she mounts her dragon, she's sitting on her throne. The closest she will ever get to a real one.

As he grew, Demalys became more and more colourful; his violet scales shimmered in the sunlight. His fire was a rainbow; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, pink. Beautiful. Deadly but still stunning to behold.

Viserra was 14 when she mounted her dragon. He was twice her height, and ready to fly with his bonded. The two of them were highly adventurous; they sought out places that were never seen before. Found treasures and the like.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑫𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒔:

⋆ ENTP ⋆ Slytherin ⋆ Leo Sun, Gemini Moon, Virgo Rising

Loves to be shown off. Knows he is stunning.

Viserra got a blacksmith to create a pure golden star to be settled just below Demalys' neck.

He does sleep in the dragonpit. Doesn't mind it. But he has to be taken out everyday for many hours.

...Flirts with the other dragons.

Has golden eyes with green rims around the middle.

His roar is very similar to Meleys'.

Doesn't like being told what to do ... will ignore most people and has his favourites

𝑮𝒂𝒆𝒍

The thirteenth and last child, shy and sweet; she was a comfort to her mother who had lost practically all of her children. Dubbed, "The Winter Child," she was coddled -  Gael became Alysanne's constant shadow, and even slept with her in her bed. When Gael was around ninteen, she disappeared from court. It was announced that she had died from a summer fever. After the deaths of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, it was revealed that Gael had been seduced and impregnated by a travelling singer. She gave birth to a stillborn son, and her grief was so overwhelming that she walked into Blackwater Bay and drowned.

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲:

Even though she's the youngest, she would still have a dragon. She didn't receive one in the cradle as a baby - there weren't any eggs. But when Daella's Adema had a clutch of living dragons, she wanted her little sister to have one.

Gael received the egg when she was 10, and slept with it every night. Daella had chosen a specific one that reflected Gael's persona - a perfect one. Like pure Winter. That's why Daella gave it to Gael in the first place. Even though it was against what both Jaeherys and Alysanne wanted - their last child to become a dragonrider. Completely dangerous and yet, Gael; frail and timid, decided that she wanted a dragon. The rest of her siblings were dragonriders; it was in her blood.

Gael named her dragon, Sonessa, (high valyrian for snow). Her personality is similar to Gael but has more passion about life. Socialising may not be her thing, but she'll endure it to help Gael. Everything she does is for Gael.

Sonessa somehow feels like this is her hatchling and she has to protect Gael at all costs.

You could say she's a motherly dragon. More like a mother hen.

Sonessa's flame is a very light/pale blue with swirls of white. It makes her seem an enigma. A dragon, who is suppose to be hot, with red flame, a beast quick to anger and to retaliate...is a thing that Sonessa is not. She is white, with almost frost looking flame, yes she is still a beast who will retaliate if needs be. But for the most part - she is a protector, a guardian.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂:

⋆ ISFJ ⋆ Hufflepuff/Gryffindor ⋆ Libra Sun, Aries Moon,  Cancer Rising

Very good around others. She and Silverwing are good friends.

Loves going on royal processions, but she knows Gael is fragile, and most times a little frail.

Sonessa loves showing Gael different parts of Westeros - the water, high in the air, across deserts and the like.

But Sonessa is like a responsible older sister. Not just to Gael, but to the dragons in the dragonpit. She'll intervene when there's a fight, or curl up beside a sad dragon.

She's had many clutches of eggs with Vaegon's Tembyra

art credit: @paparinka on deviantart

(Daella's dragon is so fertile because her granddaughter, Rhaenyra would usher in a great deal of new dragons. Aemma wouldn't have been so infertile if she hadn't had intercourse so young.)

[thechekhov]

Chekhov Reads Dungeon Meshi: CH50

This has huge 'rocks fall, everyone dies' from the DM energy.

Or maybe you stepped through the mushroom DNA-shuffler circle last chapter and now your stomach is trying to digest you from the inside out.

Oh gods. He's a dwarf. They got freaky Friday'd.

............I have no comments for this. I don't know what to say.

You know. I've seen this panel many times. But for some reason I thought this was like, an omake or a side chapter.

Unless this IS a side chapter? Is it all a dream??? This IS chapter 50, right?

....yeah, Chil? You don't seem thrilled.

LMAO. The cover redraw!

And apparently Izutsumi kept her long tail.

Elf!Senshi just having magical wind in his hair the whole time is high key hilarious. Where is the breeze coming from? Maybe he's born with it.

Also, are those giant spools...?

Ahhh, right, Halflings are known for being more sensitive than the other humans.

I'm just happy he finally got his, and got to pet Marcille and Laios on the head. :)

"The ground is so far away! It's scary!" LMAO. That's real.

Laios as a Kobold. Finally, he could achieve maximum fursona.

.....ah, well--..... yeah.

Hey, it's the door!

Arriving to really important places under really silly circumstances - that's two for two. (I'm specifically talking about the frog costumes but there may be others)

...isn't this door like. Super rare? Very difficult to find?

And you're telling me some other randos have already been here and didn't even clean up?

Laios, I love you, but Chillchuck JUST told you there was no remedy that he was aware of aside from just like, forms of torture.

You're not thinking this one through, buddy.

He was hibernating.....

But actually - they DID call for the winged lion's aid, right?

GASP

What if.... Kensuke.... IS the lion!

AH SHIT. If she's a halfling, then that means she's bad with magic, right? They have low tolerance to the feedback magic gives or something? I don't remember the details now but...

Wuh-oh. (I don't think that's how agitation works in any species, but sure. For the drama.)

Why is he the only one who suffered a severe personality change...?

Apex predators need their naps.......

Sacrifices have to be made, Toshiro.

Izutsumi Got. That. Ball. Bell.

......Mechanus?

Where DID you get that from? You had one food poisoning scare, that doesn't mean it's not real!

I wish I could feel this level of peace while cooking.

Ah so.... this is not a place of honor?

It sounds like there's two cultures that got REALLY into the space race, turned a cold war into a hot one, and are now going "well, we can't have nice things because of.... us. because of us. but you all still can't have nice things!"

That might be.... a terrible idea.

[the-final-sif]

DSMP AU Taglist

This is a masterpost for all my DSMP AUs, which will be updated as I remember them.

Convict Childcare AU - c!Sam makes a break for it and steals a toddler without thinking, and then decided that he's got this whole prisoner right here so clearly this is a functional babysitting arrangement. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Godling Dream AU - This is that one AU that's like 3 posts of world building where DreamXD is doing whatever he can to keep this child alive so he won't be alone anymore. He's not perfect, but he's dealing with a lot.

Feral Ender Dragon AU - There's an ENDER DRAGON, loose on the SMP!

Eldritch Dream AU - Listen, in c!Dream's defense, he thought they were just playing around with all that torture and murder stuff. How was he supposed to know it was real for them? He's so sad about all the worldbuilding he did for this LARP that now's totally wasted.

Dreamon Improv AU - c!Dream got possessed by a dreamon that feeds off of his connections to other people. It's an old virus that has destroyed countless servers, it's feasted on hundreds of thousands if not millions of players before him. But c!Dream has something that none of those people had; an absolutely batshit plan and a willingness to commit to it 1000%.

God Meeting AU - c!Kristen keeps showing up to drag DreamXD to meetings and accidentally grabs the wrong Dream. She's in a bit of a rush, so she decided this is fine and c!Dream finds himself drafted into showing up to godly meetings since DreamXD refuses to.

Apology Cake AU - Is c!Sam a moron or attempting murder?c!Dream isn't sure. But his head is aching from escaping from hunters and he's decided this is probably fine.

Time Blind AU - c!Dream left 5 minutes into making the SMP and got replaced by an impostor, something only discovered when someone stumbles onto the giant parkour course he's been building, unaware that he's been gone for like a year and not a few hours. Adhd's like that sometimes.

Admin c!Dream AU - c!Dream is the admin of the DSMP, he's self taught, and c!Phil is in hell.

Manhunt AU - c!Dream is suddenly being chased by like 5 men and he's kinda fine with it.

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 4

< PREVIOUS | NEXT >

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 15K

warnings: reader dissociates and has derealization at the beginning. this starts out fluffy but quickly turns into angst, and then frustration because of stonewalling. pre-smut raunchiness towards the end. dom/sub undertones (you'll never guess where this is going)

author's note: i am a FILTHY liar. this isn't the end EITHER. the finale will be the next one (DONT WORRY I'VE WRITTEN IT.

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The day of the wedding arrives cloaked in a fog that lingers over the estate, muting everything—the sounds, the colors, the emotions. You stand before the mirror, fingers trembling as they trace the lace edges of your veil. The soft fabric feels foreign against your skin, as if it belongs to someone else, as if this entire day belongs to someone else.

Voices murmur outside your door, distant and muffled, as though they’re speaking from another world. The maids have been bustling for hours, preparing you, fussing over every detail of your dress, your hair, your appearance. But none of it feels real. Not the silk of your gown, nor the weight of the veil draping over your shoulders. Even the reflection in the mirror feels detached—someone else entirely, a woman cloaked in white, staring back with wide, unblinking eyes.

Only the mask is missing, you realize.

You look too much like the saintess you were that it's put you in this dazed, almost absent state. Like a ghost trapped in the memories of a former life.

The Saintess looks out into your soul from the confines of the mirror and judges every inch of you for your lack of identity. Your flaws. The inadequacies of someone like you. You feel like you're going through the motions, not truly present, but watching yourself as if you were in a dream. And yet, this reality isn't a nightmare—it's just indifferent. Like an observer witnessing some otherworldly event transpire.

The day passes in fragments, snatches of moments that slip through your fingers before you can catch hold of them. The scent of fresh lilies, arranged meticulously throughout the chapel, fills the air—ironically, the flowers you’ve longed to grow yourself surround you now, yet you can’t even bring yourself to appreciate them. Everything's starting to blend together and melt in one giant blur of activity and movement. You answer questions politely and mechanically, forcing a smile when appropriate. But your mind refuses to engage, drifting farther and farther away from this scene until it becomes nothing more than background noise.

Then—finally—it's time. The ceremony begins.

Somewhere, in the distance, bells toll, signaling the hour, drawing you out of your trance as you snap back into place. You walk down the aisle, but the sensation of your feet hitting the cold stone floor barely registers. It’s as though your body is moving on its own, propelled forward by forces beyond your control. You see faces in the crowd—friends and nobles alike—but their names and faces escape you.

Leon stands at the altar, waiting patiently, clad in formal attire and a cape that matches yours. White like in his paladin days that you might think both of you have slipped back in time.

His expression betrays no sign of anxiety, only solemn resignation to the ceremonial requirements of such a display. In fact, he looks almost bored by the whole affair, as though he were reading an instruction manual on how to properly wear pants.

The priest speaks, but the words barely reach your ears. Vows, promises—it all overlaps together in a haze of formality, something you are meant to endure rather than savor. The cool metal of the ring slips onto your finger, settling heavily on your flesh, binding you to your fate as you stare blankly ahead. Leon says something—his voice low and solemn—but the words don’t quite register. You nod, because that’s what’s expected. You offer a faint smile, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. But beneath it all, there’s an emptiness, a hollow space inside of you where your heart should be rejoicing, where you should feel something other than numbness.

There’s a murmur of applause as the ceremony comes to a close, and suddenly, it’s over. The veil is lifted, and for the first time, your eyes meet Leon’s directly. He hesitates when he sees your face, his already low set of brows knitting further together in a confused frown, and you wonder what kind of face you were making for him to respond that way.

"Are you alright?" is what he asks, however.

You give a tired nod.

"Do you need to sit?"

You say something that resembles, "I would very yes."

With that, he takes your elbow and guides you out of the hall, not saying anything, a focus so condensed that it belongs in a sword fight instead of a wedding . Everyone watches as the newly married couple leave before the reception begins, and you're grateful for the relative silence, the hushed whispers only an addition to the buzzing in your head as you trudge down the long aisle. No one knows what to think about the sight of a dead-eyed girl whose dress drags behind her as she's led by the hand to the carriages.

At the last moment, you spot Claire, looking extremely pale and distraught at the back of the mass. She gives you a shaky wave and a tense smile, looking incredibly worried about you. When you manage to wave back in response, her face crumples briefly before she immediately pulls herself together again, fixing a stiff smile on her face.

Leon helps you climb into the carriage, following after and shutting the door behind him, securing the latch tight. Then you're both alone. With no one else to pay attention to. Just you and your husband.

"Hey," Leon starts softly, gazing at you intensely, attempting to catch your eyes. "Talk to me. Hey. Come on, look at me. Do I need to call for a healer?"

"I... I'm fine," you manage to rasp out as you clutch the seat's edge, your knuckles turning white under the force of your grip, struggling to ground yourself in this moment. "Don't know what's wrong with me today, sorry."

His brow furrows more, but he doesn't comment as he folds his arms across his broad chest, his mouth drawn into a firm line. You know he's assessing your condition, analyzing everything you've been doing over the past few hours to ensure you're physically sound, despite his own reservations about your mental state.

"Cold feet?"

"No," you reply without hesitation, looking at him directly for once.

"Okay," Leon murmurs under his breath, before asking, "What happened then?"

"I..." You try to speak but find yourself unable to answer. How could you begin to put into words the feelings raging inside you?

"I don't need big words, walk me through it however you want," he encourages in that familiar patient tone of his that never fails to coax information out of you.

You inhale deeply and take a moment to think. To sort through the confusion swirling within your mind, pushing back the jumbled mess and focusing on the core issue.

"Where do you think this started?"

"I..." You pause as you reflect on the question. Where did it start? When exactly did you lose your confidence and enthusiasm? Was it before you entered the chapel, as you got dressed for the occasion? Perhaps during the long procession from the Temple to here, surrounded by dozens of strangers wishing you well? "Just... white," is all you can say, finding it hard to elaborate. Your hand reaches up to grip your veil and unhook it from the place, laying it on top of your lap. "The white, it... This. All of it."

Your mind says, It brought me back to when all I wore was white, I got stuck in the clothes of a saintess with no temple to pray in or services to attend, but your mouth doesn't want to cooperate.

He looks like he understood all of that, however, his intense blue gaze scrutinizing your face with so many thoughts forming behind it.

Then out of nowhere, his whole standing changes. He unhooks his arms from where they crossed on his chest and leans forward, expectant and light, "Say, how would you feel about a round of painting? Let’s ditch this place. Hunnigan can handle the rest."

"I don’t think we should…”

“It’ll be fine, you need to unwind. We can’t go back with you like this.”

“But…”

“Don’t hold back, just say yes.”

“Yeah,” you give in, not seeing the point in keeping up with the facade of appropriateness when you have no energy for any of it. “Okay.”

Leon nods approvingly before lifting a hand and knocking thrice on the wood separating him and the driver, alerting the carriage to turn a corner and head down a different road. "Great. Let's go get some paint."

"No canvases?"

"We already have those," he says, smiling for the first time since leaving the chapel.

His hand waves between you and him, and it takes you a bit to notice he actually is referring to your wedding dress and his formal clothes, respectively.

"What! We can't ruin these!"

"We can, and we will. The white bothers you, I get it. What better way to express that than literally destroying it? I think it sounds cathartic." He holds your gaze for a while, as if to emphasize the message and give you a moment to protest, but he finds none in return, his expression morphing into one of excitement.

The ballroom is expansive, with large windows that let in the soft afternoon light. The floor is spotless, gleaming beneath the chandelier’s glow, but not for long. The servants have already arranged several jars of paint along one wall, brushes of all sizes and colors resting beside them. It’s like an artist’s dream, and it’s all at your disposal.

Leon takes a few steps forward, surveying the setup with a satisfied nod. "Perfect."

You hesitate at the edge of the room, glancing down at your dress. It still feels strange, thinking about what you’re about to do. The lace, the silk, the hours of careful preparation... it’s all meant to be pristine. But now, with the paint before you, it’s as though you’ve been given permission to break free from the expectations that have suffocated you all day.

Leon watches you with quiet patience, his face softening. "Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your fingers brushing over the cool glass of one of the paint jars. You choose a bright red first, dipping the brush into it slowly. The rich, vibrant color drips from the bristles, and for a moment, you simply stare at it, mesmerized.

Then, with a sudden rush of determination, you lift the brush and swipe it across the bodice of your dress. The bold streak of red stands out sharply against the white fabric, and something inside you shifts. The tension, the numbness that’s been clinging to you all day, begins to melt away. As though this simple act—this tiny splash of color—has unlocked a part of yourself that you hadn't even realized was locked away.

"Ah, I see you've gone with red for a foundation," Leon comments, coming up behind you with a light tone as if this is merely a casual conversation instead of... whatever this is.

"Your turn," you say, offering him the brush.

He takes it without hesitation, dipping it into a jar of deep blue paint. With a scheming grin, he steps closer and makes a sweeping motion across the hem of your skirt. The color spreads in a swirling pattern, and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it.

"How about we team up on this one?" He asks, pulling out a slightly smaller brush and dipping it into green paint. "I can paint something on you and you can paint something on me."

"That sounds perfect." The image of Leon covered in blots of colorful spots is vivid in your mind, making you smile despite yourself. His playful expression and cheerful demeanor are infectious, drawing you in and reminding you that you don’t have to do this alone.

He motions for you to turn around, which you do so with ease, moving back to hold the front of your dress upwards as you do so. This allows him to have easier access to the back and draw or paint whatever he wants there.

A wet feeling slides over your left shoulder blade, causing you to suck in a surprised gasp.

"It's fine, I promise, I know what I'm doing." Leon reassures before his brush moves to draw something that feels like... words? On your other shoulder blade. You try to not think about how he could be writing an insult right now to tease you for later. "Hold that position. I'm not done yet."

As he continues to dab paint on various parts of your back, the shape of his art becomes more pronounced. You are able to follow the strokes, which go from the base of your spine to your hips and shoulders. It's definitely something artistic, that much you can confirm.

"What are you drawing?"

"What's the fun in telling you?"

He pulls back then, finally allowing you to lower your dress and smooth it out, although some of the material still catches onto the dampness of the paint. When you glance in the mirror, there are two identical, but opposite symbols in dark green pigment. "Is that... a tree?"

"If you'd like it to be," he says nonchalantly, before stepping forth to be in the line of view for the mirror. "Come on, your turn now."

After a second of deliberation, you pick the smaller brush, grabbing a jar of yellow paint. Leon's shirt is just a few shades lighter than ivory, so the color won't show as starkly on him as it did with the pure white of your wedding dress. Still, he rolls the sleeves of his buttoned-up shirt as far back as they'll go, showing off toned forearms as you dip the brush into the jar and begin tracing little dots up and down his arm. It's not difficult work—only tedious—and after a few minutes, you're finished with both arms.

"Now you look like a walking ray of sunshine," you declare cheerfully, setting the brush aside.

He raises a skeptical eyebrow at your comment but doesn't argue as he inspects your work. A crooked smile appears on his lips as he laughs lightly, running a hand through his golden hair. "So I do. Will you keep going?"

You nod, reaching for another jar, this time a deep purple hue. You decide to paint a flower on his back, carefully choosing where to place the petals and stems in your mind--but since his outer layers are removable, so will your masterpiece be.

"Can you take these off?" you ask, tugging on the cloak first and then tapping on his suit. "For a flower to really blossom, I need a smoother canvas."

Leon's head snaps to look back at you over his shoulder, and one would think you'd asked him to drop his pants the way he was reacting. You just want access to his shirt, is all. Or was that an inappropriate request...? Maybe you should have worded it differently, you thought worriedly, chewing on the side of your lip nervously.

"I mean... If you're fine with seeing me naked, sure?" he replies after a brief pause of consideration, guarded but ultimately agreeable as he turns back to face forward again.

"W-what! I just want your coat and cape off! And the waistcoat! Just the shirt will do."

Now why are you acting so defensive? You curse silently inwardly, your face flaming from embarrassment. And in return, the tips of his ears turn bright red as well at the misunderstanding as he clears his throat uncomfortably.

"... Yes, of course. I'll take that off and also remove my cravat while we're at it." he mumbles, embarrassment in his movements as he hastily throws his jacket aside without care as if trying to dispel the awkwardness hanging in the air immediately, followed by taking his vest off. He starts unbuttoning the first couple buttons at the neck, revealing some of his skin underneath, before loosening the tie around his neck and letting it drop to the floor carelessly. "There, is that better for you?"

You get a glimpse of his cape lying crumpled just beside your discarded veil in a corner. It’s a pleasing sight.

"Thank you." Not wanting to dwell on any accidental suggestive wordings, you focus all your concentration on painting once more, using your thumb and forefinger to press against the ends of each petal one by one, applying pressure until they stain his body. It reminds you of a technique the children use for drawings back at home--dipping their hands into ink and then pressing them down upon paper for creating landscapes, trees, and oceans--except this case involves human bodies rather than paper, and paint instead of ink.

Every stroke adds dimension, building layers of depth atop your canvas—your friend and companion. As you continue working, your movements become smoother, more confident. Each gesture flows seamlessly from one shape to the next, gradually bringing the picture together. The petals themselves require precision; if done incorrectly, they'll resemble nothing more than uneven ovals. However, with steady strokes and careful application of pressure, they blossom beautifully, filling his entire upper half with color and texture.

When you finish adding details, you step back to examine your artwork closely. Satisfied, you wipe off most of the paint lingering on your fingertips on his upper arms and draw an unexpected laugh from him, startled by the sudden touch.

"I see you've used some technique there," he notes curiously, standing still as he examines your work over his shoulder before looking forward once more, facing himself in the mirror. There are patches of leftover pigment all over his form. "If we're fingerpainting now, here, just..."

He dunks his entire right palm in red paint, squinting his nose up a bit at the sticky feeling that must be surrounding his hand, before showing it to you and wiggling the fingers. The excess layer of paint starts trickling down his wrist, dripping onto the floor below like water off of a leaf.

He then makes a stamp right over your heart, causing it to jump unexpectedly in surprise upon contact with his cool hand. The resulting imprint causes you to instinctively suck in a breath, unprepared for how it made you feel emotionally at first. But then his hand rises higher to pat it over your temple and cheeks playfully, getting you messy and all splattered with red.

"There we go," he remarks cheerfully, pleased with himself and his actions as he retracts his hand, smiling genuinely and widely, which shows off his pearly whites and crow's feet crinkling around his eyes.

"Was that necessary...?" you huff out softly in mock annoyance, wiping a dot off of your face, even though internally you do admit to enjoying it quite thoroughly. There's something intimate about this whole endeavor that makes you wish for more moments like these.

You swipe at him again, a splash of blue this time, aiming for his collar.

“Missed,” Leon teases, dodging just in time, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, filling the large ballroom. His own chuckles are rich, echoing off the painted walls. For once, everything feels easy. Unscripted. Natural.

You dip your fingers into the paint, abandoning the brush altogether, and smear thick lines of yellow down his sides the moment you can catch him. “There,” you say with triumph, wiping your hands on his chest, your breath still catching from laughter. “Fixed it.”

Leon lets out a low hum, stepping back, his hands finding a jar of green paint. “Revenge is best served... messy.”

Without warning, his fingers, wet with paint, slide across your waist, leaving a trail of green over the delicate lace of your dress.

A shiver runs down your spine at the unexpected sensation of his hand dragging through the line of your waist, his fingers pressing just a little too long. You glance up at him, your smile faltering, but he’s already looking away, dipping his fingers back into the paint, determined to keep the game going. You're no longer meticulously trying to paint beautiful flowers or symbols; now, it's become almost a competition--or dare--to who can make whose partner look more ridiculous.

Though something has shifted in you after he has put his hands on your waist like that. And then there's this warmth that emanates from those same places--the spot on your nape where he brushed your hair to the side when cleaning away excess paint, the crook of your neck that tickled slightly when he traced circles there accidentally whilst applying an intricate design with his pinky, your bare forearm as he tested a shade of orange upon it, and countless other small instances that seem insignificant yet stick out prominently in your memory. The last place he touches leaves goosebumps in its wake, although whether it's from the cold, wet paint itself, or perhaps the feeling of being marked by someone else, you aren't entirely sure.

But the way Leon looks at you—his blue eyes full of wonder, shining brightly amidst a backdrop of colorful pigments—makes your heartbeat quicken beneath your ribs. The delicate material of his shirt has begun to stick to the lines of his muscles, and without meaning to, your gaze lingers on the way the fabric molds to his chest, the faint outline of his toned torso visible beneath the wet paint.

Embarrassed about the awareness of something you can't place, you decide to focus on his legs rather than what's seized your attention. There isn't a single crease in sight on his trousers, so you decide to run up a hand covered in black paint over his thighs in order to change that, creating two distinctive handprints on either leg, purposely making them bigger to cover the area completely. The white seeps through, making it look like a ghost had groped him multiple times before dissipating. It's not the funniest joke ever but you're pleased all the same nonetheless, giving yourself a pat on the back for it, and hoping he'd notice your wit and intelligence through your work.

In contrast, Leon seems to have frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at the blatant action you've taken towards him. Had you made him uncomfortable...? Well, this is certainly not a thing people did often, to men or women alike. Your stomach clenches anxiously, wondering if perhaps you crossed a boundary. He coughs awkwardly into his elbow and rubs at a spot on his chest, presumably in an attempt to appear busy. Or maybe because there's itchiness or residue still drying on his skin that he couldn't reach otherwise, your conscience reassures weakly as you get up from your knees.

"Oh, uh..." He finally speaks after a good ten seconds of silence passes between you two, only for it to falter quickly enough. "Well... I guess... I lost."

"Was it a competition?" you inquire, tilting your head cutely to one side with genuine curiosity coloring your features. His posture seems tense though, strangely rigid despite the lighthearted nature of his mannerisms. It does seem as though he is nervous for some reason or another. A shame since the atmosphere was quite pleasant before the awkward pause ensued.

He swallows thickly, appearing momentarily tongue-tied by whatever thoughts plaguing his mind, and shrugs dismissively. "It might have been. Perhaps unintentionally. Regardless of that fact, however," Leon continues smoothly, regaining composure in record time, flashing a friendly smile at your direction, "it appears as though my skills are inferior compared to yours."

Before you can answer to dispel this weird tension he's suddenly experiencing, the doors to the ballroom opens and Hunnigan comes crashing in, an uncharacteristic angry look marring her usually impassive and calm expression, looking like she ran halfway across town in that heavy formal wear.

"You... you disappeared from the wedding reception just to do this?!" She shouts outraged, stomping further into the room towards the two of you with no care of getting splashed by stray droplets of paint, gesturing wildly at the chaotic mess all around.

Messy from head to toe like you were two children rolling around in a sandbox of paint, Leon and you share a look, and break into uncontrollable laughter.

The candlelight flickers gently in the spacious chamber, casting long shadows across the floor and walls. The quiet hum of the manor settles around you, muffling the noises from outside as the world winds down for the night, but the air feels thick, almost stifling, as the weight of expectation presses down on your chest. To distract yourself from it, you glance around the room, taking in the ornate furnishings, the heavy velvet drapes, the dark wood that lines the walls. It’s all so different from the simple quarters you’d grown accustomed to before marriage, so different from the sanctuaries you once found comfort in.

It’s almost impossible to believe that just a few hours ago, you were laughing together with Leon, splattering paint across your clothes, and feeling a connection that had left you almost breathless with hope. But that moment feels distant now—like a hazy memory from a different day entirely.

You stand awkwardly at the foot of the bed, the hem of your nightgown brushing lightly against the floor, and Leon stands on the opposite side of the room, near the fireplace. His back is turned to you, broad shoulders tense and rigid, his hands resting on the mantle as though he’s bracing himself against some unseen weight. It’s a stark contrast to the lighthearted, almost playful Leon you had seen earlier—his smile wide, his eyes crinkled with joy as you both painted each other’s clothes. That moment felt so real, so warm.

But now? Now, the connection between you feels cold, stifling even.

You can’t help but feel the sharp sting of confusion prick at your chest, the whiplash of his sudden emotional distance leaving you unmoored. You had been so sure that the painting, the laughter, the closeness you shared had been a turning point—like the two of you were finally beginning to understand each other. But this silence, this stiffness in his posture—it’s as though he’s putting up a wall between you. One you don’t know how to break through, even though you're the one who needs directing tonight as the both of you consummate your marriage.

You've been... informed, advised, and instructed of what was expected of you to perform your duties here tonight, but that was weeks ago. In reality, you had no clue how to accomplish your task right. What kind of acts were supposed to transpire in a marriage bed? Should you start undressing yourself, wait patiently until Leon comes forth, or should you be initiating something? The advisor on this matter did tell you to lay flat on your stomach with legs open for the lord husband to enter easily, but then it sounds so impersonal—dehumanizing, actually.

But your mixed feelings about the subject doesn't really matter, you barely know anything about intimacy in the first place other than the fact it isn't supposed to be enjoyable for the woman. So you'll try your best to give whatever's expected of you to do. It wouldn't be bad if it's with Leon is your opinion on every step of the way, however. At least, it's better than with another man you weren't close to. You just wished you had spent more quality time with him prior to this evening so you'd be able to anticipate his cues and desires, knowing how to please him without issue or question.

“Leon?” You call his name softly, but he doesn’t respond. His body remains still, as if carved from stone, and it sends a chill down your spine.

You take a hesitant step forward, the soft fabric of your gown brushing against your legs. “Is there something wrong?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re not sure what you’re hoping for—that he’ll turn around, give you one of those soft smiles, tell you that it’s just nerves. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even acknowledge you. The fireplace casts a halo around his silhouette, making him look larger than life, like some sort of avenging angel.

The silence stretches on, oppressive, and it only heightens the sense of wrongness settling in the pit of your stomach. Your mind races, trying to understand what could have changed between the painting and now. Why is he shutting you out like this? Why does he seem so far away?

“Did I do something?” The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

He shifts slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the mantle, but still, he says nothing. The tension in the room seems to coil tighter, suffocating you, and you feel your heart beating faster in your chest, the sting of hurt starting to well up inside you. How could he be so open with you before, only to shut you out now? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks—his voice low, strained. “You should rest.”

His words are clipped, emotionless. He doesn’t even turn to look at you.

It’s like a slap to the face, the bluntness of his words cutting through the air. Rest? After everything? After the day you’ve had, after the vulnerability you shared? It feels dismissive, cold, like he’s brushing you aside, and you can’t stop the wave of hurt that crashes over you.

“That’s it?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you can’t help it. The confusion, the hurt—it’s all bubbling to the surface now. “Why are you ignoring me?”

Leon finally turns to face you, but his expression is unreadable, his blue eyes guarded, his jaw tight. It’s like he put on a mask for tonight, closing himself off from you. And the sight of it stings more than you want to admit.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he says quietly, but the tension in his voice is palpable. He takes a step toward you, but it feels like he’s still miles away. “I just... I think it’s best if you get some sleep after the stress you went through today.”

It's not exactly a lie but it certainly didn't hit you as true.

You stare at him, incredulous, unable to fathom how he can be so calm, so distant after everything. It feels like he’s pulling away from you, and the realization hits you hard—he doesn’t want to be close to you tonight. He doesn’t want you.

"But... Aren't we supposed to... consummate?" You bite your lip hesitantly, glancing down at your clasped hands, waiting for an explanation.

For one agonizing second, he stares at you silently, his expression inscrutable. Then he looks away, a strain between his low brows before responding tersely: "No. We're not supposed to do anything at all. Ever. Don't worry."

"Ah," you manage to squeak out, feeling an ugly embarrassment creeping into your cheeks. You thought there would at least be physical affection involved or mutual consent in regards to... 'intimate' interactions with each other in the future, but perhaps you had misinterpreted things along the way. You assumed Leon liked you enough to desire a familial relationship in addition to sharing a roof under, but maybe this entire arrangement had been built purely around duty--no passion required nor desired.

You never thought you'd have expectations like this, it's quite... silly when you think about it logically. Though your gut had told otherwise. The two of you seemed compatible in ways beyond simply friendship alone, why would you, to put it simply, want like this, as if you were looking forward to spending a romantic night together...?

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

Then a question comes up suddenly, startling you greatly with its implications: Did you have expectations for having relations with him, rather than performing a simple act for him as commanded? Is that the real source behind this confusing dilemma? If you did hold such desires, then where did they come from? And why is it only surfacing now that you are married to Leon?

This is so embarrassing.

“It’s not...” He hesitates, as if struggling to find the right words. “It’s not you.”

"Of course," you murmur doubtfully, biting down harder on the soft flesh of your lip, nails digging into the smooth skin of your palms, trying to hide how much his rejection hurts.

The post-wedding haze settles into a mundane rhythm, the chaos of vows and awkward wedding night fading like a distant dream.

You and Leon hunker down in his estate, grappling with your new roles in the capital's bubble. While he plows through his duties with his usual stone-faced resolve, you're drowning in crash courses on how to be a proper Margravine. Etiquette, court politics, future responsibilities—it's a never-ending barrage of lessons.

It's an odd sensation, bypassing the grand social events yet gradually becoming enmeshed in noble society. Though absent from opulent balls and galas, you’re drawn into a more intimate circle. Claire and Jill, ever by your side since before the wedding, have taken it upon themselves to integrate you into their world. They introduce you to friends and confidants who share their more laid-back perspective on court life.

The lessons are relentless—endless hours of memorizing noble lineages, perfecting the art of curtsying without toppling over, and learning to navigate conversations laden with hidden meanings. You grit your teeth through it all, determined to prove yourself worthy of your new title. But when Claire or Jill appear with mischievous grins, you feel a weight lift from your shoulders. They whisk you away to secret nooks of the estate or into the bustling city streets, where you can shed the mask of propriety and simply be. In these moments, laughter comes easily, and friendship flows as freely as the wine they occasionally smuggle in.

Nights, however, are a different story. You collapse into bed, muscles aching from maintaining perfect posture all day, only to find yourself wide awake in the small hours. The emptiness beside you yawning as a pit, an unavoidable reminder of the distance between you and Leon. That connecting door looms large in your mind, a barrier you're too uncertain to cross. Leon hasn't made any overtures to change the sleeping arrangements, and you're left wondering if this is how married life is supposed to feel—so frustratingly separate.

Leon himself is an enigma, his politeness a mask that reveals nothing. You catch his gaze lingering on you in quiet moments, only for him to quickly avert his eyes when discovered. It's maddening, this dance of stolen glances and hasty retreats.

You wonder if you've committed some blunder, some social faux pas that's driven this wedge between you. But when you gather the courage to approach him about household matters or finances, he offers that familiar half-smile and engages as if nothing's amiss.

Yet the distance remains, a chasm neither of you seems willing to bridge. The frustration gnaws at you. Is this to be your fate? A marriage in name only, two strangers sharing a title but little else? The irony isn't lost on you – married to someone who once knew your very soul, now reduced to stilted conversations and polite nods.

As you navigate this new life, you become hyper-aware of Leon's presence. It's like a sixth sense, the way you can feel him enter a room before you see him. Not intrusive, but impossible to ignore – a constant reminder of what could be, but isn't.

His presence haunts your lessons like a persistent shadow. As you pore over texts or struggle through your tutor's droning on household management, you catch glimpses of Leon. Sometimes he's lingering by the library's arched doorway, other times half-hidden behind the courtyard's stone columns, looking up at the window you’re sitting by. He never speaks, never interrupts. Just watches, silent and stoic, much like he did as your paladin.

Initially, you dismiss it as mere coincidence. This is his estate, after all. But as the occurrences multiply, doubt creeps in. Is there more to his constant hovering?

One particularly tedious afternoon, after an etiquette lesson that felt never-ending, you escape to the garden. Your fingers absently smooth your dress as you breathe in the scent of roses and fresh earth. The stone bench by the fountain beckons, and you sink onto it gratefully, closing your eyes against the warm sun.

But your moment of peace is short-lived. That familiar prickle of awareness crawls up your spine. You're being watched.

Your eyes snap open, darting around the garden. At first, all seems normal - rustling leaves, dappled sunlight. Then, beyond the perfectly manicured topiary, a flash of movement. Black and indigo.

Leon.

He stands by the old stone wall, aides clustered around him, clearly in the midst of some discussion. Yet his eyes are fixed on you, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He makes no move to approach, just... stares. As if waiting for something you can't name.

Your stomach knots, twisting tighter with each passing second. This distance he maintains, this silent observation—what does it mean? It's as if he's unsure of his place in your world, hesitant to step fully into it despite your shared history.

You pretend to focus on the fountain's gentle spray, but your attention remains locked on Leon. He lingers for a few more agonizing moments before finally retreating, his tall frame swallowed up by the hedges once more.

This happens more frequently now. During your walks with Claire and study dates with Jill, while you’re reading in the library, or even while you sit by the window at night, lost in thought. You catch glimpses of him, hovering at the periphery of your life like a ghost.

He doesn’t approach you directly, and yet, his presence never fully leaves. It’s as though he’s trying to be part of your world without intruding, without imposing his presence on you.

And it’s frustrating.

There are times when you want to call out to him, to ask him why he keeps his distance, why he seems so determined to stay on the outskirts of your life. But the words never form. You bite them back, unsure if you even have the right to ask.

One evening, after your newest friend Lady Rebecca has left for the night, you find yourself sitting alone in the small drawing room, absently flipping through the pages of a book you can’t seem to focus on. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.

Your gaze drifts to the doorway, where Leon stands once again. His posture is relaxed, one hand resting on the doorframe, but there’s a tension in his eyes, a hesitation that betrays his calm exterior.

For a moment, you both lock eyes.

This time, you don’t look away.

He seems to falter, his expression softening ever so slightly, but he doesn’t move. The air between you feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything neither of you has been willing to address.

"Leon," you finally say, your voice breaking the silence, though you don’t rise from your seat.

His name lingers, but he doesn't respond, doesn't step forward, just nods slightly before turning away. Once again, he retreats into the shadows, leaving you alone with the lingering sense of something unresolved.

The frustration builds inside you, but so does something else. A realization, perhaps. That he’s not distant out of disinterest, but because of something deeper, something he’s unwilling or unable to share. You’re left to wonder what holds him back, what keeps him from closing the gap between you.

The journey to the Margravate is long and winding, the rolling countryside stretching endlessly before you as the carriage bumps along the uneven road. You doze lightly, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the wheels, your head occasionally resting on Leon's shoulder, his scent wafting towards your senses, comforting and familiar amidst the unfamiliar landscape. The quiet company of his body next to yours makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep in his arms; you trust him that much, regardless of this distance that separates your hearts.

He only seems to take his place beside you to let you lean on him when you sleep. When you're awake, however, he's at the opposite end of the cushioned bench seats of the luxurious vehicle, looking intently out the small window. Dressed casually in a simple waistcoat over a cream shirt, sleeves rolled up, with dark blue fitted slacks and leather shoes polished to perfection—he looks every bit like a duke or earl traveling down country roads. So striking, in fact, with his gorgeous features and handsome profile, that even you steal glances from time to time at him in wonderment that such a fine man exists among human kind, let alone be your lawfully wedded husband for life.

From his appearance, it might seem like you two were still in a honeymoon period. Certainly others would assume you to be freshly fallen in love given how fondly you stare at him during these times. Your adoring gaze isn't exactly hidden nor unnoticed. Anyone who looked at you and observed your body language could tell easily enough about your feelings toward him, especially since this behavior began shortly after the wedding months ago.

But Leon seems unaffected by your affections. His reactions are impassive to everything—not rude and callous as with outsiders, but merely well-mannered. The sort of gestures you would expect of any polite, good-natured gentleman towards a young woman.

He’s been like this for the entire journey, withdrawn, the faint connection you shared before your wedding slowly eroding with each passing mile. His quiet presence, once comforting, now feels distant, like the growing chasm between the two of you. Every time you glance his way, his gaze remains distant, as if his thoughts are miles away, tethered to something you can’t reach.

Eventually, the carriage slows to a stop, and when you peer out the window, your breath catches in your throat.

The Margravate is... unfinished.

What stands before you isn’t a grand estate or a lavish castle, but rather the skeletal framework of what will one day become a home. Scaffolding surrounds the main structure, and construction workers move about, hauling stones and materials to continue their work. The foundations are in place, and the walls rise high enough to give the shape of the building, but it is far from being complete.

Leon climbs out of the carriage first, holding out a hand to help you down. His expression is unreadable as he watches your reaction, his lips set in a thin line as if bracing for something.

You take his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you step onto the uneven ground. The air is fresh and cool, the wind carrying the scent of damp earth and sawdust. The land around you is expansive, a blank canvas of green fields stretching out toward the distant horizon. It's a beautiful expanse, but it feels empty—much like the vast space between you and Leon.

"This is... our new home," Leon says quietly, gesturing toward the half-built castle. His voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—a thread of uncertainty that you can’t quite place, almost apologetic.

You nod, taking in the sight before you. It’s daunting, seeing the bare bones of what will eventually become your residence, but there’s a strange sense of possibility here as well. A blank slate, a fresh start.

It should feel exciting. And yet...

"It has a good foundation," you offer meekly in encouragement, wishing for the warmth in his smile to return. His countenance had faded as time passed, leaving you wanting, desperate for contact that went beyond a chaste touch on the hand meant for guiding or shoulder. "That's the most important part."

Leon looks at you, but his gaze is sharp, scrutinizing, as if he’s searching for something in your expression. "There’s still a lot of work to be done."

His tone is practical, detached, and it sends a pang through your chest. This is supposed to be your shared future—this place, this castle, this land. And yet, it feels like you’re standing at opposite ends of it, separated by more than just the distance between the carriage and the castle.

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the cool breeze bite at your skin. "Do you have any ideas for how you want to design the interior? The decorations and furniture?" you ask, trying to steer the conversation toward something lighter, something that might pull him back to you. "I remember you once mentioned you had preferences for architecture..."

"You can handle that," he cuts in, his voice tight. "I trust your judgment."

You blink, caught off guard by his sudden dismissal. "But... don’t you want to be part of the process? It’s your home too."

Leon sighs, rubbing his forehead, and for a moment, his carefully composed façade cracks, revealing a hint of exasperation. "I need to oversee the construction," he explains wearily. "And then there will be countless other duties that require my attention. Do whatever you think is best and would make you comfortable, okay? I won’t mind whatever choices you make."

The words land like a stone in your stomach, heavy and cold. It’s not just that he’s leaving the decisions to you—it’s the way he says it, like he’s already checked out of this part of your life together. Like he’s holding himself at arm’s length, unwilling to invest in the place that’s supposed to be your future.

You try to hide your disappointment, but it’s hard. You wanted this to be something you built together, not something you were left to manage on your own.

"I just thought..." you trail off, unsure of how to express the frustration bubbling inside you. "I thought it would be nice to do it together."

Leon looks away sharply, his jaw clenched, and you know right then that it was the wrong thing to say. There's something simmering below the surface, something buried deep in him that you can't reach. "Perhaps another time."

Then, he turns away, walking toward the construction workers who are busy unloading more materials. You watch him go, a sinking feeling in your chest, the gap between you growing wider with every step he takes.

You stand there for a moment, the wind whipping around you, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. The vastness of the Margravate stretches out before you, empty and raw, and you can’t help but feel like it mirrors the state of your marriage—full of potential, but painfully unfinished.

As Leon talks with the workers, you slowly turn back to the castle, letting your eyes trace the lines of the building, imagining what it could be when it’s complete. You picture grand halls, filled with light, rooms adorned with rich fabrics and art, a garden blooming with flowers—lilies, of course.

But all of it feels distant, as if it’s happening to someone else.

The days that follow your arrival at the Margravate are filled with work—endless decisions about the design of the estate, choosing colors, fabrics, and furnishings, overseeing the construction of the final touches on the walls, and speaking with the laborers who are bringing the castle to life. And yet, despite all the bustle around you, there’s an emptiness that lingers in the air—a tension that sits heavy between you and Leon.

You spend most of your time focused on the interior, meeting with craftsmen, selecting tapestries, and wandering through the unfinished halls, imagining what the rooms will look like once they’re complete. Your excitement for the project grows, but it’s tempered by the growing silence from Leon.

He leaves most of the decisions to you, keeping himself busy with matters outside—overseeing the construction of stables, inspecting the grounds, and working with the estate’s caretakers. His days are long, filled with activity, but the moments you share together are fleeting. A few words exchanged over meals, brief, stiff conversations at the end of the day, his gaze always distant, his mind elsewhere.

One evening, you find yourself in the library, sitting by the window with a thick book of fabric swatches spread across your lap. You run your fingers over the different textures, frowning slightly as you compare a deep crimson velvet with a lighter, airy blue. Which color scheme suits the room better? Will the blues complement the light from the large windows? Or should you go with the darker hues to add warmth and depth? The browner tones of the library make for lovely contrast, but sometimes you imagine white curtains that would frame the glass beautifully against the early morning sunrays.

You sigh, setting both options aside and reach for a third option. Perhaps a solid pattern instead of florals or stripes...

Your hand brushes against something firm, warm, startling you enough to drop the booklet on the floor. Before you can pick it up, strong, deft fingers pluck it off the rug and hand it back to you. "I'm sorry for startling you," Leon offers immediately upon delivering the materials. Then, he clears his throat awkwardly. "You seemed so immersed."

"Not a problem," you reassure him quickly, clutching the swatches tightly against your chest.

“Do you have a moment?”

"Of course," you reply, lovering the book down, heart giving a little leap at the sight of him, but there’s also a nervous flutter in your stomach, a gnawing uncertainty that’s become all too familiar.

He moves around you slowly, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you think he might pull a chair and sit beside you. But instead, he stops by the window, his hand resting on the ledge as he gazes out into the fading twilight.

"You've been working hard," he says after a long pause, carefully neutral.

You glance down at the swatches in your lap, unsure how to respond. "There’s still so much to do," you say softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the fabric. "But I’m trying to make it... feel like home."

Leon’s gaze shifts toward you, something unreadable flickering in his blue eyes. "It’s your home. You should have it how you like."

There it is again—that distance, that indifference that feels like a wall between you. You want to ask him why he’s keeping himself entirely separate from the narrative, why he’s letting you make all the decisions without any input. But the words stick in your throat, too heavy to speak aloud.

You stand, brushing the fabric off your lap and stepping toward him, feeling the tension in the air thicken with each step. "It’s our home," you correct softly, coming to a stop beside him. "I want it to belong to both of us."

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. His gaze is fixed on the window, watching as the last rays of sunlight fade from the sky, casting the world in shades of gray. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turns toward you, his eyes meeting yours.

"It already belongs to you," he says quietly. "Everything here is yours to shape. I trust you to make it what it should be."

Your heart sinks at his words. He’s giving you control—giving you everything—and yet, it feels like he’s pulling further away, withdrawing into himself. You can’t understand it. You can’t understand why, after everything, he’s still holding himself back.

"But what about you?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "What do you want, Leon?"

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as he looks away. "It doesn’t matter what I want."

The answer hits you like a blow to the chest. It doesn’t matter what he wants? How could he say that? How could he think that his desires, his needs, don’t matter?

"You don’t mean that. Leon, we’re building this life together. How can it not matter what you want?"

He’s silent for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then he takes a slow step back, putting more space between you. "This is your chance to be free," he says quietly, his voice tight with something you can’t quite place. "I won’t... impose myself on that."

The words leave you stunned, your mind reeling as you try to process what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to impose himself? On you? On your life together? But that’s not what you want—you don’t want this distance, this coldness. You want him. You want him to be part of this, to share in this life with you.

You step closer to him, your hand reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. "Leon, you’re not imposing—"

But he pulls away before you can reach him, his expression hardening. "It’s late. We should both rest."

And with that, he turns and leaves the library, his footsteps echoing down the hall until they disappear into the silence of the castle.

Yet, despite the distance, there are small, fleeting moments when the delicate balance between you shifts—when his presence feels less like a wall and more like a quiet support.

One evening, after spending hours debating between colors for the tapestries in the dining hall, you find yourself overwhelmed by the pressure of the task. You’re at your desk, head in your hands, rubbing your temples as the endless decisions pile up. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, but the warmth does little to soothe your frustration.

Without a word, Leon steps into the room. You hadn’t noticed his arrival—he moves like a ghost, silent and unobtrusive. He stands at the doorway for a moment, watching you, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he’s weighing whether or not to intrude.

Then, quietly, he crosses the room and places a steaming cup of tea beside you. The fragrant scent of herbs fills the air, calming your frayed nerves. His movements are deliberate but gentle, and though he says nothing, the gesture speaks louder than words.

"You looked tired," he murmurs, his voice low and even. There’s a softness to his tone that you haven’t heard in days, a quiet concern that lingers between you.

You lift your head to meet his eyes, and for a brief moment, you see something there—a flicker of emotion, of care—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. He doesn’t stay to chat or press further; instead, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone with the warmth of the tea and the silence of the room.

It’s a small thing, but it touches you deeply. You sip the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest, and though the distance between you and Leon still looms large, the memory of his quiet kindness lingers in your mind long after he’s gone.

A few nights later, you’re still awake long after the castle has gone quiet. The plans for the Margravate are scattered across your desk, a mess of papers and sketches that no longer make sense to your tired eyes. You’ve been working late into the night, your fingers stained with ink and your mind buzzing with the endless possibilities for the estate’s future.

The rain taps lightly against the windows, a soft, steady rhythm that lulls the rest of the castle to sleep—but not you. You’re too caught up in the details, too determined to make everything perfect. After all, Leon had given you free rein over the design choices. "Whatever you like," he had said, his indifference leaving you both empowered and... disappointed.

As the hours drag on, the chill of the night seeps into the room, wrapping itself around you. You barely notice it until your hands start to tremble from the cold.

Then, without warning, a soft warmth settles over your shoulders.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as you realize that someone has draped a blanket over you. You glance up, but the room is empty. Leon is gone, having slipped away as silently as he came, leaving only the blanket as a testament to his presence.

The gesture is simple, almost fleeting, but it strikes something deep within you. He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t needed to. His actions spoke of care, of a desire to see you comfortable, even if he couldn’t bridge the emotional gap that had grown between you.

You clutch the blanket tighter around yourself, staring at the open door where he must have exited. It’s frustrating, how close he seems in these moments and yet how far away he remains. He’s there, always on the periphery, watching over you but never stepping fully into the light.

Another morning, you find yourself standing in the grand hall, examining the tapestries that have just been hung along the walls. The rich colors of red and gold shimmer in the early morning light, catching on the intricate designs woven into the fabric. It should be a moment of triumph—a symbol of your hard work, of the progress being made—but instead, it feels hollow.

As you reach out to trace the edge of one of the tapestries, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. You don’t have to turn to know it’s Leon; you’ve grown used to the sound of his quiet, measured steps.

He comes to stand beside you, his gaze focused on the tapestries. "They’re beautiful," he says softly, his voice devoid of the usual formality. There’s a warmth in his tone, but it’s distant, like he’s speaking from behind a glass wall.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. The tension between you is palpable, an invisible force that keeps you from closing the distance, no matter how much you both might want to.

He glances down at you then, and for the briefest moment, you think you see something in his eyes—something raw and unguarded. But before you can decipher it, he looks away, the shutters closing once more.

The storm outside reflects everything brewing between you.

Heavy rain pounds against the unfinished walls, wind howling through the half-finished windows, rattling the doors in their frames. The sky is a swirl of angry black clouds, flashes of lightning illuminating the barren landscape beyond the castle’s skeletal structure.

You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes sticking to your skin after having made sure to personally direct the laborers in positioning some materials with waterproofing oil slathered thickly on surfaces, securing them safely. Leon had insisted earlier you allow his men to do so instead, but you'd brushed it off, feeling a sense of ownership towards this project due to being the one most invested in making this place feel like a home and not simply a new job posting. It was worth it--the newly installed interior pieces weren't damaged thanks to your efforts, nor were they lost because of sudden gusts of winds carrying them astray, which pleased you greatly.

At one point after realizing telling you to go inside wouldn't work, Leon drapes his coat over your shoulders, protecting you from the rain while also hiding the state your clothing is in from prying servants. And as soon as it's deemed safe and the rains finally died down enough to warrant stopping work on the exterior portions of the castle, he sweeps you off your feet to carry you inside bridal style.

"Let me walk, please!" you demand, heat rising to your face as you hold back a shriek of surprise.

But despite your request, your arms lock around his neck to stabilize yourself, the broad expanse of his chest radiating warmth beneath your hands despite his similarly waterlogged garments.

Even through layers of drenched cloth separating skin-on-skin contact, your senses are invaded by the feeling of Leon--his scent mingling with fresh rain, the rise and fall of his breathing as he effortlessly carries you indoors, even the sensation of his pulse beating beneath the elegant curve of his collarbone. You're suddenly overwhelmingly aware of every detail about him, causing butterflies to stir in your belly when he leans ever so slightly closer, making you wonder if maybe he isn't totally unaffected by your proximity either.

Despite the weight of your combined bodies, Leon doesn't appear fatigued at all, briskly crossing through hallways and stairwells to make it to the main wing of the estate where the family living quarters are located. Some of the maids catch glimpses of the unnecessary spectacle you're trying to de-escalate, and knowing that rumors spread easily amongst servants, you fear you might be the center of gossip for tomorrow morning... but something tells you that's likely not Leon's goal here. It wouldn't reflect well on him if his bride returned to the bedroom dripping wet like this without him as protection from scandal. At least he can say he provided adequate cover in public where people might've seen you soaked through.

Reaching your bedchamber door, Leon nudges it open with his foot to avoid risking dropping you in his attempt to turn the knob, entering swiftly and kicking it closed once both of you are securely inside the private space. With one strong arm propping you up, he uses the other to flip your fur-lined cloak off you with a flick of the wrist, allowing its full length to fall to the floor in a heap. The cape has served its purpose since he shielded you with it during the storm outside, now acting as a barrier between you and the carpet should any excess water drip from your persons.

In the next moment, Leon places you back on solid ground, supporting your waist as you adjust to standing upright again. Your limbs feel weak and shaky, leaving you clinging tightly to him as if he's a lifeline in more ways than one. Your mind is spinning from the intensity of being this close to each other, so near that you can see the droplets of rain clinging to his eyelashes like dew, the way they roll down the slope of his cheekbones and jawline only to drip off his chin. His normally blond hair is dampened, darker from being completely soaked, a few tendrils falling to hang over his forehead in an appealingly roguish manner, giving him a younger, more boyish appearance that somehow makes him all the more handsome and masculine.

"I'll get a bath drawn for you," he says breathlessly after a lingering pause, displeased lines apparent on his forehead. "You need to warm up."

Before you have time to protest, he reaches up to push several strands of loose hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. For a second, his fingers linger along the curve of your temple, caressing your cheek like you're something precious. It's the most he's touched you willingly in weeks, and you find yourself leaning into his touch, longing for the intimacy that seems just out of reach.

Then, abruptly, the moment shatters as he lets go of you altogether, striding away stiffly toward the fireplace to start preparing kindling. With one movement, the connection between you breaks, and suddenly, the distance feels wider than ever.

It leaves you stunned for a moment, stuck in place where he set you down, watching him move away. You could reach out to stop him, but the tension in his posture tells you not to. And suddenly, you notice you're in the same position you were on your wedding night, with his back turned to you over at the fireplace, busying himself to keep some degree of separation between you both.

"How long will this go on for?" you suddenly cry out impulsively, fed up with being treated like a doll kept at arm's length.

Leon pauses, one hand frozen in place over a stack of logs, "I'll go get the maids in a minute—"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Leon," you retort, surprising even yourself at your boldness. Your hands move on their own, raising a bit to gesture wildly around the room even though he has his back to you and won't see it. "What is this? Is it me, did I do something wrong? Tell me how I can fix this."

At your plea, he stops short. There's a flinch in his shoulder, barely perceptible but noticeable enough that it sends a stab through your heart. You hate this stalemate. Hate how disconnected you feel from him right now, and you want nothing more than to break through the barriers between you. Even if there's pain underneath it all. Anything would be better than being trapped in this purgatory, neither of you able to let the past go while unable to move forward.

His posture changes, his head tilting ever so slightly like he wants to look back at you, but he doesn't follow through, remaining faced towards the hearth.

"Listen, I..." His words come out uneven, faltering as he struggles for purchase over them. Then he takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly. "We both knew our marriage would not be normal when I proposed to you."

Oh. So this is what we're doing. Going around the elephant in the room. Deflection. "That doesn't mean you get to keep punishing me."

"I'm not punishing you," he protests weakly, almost childlike. Almost sounding like how he was in the garden on his first visit to the Ethelian temple all those years ago, stammering apologies while shaking under the light of the sacred moon.

"Doesn't seem like it. It's obvious that whatever I've done is going to stand in the way of us getting closer unless I figure it out and apologize..."

"Wait, no—" Now Leon actually whirls around.

Your anger gives you a boost, taking advantage of his momentary confusion. "Do you regret proposing to me?"

The question catches him off guard, and for a second, his expression is so open and vulnerable that it steals the breath from your lungs. It's such an intimate moment; like peeling back the layers of his mask and seeing the person underneath.

Instead of answering you directly, though, what he says is, "Can you put something on? Please."

And just like that, the walls are back up. He shifts back into that composed demeanor, looking at you in a way that betrays nothing except mild distaste at your current state, breaking you free from the illusion of closeness and honesty.

"What does that have to do with anything right now? Do you even listen to anything I say?" you fume, resisting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. "I'm building this home for us, our future," you croak weakly, arms coming together to cross in front of you defensively despite there not being enough strength to raise them high enough and form a proper barrier. The desire to hide is instinctual, though. Something you picked up as the church raised you from birth. Cover yourself. Be modest and demure, a conduit for Ethelion's grace. A perfect example of sanctification for the masses. "What I want is for you to be a part of this with me. But it feels like you’re running away from it."

His tone goes flat and clinical. "While it may have escaped your notice, you're practically naked," Leon states matter-of-factly.

"It doesn't matter, you're my husband," you huff, trying to ignore how silly the situation is. Both of you drenched and arguing over nakedness.

"I can't see you like this, you're the Saintess!"

Leon winces immediately upon blurting those words out, like he knows it was a mistake to reveal so much in the moment, turning his face away and squeezing his eyes shut. A hand raises to press against his mouth, stopping whatever else might accidentally slip out and betray the feelings he hides, desperately struggling to remain composed.

So that's it. He won't acknowledge you because to him, you were the Saintess of Ethelion--someone unreachable and divine, separate from yourself as just a woman.

"You don't see me as a person, do you?"

"No, I—"

"Am I really still wearing the mask on my face?" You scoff at how ridiculous the situation is. The very same man who pleaded for you to consider him as a potential spouse now acts like you are still beyond reach, elevated high above mere mortals. "Of course. Of course I am. You married me because of this. You didn't want a connection with me, you wanted a connection with Ethelion. I'm your prayer beads, is that it? A walking shrine dedicated to Him?"

"Stop," Leon grits out, holding his hands out in front of his face to ward off the verbal assault. His head turns side to side, denying your accusation despite his lack of direct response, paling as if struck. "Just... give me a moment."

There's no escape route for either of you anymore--no retreat option besides standing still. And that isn't working either. You refuse to back down until some sort of change happens. "I've given you weeks. Look at me!"

The crackling of the wood as it burns seems too loud compared to the silence hanging thick between the two of you. Seconds pass with nothing changing until finally, with agonizing slowness, Leon lifts his head to stare straight at you with stormy blues filled with conflict. There's so much pain buried within, held deep below the surface for too long. And suddenly you realize you never actually saw him without his armor or regalia, nor him without the veil and robes obscuring your features. Like children dressing up in fancy costumes and playing pretend, except not. This whole relationship was built on two people pretending to be something they're not.

Neither saintess or holy knight but merely mortal humans, terrified and lonely.

"I'm lonely, Leon," you confess softly, dropping your gaze to the floor. All the energy seems drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion and weariness in its wake. "It's a lonely place being isolated on a pedestal. I only ever wanted to be loved, like everyone else."

The admission hangs heavily in the air for several seconds, each tick of the clock painfully slow and cumbersome. You wonder what he's thinking; whether he understands, whether he sympathizes, whether it makes any difference to him at all. If anyone could understand what you mean, it would be someone who has known suffering firsthand like the scars hidden by bandages underneath his clothing or the emptiness he hides under the guise of stoicism and duty.

A tear rolls down your cheek, splashing onto your white dress shirt, darkening the spot where it lands. Another follows behind the first, tracing down your other cheek and dripping from your chin onto the cloak you're standing on.

"I'd like that bath now, please. The cold is starting to get uncomfortable," you mumble, resigned. The fight left you the instant the dam broke on the secret thoughts you've been harboring throughout this time together. And honestly, there's nothing more to do but move past this obstacle blocking the path forward. Whatever the outcome will be after today remains unclear, and dwelling on it longer probably won't make any difference. "Alone, preferably."

Without waiting for his reply or looking up at his face, you turn around sharply on your heel and approach your dressing room closet area attached to the en suite bathroom. Stepping through the doorway into the private space allows some relief--not that you're any less aware of Leon's presence nearby, but now he can't see your expressions clearly when you pull clothes off hangers with shaking hands and begin stripping yourself.

One by one, your soaked garments hit the floor with a thwack, forming a pile at your feet that grows larger by the second. Once fully nude, you reach over to grab a towel off the shelf in haste, intending to wrap it around yourself quickly, thinking of making a dash to the bathing area without revealing yourself to him. Yet, as soon as you spin back around, planning to hustle across the room to the washroom, you jump nearly out of your skin in surprise to find Leon standing right there directly opposite you--so close, yet just far enough apart to maintain proper personal space etiquette. You hadn't felt him sneaking up behind you at all.

His presence seems to suck the oxygen from the small enclosed chamber, leaving a vacuum effect that leaves your vision blurred for a few seconds while adjusting to being confronted with him upfront without warning. Still, the rush of surprise pumping through you doesn't let up enough to allow full perception to return as smoothly as normal, leaving everything seeming oddly foggy like a dream sequence in play.

He looms before you taller and broader than usual thanks to the heightened awareness of your own nakedness contrasting against how wetly clothed he stays, forcing you to tilt your head up somewhat awkwardly to meet his eyes that stands out in stark relief against pale skin and dark hair framing features sharpened by shadows that dance. Even if Leon doesn't step closer, he crowds the tiny closet-like space significantly compared to your frame, putting pressure on every inch of available space between the two of you.

Something seems different in the way he watches you in this moment—less intense than before. Perhaps calmer or gentler, even, considering how he isn't as tense and coiled up as before. Whatever causes this transformation leaves little doubt as to its nature because one thing that doesn't change is the fact that he's definitely checking you out shamelessly, despite trying valiantly to keep an aura of indifference around himself. Those ocean waves appear a touch hazy in shade as if clouded with lust, pupils dilated visibly until only a thin ring of blue encircles the black pits blown wide.

"Did you want something?" You manage to stammer out nervously, cheeks warming with shame.

Never in your life has anybody seen this much bare skin of yours; not even another girl back at the church growing up since those sorts of interactions were expressly forbidden outside of emergencies wherein nudity occurred inadvertently rather than intentionally due to limited access points such as shared washrooms. Especially not any adults! Such lascivious behavior went against everything they taught at services about respect and modesty.

Suddenly, he huffs out a loud laugh that surprises the both of you, although mostly yourself, judging by how fast his facial muscles tense after, realizing what sound came out of him involuntarily.

"Ah..." Leon trails off, looking embarrassed and wistful at the same time, averting his gaze briefly before refocusing squarely on yours again. "No? Yes? More or less?"

"Can it wait?" Your breath hitches slightly as you try unsuccessfully to maintain steady breathing, mind racing along with rapidly accelerating heartbeats.

"I don't want it to wait," He admits quietly, almost shamefacedly, lowering lashes halfway down half-lidded eyes.

"You couldn't have done this before I undressed?"

He has no answer to that, though something flashes across his face momentarily; a hint of something perhaps akin to remorse, or maybe guilt for having barged in unannounced on your vulnerable moment without consideration for boundaries . Although truthfully speaking, neither of you had set up much structure for yourselves other than mutual understanding regarding certain key points --such as keeping distance from each other unless necessary--and following basic common sense rules for respectful behavior like knocking beforehand.

"I do see you as a person," he mumbles softly, taking a single step towards you while still maintaining the illusion of personal space for both of you. His hand raises up hesitantly as if unsure what he intends to do with it, hovering midair in an awkward manner, fingers curling inward to form a fist at first before relaxing and repeating the motion several times, opening and closing slowly, indecisively.

You watch silently with bated breath, wondering where he might aim next. If you weren't so caught up in your own head, you might have noticed sooner that his gaze kept darting between your collarbone and your jawline, seemingly mesmerized by how they connect seamlessly together beneath smooth expanses of soft, supple flesh. It takes several seconds of staring at his face before realizing that despite appearing fixated upon one spot in particular, his focus shifts subtly every now and then, tracing invisible paths across curves that dip beneath your towel-clad figure.

"I see you as a woman," He whispers, sounding pained as if admitting defeat or confessing sins committed against someone precious to him. The hand that had previously been frozen in place descends downwards in a slow arc, tracing downward along the edge of the terrycloth fabric until it reaches the spot where it bunches together right above your navel. His fingertips brush against the fabric gently, not quite touching directly but close enough to send sparks flying throughout your nervous system at such proximity. "When... When I shouldn't. Not like that. You were the Saintess. You are... You... And I... I couldn't..."

A shuddering sigh escapes him, his chest heaving with pent-up emotions, and his head bows slightly like someone weighed down heavily by unseen burdens. He seems torn between wanting desperately to reach out further than just barely brushing knuckles over cloth covering sensitive skin and pulling back entirely to prevent himself from crossing lines better left untouched.

You don't speak up either, too afraid of breaking whatever fragile spell has descended over you both. Your body trembles slightly from nerves and cold combined, skin prickling everywhere beneath the thin layer of fabric separating skin from skin, practically feeling the weight of his eyes following the path of goosebumps. The intensity in the way his gaze traces every inch of your form sends heat pooling downwards despite your best efforts to rein in whatever it is that threatens to burst forth at any second.

"...You're not someone to be looked at with... impure intentions," Leon finally manages after another moment of tense silence passes between the two of you, lifting his head once more and fixing his stare straight into yours unblinkingly. His words come out hoarse yet sincere; a desperate plea mixed with fervent prayer for strength to resist temptation laid before him so invitingly wrapped up nicely. "To be worshiped, yes. But not defiled."

His thumb brushes over the curve of the towel that wraps around your torso, tracing upwards towards your chest where your breasts press against it, leaving dampened outlines visible through the material. The sensation of his finger sliding over the cloth-covered peak of one nipple causes a gasp to escape from your lips, followed immediately by a strangled noise that sounds suspiciously similar to groan escaping from the back of his throat.

"Leon-" you whisper breathlessly, not even aware of what else you might say beyond saying his name aloud. Your heart pounds wildly within your ribcage, hammering away like an overworked drumstick against sensitive tissue and bone, threatening to break through the cage containing it. Blood rushes in your ears, deafeningly loud and dizzying in its intensity.

He inhales sharply as if burned, his nostrils flaring, and then his entire body stiffens abruptly. Then he turns on his heels and walks briskly away, nearly colliding headlong with a nearby wall in his haste to put distance between himself and your towel-wrapped figure. His shoulders rise and fall visibly as he takes several deep, steadying breaths before finally speaking again, albeit much quieter this time, as though he fears someone may overhear even though the two of you are alone in this room.

"I won't let myself do that to you," he declares firmly, sounding resigned and defeated rather than angry or forceful. There's something sad about his tone, too—a sense of loss permeating throughout his speech that makes your chest tighten painfully with regret and longing for things unfulfilled. "I refuse. I'll keep my vow to cherish and protect you from all that might harm you. Even if that means myself."

Before you can think better of your actions, you reach out and grasp his sleeve between trembling fingers, halting him mid-stride as he attempts to flee further away. A surprised grunt leaves him at your sudden movement and subsequent contact, his body tensing momentarily before relaxing again slowly at your touch.

"I'm not something to be worshiped or preserved. I'm just a woman," you choke out thickly, tears welling up in your eyelashes. "I'm not pure and perfect. I'm just like any other person, Leon."

"Please don't say such things," he begs quietly, turning partially toward you without actually meeting your gaze directly. "Don't demean yourself like that. Don't compare yourself so…."

Your grip tightens on his sleeve, tugging lightly to force him closer despite knowing full well it won't make much difference against someone twice your size or strength if they wanted to resist.

"I don't want to be revered!" you cry desperately, blinking rapidly as hot tears spill down your cheeks. "I just want...!"

A pause. The air hangs heavy around you both like a dense fog rolling in off the ocean waves outside. The fire crackles loudly, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill seeping deep into your bones from more than just damp clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You shiver violently, suddenly acutely aware of how exposed you truly are standing before him half-naked, barefooted, hair dripping wetness onto your shoulders and back.

"I just want my husband," you finally manage after swallowing past a lump forming in your throat. Your mouth feels dry and sticky simultaneously as you croak out those words, tongue heavy and clumsy against the roof of your mouth.

Silence falls over the space separating you once more, punctuated only by the sound of his ragged breathing and yours intermingling with one another. He stands still as a statue before you, unmoving save for the occasional shudder rippling through his frame at random intervals. His gaze remains fixed firmly downward at some unseen point by his feet instead of meeting yours directly, though whether out of shame or guilt or something else entirely you can't tell.

"I want you," you continue softly, barely audible over the pounding of your heart thundering within your eardrums. "Not as the Saintess or whatever title comes next after that. Just as me."

"Don't, I can't," he hisses through clenched teeth like someone trying very hard to keep themselves under control despite being pushed dangerously close to breaking point. "You don't want that. You don't understand what it would do to me if I gave in and acted on this feeling. I couldn't live with myself if I did."

"You can love the Saintess but not me?" You ask quietly, releasing his sleeve slowly as if reluctant to let go completely yet knowing there isn't anything else left for either of you to say right now without causing further harm than good. "Am I really that undesirable?"

His head jerks upward sharply, finally locking his stare directly onto yours, ocean irises blown wide open with surprise mingling freely alongside horror written plainly across his features.

"No!" He blurts loudly enough that it startles you slightly too, causing him to immediately lower his volume when speaking again afterwards. "No, of course not! How could I possibly find fault with you when everything about you leaves me weak-kneed? But it goes against all my vows and beliefs, and I can't betray them any more than I already have simply by looking at you with these sinful thoughts..."

He shakes his head firmly back and forth several times before turning away from you fully once more, shoulders slumped downward heavily as he retreats further backwards until he's nearly pressed flush against the far wall opposite yours.

"Please," he whispers hoarsely, almost inaudibly over the noise of raindrops pattering steadily against glass windows throughout the castle halls beyond your chambers' doors. "Please, let me continue serving you as your protector. Your knight in shining armor. Nothing less, nothing more. I'll do anything. I'll give you anything."

The defeat lacing every word he utters cuts through your chest worse than any physical wound ever has been able to achieve thus far; the pain sears deep within your heart, leaving behind only bitter regret and emptiness in its wake.

You want to scream at him for being such an idiotic fool who refuses to see reason or listen to anyone besides himself regarding matters concerning his own happiness and desires, especially considering how much he claims to care about yours. Yet no amount of yelling will change his mind or force him into seeing things differently from how they currently stand between the two of you now, regardless of how frustrating and maddening it may be.

"Okay," you murmur softly instead after several tense minutes pass, neither of you move or speak again nor dares break this fragile silence lest it lead down another path towards destruction. Apathy settles heavily upon your shoulders like a cloak of lead weighing you down. "I want a lover. Someone to hold me. I want someone who wants me. Someone who will make me feel wanted and cherished and desired. Someone who won't shy away from my touch or cringe at the sight of me unclothed."

His shoulders stiffen visibly beneath his drenched shirt, muscles tensing visibly beneath the dampened cloth clinging tightly against every curve and contour, outlining hard lines underneath.

"Since you made it clear it won't be you, then I can look for someone else. I'm free to do so, aren't I?"

The effect your question has upon him is immediate and palpable; a strangled sound escapes from somewhere within the depths of his throat, low and guttural and raw, filled with equal parts despair and fury. It seems almost inhuman coming from such an otherwise composed man like him, coupled with the fact that his entire body seems suddenly coiled tight as though ready to spring forth into action. Yet, he doesn't move nor speak further beyond that single noise which speaks volumes more than mere words ever could alone regarding just how deeply affected he truly is by everything happening between the two of you here today.

"...You are," he finally grinds out through clenched teeth.

"Then that's what I'll do," you state simply, without any trace of hesitation or uncertainty lacing your tone, despite knowing full well exactly what kind of reaction those words have caused within him.

"Don't," he chokes out raggedly, his expression twisted into a mixture of agony and desperation unlike anything you'd ever seen cross his features before now. He looks absolutely wretched standing there before you like some poor soul condemned to an eternity of torment for sins committed against an unforgiving god.

"Or what?" you challenge softly, slowly make your way towards him, and reach upwards to cup his cheek gently in one palm, fingers brushing lightly over smooth skin slickened by rainfall still dripping steadily down his face in thin rivulets. "What can you possibly say that will make me want to stay here with someone who doesn't even see me as anything more than an untouchable ideal?"

He flinches violently beneath your touch, jerking backwards so hard that it hits the wall behind him, as if burned by mere contact alone, yet he remains rooted firmly in place rather than fleeing further away from you. Instead, he merely bows his head downward, until his chin rests against his chest rising rapidly beneath labored breaths.

"I love you," he rasps hoarsely after what feels like hours spent waiting patiently for some sort of response or reaction beyond silence from him thus far. Those three little words slip past trembling lips unbidden by conscious thought or effort; they spill forth freely like rainwater cascading down a mountainside, falling heavily upon parched earth below, seeking sustenance desperately needed after months spent under scorching sun beating mercilessly overhead. "I can't bear to think about another man holding you intimately. It kills me slowly inside just imagining it happening. But I can't do it myself. I can't touch you without feeling like Ethelion himself will make me burst into flames. You were the Saintess, I was the paladin. We shouldn't have crossed those lines."

"Then stop thinking of me as the Saintess," you urge quietly yet firmly whilst stepping closer towards him still despite knowing full well doing so might very well result in being rejected outright once more should he choose to do so again. Your hand slides along the side of his neck, trailing fingertips delicately across taut muscle tensed tightly against bones beneath warm flesh, tracing downward along the curve where his shoulder meets the collarbone peeking through the partially unbuttoned shirt collar, damp fabric clinging stubbornly against his skin.

His entire frame quivers beneath your feather-light caresses as if fighting against himself not to recoil from them outright or push you away entirely, though he does neither, simply allowing himself to remain motionless beneath your ministrations instead. He closes his eyelids tightly shut, squeezing them tightly together as his jaw clenches, teeth grinding audibly within his mouth. A shudder ripples visibly throughout every inch of him at the gentle pressure of your thumb rubbing circles against his clavicle bone beneath the thin cotton shirt sticking tightly against flushed heated skin.

"Please," he whispers pleadingly through gritted teeth clamped down hard enough to leave imprints upon his bottom lip, turning his head away from yours while keeping his own lowered still.

He won't move away in pretense of not being able to, rather stay in the torment of enjoying your touch but unable to respond in kind, but you won't let him escape that easily. Not now that he's finally given in somewhat after all this time spent dancing around each other's feelings without ever truly confronting them directly.

"Sir Leon," you start, with the authority of the saintess you were trained to be, "look at me."

He freezes at your tone and words, before his head jerks back, meeting your gaze with wide, disbelieving blue orbs. You hold his chin and prevent him from turning away. His throat bobs as he swallows, and the air crackles between you two with tension. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize how close he is, how easy it would be to just lean forward and press your lips to his.

"Do you prefer it this way?" you ask, tilting your head in question, "Do you prefer me acting as your superior, instead of an equal? Will it be easier for you to listen to me if I'm on a pedestal, talking down to you?"

You watch as his expression flickers through emotions quickly, too quickly to read properly before settling into a conflicted one, brows furrowing slightly, "I..."

"Do you want to be absolved of your guilt by submitting yourself to the Saintess? Would kneeling before me and letting me do whatever I want with you make it better for you?" You continue, letting a finger trail down the front of his shirt, stopping at his heart. "Thinking you're in service of another, rather than acting on your desires?"

His breath hitches at that, and you feel his heartbeat quicken beneath your fingertips. It's a fierce thing, pounding against the cage of his ribs, a wild beast straining at the leash.

"Go kneel before the bed if the answer is yes," you command, letting a little of the Saintess's authority slip into your tone, and his pupils dilate ever so slightly. You're sure he's going to refuse, going to walk away. But to your surprise, and maybe his own, he slowly sinks to his knees, never breaking his stare away from yours.

You take a step back, taking him in, and then turn around to walk away from him. He lets out a soft gasp as you do, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach out and stop you but doesn't dare.

You walk to the bed, sitting down on the soft mattress, and look at him expectantly. He's still kneeling on the floor, watching you with wide, hungry eyes, the color of a deep lake.

"Come here," you order, and he obeys, crawling towards you on his hands and knees, the movement strangely graceful for such a large man. He stops at the foot of the bed, looking up at you, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.

[shakingparadigm]

no one’s talking about that half-naked alien petting till and i am both glad but also haunted by that. please tell me that wasn’t implying what i think it is. till has gone through wayyy too much and i will literally sob if it turns out he’s gone through this too

I had a post drafted about that but I didn't know how to feel about posting it at first. I'm just gonna reiterate it here though.

The entire first verse of ROUND 6 was actually pretty uncomfortable to watch, at least for me. I genuinely thought we were going to delve into that territory, you know. And I wouldn't put it past VIVINOS of all people to do it. The dim lighting, alcohol bottles, the very familiar environment of private rooms and drunk cruelty, it all resembles certain acts and situations that are unfortunately common within the performance industry. ALIEN STAGE obviously emphasizes the horrific aspects of stardom and could be read as a commentary on that kind of culture as a whole (constant performativity, lack of autonomy, performers as objects possessed by those of higher power, literal cutthroat competition, etc.), so exploring the topic of assault isn't unlikely, especially when it's so prevalent in that kind of fame. Still, I was jarred when I first watched the video.

The way that they handled Till was upsettingly familiar to me. It was slightly easier to bypass when Urak was simply shoving him via telekinesis. But a group of large, drunk aliens violently putting their hands on him, grabbing him by the neck and bending him on the table (it was at this point I began to feel a bit squeamish), it became a little too real? For me at least. And then there's your main point, the assaulting alien that was clothed in the scene before is now naked in the next, save for the open, unbuttoned shirt. And Till is on the ground next to him, his hair carded through and scratched by giant hands. Till is disheveled and sweating. It seems this was the lowest point of his night, seeing as how he dreams up an angelic apparition of Mizi. An escape, a salvation. Someone that could offer him a soft, gentle respite to balm the pain of his abuse. The way he desperately reaches out, shaking and exhausted, it's painful.

I know it's not explicitly shown in the video. It's not implied in posts (although from what I hear, there's traces of something similar in the Anakt Kit book), but you can't deny the thoughts that the imagery brings to mind, especially when said imagery is so vivid and visceral. I won't claim that this is the absolute message the team was trying to convey, nor that this is the correct way to perceive that scene, just that the pieces leading to this interpretation are there. VIVINOS videos are meticulously crafted, and the whole collection deals with disturbing concepts and topics. If they wanted to imply something, they'd know how to do it. Anyway, the first scenes struck a chord in me, to say the least.